had Stewart, B. R. Johnson, Hood, Kershaw, and Preston. Stewart was the first to become engaged, but was repulsed with great loss. General Thomas sent an aide to Rosecrans, to tell him of the great pressure upon him, and asking for support. The officer, as he rode towards Rosecrans's headquarters, saw what he thought was a gap between Wood's and Reynolds's divisions. He did not see that Brannan had formed his brigades in the rear in echelon-that is, one brigade behind and partly overlapping the one in front. They were really in line and just where they ought to be, and the aide had arrived at a wrong conclusion. He informed Rosecrans that there was an open space between Reynolds's and Wood's divisions. What little things are the turning-points of great events!

We come to the decisive moment of the battle of Chickamauga. General Rosecrans, acting on the information, directed one of his staff-officers to write this despatch to General Wood: "The general commanding directs that you close up on Reynolds as far as possible, and support him.” General McCook was with Wood, and they discussed the meaning of the order. Brannan was between Wood and Reynolds, but a little back from the main line. How could Wood close up on Reynolds when Brannan was between? How could he support Reynolds? To support him he must be behind him. Only by marching in rear of Brannan could he be in position to support Reynolds. To make such a movement would leave. a wide opening between Brannan and Davis, the next division in line towards the left. But there was the order, and Wood gave what he thought was the correct interpretation. It was blind and contradictory, because Rosecrans had not been rightly informed of the position of the divisions. Wood's men filed out in rear of Brannan, moved upon the double-quick to the left in rear of Reynolds, leaving a wide gap in the line at the most critical moment of the battle-just when Longstreet was ordering forward his divisions. In front of the open space was Hood's division, which came so near to gaining Little Round Top at Gettysburg. Hood beheld the withdrawal of Wood with glee. Now was his time. Up through the forest swept the troops who had fought on the Peninsula, at Manassas, which hurled Sedgwick's brigade back from the Dunker church at Antietam-veterans who were led by a brave commander, and who went with a rush towards the door which had so unexpectedly been opened for them. If there had been a consultation and agreement between the Confederate and Union commanders, the withdrawal of Wood could not have been more opportune for Bragg. There were only two divisions of Union troops to the right of the gap-Davis's and Sheridan's; all the others had been sent to reinforce Thomas. Longstreet outnum

bered them two to one. Hood assailed Brannan on his right, and Davis on his left. It was not merely the entering of a wedge: it was more like the pouring of a flood through a break in the levees of the Mississippi. There was nothing in front of Hood to oppose his onward rush; and not only his, but the whole of Longstreet's troops - Stewart's, Kershaw's, Johnson's, Hindman's, and Preston's-cutting off the five Union brigades of McCook from the rest of the army, which compelled that commander to retreat to save his troops from being captured.

And now came the effort to fill the crevasse so suddenly and unexpectedly made. Walworth's and Lytle's brigades of Sheridan's division, which had been sent to Thomas, went upon the run back from the right. As they came through the woods, the soldiers beheld the wagons, artillery, and infantry retreating in confusion, followed by the exultant Confederates; but resolutely they wheeled into line. "If we are to die, we will die here," were the words of Lytle. A bullet struck him, but he still sat in his saddle. "Charge!" he shouted, and his men rushed on; but though bravely done, they were so few that it was as a handful of straw thrown against a swirling flood. There was terrific fighting. Lytle's men had a deep and tender love for him. At Murfreesboro they presented him with a Maltese cross studded with diamonds and emeralds. They would die for him if need be. Three more bullets struck him. His officers saw him reeling, and caught him in their arms. Two who were laying him down were killed, and one wounded, but they placed him beneath a tree. He handed them his sword; he would not have it fall into the hands of the enemy. Years before, he wrote of death, as in prophecy of his own end:

"On some lone spot, where, far from home and friends,

The way-worn pilgrim on the turf reclining,
This life and much of grief together ends."

A great heart had ceased to beat. The Confederates came upon his lifeless body, and beheld him lying there in the beauty and glory of a vigorous manhood, with a smile upon his face. He had given his life to his country. He was one of Nature's poets, and has left behind him one poem, which will ever charm by its beauty and pathos-"The Death of Rome's great Triumvir, Mark Antony:"

"I am dying, Egypt, dying:

Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast,
And the dark Plutonian shadows
Gather on the evening blast.

Nobler the ending of his life on the field of Chickamauga than that of the Triumvir of the Seven-hilled City-that, the snuffing out of ambition and intrigue; this, death that his country might be united evermore. Very pathetic this story told by a Union officer, who on Saturday night saw a soldier sitting on a log, with tears rolling down his cheeks. "What is the matter?" he asked.

The soldier held up a photograph. "That is my wife and my children," he said.

"Yes, and I too have a wife and the same number of children." "But, general, you are an officer, getting heavy pay; you could resign if you wished to; or if you were to be killed, there would be something left for them. I am a soldier; I cannot resign. If I am killed, who will look after Maggie and the children ?”

"Cheer up, comrade. I am not going to resign. I shall stay with you and the rest. We'll fight it out to the end, and go home together. Cheer up; we shall both see our loved ones again.”()

Twenty-four hours had passed. The officer and the soldier had been in the thick of the fight. The officer was falling back before the advancing Confederates when he came upon a prostrate form, and looked down into a face from which life had passed away-upon the form of a man whose heart had ceased its beating-the heart which had yearned to behold once more the dear ones far away. The fateful bullet had pierced not only the heart of the soldier but the photograph, which, morning, noon, and night, by the bivouac fire, upon the weary march, and in the tempest of battle, had been his solace. He too had given his life for his country.

General Longstreet had formed his troops in columns of brigades, just as Napoleon arranged his at the battle of Marengo when he broke the line of the Austrian army. With Rosecrans's line weakened by the with