the officers in command have made report in formal military manner, the new guard, preceded by the blaring bugles, goes to the guard house to be instructed in general and special orders, and thence detailed to their several posts. The guard is composed of details from each of the twelve companies, in numbers according to the requirements of the camp. Our camp at present, with twenty odd posts, requires above seventy men and officers. There is a captain in general command as officer of the day, a lieutenant who is officer of the guard, a sergeant, and a corporal for each of the three reliefs, for the entire sentry force is divided into three parties, each serving in turn two hours and resting four. While, therefore, there is a circuit of outposts extending around all Camp Alger, yet each particular regiment thus has its own circuit of sentinels, who by day and by night pace their beat and challenge those who pass the lines either way, determining whether, according to orders, the passers-by have a right to proceed. A few nights since, in company with the officers of the guard, I made the circuit of our own posts, in order to learn by actual experience how they performed their duties. It may be asked, Why is guard mounting attended with so much of "the pomp and circumstance of war?" So I asked, and the answer from a "regular" army officer was this: "Why, there is no more serious responsibility laid upon any one than upon the sentinels. The safety of the entire camp depends upon their faithfulness. This ceremony is designed to impress them with a sense of the immense responsibility resting upon them."

A funny thing happened in the Third New York shortly after our arrival here. The officer of the guard, on his round giving instructions, passed by a raw guard and told him that the countersign would now be discontinued. After awhile the officer on his way back was challenged by this guard and asked for the countersign. You can imagine that the officer was somewhat surprised at this. But the guard was firm, and insisted that he should give the countersign or stay outside the lines. "Why," protested the officer, "I just now told you there was no countersign." "You told me," rejoined the innocent and faithful-minded guard, "you told me the countersign would be 'discontinued.'"

These boys joke at every situation. While cutting cedar boughs to make himself a bed the next morning after arriving here, a boy returned my greeting with the proverb: "Yes, a gambler's life; one day the turkey, the next day the feathers." It sounded like a proverb, but for all I know it was original and new.

The guard house suggests some good stories I heard two evenings ago, when I stopped in to see who was there. I found about twenty boys, the most of whom were in for over-staying their leave in the city or for going without leave. But one who called himself a Dutchman was in, as he related, on the following score: The officers of the day and of the guard were on a round of inspection. When they approached his post he called, "Halt, who goes there?" The answer came, "Officers." He sends off straightway for the corporal of the guard. Of course he should have said, "Advance and be recognized." They told him this, and his reply cost him a few dollars and a few days in the guard house. It was, "All officers look alike in the dark to me. I wouldn't advance the Lord Cromwell unless I could see him."

The relation of his experience started the boys to telling stories, and for an hour we had a pleasant time. One story was of a sentinel, who, having halted a man and received to his query, "Who goes there?" the answer, "A friend with a bottle," commanded, "Advance, uncork the bottle, and let it be recognized!" It was said that the guard was unable to more than half-way recognize the bottle and so sent for the corporal who satisfied himself entirely as to the other half. The "moonshine" about here, it may be remarked, is called "two-step"—presumably because after taking a dram of it a fellow doesn't take more than two steps without tumbling. Another story equally well represents phases of camp life. The sentry posts of Camp Alger are usually in pretty stumpy places. One night one of the officers, just about the time a sentinel called out, "Who goes there?" having stumped his toe, exclaimed, "Jesus Christ!" The guard, according to one version, said, "Advance and be recognized!" According to another version, he called for the corporal to turn out the chaplain! That seemed to him to be the appropriate thing to do. On another occasion when an officer exclaimed, "the devil," a similar call was made for the chaplain to turn out and meet his satanic majesty, who had arrived in camp.

If you would find out what is going on in camp, go some time to the guard house when a large crowd has been "run in," not for any very heinous offense, but for something which they try to justify themselves in, and say they would do again. The crowd will be lively and good hearted, and will have nothing to do but to tell and hear stories. One story on any particular phase of camp life will be a starter; then they follow fast. And the boys will be glad you came if you have chatted with them in a free and sociable way, and will give you a hearty invitation back again.[A]

Last night I accompanied Capt. C——, the commanding officer of the guard, around the sentry circuit of the camp. In the evening I was at the guard house, where two prisoners were immured for a little difficulty they had had, and the captain asked me if I would not like to make this round with him. Wishing to know all about it, I met him at 10:30 and we went out through the dark. We were halted by every one of the fifteen sentinels. "Halt! Who goes there?" "Friends," I would answer, or, "Officers of the camp." "Advance one and be recognized," would be the sentry's response. Then I would advance, and at the bayonet's point stand till he recognized me or said he could not, and I told him who I was. Then I told my companion to advance, while the guard held his gun at port. The sentries made a great many mistakes, as might be expected. Sometimes they said simply, "Advance," instead of "Advance one;" then we both advanced. The captain thereupon showed him the danger of that. Sometimes I was permitted, when ordered to advance, to go right up to the sentry without his drawing down his gun upon me. The captain would then show him how he exposed himself by that error. Thus he instructed each of the sentinels on duty. One of the "rookies" the other day made a funny blunder. A general instruction to the sentinel is "to walk his post in a military manner, and to salute all commissioned officers and all standards and colors uncased." Wishing to get it fixed firmly in his mind, this guard kept repeating it over and over to himself. The result was that at last he got the word "millinery" hopelessly substituted for "military" and in spite of himself would say "colored officers" instead of "commissioned officers." The officer of the guard found him in this confusion of words—and left him so.

The army is a good school. The average American youth, to render him a good citizen, needs just the lessons of obedience and respect for authority he gets here. My chief study is human nature under the conditions of camp life and under the diverse manifestations inevitably presented in military life. The guard house and the court room afford an opportunity to become acquainted with some classes and specimens of humanity. One evening last week I was retained as advocate for the defense of two accused of cursing their officers. The trial is not conducted as in a civil court, but according to the following manner in the "field court." The lieutenant colonel