The sun was fast disappearing behind the western forests, as I turned reluctlantly from a spot so sacred, and full of historic reminiscences; aside from these associations, the scenery in view was magnificent beyond description, bathed as it then was in the golden sunset, which made it doubly beautiful. I could not resist the temptation to linger there until the twilight shades deepened into night.

This morning our Major, Chaplain, and myself, mounted our horses and rode over to Hampton, a distance of seven miles from our camp; the day was warm and beautiful, the forest leaves were dyed with many different colors, and showed plainly that a frost had visited them; but on our way, as we rode across the fields, we saw many wild flowers still in full bloom, which reminded us of the month of June.

We arrived at Hampton, after an hour's ride. The first building we saw was the remains of an old Episcopal church, which is said to have been built over two hundred years ago; its porch had fallen, but the gables and side walls yet stand, a monument of rebel barbarity. The building was built in Roman style, and in form of a Latin cross; the grounds in which it stands are enclosed with a brick wall, well studded with weeping willows, and like most ancient church

yards, had been used for burial purposes by those professing the faith.

This was once a delightful spot, but now the ravages of war has made it desolate; its monuments thrown down, and the slabs which cover the last resting place of the honored dead are broken, and many of the inscriptions defaced. I sat down by a tomb whose inscription bore the date of 1701, a date which carried my mind back one hundred and sixty-two years. From this spot I took a sketch of the old church, after which we left our horses in charge of a negro boy, and took a walk about the village. Most of the buildings had been burned by the American vandals, and the burnt spots were being supplanted by negro shanties, which were built here in great numbers. We stepped into one of them, and found an oyster vender; we partook freely of the bivalves. They were the finest I ever ate. After we had worried the darkey some twenty minutes in opening them, we paid him his bill, which was only fifty cents. Oysters are found in great abundance in the bay, near by, and are often sold at the rate of fifty cents per gallon, solid meats.

We returned to camp just in time to miss our dinner, which was quite a disappointment to us, after

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WANDERING THOUGHTS.

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having rode some fourteen miles on horseback, much fatigued and very hungry.

It is Saturday night, and I am alone in my tent, having no kindred spirit to commune with. In these solitary hours my mind wanders back to my home and the loved ones there. How little they realize the lonely hours of camp life. The soldiers have many such seasons for reflection, and no one thought predominates in his mind more than that of "Home, sweet Home."

Home and mother are the first words that become indelibly impressed on our minds; they have an invincible power that can never be lessened. There are no two words that so powerfully excite our feelings, and electrify our hearts with such wild emotions. How many have left their happy homes, and gone forth in defence of their country! Many will never return; their moldering bones bear the record of the strife, in which they were severed from the spot they most loved, and their friends are called upon to mourn their 1 ss. Dark hours will come to all of us; yet they cannot always last, the light will come again.

We must not give up in despair, in this struggle for liberty. Conquer we must, for our cause is just. Then we shall have a peace which will satisfy our