little pup-tents, as they
call them. These tents are handsomely sheltered with evergreens and
various bushes, presenting a picturesque appearance. The Lancaster,
Chillicothe, and Cincinnati boys are vieing with each other as to who
shall have the neatest camp.

A chicken-fight is to take place this evening between two game-cocks.
One is owned by the fat boy of the 35th, the other by the new
grocery-keeper of this brigade--he with the yellow vest and
spectacles. Spectacles can whip fat boy, sure, so I must hurry up to
see it done. We are striving our best to break up this love of cruel
sports, but fear our efforts will be fruitless.

The weather is delightful; garden truck is progressing finely; the
wheat and oat-fields are waving delightfully, while the corn is
becoming like a man drinking whisky--_elevated_. With the above horrid
joke I close.

Yours, dismally, till I see my love,

Alf.

REMINISCENCE OF CAMP LIFE IN VIRGINIA, IN 1861.

Camp Beverly, Va., _July 31, 1861_.

A soldier's life becomes irksome when he is encamped for any great
length of time at any one point. A change of scenery, or the busy
bustle of a march, wearisome though it be, makes the hours pass
lightly. This is our eighth day at this place, and beautiful though
the surroundings are, yet they begin to weary the eye. The boys want
action, and if no prospect of a fight is here, they wish for still
further progress.

The chief product of this never-ending and infernal mountainous region
seems to be rain and ignorant people. It rains from Monday till
Saturday, and commences fresh on Sunday; and if you put a question of
the most commonplace order, the only answer you are likely to receive
is the vacant stare of those you speak to. The first relief to this
monotony occurred a few days since. Captain Bracken, editor of the
Indianapolis _Sentinel_, who is in command of a splendid cavalry
company, sent me an invitation to accompany him upon a scouting
excursion, as a number of houses in the vicinity needed a little
examination; so, accompanied by his two lieutenants and our gallant
Major, Alex. Christopher, together with the ever-affable Andy Hall,
the scouts, mounted upon as fine horses as could be selected by
Captain Bracken, started jovially on duty. "_Now up the mead, now down
the mead_," and then over hill and dale they sped. Soon the outer
pickets were passed, and we wer