arrested and reported to these Head-Quarters; and
besides the military punishments provided, their names, with
the number and designation of the regiment to which they
belong, shall be furnished as a further disgrace, to the
Adjutant-General of the State to which they belong.

By command of

MAJOR GENERAL D. N. COUCH.

JOHN S. SCHULTZE, Ass't-Adj't-Gen'l.

The column continued its retrograde movement and about sunset turned
down a road that crosses the Conedoguinet at a place called Orr's
Bridge, not far from a mile distant from the spot where we had lain all
day; and on the hither bank of the river stacked arms for the night. It
was a pretty place for a bivouac. The river, a hundred yards or more in
breadth, here makes a sweep forming an arc of water, one-third of a
mile long, which flows placidly. The opposite shore, forming the inner
curve of the arc, is tame, being covered for the most part with a
straggling growth of timber; but on this side the river is flanked by a
ridge along the top of which runs the Harrisburg and Carlisle pike. In
the near distance, now lengthened by the deepening twilight, this ridge
melts off into rolling hills, embrowned with ripe standing grain; while
where the Twenty-Third made their bivouac it rises rough and
precipitous, and is thickly wooded. All along the water's edge lies a
narrow belt of lawn, thirty to forty feet wide, beautifully green and
level, on which the brigade was halted. About midway of the arc of
water, the stream is spanned by a bridge. As the darkness crept on, the
picture presented from our bivouac was in the highest degree charming,
and might be supposed to realize some sylvan poet's dream.

"No bird-song floated down the hill,
The tangled bank below was still.

No rustle from the birchen stem,
No ripple from the waters hem.

The dusk of twilight round us grew,
We felt the falling of the dew."

The lawn on which we sat down was in such harmony with the smooth water
on one side, and in such contrast with the unsightly rocks on the other
that one might be led to wonder whether some dreamer of old did not
plant the spot for his evening walk and musing; nor was it strange that
Fancy should bear us on her wings far back to the Golden Age of Story,
and that we should dream of wood nymphs and water sprites, and the
clime of Arcady.

Looking up stream the centre of the p