ral. Our ignorance was painful on almost every subject.
Vicksburg, we knew, had been captured, but this was all; and even the
battle of Gettysburg, fought right under our noses, and a common topic of
conversation, was to us "a tale untold."

On the 15th of July, our time was up, the rebels gone, and there being
nothing more that we could do, General Meade told us "he was much obliged
and we could go." So, bidding General Smith a cordial good-by, we took up
our line of march for Frederick City, _and home_; first, however, going a
long way in the wrong direction, and having to countermarch back. This was
nothing new, however, for, whether it was owing to ill luck, bad guides,
indefinite orders, or stupidity, something of the kind took place at every
movement that was ordered. The brigade never turned down a side-road, or
took an unusual direction, without a general grumble arising--"Wrong road,
of course! see if we don't have to go back in a few minutes,"--and we
generally did. In truth, we went back so often, that we began to hate the
very word "countermarch."

It is presumed that those in authority had been informed by telegraph
respecting the riots in New York; but the first that the subordinates knew
about the matter was, on obtaining, on the march, that memorable Herald,
describing how the "military fired on the _people_." If any of the editors
of that veracious journal had happened to be in our vicinity about that
period, it is more than probable that they would have been furnished with
a practical illustration of their text, for a more angry set of men than
the first division N. Y. S. M., never was seen.

It was sufficiently galling to know, that while we were away enduring all
sorts of hardships to expel the rebels from Northern soil, an infamous set
of copperheads had undertaken a counter-revolution in our very homes; and
the additional reflection of the opportunity it would give our
Pennsylvania friends to depreciate our state, lent the account an
additional sting. That day was the first, and we hope the only time in our
lives, that any one was heard to say that he felt ashamed to think that he
was born in the city of New York.

As may well be imagined, this intelligence, and the pleasing uncertainty
existing in our minds respecting the welfare of our friends and homes,
considerably accelerated our desire to get home again; and we pushed
vigorously down the Fredericksburgh pike, breathing prayers, the reverse