other side, "A few lines from W. L. Vaughn." who has just been writing
for the wife to her husband, and continues on his own account. The
postscript, "tell John that nancy's folks are all well and has a verry
good Little Crop of corn a growing." I wonder, if, by one of those
strange chances of which I have seen so many, this number or leaf of the
"Atlantic" will not sooner or later find its way to Cleveland County,
North Carolina, and E. Wright, widow of James Wright, and Nancy's folks,
get from these sentences the last glimpse of husband and friend as he
threw up his arms and fell in the bloody cornfield of Antietam? I will
keep this stained letter for them until peace comes back, if it comes in
my time, and my pleasant North Carolina Rebel of the Middletown Hospital
will, perhaps look these poor people up, and tell them where to send for
it.

On the battle-field I parted with my two companions, the Chaplain and the
Philanthropist. They were going to the front, the one to find his
regiment, the other to look for those who needed his assistance. We
exchanged cards and farewells, I mounted the wagon, the horses' heads
were turned homewards, my two companions went their way, and I saw them
no more. On my way back, I fell into talk with James Grayden. Born in
England, Lancashire; in this country since he was four years old. Had
nothing to care for but an old mother; didn't know what he should do if
he lost her. Though so long in this country, he had all the simplicity
and childlike lightheartedness which belong to the Old World's people.
He laughed at the smallest pleasantry, and showed his great white English
teeth; he took a joke without retorting by an impertinence; he had a very
limited curiosity about all that was going on; he had small store of
information; he lived chiefly in his horses, it seemed to me. His quiet
animal nature acted as a pleasing anodyne to my recurring fits of
anxiety, and I liked his frequent "'Deed I don't know, sir." better than