ith the tremor of age, all excited as the
little boy had been, his hair tossed about by the breeze, as with hat
swinging he too was shouting, "Hurrah for the Union! Hurrah for the
Union!" And the cheers of the multitude again rang in response to the
old man's shout. We could but note the similarity and the disparity. One
vaguely dreamed of those blessings which the other had fully realized,
and for which he had struggled; and the same shout was lifted up by
those two children--the one of four, and the other of fourscore--the one
with the flaxen curls of childhood, and the other with the white locks
of age--the one voice with the shrill treble of infancy, and the other
with the high-keyed tones of decrepitude. Those people, who had seen the
rebel army pass a few hours before, now felt the value of the Union.

On the summit of the mountain we passed Monterey Springs, a charming
summer retreat, where the Pennsylvanians resort to indulge in the sports
of trout-fishing and deer-hunting. Passing down the western slope of the
mountain, the handiwork of Kilpatrick was strewed along the roadside for
miles. As the battle of Gettysburgh drew to a close, and General Meade
knew that Lee must retreat toward Virginia, he had sent the dashing
Kilpatrick with his brigade of cavalry to harass the rebels in their
flight. Reaching these mountains, the cavalry had come upon a long rebel
train of wagons and ambulances, hastening with all speed, with their
lading of stolen goods and provisions and their wounded men, towards the
Potomac. With shouts and cheers the horsemen dashed from the cover of
the woods, upon the flying train, shot the leading horses and mules,
captured the drivers and remaining animals, appropriated the stolen
goods to their own use, and burned the wagons. Now, as we marched down
the forest road, the wildness of the scene was heightened by the remains
of the ruined wagons which lined the wayside, some burned, some with the
wheels disabled by cutting the spokes, others tumbled off the steep
embankment. For more than three miles, these remnants of the rebel
trains met our view.

It was near the middle of the afternoon when the column, the army under
General Neill, descended into the beautiful Cumberland valley, and
arrived at the village of Waynesboro. The people gave our little army a
joyous reception, and we encamped at a little distance from the village.
One regiment, the Seventy-seventh, was sent on picket on the banks