ssions. Friends and foes lay
together in small groups of four or six, nor was it difficult to
tell almost the very hand by which some of them had fallen. Nay,
such had been the deadly closeness of the strife, that in one or
two places an English and American soldier might be seen with the
bayonet of each fastened in the other's body.

Having searched for some time in vain, I at length discovered
friend lying where during the action we had separated, and where,
when the action came to a close, I had at first found him, shot
through the temples by a rifle bullet so remarkably small as
scarcely to leave any trace of its progress. I am well aware
that this is no fit place to introduce the working of my own
personal feelings, but he was my friend, and such a friend as few
men are happy enough to possess. We had known and loved each
other for years; our regard had been cemented by a long
participation in the same hardships and dangers, and it cannot;
therefore surprise, if even now I pay that tribute to his worth
and our friendship which, however unavailing it may be, they both
deserve.

When in the act of looking for him I had flattered myself that I
should be able to bear his loss with something like philosophy,
but when I beheld him pale and bloody, I found all my resolution
evaporate. I threw myself on the ground beside him and wept,
like a child. But this was no time for the indulgence of useless
sorrow. Like the royal bard, I knew that I should to him, but he
could not return to me, and I knew not whether an hour would pass
before my summons might arrive. Lifting him therefore upon a
cart, I had him carried down to head-quarter house, now converted
into an hospital, and having dug for him a grave at the bottom of
the garden, I laid him there as a soldier should be laid,
arrayed, not in a shroud, but in his uniform. Even the privates
whom I brought with me to assist at his funeral mingled their
tears with mine, nor are many so fortunate as to return to the
parent dust more deeply or more sincerely lamented.

FIELD OF BATTLE--HOSPITAL.

Retiring from the performance of this melancholy duty, I strolled
into the hospital and visited the wounded. It is here that war
loses its grandeur and show, and presents only a real picture of
its effects. Every room in the house was crowded with wretches
mangled, and apparently in the most excruciating agonies.
Prayers, groans, and, I grieve to add, the most horrid
exc