entertainment of soldiers passing through their city. The upper part of the building was arranged with exquisite taste and order for a hospital. Here were many sick men left by the various regiments which had passed through the city. Our sick boys were placed in beds, with expressions of gratitude that, notwithstanding their illness, their lot had fallen in pleasant places.

Presently the men were marched into the long saloon, where all took their places at the well spread tables. The repast being over, Colonel McKean called upon the men for three cheers for the Philadelphians; remarking that there need be no fear of raising the roof, for even should such an accident occur he doubted not these generous people would willingly replace it. Then came the cheers; and such cheers! only to be surpassed by the three more and then three more that followed.

The long years of our campaignings never diminished the lively feelings of gratitude we experienced that morning, and to this day our veterans never speak of Philadelphia but with pleasing recollections of the friendly reception given them by the goodly inhabitants of the Quaker city.

The sun was up when we resumed our journey, and again we were met with surprises. All along the track of the railroad, men, women and children, filling the windows of the houses and thronging the wayside, cheered us on our way, shouting and waving flags and handkerchiefs. Children in the arms of their nurses waved little flags from the windows in great glee, while gray haired old men in piping tones cried "God bless our soldiers." This unlooked for, and to us surprising ovation continued until we had passed the limits of the city, and indeed did not cease till we had left the station many miles behind. In the train, the men kept up a continuous cheering; tears stood in the eyes of many, and the most enthusiastic expressions passed from lip to lip.

The experience of our regiment was only that of others who passed through this noble city, and often during our long campaigns, the soldiers of different regiments would gather round their camp fires, and relate to each other the kindnesses received by them in the City of Brotherly Love.

We were cordially welcomed in Delaware, the people waving banners and handkerchiefs, and when those were not at hand, newspapers or even articles from the clothes lines answered to show their good will; and the negroes in the fields swung their hats and their hoes with great spirit.

We reached Baltimore in the evening, where we were kindly received, furnished with supper and sent on our way. After many delays we reached Washington at four o'clock Sunday morning, and were assigned to temporary quarters near the station. Who would have suspected that it was the Sabbath? Now we began to see something of the circumstance of war. Horsemen were galloping in every direction; long trains of army wagons rattled over the pavements at every turn of the eye; squads of soldiers marched here and there; all was hurry, bustle and confusion.

It was night when we reached the ground for our encampment on Meridian Hill. The men had suffered much from cold, and what at that time was hardship. Not less than a hundred of them were sick. It was not long before tents were up, and for the first time the regiment was under canvas.

Our camp was pleasantly located, commanding a fine view of Washington, the Potomac, Alexandria and other points of interest. We were surrounded by the camps of other regiments, some arriving and some departing almost daily. We had not been two days here when we began to get a taste of camp rumors. One rumor declared that we were to have barracks erected, and we were to go into winter quarters, while another assured us that we were to have an immediate taste of actual warfare. These proved quite as reliable as the thousands of rumors which during all our years of service were afloat throughout the army, and acquired the expressive appellation of "Camp Yarns."

CHAPTER II.

ARMY LIFE AT WASHINGTON.

We encamped on Meridian Hill December 1st, 1861, with 960 men.

Meridian Hill is the most delightful locality in the vicinity of Washington. The plain on which the city stands, extends northward from the Potomac about two miles where it is abruptly terminated by a line of hills. From the summit of these hills stretches back another plain, at an elevation of one or two hundred feet above the first. Along the margin of these eminences were some fine old suburban mansions. On our right towards Georgetown, was Kalorama, a charming spot, once the residence of Joel Barlow, the author of the famous poems "Hasty Pudding" and "The Columbiad." Now the building was converted by the government into a hospital. In close neighborhood to us was Columbia College, also used as a hospital, and to the east was the fine mansion of Colonel Stone, and other superb places, all of which, like Kalorama and the college, were full of sick men.

Meridian Hill was in the center of this line of once beautiful country residences, directly north of the President's house. It had been the residence of Commodore Porter, and the house still bore the name of "the Porter Mansion." The grounds had been elegantly laid out with box and juniper, while the rich groves of oak and chestnut surrounding lent additional charms to the locality. The hill was dotted with the white tents of a dozen regiments, but none were so pleasantly located as our own, under the shadow of those grand old trees.

The mansion itself became our hospital, and for a time also served as our head-quarters. From its broad piazza we could look upon the busy scenes of the city, and watch the vessels passing up and down upon the river. A week had passed before we were fairly established in our quarters, but we rapidly learned the mysteries of the soldier's life.

The weather was delightful; more like September than what we were accustomed to experience in December. Although heavy mists hung over us until nine or ten o'clock in the morning, they were dispelled by the warm sunshine, and then all was bright as midsummer. This lovely weather continued until about the first of January.

The country in rear of our encampment was charming. Fine groves, traversed by streams of pure, sweet water, and fields surrounded by hedges, stretched far to the northward. The dark green leaves of the magnolia were to be seen here and there among trees of larger growth, and the shining, ever-green laurel forming a dense undergrowth, gave the woods a lively and spring-like appearance. On the open plain might any day be seen a regiment of Lancers, wheeling and charging in their brilliant evolutions, their long lances with bright red pennons adding greatly to the beauty of the display, and, as we at that time vainly believed, to the efficacy of the troop.

The first Sunday came, and we had religious services. The regiment was formed in front of the mansion, every man being called out, unless on duty or excused on account of illness. This became an established rule with us for all time; every man was required to attend divine service unless especially excused. Chaplain Tully and the members of the staff occupied the piazza. The chaplain offered a prayer for the loved ones at home, and then we all sung "Coronation," and after the sermon, we sung "Cambridge" and "Old Hundred." The men seemed deeply affected by the simple service, and