'Tis nine o'clock. The drum beats "to strike tents." The cotton city fails, unlike ancient Thebes, fabled to have risen at the sound of the lyre. At eleven we have just crossed the Long Bridge, and rest half an hour on the banks of the river. "Lay there, will you?" said the soldier by my side, as he hurriedly throws the stuffed knapsack on the ground, and casts revengeful looks upon it, as if the inanimate thing was conscious of what he was saying. And he intends that it shall be, for ere he has ceased berating "Uncle Sam's little trunk," he is sitting on it, and continually adding to his weight by devouring large pieces of bread and meat from his haversack, which is now on the ground between his feet. The half hour is soon up, and we start. For what place, and for what object? I don't know. A dozen have already asked him that question, and only one reply-"I don't know." In two hours we rest again, marching westerly. We continue our course, passing soldiers encamped here and there, earthworks and cannon, till about four o'clock, when we halt in a piece of woods, and the colonel begins to look for a good camp ground. The spot selected is a fine one, though covered with rush, surrounded on all sides with an oak forest save the one fronting the east. It is between two hills-quite romantic, and a pure stream of water runs through the little vale. The boys are soon clearing the grounds, as farmers in new countries, cutting, picking, burning brush. We had marched slow, and the teams wee but little behind us, but we did not gout our tents pitched, and pine brush cut to lie on, till after dark. There is no drilling the next day, but clearing the camp ground. All are well pleased with the situation and hope to remain for some time.

Nov. 1.
Early, orders came to be ready for brigade review. Accordingly we rub the rust from our guns, the dust from our clothes, and start at the appointed time. We have gone but a mile, when higher orders come for us to countermarch, return to camp and get ready for a move. As we reach camp, the colonel tells us to pack only such things as we actually need, and throw the rest away. The boys begin to ask, "Where are we going?" Some say this way and some that way. By noon the things are all packed, the sick cared for, the tents "struck," and we are off at a rapid pace. 'Tis hot as summer. The sweat runs down the red faces as rain. Two miles, thank heaven! and a rest, for I came near "giving out;" two miles more, and a second rest; two more, the sun is going down, and we are pitching our fly-tents, a mile south of Alexandria. Reports say the enemy are near. Two companies are sent out as pickets. The rest of us sleep finely till morning, with only the rubber between us and the ground.

Nov. 2.
Sabbath morning. How long we remain here, or where we are gong, no one knows. The first thing, we start fires, boil coffee in our little cups, and eat breakfast. At nine o'clock we start again, and march a mile and a half through a hilly country, covered with underbrush, then halt and begin to clear the ground for encampment. The boys cut down the large trees; pull up the smaller; scrape off the leaves, brush, and burn them. Just before we are ready to pitch the tents, orders came to "quit work and leave the ground." Of course the soldiers are not in the best of humor. To spend three hours work in cutting, pulling little trees, scraping the ground with bare hands, to get a place to lie on, and then leave it, is not much to the taste of a Yankee, who, when he works, would like to know the reason for it. "Why this?" "What next?" "For heaven's sake, where are we going?" "Does the general know, himself?" These queries rise in every mind, and some find vent. But in a short time the reason of this is known. The man, owning the land, wavering between loyalty and disloyalty, whose property is guarded by a Union soldier, ordered us off. But arrangements are soon made with the manor lord, and we remain

Nov. 3.
We spend the day in pitching the A. tents (the teams had not reached us the day before,) and policing the camp. Five companies are sent out three miles in advance as pickets; nine remained in camp. The next two days are about the same; no drilling, no reviews. Some are beginning to amuse themselves by whittling rings and pipes from the laurel root. On the 4th my company elected the third sergeant as lieutenant.

Nov. 6.
It begins to be evident what our work is to be, for a few days at least-picketing and building new forts around Alexandria. Five Vermont regiments form the brigade, and are encamped near each. One hundred and thirty are detailed from our regiment to work on Fort Lyon, large, and about half finished. We leave camp at seven in the morning, and start to return at four P. M. The men are busy during this time, with spades and pickaxes, save an hour at noon, when they ate four "hardtacks" each. We are digging a wide and deep ditch about the fort. The ground is so hard that none of it can be shoveled before picking. We remove five thousand eight hundred and thirty-two feet. We go back to camp feeling like day laborers; but the toil had sharpened our appetites, and never did epicure sit down to his chosen dish with such zest as we to our plate of beans and pork.

Nov. 7.
The morning is cold and windy. By eight o'clock it begins to snow, quite large and frequent drops. The soldiers are disappointed, not expecting it so early in the year, and then their tents are not fitted for it-no fires in them, except the commissioned officers'. They have small stoves carried on the wagons. Snow and sleet fall all day, and by night it is five inches deep. Soon the boys are stirring, to get fires in their tents some way; for they fairly shiver in them, and it is too stormy for drills, or work on the forts, or any duty save guard or picket, which knows no storms, no Sabbaths, no nights. Every soldier turns mason, and they make little fire-places out of stone or brick, which they have brought half a mile from an old camp ground, on their backs. They dig a channel under the tent, some three feet long; brick up the sides; cover these with flat stones or pieces of iron; and at the end for a chimney. Some of these worked finely; others smoked intolerably. Now you see the boys, tears streaming from their eyes, coming out of their tents, the smoke rolling after them. They got wood from the surrounding forest. Slowly the day wears away, but not a murmuring lip. Early the hospital , two large tents, where there is a fire and room for twenty-five or thirty soldiers, is crowded, and many a sick one shivers in his thin tent, through the door of which unwelcome snow is sifting. It freezes quite hard; but the sun returns fair, warm, and before night the snow has nearly disappeared. There is no drilling, as if we had suffered enough the day before.

Nov. 9.
Sabbath. No religious services, as the chaplain has gone home on account of his sick friends. The boys write home, almost an hundred letters going from each company; and nothing delights them more than to get an answer in return. War is barbarous, and thank heaven for the art of printing and writing, by which the thoughts of the dead are preserved, and distance is nothing, that we may converse with friends. For the solid granite is worn away by the dropping of water, and is it strange that the human soul is warped by constant exposure to the fires of evil?

Nov. 10, 11.
All are in doubt how long we remain here, though the colonel says that we have been ordered to build log huts for winter quarters as soon as we can get saws, hammers and a plenty of axes. But the great army under Burnside to the west of us, is advancing, and none believe we shall spend the winter here. It is now already known that McClellan is removed from his command. His admirers talk something in this way:-- "How long with the administration pursue this vacillating course? How long will fanatical politicians be suffered to make and unmake our generals? Who has done so much as McClellan? has been so brave on the field, so wise in counsel, so deaf to faction, so true to his country? Who but he drove the enemy from Western Virginia? Who but he saved the Capital? Who but he forced the rebels back from Yorktown to Richmond? and what but the treason of McDowell, or the hellish intrigues of demagogues, prevented its capture?" And his opponents thus: "Saved the Capital! when he wouldn't go to Pope's rescue last August, as his shattered army was staggering back to Washington, from blows dealt by rebels that escaped from his own front. None done so much as he! when he left the foe where he found them! None so brave on the field! when he was never under fire? So wise in counsel? when he quarreled with the venerable Scott! So deaf to faction! when his political friends are crying 'Peace'? so true to his county! when his country has lavished everything upon him, and he has done nothing in return. This is the humbug McClellan." These are the two extremes; but by far the greater part care, not so much who leads them, as that he, who does, shall lead them to victory.

To the 17th one day is like the other-for drills and little guarding; but all are busy, building the barracks. These are ninety-four by fifteen feet for each company. "A lodge of ample size." Each company builds its own, made of oak logs, which are plastered between with mud, and the covering is dirt, They are also backed up. There are several partitions in each, and in each room quite a large fireplace. They all run parallel with a street a rod wide. This is the plan, but slowly the work progresses, for we have but few axes; some chop down the trees; others split them, and still others draw them to the spot. On the 17th two hundred and fifty are detailed as pickets, to remain two day son the line. They start of with guns, equipments, blankets and haversacks. The camp is quite lonely, and there are a thousand rumors-a few more than usual. Now we are going farther South; now a great battle is raging somewhere, sometime we, and then the foe are routed; now our army will winter around Richmond, then it will go into winter quarters on the Potomac; now England will recognize the South at once; and finally the coming Congress will compromise the whole thing. They came back on the 19th, and while the afternoon away, in telling how they made their houses of cedar boughs; how they stopped every body unless they had a pass, and sent them back muttering; how this one chased a rebel cow, and filled his canteen with milk; how this one made a visit to a rebel hen-roost, and had a chick for supper; and how Tom cried "Halt" three times in the dead of night, and "in a half second more would have fired his gun, when an old horse turned and shows the foe had four feet."

Nov. 20.
Last night we were ordered to be ready to start early for brigade review. Where? One says on Capitol Hill; another at Fairfax Seminary; and still a third and fourth have fixed on some place. It rains hard all night. The morning is west and foggy; and there is mud in abundance. At eight we leave camp. Some of the boys have their breeches' legs tucked into their boots; others have them rolled up five or six inches. Now we are about three miles from camp, having passed through Alexandria, a city of mud. "Halt," "countermarch," come the orders. The boys mutter: "this is putting down rebellion,"-a very current expression when they don't see things as some do that wear shoulder-straps. But the black skies hasten our steps, and we reach camp just in time to avoid a furious rain storm-boots and breeches covered with mud that sticks like paint.

To the 25th some work on the forts; some on the barracks; and of course each day at nine is guard-mounting. The regiments take turn in doing picket duty. Daily we get the mail. Doubt, as to our remaining here through the winter, is giving way, and love of the place is springing up in most minds; for there is a stream of good water near by, and a plenty of wood.

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