he returning to camp.  Delightful conversation beguiled the way.  Among other subjects, poets and poetry were discussed.  I told him of Dr. Archer, and a beautiful “Ode to Hygeia” composed by him, parts of which I remembered and repeated.  Gradually I discovered that Mr. Augustin had an unfinished manuscript of his own with him, entitled “Doubt,” and at last persuaded him to let me read it.  Finding me interested, he yielded to my earnest request,—­that he would send me all his poems in manuscript.  In due time they came, and with them a dedication to myself, so gracefully conceived, so beautifully expressed, that I may be pardoned for inserting it here.

  “L’ENVOI.

  “TO MRS. FANNIE A. BEERS.

  “To you, though known but yesterday, I trust
    These winged thoughts of mine. 
  Be not, I pray, too critically just,
    Rather be mercy thine!

  “Nor think on reading my despairing rhymes
    That I am prone to sigh. 
  Poets, like children, weep and laugh at times,
    Without scarce knowing why!

  “Thoughts tend to heaven, mine are weak and faint. 
    Please help them up for me;
  The sick and wounded bless you as a saint,
    In this my patron be;

  “And as the sun when shining it appears
    On dripping rain awhile,
  Make a bright rainbow of my fancy’s tears
    With your condoling smile.

  “KINGSTON, February 23, 1864.”

At the front, desultory fighting was always going on.  Our army under General Johnston acting on the defensive, although retreating, contesting every step of the way, and from intrenched position, doing great damage to the enemy.  As the spring fairly opened, our troops became more actively engaged.  From the skirmishes came to us many wounded.  In May, the battle of New Hope Church was fought.  General Johnston, in his “Narrative,” speaks of this as “the affair at New Hope.”  Judging from my own knowledge of the number of wounded who were sent to the rear, and the desperate character of their wounds, I should say it was a very terrible “affair.”  A great many officers were wounded and all our wards were full.  There came to me some special friends from Fenner’s Louisiana Battery, which was heavily engaged, losing several men and nearly all the horses.  Lieutenant Wat.  Tyler Cluverius, while standing on the top of the breastworks and turning towards his men to wave his sword, was shot through both shoulders, a very painful wound, but which the gallant young soldier made light of, pretending to be deeply mortified because “he had been shot in the back.”  Although an exceptional soldier, he was a most troublesome patient, because his strong desire to return to his command made him restless and dissatisfied, greatly retarding his recovery.  Indeed, he would not remain in bed or in his ward.  A more splendid-looking officer I never saw.  Better still, under his jacket of gray there beat a heart instinct with every virtue which belongs by nature to a Virginia gentleman.  With the ladies of the “post” he became a prime favorite.  So kind and attentive were they that I gave myself little thought concerning him.  He was off and away in a wonderfully short time, for duty lay at the front and the strongest attractions could not outweigh its claims.