I pass over the sad leave-taking of our kind friends in Clarke and Winchester. It was very sad, because we knew not when and under what circumstances we might meet again. We left Winchester, in the stage, for Strasburg at ten o'clock at night, on the 24th of December. The weather was bitter cold, and we congratulated ourselves that the stage was not crowded. Mr.--and the girls were on the back seat, a Methodist clergyman, a soldier, and myself on the middle, and two soldiers and our maid Betsey on the front seat. We went off by starlight, with every prospect of a pleasant drive of eighteen miles. As we were leaving the suburbs of the town, the driver drew up before a small house, from which issued two women with a baby, two baskets, several bundles, and a box. The passengers began to shout out, Go on, driver; what do you mean? there's no room for another; go on. The driver made no answer, but the women came to the stage-door, and began to put in their bundles; the gentlemen protested that they could not get in — there was no room. The woman with the baby said she would get in ; she was agwine to Strasburg to spend Christmas with her relations, whar she was born and raised, and whar she had not been for ten year, and nobody had a better right to the stage than she had, and she was agwine, and Kitty Grim was agwine too-she's my sister-law ; and so is baby, ‘cause baby never did see her relations in Strasburg in her life. So, Uncle Ben! she exclaimed to the driver, take my bag, basket, and box by you, and me and Kitty and baby, and the bundles and the little basket, will go inside. All this was said amidst violent protestations from the men within: You can't get in; driver, go on. But suiting the action to the word, she opened the door, calling, Come, Kitty, got on the step, and thrust her head in, saying: If these gentlemen is gentlemen, and has got any politeness, they will git out and set with Uncle Ben, and let ladies come inside. A pause ensued. At last a subdued tone from the soldier on the middle seat was heard to say: Madam, if you will get off the step, I will get out. Very well, sir; and why didn't you do that at first? And now, said she, looking at a man on the front seat, there's another seat by Uncle Ben; sposen you git out and let Kitty Grim have your seat; she's bound to go. The poor man quietly got out, without saying a word, but the very expression of his back, as he got out of the stage, was subdued. Now, Kitty, git in, and bring the little basket and them two bundles; they won't pester the lady much. The door was closed, and then, the scene being over, the passengers shouted with laughter.

Our heroine remained perfectly passive until we got to the picket-post, a mile from town. The driver stopped; a soldier came up for passports. She was thunder-struck. Passes! Passes for white folks! I never heard of such a thing. I ain't got no pass ; nuther is Kitty Grim. I suggested to her to keep quiet, as the best policy. Just at that time a Tennessee soldier had to confess that he had forgotten to get a passport. You can't go on, said the official; and the soldier got out. Presently the woman's turn came. Madam, your passport, if you please. I ain't got none; nuther is Kitty Grim (that's my sisterin-law); we ain't agwine to git out nuther, ‘cause we's gwine to Strasburg to spend Christmas with my relations, and I ain't been thar for ten year, and I never heard of white folks having passes. But, madam, began the official-You needn't to but, madam, me, ‘cause I ain't agwine to git out, and I'd like to see the man what would put me out. This is a free country, and I'se agwine to Strasburg this night; so you might as well take your lantern out of my face. But, madam, my orders, began the picket. Don't tell me nothing 'bout orders; I don't care nothing 'bout orders; and you needn't think, ‘cause the Tennessee man got out, that I'se agwine to git out-‘cause I ain't. Ain't I got three sons in the army, great sight bigger than you is? and they fit at Manassas, and they ain't no cowards, nuther is their mother; and I ain't agwine to git out of this stage this night, but I'm gwine to Strasburg, whar I was born and raised.

The poor man looked non-plussed, but yet another effort; he began, My dear madam. I ain't none of your dear madam; I'se just a free white woman, and so is Kitty Grim, and we ain't no niggers to git passes, and I'se gwine ‘long this pike to Strasburg. Now I'se done talking. With this she settled herself on the seat, and leant back with a most determined air; and the discomfited man shut the door amid peals of laughter from within and from without. In a few minutes we were quiet again, and all began to settle themselves for sleep, when the silence was broken by our heroine: Kitty, is you sick? No, said Kitty. Well, it is a wonder. Gentlemen, can't one of you take Kitty's seat, and give her yourn? she gits monstrous sick when she is ariding with her back to the horses. There was a deathlike silence, and my curiosity was aroused to know how she would manage that point. After a few moments she began again. Kitty, is you sick? No, says Kitty, not yit. Well, I do wish one of you gentlemen would give Kitty his seat. Still no reply. All was becoming quiet again, when she raised her voice: Kitty Grim, is you sick? Yes, said Kitty, just a little. I knowed it; I knowed she was sick; and when Kitty Grim gits sick, she most in gineral flings up! The effect was electric. My dear madam, exclaimed both gentlemen at once, take my seat; by all means take my seat. The Methodist clergyman being nearest, gave up his seat and took hers. The change was soon effected amidst the most uproarious laughter, all feeling that they were fairly outgeneralled the third time. From that time until we reached Strasburg, at two o'clock, she kept up a stream of talk, addressed to the baby, never interrupted except once, when the quiet-looking soldier on the front seat ventured to say, Madam, do you never sleep? Never when I'm a-travelling, was the curt reply; and she talked on to the baby: Look at all them mules-what a sight of fodder they must eat! The Yankees come down to fight us, ‘cause we'se got niggers and they ain't got none. I wish there warn't no niggers. I hate Yankees, and I hate niggers too, etc., until we got to Strasburg. She then called out to Uncle Ben not to carry her to the depot-she was agwine to her uncle's. Whar's that? cried Uncle Ben. I don't know, but monstrous nigh a tailor's. One of the passengers suggested that we might be left by the cars, and had better go on to the depot. But she objected, and we had become a singularly non-resisting company, and allowed her to take-what we knew she would have-her own way.

In the mean time the cars arrived, crowded with soldiers. It was very dark and cold; the confusion and noise were excessive-shouting, hallooing, hurrahing. We passed through the dense crowd, and into the cars, with some difficulty. Mr. -- returned to look for the baggage. At last all seemed ready, and off we went; but what was our horror to find that Mr.-- was not in the cars! All the stories that we had ever heard of persons being thrown from the train as they attempted to get on, arose to our imagination. The darkness and crowd were great. Might he not have been thrown from the platform? We became more and more uneasy. The conductor came by; I questioned him, thinking he might be in another car. He replied, No, madam, there is no such gentleman on the train. At this moment the Methodist minister, who had been in the stage, introduced himself as the Rev. Mr. Jones; he knew Mr.--; he offered me his purse and his protection. I can never forget his kindness. He thought Mr.-- had not attempted to get on the train; there was so much baggage from the stage that there was some difficulty in arranging it ; he would telegraph from Manassas when we stopped to change cars, and the answer would meet us at Culpeper Court-House. All this was a great relief to us. At Manassas he attended to our baggage; one piece was wanting-a box, which Mr. J. had seen in Mr.--‘s hands, just before the train set off; he seemed convinced that Mr.--was detained by an ineffectual effort to get that box on the car. At Culpeper Court-House we found J. waiting for us at the depot. Our kind and Rev. friend did not give up his supervision of us until he saw us under J's care. We immediately applied at the office for our expected telegram; but it was not there. As it was Christmas-day, the office was closed at a very early hour, which seemed to me a strange arrangement, considering the state of the country. J. felt no uneasiness about his father, but was greatly disappointed, as he had expected to pass that day with him. I had heard in Winchester that my nephew, W. B. Phelps, had been wounded in the unfortunate fight at Dranesville, and felt great uneasiness about him; but J. had seen persons directly from Centreville, who reported him slightly wounded. This relieved my mind, but it was most unfortunate; for, had I known the truth, I should have gone on the return train to Manassas, and thence to Centreville, for the purpose of nursing him. We spent Christmas-day at the hotel, and dined with a number of soldiers. In the afternoon we were very much gratified to meet with the family of our neighbour, Captain J. The Captain is stationed here, and the ladies have made themselves very comfortable. We took tea with them, and talked over our mutual troubles: our lost homes-our scattered families and friends.

The next morning the train came at the usual hour, bringing Mr.-- . Some difficulty in putting a small box of books on the car had caused a slight detention, and as he was almost in the act of stepping on board, the train moved off, and there he was, left in the dead of a winter's night, without shelter, (for, strange to say, there is no stationhouse at Strasburg,) without light, and with no one to whom he could apply for assistance. He walked back to the village, and there, to use his own expression, he verily thought he should have to spend the freezing night in the street. At a number of houses he knocked loud and long, but not a door was opened to him. At last a young man in an office, after giving scrutinizing glances through the window, opened his door and gave him a chair by his fire, assigning as a reason for the difficulty in getting accommodations, that the number of disorderly soldiers passing through the village made it dangerous to open the houses during the night. At daybreak he got on a freight train, hoping to find at Manassas the means of getting to Culpeper Court-House that night. In this he was disappointed, and had a most unpleasant trip on the train, which did not reach Manassas until sunset. There he found no place to sleep, and nothing to eat, until a colonel, whose name he unfortunately has forgotten, invited him to his quarters in the country. He accepted the invitation most gladly, and as it was very dark, he took a servant as a guide, who proved to know no more about the way than he did; so that both blundered and stumbled along a muddy lane, over fences, through a corn-field, over the stalks and corn-beds, until, by what seemed a mere accident, they came upon the longed — for house and found rest for the night. Next morning we joined him on the train, delighted to see him safe and sound, feeling that all's well that ends well ; we proceeded pleasantly on our journey. J. accompanied us as far as Gordonsville, that he might have two hours with his father. That evening we reached this place after dark, and found a house full of friends and relatives — the house at S. H. also full-so that it was a real family gathering, as in days of yore; and to add to our pleasure, our dear W. B. N. was at home on furlough. Here we see nothing of war, except the uniform of the furloughed soldiers and the retrenchment in the style of living. Desserts and wine are abolished; all superfluities must go to the soldiers. In some respects we are beginning to feel the blockade; groceries are becoming scarce and high in price, but the ladies are becoming wonderfully ingenious-coffee is so judiciously blended with parched corn, wheat or rye, that you scarcely detect the adulteration. The dressy Southern girls are giving up their handsome bonnets, wrappings, and silk dresses; they are perfectly willing to give up what once they considered absolutely necessary to their wardrobes. They say they do not enjoy such things now; they are, however, bright and cheerful; they sing patriotic songs to their furloughed friends, and listen with undying interest to anecdotes of the battle-field, with tears for the fallen, sympathy for the wounded, and the most enthusiastic admiration for deeds of daring, or for the patient endurance of the soldier. It is delightful to see the unanimity of feeling, the oneness of heart, which pervades Virginia at this time; and we believe it is so throughout the South.

We were, however, soon saddened by a letter from Centreville, from a comrade of our dear Willie Phelps to my brother, saying that the wound was more severe than it was at first supposed. He immediately set out for Centreville, but none of us dreamed of real danger. The reports came from him less and less favourable; I wanted to go to him, but the letters were discouraging to me-There was no room for me; ladies would be in the way in so small a hospital; and some strange hallucination and blindness to danger led us to abandon the idea of going to him. We knew that he had lost his arm, but did not dream of danger to his life. His mother, at her home in Covington, Kentucky, saw his name among the wounded, and notwithstanding the cold and ice, set off alone-came through Pittsburg and to Baltimore without difficulty, thence to Washington; but there no passport could be obtained to come to Virginia. Her son was but twenty miles off, certainly wounded; she knew no more. She applied in person to the proper authorities: Is your son in the rebel camp? was asked. Then no passport can be given you to visit him. She remembered that General McClellan (who had been a friend in the old army of her son-in-law, General McIntosh) was in the city. She drove to his house. Mrs. McClellan expressed great sympathy for her, and for your son, the interesting young man I met with in Cincinnati, but regretted that General McClellan was too ill to be spoken to on any subject; he was under the influence of anodynes, etc, etc. She then drove to the house of Mr. Chase, who had been for many years at the bar with her husband, and on most friendly terms. The servant replied pompously that Mr. Chase never saw company at that hour. She then sent for Miss C. The daughter very politely regretted that her father could not be seen until the next day at ten. She could do nothing but return to the hotel for another night of suspense. Next morning, in passing through the parlours, she encountered a lady from her own State, who greeted her pleasantly; she was preparing to entertain her friends — it was New Year's day. Won't you be with us, Mrs. P.? You may meet some old friends. An apology for declining the invitation was given, by a simple statement of her object in coming to Washington. Where is your son? In the Southern army. Oh, she exclaimed, not in the rebel camp! Not a rebel! and she curled her loyal lip in scorn. Yes, was the quiet reply, he is what you call a rebel; but it is the honoured name which Washington bore; and with a spirit not soothed by her countrywoman, she passed on to the street, got into a carriage, and proceeded to the house of Mr. Chase. It was ten o'clock-surely there could be no obstacle now. He soon entered-she introduced herself and her subject. Mr. C. was polite, but professed to be able to do nothing for her: I am not the proper person to whom such an application should be made. I know that; but to whom shall I apply? He said, He did not know how to advise her; the case was a difficult one; your son is in the rebel camp; I think that you cannot get a passport. She then, in a state of despair, exclaimed, Oh, Mr. Chase, he is the son of your old acquaintance, Mr.--! He was at once touched. Are you his widow? Yes. But how came your son to join the rebels? Because his father and myself were both Virginians; he was educated in Virginia, and his whole heart is in the Southern cause. He immediately wrote a note to Mr. Seward, which he advised her to deliver in person; it would probably produce the desired effect. To Mr. Seward's she drove. The servant invited her in, but supposed that the Secretary could not attend to business, as it was New Year's day. The note was sent up; an attache soon came down to say that the Secretary could not be seen, but that a passport would be given her, to go at least as far as Fortress Monroe-no passport could be given to go immediately to Centreville. She was thankful for this permission; but it seemed too hard that she should be obliged to go around hundreds of miles, when the object could be accomplished by going twenty.

She took the evening train to Baltimore, thence, next morning, to Fortress Monroe; she reached it in safety that evening. The boat was visited by a provost-marshal as soon as it touched the wharf, who, after examining passports, took hers, and some others, to General Wool. An answer from this high officer was long delayed, but at last it was brought. She could not land, but must return in the boat to Baltimore; it would leave for Baltimore next morning. She poured out her griefs to the officer, who, sympathizing with her story, said he would again apply to General Wool. He soon returned to say that she might land, and her case would be examined into next morning. Next day she was requested to walk into General Wool's office. He asked why she wanted to go to Virginia. The story was soon told. Then the stereotyped question: Is your son in the rebel army? with the usual answer. Then, he replied, you cannot go. Despair took possession of her soul. She forgot her own situation, and, with the eloquence of a mother, almost frantic with anxiety, she pleaded her cause. Even the obdurate heart of General Wool was moved. He asked her what she knew of the army at Washington. She replied, that she knew nothing; she had only seen the soldiers who passed her on the street. What have you seen of our army here? Nothing, for I have been too unhappy to think of it, and only left my room when summoned by you. Then, said he, you may take the first boat to Norfolk. The hour for the departure of the boat came, her trunk was duly searched, and she came off to the dearly-loved Confederacy. She reached Norfolk too late for the cars, and had to wait until next day. On reaching Richmond, she heard that her son had been brought to this place, and was doing well. The next evening she arrived here in a carriage, and was shocked and disappointed to find that she had been misinformed. Heavy tidings reached us that night: he was not improving, as we had hoped, but decidedly worse. At two o'clock in the morning I accompanied her to the depot, eight miles off, and we went on to Manassas; reached the junction after night, and were met by our brother and W. B. N. They knew that we would be in the cars, and came to meet us. As they approached us, I saw, by the dim light of the carlamp, that their countenances were sad. My heart sunk within me. What could it be? Why had they both left him? She had not seen them, and said to me, Come, we must get an ambulance and go to Centreville to-night. But in another moment the whole was told. Her child had died that morning, just ten hours before. Who can describe that night of horrors? We spent it in a small house near the depot. Friends and near kindred were full of sympathy, and the people in whose house we were, were kind and considerate. The captain of his company, a noble young friend from her own home, Covington, came to see her, and to condole with her; but her first-born was not — the darling of her heart had passed away! At daylight we were in the cars again, on our melancholy return. On the third day his dear remains were brought to us, and the mother saw her heroic son, in his plain soldier's coffin, but beautiful in death, committed to God's own earth, having fallen in a glorious cause, in the faith of the Gospel, and with a bright hope of a blessed immortality. The young Kentucky friend who accompanied his remains told her his last words, which were a wonderful consolation to her: Tell my mother that I die in the faith of Christ; her early instructions have been greatly blessed to me; and my last word is, Mother. This was said in extreme weakness. He soon slept, and never awoke in this world. One young soldier said to me that night, at Manassas: He was one of the bravest men I ever saw, and met death like a soldier. Another said: He died like a Christian. Scarcely had we buried him, when news was brought us that her younger, now her only son, was desperately ill on the steamer Jamestown, on James River-he belongs to our navy. She hurried to Richmond, and thence down the river to the steamer, but found him better. He was soon well enough to accompany her to this place. She had left her home suddenly, and must return to it; so, after a few days with her boy, who is now decidedly convalescent, she has left him in our care, and has set off on her weary way home. She will probably meet with no difficulties on her return, from officials, as she has passports through our lines; but she has a lonely, dreary way before her, and a sorrowful story for her young daughter at home. God be with her!

For two weeks my diary has been a closed book. After another week at W., we went to the Presbyterian Parsonage, to join the refugee family who had gathered within its walls. They had made themselves comfortable, and it had quite a home-like appearance. After remaining there a day or two, Mr.----received a letter, announcing his appointment to a clerkship in the Post-Office Department. The pleasure and gratitude with which it is received is only commensurate with the necessity which made him apply for it. It seems a strange state of things which induces a man, who has ministered and served the altar for thirty-six years, to accept joyfully a situation purely secular, for the sole purpose of making his living; but no chaplaincy could be obtained except on the field, which would neither suit his health, his age, nor his circumstances. His salary will pay his board and mine in Richmond, and the girls will stay in the country until they or I can obtain writing from Government-note-signing from Mr. Memminger, or something else. We are spending a few days with our niece, Mrs. H. A. C., until we can find board. Mr. has entered upon the duties of his office, which he finds confining, but not very arduous. To-morrow I shall go in pursuit of quarters.

The city is overrun with members of Congress, Government officers, office-seekers, and strangers generally.

Spent this day in walking from one boarding-house to another, and have returned fatigued and hopeless. I do not believe there is a vacant spot in the city. A friend, who considers herself nicely fixed, is in an uncarpeted room, and so poorly furnished, that, besides her trunk, she has only her wash-stand drawer in which to deposit her goods and chattels; and yet she amuses herself at it, and seems never to regret her handsomely furnished chamber in Alexandria.

Walking all day, with no better success. No vacant room is the universal answer. I returned at dinner-time, wearied in mind and body. I have been cheered by suggestions that perhaps Mrs.--, with a large family and small income, may take boarders; or Mrs.--, with a large house and small family, may do the same.

I have called on the two ladies mentioned above. The lady with the small income has filled her rooms, and wishes she had more to fill. She of the large house and small family had never dreamed of taking boarders, was surprised that such a thing had been suggested, looked cold and lofty, and meant me to feel that she was far too rich for that. I bowed myself out, feeling not a little scornful of such airs, particularly as I remembered the time when she was not quite so grand I went on my way speculating on the turning of the wheel of fortune, until I reached the house of an old acquaintance, and rang her bell, hoping that she might take in wanderers. This I did not venture to suggest, but told her my story in pitiful tones. She was all sympathy, and would be glad to take us in, but for the reserve of a bachelor brother to whom the house belonged. She appreciated the situation, and advised me to call on Mrs. on-- Street. Nothing daunted by past experience, I bent my steps to — Street, and soon explained my object to Mrs.--. She had had vacant rooms until two days ago, but a relative had taken both. Though she spoke positively, she looked doubtful, and I thought I saw indecision in the expression of her mouth. I ventured to expostulate: Perhaps the lady might be induced to give up one room. She hesitated, and gave me an inquiring look. I told her my history. An Episcopal minister, she exclaimed; I'm an Episcopalian, and would be delighted to have a minister in the house. Do you think he would have prayers for us sometimes? Oh, certainly, it would gratify him very much. Well, the lady is not at home to-day, but when she comes I will try to persuade her to do it. Call on Monday. I thanked her, and was walking out, when she called me back, saying, You will not expect a constant fire in the parlour, will you? Oh, no; I can take my visitors to my own room. Well, I may be out on Monday morning; come in the evening. I returned very much pleased, and received the congratulations of my friends, who are taking much interest in our welfare.

We are suffering great uneasiness about the country. The enemy is attacking Roanoke Island furiously. General Wise is there, and will do all that can be done; but fears are entertained that it has not been properly fortified.

Painful rumours have been afloat all day. Fort Henry, on Tennessee River, has been attacked.

We went to St. James's this morning, and St. Paul's tonight. When we returned we found Mr. N. and Brother J. awaiting us. They are very anxious and apprehensive about Roanoke Island.

Still greater uneasiness about Roanoke Island. It is so important to us — is said to be the key to Norfolk; indeed, to all Eastern North Carolina, and Southeastern Virginia. We dread to-morrow's papers.

The lady on-- Street has disappointed me. She met me with a radiant smile when I went to see her this evening, say ing, She agrees; she must, however, remove the wardrobe and bureau, as she wants them herself; but there's a closet in the room, which will answer for a wardrobe, and I reckon that a table with a glass on it will do for a bureau. Oh, yes; only give me a good bed, some chairs and a washstand, and I can get along very well. Can I see the room? Yes; it is a back-room in the third story, but I reckon you won't mind that. My heart did sink a little at that communication, when I remembered Mr.--‘s long walks from

Roanoke Island has fallen — no particulars heard.

The loss of Roanoke Island is a terrible blow. The loss of life not very great. The Richmond Blues were captured, and their Captain, the gifted and brave 0. Jennings Wise, is among the fallen. My whole heart overflows towards his family; for, though impetuous in public, he was gentle and affectionate at home, and they always seemed to look upon him with peculiar tenderness. He is a severe loss to the country. Captain Coles, of Albemarle, has also fallen. He was said to be an interesting young man, and a gallant soldier. The Lord have mercy upon our stricken country 13th.-Donelson is holding out bravely. I shudder to think of the loss of life.

Notwithstanding the rain this morning, I renewed my pursuit after lodgings. With over-shoes, cloak and umbrella, I defied the storm, and went over to

The wires are cut somewhere between this and Tennessee. We hear nothing farther West than Lynchburg; rumours are afloat that Donelson has fallen. We are too unhappy about it to think of any thing else.

We are now in our own comfortable little room on

Notwithstanding the violence of the rain yesterday, the Capitol Square, the streets around it, and the adjacent houses, were crowded. The President stood at the base of that noble equestrian statue of Washington, and took the oath which was taken by the Father of his country more than seventy years ago-just after the great rebellion, in the success of which we all, from Massachusetts to Georgia, so heartily gloried. No.wonder that he spoke as if he were inspired. Was it not enough to inspire him to have the drawn sword of Washington, unsheathed in defence of his invaded country, immediately over his head, while the other hand of his great prototype points encouragingly to the South? Had he not the life-like representations of Jefferson, George Mason, and, above all, of Patrick Henry, by his side? The latter with his scroll in his outstretched hand, his countenance beaming, his lips almost parted, and seeming on the point of bursting into one blaze of eloquence in defence of his native South. How could Southern tongues remain quiet, or Southern hearts but burn within us, when we beheld our heroes, living and dead, surrounding and holding up the hands of our great chief? By him stood his cabinet, composed of the talent and the patriotism of the land; then was heard the voice of our beloved Assistant Bishop, in tones of fervid eloquence, beseeching the blessings of Heaven on our great undertaking. I would that every young man, from the Potomac to the Rio Grande, could have witnessed the scene.

Last night was the first levee. The rooms were crowded. The President looked weary and grave, but was all suavity and cordiality, and Mrs. Davis won all hearts by her usual unpretending kindness. I feel proud to have those dear old rooms, arousing as they do so many associations of my childhood and youth, filled with the great, the noble, the fair of our land, every heart beating in unison, with one great object in view, and no wish beyond its accomplishment, as far as this world is concerned. But to-day is Saturday, and I must go to the hospital to take care of our sickparticularly to nurse our little soldier-boy. Poor child, he is very ill!

Nothing new or important in our army. We were relieved to hear that the number who surrendered at Donelson was not so great as at first reported; the true number is 1,000, which is too many for us to lose! I trust they may be kindly treated. I know that we have friends at the North, but will they dare to be friendly openly? Oh, I hope they may have mercy on our prisoners! We have had some hope of recognition by France and England, but they still look on with folded arms.

Last Friday was the third day appointed by our President as a day of fasting and prayer within nine months. The churches were filled to overflowing, with, I trust, heart-worshippers, and I believe that God, in his great mercy, will direct our Government and our army.

In statu quo as far as our armies are concerned. The Nashville, a Confederate steamer, that has been watched by eight Federal war vessels, came into port the other day, at Beaufort, North Carolina, after many hairbreadth escapes, bringing a rich burden.

This morning Dr. Wilmer gave us a delightful sermon at St. Paul's. He will be consecrated to-morrow Bishop of Alabama. To-night Bishop Elliott of Georgia preached for us, on the power of thought for good or evil. I do admire him so much in every respect.

To-day we saw Bishop Wilmer consecrated-Bishop Meade presiding, Bishops Johns and Elliott assisting. The services were very imposing, but the congregation was grieved by the appearance of Bishop Meade; he is so feeble! As he came down the aisle, when the consecration services were about to commence, every eye was fixed on him; it seemed almost impossible for him to reach the chancel, and while performing the services he had to be supported by the other Bishops. Oh, how it made my heart ache! and the immense crowd was deeply saddened by it.

Just returned from the hospital. Several severe cases of typhoid fever require constant attention. Our little Alabamian seems better, but so weak! I left them for a few moments to go to see Bishop Meade; he sent for me to his room. I was glad to see him looking better, and quite cheerful. Bishops Wilmer and Elliott came in, and my visit was very pleasant. I returned to my post by the bedside of the soldiers. Some of them are very fond of hearing the Bible read; and I am yet to see the first soldier who has not received with apparent interest any proposition of being read to from the Bible. To-day, while reading, an elderly man of strong, intelligent face sat on the side of the bed, listening with interest. I read of the wars of the Israelites and Philistines. He presently said, I know why you read that chapter; it is to encourage us, because the Yankee armies are so much bigger than ours; do you believe that God will help us because we are weak? No, said I, but I believe that if we pray in faith, as the Israelites did, that God will hear us. Yes, he replied, but the Philistines didn't pray, and the Yankees do; and though I can't bear the Yankees, I believe some of them are Christians, and pray as hard as we do; [ Monstrous few on 'em, grunted out a man lying near him;] and if we pray for one thing, and they pray for another, I don't know what to think of our prayers clashing. Well, but what do you think of the justice of our cause? don't you believe that God will hear us for the justice of our cause? Our cause, he exclaimed, yes, it is just; God knows it is just. I never thought of looking at it that way before, and I was mighty uneasy about the Yankee prayers. I am mightily obleeged to you for telling me. Where are you from? I asked. From Georgia. Are you not over forty-five? Oh, yes, I am turned of fifty, but you see I am monstrous strong and well; nobody can beat me with a rifle, and my four boys were a-coming. My wife is dead, and my girls are married; and so I rented out my land, and came too; the country hasn't got men enough, and we mustn't stand back on account of age, if we are hearty. And truly he has the determined countenance, and bone and sinew, which make a dangerous foe on the battle-field. I wish we had 50,000 such men. He reminds me of having met with a very plain-looking woman in a store the other day. She was buying Confederate gray cloth, at what seemed a high price. I asked her why she did not apply to the quartermaster, and get it cheaper. Well, she replied, I knows all about that, for my three sons is in the army; they gets their clothes thar; but you see this is for my old man, and I don't think it would be fair to get his clothes from thar, because he ain't never done nothing for the country as yet-he's just gwine in the army. Is he not very old to go into the army? Well, he's fifty-four years old, but he's well and hearty like, and ought to do something for his country. So he says to me, says he, The country wants men; I wonder if I could stand marching; I've a great mind to try. Says I, Old man, I don't think you could, you would break down; but I tell you what you can do-you can drive a wagon in the place of a young man that's driving, and the young man can fight. Says he, So I will-and he's agwine just as soon as I gits these clothes ready, and that won't be long. But won't you be very uneasy about him? said I. Yes, indeed; but you know he ought to go — them wretches must be drove away. Did you want your sons to go? Want 'em to go! she exclaimed; yes; if they hadn't agone, they shouldn't a-staid whar I was. But they wanted to go, my sons did. Two days ago, I met her again in a baker's shop; she was filling her basket with cakes and pies. Well, said I, has your husband gone? No, but he's agwine tomorrow, and I'm getting something for him now Don't you feel sorry as the time approaches for him to go? Oh, yes, I shall miss him mightily; but I ain't never cried about it; I never shed a tear for the old man, nor for the boys neither, and I ain't agwine to. Them Yankees must not come a-nigh to Richmond; if they does, I will fight them myself. The women must fight, for they shan't cross Mayo's Bridge; they shan't git to Richmond. I said to her, You are a patriot. Yes, honey-ain't you? Ain't everybody? I was sorry to leave this heroine in homespun, but she was too busy buying cakes, etc., for the old man, to be interrupted any longer.

The family of Captain-- , of the navy, just arrived. They have been refugeeing in Warrenton; but now that there is danger of our army falling back from the Potomac to the Rappahannock, they must leave Warrenton, and are on their way to Danville. Their sweet home is utterly destroyed; the house burned, etc. Like ourselves, they feel as though their future was very dark.

Yesterday we heard good news from the mouth of James River. The ship Virginia, formerly the Merrimac, having been completely incased with iron, steamed out into Hampton Roads, ran into the Federal vessel Cumberland, and then destroyed the Congress, and ran the Minnesota ashore. Others were damaged. We have heard nothing further; but this is glory enough for one day, for which we will thank God and take courage.

Our hearts are overwhelmed to-day with our private grief. Our connection, Gen. James McIntosh, has fallen in battle. It was at Pea Ridge, Arkansas, on the 7th, while making a dashing cavalry charge. He had made one in which he was entirely successful, but seeing the enemy reforming, he exclaimed, We must charge again. My men, who will follow me? He then dashed off, followed by his whole brigade. The charge succeeded, but the leader fell, shot through the heart. The soldiers returned, bearing his body! My dear J. and her little Bessie are in Louisiana. I groan in heart when I think of her. Oh that I were near her, or that she could come to us! These are the things which are so unbearable in this war. That noble young man, educated at West Point, was Captain in the army, and resigned when his native Georgia seceded. He soon rose to the rank of Brigadier, but has fallen amid the flush of victory, honoured, admired and beloved by men and officers. He has been buried at Fort Smith. The Lord have mercy upon his wife and child! I am thankful that he had no mother to add to the heart-broken mothers of this land. The gallant Texas Ranger, General Ben McCulloch, fell on the same day; he will be sadly missed by the country. In my selfishness I had almost forgotten him, though he doubtless has many to weep in heart-sickness for their loved and lost.

Bishop Meade is desperately ill to-day-his life despaired of.

Our beloved Bishop Meade is dead! His spirit returned to the God who gave, redeemed, and sanctified it, this morning about seven o'clock. The Church in Virginia mourns in sackcloth for her great earthly head. We knew that he must die, but this morning, when we had assembled for early prayers, it was announced to us from the pulpit, a thrill of anguish pervaded the congregation, which was evident from the death-like stillness. A hymn was read, but who could then sing? A subdued effort was at last made, and the services proceeded. Like bereaved children we mingled our prayers and tears, and on receiving the benediction, we went silently out, as in the pressure of some great public calamity, and some bitter, heartfelt sorrow. Thus, just one week after the solemn public services in which he had been engaged, it pleased Almighty God to remove him from his work on earth to his rest in heaven During his last illness, though often suffering intensely, he never forgot his interest in public affairs. The blessed Bible was first read to him, each morning, and then the news of the day. He had an eye for every thing; every movement of Government, every march of the troops, the aspect of Europe, and the Northern States, every thing civil and military, and all that belonged to God's Church upon earthdying as he had lived, true to Virginia, true to the South, true to the Church, and true to the Lord his God.

Spent to-day at the hospital. Heard of the shelling of Newbern, N. C., and of its fall. My heart sickens at every acquisition of the Federals. No further news from Arkansas. Yesterday evening L went to see the body of our dear Bishop; cut a piece of his hair; kissed his forehead, and took my last look at that revered face.

This morning I was at the funeral, at St. Paul's Church; the service was read by the Rev. J. P. McGuire and Rev. C. J. Gibson. Bishop Johns made a most solemn address. The procession, long and sad, then wended its way to Hollywood Cemetery.

Our army has fallen back to the Rappahannock, thus giving up the splendid Valley and Piedmont country to the enemy. This, I suppose, is right, but it almost breaks our hearts to think of it. Winchester was occupied last Wednesday! Lord, how long shall our enemies prosper? Give us grace to bear our trials.

Our people continue to make every effort to repel the foe, who, like the locusts of Egypt, overrun our land, carrying the bitterest enmity and desolation wherever they go. Troops are passing through Richmond on their way to Goldsborough, N. C., where it is said that Burnside is expected to meet them. Everybody is busy in supplying their wants as they pass through. On Sunday, just as the girls of one of the large seminaries were about to seat themselves at table, the principal of the school came in: Young ladies, said he, several extra trains have arrived, unexpectedly, filled with troops. The committee appointed to attend them are totally unprepared. What can we do to help our hungry soldiers? Give them our dinner, cried every young voice at once. In five minutes baskets were filled and the table cleared. When the girls reached the cars, the street was thronged with ladies, gentlemen, children, servants, bearing waiters, dishes, trays, baskets filled with meats, bread, vegetables, etc. Every table in Richmond seemed to have sent its dinner to

This has been a day of uneasiness to us all. General Jackson has had a fight at Kernstown, near Winchester. No particulars, except that the enemy were repulsed, and our loss heavy. Many that are so dear to us are in that Stonewall Brigade; and another day of suspense must pass before we can hear from them. Our Western army under Beauregard are fighting at Island No.10, with what success we know not. The enemy presses us on every side.

After much anxiety, more authentic information from the Valley received this morning. We gave them a good fight, but the field was left in the enemy's hand. Poor, noble Winchester, to what degradation is she brought! Our dear W. B. C. was shot through the hip; the wound painful, but not mortal; he was carried to Staunton, and his mother has gone to him. The rest of our own peculiar boys are safe, but many lives were lost. It is thought that a great crisis is at hand. The Peninsula is the place appointed by rumour for a great battle. The croakers dread much from their numbers; my trust is in One who can save by many or by few.

Just returned from a little trip to the country in time to hear the morning news of a splendid victory yesterday, at Shiloh. No particulars received. Skirmishing near Yorktown reported; nothing definite.

Our victory at Shiloh complete, but General Albert Sydney Johnston was killed. The nation mourns him as one of our most accomplished officers. He fell while commanding in the thickest of the fight. It is an overwhelming loss to the Western army, and to the whole country. Beauregard pursued the enemy, but their General (Grant) having been reinforced very largely, our army had to retreat to Corinth, which they did in good order. This was done by order of General Johnston, should Buell reinforce Grant. They are now at Corinth, awaiting an attack from the combined forces. Van Dorn reinforced Beauregard. We are anxiously awaiting the result.

Spent yesterday in the hospital by the bedside of Nathan Newton, our little Alabamian. I closed his eyes last night at ten o'clock, after an illness of six weeks. His body, by his own request, will be sent to his mother. Poor little boy! He was but fifteen, and should never have left his home. It was sad to pack his knapsack, with his little gray suit, and coloured shirts, so neatly stitched by his poor mother, of whom he so often spoke, calling to us in delirium, Mother, mother, or, Mother, come here. He so often called me mother, that I said to him one day, when his mind was clear, Nathan, do I look like your mother? No, ma'am, not a bit; nobody is like my mother. The packing of his little knapsack reminds me of The jacket of gray. Fold it up carefully, lay it aside, Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride, For dear must it be to our hearts evermore, The jacket of gray, our loved soldier-boy wore. Can we ever forget when he joined the brave band Who rose in defence of our dear Southern land, And in his bright youth hurried on to the fray- How proudly he donned it, the jacket of gray? His fond mother blessed him, and looked up above, Commending to Heaven the child of her love; What anguish was hers, mortal tongue may not say, When he passed from her sight in his jacket of gray. But his country had called him, she would not repine, Though costly the sacrifice placed on its shrine; Her heart's dearest hopes on the altar she lay, When she sent out her boy in his jacket of gray. Months passed, and war's thunders rolled over the land, Unsheathed was the sword, and lighted the brand; We heard in the distance the sound of the fray, And prayed for our boy in the jacket of gray. Ah, vain, all in vain, were our prayers and our tears; The glad shout of victory rang in our ears; But our treasured one on the battle-field lay, While the life-blood oozed out on the jacket of gray. Fold it up carefully, lay it aside, Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride, For dear must it be to our hearts evermore, The jacket of gray our loved soldier-boy wore. His young comrades found him, and tenderly bore The cold lifeless form to his home by the shore: Oh, dark were our hearts on that terrible day When we saw our dead boy in the jacket of gray. A, spotted and tattered, and stained now with gore, Was the garment which once he so proudly wore; We bitterly wept as we took it away, And replaced with death's white robes the jacket of gray. We laid him to rest in his cold, narrow bed, And ‘graved on the marble we placed o'er his head, As the proudest of tributes our sad hearts could pay, He never disgraced the poor jacket of gray. Fold it up carefully, lay it aside, Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride, For dear must it be to our hearts evermore, The jacket of gray our loved soldier-boy wore.

The Virginia went out again to-day. The Federal Monitor would not meet her, but ran to Fortress Monroe, either for protection, or to tempt her under the heavy guns of the fortress; but she contented herself by taking three brigs and one schooner, and carrying them to Norfolk, with their cargoes. Soldiers are constantly passing through town. Every thing seems to be in preparation for the great battle which is anticipated on the Peninsula.

Fort Pulaski has surrendered to the enemy's gun-boats. The garrison fought until several breaches were made. They then surrendered, and are now prisoners. Lord, have them in thy holy keeping

On Wednesday we saw eight thousand troops pass through town. We were anxious to see many who were among them. The sidewalks were thronged with ladies, many of them in tears. General C. passed with his brigade, containing the 17th, with its familiar faces. Colo nel H. and himself rode to the sidewalk for a shake of the hand, but the rest could only raise their hats in recognition. I knew the cavalry would pass through

The ladies are now engaged making sand-bags for the fortifications at Yorktown ; every lecture-room in town crowded with them, sewing busily, hopefully, prayerfully. Thousands are wanted. No battle, but heavy skirmishing at Yorktown. Our friend, Colonel McKinney, has fallen at the head of a North Carolina regiment. Fredericksburg has been abandoned to the enemy. Troops passing through towards that point. What does it all portend? We are intensely anxious; our conversation, while busily sewing at St. Paul's Lecture-Room, is only of war. We hear of so many horrors committed by the enemy in the Valley-houses searched and robbed, horses taken, sheep, cattle, etc., killed and carried off, servants deserting their homes, churches desecrated!

The country is shrouded in gloom because of the fall of New Orleans! It was abandoned by General Lovell-necessarily, it is thought. Such an immense force was sent against the forts which protected it, that they could not be defended. The steamer Mississippi, which was nearly finished, had to be burnt. We hoped so much from its protection to the Mississippi River. Oh, it is so hard to see the enemy making such inroads into the heart of our country! it makes the chicken-hearted men and women despondent, but to the true and brave it gives a fresh stimulus for exertion. I met two young Kentuckians to-night who have come out from their homes, leaving family and fortunes behind, to help the South. After many difficulties, running the blockade across the Potomac, they reached Richmond yesterday, just as the news of the fall of New Orleans had overwhelmed the city. They are dreadfully disappointed by the tone of the persons they have met. They came burning with enthusiasm; and anything like depression is a shock to their excited feelings. One said to me that he thought he should return at once, as he had left every thing which made home desirable to help Virginia, and found her ready to give up. All the blood in my system boiled in an instant. Where, sir, said I, have you seen Virginians ready to give up their cause? Why, he replied, I have been lounging about the Exchange all day, and have heard the sentiments of the people. Lounging about the Exchange! And do you suppose that Virginians worthy of the name are now seen lounging about the Exchange? There you see the idlers and shirkers of the whole Southern army. No true man under forty-five is to be found there. Virginia, sir, is in the camp. Go there, and find the true men of the South. There they have been for one year, bearing the hardships, and offering their lives, and losing life and limb for the South; it is mournful to say how many! There you will find the chivalry of the South; and if Virginia does not receive you with the shout of enthusiasm which you anticipated, it is because the fire burns steadily and deeply; the surface blaze has long ago passed away. I honour you, and the many noble young Kentuckians who have left their homes for the sake of our country, but it will not do for Kentucky to curl the lip of scorn at Virginia. Virginia blushes, and silently mourns over her recreant daughter, and rejoices over every son of hers who has the disinterestedness to leave her and come to us in this hour of our bitter trial.

I do not believe that this young man really means, or wishes, to return; he only feels disheartened by the gloom caused by our great national loss.

The morning papers contain a most spirited letter by the Mayor of New Orleans, in reply to the Federal commander who demanded the surrender of the city, and that the Confederate flag should be taken down. He refuses to do either, telling him that the city is his by brute force, but he will never surrender it.

Our young friend, J. S. M., is here, very ill; I am assisting to nurse him. I feel most anxious about him; he and his four brothers are nobly defending their country. They have strong motives, personal as well as patriotic. Their venerable father and mother, and two young sisters, were forced to leave their comfortable home in Fairfax a year ago. The mother has sunk into the grave, an early sacrifice, while the father and sisters continue to be homeless. Their house has been burnt to the ground by Federal soldiers-furniture, clothing, important papers, all consumed. Sad as this story is, it is the history of so many families that it has ceased to call forth remark.

It is distressing to see how many persons are leaving Richmond, apprehending that it is in danger; but it will not — I know it will not-fall. It is said that the President does not fear; he will send his family away, because he thinks it is better for men, on whom the country's weal is so dependent, to be free from private anxiety. General Johnston is falling back from Yorktown, not intending to fight within range of the enemy's gun-boats. This makes us very anxious about Norfolk.

Yesterday we had a blessed Sabbath, undisturbed by rumours; it is generally a day of startling reports set afloat by idlers. The Bishop preached and administered confirmation at St. Paul's. The President was a candidate for confirmation, but was detained by business. It is such a blessing to have so many of our public men God-fearing, praying Christians!

Our peaceful Sabbath here was one of fearful strife at Williamsburg. We met and whipped the enemy Oh, that we could drive them from our land forever! Much blood spilt on both sides; our dear W. B. N. is reported missing --oh, that heart-sinking word! How short a time since that blessed glimpse of his bright face, as he passed through town, and now he is on his weary way to some Northern prison; at least we hope so. His poor wife and mother! Our young friend G. W. was killed! How many bright hopes were crushed in one instant by the fall of that boy I thank God that he had no mother. General Johnston still falls back, leaving the revered Alma Mater of our fathers to be desecrated, perhaps burned. A party of Yankees landed on Sunday at the White House. That Pamunky country, so fertile, now teeming with grain almost ready for the sickle, is at their mercy; we can only hope that they have no object in destroying it, and that they will not do it wantonly. W. and S. H. and their dear inmates are painfully near them. Richmond, or the croakers of Richmond, have been in a panic for two days, because of the appearance of gun-boats on James River. I believe they will not get nearer than they are now. I sat up last night at the hospital with D. L., who is desperately ill-his mother in the Federal lines. My companion during the night was Colonel M., of Maryland. While listening to the ravings of delirium, two gentlemen came in, announcing heavy firing on the river. We had been painfully conscious of the firing before, but remembering that Drury's Bluff was considered impregnable, I felt much more anxious about the patient than about the enemy. The gentlemen, however, were panic-stricken, and one of them seemed to think that sunrise would find gun-boats at Rocketts. Not believing it possible, I felt no alarm, but the apprehensions of others made me nervous and unhappy. At daybreak I saw loads of furniture passing by, showing that people were taking off their valuables.

Just returned from a visit to S. H. The family full of patriotism and very bright. While there, dear W's horse and servant came home. His family bore it well, considering imprisonment the least casualty that could have befallen him. If Richmond is invested, that beautiful country will be in the hands of the enemy; the families (except the gentlemen) will remain at home to protect the property as best they may. They are now sending corn, bacon, etc., into Richmond for safety. None but the croakers believe for an instant that it will fall.

Two hours ago we heard of the destruction of the Virginia by our own people. It is a dreadful shock to the community. We can only hope that it was wisely done. Poor Norfolk must be given up. I can write no more to-day.

General Jackson is doing so gloriously in the Valley that we must not let the fate of the Virginia depress us too much. On the 9th of May he telegraphed to General Cooper: God blessed our arms with victory at McDowell yesterday. Nothing more has been given us officially, but private information is received that he is in hot pursuit down the Valley. The croakers roll their gloomy eyes, and say, Ah, General Jackson is so rash! and a lady even assured me that he was known to be crazy when under excitement, and that we had every thing to fear from the campaign he was now beginning in the Valley. I would that every officer and soldier in the Southern army was crazed in the same way; how soon we would be free from despotism and invasion I

The anxiety of all classes for the safety of Richmond is now intense, though a strong faith in the goodness of God and the valour of our troops keeps us calm and hopeful. A gentleman, high in position, panic-struck, was heard to exclaim, yesterday: Norfolk has fallen, Richmond will fall, Virginia is to be given up, and tomor-row I shall leave this city, an exile and a beggar. Others are equally despondent, and, as is too frequently the case in times of trouble, attribute all our disasters to the incompetency and faithlessness of those entrusted with the administration of public affairs. Even General Lee does not escape animadversion, and the President is the subject of the most bitter maledictions. I have been shocked to hear that a counter-revolution, if not openly advocated, has been distinctly foreshadowed, as the only remedy for our ills. The public authorities of Richmond, greatly moved by the defenceless condition of the city, appointed a committee, and appropriated funds to aid in completing the obstructions at Drury's Bluff. The Legislature also appointed a committee to wait upon the President and ascertain the progress of the work. A member of this committee, a near connection of mine, has given me an account of their interview with Mr. Davis. He received them, as is his invariable custom, with marked cordiality and respect. The subject was opened by the chairman of the Senate Committee, who stated the object of the mission, and made appropriate inquiries for information. The President proceeded to give a distinct narrative of the progress of the work, expressed his great desire for its early completion, and regretted that the natural difficulties arising from frequent freshets in the river, which the efforts of man could not overcome, had rendered the progress of the work slow. He said he had just returned from a visit to the Bluff, accompanied by General Lee; and having heard complaints against the man in charge of the work, he had discharged him, and had appointed another, strongly recommended for efficiency. That the flood was now subsiding, and he thought he could assure the committee that the obstruction of the river would be complete in twenty-four hours. At this point the door-bell rang, and General Lee was announced. Ask General Lee in, said the President. The servant returned, saying that the General wished to see the President for a few moments in the ante-room. The President retired, met General Lee and the Secretary of the Navy, and soon returned to the committee. The conversation being renewed, some further inquiry was made with regard to Drury's Bluff. The President replied : I should have given you a very different answer to your question a few moments ago from that which I shall be compelled to give you now. Those traitors at Norfolk, I fear, have defeated our plans. What traitors? asked nearly every member of the committee at the same moment. He then proceeded to give a detail of the desertion of the captain and crew of a steamer engaged in transporting guns from Norfolk to Drury's Bluff, who had gone over to the enemy with vessel and cargo, and full information as to the unfinished condition of the works. A member of the committee asked: Can nothing be done to counteract these traitors? The President replied: Every thing will be done, I assure you, which can be done. The member continued: But, Mr. President, what will be done? The President politely declined to answer the question, saying there were some things that it was not proper to communicate. The member again pressed for the information, saying: This is a confidential meeting, and, of course, nothing transpiring here will reach the public. The President, with a smile on his countenance, said: Mr.--, I think there was much wisdom in the remark of old John Brown at Harper's Ferry: A man who is not capable of keeping his own secrets is not fit to be trusted with the business of other people. There was.no unpleasant feeling manifested in the committee, and the parting was kind and cordial on both sides; yet, next morning, it was rumoured on the streets that the President had been rude to the committee, and that the meeting had been extremely unpleasant. On the night of this meeting the river was obstructed by the sinking of the steamer Patrick Henry, and other vessels, in the channel. This, it is supposed, was the plan agreed upon by Mr. Davis and General Lee in their short interview. Several days have passed since this interview, and I trust that all is now safe. How thankful I am that I knew nothing of this until the danger was passed The Legislature is in almost constant session during these dark days. It contains many gentlemen of great intelligence and of ardent zeal in the public cause. The whole body is as true as steel, and its constant effort is to uphold the hands of the President, to fire the popular heart, and to bring out all the resources of Virginia in defence of the liberty and independence of the South. I am told that day after day, and night after night, thoughts that breathe and words that burn are uttered in that hall, which, in other days, has often rung with the eloquence of the noblest statesmen, patriots, and orators of the land. These proceedings are all in secret session, and, for prudential reasons, are withheld from the public; but are they never to see the light? Is no one taking note of them? I trust so, indeed, that the civil history of Virginia, during this great struggle, may not be lost to posterity.

The 16th was the day appointed by the President for fasting and prayer. The churches here were filled, as I trust they were all over the land.

General Jackson's career going on gloriously. After defeating Millroy, and Fre mont's advance in the Valley, and driving them back in confusion, so that nothing was to be feared from his threatened union with Banks, he pursued the enemy as far as Franklin, Pendleton County. Then returning, he marched on rapidly, captured Front Royal on the 23d, chasing the enemy through it at more than double-quick. Still pressing hard upon Banks, he gave him no rest night nor day, piercing his main column while retreating from Strasburg to Winchester — the rear part retreating towards Strasburg. On Sunday, 25th, the other part was routed at Winchester. At last accounts, Brigadier-General George H. Stuart was pursuing them with cavalry and artillery, and capturing many. I quote from the General's own telegram, dated Winchester, May 26th. And now, notwithstanding our condition in Richmond, our hearts and voices are attuned to praise, and our paeans are more loud and bright in contrast to our late distressing trials.

The booming of cannon, at no very distant point, thrills us with apprehension. We know that a battle is going on. God help us! Now let every heart be raised to the God of battles.

The battle continued yesterday near the field of the day before. We gained the day! For this victory we are most thankful. The enemy were repulsed with fearful loss; but our loss was great. The wounded were brought until a late hour last night, and to-day the hospitals have been crowded with ladies, offering their services to nurse, and the streets are filled with servants darting about, with waiters covered with snowy napkins, carrying refreshments of all kinds to the wounded. Many of the sick, wounded, and weary are in private houses. The roar of the cannon has ceased. Can we hope that the enemy will now retire? General Pettigrew is missing-it is thought captured. So many others missing, never, never to be found! Oh, Lord, how long! How long are we to be a prey to the most heartless of foes? Thousands are slain, and yet we seem no nearer the end than when we began!

Sad news from the Valley. The brave, gallant, dashing General Ashby has fallen! He was killed yesterday, in a vigorous attack made by the enemy on our rear-guard, at a point between Harrisonburg and Port Republic. The whole country will be shocked by the calamity, for it had a high appreciation of his noble character and achievements. General Jackson valued him very highly, as did both men and officers. His daring was wonderful, and wonderfully did he succeed in his dashing and heroic efforts. His sagacity in penetrating into the designs of the enemy seemed almost intuitive.

From General Jackson's telegram announcing the death of General Ashby.

General Jackson is performing prodigies of valor in the Valley; he has met the forces of Fremont and Shields, and whipped them in detail. They fought at Cross Keys and Port Republic yesterday and to-day. I must preserve his last dispatch, it is so characteristic:

Through God's blessing, the enemy, near Port Republic, was this day routed, with the loss of six pieces of artillery.

And now we are awaiting the casualties from the Valley. This feeling of personal anxiety keeps us humble amid the flush of victory. What news may not each mail bring us, of those as dear as our heart's blood? Each telegram that is brought into the hospital makes me blind with apprehension, until it passes me, and other countenances denote the same anxiety; but we dare not say a word which may unnerve the patients; they are rejoicing amid their pain and anguish over our victories. Poor fellows! dearly have they paid for them, with the loss of limb, and other wounds more painful still. They want to be cured that they may be on the field again. Thank God, said a man, with his leg amputated, that it was not my right arm, for then I could never have fought again; as soon as this stump is well I shall join Stuart's cavalry; I can ride with a wooden leg as well as a real one.

The Young Napoleon does not seem to be dispirited by his late reverses. The New York Herald acknowledges the defeat of the 31st, but says they recovered their loss next day; but the whole tone of that and other Northern papers proves that they know that their defeat was complete, though they will not acknowledge it. They are marshalling their forces for another On to Richmond. O God, to Thee, to Thee alone, do we look for deliverance. Thou, who canst do all things, have mercy upon us and help us!

We are more successful in Virginia than elsewhere. The whole Mississippi River, except Vicksburg and its environs, is now in the hands of the enemy, and that place must surrender, though it holds out most nobly, amidst the most inveterate efforts to take it. Memphis has fallen! How my spirit chafes and grieves over our losses I O God, let us not be given over a hissing and a reproach to our enemies.

General Stuart has just returned to camp after a most wonderful and successful raid. He left Richmond two or three days ago with a portion of his command; went to Hanover Court-House, where he found a body of the enemy; repulsed them, killing and wounding several, and losing one gallant man, Captain Latane, of the Essex cavalry; continuing his march by the Old Church, he broke up their camp and burnt their stores; thence to Tunstall's Station on the York River Railroad; fired into the train, destroying a part of it, and taking some prisoners; thence to Pamunky River; found three transports loaded with provender, which they burned; filled their haversacks with West India fruit, which had been brought on for Federal consumption; then went on towards Charles City Court-House, encountering a train of wagons; took their horses, mules, and drivers, and burnt the wagons and contents; thence they went to a Yankee sutler's stand, took what they wanted, and burnt the rest; thence across the Chickahominy and on to Richmond; bringing 175 prisoners and a number of horses and mules. We are all full of excitement and delight, hoping that he discovered much about the Federal army which may be useful, but which, of course, is kept from the public; and I trust most fervently that our dear ones at S. H. and W. may have been cheered by their presence, for they must have gone very near them, if not immediately by their gates-how the appearance of our men must have excited them! I wish I could see some member of the cavalry who could tell me all about it — where they went, and whom they saw. General Stuart must have gone, it is said, within a few miles, perhaps nearer, of his father-in-law, the Federal General Cooke. I wonder what the old renegade Virginian thinks of his dashing son-in-law? If he has a spark of proper feeling left in his obdurate heart, he must be proud of him.

Yesterday was a day of intense excitement in the city and its surroundings. Early in the morning it was whispered about that some great movement was on foot. Large numbers of troops were seen under arms, evidently waiting for orders to march against the enemy. A. P. Hill's Division occupied the range of hills near Strawberry Hill, the cherished home of my childhood, overlooking the old Meadow bridges. About three o'clock the order to move, so long expected, was given. The Division marched steadily and rapidly to the attack — the Fortieth Regiment, under command of my relative, Colonel B., in which are so many of our dear boys, leading the advance. The enemy's pickets were just across the river, and the men supposed they were in heavy force of infantry and artillery, and that the passage of the bridge would be hazardous in the extreme; yet their courage did not falter. The gallant Fortieth, followed by Pegram's Battery, rushed across the bridge at double-quick, and with exultant shouts drove the enemy's pickets from their posts. The enemy was driven rapidly down the river to Mechanicsville, where the battle raged long and fiercely. At nine o'clock all was quiet; the bloody straggle over for the day. Our victory is said to be glorious, but not complete. The fighting is even now renewed, for I hear the firing of heavy artillery. Last night our streets were thronged until a late hour to catch the last accounts from couriers and spectators returning from the field. A bulletin from the Assistant Surgeon of the Fortieth, sent to his anxious father, assured me of the safety of some of those most dear to me; but the sickening sight of the ambulances bringing in the wounded met my eye at every turn. The President, and many others, were on the surrounding hills during the fight, deeply interested spectators. The calmness of the people during the progress of the battle was marvellous. The balloons of the enemy hovering over the battle-field could be distinctly seen from the outskirts of the city, and the sound of musketry as distinctly heard. All were anxious, but none alarmed for the safety of the city. From the firing of the first gun till the close of the battle every spot favourable for observation was crowded. The tops of the Exchange, the Ballard House, the Capitol, and almost every other tall house were covered with human beings; and after nightfall the commanding hills from the President's house to the Alms-House were covered, like a vast amphitheatre, with men, women and children, witnessing the grand display of fireworks-beautiful, yet awful-and sending death amid those whom our hearts hold so dear. I am told (for I did not witness it) that it was a scene of unsurpassed magnificence. The brilliant light of bombs bursting in the air and passing to the ground, the innumerable lesser lights, emitted by thousands and thousands of muskets, together with the roar of artillery and the rattling of small-arms, constituted a scene terrifically grand and imposing. What spell has bound our people? Is their trust in God, and in the valour of our troops, so great that they are unmoved by these terrible demonstrations of our powerful foe? It would seem so, for when the battle was over the crowd dispersed and retired to their respective homes with the seeming tranquility of persons who had been witnessing a panorama of transactions in a far-off country, in which they felt no personal interest; though they knew that their countrymen slept on their arms, only awaiting the dawn to renew the deadly conflict, on the success of which depended not only the fate of our capital, but of that splendid army, containing the material on which our happiness depends. Ah! many full, sorrowful hearts were at home, breathing out prayers for our success; or else were busy in the hospitals, administering to the wounded. Those on the hill-sides and house-tops were too nervous and anxious to stay at home — not that they were apprehensive for the city, but for the fate of those who were defending it, and their feeling was too deep for expression. The same feeling, perhaps, which makes me write so much this morning. But I must go to other duties.

The casualties among our friends, so far, not very numerous. My dear R. T. C. is here, slightly wounded; he hopes to return to his command in a few days. Colonel Allen, of the Second Virginia, killed. Major Jones, of the same regiment, desperately wounded. Wood McDonald killed. But what touches me most nearly is the death of my young friend, Clarence Warwick, of this city. Dearly have I loved that warm-hearted, high-minded, brave boy, since his early childhood. To-night I have been indulging sad memories of his earnest manner and affectionate tones, from his boyhood up; and now what must be the shock to his father and brothers, and to those tender sisters, when to-morrow the telegraph shall tell them of their loss! His cousin, Lieutenant-Colonel Warwick, is desperately wounded. Oh, I pray that his life may be spared to his poor father and mother! He is so brave and skilful an officer that we cannot spare him, and how can they? The booming of cannon still heard distinctly, but the sound is more distant.

McClellan certainly retreating. We begin to breathe more freely; but he fights as he goes. Oh, that he may be surrounded before he gets to his gun-boats! Rumours are flying about that he is surrounded; but we do not believe it-only hope that he may be before he reaches the river. The city is sad, because of the dead and dying, but our hearts are filled with gratitude and love. The end is not yet-oh that it were!

Mr.----and myself summoned here a short time ago to see our daughter, who was very ill. Found her better-she is still improving.

Richmond is disenthralled — the only Yankees there are in the Libby and other prisons. McClellan and his Grand army, on James River, near Westover, enjoying mosquitoes and bilious fevers. The weather is excessively hot. I dare say the Yankees find the Sunny South all that their most fervid imaginations ever depicted it, particularly on the marshes. So may it be, until the whole army melts with fervent heat. The gun-boats are rushing up and down the river, shelling the trees on the banks, afraid to approach Drury's Bluff. The Northern papers and Congress are making every effort to find out to whom the fault of their late reverses is to be traced. Our people think that their whole army might have been captured but for the dilatoriness of some of our generals. General Magruder is relieved, and sent to take command in the West.

Mr.--sick, but better to-day. This is the anniversary of the glorious battle of Manassas. Since that time we have had many reverses, but our victories, of late, have atoned for all, except the loss of life.

We have had another naval fight on the Mississippi, just north of Vicksburg. Our large gun-boat, Arkansas, ran into the Federal fleet of twelve or thirteen gun-boats and rams, and overcame them completely. Vicksburg stands the bombardment with unflinching gallantry. No news from the Army of the Potomac. It is reported that General Jackson has gone to meet General Pope, who is on this side of the Blue Ridge, marching, it is supposed, to join McClellan.

Mr.-- takes a ride to-day; the first since his sickness. My heart is full of gratitude for public and private blessings.

The report of Hindman's having captured Curtis untrue ; but our army is doing well in the West. Murfreesboroa, in Tennessee, has been captured by Confederates-a brigade, two brigadiers, and other officers, taken. Jack Morgan is annoying and capturing the Kentucky Yankees.

The true Southerners there must endure an almost unbearable thraldom!

A long letter from S. S., describing graphically their troubles when in Federal lines. Now they are breathing freely again. A number of servants from W. and S. H., and indeed from the whole Pamunky River, went off with their Northern friends. I am sorry for them, taken from their comfortable homes to go they know not where, and to be treated they know not how. Our man Nat went, to whom I was very partial, because his mother was the maid and humble friend of my youth, and because I had brought him up. He was a comfort to us as a driver and hostler, but now that we have neither home, carriage, nor horses, it makes but little difference with us; but how, with his slow habits, he is to support himself, I can't imagine. The wish for freedom is natural, and if he prefers it, so far as I am concerned he is welcome to it. I shall be glad to hear that he is doing well. Mothers went off leaving children-in two instances infants. Lord have mercy upon these poor misguided creatures I am so thankful that the scurf of the earth, of which the Federal army seems to be composed, has been driven away from Hanover. I would that Clarke were as free.

The girls just returned from a visit to Mrs. A. of several days, which they enjoyed greatly. Every thing there very bright and cheerful, except the hearts of the parents — they yearn for their sons on the field of danger! A battle is now expected between Jackson and Pope.

We hear of a little cavalry fight at Orange Court-House, in which we drove off the enemy. General Pope continues to commit depredations in his district of operations. He seems to have taken Butler as his model, and even to exceed him in ferocity. Our President has just given most sensible orders for retaliation.

The Misses N. are spending the summer here. Their home in Clarke in possession of the enemy, together with their whole property, they are dividing their time among their friends. It is sad to see ladies of their age deprived of home comforts; but, like the rest of the refugees, they bear it very cheerfully. Born and reared at Westover, they are indignant in the highest degree that it should now be desecrated by McClellan's army. They are deeply mourning the death of their noble young cousin, Captain B. Harrison, of Upper Brandon, who was killed at the head of his troop, in one of the battles near Richmond.

Mr.-- and myself arrived here last night, after a most fatiguing trip, by Clarksville, Buffalo Springs, then to Wolfs Trap Station on the Danville road, and on to the Southside Railroad. The cars were filled with soldiers on furlough. It was pleasant to see how cheerful they were. Poor fellows! it is wonderful when we consider what the next battle may bring forth. They were occupied discussing the late battle at Cedar Run, between General Jackson and a portion of Pope's army, commanded by Banks. It was a very fierce fight, and many casualties on both sides; but we won the day — the Lord be praised! Lynchburg is full of hospitals, to which the ladies are very attentive; and they are said to be very well kept. I have been to a very large one to-day, in which our old home friends, Mrs. R. and Miss E. M., are matrons. Every thing looked beautifully neat and comfortable. As a stranger, and having so much to do for my patient at home, I find I can do nothing for the soldiers, but knit for them all the time, and give them a kind word in passing. I never see one without feeling disposed to extend my hand, and say, God bless you.

The Richmond papers of yesterday mention two severe skirmishes on the Rappahannock within a week The enemy are retreating through Culpeper, Orange, etc., and our men are driving them on. General Jackson has reached Warrenton. Burnside's army is said to be near Fredericksburg, and Pope retreating towards Manassas. The safe situation of this town makes it a city of refuge to many. Several of our old friends are here. Mr. and Mrs. D., of Alexandria, are just across the passage from us; the J's are keeping house, and Mrs. M. is boarding very near us. This evening our friends the S's arrived. None but persons similarly situated can know the heartfelt pleasure of meeting with home friends, and talking of home scenes-of going back, as we did this evening, to the dear old times when we met together in our own parlours, with none to make us afraid. We see very little of Lynchburg society, but in this pleasant boarding-house, with refugee society, we want nothing more. The warmest feelings of my heart have been called forth, by meeting with one of the most intimate friends of my youth-now Mrs. Judge D. We met the other day in the church-door, for the first time for many, many years. Time has done its ork with us both, but we instantly recognized each other. Since that time, not a day has passed without some affectionate demonstration on her part towards us. At her beautiful home, more than a mile from town, I found her mother, my venerable and venerated friend Mrs. Judge C., still the elegant, accomplished lady, the cheerful, warm-hearted, Christian Virginia woman. At four-score, the fire kindles in her eye as she speaks of our wrongs. What would your father and my husband have thought of these times, she said to me-men who loved and revered the Union, who would have yielded up their lives to support the Constitution, in its purity, but who could never have given up their cherished doctrines of State rights, nor have yielded one jot or tittle of their independence to the aggressions of the North? She glories in having sons and grandsons fighting for the South. Two of the latter have already fallen in the great cause; I trust that the rest may be spared to her.

I see that the Northern papers, though at first claiming a victory at Cedar run, now confess that they lost three thousand killed and wounded, two generals wounded, sundry colonels and other officers. The Times is severe upon Popethinks it extraordinary that, as he knew two days before that the battle must take place, he did not have a larger force at hand; and rather strange that he should have been within six miles of the battle-field, and did not reach it until the fight was nearly over They say, as usual, that they were greatly outnumbered! Strange, that with their myriads, they should be so frequently outnumbered on the battle-field! It is certain that our loss there was comparatively very small; though we have to mourn General Winder of the glorious Stonewall Brigade, and about two hundred others, all valuable lives.

A package arrived last night from our sisters, with my sister M's diary, for my amusement. It was kept while our dear ones of W. and S. H. were surrounded by McClellan's army. I shall use my leisure here in copying it, that our children's children may know all that our family suffered during this cruel war. During the six weeks that they were surrounded by the foe, we only heard from them through letters written to their husbands in Richmond. These letters were captured by the enemy, and published in a New York paper; and one was republished in the Richmond Enquirer, where we were most delighted to find it. In that way W. B. N., then incarcerated in the walls of Fort Delaware, heard from his mother, wife, and children, for the first time since he was captured, in March.

Mrs. N's diary begins:

May 18th, 1862.

S. H., Hanover County, Va. C. M. and myself set off yesterday morning for church. At my brother's gate we met Dr. N., who told us that there were rumours of the approach of the enemy from the White House. We then determined not to go to our own church, but in another direction, to the Presbyterian church. After waiting there until the hour for service had arrived, an elder came in and announced to us that the minister thought it prudent not to come, but to have the congregation dismissed at once, as the enemy were certainly approaching. We returned home in a most perturbed state, and found that my husband had just arrived, with several of our sons and nephews, to spend a day or two with us. In a short time a servant announced that he had seen the Yankees that morning at the Old Church. Then there was no time to be lost; our gentlemen must go. We began our hurried preparations, and sent for the carriage and buggy. We were told that the driver had gone to the Yankees. After some discussion, one of the gentlemen determined to drive, and they were soon off. It was then eleven o'clock at night, and the blackness of darkness reigned over the earth. It was the most anxious night of my life. Surrounded by an implacable foe, our gentlemen all gone, we knew not how long we should be separated, or what might not happen before we met, and the want of confidence in our servants, which was now for the first time shaken, made us very nervous. This morning we went to W., and took leave of our sister, Mrs. C., and daughters. Her sons are in the army, and being a refugee, she says she must follow the army, and go where she can reach them if they are wounded. We found C. busily dividing her year's supply of bacon among the servants, that each may take care of his own. As the enemy never regards locks, she knows that her meat-house will be unsafe; we secreted two guns, which had been inadvertently left, and returned, feeling desolate, but thankful that our gentlemen were safely off.