probably track him.  A telegram was at once sent to Mrs. K_______, asking information.  It was transmitted immediately, but when the answer would be received was uncertain, as the Government almost monopolized the line.  I was, on the whole, so well satisfied that the Captain had gone East, that, unless something were heard to the contrary, I proposed following him in the late train leaving a little after midnight for Philadelphia.

This same morning we visited several of the temporary hospitals, churches and school-houses, where the wounded were lying.  In one of these, after looking round as usual, I asked aloud, “Any Massachusetts men here?” Two bright faces lifted themselves from their pillows and welcomed me by name.  The one nearest me was private John B. Noyes of Company B, Massachusetts Thirteenth, son of my old college class-tutor, now the reverend and learned Professor of Hebrew, etc., in Harvard University.  His neighbor was Corporal Armstrong of the same Company.  Both were slightly wounded, doing well.  I learned then and since from Mr. Noyes that they and their comrades were completely overwhelmed by the attentions of the good people of Harrisburg,—­that the ladies brought them fruits and flowers, and smiles, better than either,—­and that the little boys of the place were almost fighting for the privilege of doing their errands.  I am afraid there will be a good many hearts pierced in this war that will have no bulletmark to show.

There were some heavy hours to get rid of, and we thought a visit to Camp Curtin might lighten some of them.  A rickety wagon carried us to the camp, in company with a young woman from Troy, who had a basket of good things with her for a sick brother.  “Poor boy! he will be sure to die,” she said.  The rustic sentries uncrossed their muskets and let us in.  The camp was on a fair plain, girdled with hills, spacious, well kept apparently, but did not present any peculiar attraction for us.  The visit would have been a dull one, had we not happened to get sight of a singular-looking set of human beings in the distance.  They were clad in stuff of different hues, gray and brown being the leading shades, but both subdued by a neutral tint, such as is wont to harmonize the variegated apparel of travel-stained vagabonds.  They looked slouchy, listless, torpid,—­an ill-conditioned crew, at first sight, made up of such fellows as an old woman would drive away from her hen-roost with a broomstick.  Yet these were estrays from the fiery army which has given our generals so much trouble,—­“Secesh prisoners,” as a bystander told us.  A talk with them might be profitable and entertaining.  But they were tabooed to the common visitor, and it was necessary to get inside of the line which separated us from them.