charged the enemy's right, located in a most advantageous position, and drove them, sustaining a loss of twelve killed and thirty-six wounded. About one month after this, Col. Richard Byrnes,[1] on October 18, assumed command of the Twenty-Eighth at Nolan's Ferry, and on the 23d of November, it was transferred to the Second Corps and assigned to Meagher's Irish Brigade, which was in the division commanded by that much lamented and knightly soldier, Winfield Scott Hancock. At the close of the year 1862, some two weeks after fateful Fredericksburg, the reckoning showed that the Faugh-a-Ballaghs lost five hundred and twenty in killed, wounded and missing. The second Christmas Day for the boys of the Twenty-Eighth brought many sad reminders. Poor Kitty H---- and her babies had to mourn the loss of her brave Tim, the Irish patriot of Camp Cameron, and the poor heart-broken mother of his young chum drooped and pined in Ireland for the son who was the solace of her hope and heart. She had the premonition of his death, at the battle of Chantilly, so weirdly given in Gerald Griffin's "wake." She saw the blood-red cloud in the west far out on the Atlantic's tide and while-- "Her door flings wide, loud moans the gale; Wild fear her bosom fills; It is, it is the Banshee's wail Over the darkened hills! Ululah! Ululah! A youth to Kiffiehera's taken That never will return again." The Christmas of 1862 in the camps of the Union Army on the left bank of the Rappahannock, confronting Fredericksburg, was rather wanting in good cheer, although so near the Potomac, and it was only until Gen. Hooker superseded Burnside in command of the Army of the Potomac, that rations of potatoes could be had to serve out to the half-famished troops. What a delightful supplement to a soldier's mess is even one good potato and a piece of onion, when for weeks his only change has been from hard tack with fat pork to pork (fat) and hard tack! The regiment performed the usual duties of beleaguers when St. Patrick's Day got round to them in the camps of the Irish brigade at Falmouth, Va. If not very active participants with their New York fellow soldiers in the sports of the steeple chase, race-course, and other parts of the programme, yet the boys of the Twenty-Eighth could not have failed to enjoy with enthusiasm the hilarity and frolics of that occasion. At least ten thousand had assembled from the camps cantoned in winter quarters for miles between the Potomac and along the Rappahannock Rivers. The grand stand contained the commander-in-chief and other distinguished generals and officers, and a number of ladies. Besides Hooker, the commander, there were conspicuously present Generals Slocum, Hancock, Charles Griffin, Sedgwick, Franklin and others. Together with the races of the thoroughbreds, there were also long prize lists, programmes of amusements, such as catching a soaped pig, and competing for money, and