The battle-field of Rich Mountain is about four miles from this place, and to-day I met with an old veteran, upon whose ground they fought. He is a thorough Union man, and was a prisoner in the hands of the Secession party. The rebels, to spite the old veteran, dug a trench around his house, for burying their dead, only eighteen inches below the surface. They also ruined his well by throwing in decayed horse-flesh--in fact, ruined his old homestead, by cutting down his fruit-trees, and various other specimens of Vandalism. An incident occurred during the preparation for that battle worth mentioning. Mr. ----, an old man of this town, a Representative in the Legislature, one who was elected as a Union candidate, and then basely betrayed his constituents, and afterward was re-elected as a Secessionist--this man, on the eve of the battle, having partaken freely of liquor, heard of the advance of our army, and, mounting his horse, rode hastily to the rebel camp, to inform them of the intended attack. He passed the outer pickets, but was halted by a full company of Georgians, who, hearing of the advance of our men, had been thrown out to reconnoiter. He, much frightened, supposing he was mistaken and was in the Union men's camp, begged them not to shoot, exclaiming, "_I am a Union man._" Scarce had the lying words passed his lips when a dozen balls pierced his body. An announcement, made last night, that the rebels were advancing upon this post, put the boys in excellent humor. Every piece was put in order, and preparations made for a warm reception of the rebel gentry. Extra pickets were sent out by Colonel Bosley, who has entire command of this post, Captain Wilmington being field-officer of the day. The _guests_, however, did not arrive, thus greatly disappointing the boys, who had a magnificent _banquet_ in store for them. The bill of fare consisted of Bullet Soup--with Gunpowder Sauce; Bayonets--drawn from Scabbards; Minie Muskets--nicely _ranged_; Twelve Six-pound Dumplings--U. S. on the margin; 2,600 Harper's Ferry Clickers; besides numerous little delicacies in the way of Colt's "Revolving Pudding-hitters" and "_Derangers_," lightning-powder, Bowies, slashers, etc. But as they refused the banquet, why, we will keep it, for the time being, ready for them in case of an intended _surprise party_. A serenade in camp is sweet music, indeed. Last night the Guthrie Serenading Club, consisting of E. P. Perkins, W. B. Sheridan, Charlie Foster, Captain Wilmington, Zeke Tatem, W. Craven, and S. B. Rice, gave the denizens of this town and camp a taste of their quality. The hills resounded with sweet sounds. "Music soft, music sweet, lingers on the ear."