Our boys continue to scour the woods, and constantly are finding Secesh documents. The following _beautiful poem_ is from the pen of Miss M. H. Cantrell, of Jonesboro, Tennessee, and was found in the pocket of a "Secesher," who had invaliantly fled, dropping his overcoat and love-epistles. It is entitled: SWEETHARTS AGAINST WAR. O Dear! its shameful I declare To make the men all go And leive so manny sweetharts here Wit out a single bough. We like to see them leave 'tis true, And wold not urge them stay; But what are we poor girls to do When you are all away? We told you we cold spare you here Before you had to go, But Bless your Harts, wernt aware That we would miss you sow. We miss you all in manny ways, But troth will ware out; The gratest things we miss you for Joy going withe out. On Sunday when we go to church, We look in vane for sum To mete us smilin on the porch, And ask to see us home. And then we dont enjoy a walk Since all the bows have gone; For what the good to us plain talk If we must trip alone? But what the use talkin thus We will try to beecontent And if you cannot come to us A message may bee cent. And that one comfort any way Although we are Apart, There is no reason why we may Not open hart to hart. We trust it may not ever come To any War like test, We want to see our Southern home Secured in peaceful rest. But if the blood of those we love In freedoms cause must floo, With fervent trust in Lov Above We bid them onward go. Written By your friend, M. H. Cantrell. I inclose you the original document. I suppose the aforesaid lovyer did "onward go," and, no doubt, is still going, if he has not already reached the town of Jonesboro, and met his gal upon "the porch" as she returned from church. Snake-hunting has given way to trout-fishing. As a matter of course, the noise of camp has driven all trout four miles from our present abode; but scarcely a day passes but our men return with a nice string of these delicious denizens of the brooks hereabouts.