Many laughable incidents occurred while we were skirmishing with the enemy at Laurel Hill. We received a newspaper containing the message of President Lincoln. One of the Indiana boys, thinking it might do the secesh good to hear a few loyal sentiments, mounted a stump, paper in hand, and exclaimed, 'I say, secesh, don't you want to hear old Abe's message?' He then commenced reading, but had proceeded only a short way, before 'ping, ping' came the rifle balls around the stump; down jumped Indiana, convinced that reading even a President's message amidst a shower of bullets isn't so agreeable, after all. We staid at Laurel Hill about two weeks. The enemy had been completely routed from that part of Virginia, and our term of enlistment having expired, our thoughts began to turn homeward. That ninety days' soldiering was the longest three months we ever experienced. It seemed an age since we had tasted a good meal, and all were anxious to once more cross the Ohio, and see a civilized country. The long looked-for order came at last, ''Bout face!' and we were on our homeward march. A more jovial, ragged, dirty, and hungry set of men, were never mustered out of service. We reached Camp Chase at Columbus, Ohio, about the last of July, and as each man delivered up his knapsack and etceteras, he felt as if a 'great weight' had been taken from his shoulders. We were once more free men; no one could order us about, tell us where we should or where we should not go. There was no more touching of hats to upstart lieutenants and half-witted captains or colonels. We could go where we liked, and do as we pleased, and not be reported, or sent to the guard-house. If my memory serves me aright, we _did_ do pretty much as we pleased; in other words, for two days, 'we made Rome howl!' What we saw of Western Virginia and its inhabitants left anything but a favorable impression on our minds. The country is wild and romantic, but good for little or nothing for farming purposes. The houses are mostly built of logs, being little more than mere huts, and around each of these 'mansions' may be seen at least a dozen young 'tow-heads,' who are brought up in ignorance and filth. The inhabitants are lazy and ignorant, raising hardly enough to keep starvation from their doors. School houses are almost unknown; we did not see one in the whole course of our march; the consequence is, not more than one in ten of the population can read or write. And the few who 'can just make out to spell' are worse off than their more ignorant brethren. 'A little learning is a dangerous thing.'