I am truly thankful for the institution of ghosts, and that mine haunted you until you felt constrained to cry out for “relief”--not that I would have invoked discomfort upon you, or welcomed it when it should come, but your letter was _so_ welcome, how _could_ I in mortal weakness be so unselfish as not to hail with joy _any_ “provoking cause”? You perceive that my idea of ghosts is not limited to graveyards and tombs, or the tenants thereof; indeed, so far from it, the most troublesome I have ever known were at times the inmates of living and moving bodies habiting among other people, coming out only occasionally like owls and bats to frighten the weak and discourage the weary. I am rejoiced to know that you are comfortable and happy, and that your school is not wearing you--you are perfectly right, never let another school be a burden of care upon you; you will do all your duty without any such soul-vexing labors. I envy you and Miss Bliss your long social intellectual evenings; please play I am there sometimes. I will be so quiet, and never disturb a bit, but, dear me, I am in rougher scenes, if in scenes at all. My head is just this moment full to aching, bursting with all the thoughts and doings of our pet expedition. A half-hour ago came to my room the last messenger from them, the last I shall have in all probability until the enemy’s galling shot shall have raked through the ranks of my dear boys, and strewn them here and there, bleeding, crippled, and dying. Only think of it! the same fair faces that only a few years ago came every morning, newly washed, hair nicely combed, bright and cheerful, and took their places quietly and happily among my scholars,--the same fair heads (perhaps now a few shades darker) that I have smoothed and patted in fond approval of some good deed or well-learned task, so soon to lie low in the Southern sands, blood-matted and tangled, trampled under foot of man and horse, buried in a common trench “unwept, uncoffined, and unknown.” For the last two weeks my very heart has been crushed by the sad thoughts and little touching scenes which have come in my way. It tires me most when one would get a few hours’ leave from his regiment at Annapolis, and come to me with some little sealed package, and perhaps his “warrant” as a non-commissioned officer, and ask me to keep it for him, either until he returns for it, or--_when I should read his name in the “Black List,” send it home_. And by the time his errand were well done, his little hour would be up and, with a hearty grasp of the hand, an earnest, deep-toned “good-bye,” he stepped from my presence, marching cheerfully, bravely out--“To die,” I said to myself, as my soul sunk within me, and the struggling breath would choke and stop, until the welcome shower of tears came to my relief. Oh, the hours I have wept alone over scenes like these, no mortal knows! To any other