It was on the evening of the 17th of August, if I mistake not, that a long line of prisoners arrived from the battle-field, who were turned over to Colonel Johnson, to be forwarded at once to Richmond. My company was the fortunate one detailed for the service, and taking a train about 10 o’clock that night, we reached our destination shortly after daylight next morning. After having marched my charge to Libby, and seen them properly cared for, I strolled up the street in hopes of meeting an acquaintance or two; but failing in this, and feeling an unpleasant gnawing at my stomach, I dropped in at Zetelle’s for breakfast. Whilst waiting for my beefsteak and coffee, and indulging in a glass of Marco Bruner, I was awakened from a reverie by a heavy footfall upon the stairway, and to my inexpressible delight the familiar form of Captain Atkins appeared as the door opened. “And how the divil are you, Captain; glad to see yez. Arrah! its a mane thrick the’ve been afther playing us, begorrah!” he exclaimed, as he took a seat at the table. “Did yez see the morning’s papers? If yez havn’t, it will be worth your while to get them. Don’t you think the hathens have disbanded your regiment and my battalion; bad luck to them.” I was astounded at the intelligence, and could not credit it for a moment; but when the papers were produced, there was the order, sure enough, over the signature of George W. Randolph, Secretary of War. “Well, what’s to be done, Atkins? I am just from the front, and feel convinced the army is on its way into Maryland; and, under the circumstances, don’t like to leave the field. Come, as my senior, suggest something.” “And bless your soul, I will. And now for a little private council of war betwane ourselves,” he continued, in his usual rollicking way. “Suppose we form a brigade of our own? I’m sure there’s Grinnell, of my battalion; Shellman, of your regiment, and whom I have just met; you and meself; and a better brigade I wouldn’t wish to command, be me soul I wouldn’t; and, if it plases yourself, we will call it Atkins’ Brigade.” “Its a bargain; and now, Mr. Brigadier, issue your first order.” “And here it is: The officers under my command, to be known as ‘Atkins’ Brigade,’ will muster their forces, preparatory to laving for the scane of action, one week from to-day. How will that do?” “Very well—all but the forces.” “Arrah! there you go again. Why in the divil can’t we be officers and privates too? I am sure there’s many brigades in the sarvice that can’t muster more an a liftenant.” “Very well; here’s my hand on it;” and we emptied the bottle of Rheinish to the success of the new brigade.