No; if they are wrong, they are not wrong intentionally. Men may differ conscientiously upon state policy, even upon ethics. Then must I conclude that the North, believing itself right, is wrong in warring upon the South? What is the North fighting for? For union and for abolition of slavery; but primarily for union. And is union wrong? Not necessarily wrong. What is the South, fighting for? For State rights and for slavery; but principally for State rights. And is the doctrine of State rights wrong? Not necessarily wrong. Then, may both North, and South be right? The question startled me. I had heard that idea before. Where? Not in the army, I was certain. I tried hard to remember, but had to confess failure. The result of my thought was only the suggestion that both of two seemingly opposite thoughts might possibly be true. On that night I dreamed of my childhood. My dream took me to a city, where I was at school under a teacher who was my friend, and at whose house I now saw him. The man's face was so impressed upon my mind that when I awoke I retained his features. All day of the 9th, while we were crossing the Rapidan and continuing our march through Madison Court-House and on through Culpeper, I thought of the face of my dream. I thought of little else. Food was repugnant. I had fever, and was full of fancies. I was surprised by the thought that I had twice already been ill in the army. Once was at the time of the battle of Fredericksburg; but when and where was the other? I did not know, yet I was sure that I had been sick in the army before I joined Captain Haskell's company, and before I ever saw Dr. Frost. Long did I wonder over this, and not entirely without result. Suddenly I connected the face of my dream with my forgotten illness. But that was all. My old tutor was a doctor and had attended me. I felt sure of so much. Then I wondered if I could by any means find the Doctor's name. Some name must be connected with the title. That he was Dr. Some-one I had no doubt. I tried to make Dr. Frost's face fit the face of my dream, but it would not fit. Besides, I knew that Dr. Frost had never been my teacher. We had gone into bivouac about one o'clock, some two miles north of Madison Court-House. This advance was over ground that was not unfamiliar to me. The mountains in the distance and the hills near by, the rivers and the roads, the villages and the general aspect of this farming country, had been impressed upon my mind first when alone I hurried forward to join Jackson's command on its famous march around Pope; and, later, when we had returned from the Shenandoah Valley after Sharpsburg, and more recently still, on our retreat from Pennsylvania.