4 o’clock A.M. The Townsend Light Infantry encamped last night in my neighbor’s inclosure.The night still breathes slumberously over field and wood, when a few soldiers gather about one tent in the twilight, and their band plays an old Scotch air, with bugle and drum and fife attempered to the season. It seems like the morning hymn of creation. The first sounds of the awakening camp, mingled with
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