14th.—Another day of sunshine and quiet. I rode to Warrenton to-day, a pretty little town five miles from us; but, oh, how desolate to those whose home it has been; every house and church a hospital or a barrack; dirty, squalid soldiers crowd the streets; the sick and wounded of both armies hang on every door step, whilst hundreds of mules, with their braying, and their drivers swearing, vie with each other in their efforts to Babelize the scene. All this, if not a necessity, is a concomitant of war.
I mixed freely with the prisoners, hoping to find some from Texas or from Georgia, who could tell me of my friends in those States, but without success.
