Longstreet, A. P. Hill, Holmes, and Pendleton, give their exact losses. The losses of Magruder and Huger can be made up very closely from the reports of their brigade commanders. Barksdale (Lee's Rep. 296) says that "onethird of his brigade fell upon the field: it numbered about 2400, which would make the loss 800. Cobb (Ibid, 279) puts his loss in killed and wounded at "nearly 500." McLaws (Ibid. 161, 164), 97 killed, 456 wounded. D. R. Jones (Ibid. 172), 103 killed, 708 wounded. Ransom (Ibid. 370), 69 killed, 354 wounded. Mahone (Ibid. 372, 378), 63 killed, 216 wounded. Armistead (Ibid. 438, 439, 448, two

UNION.

regiments estimated), 320 killed and wounded. Wright (Ibid. 397), 55 killed, 243 wounded. In all, 3984; of whom 656 were killed, and 3328 wounded. Of the cavalry and reserve artillery we find mention of about 20 killed and 104 wounded.

The missing in A. P. Hill's division are not given; the number was evidently small, probably about 100. In Magruder's command we find about 400 missing in about two-thirds of the brigades; we set down the whole at 600. From the foregoing data we have compiled the following table of KILLED, WOUNDED, AND MISSING.

Killed. Wounded. Missing. Total.

CONFEDERATE.

2460

1198

4,278 Magruder and Huger..

2,737 Holmes...

The losses in the separate battles can be given only | Cold Harbor, the other half with Smith at Garland's and approximately, by considering the troops engaged in each, Price's Farms, and elsewhere; we put two-thirds of his and the nature of the fighting, aided by a few indicia scat-loss at Cold Harbor, dividing the remainder among the tered here and there through the various Reports of Con- other engagements. federate Commanders.

Jackson was engaged at Cold Harbor and slightly at Malvern; D. H. Hill at Mechanicsville, Cold Harbor, and Malvern: both of these distinguish between their losses in each engagement. A. P. Hill was at Mechanicsville, Cold Harbor, and Frazier's Farm. We estimate his loss in the first at 750, in the last at 900, leaving the remainder for Cold Harbor. Longstreet was at Cold Harbor and Frazier's Farm; we put his loss in the latter battle at 1100, leaving the remainder for Cold Harbor. From these data we construct the following approximate table of

Keyes was engaged mainly at Malvern Hill; we put his entire loss in that battle.-Sumner was engaged at Savage Station, Frazier's Farm, and Malvern; we divide his loss between those three engagements.-Heintzelman at Frazier's Farm and Malvern; we divide his loss between them. McCall was at Mechanicsville, where he lost about 300, and at Cold Harbor, and the Farm, losing about equally in each. Porter was chiefly engaged at Cold Harbor and Malvern: we put three-fourths of his loss at the former. Of Franklin's corps, half with Slocum was at KILLED AND WOUNDED IN THE SEVERAL ENGAGEMENTS.

As the delicate shower the wide air fills,
Dropping so gently without a sound,
And lying so white on the frozen ground!

Pure and beautiful seems the snow,
Falling so noiselessly out of the sky;
But I long for the winter days to go,
For the barren months to hasten by,

And bring me the Summer, fresh and green,
When the woods are hung with their leafy screen.

I long to walk by the meadow brooks,

To haunt the fields and the woods once more,
To loiter long in the shady nooks,

To tread the paths I have trod before,
Or under the spreading boughs to lie
And watch the clouds in the azure sky.

Close to me there will the wild bee hum
His drowsy tune in the meadow grass,
And the wandering winds will go and come,
Gently fanning my cheek as they pass;

Then haste, sweet Summer, my whole heart longs
For the beautiful flowers and the birds' gay songs.

Oh, glorious Queen of the halcyon year!
By vernal paths of the joyous Spring,

On rosy footsteps, my love, draw near;
Oh, haste, sweet Summer! hasten and bring

The warmth that lives in the sunbeam's light,
And the dews which drop from the lids of night

Oh, regal Summer, I long for thee

As the turtle-dove for its mate when away!
Sweet is the scent of thy breath to me:
So come in thy beauty, nor long delay,

But bring the joy of thy honeyed hours,
The birds' gay songs and the beautiful flowers.

Oh, hasten with showers of silver rain,
Bright, flashing rain from the skies above,
To ripen the fields of bearded grain,
And teach us the lesson of God's great love!
Oh, glorious Summer, Queen of the year,
On the viewless pinions of Time draw near!

With crimson and gold will the sunsets burn
Far down in the west at the close of day:
Oh, haste, sweet Summer, haste to return!
Ah, when will the Winter pass away?

My heart with a passionate yearning longa
For the beautiful flowers and the birds' gay songs,

This conversation had been carried on in quite a low tone of voice; for Janey's place was between her mother and Miss Hope, and higher up the table there was a gay, skirmishing talk,

UST outside Mrs. Bell's boarding-house, which covered every thing else.

J three little maids, of five, and sis, sev: cu But Jur. Vnd

"Oh, Miss Hope, I'm sure you're not too told why she wondered, nor why she blushed. old!"

Hope laughed, faintly, "Young and pretty, and inexperienced. Now, mother, I'm neither very young, nor very pretty, nor inexperienced, and every year would remedy those defects, too. But don't let us talk of it, mother. I can't go away from you when you need me, if I could get a school, and it breaks my heart to hear

den's lips was certainly one of the pleasantest things you could meet-and, smiling, leaned forward a little and said something. It was a very small something-just a word or two-but it sounded gracious and complimentary, as all his words to women did, and Hope felt pleased to hear it. A while after, she stood in the hall, giving some direction to a servant, and think-you talk of dying." Hope's voice was hystering, in a weary sort of way, of the bills she must make out for her mother that night, when Harry Camden came stepping slowly down the stairs, dressed for the opera, and whistling absently the drinking song in Lucrezia, while he leisurely pulled on a pearl-tinted glove. He stopped at the foot of the stairs as he saw Miss Bell, made a pleasant remark or two, smiled that old smile of his, all the time looking at her with the handsomest eyes she had ever seen, and then, with a good-night, went out. Hope had noted his elegant attire-quiet, yet perfect in style-his degagé air, and even the delicate perfume, so faint as scarcely to be perceptible, which hung about him as he stood there for that moment; and she smiled bitterly as she went up to her room, and said to herself: "What business have I to please myself, for a moment even, with that youth's graces? We live in two different worlds." And then she sat down to her task of making out bills for her mother, while Mrs. Bell was busy at the same table over a basket of mending. Mrs. Bell looked up as Hope began her work, and noticing her weary face, said: "I wouldn't do those to-night, Hope; you look tired."

"Oh, it isn't that; I don't think I'm tiredonly a little out of sorts, mother."

"What's put you out of sorts, Hope?" "Oh, somebody else's rose leaves prove my thorns, I suppose."

Mrs. Bell knew well enough what Hope meant; she was used to Hope's figures of speech when she was a little bitter.

"Hope," she said, after a minute's pause, "I wish you would apply for a school."

"Now, mother, I have made you think I am very unhappy and discontented by my black looks, and my grumbling speech. I'm only cross, that's all: and as for the school-in the first place, I couldn't get one if I should try; and, in the second place, I want to stay at home with you. Who's going to make out bills for you, and go a-shopping, and a hundred other things, you dear little old lady, you?" Mrs. Bell smiled, but she sighed, too. Presently she began again, in a graver and more determined tone: "Hope, I know you're a help to me, but it worries me all the time. I think every day, if I should die, what's to become of Hope-what would she do? Now, don't turn it off, Hope; we ought to look out for such things."

ical, and Mrs. Bell changed the subject, as she noted this fact. The Bells had never been very rich, but they had been what is called "well off" before Mr. Bell died; well off, and though neither aristocratic nor fashionable, in a good position. But after Mr. Bell's death it was found that there was very little left, when his business was settled up, for his wife and daughter to live upon. Mrs. Bell was an energetic woman, with a great deal of courage, so she set about what she knew must be done sooner or later-opening a boarding-house. This was when Hope was sixteen; and from that day to this, Hope had been her mother's dependence in all manner of ways. Yet, in spite of this, Mrs. Bell would have been glad to have had Hope in a school long ago; but Hope never would consent to making an application, for besides being doubtful of success, she wouldn't leave her mother. It was a wearing life-the more so, perhaps, that both Hope and Mrs. Bell were proud, and sensitive, and refined.

II.

Proud and sensitive and refined, Hope looked all that when she went out the next day to do some shopping. It wasn't fineries Hope was going to buy, but table-linen, and other housekeeping articles for her mother. As she passed down the street Harry Camden met her, and lifted his hat to her with that charming grace of his and the pleasant smile.

He was always meeting her in this way. It was but that morning that she came upon him in the parlor, and he had kept her talking with him until Mrs. Evans appeared. He had been particularly agreeable and genial in that talk, and Hope had enjoyed it with a pleased sense of flattery; and then there had crossed her a vague doubt which thrilled her with mortification, as Mrs. Evans entered. For at that moment Mr. Camden ceased his talk, and immediately addressed himself to the latter lady. Two or three times this same kind of thing had happened, or perhaps Hope wouldn't have noticed it; but now it had begun to give her a disagreeable suspicion of Mr. Harry Camden. It looked as if he didn't care to be observed tête-à-tête with his landlady's daughter. And then, ten minutes after, felt ashamed of her suspicion, he was so suave and courteous. Altogether, perhaps Hope interested herself more than was good for her in the ways of this handsome Harry Camden.' She was by no means in love with the young gentleman, but he had touched her imagination with his grace and fine looks, and that air of a 'Oh, Hope, it would never, never do. You're cavalier there was about him. Well, this morntoo young, and too pretty, and inexperienced."ing she went about her shopping with that

"Well, mother, I have thought of that, too; and why couldn't I stay on here, with Aunt Hannah, or Aunt Nancy for a matron, if-"

glance of handsome Harry's haunting her now his eyes, and he treated her with much more and then, and making her a little less heedful empressement. One day the secret came out. of her work in hand. It was near dinner-time I won't let it come out here, but wait until Hope when she had finished, and as she hurried out finds out what was in her stocking Christmas to catch her car at the next square she was over- morning. taken by the storm which had been impending for hours. It was a cold, driving rain, and she had no umbrella. A mile from home, one car lost, and fifteen minutes before another. Here was a predicament.

"If I had only an umbrella I would not mind, but I shall ruin my bonnet," she thought, despairingly. But at this juncture who should come round the corner but Mr. Camden and Mr. Weymer? Handsome Harry had his arm linked in Mr. Weymer's, and life was walking under Mr. Weymer's umbrella, while he carried his own closed under his other arm. He stopped suddenly at sight of Hope:

"Out in this rain, Miss Bell! How fortunate that I should meet you, for you have no umbrella, and you see I have an extra one, thanks to Weymer! Will you take this?" and he handed his extra one to her, and, bowing with his cavalier grace, turned to Weymer again.

A queer look came into Hope's face at this, and, glancing accidentally at Mr. Weymer, she saw her queer look reflected, as it were; and in the next moment the latter gentleman had put his own umbrella into Harry's hands, and approached her with an "Allow me, Miss Bell ?" And almost before she knew it he had her arm in his, and he was carrying her two or three troublesome little packages, and holding the umbrella over her head.

Hope gave a little laugh, which was partly embarrassment and partly amusement, and Mr. Weymer met it with a smile which brightened his grave face wonderfully.

Only four weeks to that Christmas morning, and Janey talked every day about it, and quoted Miss Hope at every turn. "And you must be sure and hang up your stocking, Miss Hope, for I am going to put something in it," she said, with a great air of mystery, one night at the table.

And to satisfy her, Hope promised, laughing as she caught Mr. Weymer's eye, and asking mischievously:" You're sure you don't think I'm too old, Janey?"

"No, indeed! Is she, Mr. Weymer?"

But Mr. Weymer only smiled, yet his eyes looked at Hope as if he might have paid her a compliment, if it was in his way to pay compliments; and Hope blushed at the look more than she would at any words.

Hope was getting better acquainted with Mr. Weymer every day now, and she found him the kindest of friends; and certainly not wanting, as she had thought, in affability or graciousness, though he was not such an élégant as Harry Camden. Harry Camden, you see, still held Hope's fancy in a measure; for Hope was imaginative, and he looked so like a hero she couldn't give up the idea that he must be one. Twenty-four years old, and not inexperienced she thought herself, yet Hope was making some strange mistakes.

Mrs. Bell had never got over that "worry" about Hope's future, though she didn't speak of it again. It was always in her mind what would become of Hope if she should be taken away. And between this worry, and that other worry of pleasing twenty different people, the poor lady actually got sick at last of a fever.

She had always liked Mr. Weymer, but had never quite understood him. She had thought Hope came down stairs the morning her mohim a gentleman certainly, but one who was a lit-ther gave out with a heart as heavy as lead, and tle wanting in affability and graciousness. And a face that betrayed her heart. Harry Camden the contrast between him and Harry Camden just now was curious, if nothing more. And how his face had lighted at her laugh! Something possessed Hope-I think it must have been her good angel, though she did not know it-to follow up this laugh with a flow of her easiest, happiest talk. Mr. Weymer, to her astonishment, met her more than half-way in this attempt. He was so genial and pleasant that Hope was astonished, and she forgot her shyness and pride enough to say gayly, as they approached her home: "Why, Mr. Weymer, I think I never got acquainted with you before today."

And he answered, quickly: "It wasn't my fault, Miss Bell.”

Hope blushed, for she knew how she had always looked the other side of Mr. Weymer when handsome Harry sat there, and it mortified her a little to think of it now. But Hope was greatly puzzled at Harry Camden's demeanor. Shortly after this strect encounter she suddenly seemed to have become more valuable in

met her with his gracious speeches, and never noticed her depression. And when she told him that her mother was sick, with that low, stifled tone of apprehension, handsome Harry was very sorry, very sorry indeed, and he said so two or three times in the nicest phrases imaginable; but somehow he seemed an endless way off to Hope then, and his nice phrases made her impatient. And then it was, when she felt desolate and aching for some sympathetic word, that Mr. Weymer came up, unfolding his morning paper, with his grave face full of serious inquiry, and asked, earnestly: "What is it-what is the matter, Miss Bell?"

"My mother is sick." Three little words sadly and very quietly said; but Mr. Weymer knew all they meant to Hope Bell. He too said, "I am very sorry." The same words that Harry Camden had said, but his tone and manner were so near and cordial, that Hope felt as if a hand had been stretched out to help her over this dark way. And it was so. Through the three anxious, weary weeks of waiting and

"Don't speak of thanking me, Hope. I"-nition to hang up her stocking, and Mr. CamBut just here, through the folding-door, Mr. Camden appeared, and Janey followed him.