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On the wing. The days of Camp no-camp are numbered. The cannon begin to move — the bugle calls — the hours of idleness and outlines are a thing of the past. Whither will the winds of war now waft us? That is a hard question to reply to; for a marked peculiarity of the Southern military theory is mystery. General Monck, of the time of Charles II, was so reticent, I have heard, that when any one said, Good-morning, General, he reflected for twelve hours, and then replied, Good-evening; which caused every one to wonder at the accuracy of the response. That is an excellent example to be followed by officers; and thus-being ignorant-I carefully conceal the route we are about to take. But we go, that is certain; and it is not without a feeling of regret that I leave this old familiar spot, where so many pleasant hours have passed away with song and laughter. As I gaze around, I fall into a reverie, and murmur. Strange that I ever thought the spot dull and commonplace.