(Two weeks ago we printed a letter written bythe late Captain James F. McGinley, introducing it with a brief sketch of the braveman’s life as a soldier. To-day we give a second letter, and ask the reader to recallthe heroic McGinley who walked 100 miles to enlist as a private; who won his wayto a captaincy, through more that a score of hard battles; who died the death ofa hero at Hatcher’s Run. We say, please to keep these facts in mind — facts givenin THE SUNDAY TELEGRAPH two weeks ago, for in future issues you will see a numberof his letters, never before given to the public, but which is better history thatwas written by those who wrote histories twenty years ago. —Editor Sunday Telegraph.)

Four Mile Run, Va., Sept 3, 1861.
My Dear Sister: Your just appreciation of and kind approval of the course I havepursued through these perilous times gave me great gratification, for nothing canso cheer the heart of the weary toiler in the rugged path of duty as the consolingknowledge that the dear ones who "miss him at home" think that he is doingjust what he should do, and are ever ready with words of encouragement for his lonesomeear and to breathe a fervent prayer to Providence in his behalf. That’s right, Kate,stand up for the "stars and stripes." Hurrah for that glorious banner againand again, and my most heartfelt prayer is that I may help to bear it on to victoryuntil it waves in triumph over patriotic Rebellion and all its other enemies, andnot another traitor breathes throughout the length and breadth of our country! Youare right, there are indeed brave, sober men enough in the United States to whipthese dastardly rebels, and its got to be done if it takes the life of every secondman in the nation!

The first newspaper accounts of the Bull Run affair were very much exaggerated, butthey cropped their excrescences somewhat after they had canvassed it awhile, andthe light of truth began to break in upon the excited brains of the "SpecialCorrespondents." No, Kate, I did not see any of that terrible "bowie-knife"work — neither did anyone else. That bowie-knife story couldn't claim as much creditas our yellow-covered literature, that of being "founded on fact;" it hadno reality; it was merely a horrid phantasy that sprung, "armed cap-a-pie,"like Minerva from the brain of Jove, from the boastful stomach of some desertingZouave who like many of his comrades and their special patrons of the New York presstried to hide their disgrace by arrogating to the "Pet Lambs" the littlehard-earned glory won by other brave fellows on that day. The Zouaves had a few menkilled and lost more prisoners that any other regiment in the right wing, and therewere more deserters among them than in any other organization in the army. Of coursethere are a great many brave men among them, and it is true they did much gallantfighting, but as a regiment they fell far short of the expectations that were foundedon their future.

I am not at present with my regiment, but with a detachment of 30 men guarding anew fort now in process of construction at this point. Opposite Washington the landis elevated only some twelve feet above the tide, and this "flat" is fromone-half to a mile and a half wide, and is bounded on its western side by the famousArlington Heights, which rise to the height of perhaps 125 feet, abruptly in places,in others with a gentle slope. Opposite Georgetown, in the bend of the river is thenorthern extremity with no intervening level between the foot of the hills and theriver. At this point is Fort Corcoran built by the 69th N. Y., of which you haveread so much. The 2d Wisconsin now has charge of the fort, and the 9th Massachusettsis stationed near it. A mile further down on the heights is the "Arlington House,"Gen. Lee’s residence, and was formerly the property of Mrs. Washington’s son, CharlesParke Curtis, whose grand-daughter is Lee’s wife. A mile still further we come tothe road leading from the much talked of "Long Bridge" to Fairfax CourtHouse. On the river bank at the Virginia end of the bridge, is an extensive and formidableearthwork called Fort Reunion. Here where the road ascends the hill is another strongfort, Fort Albany. These heights are merely bluffs, and after you ascend them youfind that they are but the abrupt termination of the table land, exactly like theManistee, (Mich.) river bluffs. Directly in front of Fort Albany rises a commandingswell of land perhaps 40 feet higher than the fort, and there five companies of theMichigan 3d - Co. I being one - are encamped and are employed with others of ourbrigade in building there a large fort. From this hill you can see the rebel breastworkson Munson's Hill, four miles or more up the country. Our brigade is the 4th, andis under command of Brig. Gen. Richardson formerly of the 2d Michigan and comprisedof the 2d and 3d Michigan, the 14th Massachusetts and 37th New York regiments. Wehave possession of Forts Albany and Reunion, besides the two new forts. The 14thMassachusetts is one of the new regiments that have arrived since the battle of BullRun and it took the place of the 1st Massachusetts that was with us at the battleand has been put in some other brigade. In the latter regiments I found many of ourold Roxbury, (Mass.) acquaintances, including some of the boys that I knew at the"Washington school."

Below Fort Albany, the bluff circles gradually round toward the river and at thispoint they almost meet; at Fort Albany is the head of the ravine which runs in thesame direction as the bluff and widens until a valley of considerable dimensionsand terminating in the valley of Four Mile Run, three-fourths of a mile from thefort. Four Mile Run or creek empties into the Potomac and Arlington Heights endshere four miles or more below Fort Corcoran. Here is a new fort fronting and commandingthe valley of Four Mile Run and the London and Alexandria railroad, which passesthrough it. The valley is perhaps a mile wide and opposite us the hills rise withan easy slope to the elevation of the table land. On the other side of this valleyGen. Blenker's brigade is encamped; to the left, i.e. down the river, the flat landsstretch a mile or so wide, for three miles, to Alexandria, whose trees allow us tosee nothing of it from this point but house tops and steeples. It is a beautifulsight on one of those fine mellow mornings of which we have so many here and so fewin the North. When we retreated from Bull Run all these hills were covered with timberpartly second growth of some 40 or 50 years standing except some forty acres aroundArlington House which appears to be of original stock. All but the last have fallenbefore the sturdy blows of the Northman’s axe. The hill that this fort is on belongsto Lieut. Hunter, U.S.N., whom you will remember as a writer of fiction. Our regimentchopped on this plantation over 260 acres and have chopped nearly a thousand acresin all. McClellan told the boys when visiting them the other day that they had donemore work than any other regiment in the army.

You want to know something about camp life; well, we live in tents when we are incamp; sometimes we lay our hands on boards enough to make a floor and sometimes weget straw to sleep on, and when we haven’t either we do the next best thing and sleepon the ground. There is generally two or three men in each company detailed to cookfor all the company. The orderly sergeant of each company draws its rations fromthe commissary at intervals of from one to five days according to the articles drawn.We get the best of salt pork and beef, nice white coffee sugar, good bread, and freshbeef every other day or so as it can be supplied. Also coffee, tea, beans, rice anddesecated vegetable for soup. We save rations enough to sell to get us some otherthings for variety, and we "cramp" as much more as we can reach; perhapsyou don't understand the term, but I can assure you the soldiers do. When we werecamped away from the rest of the brigade down on Hunter’s place our colonel kepta close guard around the camp, and would let us out only when we went to work forthere were a good many cornfields and potato patches near by and he knew that theboys wouldn’t be averse to drawing rations from them. A number of peddlers, takingadvantage of our confinement, used to come from the city to sell us their wares chargingof course, exorbitant prices, selling pies for 20 cents, watermelons 50 cents, potatoes50 cents a peck, eggs 25 cents a dozen etc.; it worked quite well for a while untilthe boys began to run out of change and then the peddlers began to run out of profitsalthough their stock went off faster than before. It was laughable to watch the performance.The peddlers generally had covered wagons and a man at each end to sell stuff, butin spite of all they could do the goods that went out overbalanced the money theytook in. I've seen the boys "cramp" cakes and then go back and make thepeddler put sugar on them. One day a peddler undertook to get mad about it and beforehe knew what was going on the soldiers had taken his horse from the thills, unharnessedand turned him loose, had taken his wagon-box to pieces, and but for the interferenceof the "officer of the day" I don’t know how he would have come out. Anotherday a fellow came in with a wagon load of watermelons to sell; there hadn't beenany in for a day or two and the boys were pretty civil and did not "cramp"any. The peddler was a stranger to the ways of our camp, I guess, for I had neverseen him there before; he took umbrage at the way some of the boys were mauling overthe melons and told them that they had better let them alone. "All right,"said one, taking a melon and stepping back, "Put that melon back heyah!"said the man; the soldier placed his fingers to his nose very significantly; thefellow immediately lifted the butt of his whip to strike him, and was on the pointof springing from the wagon when the soldier passed the melon to some one behindhim; the man hesitated a moment as if considering what to do, when someone snatchedanother melon from the other side and put out. Down jumped the peddler and gave chase— the crowd gave way for him but he hadn't gone a rod before he was tripped up, andwhen he had regained his feet both melon and "cramper" had disappeared,and when he turned toward his wagon he saw soldiers flying in every direction, andwhen he looked into his wagon-box he discovered that it was empty. That’s what soldierscall "cramping."
Well, it is very evident that McClellan meditates an attack on the rebels withina short time. Troops having been moving all night the last three nights; of theirnumber or object of course I know nothing, for all movements of the army are kepta profound secret. But straws show which way the wind blows and it is from strawsthat I have drawn the above conclusions.

Sept. 5, morning. Well, all is quiet here this morning, but our brigade is underorders to be ready to march at a moment's notice, with three days’ rations cooked,and we expect that the enemy’s works on Munson's Hill will be stormed to-day. A reporthas been current here for a couple of days that Jeff Davis died on the 2d of thismonth at Richmond and we have been hoping that it was true, for his death might savesome honest men’s lives. Tell brother John that I think he had better not enlistat present. I think he is needed most at home and that I can do soldiering enoughfor one family just now. But I suppose he would like to strike a blow for his country,and if things would go wrong with us, and he feels it his duty to shoulder a musket,let him put his trust in the Almighty and perform his part as becomes a true manand a lover of this great republic. Tell all who enlist to beware of the soldier'sworst enemy, strong drink. It is the bane of the army and I can see many a fine,brave fellow around me who is nursing within him an enemy, who will sooner or laterdrag him to the lowest depths of degradation.
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Tell father that though I may have been delinquent in other things that I'll neverdisgrace the name I bear, the race I sprang from, nor the land of my birth on thefield of battle. Say to mother that it was the patriotic sentiment she instilledinto my boyish heart that sent me forth to do battle for my country, and I blessher for teaching me my duty.

Your loving brother,
James F. McGinley