After the disastrous repulse of the American forces, at Germantown, they encamped in a strong position, at a place called Whitemarsh, about fourteen miles from Philadelphia. Here, after the hard service of the campaign, the soldiers were glad to secure a little rest. The winter was coming on, and they suffered beyond description, from the want of clothes and shoes; even provision and forage were obtained with difficulty; it being sometimes necessary to procure them by coercive measures, which Washington, with his usual judgment, was both to make use of. His army had received several reinforcements from the north; but Washington determined not to meet Sir William Howe, who had also received a reinforcement from New York, and was anxious for another battle. He kept the position he had chosen, but sent out light infantry to skirmish with the enemy, who took post at Chestnut Hill, about three miles from the right of the American camp, and manoeuvred, for three days, in the front and on the flanks of our army.

It is one of these parties of skirmishers who will now engage our attention. The company consisted of about a hundred men, and had been detached from a larger force. Night had overtaken them in the midst of their service; and it being too dark to proceed any further with safety, they encamped for the night, on the edge of a wood. Great precautions were taken, to prevent the party from being discovered by the enemy; but, in consequence of the intense cold, it was necessary to have fires, to keep life in the men. Accordingly, a large fire was made at some distance in the wood, in such a manner, that it could not be seen by persons out of it. The whole party, but cutting down some of the small trees around the fire, made themselves comfortable positions near it, while two of their number were stationed on the edge of the wood, as sentinels. They were to be changed every two hours during the night, in order to give a share of the burden to each. The party around the fire seated themselves, and partook of the scant fare which they had with them; after which, those who were nearest the fire tried to snatch a little repose. The sentinels warmed themselves thoroughly, and having borrowed some little addition to their poor clothing, which their generous comrades could not refuse, they repaired to their post. They were a singular-looking set of men --- these soldiers --- with their ragged dress and gaunt forms. Their sufferings were expressed too well in their faces; but, amidst them all, they still had that love for their country, that hatred of tyranny, and that undaunted courage, which, in the end,, made them triumph over the best disciplined and the best-equipped armies. But it is the conversation of the two sentinels which must now interest us.

It was a bitter cold night, and the two men paced up and down, over the frozen ground, flapping their arms against their sides, to keep the blood in ciruculation; their muskets being occasionally laid upon the ground, as a troublesome incumbrance. The night was very dark, and the wind whistled through the branches of the trees, which creaked in harsh accompaniment.

"John," said one of the wsentinels to his comrade, at length, "what would yu give for a bowl of hot coffee, and a pleasant fire, such a night as this?"

"Phew!" replied John, "don't talk about it. I'd almost give victory to the English, in the next battle we have with them and that's the most valuable thing I know of, just now."

"I was thinkin' how it would go down; and the very thought of such fare, almost makes me a traitor," continued the other. "But, bye the bye, a victory to the English is something we couldn't afford to give just now, after that murderous affair at Germantown."

"Well, Bob," said John, "if there had been a few more men at Brandywine, and had those that were there been in a little better trim, there wouldn't have been any affair at Germantown."

"Ah!" Bob replied, "there's a Providence in all these things, depend upon it."

"You were sick at the time most of the fighting was done; weren't you?" enquired John.

"Yes; but I've heard most of the particulars since," was the reply.

"Though we were whipped in the end, there was some tough fightin' done there, mind I tell you," said John. "You ought to have seen young Lafayette --- the French general that's just appointed."

"They say he's not of age yet," returned Bob. "I don't think it was quite right, to appoint a mere boy major-general, when there's plenty of older and more experienced men in the army."

"Yes," answered John; "but you must recollect what he has sacrificed for the sake of our cause; besides, if you had seen him that day, you wouldn't think that congress had gone for wrong, in appointing him a major-general."

"Well, if you saw him, let me hear what he did, and I'll tell you, afterwards, what I think of him," said Bob. "But let us walk a little quicker, for my limbs are getting stiff.'

"Well, d'ye see," commenced John, quickening his pace, and blowing upon his hands to warm them, "I was with the troops under his command that day. The whole detachment was commanded by General Sullivan. When we got wind of the crossin' of the Brandywine by Cornwallis, and that he had posted himself on the heights there, near Birmingham meetin' house, we marched to meet him. We had just arrived there, and General Sullivan was formin' his line for battle, when the whole of Cornwallis's force rushed down on us. We fought there for a while like men; but they soon broke our right, and the lines were thrown into confusion. The men were all retreatin' as fast as they could, when Lafayette, the young French general, rode in among 'em, and with his sword raised, and eyes that looked as if he felt ashamed to see them run, tried to persuade 'em to stop; but no, the British were on them in a hurry, and they either couldn't or wouldn't. Then, --- I'll never forget it, --- that 'boy' as you called him, showed how much man there was in him. He threw himself from his horse, and rallied some few men, who were ashamed to run, like himself, and took a stand. A few more rallied to support him, and I was among 'em. We fought there like bull-dogs, with the red-coated bulls, and kept 'em at bay, too. But there was too many for us, and we couldn't stand it long. Just then, Lafayette, who was fightin' among the men, like the rest of 'em, got a wound in the leg; but he still kept on, and if we had had any support, we'd have come off with a victory. Several of the men ran and caught the brave young general, and bore hm away with us, or he would have been taken prisoner."

'Well, that was a brave beginnin' for a young officer, that's a fact," said bob, as his companion paused. "Accordin' to the tales they tell, there was many a brave thing done that day."

"Yes," replied John, "I've heard tell, that Mad Anthony fought like a lion. He commanded the division at the ford, where Knyphausen crossed. His one divison there fought one-half the British army. But he only fought as he always does. Mad Anthony never gives ground without fightin' for it."

"The cause of the loss of that battle wasn't in the want of pluck in the men, or skill in the officers, I believe," remarked Bob.

"No," John replied, "it was that infernal lie about the movements of the red-coats, that did it. If Washington's first orders, in regard to crossin' the Brandywine, had been carried out, without payin' any attention to the contradictory news, the battle would have had a different end; but Cornwallis was left to cross the Brandywine without bein' molested, and then there was no hope for us."

"Well," said Bob, with his usual consolatory remark, "I suppose it was to be so."

By this time, the two sentinels were nearly chilled through, and it needed all their exertions, of trotting up and down, blowing their fingers, and flapping their arms, to keep them from freezing. However, the two hours were soon up; and they hastened to the fire as soon as they were relieved. Part of the men were asleep hear the fire; some with their heads in the laps of their comrades, and others on scraps of blankets, which they had with them. The rest were seated on logs, in small groups, talking about their adventures and sufferings to keep themselves awake. One of these groups, close to the fire, our quondam sentinels joined.

"Well, John,' said a lanky individual, lying on his back on a log, "how did you find the weather, out there?"

"Ugh!" ejaculated John, shivering. "Wait till your turn comes, and you'll soon find out. It'll freeze all the little morsels of flesh you have on your bones, off of 'em in a hurry, I know."

"What were you fellows talking about just as we come in?" said Bob, after a pause.

"Oh! We were tryin' to beat somethin' into Joe Hawkins's head; but it's no sort of use. You might as well try to make a block understand," said Lanky Bill, as he was called.

"Well, what were you tryin' to beat into his head?" asked Bob.

"Why, we were talkin' about the battle of Germantown, the other day, and Joe Hawkins was contendin' that it was Chew's House that caused the defeat, when it's plain enough that that little stoppage didn't decide the battle," said Lanky Bill, with a self-satisfied air.

"No doubt," said Bob, "the obstruction offered at Chew's House helped considerably to do the business. But still I think the fog had the most to do with it.

"Where were you that day, Bob?" said John. "You wasn't along wih the company, I know."

"I was sick still," said Bob.

"Then you missed a greater fight than you've ever seen," said John. "You should have been with us. You missed seein' the glorious revenge the boys took for the massacre at Paoli."

"Did they do the thing right?" asked Bob anxiously. Bob had but lately recovered from a long spell of sickness.

"Yes, indeed," answered John. 'but I'll tell you all about it, just to keep you awake; for I see your eyes gettin' stupid-looking. "You see, of course, we were with the right wing of the army, under our old commander, Wayne: Sullivan had the command of the whole wing, which was composed of the division of Wayne, the division of Sullivan, and Conway's brigade. We marched to attack Howe's army at the upper end of Germantown, and Sullivan and Conway marched to attack them on the South. The fight becomin' pretty general, we advanced on the red-coats with charged bagonets. You see, our boys were a little savage about that butcherin' at Paoli, and I think they could have eaten the Britishers right up. They didn't wait for us; I haven't the least doubt they got frightened at our savage looks. They give way, but soon formed again; and then we peppered away at each other like all the world for a spell. The red-coats again gave way, but bein' supported by the grenadiers, returned to the charge. You see, we had the enemy's right wing to encounter, while about two -thirds of our solders were too far north to give us any help. However, we made the want of men up in pluck, and stuck to 'em till they broke and run pell-mell; and then, Bob, you ought to have seen the men. They didn't show any mercy. I was among 'em, as bad as any of the rest. The men seemed really mad; and when the red-coats would ask for quarter, they'd scream in their ears to "remember Paoli," and finish them at once. The officers were runnin' about, tryin' to save the poor wretches, but it wasn't of much use. Mad Anthony lost his fine roam horse, when we were close to the enemy, and a spent ball struck him in the foot, and one grazed his left hand; but he stuck to his post on foot, and cheered on the men. The got and the smoke made the place almost as dark as night; and I come near shootin' Joe Hawkins in mistake for a red-coat. Several of our men were shot in the same way: you couldn't see twenty yards from you. We pushed on, however, and took possession of their whole camp; but here comes the worst of the story, and I'd just as leave not tell it.

"Oh! finish your story, John," said Lanky bill, "Bob knows we were defeated, so let him hear how it was."

"Well, it's a disagreeable thing to be talkin' about retreatin' after such a fight as we made there; but I may as well finish my story. You see we were in possession of the camp of the red-coats, when a large body of men appeared on our left flank. The fog bein' so thick, of course we couldn't tell whether they were our own troops or the enemy. The men thought they were red-coats, and would fall back, in spite of all the officers could do. After we had reetreated about two miles, we found out that they were our own people, who were comin' up to attack the right wing of the enemy. After the fog cleared away, Howe followed us with a large body of foot and light horse, and Mad Anthony, who was in the rear of the army pickin' up stragglers, thinkin' it about as well to fight as run, drew us up in line of batle, and waited till the enemy come up. We had just a chance to throw a few cannon-shots into 'em, when the cowardly rascals run. They may glorify as much as they please about our loss and repulse, but it was only the weather that kept them from gettin' as complete a defeat as they ever had."

"How was that affair a Chew's house?" asked Bob, interested.

"Oh, that was with the other division; we had nothing to do with that," replied John.

"Well," continued Bob, 'from all that I can hear about it, it was an ill-advised piece of business. But it's not for us to criticise the doin's of our superiors; I suppose that we were to be defeated, and that's enough."

As Bob concluded this usual remark, he stretched himself out in front of the fire, and there was a silence of about half an hour. At the expiration of that time, John, who had been looking in the fire very intently all the while, musing on home and its comforts, we suppose, raised his head, to see if his companions were asleep. Lanky bill and Joe Hawkins, were still awake, but Bob was snoring melodiously, in the arms of Morpheus.

"Joe," said John, "give us a song, to keep up our spirits; won't you?"

"Oh, I'm not in the humor if singin' now," replied Joe. "Besides, I've got a cold, and my voice is hoarse."

"That's the usual prelude of all good singers," returned John. "Come, sing us something; never mind the hoarseness; and as for your humor, people mustn't wait till they get in a good humor, or else there'd be very little of it. Make your humor good."

Those of the party who were awake, joined in the call for a song; and Joe at last consented, and sang the following, to a sort of music like the chanting of the prose psalms, in cathedrals: ---