(Two weeks ago we printed a letter written by the late Captain James F. McGinley, introducing it with a brief sketch of the brave man’s life as a soldier. To-day we give a second letter, and ask the reader to recall the heroic McGinley who walked 100 miles to enlist as a private; who won his way to a captaincy, through more that a score of hard battles; who died the death of a hero at Hatcher’s Run. We say, please to keep these facts in mind — facts given in THE SUNDAY TELEGRAPH two weeks ago, for in future issues you will see a number of his letters, never before given to the public, but which is better history that was 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 have pursued through these perilous times gave me great gratification, for nothing can so cheer the heart of the weary toiler in the rugged path of duty as the consoling knowledge that the dear ones who "miss him at home" think that he is doing just what he should do, and are ever ready with words of encouragement for his lonesome ear 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 again and again, and my most heartfelt prayer is that I may help to bear it on to victory until it waves in triumph over patriotic Rebellion and all its other enemies, and not another traitor breathes throughout the length and breadth of our country! You are right, there are indeed brave, sober men enough in the United States to whip these dastardly rebels, and its got to be done if it takes the life of every second man in the nation!

The first newspaper accounts of the Bull Run affair were very much exaggerated, but they cropped their excrescences somewhat after they had canvassed it awhile, and the light of truth began to break in upon the excited brains of the "Special Correspondents." 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 credit as our yellow-covered literature, that of being "founded on fact;" it had no 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 deserting Zouave who like many of his comrades and their special patrons of the New York press tried to hide their disgrace by arrogating to the "Pet Lambs" the little hard-earned glory won by other brave fellows on that day. The Zouaves had a few men killed and lost more prisoners that any other regiment in the right wing, and there were more deserters among them than in any other organization in the army. Of course there are a great many brave men among them, and it is true they did much gallant fighting, but as a regiment they fell far short of the expectations that were founded on their future.

I am not at present with my regiment, but with a detachment of 30 men guarding a new fort now in process of construction at this point. Opposite Washington the land is elevated only some twelve feet above the tide, and this "flat" is from one-half to a mile and a half wide, and is bounded on its western side by the famous Arlington 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 the northern extremity with no intervening level between the foot of the hills and the river. At this point is Fort Corcoran built by the 69th N. Y., of which you have read so much. The 2d Wisconsin now has charge of the fort, and the 9th Massachusetts is 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, Charles Parke Curtis, whose grand-daughter is Lee’s wife. A mile still further we come to the road leading from the much talked of "Long Bridge" to Fairfax Court House. On the river bank at the Virginia end of the bridge, is an extensive and formidable earthwork called Fort Reunion. Here where the road ascends the hill is another strong fort, Fort Albany. These heights are merely bluffs, and after you ascend them you find that they are but the abrupt termination of the table land, exactly like the Manistee, (Mich.) river bluffs. Directly in front of Fort Albany rises a commanding swell of land perhaps 40 feet higher than the fort, and there five companies of the Michigan 3d - Co. I being one - are encamped and are employed with others of our brigade in building there a large fort. From this hill you can see the rebel breastworks on Munson's Hill, four miles or more up the country. Our brigade is the 4th, and is under command of Brig. Gen. Richardson formerly of the 2d Michigan and comprised of the 2d and 3d Michigan, the 14th Massachusetts and 37th New York regiments. We have possession of Forts Albany and Reunion, besides the two new forts. The 14th Massachusetts is one of the new regiments that have arrived since the battle of Bull Run and it took the place of the 1st Massachusetts that was with us at the battle and has been put in some other brigade. In the latter regiments I found many of our old 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 this point they almost meet; at Fort Albany is the head of the ravine which runs in the same direction as the bluff and widens until a valley of considerable dimensions and terminating in the valley of Four Mile Run, three-fourths of a mile from the fort. Four Mile Run or creek empties into the Potomac and Arlington Heights ends here four miles or more below Fort Corcoran. Here is a new fort fronting and commanding the valley of Four Mile Run and the London and Alexandria railroad, which passes through it. The valley is perhaps a mile wide and opposite us the hills rise with an easy slope to the elevation of the table land. On the other side of this valley Gen. Blenker's brigade is encamped; to the left, i.e. down the river, the flat lands stretch a mile or so wide, for three miles, to Alexandria, whose trees allow us to see nothing of it from this point but house tops and steeples. It is a beautiful sight on one of those fine mellow mornings of which we have so many here and so few in the North. When we retreated from Bull Run all these hills were covered with timber partly second growth of some 40 or 50 years standing except some forty acres around Arlington House which appears to be of original stock. All but the last have fallen before the sturdy blows of the Northman’s axe. The hill that this fort is on belongs to Lieut. Hunter, U.S.N., whom you will remember as a writer of fiction. Our regiment chopped on this plantation over 260 acres and have chopped nearly a thousand acres in all. McClellan told the boys when visiting them the other day that they had done more work than any other regiment in the army.

You want to know something about camp life; well, we live in tents when we are in camp; sometimes we lay our hands on boards enough to make a floor and sometimes we get straw to sleep on, and when we haven’t either we do the next best thing and sleep on the ground. There is generally two or three men in each company detailed to cook for all the company. The orderly sergeant of each company draws its rations from the 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 fresh beef every other day or so as it can be supplied. Also coffee, tea, beans, rice and desecated vegetable for soup. We save rations enough to sell to get us some other things for variety, and we "cramp" as much more as we can reach; perhaps you don't understand the term, but I can assure you the soldiers do. When we were camped away from the rest of the brigade down on Hunter’s place our colonel kept a close guard around the camp, and would let us out only when we went to work for there were a good many cornfields and potato patches near by and he knew that the boys wouldn’t be averse to drawing rations from them. A number of peddlers, taking advantage of our confinement, used to come from the city to sell us their wares charging of course, exorbitant prices, selling pies for 20 cents, watermelons 50 cents, potatoes 50 cents a peck, eggs 25 cents a dozen etc.; it worked quite well for a while until the boys began to run out of change and then the peddlers began to run out of profits although 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, but in spite of all they could do the goods that went out overbalanced the money they took in. I've seen the boys "cramp" cakes and then go back and make the peddler put sugar on them. One day a peddler undertook to get mad about it and before he knew what was going on the soldiers had taken his horse from the thills, unharnessed and turned him loose, had taken his wagon-box to pieces, and but for the interference of the "officer of the day" I don’t know how he would have come out. Another day a fellow came in with a wagon load of watermelons to sell; there hadn't been any 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 never seen him there before; he took umbrage at the way some of the boys were mauling over the 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; the fellow immediately lifted the butt of his whip to strike him, and was on the point of springing from the wagon when the soldier passed the melon to some one behind him; the man hesitated a moment as if considering what to do, when someone snatched another 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, and when 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, and when he looked into his wagon-box he discovered that it was empty. That’s what soldiers call "cramping."
Well, it is very evident that McClellan meditates an attack on the rebels within a short time. Troops having been moving all night the last three nights; of their number or object of course I know nothing, for all movements of the army are kept a profound secret. But straws show which way the wind blows and it is from straws that I have drawn the above conclusions.

Sept. 5, morning. Well, all is quiet here this morning, but our brigade is under orders 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 report has been current here for a couple of days that Jeff Davis died on the 2d of this month at Richmond and we have been hoping that it was true, for his death might save some honest men’s lives. Tell brother John that I think he had better not enlist at present. I think he is needed most at home and that I can do soldiering enough for 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 man and a lover of this great republic. Tell all who enlist to beware of the soldier's worst 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 later drag 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 never disgrace the name I bear, the race I sprang from, nor the land of my birth on the field of battle. Say to mother that it was the patriotic sentiment she instilled into my boyish heart that sent me forth to do battle for my country, and I bless her for teaching me my duty.

Your loving brother,
James F. McGinley