He was ever by the guns which were under the hottest fire; and, when the enemy shifted their fire to other portions of the field, he proceeded thither, riding at full speed, and directed the fresh batteries in person. His men will remember how cheering and inspiring was his presence with them-how his coolness steadied them in the most exciting moments-and his brave, cheerful voice was the herald of success. "He was the bravest human being I ever saw in my life," said one of his officers whom I conversed with recently; and all who have seen him under fire will bear similar testimony. His coolness had something heroic in it. It never deserted him, or was affected by those chances of battle which excite the bravest. He saw guns shattered and dismounted, or men torn to pieces, without exhibiting any signs of emotion. His nature seemed strung and every muscle braced to a pitch which made him rock; and the ghastliest spectacle of blood and death left his soul unmovedhis stern will unbent.

That unbending will had been tested often, and never had failed him yet. At Manassas, Williamsburg, Cold Harbour, Groveton, Oxhill, Sharpsburg, Shepherdstown, Kearneysville, Aldie, Union, Upperville, Markham, Barbee's, Hazel River, and Fredericksburg-at these and many other places he fought his horse artillery, and handled it with heroic coolness. One day when I led him to speak of his career, he counted up something like a hundred actions which he had been in-and in every one he had borne a prominent part. Talk with the associates of the young leader in those hard-fought battles, and they will tell you a hundred instances of his dauntless courage. At Manassas he took position in a place so dangerous that an officer, who had followed him up to that moment, rode away with the declaration that "if Pelham was fool enough to stay there, he was not." But General Jackson thanked him, as he thanked him at Cold Harbour, when the brave young soldier came back covered with dust from fighting his Napoleon-the light of victory in his eyes. At Markham, while he was fighting the enemy in front, they made a circuit and charged him in the rear; but he turned his guns about, and fought them as before, with his "Napoleon

detachment" singing the loud, triumphant Marseillaise, as that same Napoleon gun, captured at Seven Pines, and used at Fredericksburg, drove them back. All that whole great movement was a marvel of hard fighting, however, and Pelham was the hero of the stout, close struggle. Any other chief of artillery might have sent his men in at Fredericksburg and elsewhere, leaving the direction of the guns to such officers as the brave Captain Henry; but this did not suit the young chieftain. He must go himself with the one gun sent forward, and beside that piece he remained until it was ordered back-directing his men to lie down, but sitting his own horse, and intent solely upon the movements and designs of the enemy, wholly careless of the "fire of hell" hurled against him. It was glorious, indeed, as General Lee declared, to see such heroism in the boyish artillerist; and well might General Jackson speak of him in terms of "exaggerated compliment," and ask General Stuart "if he had another Pelham, to give him to him." On that great day, the young son of Alabama covered himself with glory-but no one who knew him felt any surprise at it. Those who had seen him at work upon other fields knew the dauntless resolution of his brave young soul-the tough and stern fibre of his courage. That hard fibre could bear any strain upon it and remain unmoved.

In all those hard combats, no ball or shell ever struck him. The glance of the blue eyes seemed to conquer Danger, and render Death powerless. He seemed to bear a charmed life, and to pass amid showers of bullets without peril or fear of the result. It was not from the enemy's artillery alone that he ran the greatest danger in battle. He was never content to remain at his guns if they were silent. His mind was full of the contest, pondering its chances, as though he had command of the whole army himself; he never rested in his exertions to penetrate the designs of the enemy. Upon such occasions he was the mark at which the sharpshooters directed their most dangerous fire; but they never struck him. The balls passed to the right or left, or overhead-his hour had not yet come.

It came at last in that hard fight upon the Rappahannock, and

the famous youth lies low at last. He fell "with the battle-cry on his lips, and the light of victory beaming from his eye." In the words of the general order which his beloved commander issued, "His record had been bright and spotless; his career brilliant and successful; he fell the noblest of sacrifices on the altar of his country."

The theme grows beneath the pen which at first attempted a slight sketch only, and my paper is growing too long. A few words more will complete the outline of this eminent young soldier.

The name of Pelham will remain connected for ever with great events; but it will live perennial, too, in many hearts who mourn bitterly his untimely end. All who knew him loved him; I believe that no human being disliked him. His character was so frank, and open, and beautiful-his bearing so modest and unassuming that he conciliated all hearts, and made every one who met him his friend. His passions were strong; and when he was aroused fire darted from the flint, but this was seldom. During all my acquaintance with him-and that acquaintance dated back to the autumn of 1861-I never had a word addressed to me that was unfriendly, and never saw him angry but twice. "Poor boy!" said Stuart one day, "he was angry with me once,' and the speaker had known him longer than I had. He had rare self-control, and I think that this sprang in a great measure from a religious sense of duty. He would sit and read his Bible with close attention; and, though he never made a profession of his religious convictions, it is certain that these convictions shaped his conduct. The thought of death never seemed to cross his mind, however; and he once told me that he had never felt as if he was destined to be killed in the war. Alas! the brief proverb is the comment: "Man proposes, God disposes."

Thus, modest, brave, loving, and beloved-the famous soldier, the charming companion-he passed away from the friends who cherished him, leaving a void which none other can fill. Alabama lent him to Virginia for a time; but, alas! the pale face smiles no more as he returns to her. As many mourn his early death here, where his glory was won, as in the southern land from which

he came.

To these the wide circle who loved him for his great qualities, and his kind, good heart-his loss is irreparable, as it is to the whole South. The "breed of noble minds" like his is not numerous, and when such forms disappear the gap is hard to fill -the struggle more arduous than before. But the memory of this great young soldier still remains with us, his name is immortal in history as in many hearts which throbbed at his death!

Poor colourless phrases!-faded flowers I try to strew on the grave of this noble soul! But the loss is too recent, and the wound has not yet healed. The heart still bleeds as the pen traces the dull words on the page.

"Mourn for him! Let him be regarded

As the most noble corse that ever herald

Did follow to his urn!"

Strange words!-it may be said-for a boy little more than twenty! Exaggerated estimate of his loss!

No, the words are not strange; the loss is not exaggeratedfor the name of this youth was John Pelham

IX.

FARLEY "THE SCOUT."

I.

In the old "Confederate Army of the Potomac," and then in the "Army of Northern Virginia," there was a man so notable for daring, skill, and efficiency as a partisan, that all who valued those great qualities honoured him as their chiefest exemplar. He was known among the soldiers as "Farley, the Scout," but that term did not express him fully. He was not only a scout, but a partisan leader; an officer of excellent judgment and magnificent dash; a soldier born, who took to the work with all the skill and readiness of one who engages in that occupation for which, by Providence, he is especially designed.

He served from the beginning of the war to the hard battle of Fleetwood, in Culpeper, fought on the 9th of June, 1863. There he fell, his leg shattered by a fragment of shell, and the brave true soul went to rejoin its Maker.

One of the chiefest spites of fate is that oblivion which submerges the greatest names and events. The design of this brief paper is to put upon record some particulars of the career of a brave soldier-so that, in that "aftertime" which sums up the work and glory of the men of this epoch, his name shall not be lost to memory.

Farley was born at Laurens village, South Carolina, on the 19th of December, 1835. He was descended, in a direct line, from the "Douglas" of Scotland, and his father, who was born on the Roanoke river, in Charlotte county, Virginia, was one of the most accomplished gentlemen of his time. He emigrated to