and quietly enjoyed himself in the charming society of his hostesses. He had once more become "excellent company." The smile had returned to his lips, the light to his eyes. That melancholy which had made his friends uneasy had quite disappeared, and the Major was "himself again "—that is to say, the gayest and most delightful of companions.

When, rising slowly and carelessly, he bade his friendly entertainers good-bye, he was again happy. He came back to camp, smiling, amiable, the soul of sweetness and cheerfulness. I saw him. He was absolutely radiant. His eloquent eye beamed brightly; his countenance was charming; his movements energetic and elastic; the fullest satisfaction was apparent in every lineament of his face. His gay and friendly smile seemed to say, "I went at nineteen of them; ran them off; held the bridge against them; had an excellent supper, a delightful talk-I am happy!"

Such was the gay little comedy which I heard from the family of Mr., as I sat upon his porch and conversed with them one day. The narrative is precisely true in every particular, and has always impressed me as a curious illustration of the effect of "surprises" upon troops-of the enormous power ex erted by the human imagination.

X.

A DASH AT ALDIE.

Ι.

IN carelessly looking over an old portfolio yesterday—October 31, 1866-I found among other curious records of the war a rude, discoloured scrap of paper, written in pencil, and bearing date October 31, 1862.

Four years, day for day, had passed, since those pencil marks were traced. Four years! not a long time, you may say, in the life of man. But longest of long years-most snail-like in their movement-most terrible for that delay which makes the stoutest heart grow sick, were those four twelvemonths between October, 1862, and October, 1866. The larger portion of the period was spent in hoping-the rest of it in despairing.

But I wander from the subject of this sketch. The paper found in my portfolio contained the following words, written, as I have said, in pencil:

"MOUNTSVILLE, October 31, 1862.

"I hereby bind myself, on my word of honour, not to take up arms against the Confederate States, or in any manner give aid and comfort to the Federal cause, until I am regularly exchanged.

I read this paper, and then went back and read it over again. A careless observer would have seen in it only a simple and very hastily written parole. Read at one instant, it would have

been forgotten in the next-a veritable leaf of autumn, dry and worthless.

For me it contained much more than was written on it. I did not throw it aside. I read it over a third time, and it made a dolorous impression on my heart. For that paper, written by myself four years ago, and signed by a dying man whose hand staggered as it traversed the sheet, leaving the name of the writer almost illegible, his full official rank unrecorded-that paper brought back to my memory a day near Aldie, when it was my sorrowful duty to parole a brother human being in articulo mortis.

"A brother human being, do you say? He was only a Yankee!" some one may object. No-he was my brother, and yours, reader, whether you wore blue or gray. Did you wear the gray, then? So did I. Did you hate the invaders of Virginia? So did I. You may have been able to see this enemy die in agony, and not pity him. I was not. And the proof is, that the sight of the paper which his faint hand touched as he drew his last breath, has struck me wofully, and blotted out a part of the autumn sunshine yonder on the mountains.

I have nothing to reproach myself with the reader shall judge of that-but this poor rough scrap of paper with its tremulous signature moves me all the same.

II.

It was in the last days of October, 1862. McClellan had followed Lee to Sharpsburg; fought him there; refitted his army; recrossed the Potomac, and was rapidly advancing toward Warrenton, where the fatal fiat from Washington was to meet him, "Off with his head! So much for Buckingham."

But in these last days of October the wind had not yet wafted to him the decree of the civilians. He was pressing on in admirable order, and Lee had promptly broken up his camps upon the Opequon to cross the Blue Ridge at Chester's Gap, and interpose himself between McClellan and the Rapidan.

The infantry moved; the cavalry followed, or rather marched to guard the flank.

Stuart crossed the Shenandoah at Castleman's; the column moved through Snicker's Gap; then from the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge were seen the long trains of McClellan in the distance, wirding toward Middleburg and Aldie.

In front of these trains we knew very well that we would find the Federal cavalry under that able soldier, General Bayard, if he did not find us. For we had trains also, and it was more than probable that Bayard would strike at them through the passes of the Ridge. To prevent him from so doing it seemed most advisable to carry the war into Africa by a blow at him, and Stuart moved on without pausing toward Bloomfield. This village was passed; we reached the little hamlet of Union, where the people told us, with what truth I know not, that a party of the enemy had just ridden through, firing right and left upon citizens and children; then pushing on, in the splendid autumn sunshine, the brigade-Fitz Lee's, commanded by the gallant Wickham-reached the vicinity of Mountsville.

Stuart was riding gaily at the head of his horsemen, when Wickham galloped up from the advance guard, and announced that a heavy picket force was camped at Mountsville, visible through the lofty trees upon its hill.

"Charge it!" was the General's reply; and pushing on, he was there almost as soon as the advance guard.

They dashed upon the camp, or bivouac rather, with shouts; bang! bang! bang! from the carbines told that the blue and gray people had come into collision: and then the cheers of the Southerners indicated that they were driving in the picket force upon the main body.

In a moment we had reached the spot, and in a field were the hastily abandoned accoutrements of the Federal cavalry. Saddles, blankets, oil-cloths, carbines, sabres, and coats were scattered everywhere. Upon the ground, a bright red object glittered in the sunshine-it was the flag, or guidon of the enemy, abandoned like the rest. The Federal picket force, consisting of the First Rhode Island Cavalry, between seventy-five and one

hundred in number, had disappeared as a handful of dry leaves disappear, swept away by the wind.

The Southerners pursued with shouts and carbine shots-but officers and men, bending from the saddle, caught upon the points of their sabres, as they passed at full speed, those precious quartermaster stores," blankets, oil-cloths, so scarce in the poverty-stricken Confederacy. The present writer was almost destitute on the last day of October-on the first day of November he was rich. His cavalier outfit had been reinforced by an excellent regulation blanket, heavy and double: and a superb india-rubber poncho, on which was inscribed the name "Lougee." If the original owner of that fine military cloak survives, I beg to express my hope that he did not suffer, in the winter nights of 1862, for want of it.

The Federal camp had vanished, as I have said, as though carried away by the wind. The carbine shots were heard receding still toward Aldie-prisoners began to come back toward the rear. The name of another member of the First Rhode Island I can give. A young attaché of General Stuart's staff had captured a stout animal, and while leading him, was suddenly saluted by the words, "There is Brown's horse!" from a Federal prisoner passing. Brown's horse travelled afterwards extensively, and visited the low country of North Carolina. Most erratic of lives for men and animals is the military life. You know whence you come, not at all whither you go!

These trifles have diverted me from the main subject of the present sketch. I approach that subject with reluctance, for the picture to be drawn is a sad one. It is nothing to record the gay or comic incidents of other times-to let the pen glide, directed by the memory, when the lips are smiling and the heart is gay. To record the sad events, however, the blood, the tearsbelieve me, that is different.

I was pushing on, when a groan from the roadside drew my eyes in that direction. I looked and saw a man lying on his back, writhing to and fro, upon the grass. Some cavalrymen had stopped, and were looking at him curiously.

"Who is that?" I asked.