lost, and the adventurous youths leaped the brush fence, ran across the field, and took shelter in a pine thicket, through which they continued to advance as before, down the river.

They did not observe any signs of pursuit, and after a weary march, reached the vicinity of Port Conway.

One more incident occurred.

Toward daylight they found themselves near a country house on the river bank. Half dead for want of food, for they had eaten nothing since the forenoon of the preceding day, they ventured to approach the building, and knocked at the door.

No reply came; no evidence that the place was inhabited. They knocked again, and this time were more successful.

An upper window of the house was raised, the head of a lady in coiffure de nuit thrust out, and a voice asked—

"Who is there?"

"Friends," returned Lieutenant T, at a venture; "we are worn out with hunger and fatigue, and want a little bread and rest."

"The old story!" returned the voice; "I am tired of stragglers."

"Stragglers!"

you

"Yes; there are thousands of you going about and plundering people. You can't come in!"

And the head made a motion to retire.

My friend, Lieutenant T-, is an intelligent youth. He understands readily, and an instant sufficed to make him comprehend that he and his friend were refused admittance because they were regarded as Yankees. There were no other "stragglers" in that region; it was plain how the land lay in regard to the fair lady's sentiments, and the result of these quick reflections was the reply:

"We are not Yankees, we are Confederates!"

At these words the head all at once returned to the framework of the window.

"Confederates!" exclaimed the head; "you are trying to deceive me."

"Indeed we are not!"

แ

"What are you doing over here?"

We came across on a scout, and are now going back. We were captured by a party of cavalry, but got away from them, and are pushing down the river to find a place to cross." "Are you telling me the truth?" "Indeed we are."

"What is your father's name?"

The young man gave it.

แ "Your mother's name?"

He gave that, also.

"You are my cousin!" said the lady, completely satisfied; "wait and I will come down and let you in."

Who will doubt about the clans of Virginia after that! The good lady, who was really a relative of Lieutenant T admitted them, gave them a warm welcome, and a hot breakfast; had her best beds prepared for them; and as before, they proved mighty trenchermen; after which they proceeded to sleep like the seven champions of Christendom.

On the same afternoon they succeeded in procuring a canoe, bade their good hostess farewell, and crossed the river, just in time to hear the roar of the cannon at Fredericksburg. These events had passed between the tenth and thirteenth days of December.

I have used no colours of fancy in narrating the adventure; my sketch is a simple statement of facts, which I hope will amuse some of my readers.

Lieutenant T—— related the incidents of the trip with cheerful laughter, and wound up by saying, as he sat by the blazing fire in my tent:

"I tell you, I am glad to get back here, Captain!"

II.

HOW I WAS ARRESTED.

I.

I WAS sitting in my tent one day in the year 1863, idly gazing over a newspaper, when my eye fell upon the following paragraph:

"Killed on the Blackwater.-We learn that Captain Edelin, of the old First Maryland Regiment, but who recently joined the Confederate forces in North Carolina, was killed a few days since in a skirmish on the Blackwater."

I laid down the paper containing this announcement, and speedily found myself indulging in reverie.

"Thus fall," I murmured, "from the rolls of mortality the names we have known, uttered, been familiar with! The beings with whom we are thrown, whose hands we touch, whose voices we hear, who smile or frown as the spirit moves them, are to-morrow beyond the stars. They are extinguished like the fitful and wandering fires of evening-like those will-o'-wisps which dance for an hour around the fields and then disappear in the gathering darkness!"

This "Captain Edelin, of the old First Maryland Regiment," I had chanced to know. It was but a moment-his face passed before me like a dream, never more to return; but reading that paragraph announcing his death recalled him to me clearly as I saw and talked with him one night on the outpost, long ago.

Captain Edelin once arrested me at my own request.

Let me recall in detail, the incidents which led to this acquaint ance with him.

It was, I think, in December, 1861.

I was at that time Volunteer A. D. C. to General Stuart of the cavalry, and was travelling from Leesburg to his headquarters, which were on the Warrenton road, between Fairfax and Centreville.

I travelled in a light one-horse vehicle, an unusual mode of con veyance for a soldier, but adopted for the convenience it afforded ⚫me in transporting my blankets, clothes, sword, and other personal effects, which would certainly have sunk a horseman fathoms deep in the terrible mud of the region, there to remain like the petrified Roman sentinel dug out from Pompeii.

The vehicle in question was drawn by a stout horse, who was driven by a cheerful young African; and achieving an ultimate triumph over the Gum Spring road, we debouched into the Little River turnpike, and came past the "Double Toll-gate” to the Frying Pan road.

Here the first picket halted me. But the Lieutenant of the picket took an intelligent view of things, and suffered me to continue the road to Centreville.

Toward that place, accordingly, I proceeded, over the beforementioned "Frying Pan," which, like the "Charles City road" below Richmond, means anything you choose.

Night had fully set in by the time I reached Meacham's, a mile from Centreville; and I then remembered for the first time that general orders forbade the entrance of carriages of any description into the camp.

This general order, in its special application to myself, was disagreeable. In fact, it was wanton cruelty, and for the following good reasons.

1. I was tired and hungry.

2. That was my route to the headquarters I sought.

3. By any other road I should arrive too late for supper.

This reasoning appeared conclusive, but there was the inexorable order; and some method of flanking Centreville must be devised.

د

The method presented itself in a road branching off to the left, which I immediately turned into. A small house presented itself, and inquiring the way, I was informed by a cheerful-looking matron that the road in question was the very one which "led to the turnpike."

announcement.

Never did Delphic oracle make a more truthful or a falser It was the Warrenton turnpike which I desired to reach by flanking Centreville, and cutting off the angle-and lo! with a cheerful heart, I was journeying, as will be seen, toward other regions!

The vehicle proceeded on its way without further pause, merrily gliding along the forest road between dusky pine thickets, the heart of the wandering soldier inspired by the vision of an early supper.

The evening was mild for December-the heavens studded with stars. Now that I had found the road, and would soon arrive, the landscape became picturesque and attractive.

Lonely cavalrymen appeared and disappeared; scrutinizing eyes reconnoitred the suspicious vehicle as it passed; noises of stamping horses were heard in the depths of the thicket. But accustomed to these sights and sounds, the adventurous traveller in search of lodging and supper did not disquiet himself. Mile after mile was thus traversed. Still the interminable road through the pines stretched on and on. Its terminus seemed as distant as the crack of doom.

Most mysterious of mysteries! The Warrenton turnpike did not appear, though I knew it was but a mile or two through to it. Where was it? Had it disappeared under the influence of some enchantment? Had I dreamed that I knew the country thoroughly, from having camped there so long, and had I never in reality visited it? It so appeared; I was certainly travelling over a road which I had never before traversed.

One resource remained-philosophy. To that I betook my. self. When a traveller of philosophic temperament finds that he has lost his way, he is apt to argue the matter with cheerful logic as follows:

1. The road I am following must lead somewhere.