through the ring of the primer, and the sharpshooters of the enemy had appeared on the edge of the woods, when they sent us an order to retire. We accordingly retired, and continued to retire until we reached Centreville, halting on the hill there. We were posted in battery there, and lay down-very hungry. A cracker I had borrowed did not allay hunger; and had a dozen Yankees been drawn up between me and a hot supper, I should have charged them with the spirit of Winkelreid, when he swept the Austrian spears in his embrace, and 'made a gap for liberty.'

"We did not fight there, however; we were only carrying out General Beauregard's plan for drawing on the enemy to Bull Run, where he was ready for them. At midnight we limbered up, the infantry and cavalry began to move, blue and red signal rockets were thrown up, and the little army slowly retired before the enemy, reaching the southern bank of Bull Run at daylight. The Federals were close upon our heels, and about ten o'clock commenced the first fight there, the 'battle of the 18th.'

"Now when I arrived at Bull Run, I was hungry enough to eat a wolf. I lay down on the wet ground, and thought of various appetizing bills of fare. Visions of roast beef, coffee, juleps, and other Elysian things rose before my starving eyes; and the first guns of the enemy, crashing their round shot through the trees overhead, scarcely attracted my attention. I grew hungrier and hungrier-things had grown to a desperate pitch, when—beautiful even in the eyes of memory!-an African appeared from our wagons in the rear with hot coffee, and broiled bacon, and flat-cake, yet hot from the oven! At the same moment a friend, who had stolen off to the wagons, made an imperceptible gesture, and indicating his tin canteen, gave me an inquiring look. In the service this pantomime always expresses a willingness to drink your health and pass the bottle. I so understood it-and retiring from the crowd, swallowed a mouthful of the liquid. It was excellent whiskey, and my faintness from hunger and exhaustion made the effect magical. New life and strength filled my frame-and turning round, I was saluted by an excellent breakfast held out to me by the venerable old African cook!

"Ye gods! how that breakfast tasted! The animal from which that ham was cut must surely have been fattened on ambrosia; and the hot, black coffee was a tin cup full of nectar in disguise! When I had finished that meal I was a man again. I had been in a dangerous mood before-my patriotism had cooled, my convictions were shaken. I had doubted of the Republic, and thought the Confederacy in the wrong, perhaps. But now all was changed. From that moment I was a true Southerner again, and my opinions had the genuine ring of the true Southern metal. I went into the battle with a joyous soul— burning with love of my native land, and resolved to conquer or die!

"I wish I could get at that bill of fare to-night. Hunger sours the temper-men grow unamiable under it. Hand me that carbine-it is not more than four hundred yards to the picket across yonder, and I'll bet you I can put a bullet through that bluebird nodding over the fire. Against orders, do you say? Well, so it is; but my fingers are itching to get at that carbine. "I'll trouble you to stick my pipe in the hot ashes by you, my friend. I am fixed here so comfortably with my back against this tree, that I hate the idea of getting up. You see I get lazy when I begin to smoke, old fellow; and I think about so many things, that I don't like to break my reflections by moving. I have seen a good deal in this war, and I wish I was a writer to set it down on paper. You see if I don't, I am certain to forget everything, unless I live to eighty-and then when the youngsters, grandchildren, and all that (if I have any, which I doubt), gather around me, with mouths open, I will be certain to make myself out a tremendous warrior, which will be a lie; for Blunderbus is only an old Captain of Cavalry, good at few things but picketing. Besides, all the real colours of the war would be lost, things would be twisted and ruined; if I could set 'em down now in a book, the world would know exactly how the truth was. Oh, that Blunderbus was an author!

"I have my doubts about the figure we will cut when the black-coats, who don't see the war, commence writing about us. Just think what a mess they will make, old fellow! They will

be worse than Yankee Cavalry slashing right and left-much ink will be shed, but will the thing be history? I doubt it. You see, the books will be too elegant and dignified; war is a rough, bloody trade, but they will gild it over like a lookingglass frame. I shouldn't wonder if they made me, Blunderbus, the old bear, a perfect 'carpet knight'-all airs, and graces, and attractions. If they do, they will write a tremendous lie, old fellow! The way to paint me is rough, dirty, bearded, and hungry, and always growling at the Yankees. Especially hungrythe fact is, I am really wolfish to-night; and I see that blue rascal over yonder gnawing his rations and raising a black bottle to his lips! Wretch !—the thing is intolerable; give me the carbine-I'll stop him!-cursed order that keeps me from stopping his amusement-the villain! Who can keep his temper under trials like this, Sergeant?"

SERGEANT OF PICKETS advancing.-" Here, Captain." BLUNDERBUS, scowling.—" Are all the men present? Call the roll-if any are missing

(The Sergeant calls the roll and returns to the fire.)

SERGEANT." All present but Tim Tickler, Captain." BLUNDERBUS, enraged.-"Where is Tickler-the wretched Tickler?"

TICKLER, hastening up." Here, Captain-present, Captain." BLUNDERBUS, wrathful.—“So you are absent at roll-call! So you shirk your duty on picket! Sergeant, put this man tomorrow in a barrel shirt; on the next offence, buck him! What are you standing there for, villain?"

TICKLER, producing a canteen.-"I don't bear malice, I don't, Captain. I just went to the house yonder, thinking the night was cold-for a few minutes only, Captain, being just relieved from post-to get a little bit to eat, and a drop of drink. Prime applejack, Captain; taste it, barrel shirt or no."

(TICKLER extends the canteen, which Blunderbus takes, offers his friend, and drinks from.)

TICKLER, offering ham and bread.-" And here's a little prog, Captain."

BLUNDERBUS, calling to the Sergeant, who retires with Tickler.

"Remit Private Tickler's punishment, Sergeant; under the circumstances he is excusable."

STAFF OFFICER.-"Ha, ha!"

BLUNDERBUS, smiling.-"You may laugh, my friend; but applejack like that is no laughing matter. What expands the soul like meat, bread, and drink? Do you think me capable of punishing that honest fellow? Never! My feelings are too amiable. I could hug the whole world at the present moment, even the Yanks yonder. Poor fellows! I fear their fire is dying down, and they will freeze; suppose we call across and invite them to come and warm by our fire? They are not such bad fellows after all, my dear friend; and Blunderbus will answer for their peaceful propensities. Nothing could tempt them to fire upon us-they are enemies alone from the force of circumstances!"

(A stick rolls from the fire, and the carbine lying near is discharged. The enemy start to arms, and a shower of bullets whistles round, one from a long-range Spencer rifle striking Blunderbus on the buckle of his sword bell, and knocking him literally heels over head.)

BLUNDERBUS, rising in a tremendous rage.-"Attention! fire on 'em! Exterminate 'em! Give it to the rascals hot and heavy, boys! Go it! Fire! (Bang! bang! bang! bang!) Pour it into 'em! Another round! That's the thing! I saw one fall! Hoop! give 'em another, boys! Hand me a carbine ! "

STAFF OFFICER, from his post behind the oak." Ha! ha! You are a philosopher, my dear Blunderbus, and a real peace missionary-but the force of circumstances' alters cases, eh?"

BLUNDERRUS, sardonically." I rather think it does."

(Staff Officer mounts, and continues his rounds, the fire having ceased, leaving Blunderbus swearing and rubbing the spot where he was struck.)

STAFF OFFICER, moving on." Good-night! "

BLUNDERBUS, in the distance.-" Good-night! Curse 'em."

CAPTAIN DARRELL comes to see me sometimes; and as we are old companions in arms, we have a good many things to talk about.

The Captain is a pleasant associate; mild in his manners, and apparently much too amiable to hurt a fly. He is a terrible man after the enemy, however, and exhibits in partisan warfare the faculties of a great genius. His caution, his skill, his "combina tions," are masterly;-his élan in a charge or a skirmish is superb. Then only is the worthy Captain in his native element, and he rises to the height of the occasion without effort or difficulty.

I am going to give some of his experiences in the service-to record some of his scouts and performances. Every hero should have his portrait first drawn, however;--here is the Captain's:

He is not yet thirty, and is of medium height and thickness. His frame is strongly knit, and his arm muscular. His countenance is a pleasant one; his expression mild; black hair, black moustache, black eyebrows, black eyes. He wears a dark sur tout, cavalry boots, and a hat with a black feather. Around his waist he carries habitually a pistol belt with a revolver in it. In the field he adds a carbine or short rifle, and a sabre. His pistol and sabre were once the enemy's property-they are the spoil of his bow and spear.