been a gentleman of taste. Is that him yonder, sitting on the porch and reading his old blurred "Virginia Gazette," containing the announcement of the proposed passage of a Stamp Act in the English Parliament? That must be "Old Iron." He wears ruffles at his breast, knee-breeches, a coat with barrel sleeves covered with embroidery, a pigtail, and a cocked hat. His shoulders are broad, his frame low, his eye piercing-and I think he is swearing as he reads about the doings of parliament. He has apparently just returned from inspecting the blood-horses in his stables, and after taking his morning julep, is reading the Gazette, and pondering on the probable results of secession from England, with the sword exercise which is sure to follow. But look! he raises his head. A gun sounds from down the river, reverberating amid the bluffs, and echoing back from the high banks around "Wilton," where his friend Mr. Randolph lives. It must be the signal of a ship just arrived from London, in this month of June, 1764; the Flyby-Night, most probably, with all the list of articles which Colonel Cary sent for-new suits for himself from the London tailors (no good ones in this colony as yet), fine silks for the ladies, wines from Madeira, and Bordeaux, and Oporto, new editions of the "Tattler," or "Spectator," or "Tom Jones," all paid for by the tobacco crop raised here at Ampthill. The Fly-by-Night probably brings also the London Gazette, showing what view is taken in England of the "rising spirit of rebellion" in the colonies, and what the ministers think of the doctrine of coercion. Our present Governor, Fauquier, is not wholly "sound," it is thought, upon these questions, and Lord Dunmore it is supposed will succeed him. A second gun! The Captain of the Fly-by-Night seems to have anchored at the wharf, and the swivel, announcing his arrival to his patrons, is making a jolly racket. Again!-and there again! Bomb! bomb! bomb! bomb! Can that be the Fly-by-Night, and is that Mr. Randolph galloping up in hot haste from the ferry opposite "Wilton?"

It is a courier who stops a moment to tell me that the Yankee gunboats have opened below Drury's Bluff, and are trying to

force a passage through the obstructions. So my dream is broken; I wake in the every-day world of 1864; the year 1764 has quite disappeared; and Cary of Ampthill—where is his figure? That is only my friend, the amiable Inspector-General, on the porch, reading a copy of the Richmond Examiner. I took his looped-up felt for a cocked hat, and his officer's braid for the ante-revolutionary embroidery! So the past disappears, but the winds are blowing, and the cloud-shadows float just as they did one hundred years ago. The fields are green again, the river breeze comes to me with its low sweet murmur, and the birds are singing in the trees as they sang for Cary of Ampthill.

"Gentlemen, will you walk in to breakfast?"

O most prosaic-but also most agreeable of announcements! The past and its memories fade; we are again in the present, as the most agreeable of odours indicates!

II.

A FAMILY RIFLE-PIT.

AN INCIDENT OF WILSON'S RAID.

IN war the bloody and the grotesque are strangely mingled; comedy succeeds tragedy with startling abruptness; and laughter issues from the lips when the tears upon the cheek are scarcely dry.

I had never heard of a "family rifle-pit" before June, 1864. I am going to give the reader the benefit of the knowledge I acquired on that occasion.

General Grant was then besieging Petersburg, or Richmond rather, if we are to believe the military gentlemen who edited the New York newspapers; and having failed to drive Lee from his earthworks, where the Virginian persisted in remaining despite every effort made to oust him, the Federal commander organized an enormous "raid " against the Southside and the Danville railroads, by which Lee was supplied. The result of this cavalry movement is known. Generals Wilson, Kautz, and others who commanded in the expedition, were successful in their object, so far as the destruction of a large part of the railroads went; but when they attempted to return to their infantry lines, below Petersburg, they "came to grief.” Hampton and the Lees assailed them, forced them to abandon their artillery and ambulances on the old stage road near Reams' Station, and it was only by a resolute effort that the remnants of the Federal cavalry got home again.

It was a few days after the raid that the present writer rode, on

duty, through the region which the opposing cavalry had fought over, looking with interest upon the marks of the hard struggle, on the dead horses, half-burnt vehicles, and remains of artillery carriages, with the spokes hacked hastily in pieces, and the guns dismounted. But these results of combat-of retreat and pursuit-are familiar to the reader, doubtless, and not of very great interest to the present writer.

The "Wilson and Kautz raid" would indeed have been forgotten long ago by him, but for the "family rifle-pit" mentioned above, and to this the attention of the worthy reader is now requested.

I heard all about it from a very charming lady who resided in a little house on the roadside, not very far from Reams'; and before me, as the bright eyes flashed and the red lips told the story, was the scene of the events narrated. In front, across the road, was a field of oats; beyond was a belt of woods; the country all around was a dead and dusty level, scorching in the sun. The house had a yard, and in this yard was a well with a "sweep," as they call it, I believe, in Dinwiddie, which is pronounced by the inhabitants Dunwoody, which "sweep is a great beam balanced in the crotch of a tree, a bucket being suspended to one end of the beam by a pole, and hanging above the well, into which it is made to descend by working the pole downwards with the hands.

In the small house lived Mr. from Gloucester, with his wife and family of small children-all refugees. For a long time it seemed that the amiable household would remain quite undisturbed; they had scarcely seen a single blue-coat. But suddenly, one bright June morning, the road, the fields, the woods, the yard, the porch, and the mansion, swarmed with Federal cavalry, coming from the direction of Prince George.

It was soon ascertained that General Wilson was "riding a raid," without the fear of Confederates before his eyes; and had thus come to Reams' Station, on the Weldon Railroad, where a force of Rebel cavalry was expected to be encountered. Scouting parties had accordingly been thrown forward, a reconnoissance made, sharpshooters were advanced, the cav

alry moved behind in column of squadrons, and the house and family of Mr. were captured, not to mention some old negroes, and very young ones-the latter clad, for the most part, in a single garment, adapted rather to the heat of the weather than to the production of an imposing effect.

The cavalry-men crowded to the well, swarmed through the grounds, and then commenced a scene well known to many a family in the South. The lives of venerable ducks were sacri ficed, in spite of their piteous quacking; frightened chickens were chased and knocked over with sticks; calves were shot, and the hen-roost and dairy cleared with a rapidity and skill which indicated thorough practice. In ten minutes the yard was duckless and chickenless; the dairy was crockless, the hen-roost innocent of eggs. The besom of destruction seemed to have passed over the whole, and the hungry bluebirds were cooking and devouring their spoil.

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Unfortunately for Mr. , they were not satisfied with poultry, butter, and eggs. They wanted hams-and an officer, Mrs. assured me, demanded her keys. When she assured him that her children required this food, the officer's reply was an insult, and the young lady was forced to deliver to him the key of her smoke-house, which was speedily rifled. Mrs. was looking on with bitter distress; but all at once her pride was aroused-the Southern woman flamed out!

"Take it if you choose," she said, with sarcasm; "I can easily send word to General Lee at Petersburg, and meat will be supplied me! There are twelve months' rations for the whole army in Richmond" (I hope the recording angel blotted out that statement!); "and if you do cut the railroad, General Lee's army will not suffer, but be just as strong and brave as ever!"

"That's foolish-it will ruin him!" said one of the men.

"You will see," was the reply. "Do you think General Lee could not prevent your coming here if he wished to? He wants you to come, for he expects to catch you all—every man-before you get away!"

This new and striking view of the subject seemed to produce