Morning journal and courier., 1881-08-06
Fredericksburg. Revisited.


 We come to the bridge and the shore marks that were left when the Sumner pon toon was thrown across the river. Captain Scott, the toll man, tells us, as we pass over into Fredericksburg that he saw the mad eff. forts of the Yankees in putting the pontoon down. Keen-eyed rebel sharpshooters were in the stone houses. yet to be seen on the Fredericksburg shore, and they picked of the engineers with the indifferent coolness o1 sportsman cracking glass balls.
 "One feller, ," said the captain-who ta lks as though his listener were 8 quarter of g mile away-"one of the Tanks, an offcer5 low got mad and rode his horse out on the pontoon. One of our fellers put some 1ead 'twixt his eyes, and for pity's sake he shot the horse, and both of them hoated down stream dead" At the Fredericksburg end oi the pontoon are the ruins of two or three houses, but the walls of houses that were de stroyed during the battle are no uncommon sight. The business streets and the streets of handsome residences show few signs ei the cannonade, yet one is led to notice patch after patch in the brick walls until he feels that there is something queer about the old town. counted nineteen patches in one square, and the ruins of about dozen small brick buildings remain as they were after the tempest of shot, shell and fire had passed.
 While the Rappahannock, with it's few re- minders of the struggle, serves as limit and a:border to one side of the town, the steep Marye Hills are as wall to the other side. ] went out the street that runs into the Grange plank road, and 8 drive of three minutes from the bridge brought me plumb against the heights. The Marye Hill is to the left, and to the right stretches saw-ike range o1 eminences. The Marye mansion, once the homestead of Gov. Marye and now owned by John Lane, is fine brick house on the crest of the hill. It's red walls are supplemented toward the roof by belts of white weather boarding, and this, with it's four white porch pillars, makes it Doric oddity. There is an air of prosperity about the house and about
 the whole place, making it appear to be the well-kept suburban residence of wealthy citizen. The lawn. which contains grove of cedars, looks toward the town and slopes at steep angle to stone wall by the road side at the foot of the hill. This is the stone wall of history. Its bits of rocks are as stern in their brown solidity as when they were unquar. ried parts of mother earth. Walking along the wall, up toEthe eyes of a small man, l was
 first startled and then amused to see the sign No Shooting" printed in capital letters midway the frowning mass of rock Nc shooting It was conceit to tickle Satan
 himself and to make Falstaf pun for week. Some mad wag, thought, had thus grimly satirized history, and very likely my belief would have bean. .so recorded if Cato,s quick explanation that ssno shootingn was a warn: ing for sportsmen to keep off the premises had not altogether spoiled the idea. The wall on the other side of the road is partly gone-put to good use, as presently saw but at least half of it now henns in small orchardh
 It is hard to believe that such peaceful spot as this was ever overswept by the storm of which veterans stammer to tell, and wherewithal no writer may properly hope to deal. The hilltop frowns with rebel artil- lery; scores of heavy guns in double, treble and quadruple lines terrace the slope, and roadway and trench behind the stone walls bristls with bayonets. Sumner and French and Hooker and Hancock see that no such wall of strength ever fell to the lot of men to take, and the many brigadss now massed securely in the shelter of the town feel the force of it-au save Burnside-and, pity though 1t is, behind Burnside is the whip lash of . great people who, in the rage of ignorance, howl for victory. From the