Year: 1867

All scar d are the leaves, while the woods try to


screen


The rainbow that sleeps on their foliage of green.
'Twere madness to name thee when others are


near,


The wild glen alone the dear music may hear;
To think and to dream-wth hearts hope -bereft,
To cherish one memory is all that is left,
The bright and the beautiful fit round me now,
But, my soul turns from them to ask-''where art


thou2'


While the spirit of music awakes all rejoice
But my heart only beats to the sound ofthy voice.


'Pretty-but confounded sight too senti
mental, y exclaimed a voice from behind us,
from the shrubbery Chester was one of those
off f-handed, devil may care fellows who always
have plenty Of friends, plenty of wit-but very
little money He was the life and soul Of the
mess His bon mots, his anecdotes and his
songs gave brilliancy to the select circle of the
camp fire when the winds were bleak and we
were under short rations A son of Maryland,
he entered the ranks of the Confederate army
as high private but it was not long before
he became orderly sargeant and from thence he
rose to Lleutenancy- from bis great pop
ularity with the officers and men than any real
merit he possessed as soldier. He was tall
tive, and, as a horsemen, but few could compete
with him. Ever happy and ever smiling, he
scattered the dull shadows of care as soon as he
approached:


''Why, Mildew," continued he, "who is the
fair amorata to whom that poetic morceau is
addressed? I'll bet my sorrel mare against your
hobbling iron-grey that you have been jilted.-
Excellent-"But my heart only beats to the
sound Of thy voice'-that was the last line, |
believe. | hope there was no more; may be
clipped your wings before you had reached the
third heaven. Go ahead boy-I'll stand the
agony Of the rest!'


No more said Mildew, folding up the pa
per. Dead halt, eh? Well, I'm almost sor-
ry for it, for like to see interesting poets open
their safety valves. You'll be immortalized,
you will, but not until you are put quietly to
rest You know what Mcdonald Clark said


Poets are like salted fish,


They never shine until they re rotten.


Mildew only smiled family in reply to Ches-
ter's remarks. He arose from his seat on the
gnarled root of the tree, and was about depart
ing toward the Camp, when the Marylander
frankly extended his hand to him and said


Come, come, | did not intend to wound your
feelings | am wild and thoughtless fellow,
and often in my own lightness Of heart, forget
the grief that may be gnawing at the core of
another's. Forgive me, will you?'


"PshaW exclaimed MildeW, taking the prof





not offended me-I am only little out of hu-
NOR to day and was going because | am fit COM
pany for no one.


''All right then, is it?'' asked Duncan, bright
ening up. Il am happy to be the bearer Of
good news. The dull routine Of camp duty is
to be disturbed in an hour or two-we are to
have little excitement; our company is to be
sent on foraging duty and there is strong prob
ability that we shall have brush Or two with
the enemy before we return SO hang upyour
harp and listen to the more inspiring music Of
the bugle. Our musician has been bloaoang 1t
ont so long that [ wonder he hasn't blown his
brains out-he's more of bloaCer than Major
Stretcher''


Mildew paled at the news communicated by
Duncan but, as if fearful Of exposing himself,
he forced laugh at the desperate effort at
pun, and left us, saying that he had to clean his
pistols and see to his horse.


Such fellow as that said Duncan, when
Mildew had gone, ought not to be allowed to
go at large-he will turn the milk Of human
kindness into bonny y-clabber; and yet, | like
him. he seems not inclined to do any one
harm, although he is a lunatic. Only think Of
a youth wasting away in green and yellow mel
ancholy," 4 believe that's the correct quota
tion) because he can't see his little deary A
soldier has no business to be in love except with
his country's glory. Now-the poet would
make a good soldier if he had not SO much SEN
timentallty about him. Confound the fellow!
he strides his horse as if it were Pegasus in
stead OF a Bucephalus, measures his PAGES as if
he were measuring syllables, and handles his
sabre as If he were executing q prelude on the
harp Of a thousand strings. You are his friend
and companion: Why don't you stick your
rowls into him, for | know he's got pluck, but
it won come out !'


''He thinks differently said I /; che says
there is not particle Of courage in him.


More fool he for acknowledging it, - was the
reply. If he really thinks he is coward, he s
cheating the government by retaining his COM
mission, for there are plenty Of brave fellows in
Lees army who would like to jump into his
boots and wear the stri pes"


Duncan spoke as we walked slowly along over
the field toward the camp. AS we passed Mil
dew's tent [ pushed aside the canvas at the en-
trance and silently looked in. The sad youth
was seated on a camp-stool with a small bible
in his hand, which he was attentively reading
On seeing us, he thrust the book into his bo-
som and requested US to enter, remarking with
a forced look Of cheerfulness that he would not
bore us with any more poetry. We declined
the invitation, and proceeded onward.


The next morning at sunrise the bugle sound
ed, and, after being furnished with two days



merrily galloping toward the Rapidan We
had to feel our way, lest we should get within
the enemy's lines; scouts were kept in advance
and on our TANKS to warn us of any danger
The first house we stopped at was that of a
Union farmer. The old man with his family
fed at our approach, thus granting us-full per-
mission to press his farm products for the ben
eft Of the Confederate States The wagons
were loaded and sent back to our lines under
an escort, while the balance of the command
proceeded to scour the country round and ap-
propriate what we could while making a recon
nolsance.


[ rode by the side of Mildew-he was quite
taciturn, and scarcely uttered word during the
route. 10 my question as to the cause of his
melancholy, he merely took letter from his
pocket, and, with quivering lips requested me
to read; adding that it was from his mother
and had been smuggled through the lines


The letter was filed with expressions of af-
fiction, such as only loving mother can write.
Among the items of news that it gave, was an
extract from letter received from his cousin,
Viola, dated New Y York, wherein she stated that
she had fallen into the hands of Federal Col
onel, when she was flying from the burning
house. That she was at first treated with
marked respect; but, having scornfuly rejected
her captor's protfered love, he became tyranni-
cal, threatened to have her imprisoned and,
finally, with horrid threats he brought her to
his feet suppliant The extract wound up as
follows Adieu, dear aunt, adieu all; Willie,
home and happiness! [ am now living with
the man who insuted you-struck my aged
uncle, and laid waste to our once happy home.
Forgive me- VIOLA -