diers soon had an effigy, labelled "Vallandigham the traitor," hanging by the neck from a tree. They riddled it with bullets, then took it down and rode it on a rail, the fifers playing the

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Rogues' March." When Vallandigham left the camp, they gave him a farewell salute of groans and hisses. A few of the soldiers threw onions and old boots at him, but his person was uninjured. He did not repeat his visit. He was so cross-grained by nature, so thorough a traitor, that through the session of Congress and through the war he lost no opportunity to manifest his hatred of the soldiers.

It was past sunset on the 9th of July, when, accompanied by a friend, I left Alexandria for Washington in an open carriage. Nearing the Long Bridge, an officer on horseback, in a redflannel blouse, dashed down upon us, saying: "I am an officer of the Garibaldi Guard; my regiment has mutinied, and the men are on their way to Washington! I want you to hurry past them, give notice to the guard at the Long Bridge, and have the draw taken up." We promised to do so if possible, and soon came upon the mutineers, who were hastening towards the bridge. They were greatly excited. They were talking loud and boisterously in German. Their guns were loaded. There were seven nations represented in the regiment. Few of them could understand English. We knew that if we could get in advance of them, the two six-pounders looking down the Long Bridge, with grape and canister rammed home, would quell the mutiny. We passed those in the rear, had almost reached the head of the column, when out sprang a dozen in front of us and levelled their guns. Click-click-click went the locks.

"You no goes to Vashington in ze advance!" said one. "You falls in ze rear!" said another.

"What does this mean?" said my friend, who was an officer. "Where is your captain?" he asked.

The captain came up.

"What right have your men to stop us, sir? Who gave them authority? We have passes, sir; explain this matter."

The captain, a stout, thick-set German, was evidently com

pletely taken aback by these questions, but, after a moment's hesitation, replied,

"No, zur, they no stops you; it was von mistake, zur. They will do zo no more." Then approaching close to the carriage, he lowered his voice, and in a confidential tone, as if we were his best friends, asked, "Please, zur, vill you be zo kind as to tell me vat is the passvord?"

"It's not nine o'clock yet. The sentinels are not posted. You need none."

A tall, big-whiskered soldier had been listening. He could speak English quite well, and, evidently desiring to apologize for the rudeness of his comrades, approached and said, "You see we Garibaldians are having a time of it, and — ”

Here the captain gave him a vigorous push, with a "Hush!" long drawn, which had a great deal of meaning in it.

"I begs your pardons for ze interruption," said the captain, extending his hand and bowing politely.

Once more we moved on, but again the excited leaders, more furious than before, thrust their bayonets in our faces, again saying, "You no goes to Vashington in ze advance." One of them took deliberate aim at my breast, his eyes glaring fiercely.

It would have been the height of madness to disregard their demonstration. They had reached the guard at the Virginia end of the bridge, who, at a loss to know what it meant, allowed them to pass unchallenged.

Now that we were compelled to follow, there was time to think of contingencies. What if our horses had started? or what if in the darkness a soldier, grieving over his imaginary wrong, and reckless of life, had misunderstood us? or what if the loyal officers of the regiment remaining at Alexandria had given notice by telegraph of what had happened, and those two cannon at the Washington end of the bridge had poured their iron hail and leaden rain along the causeway? It was not pleasant to think of these possibilities, but we were in for whatever might happen; and, remembering that God's providence is always good and never evil, we followed our escort over the bridge. They halted on the avenue, while we rode with all speed to General Mansfield's quarters.

"I'll have every one of the rascals shot!" said the grayhaired veteran commanding the forces in Washington. An hour later the Garibaldians found themselves surrounded by five thousand infantry. They laid down their arms when they saw it was no use to resist, were marched back to Alexandria, and put to the hard drudgery of camp life.

The soldiers had an amusing story to tell of one of their number who went into the lager-beer business, the sale of beer being then allowed. A sutler put a barrel on tap, and soon had a crowd of thirsty customers. But the head of the barrel was exposed in the rear. A soldier spying it, soon had that end on tap, and was doing a thriving business, selling at five cents a glass from his end of the barrel. He had a constant run of custom. When the crowd had satisfied their thirst, one of the soldiers approached the sutler.

"What do you charge for a glass?" he asked.

"Ten cents."

"Ten cents! Why, I can get just as much as I want for five."

"Not in this camp."

"Yes, sir, in this camp."

"Where, I should like to know?"

"Right round here."

The sutler, crawled out from his tent to see about it, and stood transfixed with astonishment when he beheld the operation at the other end of his barrel. He was received with a hearty laugh, while the ingenious Yankee who was drawing the lager had the impudence to ask him if he would n't take a drink!

Virginia was pre-eminently the land of a feudal aristocracy, which prided itself on name and blood, an aristocracy delighting to trace its lineage back to the cavaliers of Old Eng land, and which looked down with haughty contempt upon the man who earned his bread by the sweat of his brow. The original "gentleman" of Virginia possessed great estates, which were not acquired by thrift and industry, but received as grants through kingly favor. But a thriftless system of agriculture, pursued unvaryingly through two centuries, had greatly re

duced the patrimony of many sons and daughters of the cavaliers, who looked out of broken windows and rickety dwellings upon exhausted lands, overgrown with small oaks and diminutive pines. Yet they clung with tenacity to their pride.

"The Yankees are nothing but old scrubs," said a little Virginia girl of only ten years to me.

A young lady was brought to General Tyler's head-quarters at Falls Church to answer a charge of having given information to the enemy. Her dress was worn and faded, her shoes were down at the heel and out at the toes. There was nothing left of the estate of her fathers except a mean old house and one aged negro slave. She was reduced to absolute poverty, yet was too proud to work, and was waited upon by the superannuated negro.

"You are accused, madam, of having given information to the enemy,” said General Tyler.

The lady bowed haughtily.

"You live in this old house down here?"

"I would have you understand, sir, that my name is Delaney. I did not expect to be insulted!" she exclaimed, indignantly. Words cannot describe her proud bearing. It was a manifestation of her regard for blood, gentility, name, and her hatred of labor. The history of the Rebellion was in that reply.

Virginia was also the land of sirens. A captain in a Connecticut regiment, lured by the sweet voice of a young lady, went outside of the pickets to spend a pleasant hour; but suddenly the Philistines were upon him, and he was a captive. Delilah mocked him as he was led away. Walking along the picket line on the 12th of July, I found a half-dozen Connecticut boys under a fence, keeping close watch of Delilah's

mansion.

"There is a girl over there," said one of them, "who enticed our captain up to the house yesterday, when he was captured. Last night she came out and sung a song, and asked a lieutenant to go in and see her piano and take tea; but he smelt a rat, and was shy. To-night there are four of us going to creep up close to the house, and he is going in to see the piano." The trap was set, but the Rebels did not fall into it.

The pickets brought in a negro, one of the first contrabands who came into the lines of the army of the Potomac. He was middle-aged, tall, black, and wore a checked cotton shirt and slouched hat. His boots were as sorry specimens of old leather as ever were worn by human beings. He came up timidly to head-quarters, guarded by two soldiers. He made a low bow to the General, not only with his head, but with his whole body and legs, ending the salaam with a scrape of his left foot, rolling his eyes and grinning from ear to ear.

"What is your name?" asked the General.

"Sam Allston, sah."

"Who do you belong to?"

"I belongs to Massa Allston, sah, from Souf Carolina." "Where is your master?"

"He be at Fairfax; he belong to Souf Carolina regiment, sah."

"How came you here?"

"Why, ye see, General, massa told me to go out and buy some chickens, and I come right straight down here, sah.” "You did n't expect to buy them here, did you?"

"No, sah; but I thought I would like to see de Yankees." "I reckon I shall have to send you back, Sam."

This was said not seriously, but to test Sam's sincerity. "I don't want to go back, sah. Would n't go back no how if I could help it; rather go a thousand miles away up Norf than go down Souf, sah. They knock me about down there. Massa whipped me last week, for talking with de other niggers about de war. O massa, don't send me back again! I'll do anything for you, massa.”

He was the picture of anguish, and stood wringing his hands while the tears rolled down his cheeks. Freedom, with all its imagined blessings, was before him; slavery, with all its certain. horrors, behind him.

The General questioned him about the Rebels.

They say they will whip you Yankees. Dere's right smart chance of 'em at Fairfax, General Bonham in command. Souf Carolina is kinder mad at you Yankees. But now dey is kinder waiting for you to come, though they be packing up their trunks, as if getting ready to move."