rather than by merit. Militia officers, with
all their imperfections, would have been of much greater service.

Is the affair of Bull Run to be wondered at, with such material, and in
the light of later education? It was the incisive action of the war; it
punctured the conceit of both armies.

C. H. MEDAY.

THE YOSEMITE HERMIT.

The shadows were lying tolerably long on the green hillsides when the
lumbering yellow stage, somewhat the worse for wear, drawn by four
lean, dusty horses, also somewhat the worse for wear, drew up with a
grand flourish in front of the Grand Hotel, Mariposa.

It was a long, low building, with a broad piazza in front and along one
side; the facade was painted a dingy yellow to match the stage
apparently, but the rest of the edifice had been neglected, and the
superabundant rain and superabundant sunshine of Mariposa had left
marks of their handiwork on the bare boards.

The loungers rushed out of the bar-room as soon as the wheels were
heard, and stood grouped about the broad piazza exchanging jokes with
the driver, who was known as Scotty, and asking the news from Hornitos
and other way places.

Meanwhile the "Doctor," a stout, ruddy-complexioned man, whose
appearance spoke well for his profession, descended from his seat on
the box, and, opening the stage door with an air of pride and
satisfaction, he assisted the one lady passenger to alight with a grace
which would have done credit to Chesterfield. The loungers on the
piazza started and drew back. All ceased their gibes with Scotty, and
two or three removed their hats. She was not only a woman, but a very
pretty woman--she was even beautiful.

She thanked the Doctor with a pretty grace, and turned her clear, hazel
eyes upon the admiring group, scanning each face eagerly and wistfully.
The Doctor said, "Allow me," and was about to escort her into the small
den at one side known as the "Ladies' parlor," but she swept past him
and walked straight into the bar-room, the Doctor, the loafers, and
Scotty crowding in after her and regarding her movements with an
undisguised admiration, and as much reverential curiosity as though she
had been a visitant from another sphere.

The proprietor of the "Grand" was a podgy man, with an aggressively
bald head and scaley eyes like an alligator's--though for that matter I
may be libelling the alligator. His name was Sharpe, commonly corrupted
into "Cutey" by some mysterious process.

He wa