occasionally. Directly he dismounts he has to be put on
crutches. He was Stonewall Jackson's coadjutor during the celebrated
valley campaigns, and he used to be a great swearer--in fact, he is said
to have been the only person who was unable to restrain that propensity
before Jackson; but since his late (rather romantic) marriage, he has
(to use the American expression) "_joined the Church_." When I saw him
he was in a great state of disgust in consequence of the supposed loss
of his waggons, and refused to be comforted by General Lee.

I joined Longstreet again, and, mounted on Lawley's venerable horse,
started at 3 P.M. to ride through the pass. At 4 P.M. we stopped at a
place where the roads fork, one leading to Emmetsburg, and the other to
Hagerstown. Major Moses and I entered a farmhouse, in which we found
several women, two wounded Yankees, and one dead one, the result of this
morning's skirmish. One of the sufferers was frightfully wounded in the
head; the other was hit in the knee: the latter told me he was an
Irishman, and had served in the Bengal Europeans during the Indian
Mutiny. He now belonged to a Michigan cavalry regiment, and had already
imbibed American ideas of Ireland's wrongs, and all that sort of trash.
He told me that his officers were very bad, and that the idea in the
army was that M'Clellan had assumed the chief command.

The women in this house were great Abolitionists. When Major Fairfax
rode up, he inquired of one of them whether the corpse was that of a
Confederate or Yankee (the body was in the verandah, covered with a
white sheet). The woman made a gesture with her foot, and replied, "If
it was a rebel, do you think it would be here long?" Fairfax then said,
"Is it a woman who speaks in such a manner of a dead body which can do
no one any harm?" She thereupon coloured up, and said she wasn't in
earnest.

At 6 o'clock we rode on again (by the Hagerstown road) and came up with
General Longstreet at 7.30. The road was full of soldiers marching in a
particularly lively manner--the wet and mud seemed to have produced no
effect whatever on their spirits, which were as boisterous as ever. They
had got hold of coloured prints of Mr Lincoln, which they were passing
about from company to company with many remarks upon the personal beauty
of Uncle Abe. The same old chaff was going on of "Come out of that
hat--I know you're in it--I sees your legs a-dangling down," &c. When we
halted for the night,