cred. Colonel Lefferts is killed. There
is a stir around the armory door, the knot of idlers gives way
respectfully, and admits a little man, the pride of the regiment, always
cool, collected, handsome, and soldierly--Colonel Diamond. He says half
a dozen words in a whisper to the captain, writes three lines with a
pencil on the fly leaf of an old letter, gives a comprehensive glance
around, in which we feel he sees everything, salutes the captain, and
marches briskly, almost noiselessly, into the street. Smallweed, the
melancholy man, rolls up his blanket, packs his knapsack, combs his hair
sadly, and moans out: 'Detail for the guard: Private Smallweed. I'm
d----d if I stand this any longer! I'll write to----'

'Fall in men; fall in under arms; fall in lively now!' barks the orderly
sergeant. 'Get up here, Snuffsky. Tetter, don't you mean to fall in at
all?' and so on. Volunteers are wanted for special and perhaps dangerous
service. Perhaps dangerous! (Quick movement of admiration.) 'Every man
willing to go will step two paces to the front.' The company moves
forward in line, much to the disgust of Sergeant Files, who finds he
must make a detail after all. Lieutenant Frank, Sergeant Mullins,
Corporal Bledsoe, and twenty privates are presently detailed, and, after
tremendous preparation and excitement, during which Smallweed discovers
that some one has stolen his percussion caps, and is incontinently
cursed by Sergeant Files for his pains, march off amid the cheers of the
disappointed remainder. We mourn our sad lot at being left out of the
detail, when presently comes a second detail: Second Lieutenant
Treadwell, Sergeant Ogle, Corporal Funk, and twenty privates, of whom
you, Jenkins, are one. As you get ready, you adopt stern resolves,
stiffen that upper lip, and confide a short message for some one to one
of the survivors, in case, as you proudly hint, you should not return.
The survivor rewards you with a pressure of the hand, and a look of
wonder at your coolness.

'_Support_--ARMS! _Quick_--MARCH!' the lieutenant says, almost in a
whisper, as we leave the building, and are fairly in the street. Where
are we going? Why do we go down Pennsylvania Avenue? This is not the
way to Long Bridge. Are the enemy attacking the navy yard? all wonder;
no one speaks. 'Halt!' Why, this is the telegraph office! and we take
possession of it in the name of the United States. Despatches between
Baltimore and Richmond have passed ove