ent like the wind. He drove very boldly and at the same
time very cautiously, avoiding the numerous stumps, stones and ruts
with admirable dexterity. I began to suspect that the boy was not a
Virginia boy. When at length we reached the smooth stage-road I began
to question him: "Are you the general's son?"

"No, sir: that was my father at the station"--he of the jug.

"How do you like this country?"

My habit from childhood had been to take the life of any stranger who
had the audacity to tell me that he did not like any and every part
of Virginia, but of late I have contented myself with slicing off his
ears.

"The longer I live here the better I like it."

Smart boy! he had saved his auditory organs. But as yet his accent had
not been sufficiently defined to enable me to tell his nationality.
"You are not from England, are you?"

"No, indeed, sir--from New Hampshire."

The appalling truth was out. First, a Yankee uniform; second, an
Englishman; third, a whole raft, a "hull lot," of New Hampshire
Yankees; and yet they call this Virginia!

No wonder I was silent. Night had fallen, we had entered a dark
forest, there was an unreconstructed penknife (somehow or other,
I always forget my bowie-knife and Derringers now-a-days) recently
sharpened in my pocket. Why did I not cut the throat of this little
Oppressor and fatten the soil of my native land with the blood of the
small ruthless Yankee Invader?

It was just because at this moment we caught up with the ambulance.
The two vehicles halted, a young girl and a little boy left the
ambulance and took seats by the side of my driver, and the greeting of
the brother and sister--the latter having just returned from a visit
to her native granite hills--was actually as affectionate, beautiful
and sweet as if they had been born in the middle of the Mother of
States and of Statesmen. And as the ambulance drove on there came
floating back to us ever and anon on the night wind a still sweeter
voice. It came from a young lady--a young Yankee lady at that--and it
sounded sweet to me--to me myself, my own dear, unadulterated, real
Old Virginia self.

Turning from the main road, we wound around among the rocky ravines
in a fashion truly bewildering to a body with weak eyes, but my little
Yankee driver seemed so much at home that I felt no shadow of fear.
Arriving safely at the general's capacious mansion, I bade my Northern
friends good-night, and sat down to a supper withou