rtee, sometimes
blushing, but always enjoying the jest with a quiet and merry laugh.
The ornaments on the wall of the general's quarters gave Stuart many
a topic of badinage. Affecting to believe that they were of General
Jackson's selection, he pointed now to the portrait of some famous
race-horse, and now to the print of some celebrated rat-terrier, as
queer revelations of his private tastes, indicating a great decline
in his moral character, which would be a grief and disappointment to
the pious old ladies of the South. Jackson, with a quiet smile,
replied that perhaps he had had more to do with race-horses than his
friends suspected. It was in the midst of such a scene as this that
dinner was announced, and the two generals passed to the mess-table.
It so happened that Jackson had just received, as a present from a
patriotic lady, some butter, upon the adornment of which the fair
donor had exhausted her housewife's skill. The servants, in honour of
General Stuart's presence, had chosen this to grace the centre of the
board. As his eye fell upon it, he paused, and with mock gravity
pointed to it, saying, "There, gentlemen! If that is not the crowning
evidence of our host's sporting tastes. He even has his favourite
game-cock stamped on his butter!" The dinner, of course, began with
great laughter, in which Jackson joined, with as much enjoyment as
any."

Visitors, too, from Europe, attracted by the fame of the army and its
leaders, had made their way into the Confederate lines, and were
received with all the hospitality that the camps afforded. An English
officer has recorded his experiences at Moss Neck:--

"I brought from Nassau a box of goods (a present from England) for
General Stonewall Jackson, and he asked me when I was at Richmond to
come to his camp and see him. He left the city one morning about
seven o'clock, and about ten landed at a station distant some eight
or nine miles from Jackson's (or, as his men called him, Old Jack's)
camp. A heavy fall of snow had covered the country for some time
before to the depth of a foot, and formed a crust over the Virginian
mud, which is quite as villainous as that of Balaclava. The day
before had been mild and wet, and my journey was made in a drenching
shower, which soon cleared away the white mantle of snow. You cannot
imagine the slough of despond I had to pass through. Wet to the skin,
I stumbled through mud, I waded through creeks, I passed through
pine-woods,