erry would have done no discredit to
the Champs-Elysees. Jackson had but two assistants, who, like
himself, still wore the plain blue uniform of the Military Institute.
To eyes accustomed to the splendid trappings and prancing steeds of
his predecessors there seemed an almost painful want of pomp and
circumstance about the colonel of volunteers. There was not a
particle of gold lace about him. He rode a horse as quiet as himself.
His seat in the saddle was ungraceful. His well-worn cadet cap was
always tilted over his eyes; he was sparing of speech; his voice was
very quiet, and he seldom smiled. He made no orations, he held no
reviews, and his orders were remarkable for their brevity. Even with
his officers he had little intercourse. He confided his plans to no
one, and not a single item of information, useful or otherwise,
escaped his lips.

Some members of the Maryland Legislature, a body whom it was
important to conciliate, visited Harper's Ferry during his tenure of
command. They were received with the utmost politeness, and in return
plied the general with many questions. His answers were
unsatisfactory, and at length one more bold than the rest asked him
frankly how many men he had at his disposal. "Sir," was the reply, "I
should be glad if President Lincoln thought I had fifty thousand."
Nor was this reticence observed only towards those whose discretion
he mistrusted. He was silent on principle. In the campaign of 1814,
the distribution of the French troops at a most critical moment was
made known to the allies by the capture of a courier carrying a
letter from Napoleon to the Empress. There was little chance of a
letter to Mrs. Jackson, who was now in North Carolina, falling into
the hands of the Federals; but even in so small a matter Jackson was
consistent.

"You say," he wrote, "that your husband never writes you any news. I
suppose you mean military news, for I have written you a great deal
about your sposo and how much he loves you. What do you want with
military news? Don't you know that it is unmilitary and unlike an
officer to write news respecting one's post? You couldn't wish your
husband to do an unofficer-like thing, could you?"

And then, the claims of duty being thus clearly defined, he proceeds
to describe the roses which climbed round the window of his temporary
quarters, adding, with that lover-like devotion which every letter
betrays, "but my sweet little sunny face is what I want to see