authoritative manner had deceived the Federal line, and his order, for the moment, was obeyed. That moment saved many lives among our men, who were running back across the open space between them and the woods to the rear, every foot of which space was swept by the enmy's balls.

Hundreds of our men saw this daring deed of General Stuart, yet strange to say, I have never seen an account of it in print. Whether he really thought they were our men, I have never known. I am inclined to think, however, that our lines had extended far enough to take in those woods on the left, but that our troops had failed to advance, as Gen. Stuart had expected. Hence when the Federals wheeled and began to fire on our left and rear, he naturally took them for the forces that he had ordered to advance through those woods. There was a small house standing in the field just in front of the cannon pits. Col. Brown, who had crossed the works, just before the event mentioned, stepped into this house to find himself in the midst of a party of Federal soldiers with guns in their hands. His prospects for capture or death were imminent. But he was equal to the emergency, and presenting a bold front, he called out: "If one of you shows his head about these doors or windows, our men will burst this house all to pieces;" and passing out at the other door he quickly rejoined his regiment, which by this time had reached the woods. Other troops charged on the left and cleared those woods,

the cannon pits were retaken, and Hooker's army was driven into a huddle about the Chancellorsville house.

Now the battle ceased, we could not then tell why. We now know that Sedgewick's corps had crossed the river above Fredericksburg, and was marching up in Gen. Lee's rear, and he had been compelled to detach a part of our army to go and meet it. The idea was to hold Hooker where he was until Sedgewick was driven back across the river, and then to renew the battle next day.

Col. Brown and I dined together in the woods near the first line of breastworks, on a quarter of fat beef left there by the enemy, supplemented by the rich contents of a Yankee haversack. Among these contents was a can of coffee, sugar, and cream, all mixed in proper proportions; so, we had only to put a spoonful into a tin cup full of water, boil over the fire, and we had a most delicious beverage. The dead and wounded lay thick about us, but we were too hungry to be fastidious, and the stack of delicaces was too tempting to admit of delay.

The afternoon was devoted to the sad duty of burying the dead, while a strong force watched Hooker's army. Sedgewick was driven back across the river, and by morning our forces were concentrated again ready to renew the contest. But during the night "the finest army on the planet" decamped noiselessly and swiftly, and by morning was beyond our reach. That Gen. Stuart, a cavalry officer, un

acquainted with a single brigade in the corps, should be called to command in the darkness of the night, and should lead it so successfully and gloriously the next day, stamps him as one of the greatest geniuses of the war, while his superb bearing and knightly gallantry, throughout that bloody day, more than vindicated his title of "the flower of cavaliers." From the beginning to the end, he led every charge in person, and wherever the smoke was thickest, and the roar and clash were the loudest, there could be seen the flashing of his sword and the dancing of his plume.

I have written of things as I saw them, as I now remember them. I am aware that memory has played many tricks on me in thirty-four years, and that others who saw things from another standpoint, have been impressed differently, and may take issue with me on some minor points. I believe, however, that what I have written is in the main correct.

REMINISCENCES OF AN OLD TIME

SCHOOL TEACHER.

1879.

"Well, sir, right down there where those large trees are standing sixty-three years ago this summer I taught a school." The time was 1872. The place was a secluded spot in a dense forest about

a mile to the right of the road leading from Woodruff to Cross Anchor. The man was William Jones-a name the mere mention of which will cause some of the old to revel again in the scenes of childhood and will remind a number of the young and middle-aged of many a fireside story, told by loved ones whose lips are now closed and whose tongues are stilled forever.

We had met by accident, if there be such a thing as accident. And as the venerable old man stood before me with his long white hair resting upon his shoulders and recounted some of his exploits in a profession which was the pride of his life, his faded checks resumed their color, his black eyes kindled again with the fire and enthusiasm of youth, and I felt as I imagine one would feel on viewing some grand old character of past ages, whose outlines were magnified and whose proportions became gigantic when seen through the mists and shadows of centuries. Sixty-three years ago! The thought itself was grand. And here was the man who with one hand trembling with age could cling to the present, while with the other he could reach back to that distant day and hold its events in the tight firm grasp of young manhood. The scene around was well calculated to kindle the fires of imagination, and one could almost hear the sounding echoes of the past. Perhaps those old oaks, wrapped in the glorious foliage of summer and lifting their heads in silent grandeur there above the

surrounding forest, once resounded to the music of my mother's voice; it is certain they witnessed the early struggle of Edwards, of Dean, of others who passed from the old teacher's little dominion to become heroes in the battle of life and to shine like stars in the galaxy of the country's worthies. And when I mention these let me not pass in silence the nameless throng that played and laughed and frolicked under those oaks, now seventy-one years ago. Perhaps some of them were "the noblest Romans of them all."

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene,

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air." Perhaps in their deep seclusion they grappled with the stern trials of life and combated the powers of darkness with a moral heroism that would put to shame the Napoleons and Alexanders of the world. And yet they passed away unhonored and

unsung.

"Can storied urn or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust,

Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?" Eternity alone will mete out to every man his proper reward; and among its revelations only will be found the full measure of influence exerted upon the world by the man who taught a school where