He had crept out of the back window of the
old country home after the last cricket had
sung itself to sleep, and the dew had fallen on
the long grass and glistened on the over-ripe
pods of the jimson weeds; and ho had made
his way to the noarest’eamp, and—best luck of
all—he struck the gallant company, Fifth Ken
tucky regiment.
This was the celebrated “Lewis” regiment,
which had seen the dun and dreadful pallor of
■ .wur shroud many a fair field.
Little Jim did not care a jot. He was a sol
dier, and that was all he desired on earth. Ho
left a good home, ran away from a doting
mother, the little rapscallion. and with all his
gentle blood and breeding, he threw himself
into line with one of those veteran regiments
that bad helped to make the thunder roll from
the banks of the Potomac to the bloody field
of Chickamauga.
I wish I had time to tell you how he was
drilled into service. I know him well, for he
i.s a retired veteran now and has no more long
ing to
“ Seek the bubble renutation
1' tiic cannon's mouth.”
“Hello, inelish, what’s yer name?” asked
George Elbridge, as the gawky youth present
ed himself.
“Jimmy B—,” replied the boy. And as he
uttered the first falsehood of his life his black
eyes grew misty and a great choking lump
arose hi his throat, but he clenched his teeth
and set those thin, aristocratic lips firmly
together, and Sherman’s whole army could not
have forced him then to disclose his identity.
