become jealous of me. I guess I'm satisfied as I am."

"I like the modesty of the South Carolinians, Tom," said Dalton.
"There's a story going the rounds that you South Carolinians made the
war and that we Virginians have got to fight it."

"There may be such a story. It seems to me that it was whispered to
me once, but the internal evidence shows that it was invented by a
Virginian. Haven't I come up here and shed some of my blood and more of
my perspiration to save the sacred soil of the Mother of Presidents from
invasion? And didn't I bring with me Arthur St. Clair, the best dressed
man in Charleston, for the Yankees to shoot at? Hello, what's that?
This is a day of events!"

Hoots, cat-calls, and derisive yells arose along a long line. A trim
young officer on a fine bay horse was riding down a path beside the
Opequon. He was as beautifully dressed as St. Clair at his best.
His hands were encased in long white buckskin gloves, and long brown
mustaches curled beautifully up until they touched either cheek.
It was he, this Beau Brummel of the Southern army, who had attracted the
attention of irreverent youth. From the shelter of trees and bushes
came a chorus of cries:

"Take them mice out o' your mouth! I know they're there, 'cause I see
their tails stickin' out!"

"What kind o' hair oil do you use? I know your head's oiled, or it
wouldn't shine so."

"Be sure you keep your gloves on or the sun'll tan your hands!"