darkly. It came with unwonted verdure, freshness, and beauty,
filling the hearts of the despondent with hope, and the hopeful with
rejoicing. It was scarcely a month from the time the coach dashed
out of the half-aroused town of Minneopoli in the chilly April
morning, when a similar vehicle, one evening, toiled slowly up the
long hill whose summit was crowned by picturesque Melrose. Among the
passengers were Captain Marshall and his friend Fred Pinckney. The
former had come to Melrose to claim the hand of his affianced, Eliza
Heartwell, and to take her away as his wife. In that sweet May-time,
no heart was happier than George Marshall's, and no voice gladder,
as it rang out in unrestrained laughter at the droll jokes and
facetious comments of his witty friend Fred.

"I say, George, this is undoubtedly the beautifulest country I ever
saw. Do see. Such honeysuckles and such dog-wood blossoms never grew
before. Maybe if the fates are propitious, I'll come back here to
this picturesque country to get me a wife, after the war is over.
Who knows? Then I'll be a laurel-crowned hero, having whaled out the
Yankees to a frizzle, and all the fair ones will be sighing for my
hand and heart! Umph! I am impatient for the conflict. George, you
know the Yankees won't fight!"

"Well, we will see. At any rate, from my acquaintance with them, I
shall not go to battle against them armed only with a broom-stick.
But here we are in Melrose. Don't, for love's sake, talk of war. My
heart's in a flutter. Cupid's conflict is worse than the Indians,
Fred."

"Yes, I see you have surrended unconditionally; yet your captivity
is by no means galling, I observe. Well, you are a lucky fellow,