that remind him of a story of an army mule, a very amusing story;
and that reminded him of another story, until, when he stopped and
sat down, every one in the room broke into delighted applause.

They went in to dinner. Montague sat by General Prentice, and he, in
turn, by the Judge; the latter was reminded of more stories during
the dinner, and kept every one near him laughing. Finally Montague
was moved to tell a story himself--about an old negro down home, who
passed himself off for an Indian. The Judge was so good as to
consider this an immensely funny story, and asked permission to tell
it himself. Several times after that he leaned over and spoke to
Montague, who felt a slight twinge of guilt as he recalled his
brother's cynical advice, "Cultivate him!" The Judge was so willing
to be cultivated, however, that it gave one's conscience little
chance.

They went back to the meeting-room again; chairs were shifted, and
little groups formed, and cigars and pipes brought out. They moved
the precious battle-flags forward, and some one produced a bugle and
a couple of drums; then the walls of the place shook, as the whole
company burst forth:--

"Bring the good old bugle, boys! we'll sing another song--Sing it
with a spirit that will start the world along--Sing it as we used
to sing it, fifty thousand strong,--While we were marching through
Georgia!"

It was wonderful to witness the fervour with which they went through
this rollicking chant--whose spirit we miss because we hear it too
often. They were not skilled musicians--they could only sing loud;