tent, from which he gazed forth upon the stars.

Five minutes passed thus, and I did not speak. Then all at once I heard
Stuart call out: "Orderly!"

"Yes, sir," came from the man on post near the tent.

"Tell Sweeney to come and bring his banjo!"

And walking fifty steps, Stuart caressed the glossy neck of his mare
"Lady Margaret," who was tethered to a bough, and looked around
affectionately at her master.

When he returned he was humming "The dew lay on the blossom," and
following him was Sweeney--the same old Sweeney!--ever mild, courteous,
almost sad, doffing his cap, saluting with simple grace, and tuning his
banjo.

In a moment the tent, the wooded knoll, the whole vicinity was ringing
with the uproarious notes of the mirth-inspiring banjo; and Sweeney was
chanting, as only that great master _could_ chant, the mighty epic of
the sabreurs of Stuart:--

"If you want to have a good time
Jine the cavalry,
Bully Boys, hey!"

The staff and couriers quickly assembled, the servants were grouped in
the starlight, the horses beneath the boughs turned their intelligent
heads--and leading in the uproarious chorus might have been heard the