brass bands clash no more; and the bugles are silent. Where are the
drums and the bugles? Do they beat the long roll at the approach of
phantom foes, or sound the cavalry charge in another world? They are
silent to-day, and have long disappeared; but I think I hear them still
in my dreams!

It is in June, 1863, therefore, worthy reader, that I open my volume.
Up to that time I had gone with Jackson's "foot cavalry," marching
slowly and steadily to battle. Now, I was to follow the gay and
adventurous career of the Virginia Rupert--Stuart, the Knight of the
Black Plume! If you are willing to accompany me, I promise to show you
some animated scenes. You will hear Stuart laugh as he leads the
charge, or jest with his staff, or sing his gay cavalry songs. But,
alas! we shall not go far with him; and when he leaves us a sort of
shadow will fall upon the landscape. From that May, 1864, laughter will
seldom be heard. The light which shines on the great picture will be
red and baleful. Blood will gush on desperate fields--men will fall
like dry leaves in the winds of autumn.

The crimson torrent will sweep away a whole generation almost--and the
Red Cross flag will go down in blood.

The current of events will drag us to Petersburg, and those last months
which witnessed the final wrestle in this war of the giants.

Let us bask in the sunshine, before breasting the storm. The pages of
blood and mourning will soon be opened--meanwhile we will laugh.

In this June, 1863, faces smile still, and cheers resound. Bugles are
ringing, swords clashing, cannon thundering.