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"Are you not a New Orleans boy?" she asked as I lifted my képi and drew rein.

"I think you know Lieutenant Durand?" asked the General, with a quizzical eye.

Breathe, O! breathe to me, as these love-languid skies To yon twilight star breathe, Return, return!

He was not wordy, and he tarried but a moment, yet he explained his paralysis. In the dreary monotone of a chronic sour temper he related that some Confederates, about a year before, had come here impressing horses, and their officer, on being called by him "no gentleman," had struck him behind the ear with the butt of a carbine. I asked what punishment the officer received, and I noticed the plural pronoun as he icily replied, "We didn't enter any complaint."

"Only into her service," I said, but he raised his brows. "That is more; certainly you are honored. What is it you would rather not tell the General and yet you must; do I know that already?"

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