Soon after these several triumphs of Texas arms, a vessel was shipwrecked on the Gulf, and among the debris that washed upon the coast, a U. S. mail bag was picked up by the soldiers on duty there and forwarded to headquarters. It contained a large amount of letter mail, going North from Texas. The letters were written in part by Texans, who had fled the country to Mexico on account of proscription for Union sentiments, and to avoid conscription, with other reasons. And many were written by those still remaining in the country.

The accident furnished an opportunity for the military authorities to discover who might be traitors in their midst. The contents of the letters were carefully examined, and indicated that some of the writers entertained sentiments more or less treasonable to the Southern cause. Among the writers of this class was a Mrs. E., living a hundred miles from the coast, on the Texas Central Railroad. She had emigrated years before from the central part of the Old Empire State of the North. She was a lady of a decidedly literary turn of mind, and this fact was strongly marked in the literary tone of the contraband letter that had, by unforeseen accident, fallen into military hands. It read, in part, as quoted below:

"Dear Mother: It is a long time since communication was broken off between us. It seems an age. I am tired of it, and would that the unnatural struggle were over. But how and when, God only knows! I am living under a reign of terror, where dissembling is an art, and must be practiced, though self-bemeaning to an honest mind. The crushing incubus is upon us, and must be borne as best it can be. It would be comparatively easy to float with the current here if one's sympathies were with it. But dare I say it (?), mine are not. May the gods, in their own quick time, relieve the terrible suspense, and give victory to the 'Stars and Stripes.'"

Thus wrote one of the most talented ladies in Texas. She was a lady of medium hight and size, delicately organized, sensitive temperament, brunette complexion, and a dark full swimming eye—a gazelle-eyed Juno. Unlike some literary members of the sex, she was a very queen of domestic neatness, thrift and joy, as well as a happy companion of books. More than this, she was by no means a literary or domestic recluse, but her large heart sent out its tendrils for the dews of neighborhood life, and gave out the sweet waters of friendship to such as should themselves be friendly. The beautiful climax of her character was in giving joy to others. She was most happy when making others so. Without guile herself, she never looked for it in other people. Yet this beauty of her character—an ingenuous frankness of heart and manner—sometimes inspired envy and jealousy in those who were her personal and social antipodes.

In literary matters, the poets were as familiar to her as household words. But she paid tribute not to literature alone, but ventured into the deep waters of such authors as Hugh Miller on Geology, Humboldt's Cosmos, and was able to digest metaphysics, theology, etc. And if, in the midst of it all, household cares included, exhausted in mental and physical strength, a little negro boy should come and say, "Please ma'm, here is some cloth, and mother is sick, and wants you to cut me a coat; she says you are so good you will do it," she will take the cloth, and cut and baste by the hour, and then send the little black home so glad.

In prose she writes heavy or light, and her muse sparkles with beautiful poetry. She is now, and has been since the war, a correspondent of first-class periodicals, weekly and monthly, at home and abroad, and is a leading poetess of the "Lone Star State."

One morning the door-bell rang at her house. Mrs. E. answered the summons in person, and on opening the door there stood a tall, handsome gentleman, in military costume. Each said "good-morning," and bowed the stranger's bow.

"Is Mrs. E. at home?" he inquired.

"She is," replied that lady.

"Have I the pleasure of addressing that lady now?" said the officer.

"I am Mrs. E. Will you come in, Sir?" said she, in a dignified tone.

"I thank you, Madam, I will, if you please," and stepping in, he was seated on the sofa.

"Let me take your cap, Sir," said the lady, reaching out her hand to relieve him of that gold-braided and spangled ornament.

"No, I thank you, Madam, I am in a hurry, and am under orders in calling on you this morning so unceremoniously, without previous announcement by card or courier," said the military gent, with the feeling that he was in the presence of superior intelligence and worth. At this moment he felt that it would be a gracious relief if he could be spared the chagrin of serving a military summons upon the fair lady, for whom he confessed himself inspired with unusual respect, though never having met her before. He treated her, in words and manner, with genuine politeness, and no gentleman could have done otherwise.

"May I inquire, Sir, speaking of being under orders, what your orders are?" said Mrs. E., with evident surprise at the officer's hint.

This interrogatory of the lady had the effect of producing a grip of Mars at his throat, while Cupid's arrow struck his heart, and the lady, all unconscious of his struggle between the two deities, waited his reply. At last regaining his speech, and having studied well the language in which he would make his errand known, with the least possible shock to Mrs. E.'s sensibilities, he proceeded to say:

"My dear lady, it becomes my very unpleasant duty, under imperative orders, to request you to accompany me to headquarters, at Houston, where General M., the Commander of the Department of Texas, will make known to you the reasons of this summons."

"A request for me to appear at military headquarters, before the Department General—for me, a lady! and may I know what for? Strange Order from the General to a lady! What can it mean, and will you, if at liberty, explain how, and why it is, that a humble lady like myself has so suddenly reached such a degree of importance with the military headship of the land?"

"As I said before, he will disclose to you the reasons for this summons, Madame," said the officer. "It is a very unpleasant matter to me, and the more so, as I perceive you are a lady of unusual refinement, appearance and manners."

"I suppose, then, the summons is imperative and I must go?" said the lady again.

"Madam, I do not clothe my orders in such abrupt language, but feel bound to treat you in every respect as a gentleman should a lady, or," hesitatingly, "as if I were an old and accepted friend, paying court to your ladyship," said the man under authority, not from the war deity alone, for the last words were on the indictment of the little-winged god.

A lovely carnation blush overspread the brunette cheeks of Mrs. E., and reflected back the sentiment, in wordless pleasure. Just then the gallant gentleman relieved her momentary embarrassment, by pleasantly inquiring: "How soon, Mrs. E., may I expect the pleasure of your company by railroad to Houston. The next train will be here in two hours. Can you be ready in that time?"

She assured him that she could. "You will then excuse me, Madam, from taxing your time further, and I will return to the depot, and there wait your coming at the hour." So saying, the officer retired. On reaching the depot, he saw the two soldiers he had brought with him, armed with bayonets, and supplied with handcuffs, in anticipation of arresting some female outlaw, but now would part with the world, if his to give, sooner than Mrs. E. should know of his bayonet companions, and the other preparations for depriving her of physical freedom. He ordered the soldiers to keep out of sight at the depot, and give him no word or look of recognition on the train in the lady's presence. At first they did not exactly understand the secret of such instructions, but asked no explanations, though they wanted to ask, and the officer did not condescend to enlighten them, so they were left to their wits to divine the mystery.

But, meanwhile, what had been going on at the house of Mrs. E.? During the interview between her and the officer no member of the household had intruded into the room where they were, but as he retired she lost no time in acquainting the family circle with what had happened. That is, she told them that she had to report herself at military headquarters; and described the good-looking and polite gentleman who had served the summons, but said never a word of the little brush of romance from Cupid's wings.

"But what does it mean?" said one and another, and still another.

"I don't know," said she, "but I am going to see. The officer is a true gentleman, I am satisfied, and no harm will befall me in his hands. Besides, he will not only give me a safe conduct, but will regard the feelings of a lady, and make it sub rosa. And now let me say, dear ones, that whatever developments may occur, you shall be duly informed, and I don't feel that we need fear serious harm."

Then she retired to make her toilet, and a few minutes before train time she was on the platform in a modest but bewitching attire. The officer gave one glance, that was all—a stranger would have given two or three—and, turning away, felt a soft sensation in his left side. He tried to appear like a stranger, with no interest in the lady, who now stood looking up the road for the train. She had divined and appreciated the public reserve of her military escort displayed at that delicate moment.

Soon the whistle blew, and the train was in sight. Just then the officer passed her and said, "Select a seat in the rear car, and I will come to you." The train moved up, bringing that car at her side. She entered by the front platform, he by the rear. They met at the center, and found one seat fully vacant only. He motioned her in, and she did not object to the stranger's occupying the seat with her. Train is off, and the noise of rumbling wheels soon drowns conversation to all but the mutual talkers themselves. What, with the hope that nothing serious is to befall her at headquarters—as her conscience tells of no crime against military or civil order—and the new found pleasure of company so congenial, she almost forgets the relation of officer and prisoner. The trip of fifty miles seems less than an hour, as the train enters the city of destination.

The officer and his fair prisoner are seated in an omnibus, and driven to—not headquarters, nor the common jail, nor guard-house, but to the —— House, the best in the city, and there Mrs. E. is imprisoned in a nicely furnished room for the night. The officer retires after ordering all her wants supplied, even to a special waiting-maid, saying as he goes: "Mrs. E., I will call in the morning with further orders. I hope you will rest well, and not have unpleasant dreams."

That night no bayonet paced the hall by her room to prevent the prisoner's escape. No, her honor, better felt than told, stood sentinel at her door! The next morning a gentle rap announced the officer's presence, and on opening the door he gave her a pleasant smile, with a cordial "good-morning." She looked a little pale, as if she might not have rested well the entire night, which induced him to ask: "Are you quite well this morning, Mrs. E.? You are looking a little pale." On assuring him that she was, he notified her that he was now ready, if she were agreed, to escort her to the presence of his dignity, General M., at his private quarters.

"Certainly, Sir, I am ready and anxious, as well as curious, to know the meaning of this strange proceeding. Is it far, Sir?"

"No, it is not very far, Madam, but no matter about the distance, as there is a carriage at the door waiting to convey us thither."

"O, there is; but this treatment seems too kind and generous toward your prisoner. I could have walked as well, Sir," said Mrs. E., while a tear came into her eye, which, turning her head aside, she tried to hide from his view, but which he saw, and treasured in the heart of his recollection.

Taking his arm they descended the stairway, and proceeding through the hall to the front door they entered a close carriage, and were driven away without meeting the stare of listless spectators. On reaching the General's quarters she was ushered into his presence with military salutations from the subordinate to his superior officer. "I have the honor, General, of returning the process served, and the prisoner, Mrs. E., is before you, whom I now introduce to you," said the sub-officer. She bowed genteelly to the General, which brought the military bluff to his feet, and to make his politest reply, which would be awkward in most gentlemen. He asked her to be seated, ordering a chair. Then reseating himself in his big swivel chair, and facing the lady, he proceeded to say:

"Mrs. E., I suppose you would first like to be informed as to the reasons for this summary proceeding against you; and though, as Department Commander, I am not required by military law or usage to allege the cause of action, yet, in this case, and because I am dealing with a lady, who though a stranger to me, I perceive to be intelligent and genteel, I will assign to you the reason for this peremptory summons. A letter, purporting on its face, to have been written by yourself, or some one bearing your name, by the accidents of war and providential direction, has fallen into my hands, and a portion of its contents proves to be treasonable to the Confederacy." Here handing her the letter, he inquired:

"Mrs. E., do you recognize the letter as yours?"

"I do," was the brief response.

"And those are your sentiments, as therein expressed, toward our cause, Madam?" again said the General.

"The letter reads so, General, and it would be cowardly in me to deny, now under fear, what I then said without fear. I was frank then, and will not be less so now. Those were, and are, my sentiments; though little did I think, or intend harm, by the letter, to the Confederacy when writing it, and in forwarding it to friends in the North; as it was strictly a private letter to private friends, disconnected with any motive to inflict injury upon the country. Nor can I see or feel that the offense is a penal one in any sense, so long as I am found guilty of neither constructive nor actual treason, by aiding or abetting the enemy, furnishing him material aid or contraband information, nor of the possession of treasonable motives, expressed or implied, waiting the opportune moment to display themselves, or something more than mere feelings or convictions, which are certainly involuntary things, and hence without responsibility. Feelings and convictions, permit me to suggest, General, are like birds flying over one's head, for which one is not responsible. One is only responsible for willful action, in obedience to these feelings and convictions. I will not urge, General, the further consideration, that your prisoner is a woman, without pretension, whose sphere of action is confined exclusively to the domestic circle, including some little experience in literary matters. But of all this you must and will be the judge, of course, and I must submit to your judgment and consequent orders in the premises, but I would respectfully beg to be spared from sustaining damages, either corporal or incorporal, on the plain principle of justice, that where one has neither done nor intended damage to others, he should not be damaged himself."

The General replied, though not without some misgiving: "My dear Madam, you defend yourself capitally well, and I perceive you are not only an intelligent lady, and hence, on this score, we fear you in our cause all the more, if disposed on seeming occasion, to do damage, which is liable to come at any time by the accidents of war, but I feel bound to say that I believe that you are a well-meaning lady, though not patriotic toward the country of your adoption. But, Madam, occupying the responsible position I do, I am bound to discard personal feeling, and take notice of facts, both actual and possible, and not be a respecter of persons, but have my country's weal and prosperity before me, and remove with scrupulous care all obstacles thereto, even the least.

"As you say your case is not criminal in any important sense, but imprudent, inexpedient, unfortunate, the least I can do is to remove you beyond our lines till after the war. And as most convenient to us, and probably preferable to you, I will order you, by military escort, to Matamoras, in Mexico, across the Rio Grande. And I detail Lieutenant H. here, the officer who placed you under arrest, and brought you to these headquarters, to command the escort, and see the order of exile carried out. You can now return home on your parole of honor, and there await further orders."

To a lady of her style and sensibilities such a proceeding would be shocking, but Mrs. E. bore up under it well. She retired from the General's presence, with the pointed remark, addressed to him: "Well, General, if I understand the situation then, you exile me, not so much for what I have done, as for what I might do?"

"Your case is disposed of, Madam. I have nothing further to say; and you are too much of a lady to bandy words with," replied the General.

She was driven to the cars as she had come, in company with Lieutenant H., who saw her safe on board, and as the train moved off, he pressed her hand, and said warmly, "Good-by. God bless you; be of good cheer; in a few days, two or three, you will see me again, and—" he left the sentence unfinished, as the train was getting fast, and leaped from the platform.

At the hour of 12 M. she was at home again. "In a few days, two or three," she said to the family, "I am off for the sunset side of the Rio Grande to Matamoras. This is the order of the General, and to remain there, or outside the lines, till the 'cruel war is over.'

"And now, Lew, I want you and your sister Emma to accompany me with the ambulance and the nice white carriage mules, and be my companions in exile. Do, my dears, and don't say no, for how can I go alone, and leave my adopted darling brother and sister. We can do something for a livelihood if the purse gets low, and we'll fill it as we go."

"But, dear Mrs. E., you have not told us yet why you are ordered into exile. Have you been committing some enormous crime that deserves the punishment of expatriation? Tell us, for it may be that we may meet the fate of poor 'Dog Tray,' being found in bad company, which might not be quite so pleasant after all."

Thus responded, archly, Lewis and Emma.

"Sure enough. Pardon me, dears, my mind had become so absorbed with results that I had become oblivious of the cause. Ah! why so, not demented am I! and yet with all my effort at self-control, there is, I feel, a terrible strain on my nerves. But the cause, what do you suppose it is? I will tell you. Do you remember that letter I wrote to my dear old mother two months ago, dying, no doubt, with the heartache for her child in this far-off country, and in these troublous times? You do. Well, by a strange ordering of the fates that letter fell into the hands of the military. I see you wonder how. It was on this wise: The vessel carrying the mail was shipwrecked on the Gulf, and among the things carried ashore by the tidewaters, near Sabine Pass, was the mail-bag containing the fatal letter, and was picked up by the soldiers on duty there, and forwarded to headquarters. And now that is how the situation is, and the procuring cause of my being in military limbo."

"And is that all—is that the head and front of your offending?" exclaimed the brother and sister, and then added, "If that be all, we are not only ready to go with you into exile, but if need be to the ends of the earth. Yes, we'll go, dear Mrs. E.; we'll go, and glad of an opportunity for voluntary exile from a country so mean, and with one so dear."

"Hush, my dears; give utterance only to such feelings when we are safe beyond the lines. Now we understand each other, let us to the work of preparation for the journey of four hundred miles. Lew will look after the mules and ambulance. The ambulance will need two good seats, and room inside, and a rack behind for provisions and trunks. And you and I, Emma, will see the trunks well filled with clothing for all around, and other things that may come in play. You know we shall be obliged to camp out the whole way through, as there are no places of entertainment in that wild country. The wolves will nightly give us howling serenades around our camp-fires. But the escort will afford us ample protection against four-legged wolves, and wolves bipedal."

The next two days were busy ones of preparation, interspersed with brief respites, occasions for interesting chats and consultations on the novel trip before them, in which the ever-recurring how, when, where, and wherefore, were thoroughly canvassed and disposed of each time as well as mortals with only mortal ken could dispose of such things yet in the untried future. At last, when the clock said ten, the second night, the trunk lids were pressed down to their places, locked and strapped, and Mrs. E. wearied, and half-falling into a big arm-chair, exclaimed, "There, Lieutenant H., you may come as quick as you please, we are ready."

Just then the door-bell rang. "Why, who's that," said Mrs. E., in a half-startled, but suppressed tone; but a little bird told her it was the Lieutenant. Miss Emma approached and opened the door, and sure enough it was he.

"Is Mrs. E. in?" inquired he.

"She is," replied Emma; "please step in, Sir."

"Good evening, Mrs. E.," was his salutation to that lady. She replied, and rising and meeting him they shook hands warmly.

He remarked, apologetically, "It is a late hour to call, but I know you will excuse me, Madam. I am stopping at the hotel in town, and just came to know if you were ready to begin the pleasant journey in the morning," at the same time glancing at Lew and Emma, to see if they appeared to comprehend the situation.

"We are ready, I thank you, Lieutenant, and only wait 'further orders,' having just this moment, before you came, strapped our trunks."

The Lieutenant looked surprised at the plural, "we are ready," and gave another glance at the brother and sister, and then at the two big trunks, and had parted his lips to speak, when Mrs. E. interrupted him with, "Yes, we are ready—these, my darling friends, my children almost, are going with me to be my companions in exile; and we are going in our own conveyance, and have just one vacant seat for you, Lieutenant, and we all cordially invite you to occupy it, and travel with us. And whatever military cavalcade is to accompany us, let them travel by themselves and be our John Baptist. What say you, Sir, to this?"

"Well now, really, Mrs. E., this is quite unexpected, and as I can have no objection, certainly, to the surprise plan, for which you alone are responsible, I can not refuse your kind invitation to make one of the number of so pleasant a traveling quartette. So being ready, I respectfully suggest the hour of eight in the morning as the time for starting. My requisition on the Commander of the post here, for six men and two four-mule teams and ambulances with drivers, has been filled, but it can remain so, and I will order them out an hour ahead of us, and we four will leave together, in a quiet way, not exciting public curiosity. And now, good-night all, I will be here at eight, sharp."

"What do you think of him, Miss Emma, and how will we be likely to fare in his charge?" said Mrs. E. after he had gone.

"What do I think of him? you ask. To speak, frankly, I think he is a nice gentleman, and will do to travel with, either with or without a military escort. I feel assured in his presence."

"It is indeed a painful thought to be driven, forced from one's home and country, even as a penalty for real crime, but when for an accident, a misfortune, which points to no criminal intent, it is a grief, unassuaged by aught save a conscious innocence. Though in my case, so far, a halo of real romance seems to gather around to shed its sweet sadness o'er my heart, to lighten the burden that presses it. Indeed it feels like the tender hand of the All-wise Father, caressing my troubled spirit into quiet and confident repose. Indeed, I almost feel thankful for the rod; and to bless the hand that holds and applies it. In a word, to speak directly, the trip we are about to make seems in its circumstances more like a pleasure trip than going into exile. But let us to repose; it is eleven o'clock, and we must rise early."

They retired, and the travelers of to-morrow are soon lost in sweet slumbers, which are made a little sweeter by pleasant dreams, in which the name of "Lieutenant H." escapes the lips of both the fair sleepers in low murmuring tones. Each hears the gentle murmur from the other, but is unknowing of her own; and each buries the secret in her heart, resolved that what has passed the portals of the ear shall not command the tongue for revelation on the house-top, nor to private ears, not even their own, unless, perchance, the mischievous little deity that presides over the heart destinies of most people, shall, for the sake of diversion, so far awaken curiosity as to force out the secret.

The morning light breaks in the east, and throws increasing strength upon the darkness of slumbering night. Awake, yes, wide awake. They arise, and perform in thoughtful silence, and with unusual care, their morning toilet. The morning repast is hurried through. The ambulance is at the door, and Lew, at seven o'clock, is loading and strapping on the trunks, with other necessary traveling equippage. The morning is beautiful, and the glorious sun has nearly reached the score of eight in the heavens, when Lieutenant H. suddenly appears, with smiling politeness, as bright as the sunny morning, and exclaims, "All ready, I see, and so am I; shall we be off?"

The family adieus are said. Lewis is on the front seat, with lines in hand. The Lieutenant hands the ladies in, Emma beside her brother. Just then Mrs. E. remarks, "I suppose, Lieutenant, you will occupy the seat beside your prisoner, to prevent her escape into the deep, tangled wild wood, when passing through the dark 'bottoms' of the Brazos? We shall soon be there."

"Thank you, Madam, that would seem entirely proper, and perhaps necessary; at least the situation is not repulsive." So saying, he became seated with a satisfied air, and Emma gave a stolen glance back over her shoulder at the double situation, first of officer and prisoner, and then of friends. She denied to herself thinking she would be willing to exchange seats with Mrs. E., as she caught sight of the Lieutenant's handsome face smiling under the starlight of his brilliant eyes. She felt a little uneasiness on her own seat, and imagined it was not as easy as the back seat would be; still she comforted herself into a tolerable degree of contentment, though it was far from being a continual feast. She thought, and admitted to herself, that the arrangement of seats was entirely natural, and to introduce any change would be rude. So she would endure what had no cure, and bide her time. These reflections came and went in her mind, but if some invisible hand had written them down over her signature, she would have denied the authorship of them.

An hour or more had passed, and Lew had been giving strict attention to his handsome mulos, and on the level road had allowed them willing speed, and now they descend quite a hill, and enter the four-mile 'bottoms' of the Brazos. The way was a narrow forest arcade. The giants locked arms one and two hundred feet above their heads, festooned with vines, mingled with the deep hanging moss, which fringed the trees here and there, and everywhere vailing from view the face of the sky, and holding back the sun's rays, which penetrate not that dark passage, for full eight months of the year. Strange sounds here fall upon the ear, reminding one that half the zoological collections of Noah's ark could be found here, both of bird and beast. A half shuddering fear came over the ladies in that partial night, and each one leans a little nearer her companion. They have penetrated the dark way half a mile or more, when suddenly the mules stop, affrighted, and begin to back. Emma screams, and half swoons on her brother's arm. "What's the matter?" exclaim the others. Lew is some excited, but keeps cool from necessity. It was indeed a startling sight. An immense panther had just leaped across the archway, from tree to tree, forty to fifty feet above, and a few rods ahead, as though preparing for a leap upon the unwary travelers. At the moment of alarm, the Lieutenant had clutched his trusty rifle by his side, and the next instant all four saw the cause of alarm. The brave officer was instantly on the ground, with rifle in hand, and already drawing a bead on the gentleman in the trees. "Take care of the team and ladies, Lew, and I will soon make him sick," said he, but the animal was leaping from tree to tree, making off into the deeper forest, and was out of sight at two or three bounds, screaming as he went. But the Lieutenant gave him a parting salute, on a shadowy glimpse of him, at the sixth bound. The animal gave an unearthly scream, that sent a million echo thrills through the dark woods, and then a heavy ground fall. "I've brought him," exclaimed the officer. Reloading his gun, though he had one load yet in the other barrel, he ventured carefully into the thicket against the earnest remonstrance of the ladies, and found the game in the last muscular struggles of death, as he expected, having luckily struck him in the heart. Drawing his tape on him, he measured nine feet from tip to tip. Leaving his dead carcass to be food for buzzards, and returning to the ambulance, they moved on again through the dark tunnel, while the Lieutenant held his finger on the trigger, keeping an eye out for further intruders.

They had driven a mile farther, when the mules again pricked up their long ears, and this time a small pack of wolves crossed the road twenty rods in front, in a hurry, as if pursued or pursuing. They stopped not, nor so much as looked at the travelers, and were lost to view in an instant or so.

The Lieutenant here mischievously inquired, "Mrs. E., is it here you would like to escape from me 'into the deep tangled wildwood?'" That lady only answered with a shudder. Misfortunes, on dit, never come single; so with frights. They had now reached the muddy malarious Brazos, and ferried across by virtue of a military pass, and had gone a full mile beyond. The pressure of fear had begun to yield as they saw open daylight through the tunnel, a quarter mile in the distance, but now again the mulos suddenly halt in a fright, and this time with snorting fear, snuffing danger near!

"Look there ahead in the track! See that awful snake coiled there!" exclaimed Emma. Again the Lieutenant was on the ground, gun in hand; and again the fair ones object. But he was not deterred from the purpose of bruising the serpent's head. Providing himself with a dead limb that had fallen from the trees above, he went bravely to the attack; first firing a bullet at his snakeship's head as it stood raised in arched defiance over the complex coils, ready for the springing bite of death! The bullet carried away the crest of the head, which threw the reptile into fearful contortions, and then, with terrific blows from the limb of the tree, he soon brought it to a quiet quivering rattle! It was a fearfully large spotted wood rattlesnake, and by the tape measured eight feet three inches in length, and had seventeen rattles. Relieving the highway of its presence, and casting it into the brush by the wayside, they passed on, querrying, "What next in the line of sensation?" and thinking, that for the first half day, and the first ten miles, the events of the morning would suffice all fancy for that class of romance.

Again the cruel Lieutenant asks something about escaping "into the deep tangled wildwood." But Mrs. E. extorts a promise from him of silence on that subject in the future; at least till they get out of the woods.

No more disturbing events occurred that day, but the feast of heart and soul was rich and racy. They were out of the fearful "bottoms" and rising to the clear and balmy atmosphere of the beautiful upland prairies. How different from the humid, pestiferous breath of the low, dark regions of an hour ago! They breathed free again. It was high noon, and they saw, two or three miles ahead, a beautiful grove, where they agreed to go into midday camp. On nearing it at one o'clock, their advance guard of two ambulances and the "six in gray," were coming out. The hailing sign to halt was given by the Lieutenant, and driving up, a few words were exchanged, and orders given about the route and where to camp that night, and then the advance drove on, leaving the officer and his company in the leafy grove by the cooling spring, enjoying their noon refreshments. No fire was struck, no coffee made, but a basket of native claret was opened, a bottle broke, and the nectar of the gods was sipped from silver goblets by the joyous four.

Two hours had flown by in happy mood, in which the stomach proved the principal organ of friendship. The hungry epicures in the woods felt the divine flow more free and warm in obeying this ordinance of the gods. Their willing hearts would have staid in such a frame, and whiled away the sunny hours in that grove of bliss, but the voice of duty called from refreshment to the labor of the way. The mulos were satisfied, hitched up, and on the move to the west, accomplishing twenty miles more by nightfall, where they find the advance again, in beautiful camps, with two bright camp-fires a few rods apart—one for themselves and one for the exile with her attendants. The provisions are brought out for supper, and on this occasion Lieutenant H. proves himself an adept at coffee making.

The ladies offer to take charge of the cooking department, but he objects, claiming that he can make the best coffee. "Ladies, 'let him that would be great among you, be your servant.' I am the character referred to in the quotation, and I insist that you shall not be my competitors for distinction in the coffee-making line."

When the evening repast was over, the Lieutenant takes the ladies, one on each arm, and kindly gives them a bit of walking exercise by moonlight, through the grove, thus relieving the tedium of riding all day. The balm, stilly breezes creep through the open spaces with voluptuous effect, inspiring the arm-in-arm trio with soft sentiment, and their happier thoughts are mostly on themselves. "Stop," says Emma. "What dreadful noise is that?" as the distant screeching howl of the Coyotas fell on the ear. "It is the Coyotas," replied Lieutenant H.

"Let us return to camp at once," said both the ladies, and back they went quicker than they came.

It is ten o'clock at night, the guards are on duty, and all retire, the ladies behind the ambulance curtains, and the officer and Lew on a blanket before the camp-fire. The wolves come in and howl an hour or two within a few rods of the fires, in search of camp offals. The eyelids of the fair ones refuse sleep. At last a charge is made on the lank, hungry creatures, and a volley fired into their ranks by the guards, and they are routed and return not for the night, and then Somnus commands all in quiet rest for the next six hours. At seven in the morning breakfast is over, and the advance leads out again, followed an hour later by the traveling partie carree.

The next six days of travel furnish no great variety of scenery or excitement, except in the social department, which seemed never to cloy. Otherwise, the trip, for the most part, was but a daily experience of repeated routine. All eyes and ears became familiar with sights and sounds by night and by day. Immense droves of cattle and horses were seen grazing right and left over the wide-spread prairies, and occasionally lank hunger was seen sitting at the mouth of his hole, in some sand bank or mound, or at the roots of some lone veteran tree, looking wistfully at the travelers, seeming to say to them, "How I would like to feast on your starved carcasses!" A bullet from the Lieutenant's rifle keeled one back into his hole, and scared another, tearing a rabbit for his breakfast so bad that he made lightning speed northward, and never slacked for the mile he was in sight, and at the brow of the hill, where his narrative became invisible, its last motion seemed to speak back and say, "I never heard a rifle before." And probably it was the fact—and on he went, as if resolved on never stopping till he got to the north pole, for fear he might hear another.

On the seventh day the weary travelers stood on the banks of the far famed "Rio Grande," at Brownsville, opposite the city of Matamoras, in the State of Tamaulipas, Mexico. The Lieutenant here ordered the advance into camp to wait his return. And then he crossed the "Rio" with the exiles, and remained with them till they were located in a pleasant suite of three rooms fronting on the "Grand Plaza," near the magnificent Cathedral. He made the excuse to himself that it was necessary for him to act as special protector to the ladies, till they were sufficiently familiarized with the ways of that strange people, to be able to make their own way, till he could see them again, and perhaps in nearer and dearer relations.

Lieutenant H. had now had ample time to analyze and determine the character of his feelings, which he more than once had displayed in manner toward Mrs. E., but had not spoken with his lips. In his self-examination he found his heart vibrating between two attractions—Mrs. E. and Emma. The question of preference, as tried by a purely chronological standard, stood against Mrs. E. She was considerably his senior in years, that was plain, but how much, and how many years, he could only guess. He could not tell if she were older or younger than she appeared, but probably older; that is, she was young appearing for one of her years; or, vice versa, she was old appearing for one of her years; that is, younger than she appeared; or, making a third alternative, she was just the age she appeared to be. "But how old would that be?" he asked himself. And here again he was puzzled. Sometimes, during their travels, he thought she looked younger, and then again older, than when he first saw her, and served the summons. At one time he thought he saw the signs of wrinkling age, and then again he didn't see them. "But," he said again, "one thing is certain, the general proposition is true, that she is either older or younger than she looks, or just as old as she looks. So far I am safe; and furthermore, it is safe to affirm that, judging from mere appearances, she is about forty years old. She may be older, or she may be younger. Yes, she may be, but I think I am not far out of the way. She certainly is, without any possible mistake, somewhere between thirty-eight and fifty. If I were sure she were only forty, I could stand that. Let me see: I am thirty-five. Suppose she were but forty; how would that do? A wife five years older than her husband! It would sound better the other way. I don't like it very well, but, with love, I think I could endure the disparity. Endure (?), is that the word for a man seeking a companion?

"There is Miss Emma; how old is she? From twenty to twenty-five. That certainly sounds better. But do I love her well enough to make a wife of her? Well, I think I could, or do(?), if Mrs. E. was out of the question; I feel her drawing me the hardest, and the orthodox people say there can be but one true love, and I suppose it must be so, either because they say so, or because it is true in fact, in nature, that is, one's experience will accord with the sentiment. But is it true in my experience? I am afraid not; therefore I am a miserable sinner. It is true, I am more or less involved in feelings toward Miss Emma, warmer than common friendship between a single lady and gentleman, and it is more than less. Now what is a man to do with an experience so in violation of the orthodox teaching and steady habits of the olden times of our ancestors?

"But hold; here I am talking quite foolishly, for how do I know that either of those ladies would accept? I have not proposed, and they certainly won't. What shall I do? I can not propose to both, for I am not a Mormon, and don't want to be. Still I like them both, that's true, but the laws of the land are against bigamy. I wonder if nature is? Certainly human selfishness is not. But hold again, there is no end to love's mystery. The only way is to be brave. 'A faint heart never won a fair lady.' The more I think, the more am I confused, in a quandary. O thou winged god, tell me what to do! I am resolved what to do. I will first ask one and then the other. But which one first? And will this be honorable to the last? Stop, ye gods! confusion confused! What am I about? Crazy! ho, for the insane asylum! But I must find relief. I am desperate!"

Evening shades appear, and Lieutenant H. is seated alone with Mrs. E., and after a few palpitations choked down, his sitting posture and position of hands made satisfactory, and his words well studied, his lips part to speak the word of destiny, when Mrs. E. suddenly breaks the awful silence with the domestic utterance, "How I would like to see my little daughter Kate and my husband to-night."

Horrors seize upon him. He makes no reply. "What is the matter, Lieutenant, you look so pale?" inquired Mrs. E. He grows paler, and she goes for the camphor, and hurrying back places the bottle to his olfactories, repeating, "What is the matter, Lieutenant?" Recovering a little, he stammers out, "Nothing, Mrs. E.; nothing, only I felt a little faint, as I do sometimes. Let me pass out into the open air, and I shall soon be myself again." When he stood outside in the free air, and looked up into the heavens, made beautiful by moonlight—the unrivaled silvery moonlight of Mexico—he thanked his stars, most of all, for putting it into the heart of Mrs. E. to speak at the instant she did, and save him from unutterable chagrin! In a few minutes he returned to the room where he had left the lady, and was once more seated in her matronly presence. She was changed, and looked older now, and more unapproachable in his eyes. Surprised at his quick convalesence, he was now prepared to enter upon conversation with Mrs. E. concerning Miss Emma. He felt settled now that his angel was calling his heart toward her. So after a few easy interrogatories, addressed to Mrs. E., he was satisfied that she was neither married nor engaged.

Miss Emma had been out walking with her brother Lew, and had just returned and entered the room. For a few moments all took part in a running conversation, but being about time to retire, Mrs. E. and Lew withdrew from the room, thereby breaking up the congregation, and leaving the Lieutenant and Miss Emma, each to enjoy company. "Two are company, and three are a congregation," says Emerson.

We will say in brief, he proposed and she accepted, but on condition that she might remain with Mrs. E. during the exile.

"Certainly, Miss Emma, you shall remain. I would not have you leave her, and am glad to see this evidence of your friendship and faithful devotion. And now, Miss Emma, as I have never been an advocate of long courtships, but deprecate them after the parties engaged are sufficiently acquainted, I would respectfully suggest, that without ceremonious preparation or invitations, which we could not have here, among strangers, and in a strange land—and without waiting till we can have them—we have the nuptials solemnized to-morrow evening, in this room, at eight o'clock, in the presence of Mrs. E. and your brother. I will remain with you a few days, and then return with my squad, and report to headquarters, and by some honorable means get back to you here at an early day."

At this interesting stage of proceedings, the retired portion of the congregation was called from their slumbers to hear and sanction the matrimonial terms, which, being duly done, the ladies disappeared for the night, and Lieutenant H. went to repose with Lew, who in twenty-four hours more would be his new brother.

They were married, and in ten days duty called the bridegroom to interior Texas, where he was held four months before he could come back to his bride. Three months more, and the war had closed with victory for the "Stars and Stripes." Mrs. E. and her friends were relieved from exile, and all returned home to the blessings of peace and joys of domestic life. Lieutenant H. had proved a heaven-sent blessing to them all.