as the foraging parties of the enemy had very
much impoverished our hosts, we forced some
small coin on our entertainers, that those who
could pay should help towards the support of
who could not.

At the Fredericksburg Junction, near the
Pamunkey River, I enjoyed the sight of a
passenger-train rushing into the station. This
mode of travelling, after the fatigues of
my rough cart journeys, seemed indescribably
soothing. In the struggle to procure seats, I
was separated from my brave Marylanders, without
even the opportunity of wishing them good
fortune and glory on their future battle-fields.

As the train dashed along through a country
which had hitherto been as a sealed book to me,
my anxiety to see as much as possible of everything
kept my head constantly turning from one
window to the other. My sole knowledge of
the South and Southern soldiers had hitherto
been gleaned from what I had seen whilst
accompanying the Federal army on its expeditions,
and from the dejected prisoners that had been
sent to the rear. As we darted past plantation
and forest, and wound our way through fields of
Indian corn, shaking their tasselled heads in the
breeze, every point of landscape and every figure
excited my curiosity. The second advance of
the Northerners upon Richmond had (1862) just
been driven back after a week of slaughter.
As we approached nearer and nearer to Richmond,
we came upon the lines thrown up to
protect the Confederate capital from an attack
in that direction. Every bridge of timber-work,
crossing swamp or stream, was guarded from
raid and destruction by a picturesque soldiery.
Some wore old felt hats with frayed brims,
others kepis of once bright colours, and most of
them were coatless and jacketless, their bronzed
bosoms exposed to the summer sun through the
open flannel shirt. As the train sped by, they
ran from their bough-covered bivouacs, and
congregated on the embankment.

Now the farms began to grow thicker, the
clearings more open, and the land more highly
cultivated, indicating that we were drawing near
to the city. I craned my neck from the window
not to miss the first sight of Richmond; and
presently its spires gladdened my longing eyes. The
train slackened speed, and as we curved round
an embankment on the right, a large palisadoed
camp on the verge of the line suddenly disclosed
itself. There were the weather-stained tents
sheltering real Confederates, some engaged in
"toting" water, others cleaning their firelocks, a
few repairing their clothes, and I observed others
carrying from the commissary waggons huge
quarters of recently slaughtered beef, borne
between two men upon poles. Here and there,
in anticipation of these supplies, were negroes
building up the fires, or puffing at the reluctant
blaze, or arranging the cooking apparatus.
Above me, fluttering in the light air, was the
flag of the South—a circle of stars on a blue
union, the white field broken horizontally with
two broad red bars. For the first time I was
positively under Confederate colours, and I
could scarcely credit myself when I remembered
that but a week since every step I had taken
had been under the shadow of the stars and
stripes.

OLD STORIES RE-TOLD.

THE DUEL BETWEEN LORD BYRON AND
MR. CHAWORTH.

THE Star and Garter tavern, so famous in the
days of Dr. Johnson for its good claret, stood
on the site of the present Carlton Club.
Degenerating in later days into the office of a
light and heat company, and after that into a
blacking manufactory, it was finally, like its
neighbour, the Royal Hotel, swept away by the
progress of improvement, and the present political
palace erected in its stead. There were
pleasant and sad memories about the place.
Many a flask of good wine had been emptied
there, many a pleasant hour whiled away, many
a white cloud of powder, too, had there been
beaten out of wigs by the thumps of flying
decanters, many a five pounds' worth of hair (to
quote a line from an old trial) torn out of
fashionable perukes in tipsy scuffles, many a
wild rake in that spot had been pinned against
the oak wainscot by rash swords, and many a
spendthrift's heart-blood spilt by angry thrusts
over the upset faro-table. One of the saddest of
these tavern tragedies took place at the Star and
Garter on the 26th of January, 1765, five years
after the accession of George the Third.

About three o'clock on the above-named day
there was a great stir and bustle at the
celebrated Pall Mall tavern, for the Nottinghamshire
gentlemen, who met once a month, were
to dine there at four o'clock. The club was
to assemble in a second-floor back room, looking
towards St. James's Park. The drawers
(as waiters were still called, as they had been in
Shakespeare's time) were spreading the snowy-
white cloth and bringing up the silver and the
glass. The celebrated claret was being drawn off
in endless pints from the wood. The joints were
shedding fat tears at the great kitchen fire; the
puddings were bumping at the pot lids; the
turnspits were plodding at their wheels; the scullions
were getting red and choleric over the frothing
pheasants and hares; the transparent jellies and
net-worked tarts were receiving the last touch
of art from the dexterous hands of the head
cook. The landlord was in his bedroom fastening
his best gold shoe-buckles for the occasion,
the buxom landlady, at the parlour mirror, was
smilingly adding to her tremendous top-knot
the slightest suspicion of powder, while the
bright-eyed barmaid was laughingly puffing out
with trim fingers her brightest breast-knot. All
was gay expectation and bustling excitement;
for the county club of the gentlemen of
Nottingham brought good customers to the house,
and many of its members were men of title and
fashion, Lord Byron to wit, the great rake
who had attempted to carry off the beautiful
actress, Miss Bellamy—the fifth Lord Byron, the