steps to the
captain's gig, when this belle stopped short.

"Oh! Mr. Secretary!" she smiled innocently--"You forgot to show us one
thing!"

"Indeed?" was the bland query--"Pray what was it?"

To which came the startling rejoinder:

"Why your arrangement for blowing them up!"

There was one handsome and dashing young aide, equally noted for
influence at division-headquarters, which sent him constantly to
Richmond; and for persistent devotion, when there, to a sharp-witted
belle with a great fortune. One night he appeared at a soiree in brand
new uniform, his captain's bars replaced by the major's star on the
collar. The belle, leaning on his arm wearily, was pouting; when
another passed and said: "I congratulate you, major. And what are your
new duties?"

The officer hesitated only one instant, but that was fatal; for the lady
on his arm softly lisped: "Oh! he is _Mrs._ General ----'s commissary,
with the rank of major!"

It is needless to add that the epigram--unjust as it was--had its
effect; and the belle was no more besieged.

But of all the bright coteries in Richmond society--its very arcanum of
wit, brilliance and culture--rises to memory that wholly unique set,
that came somehow to be called "the Mosaic Club." Organization it was
none; only a clique of men and women--married as well as single--that
comprised the best intellects and prettiest accomplishments of the
Capital. Many of the ladies were Will Wyatt's "easy goers;" ever
tolerant, genial and genuine at the _symposia_ of the Mosaics, as
they showed behind their _chevaux-de-frise_ of knitting-needles
elsewhere. Some of them have since graced happy and luxurious homes;
some have struggled with poverty and sorrow as only true womanhood may
struggle; some have fought out the battle of life, sleeping now at rest
forever. But one and all then faced their duty--sad, bitter, uncongenial
as it might be--with loyalty and tender truth; one and all were strong
enough to put by somber things, when meet to do so, and enjoy to the
full the better pleasures society might offer.

And the men one met wore wreaths upon their collars often; quite as
likely _chevrons_ of "the men" upon their sleeves. Cabinet ministers,
poets, statesmen, artists, and clergymen even were admitted to the
"Mosaics;" the only "_Open sesame!_" to which its doors fell wide
being that patent of nobility stamped by brain and worth alone.

Without organization, without officers; grown of its