line of rail, to Daker's, on the New Bridge Road. Much
of this way was shut in by thick woods and dreary pine barrens; but the
road was hard and light, and a few quiet farms lay by the roadside.
There was a mill, also, three miles from Daker's, where a turbulent
creek crossed the route, and at an oak-wood, near by, I used to frighten
the squirrels, so that they started up by pairs and families; I have
chased them in this way a full mile, and they seemed to know me after a
time. We used to be on the best of terms, and they would, at length,
stand their ground saucily, and chatter, the one with the other,
flourishing their bushy appendages, like so many straggling "Bucktails."
When I turned from the beaten road, where the ruts were like a ditch and
parapet, and dead horses blackened the fields; where teams went creaking
day and night, and squads of sabremen drove pale, barefooted prisoners
to and fro like swine or cattle, the silence and solitude of this
by-lane were beautiful as sleep. Many of the old people living in this
direction had not seen even a soldier or a sutler, save some mounted
scouts that vanished in clouds of dust; but they had listened with awe
to the music of cannon, though they did not know either the place or the
result of the fighting. If fate has ordained me to survive the
Rebellion, I shall some day revisit these localities; they are stamped
legibly upon my mind, and I know almost every old couple in New Kent or
Hanover counties. I have lunched at all the little springs on the road,
and eaten corn-bread and bacon at most of the cabins. I have swam the
Pamunkey at dozens of places, and when my finances were low, and my nag
hungry, have organized myself into a company of foragers, and broken
into the good people's granaries. I do not know any position that
admitted of as much adventure and variety. There was always enough
danger to make my journeys precariously pleasant, and, when wearied of
the saddle, my friends at Daker's and Michie's had a savory julep and a
comfortable bed always prepared. I had more liberty than General
McClellan, and a great deal more comfort.

Mrs. Michie was a warm-hearted, impulsive Virginia lady, with almost New
England industry, and from very scanty materials she contrived to spread
a bountiful table. Her coffee was bubbling with rich cream, and her
"yellow pone" was overrunning with butter. A cleanly black girl shook a
fly-brush over our shoulders as we ate, and the curio