spotted steer;
And the winter restore the golden hopes,
That were trampled in a year.

On Friday, June 13, I made one of my customary trips to White House, in
the company of O'Ganlon. The latter individual, in the course of a
"healthy dash" that he made down the railroad ties,--whereby two shoes
shied from his mare's hoofs,--reined into a quicksand that threatened to
swallow his steed. He afterward left his sword at Summit Station, and I,
obligingly, rode back three miles to recover it. We dined at Daker's,
where Glumley sat beside the baby-face, pursuant to his art-duties, and
the plump, red-cheeked miss sat beside me. O'Ganlon was entertained by
the talkative daughter, who drove him quite mad; so that, when we
resumed our horses, he insisted upon a second "healthy dash," and
disappeared through a strip of woods. I followed, rationally, and had
come to a blacksmith's shop, at the corner of a diverging road, when I
was made aware of some startling occurrence in my rear. A mounted
officer dashed past me, shouting some unintelligible tidings, and he was
followed in quick succession by a dozen cavalry-men, who rode as if the
foul fiend was at their heels. Then came a teamster, bare-backed, whose
rent harness trailed in the road, and directly some wagons that were
halted before the blacksmith's, wheeled smartly, and rattled off towards
White House.

"What is the matter, my man?" I said to one of these lunatics,
hurriedly.

"The Rebels are behind!" he screamed, with white lips, and vanished.

I thought that it might be as well to take some other road, and so
struck off, at a dapper pace, in the direction of the new landing at
Putney's or "Garlic." At the same instant I heard the crack of carbines
behind, and they had a magical influence upon my speed. I rode along a
stretch of chestnut and oak wood, attached to the famous Webb estate,
and when I came to a rill that passed by a little bridge, under the way,
turned up its sandy bed and buried myself in the under-brush. A few
breathless moments only had intervened, when the roadway seemed shaken
by a hundred hoofs. The imperceptible horsemen yelled like a war-party
of Camanches, and when they had passed, the carbines rang ahead, as if
some bloody work was being done at every rod.

I remained a full hour under cover; but as no fresh approaches added to
my mystery and fear, I sallied forth, and kept the route to Putney's,
with ears erect and expectant pulses. I ha