under one of the windows.

I listened for a moment, and then, says I: "What may be the occasion
for this noonday melody?"

The Conservative Kentucky chap motioned for us to pause, and says he,
feelingly: "It's a serenade to Secretary Welles of the Navy. Let us
heed the voice of the singer."

Here a young vocal chap, under the window, commenced singing the
following words, in a fine tenor manner:

SERENADE.

"O lady, in thy waking glance
There lurked a wondrous spell,
To hold young Cupid in thine eye
As in a prison cell.

"And now, the god of Slumber finds
Thy drooping lids so fair,
He makes of them his chosen couch
And dwells forever there."

As the last note of the singer fainted into the eternity of lost
sounds, I looked at the Conservative Kentucky chap, my boy, and beheld
that his eyes were suffused with the tears of an exquisite sensibility.

"Yes," says he, softly, "--'and dwells forever there.'" Here the
Kentucky chap shed another tear to wash out the stain of the last one,
and says he, "Mr. Welles is indeed a lady who offers some attraction to
slumber. May he rest in peace!"

We were all too deeply affected to speak, but proceeded silently to a
vacant lot across the river, where accommodations for law-breaking were
ample. Everything about us here seemed fraught with the spirit of
peace; on each side, and as far as the eye could reach behind and
before, were the tents of the Army of the Potomac, growing in the spots
where they were planted years ago. We alone, of all the human beings
within sound of our weapons, were about to be breakers of the
established war--to shed human blood. It seemed like a sacrilege, and I
trembled with the cold.

At first, my boy, we had some trouble to keep the brigadier-generals
with us, as it suddenly struck them that they had not drawn their pay
for two whole hours, and were frantic to return; but when I suggested,
that if they should be missed from their posts, they would probably be
nominated for major-generalship, they consented to remain.

When the Conservative Kentucky chap took his position, I noticed that
his countenance was contorted into a horrible expression of severity,
and asked him why it was?

"Hem!" says he, "this is a solemn moment, young man. We are both about
to fly into the face of our Maker." Here he pointed his weapon at me;
and says he: "I think you are frightened."

"No," says I, making ready.