a miter on his head, carrying Hardee's Tactics, from which to read the
burial service. All had in their hands a bayonet, from which burned a
tallow candle, in place of tapers. The procession marched up the steps
in single file, all bearing themselves with the greatest solemnity and
sombre dignity, followed by the sexton, with a frying-pan as a shovel,
and took their places around the supposed corpse. Maffett began the
duties by alluding to that part of the service where "it is allotted
that all men shall die," etc., waving his hand in due form to the
sexton as he repeated the words, "Earth to earth and dust to dust,"
the sexton following the motions with the frying pan.

I must say, in all truthfulness, that in all my life I never saw a
graver or more solemn set of faces than those of the would-be mourning
procession. Captain Wright appeared as if he was looking into his own
grave, and the others appeared equally as sorrowful. Major Maffett
gave out in clear, distinct tones the familiar lines of--

"Solemn strikes
the funeral chime,
Notes of our departing time."

Well, such grotesque antics as Jones did cut up was perfectly
dreadful. He laughed, he mimicked the priest, kicked at the mourners,
and once tried to grab the tactics. The Major and his assistants
pitched the tune on a high key. Captain Wright braced it with loud,
strong bass, while Martin and Sim Pratt came in on the home stretch
with tenor and alto that shook the rafters in the house. Then all
dispersed as silently and sorrowfully as they had come.

In a few days Jones got a letter setting all things straight. Martin
and Blair confessed their conspiracy against his peace of mind,
and matters progressed favorably thereafter between Jones and Miss
"Blank," but Jones confessed afterwards that he carried for a long
time "bad, wicked blood in his heart."

But soldiers have their tragedies as well as their comedies in camp.
It was here we lost our old friend, Jim George, the shallow-pated
wit--the man who found us the flour on the Potomac, and who floundered
about in the river "for three hours," as he said, on that bitter cold
night at Yorktown. It was also told of Jim, that during the first
battle he was loading and shooting at the wounded enemy for all his
gun was worth, and when remonstrated with by his Captain, Chesley
Herbert, telling Jim he "should not kill them," Jim indignantly asked,
"What in the hell did we come to the war for, if not to kil