mid
scenes that were endeared by years of intimacy. "How happily," thought
I, "time must steal on in these quiet spots, where the strife and
struggle of war are unknown, and even the sounds of conflict, never
reach." Suddenly my musings were broken in upon by hearing the measured
tramp of cavalry, as at a walk, a long column wound their way along the
zig-zag approaches, which by many a redoubt and fosse, over many a draw
bridge, and beneath many a strong arch, led to the gates of Nancy. The
loud, sharp call of a trumpet was soon heard, and, after a brief parley,
the massive gates of the fortress were opened for the troops to enter.
From the position I occupied exactly over the gate, I could not only see
the long, dark line of armed men as they passed, but also hear the
colloquy which took place as they entered.

"What regiment?"

"Detachments of the 12th Dragoons and the 22d Chasseurs-a-Cheval."

"Where from?"

"Valence."

"Where to?"

"The army of the Rhine."

"Pass on!"

And with the words the ringing sound of the iron-shod horses was heard
beneath the vaulted entrance. As they issued from beneath the long, deep
arch, the men were formed in line along two sides of a wide "Place"
inside the walls, where, with that dispatch that habit teaches, the
billets were speedily distributed, and the parties "told off" in squads
for different parts of the city. The force seemed a considerable one,
and with all the celerity they could employ, the billeting occupied a
long time. As I watched the groups moving off, I heard the direction
given to one party, "Cavalry School--Rue de Lorraine." The young officer
who commanded the group took a direction exactly the reverse of the
right one; and hastening down from the rampart, I at once overtook them,
and explained the mistake. I offered them my guidance to the place,
which being willingly accepted, I walked along at their side.

Chatting as we went, I heard that the dragoons were hastily withdrawn
from the La Vendee to form part of the force under General Hoche. The
young sous-lieutenant, a mere boy of my own age, had already served in
two campaigns in Holland and the south of France; had been wounded in
the Loire, and received his grade of officer at the hands of Hoche
himself on the field of battle.

He could speak of no other name--Hoche was the hero of all his
thoughts--his gallantry, his daring, his military knowledge, his
coolness in danger, his impetuosity in attack,