the officer--"that was one of the most stupid of
blunders--all owing to the fact that the ground had not been properly
reconnoitered beforehand! They seem to have had neither scouts nor
spies, and what else than failure _could_ be the result?"

"True," said one of the bystanders. "And the Potomac army--that is going
to advance pretty soon, as I hear--is _that_ all right in the respect
you have named?"

"What? _McDowell's_ army?" said the officer, contemptuously. "When you
catch _Irwin McDowell_ not knowing exactly what is ahead of him and
around him, you will catch a weasel asleep!"

So all the bystanders believed, and were confident accordingly. Four
weeks afterwards Irwin McDowell fought the battle of Manassas, the
result of which showed the most utter ignorance of the opposing
fortifications and forces in front, that had ever been recorded in any
history![3]

[Footnote 3: December, 1862.]

So much for the confidence that _one_ entertains, of being able to avoid
the blunders of the other! Not one of the predecessors of Scherazaide,
it is probable, went to the marriage bed of the Sultan without believing
that _she_ could fix the wavering love of the tyrant and avoid the fate
threatened for the morrow! And yet some hundreds of fair white bosoms
furnished a morning banquet to the fishes, before Scherazaide the Wise
succeeded in entangling the Sultan in the meshes of her golden speech!

It may be a little difficult to guess what this has to do with the
narration. Simply this--that one of the most amiable and fascinating of
women played what might have been called "a mean trick" on the occasion,
and there has seemed to exist some occasion for making her excuse before
relating the iniquity. Having settled that during the War for the Union
there has not been half enough of "spying," on the side of right,--and
having before us not only the examples of John Champe and Nathan Hale,
beloved of Washington, but of the two estimable young men not long
emerged from under the area steps in 5-- Street, let us dismiss the
contempt with which we have been wont to regard Paul Pry and Betty the
housemaid, listening at key-holes, in our favorite dramas, and look
mercifully upon the peccadilloes of Miss Josephine Harris.

Colonel Egbert Crawford, who entered the room of the invalid on that
occasion, was a tall and rather fine-looking man, with the least dash of
iron-gray in his hair and a decidedly soldierly bearing. He had dark
ey