We lost the little botanist sooner than we expected. A mail--joyful event!--arrived from England; and I was sent to the "Post Office" for our departmental letters. This was not part of my regular duty; but on the occasion in question I received express directions, and went accordingly. Found the post office, a cottage with a front garden. I could but admire the diligent and active exertions to meet the general anxiety of the army, by sorting and delivering the contents of the mail with the least possible delay. The whole lot, say three or four bushels, had been shot out in the middle of the room on the earthen floor. Newspapers, love letters, officers' letters, soldiers' letters, there they lay, and there they were left to lie. In the apartment were two persons, perhaps I ought to say personages. One sat on each side of the hearth; each had torn open a newspaper; and both were conning the news from England. I never saw two people more comfortable in my life. When I entered, neither of them raised his eyes, or took the least notice. They read on. I waited. Still they read. I so far presumed as to announce my mission--had come for the departmental letters. Paused for a reply--stood expectant. At length one of the illustrious two favoured me with an utterance, in a tone somewhat querulous though, and without looking off from his reading--"Three o'clock." "What, gentlemen!" thought I, "only four hours hence? Why, at this rate, hadn't you better say three o'clock to-morrow?" So thinking, (not saying,) I walked off. Just as I was going, the one who had not spoken rose. He followed me out, and came on walking by my side down the path toward the garden gate. I really was green enough to fancy he was doing the polite--_seeing_ me to the entrance; felt quite overwhelmed. Any approach, at headquarters to "the sweet courtesies of life"--it was something new! I began to deprecate--hoped he wouldn't. "Pray, sir, don't come a step farther. I can mount without assistance--can open the gate for myself." Without vouchsafing a reply, he began questioning. "Know Mr Wowski?" "Have known him for the last few days." "What is he?" "He professes himself a botanist, a man of science." "What does he want at headquarters?" "He states his object to be botanical research." "_States_, you say; _professes_. Isn't he really a botanist?" This was an awkward question, for I was beginning to have my doubts. I remained silent. "You must answer." "For the last two or three days I have felt it a question, I confess." "Why?" "He collects specimens, but doesn't preserve or arrange them. At dinner time he brings home a bundle of common herbs or grasses, which, next morning, he throws away. Then goes out again, and brings home another bundle like it. Don't think he knows much about botany." "What's your opinion of him?"