In the case where two parties met and one of them yielded to the other, they marched together for some time in two separate bodies, the subjected body behind the other, and then they parted good friends, each holding their games at their own appointed place. Next day, the ribbons and tablecloth that formed the colours were returned to their respective owners; the tower was no longer a matter of consequence, and the country returned to its usual state of tranquillity. THE LOTTERY OF DEATH. AN EPISODE IN GUERRILLA WARFARE. While on a trip to Europe last summer, I noticed in the smoking-room of the good steamer _Servia_ a rather portly, middle-aged gentleman, with a mild expression of countenance, and certainly no trace of the soldier in his bearing; and yet he was the hero of a thrilling adventure. I was introduced to him by one of the officers of the steamer, and found him to be an insurance agent in a large way, going abroad for needed rest—Mr Balcom by name. In the course of a conversation on personal courage, one evening, over our after-dinner cigars, my new-found friend related the following interesting adventure: You know, in the late war between the North and South, nearly all our able-bodied men on both sides of the line were more or less soldiers of some sort. I was myself a Captain and ‘Commissary of Subsistence’ in the United States Volunteers, and was attached to a cavalry brigade in the army of the Potomac. In the Fall of 1864, my brigade was located in camp for the winter about four or five miles to the south of Winchester, Virginia. As a ‘commissary,’ I had constantly to pass with my train of wagons from the town to camp; but so confident was I that no danger could possibly befall me on that short jaunt, actually all within our own lines, that I carried neither sword nor pistol. Well, one pleasant afternoon in the latter part of November, as I was riding with my orderly, a good soldier, by the name of Leonard, at the head of the wagon-train, wearying of the slow progress made by the mule-teams, I placed the train in charge of the commissary sergeant, and rode on ahead, followed by my orderly only. I had gone little more than half-way to camp—the road we followed became wooded by young timber and underbrush—when, as I turned a bend in the road, I saw four or five mounted men about a quarter of a mile in advance of us. Calling my orderly to my side, I asked him what he thought of them. ‘I guess they are some of our boys, sir. They have our uniform on, and are too far inside of our lines to be “Johnnies”’ (a term applied to the Southerners).