It is a pleasure to return to it--for Gettysburg blackened the sunshine soon. The column thundered by; the gay bugles rang; the great banner floated. Where is that pageant to-day? Where the old moons of Villon? Alas! the strong hours work their will. June, 1863, is long dead. The cavalry horses, if they came back from the wars, are ploughing. The rusty sabres stick fast in the battered old scabbards. The old saddles are shabby--and our friends take them away from us. The old buttons are tarnished, and an order forbids our wearing them. The brass bands clash no more; and the bugles are silent. Where are the drums and the bugles? Do they beat the long roll at the approach of phantom foes, or sound the cavalry charge in another world? They are silent to-day, and have long disappeared; but I think I hear them still in my dreams! It is in June, 1863, therefore, worthy reader, that I open my volume. Up to that time I had gone with Jackson’s “foot cavalry,” marching slowly and steadily to battle. Now, I was to follow the gay and adventurous career of the Virginia Rupert--Stuart, the Knight of the Black Plume! If you are willing to accompany me, I promise to show you some animated scenes. You will hear Stuart laugh as he leads the charge, or jest with his staff, or sing his gay cavalry songs. But, alas! we shall not go far with him; and when he leaves us a sort of shadow will fall upon the landscape. From that May, 1864, laughter will seldom be heard. The light which shines on the great picture will be red and baleful. Blood will gush on desperate fields--men will fall like dry leaves in the winds of autumn. The crimson torrent will sweep away a whole generation almost--and the Red Cross flag will go down in blood. The current of events will drag us to Petersburg, and those last months which witnessed the final wrestle in this war of the giants. Let us bask in the sunshine, before breasting the storm. The pages of blood and mourning will soon be opened--meanwhile we will laugh. In this June, 1863, faces smile still, and cheers resound. Bugles are ringing, swords clashing, cannon thundering. Lee’s old army is full of ardor, and seventy thousand men shout! “Pennsylvania! Pennsylvania!” MOHUN; OR, THE LAST DAYS OF LEE AND HIS PALADINS. BOOK I. GETTYSBURG. I. THE CAVALRY REVIEW. On a beautiful day of June, 1863, the plains of Culpeper, in Virginia, were the scene of an imposing pageant. Stuart’s cavalry was passing in review before Lee, who was about to commence his march toward Gettysburg.