“As soon as I have finished some important private business, which keeps me in the Confederate lines, I shall be with ----- again. Tell him to be in good spirits. This city has still a great deal of money hoarded in garrets--and we shall soon be here. Then we can retire on a competence--and when _Fonthill_ is confiscated, we will purchase it, and live in affluence. “LUCRETIA.” I looked at the back of the letter. It was directed to a lady in Suffolk. From the letter, my glance passed to the face of Mr. X-----. He was smiling grimly. “A valuable document,” he said, “which madam will doubtless duplicate before very long, with additional particulars. I make you a present of it, colonel, as a memorial of the war.” I thanked him, and placed the letter in my pocket. To-day I copy it, word for word. Mr. X----- reflected a moment; then he said to Nighthawk:-- “Arrest this woman; I am tired of her. I have no time to waste upon such persons, however charming.” Nighthawk looked greatly delighted. “I was going to beg that order of you, sir,” he said, “as the ‘private business’ alluded to in the letter, concerns a friend of mine, greatly.” “Ah! well, here is the order.” And taking a pen, Mr. X----- scrawled two lines, which he handed to Nighthawk. A glow of satisfaction came to that worthy’s face, and taking the paper, he carefully placed it in his pocket. As he did so, the bell in the capitol square struck midnight, and I rose to take my departure. “Come and see me soon again, colonel,” said Mr. X-----, going to the door with me. He had made a sign to Nighthawk, who rose to go out with me, that he wished him to remain. “What I have said to you, to-night,” continued the statesman, gravely, “may have been injudicious, colonel. I am not certain of that--but I am quite sure that to have it repeated at this time would be inconvenient. Be discreet, therefore, my dear friend--after the war, tell or write what you fancy; and I should rather have my present views known then, than not known. They are those neither of a time-server, a faint heart, or a fool. I stand like the Roman sentinel at the gate of Herculaneum, awaiting the lava flood that will bury me. I see it coming--I hear the roar--I know destruction is rushing on me--but I am a sentinel on post; I stand where I have been posted; it is God and my conscience that have placed me on duty here. I will stay, whatever comes, until I am relieved by the same authority which posted me.” And with the bow of a nobleman, the gray-haired statesman bade me farewell. I returned to my lodgings, buried in thought, pondering deeply on the strange scenes of this night of December. On the next morning I set out, and rejoined the army at Petersburg. I, too, was a sentinel on post, like the statesman. And I determined to remain on duty to the last. IX. TO AND FRO IN THE SPRING OF ‘65. The months of January and February, 1865, dragged on, sombre and dreary.