MOSBY COMES TO STUART’S ASSISTANCE. Sore and restive at the reverse which had come to balance his victory of Fleetwood, Stuart bivouacked near Paris, that night, and made every preparation to attack at dawn. At daylight he was in the saddle, and spurred to the high ground commanding Upperville. All at once he checked his horse. The enemy had disappeared. Stuart’s blue eye flashed, and half an hour afterward he was advancing at the head of his cavalry. Not a foe was visible. Pressing on through Upperville, and over the trampled fields beyond, he continued to advance upon Middleburg, and near that place came up with the rear of the enemy. They showed little fight, however, and were driven beyond the place. The gray troopers pursued them with shouts and cheers--with which were mingled cries of rejoicing from the people of Middleburg. An hour afterward the lines were re-established in triumph. Stuart returned to his former head-quarters amid a drenching rain; and this recalls an incident very honorable to the brave soldier. As night descended, dark and stormy, Stuart gazed gloomily at the torrents of rain falling. “My poor fellows!” he said, with a sigh, “they will have a hard time to-night.” Then suddenly turning to his servant, he added:-- “Spread my oil-cloth and blankets under that apple tree yonder. I will keep them dry enough when I once get into them.”[1] [Footnote 1: His words.] “You are not going to sleep out on such a night, general!” exclaimed a staff officer. “Certainly I am,” was his reply, “I don’t intend to fare better than my men!”[1] [Footnote 1: His words.] And an hour afterward Stuart was asleep under the apple tree, with a torrent pouring on him. That was the act of a good officer and soldier, was it not, reader? Before sunrise Stuart was up, and walking uneasily to and fro. As the day wore on, he exhibited more and more impatience. All at once, at the appearance of an officer, approaching rapidly from the front, he uttered an exclamation of pleasure. “Here is Mosby at last!” he said. And he went to meet the new-comer. It was the famous chief of partisans whose name by this time had become a terror to the enemy. He wore a plain gray uniform, a brace of revolvers in a swaying belt, rode a spirited gray mare, and I recognized at once the roving glance, and satirical smile which had struck me on that night when he rescued Farley and myself in Fauquier. Stuart rapidly drew him into a private apartment; remained in consultation with him for half an hour; and then came forth, with a smile of evident satisfaction. Mosby’s intelligence must have pleased him. It at least dispelled his gloom. An hour afterward his head-quarters had disappeared--every thing was sent toward the mountains. Stuart set out apparently to follow them--but that was only a ruse to blind busybodies. A quarter of a mile from head-quarters he leaped a fence, and doubled back, going in the direction now of Manassas.