“Between two songs of Petrarch, I’ve a purple rose leaf prest, More sweet than common rose leaves, For it once lay in her breast. When she gave me that her eyes were wet, The rose was full of dew; The rose is withered long ago— The page is blistered, too. “One night we sat below the porch, And out in that warm air, A firefly, like a dying star, Fell tangled in her hair; But I kissed him lightly off again, And he glittered up the vine, And died into the darkness——” A bugle sounded. Forrest was in the saddle. The scout’s reverie was over. “Well, de nex’ big fight wuz at what dey call ‘Brice’s Cross Roads;’ dat’s de place Mars Bedford had uh spavin [fainted] fuh one hour. I fanned him consonly wid meh hat; he had de gre’tes’ condidence in me. At uh place call ‘Ripley’, a few days befo’ dis fight, uh farmer sant what dey call in Mississippi, mountain oysters ter Mars Bedford. Dey ain’ nuffin ter Eastern Sho’ oysters; some people say dat Mars Bedford eat too many an’ dey gib him de spavin, but I know dat ain’ so. I wuz waitin’ on de table an’ stan’in’ rite behin’ him, an’ arfter helpin’ Gen’l Beauford an’ Gen’l Rucker he stir dat soup fuh mo’n five minutes befo’ uh mountain oyster cum on top. Den I say, ‘Dar’s one, Marster,’ an’ he tu’n an’ gimmy uh look wid dem eagle eyes ub his’n dat meck me trimble. I know what meck him sick, an’ I’m gwine ter tell you. De fightin’ wuz so furisome dat Gen’l Forrest say ter his bodyguard, ‘Dismount; draw yo’ swo’ds an’ foller me,’ an’ when de blue coats seed Mars Bedford, ’way dey went. Well, he had so few men ’long side de blue coats, dat not uh man cud be spared ter go an’ git watah, so Mars Bedford felt so thusty an’ weary dat he drunk de powder watah fum de sponge bucket, an’ dat’s what gib him dat spavin. “Honey, you ain’ but fifteen years ole, so Brer Sam’l say, an’ ef’n I wuz ter tell you how many wuz kilt an’ wounded in dat fight it might meck you see ghoses an’ witches in yo’ sleep, an’ keep you fum growin’. I hilt Gen’l Forrest’s hoss, Pigeon an’ two other hosses when he dismounted, an’ ’pears ter me de hosses looked ’stressed, da wuz so many kilt on bof sides. Now, dat’s all I’m gwine ter tell you erboutin battles. “Young Marster, chillun musn’ know too much. Fuh instinct, yistiddy I wuz chinkin’ dis boat (an’ I gwine ter name huh Miss Emma) when Mars Jimmy’s chillun cum erlong gwine home fum school; dey clum all ober me, an’ pres’ny one ub ’em say, ‘Uncle Ezzy, what is uh vulgar fraction?’ Ub cose, I had ter tell de truf, so I say, ‘Hit’s somethin’ little boys an’ girls musn’ talk erbout.’ [Illustration: Uncle Ezzy, what is a vulgar fraction?