"And now, the god of Slumber finds Thy drooping lids so fair, He makes of them his chosen couch And dwells forever there." As the last note of the singer fainted into the eternity of lost sounds, I looked at the Conservative Kentucky chap, my boy, and beheld that his eyes were suffused with the tears of an exquisite sensibility. "Yes," says he, softly, "--'and dwells forever there.'" Here the Kentucky chap shed another tear to wash out the stain of the last one, and says he, "Mr. Welles is indeed a lady who offers some attraction to slumber. May he rest in peace!" We were all too deeply affected to speak, but proceeded silently to a vacant lot across the river, where accommodations for law-breaking were ample. Everything about us here seemed fraught with the spirit of peace; on each side, and as far as the eye could reach behind and before, were the tents of the Army of the Potomac, growing in the spots where they were planted years ago. We alone, of all the human beings within sound of our weapons, were about to be breakers of the established war--to shed human blood. It seemed like a sacrilege, and I trembled with the cold. At first, my boy, we had some trouble to keep the brigadier-generals with us, as it suddenly struck them that they had not drawn their pay for two whole hours, and were frantic to return; but when I suggested, that if they should be missed from their posts, they would probably be nominated for major-generalship, they consented to remain. When the Conservative Kentucky chap took his position, I noticed that his countenance was contorted into a horrible expression of severity, and asked him why it was? "Hem!" says he, "this is a solemn moment, young man. We are both about to fly into the face of our Maker." Here he pointed his weapon at me; and says he: "I think you are frightened." "No," says I, making ready. The Kentucky chap's face then assumed the most terrific expression I ever saw, and says he: "Are you not alarmed at your awful position?" "No," says I. The Conservative Kentucky chap lowered his pistol, and, motioning for the brigadiers to come from behind their trees, advanced to my side. "Hem!" says he, frowning majestically, "I think I understood you to intimate that you were terrified." "No," says I. Here the Conservative Kentucky chap took me suddenly by the arm in a very confidential manner, and, having led me a few paces back, says he, in a horrible whisper: "You find yourself frightened, as it were." "Why, no," says I. "Well," says the Conservative Kentucky chap, "I AM." And we all went home together. Since then, my boy, I have weighed and contrasted my own feelings and those of the Conservative Kentucky chap on that occasion, when I won an everlasting reputation for bravery; and I am satisfied that the bravery of a man in an affair of honor is a superior capacity for concealing terror.