It was the very poetry of soldiering, and Harry began to forget the miseries of life in a Camp of Instruction, and to believe that there was much to be enjoyed, even in the life of an enlisted man. “This here air or the apple-jack seems to have a wonderfully improving effect on Jake Alspaugh's chronic rheumatics,” sneered Abe Bolton. It was a sunny afternoon. Bolton and Kent Edwards were just ouside of the camp lines, in the shade of a grand old black walnut, and had re-seated themselves to finsih devouring a bucketful of lush persimmons, after having reluctantly risen from that delightful occupation to salute Lieutenant Alspaugh, as he passed outward in imposing blue and gold stalwarthood. “I've been remarking that myself,” said Kent, taking out a handful of the shining fruit, and deliberately picking the stems and dead leaves from the sticky sides, preparatory to swallowing it. “He hasn't had an attack since we thought those negroes and teams on the hills beyond Cynthiana was John Morgan's Rebel cavalry.” “Yes,” continued Abe, helping himself also the mellow date-plums, “his legs are so sound now that he is able to go to every frolic in the country for miles around, and dance all night. He's going to the Quartermaster's now, to get a horse to ride to a dance and candy-pulling at that double log-house four miles down the Harrodsburg Pike. I heard him talking to some other fellows about it when I went up with the squad to bring the rations down to the company.” “Seems to em, come to think of it, that I HAVE heard of some rheumatic symptoms recently. Remember that a couple of weeks ago Pete Sanford got a bullet through his blouse, that scraped his ribs, don't you?” “Yes,” said Abe, spitting the seeds out from a mouthful of honeyed pulp. “Well, the boys say that Jake went to a candy-pulling frolic down in the Cranston settlement, and got into a killing flirtation with the prettiest girl there. She was taken with his brass buttons, and his circus-horse style generally, but she had another fellow that it didn't suit so well. He showed his disapproval in a way that seems to be the fashion down here; that is, he 'laid for' Jake behind a big rock with a six-foot deer rifle, but mistook Pete Sanford for him.” “The dunderhead's as poor a judge of men as he's marksman. He's a disgrace to Kentucky.” “At all events it served as a hint, which Alspaugh did not fail to take. Since that time there has been two or three dances at Cranston's, but every time Jake has had such twinges of his rheumatism that he did not think it best to 'expose himself to the night air,' and go with the boys.” “O!---ouw!---wh-i-s-s-s-sh!” sputtered Abe, spitting the contents of his mouth out explosively, while his face was contorted as if every nerve and muscle was being twisted violently. “Why, what is the matter, Abe?” asked Kent, in real alarm. “Have you swallowed a centipede or has the cramp-colic griped you?”