Between 11 and 12 that night, as we girls were undressing and chatting around the fire, we heard a gentle tapping on the window below, and immediately mother came up and whispering as softly and mysteriously as if she feared the walls, which they so closely watched, or the winds, that whistled so keenly around the corners of the house, and also their ears might repeat her words to the pickets, informed me that Colonel Mosby and a few of his men were in the yard and wished to see me. I put on the first dress I came to and crept down noiselessly, lest I should arouse our spy of a guard. The colonel wanted to know the exact position of the pickets and videttes. I told him as well as I could, and in order to give him a more correct idea, I offered to go with any of them whom he might select to a certain hill, where I could point out their positions more definitely. Capt. Wm. R. Smith begged leave to go with me. He led his horse and we walked along, talking in a low tone. There was a full moon, but she wore a veil of fleecy clouds. When we had gone about two hundred yards, very unexpectedly there rode out from behind a tree a Yankee picket. "Halt," he cried. It was but the work of an instant for Captain Smith to spring on his horse, and with an effort of his strong arm, "Light to the croup the fair lady he swung." The next instant a bullet seemed to graze our ears; in quick succession six bullets came, but they soon fell far behind us. We heard the whole line take up the alarm. As we flew along, Captain Smith said, very calmly, "A little romance for you." We soon reached our reserve and after some further conversation, bade one another goodnight--they going forth to meet other adventures and I to my friends, who having heard the firing, were awaiting my return somewhat anxiously. When I took off the dress I had worn, I discovered a very jagged rent, evidently made by the spur of a cavalier. Brave, brave Captain Smith! soon he gave his young life to our cause. "AIN'T YOU ASHAMED OF YOU'UNS?" [Phoebe Y. Pember.] Directly in front of me sat an old Georgia up-country woman, placidly regarding the box cars full of men on the parallel rails, waiting, like ourselves, to start. She knitted and gazed, and at last inquired "who was them ar' soldiers, and whar' was they a-going to?" The information that they were Yankee prisoners startled her considerably. The knitting ceased abruptly (all the old women in the Southern States knitted socks for the soldiers while traveling), and the cracker bonnet of dark brown homespun was thrown back violently, for her whole nervous system seemed to have received a galvanic shock. Then she caught her breath with a long gasp, lifted on high her thin, trembling hand, accompanied by the trembling voice, and made a speech: