"Always be temperate, young man. You are in the sunshine of--hic--of life. Never drink whiskey. It will ruin your body and soul. Don't touch it, young man," added he, as he sank back on the camp-stool, whose center of gravity was nearly destroyed by the shock, and closed his eyes, as if overcome by the potency of his great enemy, which was just then beginning to have its full effect, and which produced a tendency to sleep. "I will endeavor to profit by your good advice, sir," said Somers. "That's right; do so," added the general, as he jerked up his head to banish the drowsy god, who was struggling for the possession of his senses. "That will do, young man. You may go now." The general, in his drunken stupor, had certainly forgotten the business for which Major Platner had brought him to the division headquarters; and Somers began to fear that he should have no errand that day. "I beg your pardon, general; but Major Platner was kind enough to say that you had some service for me to perform." "Eh?" demanded he, tossing up his head again. Somers repeated the remark more explicitly than before. "Exactly so; I remember. Do you know what I was thinking about just then, young man?" said the general, spasmodically leaping to his feet again, as though the thought was full of inspiration. "No, sir; a man in my humble position could hardly measure the thoughts of a great man in your situation." "I'll tell you; I was thinking about issuing a division general order on the subject of temperance. What do you think of it?" "It would be an excellent idea," replied Somers. "Young man!" "Sir." "I believe you said--hic----" Somers did not say anything of the sort; but he waited patiently for the rebel general to recover the idea which he appeared to have lost. "I believe you said you never drank any whiskey?" "I never did, sir." "Then you never was drunk?" "Never, sir." "Young man!" "Sir." "Are you a--hic----" Somers was not a "hic;" but he was an impatient young man, and very anxious to be instructed in regard to his difficult and dangerous mission. "Are you a minister of the gospel?" demanded the general, after a mighty effort. "No, sir; I am not." "I'm sorry for--hic--for that; for I wanted to appoint you a division chaplain, to preach against whiskey to the general officers. Some of them are--hic--drunken fellows, and no more fit for a command than the old topers in the streets of Richmond." "I am sorry I am not competent to fill the office; but I think, if you should lecture them yourself, it would have a better effect." "My words are--hic--powerless. They laugh when I talk to them about the error of their ways," added he with a string of oaths, which seemed to exhibit a further necessity for a chaplain on the division staff. "I beg your pardon, sir; but I am afraid your interest in the moral welfare of your officers----"