would come in sight and make the 200 yard's run-such a dash as he had never made before. As soon as the lead mules would get in sight the Yankee guns would begin, but they shot slowly and with poor effect. The Sergeant and I sat for some time watching the fun, when he said: "Look at the guns coming out of the woods." I raised up eyes from the road and the demoralized drivers to a point a mile or so from where we were, back from the road probably a quarter of a mile was a body of woods with a bare hill sloping to a hollow, a point probably a little over half way between the timber and the road. Out from this timber was coming a section of Pelham's Battery at a full gallop, down the hill, over the branch, where we lost sight of them, and then coming in sight again just to the right of the point where the road was hidden by the hill.

An infantry charge reminds you of a moving wall that cannot be resisted; a charge of cavalry stirs the blood; but I have never known excitement to equal that of a battery of artillery going into action on a full run under fire. Over the top of the hill came these two guns, a cloud of dust almost hiding them, the horses straining every muscle, the men hanging to the horses or any part of the gun on which they could hold, those of the men that were mounted riding at full speed. When the top of the hill was reached there seemed to be no stop. The men threw themselves from their horses or fell from the guns and gathered in little squads; the guns were brought into action, and in half the time I am telling you this there was a little puff of smoke, a hoarse, shrieking sound, the sound of the explosion of the gun, and the fall of No. I at the sixth gun, whose leg was severed from his body. The sergeant and I both broke into a simultaneous cheer, for, though an enemy, he was a first-class soldier and recognized the gallant fight the two little guns were going to put up. They looked little from our distance, but, like little men, they spoke loud, and with that sort of a sound that made one think you hear me. The second shot was almost as quick as that from the first gun and fell just in front of the battery, then a shell from the first burst over the third section, a fourth, fifth and sixth following in close succession, that, had we known then of quickfiring guns, we would have thought these rebels across the river had two six-pound quick-firing guns, and that the "men behind the guns" knew how to use them. The Yankee battery was taken so much by surprise at the audacity of two little guns daring to break up their fire on the wagons that they did not recover their balance until Pelham's guns had fired five or six rounds; then they began to

reply. About this time it occurred to me that I had no business there, that those rebels were no respectors of persons, and that I might get hurt, as for a long time I knew that they had no more sense than to shoot to kill. I suggested this to the sergeant, and for once during those days the Yankee and rebel thought alike, and we not only thought quick, but we moved quickly, and soon were out of direct range. But we could not get out of the sound of those two little spit-fires on the other hill; it was slap-bang, slap-bang, until the sound was almost continuous.

They got in about as many shots with two guns as their adversary did with six; the latter were evidently green hands. We rode back some distance, the road not being in the direct line of fire, and halted with the Sixth New York Regiment. In a short time—I cannot say how long, for I do not believe any man can estimate whether a battle lasts ten minutes or two hours-the six-gun battery came to the rear. The little devils on the other hill had made it too

hot for them.

I give this reminiscence of one little episode brought out by the unveiling of Pelham's portrait at the George E. Pickett Camp, and if you think it worth while you can publish it.

J. B. MOORE.

[From the Richmond, Va., Times, Sunday, Feb'y 5, 1899.]

THEY HONOR A FORMER FOE.

Funeral of a Confederate Veteran Conducted by
G. A. R. Post.

A TOUCHING EULOGY SPOKEN.

Living Ex-Confederates Walk Arm in Arm With the Veterans of the Blue Under the Old Flag.

[This article, as is seen, is taken from one of our home Journals. Every true Southerner hails with glistening eye, and quickened pulsation, all that comes to him truthfully of re-united tie in National bonds.

No one can better estimate valour and magnanimity than the "brother" of the genial and productive section, who has from the

beginning of the "compact" and "league" freely rendered-yea, unto life itself-in behalf of “freedom's sanctuary" and the "Asylum of the oppressed.”

And, so now, is he ready, to fight, with his brethren for all of justice in Our Nation's prescience-glory-if that be the proper

term.

No Southerner could fail in the last sad rite to a brother!

The remarks of Comrade Bartlett, of Post 113, G. A. R., are appreciated.

There should be hesitancy in fully endorsing all of the "touching eulogy" of Rev. Edward A. Horton.

No concession should be made for misguided feeling and action, in the exemplification of the Confederate soldier.

He felt that he was animated by the purest motives-that he fought for guaranteed right, for home and fireside-for life itself.

It cannot be questioned, that he accepted the fiat of the conqueror, with an acquiescense that has proven his resplendant manhood. He is (and may-be-has been for years) a re-emplanoplied citizen of the United States of America-inferior in worth and meed to no other, of whatever section of birth or place of residence.

Whatever may be the propriety of the Rev. Mr. Horton's application, in actuality-the Ex-Confederate Soldier, "ascends to Heaven" with no stain upon his manhood-his soul; in humble submission to Omniptent call-in charity and brotherly feeling to all, even to the assumptive, yet, withal, in abiding confidence in the justice of the cause for which he fought-with a courage; the sublimity of which has not more impressed in the time and tide of the world's history-than the self-sacrifice, which is scarce less touching. "They know not what they do"!

There is no apology to be made!

If the Confederate Soldier yielded to "outrageous fortune" he never dared the impiety to question Omnipotence.—ED.]

Simple services over the remains of John Buck were held in the Bulfinch Place chapel yesterday at noon, says the Boston Herald, of January 30th. Although it was only a soldier's funeral, with a flagdraped casket at the altar and a few white-haired veterans in the pews, yet this simple service of tribute from the living to a dead warrior, was unique in the history of military funerals of the State, and full of deepest meaning.

For the flag on the hero's casket was not one for which he had

fought; the " comrades" at his bier were not his comrades in arms: their uniform had not been his uniform, nor their cause his cause. But the God of battles, who is also a God of love, had softened men's hearts, and when John Buck, a private in the Confederate cavalry, answered the final roll-call, Union soldiers mourned and did him homage at the grave.

UNITED IN DEATH.

And in the doing of it the State Department of the Grand Army of the Republic, the Military order of the Loyal Legion, the Chief Executive of the Commonwealth, through his representative, the delegates from over twenty Massachusetts Grand Army posts, and many private citizens, gave Massachusetts the proud privilege of demonstrating completely and convincingly the reality of a reconciliation which to-day knows no Mason and Dixon line. And while President McKinley has voiced a desire to see the graves of the Confederate dead displaying tokens of Northern tribute, Massachusetts Grand Army men have gone a step further, and have sought out and ministered in sickness and poverty to a one-time Confederate, and, at death, have garlanded his casket with flowers and done him the homage of a military burial, even as to one of their own. though foes sometime in life, in death they were not divided. more than this can no man do.

For

And

To the solemn tones of the great church organ the G. A. R. veterans marched down the isle to their places on the left. On the right sat a delegation from the Red, White and Blue Club of boys from the Bulfinch Place church, their banner at the head of one of the pews. At the foot of the platform sat Department Commander W. H. Bartlett, Junior Vice-Commander George M. Fiske, Assistant Inspector-General S. S. Sturgeon, Assistant Adjutant-General Warren B. Stetson, Assistant A. D. C., J. A. Ward and the Rev. Edward A. Horton, Chaplain of Post 113, G. A. R.

The casket was covered with a modest but tasteful display of carnations, calla lilies, and laurel and ivy wreaths, which rested above the Stars and Stripes of a reunited country. The department colors stood at the left, with the State flag on the right.

AN ELOQUENT ADDRESS.

Joseph White, a member of Post 113, sang "Our Faithful Friends," and then Department Commander Bartlett made touch

ing reference to the significance of the occasion in the following words:

The truest characteristic of a good soldier is respect for a fallen foe. How often in our service have we known military honors and Christian burial to be accorded to the fallen of either side by those who were their foes. If such service was appropriate amid the exigencies of war, how much more becoming now in this time of peace, when those who were our foes have become our friends.

The comrades of the G. A. R., who have honored themselves by their presence here in honor of this dead soldier, are greater than when they stood in line of battle in the face of rattling musketry and amid the storm of fiery shot and bursting shell. Such deeds enrich our own lives; they exemplify the golden rule, and bring us "nearer, my God, to Thee."

The greatest mystery to every man is the mystery of his own existence. As we grope blindly through this world, seemingly driven hither and thither by every wind of fate, how often the questions rise trembling to our lips-Whence, why, whither? We are what we are by reason of birth, heredity, education and environment. Why was it, comrades, the fate of this soldier to fight under the Stars and Bars and yours to fight beneath the Stars and Stripes? Who can tell? Enough for us that each fought for the right, as God gave him to see the right. So in the spirit of true fraternity and heavenly charity, the fundamental tenets of our order, we lay this soldier to rest, the gray beside the blue, in the great republic of the dead, "under the roses, the blue; under the lilies, the gray."

Let us fervently trust that in the clearer light beyond, with all doubts solved, all misunderstandings removed, all estrangements effaced, they may meet and greet each other as friends and brothers in the republic of heaven.

"Soldier, hail and farewell. and the shadows flee away.'

Rest in peace until the day breaks

TOUCHING EULOGY.

The eulogy was pronounced by the Rev. Edward A. Horton, who paid a high tribute to the bravery of the deceased, as follows:

"Here lie the mortal parts of a valorous soul. The touch of the hero was on him. He took his place and fought valiantly, fearlessly, even unto death. Subtract courage from this world's qualities and

the things of chief moment will be sadly neglected.