dying comrades by putting my revolver to their heads and threatening to shoot them if they did not go.

On our right the sharpshooting grew warmer and warmer, the enemy bringing line after line of their dismounted men into action, and I was despatched thither by General Stuart to watch the movements of the Yankees, and to animate our soldiers to an obstinate opposition. Here I found my dashing friend Rosser stationed with his brave fellows of the 5th Virginia Cavalry. In reply to my question as to how he was getting along, he said, "Come and see for yourself." So, to obtain a good look at the enemy, we rode forward together through the wide gaps in the stone fences, which had been made to admit of the passage of cavalry and artillery, and presently discovered, somewhat late, that we had got much nearer to our antagonists than we had intended. Suddenly the Yankee sharpshooters emerged from behind rocks and trees, sending their bullets in most alarming proximity to our ears, and running forward to cut us off from our line of retreat. Fortunately, we were both well mounted, and our horses had escaped a wound, so that we were able to clear the stone fences, where they stood in our way, without difficulty. This steeplechase afforded great amusement to Rosser, who seemed delighted at having gotten me into what he called "a little trap," but what I regard ed as an exceedingly ticklish situation.

As the far superior numbers of the enemy's cavalry, which up to this time we had successfully opposed, began now to be reinforced by infantry, General Stuart at last decided to fall back upon a new position. The retreat through Union was admirably covered by Pelham with his artillery, and was executed with great steadiness and order, under a perfect hail of shot and

shell, which, crashing through the houses of the little village, had already set on fire several stables and straw-ricks. The furious flames, leaping from one to another of these great masses of combustible material, and the dense volumes of smoke that rolled from them, added to the terror and confusion of the scene, which now became truly frightful.

On a ridge, behind a small creek where we had encamped the previous night, about a mile and a half beyond the town on the road leading to Upperville, we halted and again confronted our assailants, who did not keep us long in waiting for their attack, and ere half an hour had elapsed the thunder of cannon again shook the air, and the sharpshooters on either side were hotly engaged.

The enemy here, by a resolute and united charge, drove a portion of our dismounted men back in some confusion through the woods, and the officer in command, the gallant young Captain Bullock of the 5th Virginia, in the attempt to rally them, had his horse shot under him, and, before he could get on his legs again, found himself surrounded by the Yankees, who demanded his surrender. Bullock, however, responded with two shots of his revolver, killing two of his adversaries, and then endeavoured to save himself by flight. The whole incident having taken place within fifty paces of Stuart and myself, we could see, and even distinctly hear, the Yankees as they gave chase to our poor Captain. Taking some of our couriers, and such of the tirailleurs as had recovered from their stampede, with us, we galloped forward at once to the assistance of our brave comrade, whom we succeeded in rescuing from his pursuers, but in a state of such utter exhaustion that we had to lift him to the back of one of the led horses that chanced to be on the spot.

After a short but spirited resistance we were again compelled to retire, turning round and showing fight wherever the nature of the ground would admit of it, until late in the afternoon we took a new position near the large estate of Colonel Dulaney, which was of some strategetical importance.

Preparing for a more serious opposition to the movements of the enemy, Stuart and myself had halted on an eminence which afforded an extensive view of the surrounding country, when a squadron of Federal cavalry, which came trotting along over an open field in beautiful lines as if on parade, and which seemed quite disdainful of the opposing host, attracted our attention. Stuart turned to me, and said, "Major, pray amuse yourself with giving these gentlemen a lesson: take two of Pelham's guns, place them in such position as you think best, and receive our impudent friends with a proper salute." Our cannoneers followed me with loud expressions of joy, bringing with them the two howitzers, to a small hill, where dense bushes concealed our preparations from the enemy's notice. The guns were carefully aimed, and when the hostile squadron came within easy range, both shots sounded simultaneously, the shells exploding with wonderful accuracy right in front of the foe, emptying several saddles, and driving our contemptuous adversaries into headlong flight, along the line of which we sent several missiles from the howitzers with less effect.

All our pieces were now concentrated on a wooded acclivity, and were soon brought into a spirited cannonade with four or five hostile batteries. As usual, General Stuart and his staff exposed themselves for several hours continuously to the hottest fire-shells and solid shot fell around us on all sides, covering us with dust and dirt, and tearing the splinters from the

trees right and left; and I could not comprehend how any of us escaped death. The scene was one of the wildest and grandest confusion and destruction. Men were falling, killed or wounded, on every hand, wounded horses galloped hither and thither, and the numerous herds of cattle, which had until that Sunday grazed peacefully in their wide pastures, wrought up to the highest pitch of brute frenzy by the first battle they had ever known, ran about in frantic terror and excitement.

In the very fury of the cannonade, one or two little incidents excited our surprise and amusement. A shell, falling in the midst of a large flock of sheep, exploded there, and we thought that the greater part had been converted into mutton; but when the dust and smoke had cleared away, we saw the frightened animals scamper off, not one of their number missing, and all apparently unhurt. A few minutes afterwards, a stout young bullock, out of a herd of oxen that had been galloping up and down for a considerable time before

our batteries, suddenly threw a sommersault, and lay, to all seeming, dead upon the field, but presently got on his legs again, and after reeling and tumbling about for a little while in a drunken sort of way, started off all at once with the speed of an arrow. I have already mentioned cases of prostration by "windage" of cannon-balls. A more diverting instance occurred, in a later fight, with one of our soldiers, a North Carolinian, who, lying flat on his back, apparently badly wounded, answered to General Stuart's demand whether he was hurt, "Oh, General, I shall soon be all right again, but I am dreadfully demoralised by a bomb-shell;" the fact being, that a cannon-ball, passing very close to his head, had knocked him over.

With the darkness of evening,

our situation became a critical one. Our artillery had lost many men and horses; our cavalry, having been exposed all day to a murderous fire, had also suffered severely, and our sharpshooters were unable any longer to resist the double and triple lines of Federal tirailleurs, which were again and again sent against them. General Stuart accordingly determined to retreat to Upperville, and ordered me to recall our dismounted men all along the line. To obey this order, I had to ride to our extreme right, where Captain Farley, with a small body of riflemen, occupied some hay-stacks, which he had held all day against the vastly superior numbers of the enemy. As I was the only man on horseback in range of the Yankee carbines, I was exposed for the whole distance to a heavy fusillade; but returning was yet more perilous, for having to ride between the enemy and our own troops, the former hotly pursuing, and the latter, in their dogged retreat, returning with spirit every shot that was sent after them, I was subjected to two

fires, and was in as much danger of being killed by friendly as by hostile bullets.

The Yankees did not continue their pursuit after nightfall, and allowed us to retire quietly to the vicinity of Upperville, about a mile from which place we bivouacked.

A feeling of devout and fervent thankfulness possessed my heart, as I lay down on my blanket for a short night's rest, and recalled the innumerable dangers through which I had safely passed on that exciting eventful day. These smaller combats with the enemy are far more dangerous than great battles. Especially is this true as regards the staff-officer, who, having to be constantly in the saddle, remains throughout the day exposed to the enemy's particular attentions. In a general engagement, there is much more rattle of musketry and thunder of cannon, but the fire is not so much concentrated upon a small tract of ground, and fourfifths of the balls and bullets which wound or kill, find their mark accidentally.

FREDERICK WILLIAM ROBERTSON was born on the 30th February 1816, at the house of his paternal grandfather, Colonel Robertson, in London. He was the eldest son of a gentleman who, after serving through the great war of the French Revolution, retired, in 1821, on the half-pay of a captain of artillery. The first five years of the boy's life were spent in Leith Fort, where his father's battery happened at the time to be quartered. They appear to have made a deep and lasting impression upon a very impressionable nature. He refers to them in his correspondence at various periods in his after career, and always in the same way. They were years to him of something more than childish delight. He speaks of "being rocked and cradled to the sound of artillery;" of "the morning and evening gun chronicling each day as it passed;" of "the orderly who used to walk with him hand in hand up and down the barrack square;" of " the short, sharp word of command which set men, horses, and guns in motion." In a word, he imbibed from his earliest associations a passion for the military profession, which, though he was destined not to become a member of it, never passed away, and which undoubtedly had considerable effect in throwing over his entire future life that shade of melancholy which attends on disappointment, and is often the deepest in cases where the loss sustained is more imaginary than real.

When Frederick was five years old his father quitted the service. He settled first at Beverley in Yorkshire, where he devoted himself to the education of his children, sending the boys to a good grammar

school in that town, and by-and-by, in 1829, he removed with them to Tours, in order that they might have an opportunity of acquiring, while yet young, a thorough knowledge of French. The revolution of 1830, however, broke in upon this arrangement. Captain Robertson, not knowing what the social effect of that movement might be, returned to England, and entered his son Frederick as a pupil at the Edinburgh Academy, of which the late Archdeacon Williams, a philologist of no mean reputation, and an admirable teacher, was then at the head. By Archdeacon Williams young Robertson was treated with great, yet characteristic attention. The boy brought with him to his new school habits of industry and perseverance which, added to excellent abilities and fair scholarship, enabled him to take and maintain a good place in his class. He was encouraged to aspire after more, and at the end of the first session carried away prizes for Latin verse, English prose, and knowledge of the French language. In Greek composition, likewise, he stood so high that one boy only, George Moncreiff, the worthy brother of the present distinguished Lord Advocate, disputed with him the foremost place; and so nearly were their merits balanced that it was left to Sir Daniel Sandford, at that time Professor of Greek in the University of Glasgow, to decide between them. Sir Daniel gave his award in favour of Moncreiff, though not without highly complimenting Robertson; and the Rector took his own way-and a very original way it was-of evincing his respect for the defeated candidate. Robertson was requested, when the prize day came round, to read his rival's

essay in the hearing of the assembled guests. "It is hard," he wrote to his father, "to be thus made the herald of my own defeat. I have determined, however, to comply, partly for Moncreiff's sake, partly because I am determined that whatever I feel it shall not be visible." The whole transaction might well appear to be a trial of patience and nothing else; yet we, who remember the idiosyncrasies of the man, are satisfied that nothing could be further from the Archdeacon's purpose than to distress, far less to humiliate, one of his favourite pupils.

After a year or two passed in the Academy, young Robertson entered the University of Edinburgh, residing in the house of Mr (now Bishop) Terrot as a boarder, and attending the professors' classes. From these, and especially from the lectures of Professor Jamieson, he profited greatly. But he never abated one jot of his predilection for a military life. "He wrote from the Academy," says Mr Brooke, "to his brother, begging that the miniature fort in the garden might not be blown up till he arrived. He argued daily with his French masters on military engineering. It is no wonder that, on leaving Edinburgh, the secret wish of his heart had grown into a settled purpose. This was not, however, the intention of his father, who considered that the character of his son, and his deep religious feeling, were unfitted for a barrack life. The Church was therefore proposed to him as a profession, but his answer was decisive-"Anything but that."

We have all more or less been led to rejoice that "there is a Providence which shapes our ends, rough hew them as we may." Had the wish of his heart been gratified, we have no hesitation in believing that Robertson, with his excitable temperament, his warm imagination and sensitive nature, would have been bitterly disappointed. He looked at the future through a medium

which was as delusive as it was brilliant. He did not know-till he had experience of it he never could have known-what military life in this country really is. His dream was of perils braved, hardships endured, great deeds done-all at the bidding of patriotic principle. He saw only the outside of things-the air of generosity, of manliness, of obedience, prompt without being servile-which colour the web of the soldier's existence, and connect it with incidents calling into active exercise some of the noblest traits in human nature. All that leads up to these incidents, and paves the way for them, escaped his observation. He never stopped to ask himself the question, how the order of peaceable service at home or in the colonies would be likely to go down with him? the daily routine of drill, parade, and guard-mounting, relieved by long hours of listless indolence, and vapid conversation at mess and elsewhere? Yet these make up, with us, the staple of a soldier's life. That such must necessarily be the case we should be very sorry to insinuate. prove your system, and the army of the line may become as much the nursery of noble thought and scientific research as at this moment it is unhappily the reverse. But nobody who has looked behind the scenes can pretend to say that, under existing circumstances, military life is, in this country, any other than a life of the most pitiable idleness, from the deadening influence of which, if individuals succeed in escaping, they owe their deliverance to their own strength of will, and to the power which a strong will gives, of holding our course in spite of the strongest possible inducements to the contrary. Now, though it can scarcely be doubted, looking to what he ultimately became, that in the army not less than in the Church Robertson would have asserted the right to think for himself and to act for himself on all points where

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