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e had a gay time at Fairfax in those early months of the war, playing at soldiering, and laughing at the enemy for not advancing. The red cuffs of the artillery, the yellow of the cavalry, and the blue of the infantry, were all popular in the eyes of the village beauties, and rarely did anything of a melancholy character interfere with our pleasures. Sometimes a cavalry-man would be shot on picket — as we may be to-night, old fellow; and I remember once a noble boy of the Black horse, or Radford's regiment, was brought back dead, wrapped in an oil-cloth which his sister had taken from her piano and given him to sleep on. Poor thing! she must have cried when she heard of that; but there has been a good deal of crying during the present war. Kick that rail-end up. It makes me melancholy to see a fire dying down. Well, we had a pleasant time in the small village of Fairfax, until one July day my gun was ordered to a breastwork not far off, and I heard that the Grand army was com