So Private W., tired of his foot-soldiering, got a quadruped under him, and felt like a cavalier again.  The horse took me along the tow-path of the Cumberland Canal, as far as the redoubts where we had worked our task.  Then I turned up the hill, took a look at the camp of the New York Twenty-Fifth at the left, and rode along for Arlington House.

Grand name! and the domain is really quite grand, but ill-kept.  Fine oaks make beauty without asking favors.  Fine oaks and a fair view make all the beauty of Arlington.  It seems that this old establishment, like many another old Virginian, had claimed its respectability for its antiquity, and failed to keep up to the level of the time.  The road winds along through the trees, climbing to fairer and fairer reaches of view over the plain of Washington.  I had not fancied that there was any such lovely site near the capital.  But we have not yet appreciated what Nature has done for us there.  When civilization once makes up its mind to colonize Washington, all this amphitheatre of hills will blossom with structures of the sublimest gingerbread.

Arlington House is the antipodes of gingerbread, except that it is yellow, and disposed to crumble.  It has a pompous propylon of enormous stuccoed columns.  Any house smaller than Blenheim would tail on insignificantly after such a frontispiece.  The interior has a certain careless, romantic, decayed-gentleman effect, wholly Virginian.  It was enlivened by the uniforms of staff-officers just now, and as they rode through the trees of the approach and by the tents of the New York Eighth, encamped in the grove to the rear, the tableau was brilliantly warlike.  Here, by the way, let me pause to ask, as a horseman, though a foot-soldier, why generals and other gorgeous fellows make such guys of their horses with trappings.  If the horse is a screw, cover him thick with saddle-cloths, girths, cruppers, breast-bands, and as much brass and tinsel as your pay will enable you to buy; but if not a screw, let his fair proportions be seen as much as may be, and don’t bother a lover of good horseflesh to eliminate so much uniform before he can see what is beneath.

From Arlington I rode to the other encampments,—­the Sixty-Ninth, Fifth, and Twenty-Eighth, all of New York,—­and heard their several stories of alarms and adventures.  This completed the circuit of the new fortification of the Great Camp.  Washington was now a fortress.  The capital was out of danger, and therefore of no further interest to anybody.  The time had come for myself and my regiment to leave it by different ways.

“PARTANT POUR LA SYRIE.”

I should have been glad to stay and see my comrades through to their departure; but there was a Massachusetts man down at Fortress Monroe, Butler by name,—­has any one heard of him?—­and to this gentleman it chanced that I was to report myself.  So I packed my knapsack, got my furlough, shook hands with my fellows, said good-bye to Camp Cameron, and was off, two days after our month’s service was done.