their leisure in discussing.  They had long since discovered that war is never romantic and seldom exciting, but a monotonous round of tiresome duties, enlivened at rare intervals by dangerous episodes.  They had become familiar with its constant accompaniment of privations—­bad weather, wet bivouacs, and wretched roads, wood that would not kindle, and rations that did not satisfy.  They had learned that a soldier’s worst enemy may be his native soil, in the form of dust or mud; that it is possible to march for months without firing a shot or seeing a foe; that a battle is an interlude which breaks in at rare intervals on the long round of digging, marching, bridge-building, and road-making; and that the time of the fiercest fire-eater is generally occupied in escorting mule-trains, in mounting guard, in dragging waggons through the mud, and in loading or unloading stores.  Volunteering for perilous and onerous duties, for which hundreds had eagerly offered themselves in the early days, ere the glamour of the soldier’s life had vanished, had ceased to be popular.  The men were now content to wait for orders; and as discipline crystallised into habit, they became resigned to the fact that they were no longer volunteers, masters of their own actions, but the paid servants of the State, compelled to obey and powerless to protest.

To all outward appearance, then, in the spring of 1863 the Army of Northern Virginia bore an exceedingly close resemblance to an army of professional soldiers.  It is true that military etiquette was not insisted on; that more license, both in quarters and on the march, was permitted than would be the case in a regular army; that officers were not treated with the same respect; and that tact, rather than the strict enforcement of the regulations, was the key-note of command.  Nevertheless, taken as a whole, the Confederate soldiers were exceedingly well-conducted.  The good elements in the ranks were too strong for those who were inclined to resist authority, and the amount of misbehaviour was wonderfully small.  There was little neglect of duty.  Whatever the intelligence of the men told them was necessary for success, for safety, or for efficiency, was done without reluctance.  The outposts were seldom caught napping.  Digging and tree-felling—­for the men had learned the value of making fortifications and good roads—­were taken as a matter of course.  Nor was the Southern soldier a grumbler.  He accepted half-rations and muddy camping-grounds without remonstrance; if his boots wore out he made shift to march without them; and when his uniform fell to pieces he waited for the next victory to supply himself with a new outfit.  He was enough of a philosopher to know that it is better to meet misery with a smile than with a scowl.  Mark Tapley had many prototypes in the Confederate ranks, and the men were never more facetious than when things were at their worst.  “The very intensity of their sufferings became a source of merriment.