as an old farmer looking after his fences.”  On an old battle-field which had been illustrated by an achievement of the Stonewall division especially brilliant, I chanced to meet a grey veteran who had taken part in it, a North Carolinian who had come back to review the scene.  We fraternised, of course.  “What did Stonewall Jackson look like?” I said.  Stepping close to me, the “Tarheel” extended his two gnarled forefingers, and pressed between the tips my cheek-bones on either side.  “He had the broadest face across here I ever saw,” he said.  Such a physiognomical trait is perhaps indicative of power of brain and will, but I do not recall it among the usual descriptions of Jackson.

Naturally, after surveying much Virginia country once war-swept, as I came to the head of the Shenandoah Valley, I could not miss a visit to Lexington, where repose in honoured graves two such protagonists as Lee and Stonewall Jackson.  It is a beautiful town among low mountains green to the summit, and in the streets not a few lovely homes of the Virginia colonial type, draped with ivy and wisteria.  There stand the buildings of Washington and Lee University, in the chapel of which lies buried Robert E. Lee, and a short mile beyond is the Virginia Military Institute, from which Stonewall Jackson went forth to his fame.  The memorial at Jackson’s grave is appropriate, a figure in bronze, rugged as he was in face and attire, the image of him as he fought and fell.  Different, but more impressive is the memorial of Lee.  You enter through the chapel where the students gather daily, then passing the chancel, stand in a mausoleum, where nobly conceived in marble the soldier lies as if asleep.  He bears his symbols as champion in chief of the “Lost Cause,” but the light on his face is not that of battle.  It is serene, benignant, at peace.  I was deeply moved as I stood before it, but soon after I was to experience a deeper thrill.  The afternoon was waning when I walked on to the Military Institute.  Stonewall Jackson had been for ten years a teacher there.  The turf of the parade I was crossing had perhaps felt no footfall more often than his.  Two or three hundred pupils, the flower of Virginia youth, were assembled in battalion, and I witnessed from a favourable point their almost perfect drill.  As the sun was about to set, they formed in a far-extending line, with each piece at present.  They were saluting the flag, which now began slowly to descend from, its staff.  Lo, it was the flag of the Union.  The band played, I thought, with unusual sweetness, the Star-Spangled Banner, and to the music those picked youths of the South, sons and grandsons of the upholders of the right to sever, did all possible honour, on the sod which Stonewall Jackson trod, hard by the grave of Lee, to the symbol of a country united, states now and hereafter in a brotherhood not to be broken!  It was a scene to evoke tears of deep emotion, for never before or since has it come home to me so powerfully that the Union had been preserved.