mysterious plains, of which even yet men spoke in awe.  Shall I admit it—­in spite of grief and trouble, my heart leaped at these thoughts.  I wished nothing so much as that I might properly and fitly join this eager, hurrying, keen-faced throng of the west-bound Americans.  It seemed to me I heard the voice of youth and life beyond, and that youth was blotted out behind me in the blue Virginia hills.

I inquired for Colonel Meriwether about my hotel in the city, but was unable to get definite word regarding his whereabouts, although the impression was that he was somewhere in the farther West.  This made it necessary for me to ride at once to Jefferson Barracks.  I had at least one acquaintance there, Captain Martin Stevenson of the Sixth Cavalry, a Maryland man whom we formerly met frequently when he was paying suit to Kitty Dillingham, of the Shenandoah country.  After their marriage they had been stationed practically all of the time in Western posts.

I made my compliments at Number 16 of Officers’ Row, their present quarters at Jefferson.  I found Kitty quite as she had been in her youth at home, as careless and wild, as disorderly and as full of good-heartedness.  Even my story, sad as it was, failed to trouble her long, and as was her fashion, she set about comforting me, upon her usual principle that, whatever threatened, it were best be blithe to-day.

“Come,” she said, “we’ll put you up with us, right here.  Johnson, take Mr. Cowles’ things; and go down to the city at once for his bags.”

“But, my dear Mrs. Kitty,” I protested, “I can’t.  I really must be getting on.  I’m here on business with Colonel Meriwether.”

“Never mind about Colonel Meriwether,” rejoined my hostess, “we’ll find him later—­he’s up the river somewhere.  Always take care of the important things first.  The most important thing in the whole world just now is the officers’ ball to-night.  Don’t you see them fixing up the dancing platform on Parade?  It’s just as well the K.O.’s away, because to-night the mice certainly are going to play.”

It seemed good to hear the voice of friends again, and I was nothing loath to put aside business matters for the time and listen to Kitty Stevenson’s chatter.  So, while I hesitated, Johnson had my hat and stick.

The city of St. Louis, I repeat, was then the richest and gayest capital of the West, the center of the commercial and social life of West and South alike.  Some of the most beautiful women of the world dwelt there, and never, I imagine, had belles bolder suitors than these who passed through or tarried with the Army.  What wonder the saying that no Army man ever passed St. Louis without leaving a heart, or taking one with him?  What wonder that these gay young beauties emptied many an Army pocket for flowers and gems, and only filled many an Army heart with despondency in return?  Sackcloth lay beyond, on the frontier.  Ball followed ball, one packed reception another.