There was the splendid advance on the day succeeding, through the rich
autumn forest, of all the colors of the rainbow.
Then the fight at Frying-Pan; arousing the hornets' nest there, and the
feat performed by Colonel Surry, in carrying off through the fire of
the sharp-shooters, on the pommel of his saddle, a beautiful girl who
declared that she was "not at all afraid!"
These and many other scenes come back to memory as I sit here at
Eagle's Nest. But were I to describe all I witnessed during the war, I
should never cease writing. All these must be passed over--my canvas is
limited, and I have so many figures to draw, so many pictures to paint,
that every square inch is valuable.
That is the vice of "memoirs," reader. The memory is an immense
receptacle--it holds every thing, and often trifles take the prominent
place, instead of great events. You are interested in those trifles,
when they are part of your own experience; but perhaps, they bore your
listener and make him yawn--a terrible catastrophe!
So I pass to some real and _bona fide_ "events." Sabres are going to
clash now, and some figures whom the reader I hope has not forgotten
are going to ride for the prize in the famous Buckland Races.
X.
I FALL A VICTIM TO TOM'S ILL-LUCK.
Stuart had fallen back, and had reached the vicinity of Buckland.
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