After Many Years.

At the panorama of the Battle of Shiloh in this city a few days ago, a small, shrivelled-up man made himself conspicuous by going around the place snivelling dolorously. He did not appear to be more than five feet high. He was dressed all in black, and his attenuated form and gray whiskers gave him a peculiarly grotesque appearance. He seemed to be greatly interested in the panorama; and, as he moved from one point of view to another, he groaned and wept copiously. A tall, raw-boned man approached him: he wore gray clothes and a military slouch hat, and he had the general appearance of a Missourian away from home on a holiday.

“Reckon you were at Shiloh, eh, stranger?” asked the tall, raw-boned man.

“Yes,” replied the small, shrivelled-up man, “and I shall never forget it: it was the toughest battle of the war.”

“I was thar,” said the tall, raw-boned man; “and my regiment was drawn up right over yonder where you see that clump of trees.”

“You were a rebel, then?”

“I was a Confederate,” replied the tall, raw-boned man; “and I did some right smart fighting among that clump of trees that day.”

“I remember it well,” said the small, shrivelled-up 312man, “for I was a Federal soldier; and the toughest scrimmage in all that battle was just among that clump of trees.”

“Prentiss was the Yankee general,” remarked the tall, raw-boned man; “and I’d have given a pretty to have seen him that day. But, dog-on me! the little cuss kept out of sight, and we uns came to the conclusion he was hidin’ back in the rear somewhar.”

“Our boys were after Marmaduke,” said the small, shrivelled-up man; “for he was the rebel general, and had bothered us a great deal. But we could get no glimpse of him: he was too sharp to come to the front, and it was lucky for him too.”

“Oh, but what a scrimmage it was!” said the tall, raw-boned man.

“How the sabres clashed, and how the minies whistled!” cried the small, shrivelled-up man.

The panorama brought back the old time with all the vividness of a yesterday’s occurrence. The two men were filled with a strange yet beautiful enthusiasm.

“Stranger,” cried the tall, raw-boned man, “we fought each other like devils that day, and we fought to kill. But the war’s over now, and we ain’t soldiers any longer—gimme your hand!”

“With pleasure,” said the small, shrivelled-up man; and the two clasped hands.

“What might be your name?” inquired the tall, raw-boned man.

313“I am Gen. B. M. Prentiss,” said the small, shrivelled-up man.

“The —— you say!” exclaimed the tall, raw-boned man.

“Yes,” re-affirmed the small, shrivelled-up man; “and who are you?”

“I,” replied the tall, raw-boned man, “I am Gen. John S. Marmaduke.”