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settle with Marion, the American general, concerning an exchange of prisoners. When led into Marion's presence, and the bandage taken from his eyes, the British officer, instead of the imposing dignity he expected to behold, was astonished to see a little sallow man, clad in a thread-bare homespun suit, surmounted by a few sun-burnt, half-naked militia men, roasting potatoes in the ashes, with their black firelocks, and coarse unseemly powder horns, lying beside them on logs. Having recovered a little from his surprise, the officer presented a letter to General Marion, and the exchange was adjusted to their mutual satisfaction. The officer took up his hat to retire, "pray Sir," said Marion, "give me the pleasure of your company to dinner, it is now about our time." The British officer glancing his eyes to the fire-place, saw nothing to flatter his hopes; but could not, consistent with good manners, decline the invitation. The general called to one of his men to produce the dinner—Tom, (as the general named the fellow who held the capacity of cook and waiter,) with a pine-stick fork, liberated a quantity of sweet potatoes from the embers and ashes, pinching each to assure himself they were well done; having made them clean, as he supposed, partly by blowing on them with his breath, and partly by rubbing them with the sleeve of his cotton shirt; he took a large piece of bark, and piled some of the best potatoes before the British officer. The British officer was a well-bred man, and pretended to eat of this rustic fare; but before they parted General Marion inspired him with heartfelt respect, "Sir," said he,