that Omniscience knew all things, he commenced his prayer by praying. It was the petition of one conscious of his own weakness and praying for strength. There was the true contrition of heart, accompanied by a faith which took a sure hold on the promises. And his voice seemed to tremble as he prayed for a special blessing on his little charge—the negro children of the town whom he had gathered together in a Sunday school. It was in the days of slavery, and their neglected conditions excited his sympathy, and a sense of duty impelled him to make an effort to redeem them from the slavery of sin. Some of the Bourbon aristocracy criticised his action, and even went so far as to threaten prosecution. But a healthy Christian sentiment in the community sustained him, and he went forward in the path of duty. It can be very well understood, then, why he betrayed emotion when presenting his little army of dusky soldiers to the review of the Great Commander. It was the faithful soldier making a full report to Head-quarters. It was the obedient soldier seeking for instructions. "That was Stonewall's way."
The next spring the fires of war threw their lurid glare over the entire land—then it was Jackson took a final farewell of Lexington, never to return until he was brought back to be buried, according to his dying request, "in the Valley of Virginia."
The cadets were ordered to the field. Major Jackson was selected to command them. After the passage of the ordinance of secession on the 17th of April, 1861, the war-spirit was at fever heat in Virginia. The steady-going old town of Lexington had suddenly been metamorphosed into a bustling military camp. Volunteer companies were being organized, and every preparation being made for a horrible way. But no event of that memorable period has left a more vivid impression upon my mind than the departure of the Cadet battalion from the Military Institute.
It was a bright Sabbath morning, early in May, and a vast concourse of people had gathered on Institute Hill to see the youthful soldiers start for the way. The baggage and camp equipage had been put into the wagons, the horses hitched in, the drivers mounted, with whip in hand, waiting for the command to pull out. The cadets were in line, their cheeks aglow, and their eyes sparkling with the expectation of military glory awaiting them. Poor boys! little did they know as they stood there in their bright uniforms, and with their bright guns shining in the morning sunlight, how few of them would be left to answer at the last roll-call of the Army of Northern Virginia. As they stood thus, Major Jackson, mounted on an ordinary-looking horse,
