welcome peace and sunrise can dissipate. Out of this blank-cartridge engagement the officers always manage to escape without wounds, and are found sitting on horses as sound of wind and as strongly inclined to repose as ever. The surgeon pays no sort of attention to his duties on the field; from which fact the affrighted females infer that none are wounded, let the dead number what they will.

Finally, the whole regiment is skilfully drawn up in the form of a hollow square, shutting in its officers with the chaplain much as cows are yarded in the country; and, when all is still, the "God of battles" is solemnly invoked on behalf of this yearly muster of inoffensive armed men; and then the closed wings unfold to let the cooped leaders out again.

The regiment is somehow got back, by hawing and geeing, into line, the drums are briskly beaten a little while longer, - the Colonel takes another ride up and down the length of the rather serpentine column, and, at last,

from his seat in the saddle, the order is given to dismiss, and the companies march off each to its own rendezvous, firing a mild salute at the approaching sunset. And men and boys, women and girls, white, black, and yellow, reluctantly prepare to go home, and to bed as quick as they can get there.

This is the annual "training" of thirty years ago. We have passed through serious experiences since, in which the raw troops of the country pastures have nobly vindicated the fame of their Revolutionary ancestry before the country and the world.

THE COUNTY FAIR.

A MILD, hazy, dreamy day in early Octo

ber. The place - the shire-town of the County, where the Courts are held. The hour -a very early one in the morning.

Cattle have been coming in, in droves, for some time, hurried forward by men in wagons and boys on foot who are dressed for the stirring events of the day. The tavern-doors are opened, and the landlords are out in their shirtsleeves, sweeping the steps and the ground just before the windows. People are slowly and one by one awaking to the dawn and its new demands, up and down the village street. lect herds of stock straggle along through the town, from time to time, and file off to the grounds just behind, where they go into such quarters as may have been designated by the proper committees.

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Presently a wagon, or two, rolls leisurely along, bringing a load of handsome poultry in its capacious body, - coops of geese, ducks,

and hens of every known blood, breed, and variety. A colt comes whinnying at the foot of her dam, both of them to add to the day's attractions in the list of live-stock.

There is a sweet rural fragrance everywhere. You can even smell new-mown hay, in imagination, with the sight of the strings of jogging oxen and the sound of the herds of lowing cows. The sun comes over the street, at last, and the whole town grass, trees, and houses steeped in the yellow glory of an autumnal morning.

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By eight o'clock the crowds begin to gather everywhere. First, they group in little knots on the corners, and along down the sides of the street; and afterwards they get mixed up in a homogeneous mass. The chief centre of all attraction in the village is the town-house, where are to be seen the various articles of female ingenuity and industry, and all the untold products of flower and kitchen gardens; likewise, tempting specimens of bakery, of butter and cheese, and of all those other creature comforts that impart such a rich creaminess to the life of the generous farmer.

The one other point of attraction, to divide the honors of the day with the attention of the thousand spectators, is the "Show-Grounds."

To the real lover of rural sights and sounds, with an imagination to be inflamed and a sympathy to be excited by such things, this is the very place to which his feet turn at an early hour in the morning.

Pens are constructed of rough boards, ranging over an area of several acres. Tickets are tacked upon them, inscribed with the names of those who own the contents. You begin at the head of the row with some fine calves, bläting in your face and eyes as if they mistook you for a relative long absent. Next comes a pen of handsome red cows; then brindle; then clear red-and-white, grade cows, that are handsome enough to be of full blood; then bulls; then more cows; more calves; cows COWS cows again, one, two, and three in a pen; pretty heifers, as pretty as ever graced a new name or a new cedar milk-pail; then sheep, Leicester, Cotswolds, Southdown, and Merino, in various strains of crossing.

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The sheep huddle timidly into the further corners of their pens, and look out through the crevices as if they wanted to ask the Committee when this tiresome pen-performance would be over. Their white and downy wool catches the eye for a long row of piney divisions; and then succeeds the department of swine. Our