by Capt. Henry A. Castle If he gets loose, he darts through an ambulance or climbs a tree, without compunction. But he seldom gets loose (Page 24 ) THE ARMY MULE AND OTHER WAR SKETCHES BY HENRY A. CASTLE Private, Sergeant-Major and Captain Illinois Volunteers Past Commander Loyal Legion Commandery of Minnesota Past Commander Department of Minnesota G. A. R. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. W. VAWTER INDIANAPOLIS AND KANSAS CITY THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY M DCCC XCVIII   Copyright, 1897 BY THE BOWEN-MERRI

I T HE longevity of the Mule is proverbial. He lives on and on, until his origin becomes a musty myth, and age erects a tumor on his brow which betokens superb development of spirituality. The endurance of a hallucination is perhaps greater still. Our civil war closed more than thirty years ago. The Mules employed in the army are mostly dead—not so the hallucinations. These still linger, picturesque but fatiguing. There still survives in every northern town and village at least one man who habit

II N OW the time has arrived when this matter of the Sutler should be brought into its true alignment. His status should be differentiated and embalmed in due longitudinal sections of small pica. It should be finally settled whether he was the reincarnation of a seventeen-year locust, or only a pansy blossom, with lips all mute like a thinking star in the back row of a ballet. An excess of incertitude also prevails as to his rank and historic area. This latter at least should be staked out and c

III L USTROUS among war's unfading reminiscences shines the contour of the Shelter Tent. It lingers in memory, unique and delectable, dissimilar but equivalent to our ideal of those fringed silken pavilions wherein apoplectic despots of the orient air their scandalous magnificence amid the frockless squalor of their cringing hordes. The Shelter Tent was a supplement to the original scheme for putting down the rebellion—a fact, as it were, dehors the record. Only after Bull Run and Shiloh and Ant

IV A NY scheme of war which omits the stately ceremonial of Dress Parade from among its essential elements is scandalously unsymmetric. The military science is of pre-classical antiquity, its roots shattering the sarcophagi of Cadmus, and Darius, and Ptolemy, and Tubal Cain—penetrating even the caves of the troglodyte and the gravel-beds of the trilobite and the saurians. Ripening ages have at last disclosed the imperative demand of a frequent assembly and orderly arrangement of troops for show

V T HERE were no giants in those days that tried men's souls and stored their bodies with unpensionable ailments. Giants, mostly apocryphal, fought battles single-handed in periods of antiquity now remote and malodorous. The last samples perished some centuries ago, painfully regretted. Their spears were rust, their clubs were dust, their souls were with the saints (we trust) long prior to 1861. The men who put down the slaveholders' rebellion were mostly boys. It is estimated that the soldiers

( Russel M. Seeds' Interview with James Whitcomb Riley in the Indianapolis News. ) One morning James Whitcomb Riley dug up from the pile of recent books Bill Nye's post-humorous work, "A Guest at the Ludlow and Other Stories." It was not the first time he had seen it. Indeed; he has given more care and attention to the bringing out of this last work of his dead friend than he usually does to the mechanical and business details of his own books, and he had read and reread everything in it before