From Manassas.
[Correspondence of the Richmond Dispatch.] Manassas Plains, Jan. 22, 1862.
Rain, snow, sleet, mist, fog, mud, and the state of the weather generally, have for the time being, monopolized conversation to the exclusion of that everlasting topic ‘"the advance and the expected battle."’ Since this miserable spell of weather set in the subject has been quietly laid aside; and, as it is the time since last July, that a week has gone first by without a rumor of the Federal force advancing, and it being such a great piece of news not to hear it, I concluded to send it to the Dispatch, hoping its readers will feel very grateful to hear such a piece of intelligence.
A trip down to Centreville last week was quite an event, considering the state the roads are in now, but I felt amply repaid by the hearty greetings of my friends, and the opportunity I had of noting the change in the scene since I last travelled over the road.
The old tents, in some cases dilapidated, mildewed, and weather beaten, which had stood the storms and sunshines of the summer campaign, have given place to comfortable cabins, which have quite an air of neatness and home comfort, with their stick and plaster chimneys, and their one window of six and four lights, and their new plank door.
In some cases the ends of the logs are sawed off, and the little villages look quite habitable until you cast a glance down at the pavement. To supply the windows, of course every deserted house between Centreville and the outside of the lines had to furnish its quota.
In this connexion an anecdote is related of an old lady, who took her knitting and went off to spend the afternoon with a friend.
Great was her consternation upon returning to find her house minus the windows.
As no smoke was coming from the chimney it was drawn upon as deserted property.
Everything about Centreville has an air of activity, business and bustle; even the old buildings seem to have brightened up and put on an air of importance as much as to say: ‘"I am, or I was headquarters."’ Now another incident and I am done.
Even in this vicinity we have frequent visits from the ‘"noble soldiers,"’ as mine host, a meek, unsuspicious, invalid minister of the gospel, calls them, and many a meal, bundle of straw and other kindness they receive from him; and his faith in them could not be shaken by such instances as the following, until a day or two ago:
‘"Massa, dem hame strings gone!"’
‘"Hame strings gone, Frederick, where are they gone?"’
‘"Dunno Massa, spects dem soldiers what got straw yestiddy, dun tied em on to dar straps so dey could carry more."’
‘"Tut, tut, Frederick, accuse the noble soldiers of taking them, that won't do."’
But there was the turning point.
Soldier No. 1 dropped in to get his dinner, depositing his gloves, coat, and bucket of butter, just purchases, on the hall table.
Soldier No. 2 came in also, but ate hastily and left the table, returning to the sitting-room before anyone else.
When the family and soldier No. 1 came in, the other had disappeared; also gloves and bucket.
This led to some suspicion, and search was made to see if anything else was missing.
It was soon discovered that a small morocoo bag, containing a porte monnale with twenty dollars, was also gone, belonging to the lady of the house.
Mine host moralized on the frailty of man in general, and the delinquency of this noble soldier in particular, and contented himself by quoting--
‘"He who steals my purse steals trash,"’
which is literally true, in these days of shin-plas'ers; but still, as this trash could very well help to supply numerous household comforts, the good lady was not so easily won over to the philosophy of the quotation.
It is but justice to add, of the hundreds of soldiers who have been here since the 21st of July, these were the first things ever taken from the house.
B. C. L. 