THE ORPHEUS C. KERR PAPERS. (continued 3)

"'Devil, I defy thee!' he exclaimed, dashing me violently against the wall; and then quitting his hold.

"'Brother Dominique, are you mad?' I asked, as soon as I could recover my breath.

"'It is a lie! I am not mad!' he ejaculated, glaring fiercely upon me, and biting his lip until the blood streamed from his beard.

"Hardly knowing what I did, I again approached the lamp; when he again sprang to my side, and pushed me violently from before it.

"'Must I kill you, too?' he said, in a whisper that pierced me.

"'You are excited,' I replied, with all the calmness I could muster. 'I thought you were asleep, or I should first have spoken to you about your lamp, the burning of which, at this late hour, is a violation of the rules.'

"He covered his face with his hands while I was speaking; and when he again looked up, all traces of former agitation had vanished.

"'Forgive me, father,' he said, with composure. 'Our superior has granted me the privilege of having a light always burning, as I am subject to fits, such as you have just witnessed, and cannot do without it. God have mercy upon me! I might have murdered you,' he added, turning suddenly pale again, and leaning against the damp wall.

"I delivered my message, being anxious to leave a being whose passions were so violent when aroused; but he called me back as I turned away, and resting upon his hard bed, motioned for me to take a seat beside him.

"I hesitated about complying at first; but there was an expression of mingled sorrow and entreaty resting upon his whole countenance, that awoke my sympathy and conquered fear. Closing the door of the cell, I obeyed him in silence, and sat down with a feeling of awe not to be defined.

"'Father,' he said, laying one hand on each of my shoulders, and staring fixedly in my face, 'Will you hear me confess?'

"The extreme abruptness of the question made me start from him with a gesture of surprise, but I answered not.

"'Will you hear a tale of crime from a criminal?' he continued, pressing heavily upon me, 'a tale of murder from a murderer!'

"I felt convinced that I had a maniac to deal with, and remembering to have heard that any sign of timidity but added fuel to the fires of insanity, I steadily returned his stare, and responded as quietly as I could.

"'Brother Dominique, if your soul is burthened with crimes, why not confess to the superior who is our father confessor?'

"'No, no!' he exclaimed, frantically. 'To you, or no one.'

"Fearful that, by refusing, I should again arouse him to violence, I drew my cowl closely over my head to guard against the damp air, and bade him tell me his sorrows.

"He, at once, fell upon his knees before me—nor could I persuade him to assume any other attitude.

"'Here on my knees,' he began, 'will I tell a tale that shall freeze your blood, and make you turn from me in scorn, or hatred. You will not betray me?'

"I assured him I would not.

"'I am the last of a noble Florentine house, which bears the names of sovereigns upon its registers. My father was a cold, stern man, proud of his high descent, and arrogant with those beneath him. My mother was the daughter of a Venetian noble, bright and beautiful as a diamond, and insensible to all the softer warmths of women as is that precious gem. I was their only child, and all the love their hearts were capable of feeling was bestowed upon me; all my desires were gratified ere expressed; obsequious menials stood about my path eager to obey my slightest nod; velvet received my infant footsteps, and the atmosphere around me was one of mellow music.

"'I grew up to manhood a pampered child of fortune, happy only in the midnight orgie or early morning revel, and the most polished profligate of my native city; yet my father regarded me with feelings of pride, and my mother looked upon her son as one well worthy to inherit the flaunting fortunes of his house. Although my father was ever kind to me he was subject to occasional fits of violence, when he would beat the servants, and render it necessary for his friends to confine him. It was said that he had seized a gipsey woman who had been caught in the act of stealing, causing her to be burned alive, and that while the flames were torturing the poor wretch, she had denounced her executioner with the bitterest execrations, and declared that he and his offspring should feel the curse of madness. The prophecy so worked upon my father's mind as to occasion periodical attacks of insanity, at which seasons he would rave fearfully, and, as I said before, render temporary confinement necessary. I cannot say that the knowledge of this fact had any effect upon me then, for I was gay and thoughtless; but, alas! it has since proved my bane, and poisoned every cup that has touched my lips.

"'Onward I flew, in a whirl of wildest dissipation, until my twenty-first birth day, when my father ordered me to meet him in the library at a certain hour. Not daring to disobey him, although I anticipated some cutting rebuke for my late headlong course, I waited upon him at the appointed time, and was relieved when he asked me in a kind tone to take a seat near him.

"'"Dominique," he said, "you have now reached an age when you must give up childish follies, and be a man. You are my only son, and my titles and fortune must one day be yours. It is my hope that you may support them with honor; but, in order to do this you must take a decided step at once—you must marry."

"'Although arrived at that period of life when woman usually becomes the principal object of man's hope and ambition, I was totally indifferent to them, and ridiculed those of my friends who had married, or, as I termed it, become slaves for life. But I knew my father's temper too well to thwart him, and appeared to acquiesce in his designs for my future benefit. He informed me that the lady whom he had selected to be my bride, was of a noble family, and would be at our villa in a few days, when he wished me to render myself as agreeable as possible, and at once commence my wooing.

"'I left him with a feeling of despair at being so soon obliged to give up my gay companions and become suppliant to one whom I had never before seen, and belonging to a sex that I held in contempt.

"'In my trouble I appealed to a young nobleman, an associate of mine, for advice, and he recommended that I should go abroad without my father's knowledge—afterwards giving him my reasons for so doing in a letter, and humbly asking his forgiveness. This advice just suited my disposition, and I resolved to follow it. Accordingly I collected sufficient funds for my journey, and on the morning of the day when my intended bride was to arrive at our villa, I started with my valet for France.

"'Upon reaching Paris I wrote to my father, declaring my determination to remain unmarried until tired of being my own master, and concluding by asking his pardon for the step which I had taken. My father did not answer this letter, and hence I supposed that he was seriously offended; but this conviction did not prey upon my mind for any length of time—indeed, I soon became more notorious in the French capital than I had been at home for unbounded extravagance and heedless dissipation. The well-known prominence and wealth of my family gained access for me to the circles of the most exclusive aristocracy. The glory and power of the unfortunate Louis and his peerless queen, Marie Antoinette, were already on the wane; yet their magnificence far eclipsed that of any other European court, and many traitors stood in the glittering throng that swarmed about them, whose meekly down-cast eyes were destined to blaze with the fires of rebellion, and whose swords were yet to flash terror into the heart of that sovereign who regarded them then as the staunchest bulwarks of his throne. With all due ceremony, I was presented to the ill-fated representatives of royalty, and quickly found myself the cynosure of all eyes, leered at by languishing dames, sneered at by those of my own sex whom nature had slighted, and honored with the attention of more than one aristocrat who afterwards fell a victim to the fury of red republicanism. But the sword of Damocles was suspended over our heads, and it soon fell with a clash that aroused echoes in every corner of the globe. When first the ferocious Club proclaimed its prerogative, I joined with others in treating it as a subject beneath our notice; but, as the flames of insurrection spread, and street barricades were successfully defended against the assaults of the National Guard, I began to feel the danger of being an aristocrat, and take measures for flight when events should have reached their crisis. It was too late. At the dead of night, I was aroused from my sleep by a violent uproar in the street below, accompanied by a thundering at the court yard gates of my hotel. I sprang from my couch to the window, and, with a vague apprehension of what was to come, pulled aside the curtain and looked forth. Holy Virgin! what a sight was there!—Thousands of howling demons, fast losing all semblance of humanity, surging and roaring like an infernal sea, with ghastly death-lights leaping above its waves and drowning grim shadows beneath. 'Blood! blood!' was their watchword, and I heard my name bandied from lip to lip, with bitter execrations. My pride was aroused, and conquered every other emotion. Hastily drawing a heavy military cloak over my head and form, I opened the casement, and walked out upon the balcony. So completely did my garment shroud me, that the bloodhounds knew me not, and for a moment their hellish cries sank into dead silence.

"'"Open the gates, or we will burn you alive," shouted a hoarse voice.

"'"Vive le Roi!" I shouted in answer.

"'Oh, what rage there was in the yell responsive to my taunt. It seemed as though Pandemonium had sent its countless fiends to join in the chorus of brutal fury. The gates were fast yielding, and my servants were constantly reminding me with pallid faces that I was ruthlessly sacrificing their lives for my own. In a moment, my resolution was made. I hastily assumed my usual dress, and wrapping the cloak about me, went down into the court and placed myself in a dark corner.

"'"Open the gates," I cried, disguising my voice, and throwing it as far forward as possible.

"'With quaking limbs, my servant obeyed the order, and in another moment, I felt the hot tide of devils bolting past me, into the elegant saloons of my hotel. So intent were the mob upon despoiling and plundering, that I was enabled to gain the street unmolested; but at that point, some enemy called my name, and with a shout of triumph, hundreds of infuriate demons started toward me. Knowing that resistance would be worse than madness, I drew my sword, and clenching it firmly in my right hand, with the point in front of me, I ran swiftly before them. Again arose the shouts, and onward came my enemies, panting for blood. Desperation gave me strength, and like a hunted deer, I far out-sped my pursuers; but human nature cannot be taxed beyond a certain point, and as I turned into the Rue St. Martin, my strength began to fail me, and my breath came hot and quick. Giving up all hope of escape and resolving to sell my life dearly, I was about to stand at bay, when an open door in a house close by caught my glance, and with the rapidity of thought, I darted through and closed it behind me. My hunters had not yet turned the corner, but I could hear their cries and with regained strength, I ascended a flight of stairs and entered an apartment, when a scream of surprise arrested my progress. A young girl stood before me with uplifted hands and astonishment painted upon every feature.

"'"Holy Mother! What would you have, monsieur?"

"'"I am pursued by the canaille, mademoiselle, and entered here to recruit my strength. I will die like a man."

"'"You are a royalist?"

"'"Yes."

"'I turned to the door, when she eyed me closely for some moments, and then opening a closet in the wall, pointed to its interior, without speaking. I saw at once that she wished to save me, and after raising her hands to my lips in mute expression of my gratitude, I entered the closet, and heard her turn the key in the lock. Almost at the same moment, loud shouts arose from the street and heavy footsteps were heard ascending the stairs.

"'"Whose house is this?" demanded a gruff voice, as its owner apparently entered the room, in company with others.

"'"Citizen Foliere's," answered my protectress, in sweet, calm tones.

"'"Which side?"

"'"Vive la Republique."

"'"Tres bien. He can't be here, comrades; he has given us the slip. Where is your father, mademoiselle?"

"'"He went to join in the attack on a hotel in the Rue St. Honore."

"'"Then he will be back soon, for the building is in flames, though its master has escaped us. Adieu, mademoiselle."

"'My nerves and muscles had been drawn to the last degree of tension, excitement had buoyed me up for a time; but now that my pursuers were departing and danger no longer surrounded me, a reaction took place, and I fell insensible upon the floor of my closet, while my fair jailer was in the act of liberating me.

"'Soon a scorching heat fell upon my brain, and in fancy I returned to my father's house. Dire shapes of blood haunted me, until I raved like a maniac and cursed the author of my being as the author of my destruction.

"'I woke as from a dream, and found myself lying upon a soft couch, attended by a physician, and a tall, middle-aged man, wearing the red republican badge—I owed my life to one of a class which I had ever despised. Monsieur Foliere had returned home soon after my pursuers had quitted it; and found his daughter attempting to revive me; great as was the risk he incurred by protecting a royalist, he did not hesitate to send at once for a surgeon, and order every comfort necessary to preserve my life.

"'I endeavored to express my gratitude; but the stern citizen frowned, and from that time forth, I said no more on the subject. Health slowly returned to its temple, and as it sent the warm blood tingling freshly through my veins, love mingled with the current that flowed to the heart. Cerise, my saviour, my guardian angel, hovered about my pillow like a spirit of light, awaking in my breast a passion which had never dwelt there before. She was not what the world termed a beauty; but there was a quiet grace about her actions, and a smiling, lovely dignity ever shining from her large brown eyes, that so drew her to me, as to make me silent and melancholy when she was not present.

"'Not to linger over a period, the purest and brightest of my existence, suffice it to say, that Cerise returned my passion, and I was blest with her love. I told her my name, and painted the splendors of Florence, while she listened with a gentle smile of approbation, and consented to become my wife, should her father raise no objection.

"'Anticipating no difficulty in that quarter, my happiness was unalloyed, and I considered her as all my own. At length, when my health was fully re-established, I asked a private interview with Citizen Foliere, and demanded the hand of his daughter in marriage. I described in glowing terms my love for Cerise and her reciprocation—I spoke of my high rank in Florence, the many honors of my family, and its great antiquity; the advantages which would accrue to him from having such a son-in-law—in fact, presented my views in every light of interest and paternal affection that I could devise. The stern republican heard me through in silence, and then answered coldly—

"'"Young man, you were received into my house, a fugitive from retributive justice, and sheltered by me at the risk of my own good name and life. I pitied your youth, and yielded my protection, when duty bade me surrender you to my friends. Would you repay me by robbing me of my richest treasure, or forever blighting her existence by arousing in her bosom a hopeless passion? My daughter cannot be yours, though you boasted the blood of a sovereign; she shall never sit in the palaces of our oppressors. My decision is irrevocable, and this subject must be forever at rest."

"'Frantic with indignation and disappointment, I flew to Cerise, and with the violence of a maniac, acquainted her with my ill-success; I swore she should be mine, or I would slay myself at her feet. By turns she wept and expostulated, until I accused her of faithlessness, when she threw herself into my arms, and in an agony of tears, bade me do with her as I pleased.

"'That night I was on my way from Paris, with my wife clasped to my breast, calling down heaven's bitterest curses upon my head, should I ever cease to love her as I then did, and kissing the hot tears from her cheeks in a burning, maddening transport of blind devotion.

"'Oh madman! wretch that I was—why did I not fall a withered corpse at the feet of that innocent girl, who sacrificed a father's love for me?

"'At Genoa I purchased a villa in a retired spot, and there tasted the intoxicating joys of elysium; but fate was darkening in clouds above my head, and the bridal garlands were soon to blossom in a harvest of blood. I wrote again to my father, acquainting him with the step I had taken, and narrating my escape from death in France. An answer soon came, and in the presence of my wife I read as follows:

"'"Dominique—Foolish boy, you have well nigh driven me to madness by your conduct, and your mother has gone to the grave a victim to the folly of her son. Come hither at once, if you would not kill me also, and behold the wreck that remains of

"'"Your Father."

"'The vague tone of this communication, and the intelligence of my mother's death, overwhelmed me with sorrow. Cerise, dear Cerise, fell upon my bosom and reproached herself as being the author of all my troubles. In vain did I try to forget my own griefs, and strive to console her; she soon became calm, but the smile of contentment no longer beamed from her eyes, and her peace was departed forever. She insisted upon obedience to my father's request, and when I yielded, accompanied me to my native city silent and tearless.

"'Resolving to see my father alone, I left my wife at an obscure house in the suburbs of the city, and promising to return when I had softened my parent's wrath, I set out with a heavy heart for the home of my childhood.

"'The servants at once recognized me, but I could only learn it from their glances, for they led the way in silence to the saloon of reception.

"'My father was seated in a remote corner, conversing with some person when I entered, and on beholding me, at once came forward and embraced me with every token of affection. Astounded at receiving such a salute, when I expected nothing but reproach, I stood motionless, staring at him in silence, until the other person present approached. Never shall I forget the appearance of Lucia on that day. Her raven locks, falling below her waist and mingling imperceptibly with the folds of her sable robe, contrasted strikingly with the snow-white purity of her complexion, over which her piercing eyes, shed a lustre truly spiritual. As my father introduced us, our glances met, and I felt a thrill to my inmost soul.

"'It maddens me to dwell upon those scenes, and I will hasten to the conclusion of my story. I forgot Cerise, my honor—everything, in the society of her who had once been selected to wed with me. Day followed day until a month had elapsed, and I still remained fascinated to the spot, false to my vows, false to my wife, and true to nothing but blind infatuation. My father beheld me sinking deeper and deeper in the black waves of infamy, and a light of demoniac exultation burned in his eyes. I marked his triumph, and I, too, felt a savage joy, though for what reason, I knew not.

"'At length he taunted me as the husband of a lazarone. He pointed with hellish glee to where Lucia stood, the incarnation of perfection, and bade me behold what I had lost. My brain was on fire, a thousand furies tugged at my heartstrings, and as my father clasped my hands in his and looked down into my soul, I felt that savage joy again, and a demon possessed me. My father approached his face to mine, until his hot breath burned upon my cheek, and whispered in my ear; it was enough. With a loud laugh I left him and flew, rather than ran, to where my deserted wife was watching for me, sad and alone.

"'Why did she not tax me with my perfidy? Why did not her angel soul arise in its innocent love, to crush me with the glancing of an eye? Oh, that she had uttered one reproach, one bitter word! She saw me, and with a cry of joy, cast her white arms about my neck, as on our marriage; they were like chains of searing, glowing iron to me, and I dashed her from me, howling in the delirium of my torments. She marked the wild fire that flashed from my eye, the dark flush that burned upon my cheek, my breast heaving with the struggles of the fiend within, my hair hanging in disordered masses over my throbbing brow, the cowardly trembling of the hand concealed in my bosom; she beheld a fiend incarnate in the form of one who had sworn to love and cherish her forever; yet no word of reproach arose from those lips I had so often kissed. Again her arms were about me, and again I attempted to dash her to the ground.

"'"My husband, my dear Dominique!" she shrieked, clinging to me, and pressing her cheeks, pallid and cold, against mine, glowing and burning with the reflected fires of hell. The spell of madness fell upon me, as I struggled with that faithful wife, and hissing froth boiled from between my teeth, mingling with her long locks of auburn hair. I suffered all the torments of the damned as we swayed to and fro, until her strength began to fail and her arms relaxed their hold. Then, with a horrid laugh, I wound her long curls about my hand, and plunged a stiletto to its hilt in her breast.

"'The warm blood of life poured in a torrent upon me, and as my victim lay gasping upon the ground, I danced frantically about her, laughing with glee.

"'I did not wait to see her die—I dared not do it—but all gory as I was, I returned to my father. He met me with a smile, and his calmness communicated itself to me.

"'I was happy then—oh! yes, very happy!

"'With blood upon my hand, and madness in my brain, I wooed Lucia with all the cunning of insanity, and another gentle heart soon beat for me alone.

"'We were married! I remember the bright glare of the lights, the holy dignity of the priests, the gay laughter of the brilliant company, as my health and happiness were pledged in goblets of rare wines, the face of my second wife shining like that of an angel, with fond, confiding love for me; and then my father! We looked at each other, and smiled exultantly—we murderers, madmen, receiving the homage of reasonable beings. I was filled with mad joy, and sent forth peals upon peals of laughter while the ceremony was being performed. My father joined in my unnatural merriment, and surprise and fear was painted on every countenance. I saw the lips of Lucia tremble, and squeezed her hand so that she groaned with pain. Oh! what would I not have given to have been in the open air, yelling my triumph to the beast in his lair and the bird on the wing; making nature's arena to echo my bursts of mirth, and rising far above the earth on a sea of discord. My father continued near me through the ceremony, and left the saloon at its conclusion; but I knew that his feelings were like mine and envied his liberty.

"'Then I grew calm again, and friends congratulated me, and music filled the air, and the dance went on, and I kissed my bride until she involuntarily shrank from me in confusion. I was very happy then.

"'At length the midnight hour arrived and the maidens of Lucia conducted her, veiled in blushes, to the nuptial couch. How beautiful did she look, arrayed in spotless white, such as bright angels wear. An hour elapsed ere I flew to her chamber and threw myself upon the floor in a paroxysm of mirth. There was a large lamp of glass that burned before a mirror in our bridal chamber, and as its perfumed oil was consumed a delicious odor ladened the air; as I rolled upon the carpet and tore it with my teeth, the light shone in my eyes, and in an instant I ceased all motion and stared fixedly at it, while cold drops of water came out upon my temple.

"'Timidly my bride approached and spoke to me; but I answered her not; for there was another form before my eyes; another bride speaking to my soul. There was an explosion; the lamp fell into a thousand pieces, and where it had been there stood my murdered wife, with the blood pouring from her bosom, and the stiletto in her hand. I saw her as plainly as I now see you, and she bade me slay her rival! I knew my fate decreed it so; I dared not disobey the dead, and with a howl of fury, I sprang upon Lucia, my second bride. In vain she clasped her hands to me in prayer for mercy; in vain she tried to shriek for help; I grasped her pale throat until my nails sank into the flesh, and a purple hue spread over her face. There I saw her sink from blooming health to ghastly death, and every feature was visible to me in all its convulsive workings, although the light was out.

"'My spirit wife stood before me and my last victim, until she faded to nothing in the morning light.

"'As the beams of the sun streamed in upon me, I took my dead bride in my arms and stalked gaily down to the saloon of my father. I heard him laughing loudly, and with a laugh I answered him as I carried my burden into his presence. He, too, had something in his arms, and it was the lifeless form of Cerise, crumbling to decay, and fresh from a banquet of worms. We placed our treasures side by side upon a table, and embraced each other with yells of laughter. Higher and higher rose our mirth, and louder grew our shouts of triumph, until the street beneath us was crowded with people, and the servants burst into the saloon where we held our revel.

"'We were seized and carried before the Duke, with the cold corpses of my wives; but we laughed when they called us murderers, and cursed when others called us madmen.

* * * * *

"'The keepers of the madhouse awoke me from my slumbers to tell me that my father had died during the night. What was that to me? I wanted a light burning beside me all night, and then he would not come from the grave to visit me. So I laughed and was merry to think that I was locked up in a madhouse. After many years I was released from my prison, and came thither to take the cowl of a monk. Think not that I am mad, holy father, when I solemnly swear that the shades of my wives stand beside me every night, and only wait until the light goes out, to drag me down to hell. I see them now, with bleeding bosom, and throat bearing the prints of my nails! Cerise! Lucia! I defy thee both! The lamp still burns! ha! ha! ha!'

"With a horrid laugh brother Dominique fell upon his face on the ground, like one blasted by a stroke from heaven; and with a vague feeling of terror, I crawled stealthily to my own cell.

"On the following day we met at morning prayer, in the chapel, but he treated me as though we had never known each other, and the events of the preceding night were never again mentioned by either of us.

"One evening, loud peals of laughter were heard issuing from the cell of the maniac, and several of the monks hastened thither with me, to learn its cause. On opening the door, I first beheld the lamp lying extinguished in its niche, while brother Dominique was stretched upon the stony pavement in strong convulsions, giving vent every now and then to sounds of mirth, so dreadful that we stopped our ears, and fled horrified to the superior. When all was again silent we returned to the cell; but the maniac was not there, and the niche was vacant."

Such, my boy, was the story related by M. Bonbon, the reading making him hoarse, and the plot suggesting a nightmare also.

Yours, staringly, Orpheus C. Kerr.

LETTER LXV.

NOTING THE REMARKABLE RETROGRADE ADVANCE OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE UPON WASHINGTON, AND THE UNSEEMLY RAIDS OF THE RECKLESS CONFEDERACY.

Washington, D. C., August 30th, 1862.

As every thing continues to indicate, my boy, that President Lincoln is an honest man, I am still of the opinion that the restoration of the Union is only a question of time, and will be accomplished some weeks previous to the commencement of the Millennium. It is the "Union as it was" that we want, my boy, and those who have other articles to sell are hereby accused of being accursed Abolitionists. I was talking the other day to a venerable Congressman from Maryland, who had just arrived to protest against the disturbance of mail facilities between Baltimore and the capital of the Southern Confederacy, and says he, "I have several friends who are Confederacies, and they inform me that they are perfectly willing to return to the Union as it Was, in case they should fail in their present enterprise. If I thought," says the Congressman, hastily placing a lottery-ticket in his vest-pocket, "if I thought that this war was to be waged for the purpose of injuring the Southern Confederacy, rather than to restore the Union as it was, I should at once demand more mileage of the Government, and repeatedly inquire what had become of all the 'Wide-Awakes.'"

As he uttered this last horrible threat, my boy, I was impressed with a sense of something darkly democratic. Too many of the "Wide-Awakes" of the last campaign are indeed fast asleep now, when their country needs them. I saw one of them slumbering near Culpepper Court House last week. He was sleeping with his right arm twisted in the spokes of a disabled cannon wheel, and a small purple mark was on his right temple. But he was not alone in his forgetful sloth, my boy; for near him, and rigidly grasping his disengaged hand, was a Democrat slumbering too!

The sight, I remember, rendered me so honestly indignant, that I could not help pointing it out to the Mackerel Chaplain, who was engaged in selling hymn-books to the wounded. The Chaplain looked a moment at the Fusion Ticket before us.

"They sleep for the Flag," says he, softly, "and may its Stars shed pleasant dreams upon their loyal souls for ever."

The Chaplain is an enthusiast, my boy, and this is what he has written about

OUR GUIDING STARS.

You are probably aware, my boy, that the unconquerable Mackerel Brigade is still advancing upon Washington in a highly respectable and strategic manner; and that all correspondents are excluded from the lines, lest some of them, in their natural blackness of heart, should construe the advance upon Washington into a retreat from Richmond.

But I gained admission to the scene by adopting the airy and pleasing uniform of the Southern Confederacy; and am thereby enabled to give you some further account of the skillful retrograde advance to which I dimly referred in my absorbing last.

The uniform of the Southern Confederacy is much respected by many of our officers, my boy, and is the only guise in which a fellow-being may scrutinize the national strategic works with entire safety.

Thus attired, I joined the Mackerel Brigade in its cheerful work of pushing Richmond away from its martial front, and having penetrated to the rear where horrible carnage was being wrought in the frantic ranks of the Confederacy, I beheld the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade anxiously searching for something upon the ground. In a moment, he looked up, and says he to the warriors in his neighborhood:

"My children, have you seen anything of a small black bottle that I placed upon the grass, just now, when I turned to speak to my aid?"

A Mackerel chap coughed respectfully, and says he: "I guess it was taken by some equestrian Confederacies, which has just made another raid."

"Thunder!" says the General, "that's the third bottle I've lost in the same way within an hour." And he proceeded slowly and thoughtfully to mount his horse, which stood eyeing him with funereal solemnity and many inequalities of surface.

Turning to another part of the line, my boy, I beheld Captain Villiam Brown and Captain Bob Shorty in the act of performing a great strategic movement with the indomitable Conic Section, many of whom were employing the moment to take a last look at the canteens presented to them before leaving home by their devoted mothers. A number of reckless Confederacies had just crossed a bridge spanning a small stream near by, and the object of this daring movement was to suddenly destroy the bridge before they could retreat and then make prisoners of the whole.

It was a sublime conception, my boy—it was a sublime conception, and rich with strategy.

Like panthers surrounding their unsuspecting prey, the wily Mackerels swept noiselessly across the bridge, applied their axes with the quickness of thought, and in a moment the doomed structure fell splashing into the water. It was beautiful to see Villiam's honest exultation at this moment; his eyes brightened like small bottles of brandy with the light shining through them, and says he:

"We have circumvented the Confederacy. Ah!" says Villiam, proudly; "the United States of America is now prepared to continue in the exchange business, and—"

He paused. He paused, my boy, because he suddenly observed that Captain Bob Shorty had commenced to scratch his head in a dismal manner.

"I'm blessed," says Captain Bob Shorty, in a cholerical manner—"I'm blessed if I don't think there's some mistake here, my military infant!"

"Ha!" says Villiam, with dignity; "do you discover a flaw in the great chain woven by the United States of America around the doomed Confederacy?"

Captain Bob Shorty again scratched his head, and says he:

"I don't wish to make unpleasant insinuations; but it seems to me that this here body of infantry has left itself on the wrong side of the stream!"

And so it had, my boy. By one of those little mistakes which will sometimes occur in the most victorious armies, the Conic Section had thoughtlessly crossed the bridge before destroying it, thus leaving themselves on one side of the river, while the riotous Confederacies were on the other.

How they got across again, at a fordable place higher up, just in time to see the Confederacies cross again, at a fordable place lower down, I will not pause to tell you, as such information might retard enlistments.

Once more stationing myself near the General of the Mackerel Brigade, who sat astride his funereal charger like the equestrian statue of the Duke of Wellington, I was watching his motions attentively, when a body of horsemen suddenly dashed by him, and I saw, as they disappeared, that he was left bareheaded.

"Thunder!" says the general, winking very violently in the sunlight, and rattling his sword in a fearless manner, "where's my cap gone to?"

There was a respectful Mackerel chap at hand, and says he:

"I think it was took by the equestrian Confederacy, which has jest made another raid."

"Hum!" says the general, thoughtfully, "that's very true. Thunder!" says the general to himself, as it were: "this is all Greeley's work."

Pondering deeply over this last remark, I sauntered to another part of the field, where the Orange County Howitzers were being prepared to repel the charge of a regiment of Confederacies, who had just come within our lines for the purpose. The artillery was well handled, my boy, and not a piece would have been captured but for the splendid discipline of the gunners. They were too well disciplined to dispute orders, my boy; and as Captain Samyule Sa-mith had accidentally forgotten to give the order to "load" before he told them to fire, the effect of our metal upon the hostile force was not as inflammatory as it might have been.

The next I saw of Samyule, he was making his report to the general, who received him with much enthusiasm.

"Where are your guns, my child?" says the general, with paternal affability.

Samyule blew his nose in a business-like manner, and says he;

"Several of them have just gone South."

I am unable to state what response the general intended to make, my boy; for at this instant a body of horsemen swept between the speakers, one of the riders jerking the veteran's horse violently from under him, and galloping the steed away with him. Up sprang the general, in a violent perspiration, and says he:

"Where's my horse gone to?"

"I guess," says a Mackerel chap, stepping up—"I guess that it was took by the equestrian Confederacy, which has just made another raid."

"Thunder!" says the general, "they'll take my coat and vest next." And he retired to a spot nearer Washington.

I would gladly continue my narrative of the advance movement, my boy, showing how our forces continued their march in excellent order, safely reaching a spot within ten miles of the place they gained on the following day; but such revelations would simply tend to confuse your weak mind with those great doubts concerning military affairs which tend to render civilization impertinently critical.

It is the simple duty of civilians, my boy, to implicitly trust our brass-buttoned generals; of whom there are enough to furnish the whole world with war—and never finish it at that.

Yours, weekly, Orpheus C. Kerr.

LETTER LXVI.

IN WHICH OUR CORRESPONDENT ASTONISHES US BY ENGAGING IN SINGLE COMBAT WITH M. MICHELET, AND DEMOLISHING "L'AMOUR" AND "LA FEMME."

Washington, D. C., Sept. 4th, 1862.

While I was lounging in a banker's drawing-room this morning, my boy, waiting for the filthy lucre chap to come down and say that he was glad to see me, I chanced to see the eternal "L'Amour" and "La Femme" lying upon a table in the apartment. The sight threw me into a bad humor, for I detest those books, my boy, and wish the United States of America had never seen them.

Monsieur Michelet, a French individual of questionable morals, first writes a book about "Love," and then clinches it with one about "Woman." It is hardly necessary to add, that he treats both subjects in a thoroughly French manner, and makes one a continuation of the other. Love is a charming little story in every man's life, "complete in one number"—Number one. Woman is a love-story, "to be continued" until, like all other continued stories, it ends with marriage!

Such is the logic implied by Monsieur Michelet's two books, and whether it is calculated to elevate or degrade the weaker sex, a majority of educated American women have eagerly read the books and accepted the sentiments as so many compliments. And the men? They leisurely rove through the leaves of monsieur's mental Valambrosa, and say: "How Frenchy!" And in that natural exclamation we find the most complete and just criticism of "L'Amour" and "La Femme" possible to American lips or pen.

This Michelet, my boy, is a man of talent and remarkably clear poetical perception. He is as much like Hallam as a Frenchman can be like an Englishman, and France honors him for his development of the poetry of her history; but is that any reason why he should be accepted as the modern High-priest of Love and the Censor of Woman? By no means. Madame de Stael was thinking of a Frenchman when she wrote: "Love is only an episode in man's life"—and may have referred to herself when she added: "but it is woman's whole existence." Had an American woman spoken this, we should suspect the sentiment to be nothing more than the reproach of a disappointed passion; but of the Frenchman it is indisputably true, as well as of woman wherever we find her.

The French do not know what Fidelity means, my boy; they have chameleon souls, and remain true to one object only until another comes within their reach. Like mad bulls, they are attracted by the quiescent warmth of fiery-red; and, having attained it, tear it to pieces in their passion.

What can such people know about Love? Nothing. They call Love "L'Amour," and when we speak of a man's "amours," we mean that he "loves" like a Frenchman. Monsieur Michelet is a Frenchman; and supposing him to be an ordinary one, we must accept his sentiments regarding Woman as we would those of an Apicius regarding a delicacy he apostrophizes before devouring. But Michelet's temperament is poetical, and while he looks upon Woman as a foretaste of the sensualist's paradise, and upon Love as the means of gaining it, he covers up the grossness of his ideas with robes borrowed from the angels. Adopting Kepler's canon, that "harmony is the perfection of relations," he makes Woman, the creature, a continuation of Love, the sentiment; and the tenor of his "L'Amour" and "La Femme" is, that both must be possessed by man, in order to perfect the union which makes them a perfect One.

Wherever I go I find these books: cheek to cheek they repose on the carved table of the lady's boudoir; shoulder to shoulder they stand on the library shelf; tete-a-tete they give the rich centre-table an equivocal aspect. Young men and maidens, old men and matrons, children and chambermaids read them; yet they have no social effect. Woman understands love and herself; Man thinks he understands both; and the fictitious fervor of Monsieur Michelet has no more effect upon either than so much prismatic froth. It addresses itself piquantly to the eye, and murmurs like a shell in the ear; but once out of sight and hearing, and it is only an excuse for light talk and laxity of thought.

I am glad to record this; it shows that our national morality is in no danger of being wrecked on the French coast by any such tropical gales as Michelet, Feydeau, or Dumas can blow. Let our publishers bring over a few more cargoes from the Augæan stables of French literature in English bottoms, and I will guarantee them large profits. We will read them, and immediately forget all about it.

But to return to Michelet again. Our women read his "Woman," and imagine that it compliments their sex—flatters them. Fortunate is it, that flattery very seldom changes a woman's character, though it may sway her judgment. She accepts it as her right, but seldom believes it. Queen Elizabeth graciously extended her hand to be kissed when her noble lover compared her to "the sun, whose faintest ray extinguishes the brightest planet;" yet that same hand had signed the flatterer's death-warrant. At the moment she was pleased, and her good sense dazed; but her heart was not reached. Flattery, skillfully administered, may add fuel to a woman's love; but the fire must first be kindled with something more sympathetic. An American woman may read "La Femme," and complacently receive its subtle equivoques as so much fuel added to her vanity; but that vanity was kindled into existence in the first place by the genuine homage of some honest man.

It was Michelet's "Woman," my boy, that suggested this letter; yet I did not intend, at the outset, to devote so much space to his unwholesome sophistry. If I have shown, however, that Michelet's "Woman" is only such a being as he would have created under that name, could he have changed places with the Deity, I have not wasted time and ink. Thank fortune, there is but one French deity, and his proper name commences with a D.

Now, let me give my own idea of Woman—not "La Femme."

As she stands before me in the light of Nature, she is no "enigma," as voluntarily-puzzled poets have called her; but a being easily defined, and not more nearly related to the angels than man. To the best of her sex we attribute one natural weakness and one virtue—Curiosity and Modesty. Everybody must allow this much. But why should we make such a distinction between these two qualities? Let us trace them back to their exemplar:

Eve's curiosity was the first effect of her serpentine temptation. Was it not? Well, that curiosity caused her to eat the forbidden fruit. Having eaten it, and caused Adam to eat, she suddenly became possessed of modesty, and made herself an apron of fig-leaves. It is but natural to infer that her first blush was worn at the same time, though Milton attributes blushes to the angels. As angels are immaterial beings, I think Milton was mistaken. Now, if modesty, as well as curiosity, was the result of Satanic temptation, why should one be called a weakness and the other a virtue? Are not both the fruits of original sin?

Woman's love is said to be stronger and more lasting than man's. Is it so? Let us trace it back to its beginning:

Eve's love for Adam did not prevent her fall. She met the Prince of Darkness and listened to his blandishments, as too many ladies of the present time prefer the society of bogus courtiers to that of their Adams of husbands. She forever disgraced Adam, herself, and her future family, just to please the tempter. Was this a proof the depth and vitality of Woman's love? And Adam? Why, rather than refuse any request of the woman he loved, however extravagant, he voluntarily shared in her ruin, and courted the curse of her fall. Did this prove that Man's love is weaker and shorter-lived than Woman's?

Now, I should like to see some one impudent enough to assert that Eve was more curious, or less modest, or more fickle than are the best of her female descendants. Such impudence is not compatible with the present position of civilization. Then, as Eve was the great exemplar of her sex in Modesty and Fidelity as well as Curiosity, it follows that Woman's Modesty is the result of inherited sin, and her Fidelity in Love no greater than Man's.

Alas! for the "angels" of the poets, my boy. Prove that her Modesty and Love are anything but heavenly, and what remains to make Woman angelic?

I could honor, love, and might obey the Best of Her Sex; but I shall never worship her. She is not a Deity—only a Woman. I believe that God intends each woman for a wife; yet six marriages out of every dozen are unhappy ones. And what is the reason? Simply this:

Before marriage, man generally accepts one of the two poetical theories respecting Woman. He either supposes her to be an angel, purer and more elevated in her nature than he in his; or gloats over her as a delicate morsel prepared for his special delectation by the gods. In either case, he finds out his mistake when it is too late to rectify it, and his disappointment is but the refinement of disgust. He either discovers that woman is only a human being, and very much like himself by nature; or that constant familiarity with her brings her down to the level of a man in his estimation. There is but one possibility of escape from disappointment in either case; the death of husband or wife within a year of the wedding day!

Husbands and wives, have I spoken truly?

But there are exceptions to every rule. Some men marry women for the sake of having homes of their own; others, for money; still others, because it is the fashion. The man who marries for a comfortable home often gets what he desired, and is contented; the mercenary husband is likely to do and feel the same; the fashionable husband generally cuts his throat. These exceptions do not break the rule.

It may be asked: Why do widowers so often marry again, if they were so disappointed in their first wives? My boy, you are no philosopher. How many men have learned wisdom by experience? Only a few, and they are all dead. If a sailor is shipwrecked, and nearly killed on his first voyage, does he forsake the sea forever after? If a man buys an image supposed to be made of marble, and discovers that it is plaster, does he never buy another image? Because you and your neighbors chance to buy a barrel of bad eggs, are you satisfied that good ones are not to be had?

An enthusiastic young man marries a girl whom he supposes to be an "angel." A year passes, and he mourns over his mistake. A few more roll away, and she dies. Does the widower profit by his experience? No! He says to himself: "My late wife was not an 'angel;' but that sweet girl I saw yesterday certainly is. She is entirely different from my late wife." Well, he marries angel No. 2. She proves to be No. 1 in a different dress.

A tropical young man is infatuated with the physical beauty of a girl, and marries her with the idea that he will never weary of looking at her. A year passes, and he is heartily tired of her. She dies. Does the widower profit by his experience? No! He says to himself: "I was wearied of my late wife because her hair, eyes and complexion were the same as mine. Physiologists say that opposites are necessary to matrimonial bliss. There is Miss ——, with her hair, eyes and complexion, in direct antithesis with mine. I am sure I should never weary of her!" He marries her. And tires of her.

Do you see, my boy?

And now to remedy this evil: Let us look upon woman as she is. If an "angel" with golden hair, snowy complexion, pearly teeth, heaven blue eyes, and no appetite, sounds better in poetry than a true woman, with auburn hair, fair complexion, clean teeth, and nice blue eyes, why, let the poets rant about "angels." But poetry has nothing to do with so practical an event as marriage, and its "angels" will not do for wives. A man cannot be guilty of a more absurd and unprovoked piece of injustice, than that of persisting in believing his bride more of an angel than human. He might as well go to a jeweller's, and insist upon buying a pearl for a diamond, when the certain result of such folly would be his denunciation of the pearl as a swindle, when time convinced him of its real character. No true woman desires to be looked upon as an "angel," nor to have her beauty valued as a joy imperishable.

It is very common for women to lament the indifference of husbands who were the most attentive and obedient of lovers. I have explained the cause of the defection.

To secure happiness—or contentment, at least—in the marriage state, we must regard woman as our equal by nature, whatever superiority or inferiority she may possess by virtue of her mental or social education. We must not look up to her, nor down upon her, but straight at her. We must not base our love for her upon supposed angelic qualities. If we desire to make her happy, and be happy ourselves, we must recognize her human origin in common with our own, and accept her physical inferiority as security for the continuance of our own love in all its normal strength.

Of course there are grades in human nature. Some natures are more refined than others, from the effects of their surroundings and education. But the lover should recognize no degree higher than his own when he selects his mistress. Then, if hers proves higher than his, after marriage, he is delighted; if the same as his, he is satisfied. But suppose it should prove lower than his? Such a supposition is untenable in a marriage of mutual affection. A superior nature will never gravitate to an inferior one by the attraction of real love. There must be a natural sympathy; and sympathy is the rock upon which all true love is founded.

Love never yet blended incompatible natures in marriage. Money often does—brute-insanity sometimes.

You have probably concluded, by this time, my boy, that my ideas of the true Woman and Monsieur Michelet's views of "La Femme" are decidedly at variance.

I have sufficient faith in the good sense of Woman to believe that she will give preference to my doctrine. If so, she will not translate "La Femme" as "Woman," but as "grisette," "lorette," or "camelia lady." To christen such a work "Woman," is to lay a snare for the Best of Her Sex, and catch the Weakest in it. The female who allows it to affect her may possibly make "a neatly-shod grisette," but never a good wife.

It may be asked why I have made "Woman" the subject of this letter, and why I have adopted such a Frenchy style?

Simply because there is no subject less understood, my boy, by the generality of young mankind; and because I deem it best to practice the doctrine of similia similibus curantur (in style) while quarreling with Monsieur Michelet.

Yours, sentimentally, Orpheus C. Kerr.

LETTER LXVII.

GIVING ASSURANCE OF THE UNMITIGATED SAFETY OF THE CAPITAL, EXEMPLIFYING COLONEL WOBINSON's DRAFTING EXPERIENCE, AND NARRATING A GREAT METAPHYSICAL VICTORY.

Washington, D. C., September 5th, 1862.

Everything is confident and buoyant here, my boy, a sense that the President is an honest man, inspiring confidence on every side, and surrounding the Government with well-known confidence men. The repeated safety of the Capital, indeed, has even inspired the genius of New England, as illustrated by a thoughtful Boston chap, with one of those enlarged business ideas which will yet enable that section to betrade the whole world. The thoughtful Boston chap has read all the war-news, my boy, for the last six months, and as he happens to be a moral manufacturer of burglar-proof safes, a happy pecuniary thought struck him forcibly. After joining the church, to make sure of his morality here, he came hither in haste, opened an establishment, read the war-news once more, and then issued the following enterprising card:

BUY THE CELEBRATED WASHINGTON SAFE!

Everybody thought it was the safe they'd read so much about in the papers, my boy, and several hundreds were sold.

There was another chap, named Burns, the inventor of a Family and Military Gridiron, who noticed how the thoughtful Boston chap was making money by the advertising necessities of our distracted country. Having been born in Connecticut at a very early age, my boy, he was not long in finding a way to make his own eternal fortune, after the same meritorious manner. So he at once repaired to a liquor shop, to make sure that a majority of our staff-officers would hear him, and then, says he, in stentorian tones:

"My sympathies are all with the Southern Confederacy, to whom I send the weekly journals of romance on the day of publication. As to the Union," says the Connecticut chap, hotly, "I have less confidence in it than I have in my Patent Economical Family and Military Gridiron."

He was immediately arrested for this seditious talk, my boy, and all the reporters telegraphed an exciting dispatch to the reliable morning journals:

"Exciting Affair—Arrest of an Influential Rebel!—The celebrated Mr. Burns has been arrested for publicly saying that he had more confidence in his well-known and ingenious patent Economical Family and Military Gridiron than he had in the Union. Upon hearing of his incarceration, the most sanguine rebel sympathizers here admitted that the cause of the South was lost forever."

The Connecticut chap remained in custody until he had received four hundred orders for gridirons, from private families and army-chaplains, and then he explained that the words he had used were uttered in the heat of passion, and he was, of course, honorably discharged from prison, to make way for a shameless, aged miscreant just committed for two years' hard labor, on suspicion of having discouraged enlistments by asserting that, although he was too old to go to the war himself, he intended to send a substitute.

Simultaneously, all the reporters telegraphed again to the reliable morning journals:

"The Burns Affair Settled!—Full Particulars of the Gridiron!—Mr. Burns, the celebrated inventor of the famous Patent Gridiron, has been honorably discharged by order of the Secretary of War. His inimitable Gridiron is destined to have an immense sale.

"It cooks a beafsteak in such a manner that the appetite is fully satisfied from merely looking at it, and the same steak will do for breakfast next morning. This is a great saving. Persons having nothing to eat find this Gridiron a great comfort, and hence the propriety of introducing it in the army."

The Gridirons are having a great sale, my boy, and it is believed that the business interests of the country are being rapidly improved by the war.

Knowing that the Mackerel Brigade was making preparations to entrap the Southern Confederacy at Molasses Junction, I ascended to the upper gallery of my architectural steed, Pegasus, on Tuesday, in order that I might not be unduly hurried on my journey. Taking Accomac on my way to the battle-field, my boy, I called upon Colonel Wobert Wobinson, who is superintending preparations for the draft there, and was witness to an incident suitable to be recorded in profane history.

The draft in Accomac, my boy, is positively to take place on the 11th of September; but it is not believed that the enrollment can be finished before the 15th; in which case, the draft must inevitably take place on the 20th. In fact, the Judge-Advocate of the Accomac states positively that the conscription will commence on the 1st of October; and volunteering is so brisk that no draft may be required. At least, such is the report of those best acquainted with the more decisive plans of the War Department, which thinks of joining the Temperance Society.

The exempts were filing their papers of exemption with Colonel Wobert Wobinson, my boy, and amongst them was one chap with a swelled eye, a deranged neck-tie, and a hat that looked as though it might have been used as an elephant's foot-bath. The chap came in with a heavy walk, and says he:

"Being a married man, war has no terror for me; but I am obliged to exempt myself from military affairs on account of the cataract in my eyes."

Colonel Wobert Wobinson looked at him sympathizingly, and says he: "You might possibly do for a major-general, my son, as it is blindness principally that characterises a majority of our present major-generals in the field; but fearing that your absence from home might cause a prostration in the liquor business, I will accept your cataract as valid."

The poor chap sighed until he reached the first hiccup, and then says he: "I wish I could cure this here cataract, which causes my eyes to weep in the absence of all woe."

"Do your orbs liquidate so freely?" says the Colonel, with the air of a family physician.

"Yes," says the poor chap, gloomily, "they are like two continual mill streams."

"Mill streams!" says Colonel Wobinson meditatively, "mill streams! Why, then, you'd better dam your eyes."

"I think, my boy, I say I think, that this kindly advice of Colonel Wobert Wobinson's must have been misunderstood in some way; for an instant departure of several piously-inclined recruits took place precipitately, and the poor chap chuckled like a fiend.

It is the great misfortune of our mother tongue, my boy, that words of widely-different meanings have precisely the same sound, and in using one you seem to be abusing another.

Arriving near the celebrated Molasses Junction, where a number of Mackerels were placing a number of new cars and locomotives on the track—the object being to delude the Southern Confederacy into taking a ride in them, when, it was believed, the aforesaid Confederacy would speedily be destroyed by one of those "frightful accidents" without which a day on any American railroad would be a perfect anomaly—arriving there, I say, I took an immediate survey of the appointed field of strife.

To the inexperienced civilian eye, my boy, everything appeared to be in a state of chaotic confusion, which nothing but the military genius of our generals could make much worse. On all sides, my boy, I beheld the Mackerel chaps marching and countermarching; falling back, retiring, retreating, and making retrograde movements. Some were looking for their regiments; some were insanely looking for their officers, as though they did not know that the latter have resided permanently in Washington ever since the war commenced; some were making calls on others, and here and there might be seen squads of Confederates picking up any little thing they might happen to find.

Finding the general of the Mackerel Brigade lunching upon a bottle and tumbler near me, I saluted him, and says I:

"Tell me, my veteran, how it is that you permit the Southern Confederacy to meander thus within your lines?"

The general looked toleratingly at me, and says he;

"I have a plan to entrap the Confederacy, and end this doomed rebellion at one stroke. Do you mark that long train of army wagons down there near my quarters?"

"Yes," says I, nervously.

"Well, then, my nice little boy," says the general, cautiously, "I'll tell you what the plan is. These wagons contain the rations of our troops. It is my purpose to induce the celebrated Confederacy to capture these wagons and attempt to eat those rations. If the Confederacy will only do that," says the general, fiercely, "it will be taken sick on the spot, and we shall capture it alive."

I could not but feel shocked at this inhuman artifice, my boy. The Southerners have indeed acted in away to forfeit all ordinary mercy, but still, we should abstain from any retaliatory act savoring of demoniac malignity. Our foes are at least human beings.

Suppressing my horror, however, I assumed a practical aspect, and says I:

"But how are the Mackerel warriors to subsist, my Napoleon, if you allow the rations to go?"

"Thunder!" says the general, handing me a paper from his pocket. "They are to subsist exclusively on the enemy. Just peruse this document, which I have just fulminated."

Taking the paper, I found it to be the following

PROCLAMATION.

Whereas, The matter of provisions is a great expense to the United States of America, besides offering inducements for unexpected raids on the part of the famishing foeman; the Mackerel Brigade is hereby directed to live entirely upon the Southern Confederacy, eating him alive wherever found, and partaking of no other food.

The Brigade will not be permitted to take any clothing with it on the march, being required henceforth to dress exclusively in the habiliments of captured Confederacies.

We have done with retrograde movements. No more lines of retreat will be kept open, and henceforth the Mackerel Brigade is to make nothing but great captures.

By order of The General of the Mackerel Brigade. [Green Seal.]

This able document, my boy, pleased me greatly as an evidence that the war had indeed commenced in earnest; and though at that moment, I beheld some half a dozen Confederacies ransacking the tent where the general kept his mortgages, his bank account, and other Government property, I felt that our foes were about to be summarily dealt with at last.

An orderly having finally given notice to the Confederacies rummaging within our lines to get to their proper places, in order that the battle might begin, the Anatomical Cavalry, under Captain Samyule Sa-mith, made a headlong charge upon a body of foes who were destroying a bridge near the middle of the field, and succeeded in obliging them to remain there. This brilliant movement was the signal for a general engagement, and a regiment of Confederacies at once advanced within our lines and inquired the way to Washington.

Having given them the desired information, and allowed a number of other similar regiments to take a position between the Mackerels and the capital, the general gave orders for the Conic Section and the Orange County Howitzers to fall cautiously back, in order that the remaining Confederacies might get between us and Richmond.

You will perceive that by this movement, my boy, we cut the enemy's force completely in two, thus compelling him to attack us either in the front or in the rear, and giving him no choice of any other operation save flank movements. Our plans being thus perfected, Captain Villiam Brown, with Company 3, Regiment 5, was ordered to charge into a wood near at hand, with a view to induce some recently-arrived reserve Confederacies to take position in our centre, while still others would be likely to flank us on the right and left.

You may remember, my boy, that it has heretofore been our misfortune to fight on the circumference of a circle, while the Confederacy had the inside, and this great strategic scheme was intended to produce a result vice versa.

It was a great success, my boy—a great success; and our troops presently found themselves inside the most complete circle on record. Villiam Brown not only charged into the wood, but staid there; and when one of the Orange County Howitzers was discharged with great precision at a reporter who was caught sneaking into our lines, the report was heard by the Venerable Gammon at Washington, causing that revered man to telegraph to all the papers, that no one need feel alarmed, as he was perfectly safe, and that our victory was very complete.

What particular danger the Venerable Gammon had incurred, I can't say, my boy; nor what he knew about the battle; but his dispatch caused renewed confidence all over the country, and was a great comfort to his friends.

Having got the Confederacies just where he wanted them, the General of the Mackerel Brigade now dispatched ten veterans under Sergeant O'Pake to attack a few hundred foes who had intrenched themselves in an unseemly manner right among our wagons. The Mackerels were well received as prisoners of war, and paroled on the spot; a proceeding which so greatly pleased the idolized general, that he at once issued this second

PROCLAMATION.

It must be understood, that in his recent proclamation directing the Mackerel Brigade to dine exclusively upon Southern Confederacies, the general commanding did not intend that such dining should take place without the free consent of aforesaid Confederacies.

It must not be understood that the order concerning the confiscation of Confederate garments is intended to authorize a forcible confiscation of such costume, in opposition to the free will of the wearers.

By "no lines of retreat being kept open," is meant: no lines of which the general commanding was at that time cognizant.

The General of the Mackerel Brigade.

This admirable order, my boy, produced great enthusiasm in the ranks, as no Confederacies had yet been caught, and there was some danger of starvation in the corps.

And now, my boy, occurred that magnificent piece of generalship which is destined to live forever on the annals of fame, and convince the world that our military leaders possess a genius eminently fitting every one of them for the next Presidency, or any other peaceful office. By skillful manœuvring, the gifted General of the Mackerel Brigade had succeeded in cutting the enemy's force to pieces, the pieces being mixed up with our own army. Then came the words: "Forward, double-quick!"

Facing toward Washington, our vanguard forced the Confederacies before them to move right ahead. Swiftly following the vanguard, and evidently fancying that it was flying before them, came a regiment of Confederacies. Pursuing the latter, as though in triumph, appeared the Conic Section, Mackerel Brigade; closely succeeded in its turn by a regiment of Confederacies in charge of our baggage-wagons; racing after whom was a regiment of Mackerels; and so on to the end of the line.

You may ask me, my boy, with which side rested the victory in this remarkable movement?

That question, my boy, cannot be decided yet, as the whole procession has scarcely reached Washington; but the answer may be said to depend very much upon whether the last regiment coming in is Mackerel or Confederate.

The contest, my boy, has assumed a profound metaphysical aspect, and the development of a little more military genius on our own side will tend to utterly confound our enemies and—everybody else.

Yours, ponderingly, Orpheus C. Kerr.

LETTER LXVIII.

INTRODUCING ONCE MORE THE COSMOPOLITAN CLUB, WITH A CURIOUS "LAMENT," AND A STORY FROM THE SPANISH MEMBER.

Washington, D. C., September 9th, 1862.

You may remember, my boy, that some months ago there was a trespass of depraved burglarious chaps at Wheatland, the seat of Ex-President Buchanan. The matter might have slipped my own mind, had not the British member of the Cosmopolitan, last night, read aloud the following memorandum of the thing, found in a deserted Confederate camp on the Rappahannock. The Briton waved his hand for silence, and says he:

LAMENT.

BY A CHEVALIER D'INDUSTRIE

Alas! my boy, there is naught so fallen in humanity, but it may become still more depraved. I have known members of State Legislatures to be finally elected Congressmen. After the above chanson had been read, the Spanish member gave us his story of

DON BOBADIL BANCO;

OR, WHO OWNS THE BABY?

"I always respect a man who drinks good Port, especially if he frequently invites me to take dinner with him, and hence I have selected as my hero, a gallant Spaniard, whose fondness for the delicious juice was never doubted.

"Don Bobadil Banco was a gentleman of good family, who graduated with honor at Salamanca, and retired from thence to Madrid, in company with a fellow student named Don Philip Funesca. The erudite pair hired lodgings in an aristocratic part of the city, and after much delay, installed one Dame Margy as their housekeeper, cook, and chambermaid, being resolved to husband their scanty resources until, by coming of age, they could inherit the estates and fortunes of their fathers.

"It is to be presumed that the friends entered society and made consummate fools of themselves, as very young men generally do when they first mingle with ladies; but as that period of their career can possess very little novelty for most people, I shall only favor it with this passing notice, and at once introduce the gallant pair as they appeared on the —— night, in the month of ——, in the year of our Lord ——, at — o'clock.

"In a very small room, before a very small window, was standing a very small table, at the side of which were two very shabby chairs, on which were seated two very young men; and as it was growing very dark, two very small candles, in two very small candlesticks, were placed on the very small table, in company with two very small decanters, filled with very cheap Port, and two very old goblets, of very dirty pewter.

"The two very young men remained very still for a very long time, save when they made very long applications to the very old goblets of very cheap Port; and as you must be very anxious to know whether these very young men were very ugly or very good looking, I shall be very happy to profit by this very opportune state of things, and give a very concise description of their personal charms.

"Don Bobadil was very tall, very thin, with very long black hair, very small black eyes; very yellow complexion, very good teeth, and was dressed very foppishly.

"Don Philip was very short, very fat, with very long brown hair, very large brown eyes, very fair complexion, very large mouth, and was plainly attired.

"They both looked very happy, and drank very often.

"'Well, Philip,' said Bobadil, at length, 'a bachelor's life, in Madrid, is not quite so charming as in Salamanca; upon my word I have almost become a limb of society, and it will prove a sad dismemberment when I go to my father's villa. These gay senoritas have so completely infatuated me, that I am never happy out of their company, and when I think of leaving them altogether, it makes me really miserable,' and the Don consoled himself with a huge swallow of wine.

"'I perfectly agree with you,' answered Don Philip, 'and dread the idea of leaving the dear charmers without making one of them a prisoner.'

"'We must have more gold soon,' said Bobadil, gloomily, taking a goblet of Port.

"'You speak truly, my friend. Our purses are growing very light, and nothing but wealthy wives will make them heavy. How unjust is the decree that makes us wait until we are older before we can help ourselves to the treasures of our families. Here are nearly thirty hairs upon my chin, and yet the grim old hidalgoes call me a boy yet. Sancta Maria! I should like to cross swords with some of those shaking grandees, just to convince them that I have the strength of a man, if I have not his years.'

"'The wish is perfectly natural, Don Philip, yet it can do us no good at present, when our last flagons of wine stand before us, and Dame Margy grows clamorous for her dues,' said Bobadil, imbibing large draughts of grape juice.

"'O, beatissimo, neustra Senora! Don't dwell on unpleasant facts, Don Bobadil,' responded the other; 'we must replenish our treasures, and the means to do it should be our present consideration. We must marry stores of maravedis.'

"'That is coming to the point, my dear friend, and your words are worthy of a sage; but, my dear Philip, to tell the truth, I dread marriage for one reason, namely: that, by engaging in it, one becomes liable to incur responsibilities known as babies. I do hate those noisy little nuisances as I hate the devil, and, to have one constantly squalling in my ears, would soon make a madman of me,' and our hero drank heartily of liquor.

"'I will allow the truth of what you say,' replied Philip; 'the cry of an infant is not quite as musical as the harp of Orpheus. Still, it is better to endure such annoyance than to go about with empty purses, and when one who is poor desires to have money, he must endure matrimony, or become a rogue. Now there is Lisette, ready to fall into my arms at any moment, and bring me a long purse; but I will never leave you a bachelor, though I starve.'

"Tears arose involuntarily to the eyes of Bobadil, as his friend spoke thus disinterestedly, and, after holding a cup of wine to his lips for some moments, he answered:

"'My dear fellow, you are a sage and I am a fool. You shall not starve for me though I have to become the father of five hundred little imps to save you. Yes, dear Philip, I will sacrifice myself upon the altar of friendship, and become a victim of Hymen.' Here the emotions of the Spaniard became so violent that a large quantity of Port wine was necessary to prevent syncope.

"Don Philip started from his seat, and eyed his friend with every mark of unbounded surprise.

"'Can you do it soon?' he asked hurriedly.

"'Before another pair of days have shown their tails above the tide of time,' answered Bobadil with poetic fervor, having recourse to the decanter containing Port.

"'My dear friend, you must be drunk.'

"'No, Don Philip, I am sober as a monument.'

"'Has some fair sonora smiled upon you?'

"'Not only has she smiled upon me, but she has actually laughed at me. Port would never intoxicate me.'

"'Per Dio! I never heard of this before, Bobadil.'

"'Nevertheless, Don Philip, it is true as a pater. My pride would not allow me to mention my case to you, until I became successful in my suit; and when that was decided, I waited until you should be similarly circumstanced, and we might marry together. Your frequent absence from our lodgings, at night, aroused my suspicions, and I resolved to find out your secret before imparting mine. Now that you have named your mistress, I will acknowledge that I, also, have one, whose name is Leonora, and I intend to make her my wife, when you lead Lisette to the altar.'

"'I am rejoiced to hear you speak thus,' answered Don Philip, 'and Lisette will partake of my joy; but, tell me, Bobadil, will you gain wealth by this union?'

"'Gold enough to build a second Escurial, my dear Philip. Leonora is the daughter of a rich Jew, and can show more maravedis than the Infanta of Spain.'

"'Better and better. But how is it that her father will allow her to wed a Catholic?' inquired Philip.

"'He is not to be consulted in the matter at all. I may as well relate the circumstances of our acquaintance, and you will at once perceive that the Israelite's consent is not required. Two weeks ago, I was passing a small house not far from the Plaza del Rio, and, chancing to look up, beheld the face of a beautiful Senora looking from a window. Our glances met, whereupon she drew back with a blush, and I gallantly kissed the tip of my glove. Although she immediately drew shut the lattice, I fancied, from her look, that she was not displeased with my conduct, and set about finding out who she was. I soon ascertained that her father was a rich Jew, named Miguel, that his wife was dead, and that he lived with his daughter and a wrinkled duenna, whom he had enlisted to watch Leonora. Much as I despise Jews, the beauty of Leonora had sunk into my heart, and I resolved to have an interview with her, though our most Holy Church, should excommunicate me for it. Accordingly, I passed the house every day for a week, and each time the lady withdrew from the window with a blush, as I saluted her. This encouraged me to scrape acquaintance with the pythoness who guarded her, and by means of several small bribes, I was at length admitted to a private interview with Leonora. My idol was coy at first, but after one or two stolen visits, she returned my passion in an honorable way, and will become my bride whenever it may please me to carry her off from her old thief of a father.'

"'But the Jew has all the gold,' said Don Philip, despondingly.

"'Not so,' replied Bobadil. 'My angel has a fortune of her own locked up in a trunk, and I shall take good care to secure it in the first place.'

"His friend's countenance was lighted by a smile, but it passed away as he again spoke—

"'Our priests will never consent to your marriage with a Jewess.'

"'What an owl you are,' retorted Don Bobadil; 'Leonora shall pass for as good a Catholic as the Pope himself.'

"'My dear friend, you delight me!' exclaimed Don Philip, springing from his seat and embracing Bobadil; 'let us then make ourselves and our mistresses happy at once—this very night! You can go after Leonora while I seek Lisette.'

"Our hero found it necessary to take a drink of something after this proposition, and then responded:

"'Spoken like a Spaniard and a gentleman; I will go to the house of Miguel and bring the trunk of treasure from thence—that, you know, should be secured first. After bringing it hither I will go back after Leonora, and when next we meet I shall be a married man.'

"'Do so, Don Bobadil,' returned Philip, 'and I will, in like manner, gain the fortune and hand of Lisette. Let us hasten, my friend, and we shall be independently wealthy before morning.'

"Together they drank the remainder of the wine, and having given certain orders to Dame Margy, left the house, each taking a different route.

"It rained in torrents, when my hero wrapped his long cloak about him and set out. The tormenting drops ran the length of his nose and poured into his bosom, they crawled damply down his boots, they trickled grievously into his ears, they clung to his long black hair, and soaked through his sombrero; yet did the brave Spaniard press onward, as a hero advances to the breastworks amid a storm of shot and shells. Love had cast its thickest blanket about his heart, and a flame burned glaringly there that nothing but matrimony and maravedis could quench. Arriving in front of his mistress's abode, my hero picked up a handful of sand, and threw it lightly against a window pane, such being the signal by which he was to make known his presence when Miguel was at home. Almost immediately a lattice was opened, and a woman's head, ornamented with a scarlet cap de nuit was thrust out.

"'Who's that?' demanded the duenna, snappishly.

"'It's only me,' responded Don Bobadil, in low tones.

"'And who's me?' asked the amiable woman.

"'Don Bobadil Banco.'

"'Don Bobadil Banco had better go home, if he don't want to have his head broken with a flowerpot,' snarled the duenna.

"'Now, my dear Laura.'

"'Don't 'dear' me! Are you drunk?'

"'I must see Donna Leonora,' said Bobadil.

"'You are drunk!' screamed the lady.

"'No, I am not; but, pray, make less noise, my good Laura, or you will have the alguazils about my ears. Tell your lady that I am here, and you shall have a purse of ducats.'

"'Oh! ah! I will,' replied the mercenary woman, retiring quickly from the window and again closing the lattice.

"The adventurous Spaniard stood in soak for half an hour, at the end of which Dame Laura, cautiously admitted him at the door, and he soon knelt before his mistress. Donna Leonora was a charming little brunette, with raven curls and sparkling black eyes full of mirth.

"'Sancta Maria! what is the matter, Don Bobadil?' she exclaimed, eyeing the kneeling personage with surprise.

"'Dearest Leonora, idol of my heart!' replied Bobadil, clasping her waist, 'here on my knees let me implore you to become mine forever, and make me happier than the angels. Recent events, which I cannot explain at present, have rendered it necessary for me to thus intrude upon you at an unseasonable hour, and implore that your promise to become my bride may be at once fulfilled.'

"'But this is so sudden,' murmured the lady.

"'Pardon my haste, dear Leonora,' answered Don Bobadil. 'I know how exquisitely sensitive your nature is; but heaven destined us for each other, and when I leave you, I leave a part of myself.'

"'The gentleman speaks wisely,' interrupted the duenna. 'Your father has smoked his opium and will sleep until after meridian to-morrow. Go with Don Bobadil, Senora, and Miguel shall learn all from me when he awakes.'

"Leonora resisted for awhile; but her objections were speedily overcome, and she at length yielded to the combined entreaties of her lover, and subtle reasoning of her mercenary duenna. Such is love.

"'Here is a load for you, Senor,' said the latter personage, pointing to a chest studded with brass nails that stood near. 'Carry it off as quickly as possible, and return for your mistress when you have placed her fortune in a safe place.'

"Our hero at once acceded to plans so consonant with his own, and after embracing the Senorita, he seized the chest and hastened with it to his lodgings. It was a heavy load for one man, and the rain still poured furiously down; but the lover danced on like a feather before the vagrant zephyrs of spring, and soon deposited his precious freight in the room where he had lately held converse with Don Philip. This done, he hastened back to the house of Don Miguel, impatient to secure his fair bride; but Dame Laura met him at the door, with her fingers pressed upon her lips, and her form barring his further progress.

"'Hist! not a word!' she whispered cautiously. 'The Jew was aroused by the noise you made descending the stairs, and would not be satisfied until he had searched the house with a candle in one hand and a drawn sword in the other. He is quiet now, and if not again disturbed, will soon sleep again. Return to your lodgings, and when Miguel slumbers, I will hasten thither with my lady. Not a word! Go!'

"Conquering his impatience, Don Bobadil thrust a purse of slim proportions into the bony hand of his confidante, and turned into the street without breathing a syllable.

"As he ascended the stairs to his own room, the sound of voices fell upon his ear, and fearing for the safety of his treasure, he rushed headlong into the apartment with his sword drawn and a determination to slaughter the intruders. His anger was soon turned to pleasure, when he beheld Don Philip seated beside a very pretty female, whose hands he held in his own, and whose ringletted head rested upon his shoulder, with an air of familiarity that would have been the death of any old maid, whose sight could have been blighted by such a scene. He also noticed a chest somewhat smaller than the one he had obtained by right of seizure, standing near the window, and felt doubly happy in the conviction that his friend had brought home something more substantial than a wife.

"'Lisette, this is my friend, Don Bobadil Banco,' said Don Philip, leading the lady forward and presenting her. 'This, Don Bobadil, is my wife, and though she has no proud title, I shall be proud to present her to my family as one worthy of a gentleman's affection.'

"'My dear Philip, allow me to congratulate you on the possession of a lady, who, if her virtue equals her beauty, must indeed be an angel,' and our hero bowed with his accustomed courtesy to the blushing Senorita.

"'But where is the mistress, of whom you boasted a short time since?' asked Philip, glancing towards the door, as though expecting to behold a fourth person. 'I supposed that I should find her here with a priest.'

"'The Jew took me for a thief, and woke up, or Donna Leonora would be here now. But her duenna has promised to bring her hither soon and we must have patience.'

"'Then take a seat, Don Bobadil, and I will relate the manner in which I became possessed of Lisette, for I know you are dying to hear it, though your pride hides your curiosity. While we were at Salamanca, I became acquainted with a poor orphan girl, who won my heart by her beauty and virtuous conduct. Other students saw and admired her; but their admiration was not such as honor sanctioned, and the girl left the place, preferring a strange place with quiet, to a home in which she was constantly subject to insult and annoyance. At the time I knew not the reasons for her sudden departure, and it filled me with sorrow. I hid my feelings from you, however, fearing that your disposition for mirth might lead you to make a butt of me. I came hither with you, and beheld many fair ladies, but to none did my heart incline, and the fair orphan of Salamanca remained mistress of my thoughts. About a week after our arrival in Madrid, you went to a ball one evening, leaving me to comfort Dame Margy until you came back. Not much liking such company, I strolled forth to the grand plazza and entered a theatre with the crowd. Numerous familiar faces appeared in various parts of the building, and while I went about to greet my friends, the play was commenced. I believe I should not have looked upon the stage at all, so busily was I engaged, had not the tones of a voice made me start back in amazement, and look wildly toward the performers. Near the centre of the stage, clad in the costume of her role, and bowing in a flowery train, was a form and face that sent the blood hurtling through my veins like molten lead. After standing like one petrified for some moments, I suddenly quitted the boxes, and gained admittance behind the scenes. I had not been mistaken; the orphan of Salamanca and the actress of Madrid were one. I need not tell an ardent lover like yourself the effect of such a meeting; it is sufficient to say, that Lisette bade farewell to the stage, whither necessity had forced her, and took from thence a liberal compensation. Such is the history of my amour, Don Bobadil; and, as we each have caskets at hand, I propose that we become acquainted with their contents.'

"'Donna Leonora owns the one I brought hither, and it may displease her should I open it,' answered our hero.

"'Not at all, my friend; she is to be your wife before morning, and what belongs to your wife belongs equally to you.'

"'Oh! very well,' responded Bobadil.

"'I will display the riches of Lisette first to encourage you, and you may follow with the dowry of Senora Leonora,' said Don Philip, taking off the lid of the second chest.

"Our hero looked on in surprise, as his friend displayed its contents, and his pride made him tremble, lest his own portion should prove less costly. There were gorgeous robes, satin slippers, magnificent ornaments of gold, sparkling brilliants, bracelets, necklaces, and brooches, set with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds, a tiara sparkling like a constellation of midnight stars, and an immense leather bag filled with valuable coins.

"'Why, Don Philip, you have all the riches of Indus here!' exclaimed Don Bobadil, opening wide his eyes in astonishment.

"'So much for your discrimination, Bobadil,' returned Philip. 'These robes belong to an actress' wardrobe, and are more gaudy than valuable. These rubies, emeralds, and diamonds are pieces of colored and crystal glass, intended to dazzle unsophisticated eyes, but nearly worthless to the jeweler; the gold setting is worth its weight in brass, and these coins alone are genuine. But let us now look upon your dowry, my friend, when, I doubt not, that we shall be made to wink by the glitter of pure gems and true metal.'