THE ORPHEUS C. KERR PAPERS. (continued 4)

"As Don Bobadil listened to the explanations of his friend, his eyes glistened, and at the conclusion he walked proudly towards his chest, with a feeling of conscious superiority.

"'I will not boast,' he said, haughtily; 'but Jews are not overfond of tinsel, and my mistress's robes have not a value peculiar to the dimly-lighted stage,' so saying, he threw back the cover of his treasure casket.

"A shade of disappointment rested upon his features at the first view, but he disdained to give it utterance, and carelessly threw aside a robe of cheap material, trimmed with imitation ermine. But, alas, the next was a garment of scarlet, with bells attached to the skirt; then one of green, with faded tinsel ornaments; another of white flannel, with tarnished silver lace stars about the waist.

"During this exhibition, Lisette was apparently endeavoring to swallow her handkerchief, while Don Philip looked anxiously toward the ceiling, as though its intricate pattern had suddenly become an object of absorbing interest.

"Sternly did Don Bobadil delve into his mine of female apparel, expecting soon to strike a vein of monstrous diamonds with a mosaic of gold. He reaches it at last! Yes, there it is! Mark his glance of pride and exultation as he says:

"'Don Philip, will you assist me? The Jew's ducats are very heavy, and the bag containing them rather larger than a Senora's night-cap.'

"Don Philip did as he was desired, when suddenly our hero dropped his end of the bag, with a cry more piercing than that of an enraged hyena. Oh shades of Mater Money! Por vida del diablo! The bag moved, there came a cry, and there appeared in the opening of its leather covering the head of a baby!

"'Oh, Holy Virgin! Thunder and lightning! Fire! Murder! I'm lost, tormented, tortured, cheated! Cruel Leonora! Infamous woman! d—d old duenna!' roared the unhappy Bobadil, stamping and steaming like an infuriated tea-pot.

"'Be calm, my dear friend, I pray you be calm,' cried Don Philip, vainly endeavoring to conquer his mirth, while Lisette rolled on the floor in a paroxysm of laughter.

"'Don't tell me to be calm!' bellowed Bobadil. 'Look there! My horror, detestation, abhorrence—a baby! Hear it squeal! I'll strangle the cursed little fiend! Oh, oh, oh!—diablo!'

"'You will arouse the neighborhood.'

"'What do I care! I'm betrayed, swindled, ruined, seduced! Stab me, shoot me, make a bloody corpse of me. Kill that baby, or I'll make your wife an orphan!'

"'What's all this?' asked Dame Margy, darting into the apartment and holding up her hands in wild astonishment.

"'Don't you hear it yell?' howled Bobadil, tearing out his hair by handfulls. 'It's a baby!'

"Dame Margy came very near fainting, and Lisette was obliged to go to her assistance, while Don Philip approached his enraged friend and succeeded in soothing him.

"'Act like a man,' he said, 'and take measures to punish the perpetrator of the infamous outrage. The baby is a poor innocent little thing, and Lisette will attend to it. Lisette, look after the baby! Now, Don Bobadil, repress your emotions.'

"The retired actress obeyed her intended husband with alacrity, assisted by Dame Margy, who was fully revived, and our hero burst into tears.

"'Oh, Philip!' he blubbered, 'miserable wretch, that I am, what shall I do? That infamous woman will be here in a moment, and I know not how to act. Oh! curse that baby!'

"'Woman's wit shall aid you,' said the hitherto silent Lisette, after whispering to Dame Margy, who immediately left the apartment. 'Don Bobadil, you must assume the attire of your housekeeper, and leave Philip and me to account for your supposed absence, when Donna Leonora arrives.'

"As she finished speaking, the old housekeeper returned with a promiscuous assortment of female garments, and before our hero had time to resist, he presented the appearance of a stout old lady.

'Don't speak a word,' said Don Philip, placing an immense bonnet and veil upon his head, 'you must pass for Dame Margy, and leave me to settle with your cruel mistress.'

"Though not quite satisfied with this arrangement, Don Bobadil accepted in silence, especially as the sound of approaching footsteps fell upon his ear, as they tumbled him to a distant seat.

"Dame Margy fled through an opposite door just as two figures, deeply veiled, entered the apartment.

"'Holy Virgin! who has rifled my chest? And where is Don Bobadil?' exclaimed Leonora, clasping her hands.

"'Lady,' said Don Philip, advancing to meet her with much dignity, 'as the friend of Don Bobadil Banco, it is my duty to inform you that he has discovered ALL, and left Madrid forever.'

"'All!' exclaimed the lady and duenna in a breath.

"'Yes, senora, my friend hates babies!'

"Like two agitated fawns, Leonora and her attendant dropped their veils and sprang to the side of the chest.

"'Why!—what—who has done this?' exclaimed the fair Jewess, quivering like an aspen leaf.

"'You, lady, can best answer that question.'

"'It is false! My whole fortune was in that chest! I am cheated, deceived, ruined!'

"'Peace! infamous woman!' thundered Don Bobadil, no longer able to restrain his rage, and darting toward her. But he stepped upon his skirts, and pitched headlong to the floor.

"'Do I dream?' murmured Leonora in affright.

"'You do not,' screamed our hero, tucking his petticoats under his arms, and tearing off the veil that concealed his face. 'Behold! false one! behold! Don Bobadil Banco!'

"'Dear Bobadil, you would not kill me?'

"'No, Leonora, you shall live to repent of this. Take that wretched baby to its father, or I will strangle it before your eyes.'

"'By the God we all worship, I swear I never saw the child before!' exclaimed Leonora, looking solemnly upward.

"Her air of truthfulness carried conviction with it, and Bobadil stood like one thunderstruck; but soon a new expression fell upon his countenance, and he turned gravely to the duenna.

"'Perhaps you own the—the baby!'

"'You're a nasty dirty beast!' retorted the chaste creature, rushing from the room like a ricochetting shot.

"'I can answer for the innocence of Laura,' said Leonora, calmly.

"Rebuked by her dignified manner, our hero mentally exonerated her from all blame; yet there was the baby, screaming lustily, and no other valuables were found in the chest.

"'Forgive me, if I have wronged you,' he said, penitently, 'I judged too quickly; but then I took those gaudy robes from yonder chest, and—who owns the baby?'

"'I see how it is,' said Donna Leonora composedly, turning toward the door, 'you have adopted this plan to rob me of the little fortune I possessed. I would willingly incur a much greater loss to escape from such a monster. Keep my gold, Don Bobadil, and say you become a better man.'

"Our hero stood motionless, involved in a maze of doubts and fears; and the lady was about departing, when Lisette suddenly sprang forward, and prevented her.

"'Stop, lady!' she exclaimed, 'the trick has gone far enough—I own the baby!'

"'Lisette speaks truly, and I am the baby's father!' said Don Philip, grasping the hand of our perplexed hero.

"'Villain!' exclaimed Bobadil, feeling for his sword.

"'Wretch!' screamed Leonora, feeling for her handkerchief.

"'I humbly crave your mercy, until you have heard my story,' replied Don Philip, coolly placing his arm about the waist of his Lisette. 'This lady,' he continued, 'is my wife, and has been such for two years. I have kept my secret thus rigidly, that it should not reach the ears of my family until I had arrived at man's estate; but when you determined to take a wife I resolved to make you my confidant. While you were at the house of Miguel to-night, I brought my wife and baby hither, wishing to surprise you at your return. I found your chest filled with the riches I afterwards showed you as the property of an actress, and prompted by a spirit of mirth, I exchanged its contents for those of our own. Knowing your hostility to babies, I placed the young Bobadil in your casket also, and had you taken notice of small things, you would have observed that I left the lid partly open. It's only a reminiscence of college trickery, my dear Bobadil, and if it has given offence, behold the culprit at your feet.'

"The friendly smile of his friend and the imploring glance of Lisette, completely overcame our hero's resentment, and he extended his hand in all gentleness; then turning quickly to the silent, though smiling Leonora, he fell at her feet, exclaiming:

"'Dear lady, we are both victims of our friend's frolic, and there should be no anger between us. I do dislike babies so much, that the sight of one makes me desperate; but now that all is explained, I hope you will forgive me.'

"The lady smiled so encouragingly upon him, that he soon stood face to face—I mean lips to lips—with her.

"'Let us seek a priest,' said Don Philip, with solemnity.

"How this proposition was received, may be assumed from the fact that Dame Margy soon locked up an empty house. How Miguel the Jew conducted when he awoke next morning; how the families of our friends received the news of their scions' marriages, and how the young gentlemen felt themselves, are matters not explained by history; but it is certain that Don Bobadil and Don Philip were never again in want of ducats, and it is also certain that if any one wished to see an angry man, he could be gratified by eyeing the youngest Banco in a suspicious manner, and asking in mysterious tones—'Who owns the Baby?'"

At the conclusion of this exemplary Spanish tale, my boy, we "adjourned" our slumbers to Willard's.

Yours, drowsily, Orpheus C. Kerr.

LETTER LXIX.

ILLUSTRATING THE IMPERTURBABLE CALMNESS OF THE NATIONAL CAPITOL, AND NOTING THE MEMORABLE INVASION OF ACCOMAC.

Washington, D. C., September 12th, 1862.

As I sit looking out of my window, my boy, on the street below, and notice how tranquilly all things are going on here, despite the excitement of the time, a deep sense of satisfaction steals over me, and the American Eagle of patriotic pride flaps his breezy pinions on the oak tree of my heart. Though I have just been laughing myself almost sick at the ludicrous manner in which my friend, the Confederacy, has walked right straight into the cunning trap prepared for his destruction by our own noble and profound generals, actually hastening his own annihilation by rushing blindly through our lines, and capturing the twenty or thirty artful villages, towns, and garrisons left there for the express purpose of tempting him to his dreadful doom—though I have just been splitting my sides over this roaring case of ridiculous suicide, my boy, the city of Washington still maintains its calmness! Ever conscious that conquer we must, for our cause it is just, this city remains as placid as a summer dream; nearly all the liquor-shops doing a good business through the day, and the evening finding a majority of our army officers at their posts.

Lamp-posts, my boy.

There is something touchingly grand in the calmness of Washington under such circumstances, and it reminds me of a pleasing little incident in the Sixth Ward.

There was a female millinery establishment on the third floor of a building composed principally of stairs, fed with frequent small rooms, and the expatriated French comtesse, who realized fashionable bonnets there, used one of her windows to display her wares. At this window, my boy, she always kept a young woman of much bloom and symmetry, with the latest Style on her head, and an expression of unutterable smile on her face. A young chap carrying a trumpet in the Fire Department happened to notice that this angel of fashion was always at the window when he went by; and as the thought that she particularly admired his personal charms crept over him, he at once adopted the plan of passing by every day, attired in the garments best calculated to render fire-going manhood most beautiful to the eye. He donned a vest representing in detail the Sydenham flower-show on a yellow ground, wore inexpressibles representing innumerable black serpents ascending white columns, assumed a neck-tie concentrating all the highest glories of the Aurora Borealis, mounted two breast-pins and three studs torn from some glass-house, and wore a hat that slanted on his head in an engaging and intelligent manner. Day after day he passed before the millinery establishment, my boy, still beholding the beloved object at the window, and occasionally placing his hand upon his heart in such a way as to show a large and gorgeous seal-ring containing the hair of a fellow-fireman who had caught such a cold at a great fire that he died some years after. "How cam she is!" says he to himself, "and she's as pretty as ninety's new hose-carriage. It seems to me," says the young chap to himself, stooping down to roll up the other leg of his pants—"it seems to me that I never see anything so cam. She observes my daily agoing and yet she don't so much as send somebody down to see if there's any overcoats in the front entry."

One day, my boy, a venerable Irish gentleman, keeping a boarding-house and ice-cream saloon in the basement of the establishment, happened to go to sleep on the stairs with a lighted camphene lamp in his hand, and pretty soon the bells were ringing for a conflagration in that district. Immediately our gallant firemen were on their way to the spot; and having first gone through forty-two streets on the other side of the city to wake the people up there and apprise them of their great danger, reached the dreadful scene, and instantly began to extinguish the flames by bringing all the furniture out of a house not more than three blocks below. In the midst of these self-sacrificing efforts, a form was seen to dart into the burning building like a spectre. It was the enamored young chap who carried a trumpet in the department. He had seen the beloved object sitting at the window, as usual, and was bent upon saving her, even though he missed the exciting fight around the corner. Reaching the millinery-room door, he could see the object standing there in the midst of a sea of fire. "How cam she is," says he. "Miss Milliner," says he, "don't you see you're all in a blaze?" But still she stood at the window in all her calmness. The devoted young chap turned to a fellow-fireman who was just then selecting two spring bonnets and some ribbon for his wife, in order to save them from the flames, and says he: "Jakey, what shall I do?" But Jakey was at that time picking out some artificial flowers for his youngest daughter, my boy, and made no answer. Unable to reach the devoted maid, and rendered desperate by the thought that she must be asleep in the midst of her danger, the frantic young chap madly hurled his trumpet at her. It struck her, and actually knocked her head off! Horrified at what he had done, the excited chap called himself a miserable wretch, and was led out by the collar. It was Jakey who did this deed of kindness, and says he: "What's the matter with you, my covey?" The poor young chap wrung his hands, and says he: "I've killed her, Jakey, I've killed her—and she so cam." Jakey took some tobacco, and then says he: "Why, that was only a pasteboard gal, you poor devil." And so it was, my boy—so it was; but the affair had such an effect upon the young chap that he at once took to drinking, and when delirium tremens marked him for its own, his last words were: "I've killed her, Jakey, I've killed her—and she so cam."

Washington, my boy, is "cam" in the midst of a conflagration. That is to say, the Government is "cam," they say; and it may be doubted whether it would be otherwise, even with its head knocked off.

The other day, I paid another visit to the Mackerel camp across the river, and was present at a meeting of officers called to debate upon the propriety of presenting a sword to the beloved general, for his heroism in the late great battle. Captain Samyule Sa-mith was in favor of the presentation, and says he: "Our inimitable leader, which is the admiration of everybody, richly deserves the blade in question. In the thickest of that deadly fray, his coat-tails were torn entirely off by a parrot shell."

Captain Villiam Brown placed the bottle on the table again, and says he:

"At which joint were the tails amputated, Samyule?"

Samyule took a little more sugar with his, and says he:

"Close to the buttons."

"Ah!" says Villiam, "which way was the conqueror's face turned at the time?"

"I can't say," says Samyule; "but I don't see what that has to do with it."

"That's because you have a feeble intelleck, Samyule," says Villiam, mildly. "The human form," says Villiam, reasoningly, "has such variations of surface, that a projectile hurled at it in a straight line, cannot simply graze it to any extent without making a wound in some place. The coat-tails of the human form," says Villiam, lucidly, "could not without injury to that form be severed at the buttons by a ball, unless they were sticking straight out at the instant; and it is important that the United States of America should know whether the face of the wearer was turned toward the Southern Confederacy, or in an opposite direction, at the exact moment of the disaster."

The electrifying wisdom of this thoughtful speech, my boy, had the effect to produce an immediate adjournment of the general's friends; for when the test of anatomy is applied to a man's bravery, that bravery becomes a mere matter of form.

The general, my boy, is the idol of his Mackerel children, and as our armies slowly advance to deal the death-blow to this impious rebellion, it will be proved that he was not responsible for a single one of the mistakes he has made, and could have taken Richmond long ago, but for his inability to do so. Heaven forgive these Jacobin black-republicans who object to his being President in 1865! This is the prayer of twenty millions of free white men under the Constitution, as was very justly observed to me by a political chap from New Haven last week. On Tuesday, the Mackerel Brigade was on the outskirts of Accomac—Company 3, Regiment 1, being sent ahead, under Colonel Wobert Wobinson, to watch the movements of some regiments of Confederacies, who were believed to be either there or in South Carolina. The advance-guard stayed there two days, my boy, and then an orderly came riding in to the general, with the request that he would immediately send re-enforcements and provisions, as Company 3, Regiment 1, was in danger of starvation and defeat, at short notice.

The general ceased fanning himself for a moment, and says he to the perspiring orderly:

"I have heard your request, my child; but before I comply with it, I wish to know what is the present political complexion of Colonel Wobinson."

The half-starved orderly clasped his thin hands together, and says he:

"I don't know; but for God's sake, general, send us something to eat, and some help, or not one of us can be saved."

The general waved his hand magisterially, and says he:

"That's very true. But I must first know what are the sentiments of Colonel Wobinson on the negro question."

The orderly might have responded, my boy, had he not fainted just then from weakness. In pity for his comrades, orders were at once given for the transportation of provisions, and re-enforcements to Company 3 before the end of the month; and had the before mentioned Confederacies delayed marching into Accomac until that time, I should not be obliged now to chronicle another of those disasters to our arms, which the traitorous harangues of Wendell Philips have so outrageously produced.

If this war is to be prosecuted with vigor, my boy, we must repose unlimited confidence in the ability of the Administration and of our generals, resolutely frowning down all Jacobin demonstrations at home, and suffering our leaders to be interfered with by no one but each other. If we permit civilians to manage matters, the country will be undone; but if, on the contrary, we trust everything to our generals, the country will be "done"—brown.

Luckily for us all, the occupation of Accomac by the celebrated Southern Confederacy, is a part of the great plan of the General of the Mackerel Brigade to end this rebellion in one crushing blow, and as soon as the entire Confederacy shall have entered Accomac in safety, the Mackerel Brigade will proceed to bag it.

You don't see exactly how this is to be done, eh?

There you go again, my boy! always meddling with what you don't understand, and presuming, in your civilian imbecility, to doubt the practicability—not to say the utility—of a covert invincibility, rendering it a futility on the part of Southern agility to take for weak debility what is really strategic facility, and bound, in its great fertility of warlike inventibility and utter reliability, to turn all the foe's agility to a final accountability, that shall cause him, in future humility, to treat us, at least, with civility.

Such, my boy, is the Mackerel plan, to a T.

This strategy's like some plan for grain depending so much on a fall of rain, that, in less than a week, should the drought remain, 'twould ruin it altogether. It pondereth blindly whether or no the opposite hosts will do so-and-so: and how it will end at last, you know, dependeth upon the "whether".

Yours, calmly, Orpheus C. Kerr.

LETTER LXX.

COMMENCING WITH HISTORICAL REFERENCE; RELATING THE EPISODE OF SPURIOSO GRIMALDI, AND DETAILING THE LAMENTABLE FAILURE OF CAPTAIN SAMYULE SA-MITH TO PERISH HEROICALLY.

Washington, D. C., September 20, 1862.

I am in a star-spangled state of mind, my boy, in consequence of our recent great victories, and would most respectfully request the Governors of all the States to push forward re enforcements immediately. Having rashly ventured into Accomac after forage and the pursuit of happiness, the well-known Southern Confederacy is now hemmed-in with much carnage, and finds itself hem'd and haw'd. The South, the South, we love her still, no love than ours profounder; and, having cornered her at last, we've thrown our arms around her.

Let us rejoice together, my boy, over the victory that has brought new lustre to our flag, and proceed to extract from history a few parallels calculated to indicate that the United States of America are somewhat superior to the ancients in the art of war.

At the battle of Thermopylæ the heroic Greeks engaged in the conflict with their foes to the number of some thousands, and as their foes also prosecuted hostilities simultaneously, the result was a struggle terminating in the discomfiture of the defeated party. Omnium vincit omnia. At the siege of Troy, the Trojans became involved in active warfare with the Greeks, the latter being the adversaries of their opponents, and though either side used their weapons against the other side, victory finally perched upon the banners of the conqueror, and produced the general effect of sic transit gloria mundi. The Troy Tribune suppressed all mention of McClellan in its account of this spirited affair. The dreadful struggle of Argentium was commenced by the attack of one host upon its antagonists, and raged bitterly, until a cessation of hostilities found the victors holding an advantage over the defeated. Burnside's division was not engaged. In the awful affair of Roncesvalles, the myrmidons of Charlemagne and the hirelings of Spain committed a breach of the peace by prosecuting a mutual affray, resulting in the overthrow of the legions which were principally overcome, and an advantage for the brigades chiefly entitled to the victory. Nihil est nullus.

It will be perceived, my boy, that the army of the Potomac was engaged in none of those celebrated contests, as they did not all take place in the same week. We make much better time, my boy, than the ancients.

I told you in my last, that the celebrated Southern Confederacy had courted inevitable destruction by marching madly into Accomac at the very moment when the victorious Mackerel Brigade was marching out—and before I proceed further with the tale of invasion, I must pause to relate the strange episode of Spurioso Grimaldi.

Spurioso Grimaldi, my boy, superintended the emigration from Italy to this country of a hand-organ that was banished for playing revolutionary tunes some time ago, and on arriving upon our shores proceeded immediately to don a red shirt, and plan revolutions for the coming fall and winter seasons. Upon the breaking out of the war he enlisted three volunteers under his banner from the chorus of the Academy of Music; but it was not until the recent occupation of Accomac that he attempted to put his first revolutionary scheme into operation. Then, indeed, he armed his three divisions with three George Law muskets, and having gained the borders of suffering Accomac, he issued the following:

PROCLAMATION.

Accomackians! How are you to day? This is, indeed, a pleasant morning, and the crops look well. Accomackians, arise! For years you have been the terror of all strangers stopping at your hotels. The accommodations you offer, taken into consideration with the prices you charge, are sufficient to appal the world! Arise! Remember Waterloo, and Wagram, and Bull Run, and other battles in which you took no active part. Now! Right away! Hey?

Grimaldi.

As the Union element still lives in Accomac, my boy, and wishes nothing done to disturb the neighborhood, he could not but deem Mr. Grimaldi's movement ill advised, and issued the following responsive

PROCLAMATION.

S. Grimaldi, at the head of an army of three equipped and disciplined troops, calls the Accomackians to arms. This is scarcely the time for such a call, and the army of liberation is scarcely adequate to the enterprise proposed. Some disaster might occur should an army of three equipped and disciplined troops attack a force of twenty thousand, under Stonewall Jackson, at this present crisis. Therefore, let Accomac rest in peace, and continue to keep a hotel.

Union L. Lament.

These proceedings caused great excitement down at Paris and London, my boy, and the excellent and independent journals of those places proceeded at once to publish several yards of profound editorial on the probable convulsion of the earth's surface, in consequence of S. Grimaldi's revolutionary proceedings.

"The entire habitable universe," said the Paris Pitcher, "appears on the verge of terrible upheavings, and the army of S. Grimaldi seems destined to work an entire change in the economy of the creation, and oblige the North and South Poles to change places permanently."

Not to be outdone, the London Tumbler issued an extra, composed entirely of auction advertisements and an excited editorial: "The black cloud so long brooding over the shrinking countenance of upturned nature seems at length prepared to vomit its horrid flames over the entire surface of animated humanity. S. Grimaldi, who is now marching on Accomac, is not unlikely to prove the instrument of this earth-rending explosion. The unholy American rebellion dwindles to insignificant nothingness in comparison with this terrible affair."

So Grimaldi marshaled his three divisions, my boy, and having marched upon Accomac, was promptly arrested by the police and incarcerated to await an examination. So much for the episode of Spurioso Grimaldi.

Turning from events which have a deeper interest for Europe than for our own victorious but distracted country, let me cheer and improve your mind, my boy, with some account of the recent glorious victories around Accomac, wherein the fearless and unwounded Mackerel Brigade acquired another coat of glory, making the third this season.

It was Tuesday morn, when Captain Samyule Sa-mith of the advance guard, having satisfied himself that the Brigade was about to achieve its crowning victory, concluded that the time for expiring after the manner of General Wolfe at Quebec had arrived at last. The battle had already commenced, my boy, and a squad of evil-minded Confederacies were in full retreat after the Mackerel pickets, when Samyule hastily fell upon his back, and beckoned for the artist of Frank Leslie's Illustrated paper, motioned for the nearest reporter to take out his note-book, drew a lock of red hair from his bosom and kissed it, waved his left hand feebly toward his country's standard, and, says he: "Téte d'Armée! I die for the old fla—"

"Stop!" shrieked a Mackerel, dashing frantically to his side at this instant. "The Anatomical Cavalry, which is ordered to charge the foe, wishes to know if it shall take its horses along."

Up sprang Samyule, and says he:

"Tell the horsemen to take everything but their trunks with them, and not to stay more than a week. I really believe," says Samyule in a great passion—"I really believe the artillery will be wanting to know next if they'd better load before firing."

Just at this time, my boy, the Conic Section of the Mackerel Brigade, under Captain Villiam Brown, came charging toward the spot with fixed bayonets, their gallant leader waving his sword, Escalibar, over his head, and calling on his troops to lead on to victory. Forward they went like mad, rushing past us in swift fury, and composing the heaviest visitation of red noses ever yet launched upon a foe. To be sure, no foe was visible in the immediate line of their charge; but as they happened to be going down a pretty steep hill at the time, it was quite possible that they might meet some adversaries before they could stop themselves.

Fired by the sight, Captain Samyule Sa-mith flew to take command of a company of Mackerels, who were busily firing their muskets at some Confederacies not more than two miles distant; and having placed himself at the head thereof, was about to proceed in pursuit of warlike adventures, when he caught sight of a body of men, followed by another body of men, moving along in the valley below him.

"Hem!" says Samyule, ponderingly, "what is this sight mine eyes behold?"

"Oh," says a sergeant beside him, "that's the No. 3 army of the Confederacy, escorting some prisoners which they have just taken at Harper's Ferry."

Samyule regarded the spectacle attentively for a moment, and says he: "Well, there's only one thing more I want to know about it. I want to know," says Samyule thoughtfully, "which of them two bodies of infantry is the army, and which is the prisoners?"

Was there the tiniest, wee-ist, smallest fragment of sarcasm in his speech? Find out for yourself, my boy—find out for yourself.

It was shortly after this remark, and while the Orange County Howitzers were raining a tempest of shot and shell at everything but the enemy, that a small bit of shrapnell fell near Samyule's feet, and again reminded him of his latter end. Noting that he was observed by those around him, my boy, and that the surroundings of the scene were picturesque, he uttered a hollow groan and fell prone to the earth. Then picking up the bit of shrapnell, and laying it upon his heart, he kicked once, and says he:

"Is it almost morning, mother? Hurra for the old fla—"

"Forward with Company 2, immediately," thundered a messenger who at this moment came tearing to the spot. "The Confederacy has flanked the Conic Section, and is trying to escape."

Preferring to defer death itself rather than see his beloved country outwitted by the rebels, Captain Samyule Sa-mith darted swiftly to his feet at the word, and instantaneously led Company 2 down the hill at double-quick. I followed him half-way, my boy, and then turned off into a cross road, where I found Captain Villiam Brown striving to get a portion of the devoted Conic Section into a straight line by ranging it against a fence. Villiam ceased his labors when he saw me approaching, and says he:

"Here's conquering beings for you. Ah!" says Villiam, proudly, "I sent these invincible beings on a bayonet charge just now, and they have all come back without their muskets."

"What did they do with them?" says I.

"Left them sticking in the foe," says Villiam, exultingly.

"Are you sure of that, my Alcibiades?" says I, skeptically.

"Why," says Villiam, confidentially, "they didn't bring a single one back with them, and of course they must have left them sticking into the paralyzed Confederacies."

If Villiam could draw a checque as easily as he can draw an inference, my boy, he might paper the outside of the universe with ten dollar bills and have enough fifties left to make a very deep border.

Leaving the decimated corps to reorganize, I hastened down the hill again, and arrived at the bottom only to find a group of reporters and Mackerels surrounding a manly prostrate form. Company 2 had just succeeded in routing some Confederacies from a melon-patch, and Captain Samyule Sa-mith was improving the opportunity to expire once more in an affecting manner.

Lifting his feeble head when he saw me, and pulling a small flag a little further out of a side-pocket in his coat, the perishing warrior smiled half way down his chin, and says he:

"I still live! All hail to the old fla—"

"One moment, if you please!" shouted Colonel Wobert Wobinson, breaking through the group.—"Could you make it convenient to pay me that dollar you owe me, Samyule?"

Samyule arose deliberately to his feet again, my boy, wearing upon his countenance the most awful expression I ever saw upon a human face.

"Well," says Samyule, furiously, "I've tried to die for my country three times to-day, and never got further than the old fla—! There is such vulgarity in them which incessantly surrounds me," says Samyule, bitterly, "that they won't even let me die in peace."

Here a Mackerel chap sniffed differentially, and says he: "But you was trying to die in war, capting."

There was something so inhuman in the idea of a man making a joke on such a serious occasion, as that, my boy, that the entire party was struck dumb with horror; and one of the spectators retired precipitately behind a tree, where I immediately heard him laughing wildly with joy over the thought that it was not himself who had been guilty of such a hideous enormity.

It would be useless for me to spend more time in showing how the battle raged to a victorious conclusion, leaving the Mackerel Brigade in triumphant possession of the ground it occupied at the outset, and the Confederacy rooted to the spot it held from the commencement.

Scarcely had the strife been finished half an hour, when the popular General of the Mackerel Brigade arrived to direct all the movements in person, and to gain some knowledge of the victories he had just won. Accompanying him was the political chap from New Haven, who at once proceeded to congratulate the troops and address them on the subject of the next election.

"My brothers in arms," says he, with fond familiarity, "having done our duty as patriots, let us proceed to ballot for President of the United States in 1865. Need I say that our victorious general is the man?"

Truly, my boy, we shall have little difficulty in selecting a chief magistrate next term, when there is such a General longing for the nomination.

Yours, politically, Orpheus C. Kerr.

LETTER LXXI.

SHOWING HOW THE PRESIDENT AND THE GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE ISSUED GREAT EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATIONS, AND HOW THE CHAPLAIN WROTE A RADICAL POEM.

Washington, D. C., September 27th, 1862.

"John Brown's body," which has been "marching on" for some time past, my boy, being thus considerably in advance of our strictly Constitutional Army, has at length made a great strategic movement, and evoked the following promissory note from our Honest Old Abe:

Colorless Domicil, Sept. 22d, 1862.

"Ninety days after date I promise to pay the Southern Confederacy, or order, the full amount of its deserts.

"$ Emancipation.

H. O. Abe.

The morning after this little settlement was made, my boy, I met the conservative Kentucky chap on Pennsylvania avenue, and was greatly edified by his high-minded remarks on the subject. "Having recently disposed of any attached contrabands to good advantage," says he, sagely, "I am now deeply convinced that my brother-in-law, the Southern Confederacy, has brought this dispensation upon himself. I have said all along that it would be so at last," says the genial Kentucky chap, casting another glance at the score of a recent game of Euchre which he held in his hand. "I have said all along that it would be so at last, and I am still disposed to sustain the Administration and crush the Black Republicans."

When I remembered the sentiments held by this accommodating chap only about a week ago, my boy, I could not but feel that he had made a remarkably sudden revolution on the axes he had to grind; and as there was a pleasing spice of human audacity in his easy way of suiting his style to the political demands of the moment, I was strongly reminded of a chap I once knew in the Sixth Ward.

He was a young chap of gorgeous vest-pattern, and one Sunday afternoon he went out riding with another sprightly young chap, who was accompanied by his plighted pink bonnet. They were riding joyously along in their hired vehicle, my boy, pleasantly discussing the merits of Eighty's new foreman, and other subjects equally well calculated to entertain and improve the fond female mind, when, as they turned a sharp corner, there loomed up, at some distance ahead, a house bearing a sign reading:

FEED STORE OATS FOR SALE HERE.

No sooner did the spirited livery-horse observe this dangerous sign, my boy, than he dashed toward it in a manner worthy of my own gothic steed, the architectural Pegasus; and as there happened to be a few stones in the way, the two chaps and the pink bonnet were presently shot into the surrounding atmosphere without regard to the character of the day. While the excited quadruped went on with the two fore-wheels of the vehicle for the purpose of reading the sign nearer by, the chap of the gorgeous vest-pattern announced his safe arrival in a sand-bank by the appropriate and cheery cry of "Fire! fire! fire!" and the other chap and the pink bonnet warbled hasty thanksgivings in the bosom of a romantic ditch. How they finally caught the spirited livery horse, and induced him to come back to the city again by making a copy of the sign on a bit of paper, and placing it in his mouth, and how they ultimately reached home, you must imagine. But in about a week after, the unnatural livery-stable keeper brought suit against the smitten chap for the two hind-wheels of his wagon; and when the young chap of gorgeous vest-pattern was put upon the stand to prove that the catastrophe was not the driver's fault, he winked agreeably at the people, and says he: "My friend and assoshate exerted hisself visibly to subdue the fiery old oat-mill. As it was, his brains was nearly dashed out, his neck-tie was sprained, and he found his watch wound up."

Here the livery lawyer thought he had the friendly chap in a tight place, and says he:

"You say that by being thrown from the wagon so violently, the defendant's watch was wound up. Perhaps you will inform the court how such a strange phenomenon could occur?"

The young chap merely paused long enough to make another desperate attempt to reconcile the bottom-edge of his waistcoat to the top-edge of his inexpressibles, and says he, with a fine smile:

"Why, it was easy enough for his watch to be wound up by it, my covey; because he turned three times in the air before he lit."

Accommodating conservative chaps, my boy, though momentarily thrown out of their reckoning, by reason of sudden proceedings caused by the latest signs of the times, have a happy aptitude for turning-about as often as may seem necessary, before alighting on a fixed principle.

The Mackerel chaplain, who came up from Harper's Ferry on Monday afternoon, was delighted with H. O. Abe's promissory note, and considers that old John Brown is at last

AVENGED.

The chaplain runs as naturally to poetry, my boy, as a water-melon does to seed, and his muse is apt to be—alas! what a melancholy one!

In my last epistle, I was somewhat hyperbolical when I meant to be metaphorical, as some of the older writers were allegorical when they meant to be categorical. I told you, my boy, that we had cornered the prudish Confederacy in Accomac, and "thrown our arms around her." Your natural ignorance will demand an explanation; and I deem it fit to say, that by the phrase "thrown our arms around her," I meant to say that certain Mackerel regiments, in furtherance of the profound strategy of the General of the Mackerel Brigade, had thrown their arms away, on every side of the entrapped Confederacy. It was believed that the Confederacy was perfectly safe for immediate capture, my boy; but upon the discovery that the fords of Allkwyet River, in the rear of Accomac, where the Confederacy could cross, were adjoining each other, and extended from the source of the river to its mouth, it was deemed proper to let the Confederacy court further ruination by retiring in that direction. Hence, whilst the watchful Conic section took a brief nap, the Anatomical Cavalry was sent rapidly in front of the disgracefully retreating Confederacy to clear the road for it to the river, and then telegraph the news of the great victory to all the excellent morning journals.

It was another splendid stroke of profound strategy, my boy, and would have crowned the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade with new laurels, had he not been too bashfully modest to understand it himself.

Finding, however, that it seemed to be better than something worse, he told his staff a small story to clear his throat, and then unfurled the following

PROCLAMATION.

I, the General of the Mackerel Brigade, next President of the United States of America, and Commander-in-Chief of the Mackerel Army and superior improved iron-plated squadron, do hereby swear, that on this occasion, as in a previous instance, the war will be prosecuted for the object of practically maintaining the Constitution forever destroyed, and restoring friendly relations between the sections and States inexorably alienated; that it is my practical purpose to suggest, at the next orderly meeting of the Mackerel Brigade, a practical offer of pecuniary compensation for the slaves of the so-called Border States which have refrained, through patriotic fear, from waging unnatural hostilities with the United States of America and my practical self. Gradual Emancipation having thus set in, as far as those States are concerned, either voluntarily, or by virtue of a superior discretion, persons of African descent will again be privileged, or voluntarily compelled to colonize in Nova Zembla, where bear hunting is still in full bloom; that on the first day of April, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves by what is then known as the ruins of the Southern Confederacy, shall be then, thence, thenceforward and forever free, if they choose to consider themselves so, and are able to achieve their independence; that on the aforesaid first of April, the General of the Mackerel Brigade will designate the States, or parts of States, which have rendered this proclamation nugatory, by returning involuntarily, and by force of our arms, to their allegiance, inviting them to elect members of Congress, boarders at Willard's and Senators as usual, the same as though their somewhat-prolonged rebellion against the United States of America had been a rather meritorious arrangement, entitling them to more than ordinary consideration.

And I do hereby respectfully request all officers to refrain in future from paying the traveling expenses of persons of African descent sent by them to their revolted masters after a term of trench service, as there don't appear to be any common-sense in such expenditure.

And the General of the Mackerel Brigade will further recommend, that all citizens of the United States remaining loyal now, or who may become loyal, voluntarily or otherwise, at any period of the world's history, be fully compensated for all losses sustained by the United States, including the loss of memory or eye sight.

In witness whereof, behold the signature and seal of the

General of the Mackerel Brigade. (Green Seal.)

While I am compelled to admit, my boy, that I do not exactly understand by what authority the General of the Mackerel Brigade is empowered to issue this Proclamation; and that some of its clauses—particularly the last—strike me as being somewhat muddled, I yet regard it as at least a faint evidence that the tremendous farce in which we have so long been playing such bloody parts is at last coming to an end.

And since the farce seems drawing to a close, perhaps your farcical Orpheus C. Kerr could select no fitter time than this to withdraw with grace from the field.

As this thought occurs to me, my boy, I look up, and behold a couple of our brigadiers a few paces off, with only two tumblers between them. Their faces are expressionless. I have seen apple-dumplings with more expression, especially when dressed with sauce. It is impossible, my boy, that any wise thing should enter into the heads of our brass-buttoned generals under any possible circumstances; and with heavy heart, I acknowledge the conviction that I must still rush the quill.

Yours, enduringly, Orpheus C. Kerr.

LETTER LXXII.

REPORTING THE LATEST SMALL STORY FROM "HONEST ABE," AND DESCRIBING THE MOST MERCENARY BAYONET CHARGE ON RECORD.

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

Our Honest Abe, my boy, may lack these brilliant qualities which in the great legislator may constitute either the live-oak sceptre of true patriotism or the dexter finger of refined roguery, as the genius of the age pivots on honesty or diplomacy; but his nature has all the sterling characteristics of the heartiest manhood about it, and there is a smiling sun in his composition which never sets. That he is in his anecdotage, my boy, is a fact

yet even his anecdotes have that simple sunlight in them which is, perhaps, a greater boon to the high place of a nation in the dark hour, than the most weird and perpetual haze of crafty wisdom could be.

There was a dignified chap here from New York on Monday; a chap who has invented many political conventions in his time, and came here for the special purpose of learning everything whatsoever concerning the present comparative inactivity of the able-bodied Mackerel Brigade.

The Mackerel Brigade, my boy, has done little more than skirmish on the festive borders of the well-known Southern Confederacy since the great metaphysical victory in which it gained such applause and lost a few muskets, and the dignified convention chap called upon the Honest Abe to learn the meaning of the present situation.

Rumor states that it was the Honest Abe's hour of fragmentary leisure when this inquiring chap perforated the White House; and that he was sitting with his boots on the window-sill, carving a pine toothpick from a vagrant chip.

"Mr. President," says the dignified chap, affably, "such is the agony of the public mind in consequence of the present uncertainty in military affairs that I feel it my duty, as a humble portion of that Mind, to respectfully request of you some information as to the reason for the cotemporary Mackerel inactivity."

"Hem!" says the Honest Abe, combing his locks with his right hand, and placing a small bit of the chip in the right corner of his Etruscan mouth: "Perhaps I cannot better answer your question, neighbor, than by relating a small tale:

"There was a man out in Iowa who owned a large farm, on which he raised everything but the interest of his purchase-money, and it cost him so little to send his crops to the market that he was all the time wishing he could find the crops to send. Now, this man was very tenacious of his rights," says the Honest Abe, putting the argument with his jack-knife—"he was very tenacious of his rights; and when a squatter-sovereign from Missouri came and squatted right on one of his best pieces of land, he determined to whip that squatter-sovereign within an inch of his life, and then send him trooping. So he goes down one day to where the squatter had run up a shingle house," says the Honest Abe, brushing a chip from his right knee, "he goes down there, and says he to the squatter: 'If you don't make tracks from here in twenty-four hours, you varmint, I'll make you smell thunder and see chain-lightnin'.' The squatter threw away the axe with which he was thumping down a maple log for a door-post, and says he: 'This is a free country, stranger; and if you'll come to a place where the grass is thick enough to make a tidy tumble, we'll have it out at once.' This put the old man's dander right up," says the Honest Abe, pulling down his vest; "this put his dander right up, and says he: 'Grass be darned! Here's a spot of ground as bare as the top of Governor Chase's head, and I'll jest trouble you—y' old varmint you—to find how soft it is for a night's lodgings.' After this speech there was no more to be said; so the two geniuses repaired to the bare spot, and squared away at each other like all possest. The old man was great on the science of the thing," says the Honest Abe, using the toe of one boot as a boot-jack to pull the other half-way off—"the old man was great on the science of boxing; but the squatter had the muscle, and in about two winks the old 'un was packing the gravel. Up he got again, very ricketty in the shoulder-blades, and came to call like a grizzly in bee-time, striking out with a bang up science, and would have triumphed gloriously if he hadn't suddenly gone to gravel again, with all his baggage. On this occasion, he righted with both his elbows out of joint, and says he: 'You're as good as chawed up—y' old varmint, you—but I'll come back here next spring, and have it out with you on this same spot.' The squatter agreed to that, and they parted for the time.

"Now the story of this drawn-fight got abroad, you see," says the Honest Abe, working the blade of his jack-knife with his thumb—"it got abroad; and one day a neighbor went to the old 'un, and says he: 'There's one thing about that big fight of yours, Uncle Billy, I can't understand. What made you put off the end of the show till next spring?'

"'Have you seen the cantankerous spot where we fit?' says the old 'un, moving his shoulders uneasily.

"'Truelie,' says the neighbor.

"'Well,' says the old 'un, craftily, 'I'm just waiting till that thar spot has a trifle of grass on it.'"

At the conclusion of this natural little narrative, my boy, the dignified conventional chap hurried from the White House scratching his head: and I really believe, my boy—I really believe, that his sensitive soul detected an analogy not gushingly flattering to national strategy and the President of the United States for 1865.

Soon after hearing of this, I met him at Willard's, and says I: "Well, my sagacious Mirabeau, what is your final opinion of our Honest Abe?"

He merely paused long enough to swear at a button which happened to burst from the neck-band of his shirt just then, and says he: "The Honest Abe is a well-meaning Executive, enough. He's a well-meaning Executive," says the dignified chap, with an air of slightly-irritated good-nature; "but I wish he'd do something to save his country, instead of telling small tales all the time."

Our President is an honest man, my boy, and the glass in his spectacles isn't exactly made of the paper they print telegrams upon.

Learning that the Mackerel Brigade was still awaiting abject peace propositions from the exhausted Confederacy, on the borders of Accomac, I scaled the outer walls of my Gothic steed, Pegasus, on Wednesday, and sped thither on the metaphorical wings of retarded lightning. A wisp of hay was clinging to the wiry mane of the architectural animal, my boy, and this I used to delude the spirited steed from making those sudden stops in which he invariably indulges whenever a passing acquaintance hails us with the familiar salutation of "Hey!—where are you bound?" The charger has evidently a confused idea of the word "Hey," my boy.

Upon gaining the outskirts of Accomac, I met Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, just coming out to make a bayonet-charge upon one of the Confederacy's earthworks not far away. I might have let the warriors pass by unheeded, my boy, as I was deeply ruminating upon strategy; but as they came nearer, I noticed among them a file of red noses dragging along a Mackerel, who was tearing and groaning like a madman. In fact, the chap became so violent just then, that Captain Villiam Brown precipitately dropped his canteen and halted the company.

I looked at the devoted and nearly-sober beings clustered about the struggling chap, and says I:

"Has mutiny reared his horrid front, my veterans? What ails our gymnastic friend?"

A Mackerel, largely patched in several departments of his attire, shaded his voice with a crab-like hand, and says he: "That is Jakey Mogs, which got a letter from his virchoose femly just the instant we was ordered to fix bayonets, and he's gone cracked because the Captain can't let him leave for home in a big rush."

Here the refractory chap burst furiously from those who were holding him, fell upon his knees before the captain, and says he, as he cried like a woman: "For God's sake, Cap, do let me go home just this once, and I swear to God I won't stay there more than just one minnit! My old woman wrote this herself (tearing the letter from his ragged breast), and she says our little Tom is dying. He's a-dying—O good Lord! it's too much! Please let me go, my dear, good Cap, and I won't be gone an hour; and I'll bring you back the pootiest little bull-tarrier you ever see; and you can shoot me for desertion—honor bright! My Tommy's a-dying, I tell you, and she's wrote for me to come right away. Just an hour, Cap, for God's sake!—only half an hour, and I'll come back and be shot—honor bright!"

As the wild words came pouring out of the poor fellow's working soul, there fell a breathless hush upon all his comrades; the line of bayonets seemed to me to reflect the soft light of the afternoon with a kind of strange quiver, and though the Captain turned his head sternly away from the suppliant, there was not that firmness in the arm circling to his hip which drives home the sword of the strong.

"Take the being under guard," says Villiam, hoarsely; "for he must go."

At the word, the rude father sprang to his feet, with a tigerish glare in his eyes, dashed the letter to the ground, tore his bowie from its sheath; and as, with the howl of a wild beast, he made a furious thrust at one of those who approached to secure him—Nature broke in the tempest, and he fell into the arms of a comrade, in a fit. They sent him back, then, to camp, and Company 3, Regiment 5, moved forward once again, as though nothing had happened.

Alas! my boy, when this whole war is the sensitive nerve of a vast nation, and vibrates a thrill of mortal agony to a million of souls at each jar the very air receives from a shot, what matter is it if a single heart be broken.

I pondered this deeply as I followed Company 3; nor did I heed the affable remarks occasionally volunteered by Captain Villiam Brown until we gained the edge of the field wherein was located a company of bushwhacking Confederacies, as was supposed, behind a scientific mud-work. Captain Bob Shorty and Captain Samyule Sa-mith were already on the ground to witness the bayonet charge; and it was well that they had provided bits of smoked glass to view it through, as the glaring brilliancy of the anticipated feat might have proved hurtful to the naked eye. As I took my place with them, my boy, I could not but admire the rapidity with which Captain Villiam Brown kicked some of his beings into a straight line before the foe's front, and at the same time addressed them after the manner of a great commander:

"Comrades," says Villiam, his voice quivering finely with uncontrollable valor, "the eyes of future centuries are looking down upon you on this present occasion, and your distracted country expects you to propel the gleamy steel. Ah!" says Villiam, taking another hasty look at his notes, "the distracted country has great confidence in bayonet charges, which are quite valuable on account of their scarcity in this unnatural war. My fellow-beings," says Villiam, allowing several Mackerels to get in front of him, that he might more readily direct their movements, "we will now proceed to charge bayonets."

From our point of vantage, we saw that serried host sweep on, my boy, their movements being exceedingly rapid for several yards; when they went slower, and finally stopped.

Captain Samyule Sa-mith eyed them intensely through his glass, and says he: "It appears to me that there is temporary inactivity in the ranks, and I can see some manly heads turned the wrong way."

Captain Bob Shorty frowned until his left eyebrow contracted a delicate streak of smoke from his glass, and says he: "You speak like one of feeble mind, Samyule. The legs, not the head, are the portions of the human frame to be watched in a baynit charge."

Taught by this remark, I gazed at the nether continuations of our country's hope and pride, and my glass told me that many of them were working in their sockets as though belonging to wholly irresponsible parties. Were those devoted men about to change their base of operations and entrap Stonewall Jackson's whole force again, without waiting to receive a shot?

It was a moment of dreadful suspense.

Then did the matchless genius of Villiam Brown arise to the full demands of the breathless occasion, in one of those subtle appeals to human nature's great undercurrent which leads men as children often are led. In the rear of the Confederacy's work was the slanting side of a precipitous hill, and to this hill-side he had secretly dispatched the paymaster of the corps, by a circuitous route, with a package that looked as though it might contain Treasury Notes under his arm. Just at this awful juncture, when the fate of the day hung by a hair, that paymaster made his appearance on the hill-side above the mud-work, and put on his spectacles to make himself more plainly visible.

"Comrades," says Villiam, pointing to the celestial figure, "yonder is the disbursing genius of the United States of America. Charge baynits, and let us be paid off."

Though the whole Confederacy had been in the way at that moment, my boy, it would not have delayed the charge. Forward went Company 3, Regiment 5, with mercenary celerity, capturing the hostile work with great success; and finding therein a Confederate letter, stating that the Confederacy could not so far demean itself as to fight a force whose leader had not been educated at West Point.

There is a point, my boy, beyond which the Confederacy cannot hope to offer successful resistance to our arms, and recent events would seem to indicate that it is West Point.

Yours, formally, Orpheus C. Kerr.

LETTER LXXIII.

MAKING MENTION OF ANOTHER MEETING OF THE COSMOPOLITAN CLUB, AT WHICH THE TURKISH AND RUSSIAN MEMBERS READ THEIR STORIES.

Washington, D. C., October 8th, 1862.

At the meeting of the Cosmopolitans last evening, my boy, N. E. Ottoman, the Turkish chap, related the tale of

THE SULTAN'S FAVORITE.

"In all Circassia, there was no woman to be compared with Zara, for beauty. Her eyes were like the stars, her hair was threads of gold, her teeth were pearls, her complexion more white and pure than the marble of Patras, and her form was like those of the houris, whom Allah has locked up in paradise, for the benefit of all true believers.

"The father of this beautiful girl was a mountain chieftain, much noted for his physical strength, bravery, and insatiable avarice. His wife died in giving birth to Zara, and upon her child he lavished all the affection which his iron heart could nourish; but gold overcame the finer feelings of a parent, and Nemyl beheld the bud of childhood bursting forth into the soul-subduing woman with thoughts in which there was far more speculation than love.

"'You shall be sold to the Sultan,' said he to her, 'and he will soon become your most devoted slave. You may make him do what you will, and I shall become respected and rich, as the father of a Sultan's favorite.'

"Zara made no reply to such anticipations; for, although she honored the alem penali of mankind, her affections had lighted upon another object.

"During the war between the Russians and Circassians, truces of a few days' duration were quite frequent, and at such periods those of both parties who were upon the plains, intermingled, and spoke words of peace to each other. On one of these occasions, a Russian detachment was quartered near the habitation of Nemyl, and a young officer, who beheld Zara, fell in love with her at first sight, although he saw nothing but her form; for her face was covered.

"Garstoff (for such was his name) made various attempts to have communication with the insensible object of his passion; but, for some days, his efforts were in vain—the Circassians being very ready to keep truce with his countrymen, but very jealous, also, of any attention bestowed upon one of their own nation. The officer beheld the brief period of peace fast drawing to an end, and was about to resign his darling object, when fortune unexpectedly befriended him.

"One evening as he was returning to his camp, a sound of clashing steel fell upon his ear, and, turning in the direction from whence it came, he observed a horseman bravely defending himself against the assaults of four men in Turkish costume. Swift as lightning, his sword flew from his scabbard, and going to the assistance of the rider, he made two of the assailants bite the dust, while the others took to their heels and quickly disappeared.

"'Your assistance was most timely, and I owe my life to you,' said the horseman, dismounting from his steed, and peering into the face of his new ally.

"'I am happy to have been of service to a brave man,' replied Garstoff, 'but who were those scoundrels?'

"'I know them not,' answered the other, 'but suppose them to belong to a band of mountain thieves, who are prowling about the camps in search of plunder. I perceive, by your uniform, that you are one of our enemies. But we are at peace now, and as you have saved my live, I extend the hand of friendship to you. Come with me to my house, and we will eat salt together.'

"'May I know the name of my new friend?' asked the Russian.

"'I am Nemyl, and I put my trust in God.'

"'I cannot refuse your kind invitation,' said Garstoff. And Nemyl remounting his horse, the two set off at good speed not saying another word until they arrived at the house of the chieftain. It was a spacious but rude habitation, and the only attendant who welcomed the pair was a pretty little girl of scarce ten years. Nemyl fastened the horses of himself and visitor under a low shed, and then proceeded to an apartment where rabols, viands, various fruits, mountain herbs, and large vessels filled with coffee and eastern wines, were placed upon a table with covers for three persons.

"'We sup here,' he said, motioning Garstoff to a seat beside the board, and taking one himself. 'I expected to have met one of our chiefs to-night, and brought him to my house, but those fellows stopped me, and I changed my company. Eat—What is your name?'

"'Major Garstoff.'

"A shade passed over the features of Nemyl, at the sound of that name, and he grasped the hilt of his scymetar, for he had heard of the officer's attempt to speak with Zara, and it was only a thought of recent events that restrained him from rushing upon the bold barbarian with the fury of a tiger.

"Garstoff beheld the change in his host's manner, and had grasped his own weapon, to defend himself from any sudden attack, when a door was opened, and Zara entered the department, preceded by the little slave, looking more beautiful than ever.

"The officer was filled with various emotions by her presence; for he at once recognised her as the idol of his heart, and all feelings of anger disappeared at once.

"'This is my child Zara,' said Nemyl, with affected indifference. 'The great Sultan has an apartment for her in his seraglio, and his Aga has already bargained with me for her purchase.'

"Garstoff watched the girl's countenance, while her father spoke thus, and was delighted to perceive that she was discomposed by his words; but resolving to avoid a quarrel with his entertainer, he replied:

"'Happy must be the man, whether sultan or renegade, who is destined to claim so much beauty for his own.'

"The suspicions of Nemyl were lulled to sleep by such disinterested expressions, and he ate and drank with his visitor, in all good will, while Zara listened in silence to their conversation. At length, the fumes of the liquors which he had swallowed, mounted to his brain, and after giving vent to some incoherent oaths, the Circassian fell upon the floor in a state of insensibility. His visitor was quite astonished by such a catastrophe; but as it afforded him an opportunity to converse with Zara, he rather rejoiced at it.

"'Fair lady,' said he, 'can it indeed be true that your charms are destined to wither in the Sultan's harem?'

"'It is true, stranger,' answered Zara, in mournful tones, 'the Aga of Soliman, spoke with my father at Constantinople, and I am to be borne thither soon.'

"'Does such a fate please you, Zara?' asked the officer.

"'No!' replied the beautiful Circassian, with emphasis. 'But it is the will of Allah, and I must submit.'

"She arose from her seat, and beckoning for the attendant, was about to leave the apartment, when Garstoff, laid his hand upon her arm, and gently restrained her.

"'Forgive my rudeness,' he said, with much earnestness; 'but, Zara, I cannot behold your sacrifice, without endeavoring to avert it. I am a stranger to you; but you are not a stranger to me; for I have seen you, when you thought yourself unobserved, and a fire has been kindled in my breast, which nothing but possession of you can ever abate. Tell me to perform some deed, that I may prove the ardor of my love; let me save you from the fearful doom that threatens you—'

"'Stop! Christian,' interrupted the maid; 'I have never seen your face before, and how can I trust a stranger? Go! or Nemyl shall punish you when he awakes. I can hear your words no longer.'

"'Think not that I fear your father,' answered Garstoff, 'though I stand in his house; yet I will no longer excite your anger by staying here.'

"He arose, and would have departed, had not the daughter of Nemyl placed herself in his way.

"'What would you do for me?' she asked hurriedly.

"'I would sacrifice my life, if necessary.'

"'That would not help me, Christian. Dare you appear in the field as a rival to the sultan, for my favor?'

"'As a rival to ten thousand sultans, for such a reward.'

"'Why do you not buy me, then?'

"The Russian staggered back and turned pale at the suggestion; for it reminded him how wholly the woman was beyond his reach, and filled him with despair.

"'What sum would do it?' he asked.

"'Five thousand doblas,' answered Zara, composedly; 'the great sultan will give four thousand, and if you offer five, my father will surely sell me to you.'

"'Alas! what a curse is poverty!' exclaimed Garstoff, smiting his forehead. 'I have only my pay, and it would not amount to that sum in three years. What shall I do?'

"His sorrow evidently affected Zara, and for some moments they remained silent. At length, her eyes brightened, and she said in peremptory tones;

"'You can bear me away to your own country.'

"'That is true!' ejaculated the Russian, kissing her willing hand in ecstasy. 'Then indeed have I not suffered in vain. I will take you to a country where the sovereign will smile upon you as my bride, and you shall forget a land where women are sold like dogs. Bless you for the suggestion, dear Zara, I thought of it before; but dared not anticipate so much happiness. When will you fly with me?'

"'At this hour, two days hence, I will be in the garden alone!' responded the girl, with a familiar glance.

"'It is enough!' said Garstoff. 'I will be here with horses and arms, and morning shall behold you in the camp of my countrymen. Till then, farewell.'

"The lovers separated so hastily, because Nemyl had commenced to move; Zara going with the mute attendant to her apartment, and Garstoff departing for his encampment. When both had disappeared, Nemyl arose to his feet, while a dim, but grim smile, played about his lips, and all signs of intoxication vanished.

"'Oh, ho!' he muttered, between his set teeth. 'The son of a dog would rob me of my daughter and four thousand doblas. I will take good care to be in the garden two days hence, and the son of Shitan shall find what it is to rival the sublime sultan. They thought me drunk with grape juice, but they shall suffer for it. By Allah! they shall!' and he threw himself upon a couch, where he soon fell asleep, to dream of gold and vengeance.

"The truce was within three days of its expiration and Garstoff, overjoyed at the success of his impious design, hastened to prepare for its execution. He procured horses, assistants, and arms; and on the night appointed proceeded towards the house of Nemyl. When within a short distance of the garden, he dismounted from his horse and leaving that together with the others provided, in care of a few soldiers who composed his guard, he drew his sword and walked cautiously towards the place of rendezvous. Climbing to the top of the wall, he paused for a moment to survey the scene beneath; but all was still as the grave, and he sprang into the garden. A few fleecy clouds had hitherto obscured the moon; but now she sailed beyond their shade, and by her silver light the Russian discovered a figure dressed in white, at a short distance in front of him.

"'Zara,' he said, in low, distinct tones, going toward it.

"'Christian, I am here,' answered Zara (for she it was,) and in another moment she was in his arms.

"'We must haste away,' said Garstoff, when the first rapture of their meeting was over, and she hung upon his arm.

"'Yes! yes! I am afraid Nemyl has discovered us. There have been strange men about the house to-day,' replied Zara, looking timidly about her; for guilt is ever suspicious, even in broad day.

"Garstoff said no more, but quickly regained the wall; and, drawing forth a rope-ladder from under his coat threw it over the wall, so that it hung down on either side, and having fastened it in the middle, descended after Zara. Catching her in his arms, he darted back; and, in a few seconds, was standing with her upon the path.

"'Whose steps are those?' she exclaimed, in terror, as the sound of advancing footsteps fell upon her ears.

"'They are my soldiers, dearest,' answered her lover, applying a whistle to his lips, and blowing a shrill blast; although he was himself astonished that they approached before the signal agreed upon was given.

"'Draw your sword, captain—we are surprised!' shouted his followers, as they rode hastily up; and almost before the annoyed Garstoff could clasp his weapon, a troup of fierce Circassians surrounded him, while another party attacked his soldiers with great fury.

"'Surrender, dog of a Christian!' shouted Nemyl, in a voice of thunder.

"'Not while I live!' answered the officer.

"'Then disarm him, my men; but harm him not at your peril!' said the Circassian; and, after a desperate resistance, Garstoff was made a prisoner, Zara lay fainting in the arms of two stout mountaineers, and every Russian soldier bled to death.

"'To the house with them!' said Nemyl, in his usual tones, leading the way with an air of triumph.

"Garstoff soon found himself in the apartment where he had supped with the father of Zara, who now stood before him as his captor.

"'You have repaid my hospitality with a vengeance,' said Nemyl.

"'Beware how you abuse a Russian officer!' he answered, proudly.

"'Remember, Christian, the truce expires to-morrow, and if I keep you a prisoner until then, you will be treated as a prisoner of war.'

"'I know it.'

"'You are now completely in my power; and there is but one feeling that withholds my sword from your heart. Do you know what feeling that is?'

"'Fear!'

"'No, Christian devil! Nemyl knows no such word! It is gratitude for the preservation of my life towards my preserver. You are free. Depart in peace.'

"'I honor the nobility of your sentiments,' answered Garstoff, filled with admiration of such magnanimity; 'yet I would willingly yield my life to preserve Zara from the fate you promise her.'

"'Mention not her name. She deserves the bowstring, instead of the Sultan's embraces,' said Nemyl, sternly.

"'Are you then so insensible to——'

"'Will you give me five thousand doblas for her?'

"'A hundred thousand, if I had them!'

"'But you have them not?'

"'Alas, no!'

"'Then you cannot have Zara. Depart in peace.'

"Garstoff looked frantically about him for a moment and then rushed from the apartment like one demented.

"'My friends,' continued Nemyl, turning to the mountaineers, who stood behind him—'I wished you to aid me in recovering a lost treasure, and you drew your swords for me. My daughter is delivered from the Christian robber, and six of his soldiers are sent to Eblis. I gave the dog his life, because he saved mine, when it was nearly forfeited; but we shall soon meet in battle, and then let the Giaour beware! Depart in peace, my friends.'

"As I have before stated, Zara fell into a swoon, immediately after the first appearance of her father, on the evening of her attempted flight, and was carried to her chamber, unconscious of how the affray resulted. For two days, she was kept a prisoner in her own apartment, seeing no one but the little mute. At the end of that period, her father made his appearance, while she slept, and rudely pulled her from the couch on which she lay.

"'Holy Prophet, have mercy!' she exclaimed, in an agony of fear, imagining that he intended to slay her.

"'Dress, and prepare to depart!' thundered Nemyl. 'We must be on the road before day-break.'

"Trembling like an aspen, Zara suffered the attendant to array her, and then asked, with quivering lips —

"'Where do you intend to take me!'

"'To the Sultan!' exclaimed Nemyl; and, as she sank upon her knees at his feet, he added, furiously, 'Base girl, you would have covered me with disgrace by following a Christian dog; but Allah gave me strength, and I slew the barbarian in his toils.'

"In silence the girl rose to her feet, and signified her readiness to depart by a low salaam.

"At the street door stood the litter prepared for her reception, and Nemyl pushing her into it, drew the curtains, and gave the signal to the drivers, while he mounted his horse and accompanied them. On arriving at the city of the Sultan (which they did after a tedious journey), Nemyl conveyed his daughter to the grand bazaar; for, in fact, he never received an offer from the Sultan, but spread the report that other purchasers might present themselves, whose positions would fail to gratify the desires of his inordinate ambition. Not long had he remained there with the litter, when the Kislar Aga of Soliman entered the bazaar, and made directly towards him, with long strides.

"'What animal have you in your litter that you keep it closed like a cage?' asked the Aga.

"'Your slave will show you that you may judge of it for yourself,' answered Nemyl, and drawing the curtains, disclosed Zara, with tears upon her cheeks.

"The Aga started back in amazement at beholding such a display of beauty, and all his anger vanished like snow beneath a sunbeam. He well knew that the addition of such an ornament to the Sultan's harem, through his instrumentality, would add greatly to his consequence; and his satisfaction was so evident, that Nemyl beheld it with delight, and—profited by it.

"'How much gold do you want for the girl?' asked the Aga, endeavoring to appear indifferent.

"'Five thousand doblas,' answered Nemyl, composedly.

"'Five thousand doblas! Bismillah! dare you laugh at our beards? That money would buy a dozen women.'

"'I was offered that by a Russian officer,' said the Circassian, without moving his eyes.

"For a moment the Aga hesitated, but the idea of selecting a favorite speedily overcame all his scruples, and bidding Nemyl follow him with the litter, he proceeded to a private door of the imperial seraglio, and gave Zara in charge of two female slaves.

"Thus was the fairest flower of Franquistan placed in the imperial garden, and he who had trained it was soon on his way home, with five thousand doblas in his pocket.

"What pencil could portray the delight of his sublime highness, or what tongue could repeat the language of his immaculate lips, when he beheld his Aga's new purchase.

"'Barek Allah!' praise be to God; 'what an hour!' he exclaimed, kissing her passionately.

"'She is already a favorite,' said the Aga, and smiled.

"'She will be a favorite,' said the queen's mother, and frowned.

"Zara wept, and would not be comforted during the first few days of her residence at the seraglio; but finally the kind words of his sublime highness conquered her obstinacy, and throwing herself at his feet, she made a full confession of her fondness for Garstoff, and his vain attempt to carry her away by stratagem.

"The Sultan was much afflicted by this news, for he really loved Zara, and was aware, that, should her defection become known, his honor would compel him to plunge her lifeless body into the Bosphorus.

"'My dear Zara,' he said, encircling her waist with his arms, 'you have been frank with me, but beware that you speak of this affair to no one else, or your life will surely be sacrificed. This Garstoff is dead, and can now be nothing to you; do not waste your affections upon a skeleton; but let them revert to me, and Soliman will become the slave of your will.'

"In such a manner did the Refuge of Mankind talk to the daughter of Nemyl, until she gradually drew the veil of forgetfulness over past sorrows, and respected his sublime highness, if she did not love him. Taking the highest rank in the harem, no wish of hers remained unanswered; masters of every art were furnished as her instructors; subservient slaves were ever ready to do her bidding, and costly presents of every description rolled in upon the favorite, from those who had—axes to grind.

"Each day the Sultan became more deeply in love with her, and in the same proportion, she became each day more odious to those, whom, from old age, or satiety, the magnificent Soliman had quitted for Zara. Among the most violent enemies of the new favorite, was the queen mother, who suborned the Kislar Aga to her will, and through him, maintained a thorough system of espionage upon every word and action of the object of her hatred; but Zara rendered all her efforts futile until one day while going abroad, she observed a person dressed in the janissary uniform, whose form appeared familiar; and what was her emotion, when he turned his face toward her, and discovered the features of Garstoff!"

Here the English member interrupted the reader, and says he:

"Good gracious! I thought that fellow was dead."

"No, sir," says the Turkish chap; "you should remember that Nemyl spared his life."

"I don't remember anything about it," says the British chap, crustily; "but I suppose you told that part of the story when I was asleep. Proceed."

"The Kislar Aga, who stood behind her litter, noted Zara's emotions and their apparent cause, and when he returned to the palace, made his instigatress acquainted with her rival's strange conduct. The wily woman at once perceived that Zara was partially in her power, and instructed her instrument to watch the favorite closely, and gain further information. Meanwhile, their intended victim suffered the pangs of remorse, and old feelings awakened from their long sleep, struggled fiercely with the usurping passions in her bosom.

"The sight of the Russian, whom she believed to be in his grave, made her frantic with sorrow, and she resolved to speak with him, although by so doing, she would risk discovery and an ignominious end.

"To accomplish her purpose she called upon the Aga, as he had always appeared devoted to her special interests, and, describing the person of her lover, asked him to carry a billet to Garstoff, and thus gain a rich reward.

"'Aga,' she said, with composure, 'you must find this man, and ask him if his name is not Garstoff. Should he start, and answer yes, give him this slip of paper, and say no more.'

"With many vows of fidelity, the Aga received the billet, and carried it direct to—the queen mother.

"The latter person did not hesitate to open it, and read as follows:

"'Garstoff: I have seen you, and would speak with you. Meet me near the mosque of Omar, to-morrow, at the tenth hour.'

'Zara.'

"'She is caught at last,' said the triumphant plotter; 'but we must let the affair run on, until the Sultan may be convinced by his own eyes of her guilt.'

"Accordingly, the slave departed in search of the disguised Russian, whom he soon discovered from the description given him by Zara.

"'Is not your name Garstoff?' he asked.

"'Great heavens!—yes, it is!' answered the janissary, in great confusion.

"'Then here is something for you,' said the Aga; and, handing him the billet, turned upon his heel.

"Great was the surprise of Garstoff when he read the letter; but joy quickly overcame wonder, and he hastened to procure a suitable disguise for the strange meeting.

"At the appointed hour he stood before the mosque, and presently a muffled figure approached him, whom his beating heart proclaimed to be the long lost object of his adoration. It was indeed Zara, and, in one moment, they were in each other's arms.

"The Russian hastened to relate his adventures since they last saw each other, and finished by saying:

"'I gave up my commission, dearest Zara, to seek for you, and now that we once more behold each other, let us never part again. This hated uniform I assumed to facilitate my search; it shall be thrown aside now and forever.'

"Then Zara commenced her narrative, but was quickly interrupted.

"'Zara, tell me, for heaven's sake, have you listened to the Sultan's words of love? Are you, are you—his—slave?' gasped Garstoff, staggering against the wall.

"Zara looked to the ground.

"'I see it all,' he continued, in frantic accents. 'Zara, you are lost! lost to me forever! I go to my death. Zara, a last farewell!' He was about to leave her, when she caught his arm, and hissed in his ear:

"'Is this your love that you once boasted of?'

"'Zara, let me go; I am almost mad.'

"'And I am quite mad. Listen to me, faithless Christian. I beheld you in the streets when you saw me not, and have risked honor, life, every thing, to come to you, and be your slave. How could I help what has passed? My father—'

"'Zara, you should have died first.'

"For a time she remained silent, with her head bowed, and then said, in low tones:

"'Christian, you are right; I should, indeed, have preferred death to my present fate; but it is too late now. I will return to my master; yet do I hope to see you once again. Will you not grant me that favor?'

"'Once more,' answered Garstoff mechanically.

"'Then come here to-morrow, and you will find a large chest; place yourself in it, and two slaves will bring you to me. Do you promise?'

"'I do, Zara,' and, in deep sorrow, Garstoff turned away.

"'Base dog!' muttered Zara, as she again muffled her features, 'you have rejected the daughter of Nemyl, and she sleeps not while you press the earth.'

"The favorite sped hastily back to the palace, and entered by a secret door, while the Kislar Aga, who had concealed himself near her at the mosque, and witnessed the interview, hastened to the queen mother, and made his report, when she exclaimed:

"'Allah be praised! this Circassian will soon be under the Bosphorus; for Zara will meet her gallant, and his serene highness shall behold himself dishonored.'

"Knowing the extreme affection entertained for Zara by Soliman, the cautious woman was wary in her communication, and did not reveal the whole matter, until the Sultan's suspicions had been aroused by her hints. He first ridiculed, then listened silently, then believed; and, finally, agreed to conceal himself in the Sultana's apartment, and judge for himself.

"He waited until the moment of assignation approached, and was looking upon the unconscious object of his gaze with returning confidence, when a curtain of the apartment was raised, and two negro slaves entered, bearing a large chest between them.

"Zara motioned for them to leave it and depart; and then raising the lid, Garstoff stepped forth, and the Sultan uttered an inward groan.

"'Drink this, and it will give you strength,' said Zara, presenting a goblet of liquor to the janissary.

"Garstoff raised the cup to his lips, and drained it at a draught; on which the fair Circassian burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

"'Is this a moment for merriment?' asked Garstoff, sternly.

"'Wine makes me merry!' she answered, drinking from another goblet. 'And now, Christian, do you know what you came here for?'

"'To see you for the last time.'

"'That is true, follower of Isauri—you go not hence alive!'

"'What mean you, woman?' exclaimed Garstoff, starting from his seat with pallid cheeks.

"'I mean that you have swallowed poison!' screamed Zara, the fire of insanity blazing from her eyes. 'You scorned the daughter of Nemyl, and she has taken revenge! Pray to Isauri—pray to—'

"Garstoff dropped upon the floor, a disfigured corpse, and the Sultan bounded from his place of concealment upon Zara; but the purple veins of her forehead were swelling out like cords, and before he could speak to her she was—dead!"

"Really," says Vitchisvitch, the Russian member, drawing a long breath, "there is too much of the 'blood and thunder' style about that story to suit me; but here is something more quiet."

And he proceeded, my boy, to make known unto us

THE LITTLE MAN IN GREEN.

"On a clear, cold night in December, Nicholas Dimitri, a young officer of Cossacks, was walking slowly through a public street of St. Petersburg, with a military cloak thrown over his shoulder, and looking steadfastly to the ground, as though intent upon some prospect of no ordinary interest. Acquaintances of all ranks were constantly passing him, but their silent salutes met no return, and many a surmise was hazarded as to what his mission was, that it caused such evident abstraction in one so generally admired for his flow d'esprit. Unconscious of attracting attention, Nicholas strode onwards wrapped in thought, until he became aware of violent collision with some person going in an opposite direction, and almost immediately a hoarse voice exclaimed:

"'What, in the name of all that's good, are you about? Are not the walks wide enough for both of us, that you must needs knock a man's breath out of his body in this way? By the Admiral's wig! I've a mind to return the compliment with my fists, you lubber.'