THE ORPHEUS C. KERR PAPERS. (continued 6)

"'You have made a great mistake, Mynheer Hermann,' he replied calmly. 'I came here with no such despicable intentions as those you attribute to me. To be plain and honest with you, I am here to ask a gift of you.'

"'What is it, boy?'

"'Your daughter, mynheer.'

"Dropping the pipe, and springing to his feet, Hermann confronted his guest, glaring upon him with vindictive fury.

"'Wretch! dare you insult me?' he howled, gnashing his teeth.

"'Mynheer Hermann, be calm, I beseech you; you have obliged me to make the request thus abruptly, and I am willing to abide the consequences. I love Marcella, and she loves me. I would make her my wife.'

"For a moment, the father held his hand to his brow and fixed a glance upon the young hunter, as though to read his inmost soul; then turning quickly to his child, who sat near him, trembling with fear, he asked excitedly:

"'Is this true, Marcella?'

"'Yes, dear father,' she replied, arising from her seat, and laying her head fondly upon his breast.

"He looked down upon her beautiful face, suffused with tears, in silence; slowly the flash of anger faded from his countenance, leaving the gleam of idolatrous affection shining there. The feelings of a parent overcame all others, and a bright drop glistened on his cheek.

"'My darling, my only treasure,' he murmured, pressing her closely to him. 'Your happiness is my only earthly object.'

"'Wilhelm,' he continued, placing his disengaged hand upon the youth's shoulder, 'I wronged you in my suspicions, and ask your forgiveness. Your face, as well as that of my darling, convince me that I wronged you. Yet I cannot grant you my child, until you have first heard somewhat of her history, and my own. Not but that she is a jewel, the proudest king might wear upon his bosom with honor,' he continued, with spirit; 'but no man shall ever accuse me of practising a lie.'

"He resumed his seat, still holding Marcella closely to his bosom, and went on:

"'To no other living being have I ever told my strange story, and there is that in your countenance, which tells me you are no traitor. Listen attentively to what I say: I was born on the estate of a nobleman in Transylvania, to whom my father was steward, and spent the happiest days of my existence roving about those vast domains, a free and joyous child. At the age of thirteen, I was placed in a school, where I advanced rapidly in learning, until I was the acknowledged phenomenon of the village, and the pride of my fond father. Years of unalloyed peace rolled over my head, during which I wooed the beautiful daughter of a landed gentleman—won and married her by stealth. Her father's rage knew no bounds in the first moments of discovery, and he threatened to separate us; but my wife's entreaties soon banished his anger, and we were soon received in full favor both by him and my own parents. Oh! what unsubstantial, foolish, joyous days were those! How did I idolize the girl, whom I had won, as a heathen worships his household god.

"'At length a fearful epidemic swept the country; my father was one of the first victims, and my heartbroken mother soon followed him, bequeathing us her dying benediction. It was my first trial, and in the bitterness of my grief, I left the familiar scenes of my boyhood. To this spot I came with my beautiful wife and built this cabin, resolving to spend the remainder of my days in these soothing solitudes. But my fate was yet to be accomplished. My father's employer found me out, and sent a message, earnestly requesting me to become his steward. Yielding to the importunities of my wife—for I could refuse her nothing—I accepted the proposal, and journeyed back to Transylvania with a heavy heart; for a cloud seemed hanging over me, a presentiment of sorrow to come. The nobleman received me more as an equal than as a servant, and uttered many encomiums on my father's worth, which could not but prove grateful to a heart like mine. I loved and honored him at once; and resolved to testify my gratitudë by a faithful discharge of my duties. He was still a young man, but I felt no jealousy, when the idol of my heart praised him, blind wretch that I was! At length, the cloud, so long forming, burst over me in a flood of misery. Almost immediately after the birth of our daughter, the father of my Marcella came to me and imparted a secret that almost deprived me of my senses. Poor old man! he thought I knew all before, and my ravings filled him with alarm. Frantically I swore revenge, and with murder in my heart, was about to seek the destroyer of my peace; but the old man restrained me, and after a violent debate, I resolved to say nothing to my wife about the matter, and kept a strict watch upon her. Alas! her father's suspicions proved too just. I surprised her in company with her paramour, and after loading them with the bitterest curses, took my daughter and returned to the hut under the cliff. My whole life was blighted, every hope was crushed; but the very madness of my despair gave me strength, and I swore vengeance on my enemy. On the evening of that fearful day, after lulling my unfortunate child to sleep, I knelt down on the flat stone before you, and in the fervor of delirium, called upon The Spirits of Hartz Mountains for aid. Scarcely had the sacrilegious petition left my lips, when there came a gentle knocking at the door, accompanied by a shrill bugle note, signifying bewilderment in the forest. Like one in a dream, I answered the mysterious summons, and immediately a White Fawn bounded into the hut, followed by a tall stranger, wrapped in a cloak of fine material.

"'"You called me and I have come," he said, in tones that made me shudder, and peer into his eyes, in which there was a fearful fascination which I could not resist.

"'"Who are you?" I managed to articulate.

"'"Varno of The Black Forest," he answered, in a voice of rolling thunder. I know not why it was, but at his reply my fear vanished, and my wrongs arose before me in their darkest coloring.

"'"Can you aid me?" I asked, returning his piercing glance. Never shall I forget the fearful distinctness with which he said:

"'"Hermann Vandervelt, I know what you would require of me, and you shall be satisfied, but there is a price attached to my services; three requests shall be granted, and then you must be mine, soul and body. Will you swear to this?"

"'Like a maniac, I fell upon my knees before the stranger, shouting, in the height of passion: "Grant me but revenge upon the betrayer of my honor, and I will be yours, eternally yours, soul and body yours; I swear by the God who—"

"'"Silence!" thundered the stranger, his eyes glowing like coals of withering, devouring fire.

"'"Hermann, you must swear by the Spirits of Hartz Mountains." Wrought up to frenzy, I obeyed him. He dictated a fearful oath, and when I had repeated it, he said, in tones that froze my blood:

"'"Hermann Vandervelt, take your rifle and seek your enemy; he shall fall by your hand. I will leave you this animal (pointing to the fawn,) and when you would see me, let it return to the forest. Remember, I have granted one request; two more shall be granted, and then you will be mine."

"'His horrid laugh is still ringing in my ears. In silence, I opened the door, and beheld, dimly through the darkness, a tall steed with blazing eyes, standing motionless upon the plain. As the stranger passed me, a momentary chill, like that of the grave, fell upon me; he mounted, and I saw him no longer. Grasping my rifle, I fled through the darkness like a fiend of blood, the White Fawn following my footsteps like a hound. No rest, no meat, did I take until I saw my enemy lying before me, bleeding to death, while the Fawn lapped his blood.

"'"I am Hermann!" I shouted in his ears, and then flew back wildly, as I came. My child was nearly dead from neglect when I returned from the doubly-cursed spot; but I tended her faithfully, and she soon went forth with me to the forest; and the White Fawn never left her side.

"'I was a successful hunter at first; but suddenly my fortune changed, and I could get no more food. Then was the spell of madness on me once more, and I set the White Fawn free. Again there came a knocking at the door; again the Fawn sprang in, followed by its master. My second request was granted—there remains but one more! From that night my familiar has met me on the borders of the Black Forest nightly, and the darkest depths are filled with game for me. Such is my story, Wilhelm, and here, on my bosom, reposes the child of my affection. Speak boldly, as becomes a man; would you wed the daughter of Hermann, the Demented?'

"While the old man related his fearful story, various emotions were apparent on the handsome face of Wilhelm, but at its conclusion unwavering resolution was stamped upon his features.

"'Hermann!' he said, extending his right hand to the old hunter, 'I sincerely pity you as the victim of circumstances, but the blight does not touch Marcella; I love her more dearly than ever, and if you will give her to me, she shall find in me a husband who would shed his last drop of blood for her.'

"'Wilhelm, you are worthy of my child, take her and may heaven grant you the blessings it has denied to me. Bring a holy man here to-morrow, and make her rightly yours. I would see her happy before I—' He suddenly paused, placed his weeping daughter in her lover's arms, and turned aside to hide the starting tear.

"Soon Wilhelm was wending his way over the plain, and the innocent Marcella retired to her narrow apartment of wolf skins; but the old man sat with his face beneath the lamp, and the White Fawn crouched beside him. Long did he meditate through the lonely watches of the night, and the sweat of agony stood upon his temples. Slowly did he stagger to where the wolf skins hung, and raising them in his trembling hands, dwelt mournfully upon the picture before him. There, on her couch, in all the artless grace of slumber, lay the only being on earth whom he loved. One faultless arm was hidden beneath the pillow, the other half shadowed her face, and bore a glossy veil of flaxen curls. Her ruby lips were apart, as though she had fallen asleep while yet the evening prayer was on her tongue. Dimly streamed the light of the swinging lamp upon the human temple of purity, and Hermann, the Demented, wept like an artless child.

"'It must be done—it is the last,' he murmured, dropping the rude partition, and quickly opening the cabin door.

"Swift as the meteor falling through the shades of night, flew the White Fawn out into the darkness, with a plaintive cry. With bowed head the old man clasped his hands and listened. He hears a shot, a bugle note echoes through the dew-ladened air, and the ghostly rider is again at his door.

"'You sent for me, and I am here,' said Varno, entering the cabin, and casting the White Fawn cold and dead, upon the floor.

"'I ask your aid!' said Hermann firmly.

"'Remember, it is the third and last time,' muttered the stranger.

"'I will fulfil my oath. Grant me my wish.'

"'Beware!' thundered the other.

"'Speak not so loudly, or you will wake my child,' said the hunter, gazing fearfully toward where Marcella slept.

"'Fear not, good Hermann, the sleep of the innocent cannot be disturbed by a Spirit of Evil. Declare your wish and it shall be granted.'

"'Then hear me, fiend, devil, or whatever thou art! I would have my child happy; I would have her husband ever warm in his love for her as he is this moment; I would have the curse of her parents forever averted from her head. Grant me this and I am thine.'

"'It shall be so,' answered Varno, with something like pity in his tones. 'Thou must meet me at sunset on the evening of to-morrow, beside the Witch's Circle—there shall our compact be fulfilled. This is the third and last. Remember.

"The dark spirit passed from the hut under the cliff but his shadow lingered behind; and the old hunter knelt beneath the swinging lamp, with the dead fawn at his feet, desolate and lone.

"The day smiled brightly on Marcella, the genial sunbeams dispelling night's horrors. She looked sadly when her father told her how the White Fawn had been wounded by some wandering hunter, and had sought the hut to die there; but the presence of Wilhelm made her cheerful as the morn, and Hermann felt rewarded for his sacrifice.

"A missionary monk stood within the old cabin, and said the words that joined two lives in one. When the holy rite was finished, the wedded pair knelt at the feet of The Demented, and called down Heaven's richest blessings on his head; but alas! he could not say 'Amen,' for he remembered his compact, and the words of Varno still rang in his ears. He watched his child with more than earthly care till the sun began to sink once more behind the Black Forest, then seizing his rifle, he kissed her blushing cheek, and sallied forth toward the mountains.

"'Dear father, may you soon give up such unholy pastimes,' murmured Marcella, looking fondly after him as his grey hairs floated in the wind.

"'God grant that he may,' murmured her husband, fervently, pressing her to his heart.

"But the old hunter returned no more. The wolf started as he lay in his lair, when a man rushed by his covert in the Black Forest. A bugle, wildly sounded, awoke the bird in his leafy bower. Two men met at the Witch's Circle, while a day was dying, and the shades of the wood closed over them forever."

* * * * *

Yours, contemplatively, Orpheus C. Kerr.

LETTER LXXIX.

SHOWING HOW THE NATIONAL INSANITARY COMMITTEE MADE A STRANGE BLUNDER; HOW THE BELOVED GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE WAS REMOVED AND EXALTED; AND ENDING WITH AN INFALLIBLE RECIPE.

Washington, D. C., November 15th, 1862.

As I calmly observe the present situation of our military affairs, my boy, and consider how persistently the Blue Ridge continues to get between our great strategic army and the dilapidated Southern Confederacy, I am impressed with the idea that the salvation of our distracted country demands the removal of either the Blue Ridge or the beloved General of the Mackerel Brigade.

I admit, my boy, that the Mackerel Brigade has spent time enough in one locality since the last battle to remove the incompetent and imbecile Blue Ridge, and that the immense number of spades consigned to that veteran corps might be construed into the belief that they were really engaged in that great stragetic task. Furthermore, that the Mackerels have only succeeded in marching fifteen miles in six weeks, legitimates the supposition that they are going up very steep hills; but it must be borne in mind, my boy, that it is the Honest Abe's best policy to conciliate all political parties for the sake of Northern unity of action, and it cannot be doubted that the removal of the Blue Ridge at this crisis would occasion the bitterest heart-burnings and jealousies in the manly bosom of our nation's Democratic organization. It would be construed into proof that the Honest Abe had yielded to the fiendish clamor of the crazy Abolitionists, and had rendered a restoration of the adored Union-as-it-Was of our forefathers impossible, by destroying that Blue Ridge which was an essential part of the Union. The manly Organization, my boy, would prefer an armistice with the unseemly Confederacy to a removal of the Blue Ridge—a removal, my boy, authorized neither by the Constitution, the pursuit of happiness, nor the rights of man. The Blue Ridge is at the head of our army, and our army is at the foot of the Blue Ridge. The mistaken Confederacy is on the other side, my boy, and the Organization very justly reasons, that the fiendish Abolitionists virtually confess themselves to be, in heart, on the same side with the Confederacy; for if their desired removal of the Blue Ridge were carried out, the distinction of the two opposite sides would be practically lost, and the United States of America and the Southern Confederacy would be all on one side, and there might be an unconstitutional collision.

Hence, my boy, the Honest Abe has concluded to leave the Blue Ridge where it is, and remove the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade.

But before I proceed to describe the inexpressible anguish produced by the adoption of even this grievous alternative, permit me to record the useful proceedings of the National Insanitary Committee, in their philanthropical investigation of the lunacy now prevailing to an alarming extent in the Army of Accomac.

For some weeks past, my boy, insanity has been frightfully upon the increase in the ranks of the unconquerable Mackerel Brigade. Many Mackerels have even gone raving at times, persisting in the vague and incoherent exclamation that they "Couldn't See It." There was some hope that this terrible mental aberration might be stayed, if the superannuated corps were supplied with spectacles; but the relief thus given was only temporary; and finally, when one of the poor maniac chaps went so far as to yell, that, even by the aid of his spectacles, he couldn't see what was the use of butting against the Blue Ridge all the time, it was deemed proper to call in the National Insanitary Committee.

Captain Samyule Sa-mith, whose duty it was to draw the Brigade up in two lines—the sane chaps on one side of the fence, and the insane on the other—hastened back to Accomac to finish a game of "Old Sledge," on which four drinks were distinctly pending, and left the aged Committee to perform its task at leisure.

In anticipation of this sad ceremony, my boy, I had sent my architectural steed, the gothic Pegasus, down to Accomac, and thither I went on Tuesday morning, to amble totteringly from thence to the scene of Insanitary proceedings.

The Committee had just commenced work upon its line of chaps, and was examining the patients one by one.

The first invalid, Lively Mike, was born in the Sixth Ward, and weighed ninety-two pounds. He was a poor, slouching chap, my boy, resembling poverty's Ruin, two-thirds covered by an ivy vine of rags. His angular countenance was rich with unwashings, save a clean irregular circle just around his ugly mouth.

I asked how it happened that this one part of his face was clean, when all the rest was dirty; and they told me, my boy, that it was the place where his poor old mother had kissed him at parting.

Lively Mike's first symptom of his dreadful malady was a feeling of overwhelming weariness, as though he had been for a long time in one spot doing nothing. The feeling deepened into sullen, dangerous madness, until it was finally unsafe to let him go at large, as he had several times attempted to shoot scouting Confederacies.

The next hopeless patient was Big-nose Jake. Born at the commencement of his career in the Sixth Ward, and weighing ninety-four pounds without his knapsack, Big-nose had always enjoyed good health, with the exception of starvation; but was in the habit of muttering to himself that Strategy was a great humbug, and he'd rather die at home in his bunk in the engine-house than in a swamp, without a single fire in six months. His only way of keeping warm was by occasionally huddling up to a Confederate picket, and receiving his fire.

No. 3 was Baby Jim, a resident of the Sixth Ward for many years, and weighing ninety-one pounds. His first attack of his malady came in the shape of an incoherent and irrepressible desire to get up a Directory of Army Names, so that the families of Mackerels in the Army of Accomac might know where their relatives were, and how old they had got to be. Sometimes he would be suddenly seized with the absurd notion that the General of the Mackerel Brigade was killing more men by strategy than would be slain in fifty battles.

Another hapless maniac was Cross-eyed Tom. His family is well known in the Sixth Ward; weight, ninety-seven pounds. Always enjoyed excellent health, until one day, when it suddenly struck him—uncalled-for, as it were—that he hadn't seen the Colonel of his regiment for six months. The demon of insanity tempted him to believe that his Colonel had all along been drinking bad gin and threatening to resign, in Washington, instead of staying with his men and getting acquainted with them. He knew that he must be entirely mistaken about this, but couldn't shake off the horrible delusion.

A fifth lunatic was the Worth street Chicken. Had voted several times a day in the Sixth Ward, and weighed ninety-nine pounds. The Chicken could not say that he was really a sick man; but had moments when he could not resist the malignant temptation to imagine, that the celebrated Southern Confederacy was just as even with us now as it was a year ago, with several majestic raids for small trumps. At times he was troubled with bad dreams about all the Treasury Notes becoming worthless if the General of the Mackerel Brigade went into winter quarters.

And so the Insanitary Committee went down the whole line, my boy, closely questioning the poor chaps who had lost their reason, and eliciting continued proofs of the national ravages of Insanity.

"Truly," says the chief Insanitary chap, cleaning his nails with his jack-knife; "truly these unhappy beings are hopelessly deranged, and must be sent to the Asylum. Their ravings are beyond all precedent."

Just as he finished speaking, my boy, and whilst he was picking his teeth to assist meditation, Captain Samyule Sa-mith came riding hastily in from his successful game of "Old Sledge," bringing the stakes with him, and says he:

"Well, old Medicusses, have you examined the beings which is unhappily bereft of sense?"

"Yea," says the Insanitary chap, with a grievous groan, "we've examined all those poor creatures, in that whole line, and find them all hopelessly and incurably mad."

Samyule gave such a start that he split one of his boots, and says he:

"Which line?"

"Why, that line there," says the chap, pointing.

"By all that's Federal!" says Samyule, slapping his left leg; "I'll be blessed if you old goslings hav'n't been examining the WRONG LINE! Them veterans there are the sane ones!"

Insanity, my boy, like Charity, so seldom begins at home, that we sometimes mistake the best kind of sanity for it when we meet the latter, as a stranger, abroad. The man we call a maniac is frequently nothing more than a sane man seen through a maniac's spectacles.

But the whole body of Mackerels, sane and insane alike, unite in a feeling of strong anguish blended with enthusiasm, at the removal of the beloved General of the Mackerel Brigade. He has been so much a Father to them all, that they never expected to get a step farther while he was with them.

There's a piece of domestic philosophy for you, my boy.

When the General heard of his removal, my boy, he said that it was like divorcing a husband from a wife, who had always supported him, and immediately let fly the following

Farewell Address. Head-quarters of the Army of Accomac, Foot of the Blue Ridge.

My Children:

An order from the Honest Abe divorces us, and gives the command of all these attached beings to Major-General Wobert Wobinson. (Heartrending and enthusiastic cheers.)

In parting with you, I cannot express how much I love your dear bosoms. As an army, you have grown from youth to old age under my care. In you I have never found doubt nor coldness, nor anything else. The victories you have won under my command will live in the nation's works of fiction. The strategy we have achieved, the graves of many unripe Mackerels, the broken forms of those disabled by the Emancipation Proclamation—the strongest associations that can exist among men—still make it advisable that you should vote for me as President of the United States in 1865. Thus we shall ever be comrades in supporting the Constitution, and making the Constitution support us.

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

It was while this affecting document was being read to the Army, my boy, that a procession of political chaps with banners and a small cannon, landed from a boat on Awlkwyet River, and came filing affably into camp. Only pausing to insult two correspondents of the Tribune, and to fire the cannon so close to a farmhouse that it broke all the windows, these pleasant chaps at once organized a meeting and gave orders that all fighting should be postponed till after the session.

The Hon. Mr. X. Stream proceeded to say that he considered Mr. Lincoln a strictly honest, upright, able, and noble-hearted man (cheers); but it could not be denied that his Administration was a wretched failure—a blending of brutal imbecility with hellish despotism. (Much enthusiasm). While it continued so, everything in the stock-market would go up—up—UP! until the bubble burst. The General of the Mackerel Brigade had been removed (universal sobbing) but it was only that he might shine the brighter before a Democratic Convention in 1865.

The Hon. Prince Van Brumagen next spoke. Undoubtedly, he would be called a traitor for what he was about to say, but he was accustomed to that sort of talk from every one who knew him. He wished to see this war vigorously pushed forward; but he could never consent to see violence offered to men who only warred against us because they were mistaken. Our Southern friends had imagined that the Abolitionists wanted to prevent their enjoyment of the pursuit of happiness which was guaranteed to them by the Constitution. They were mistaken, and seceded. The Union as it was had passed away from us, but was undoubtedly somewhere on the Globe; and as the Globe was constantly revolving, we had only to stand still, and it would come round again to us in due time.

The Hon. Fernando Fuel next undressed his thoughts to the meeting. As proprietor of the City of New York, which he had frequently bought, he protested against the removal of the General of the Mackerel Brigade at this inclement season of the year. The idolized General was beloved even by the Rebels, and his own devoted troops had cheered even louder when parting with him, if possible, than when he had first come among them.

Here the speaker was interrupted by a chap who suddenly touched off the cannon and simultaneously unfurled a new banner. Borrowing a piece of smoked glass, I looked through it at the dazzling standard, and read upon its eloquent folds:

REGULAR HIGH-MORAL NOMINATIONS! FOR THE SENATE IMMEDIATELY; AND FOR PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES IN 1865. THE (LATE) GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE.

Observe, my boy, this simple rule, to make a hero of a fool:

Just keep him where he is, until his lack of wisdom, want of Skill, attract unto his banner those who, from perverseness, will have foes. Then freely make his dullness known; and when you'd cast him from his throne, you'll find become his followers true, all men who seek a feud with you. To serve the always-malcontent, and give their spleen a chance for vent, a knave, a dunce, a stump! would do as well, my boy, as I, or you.

When cats and politicians quarrel, "use any cat's-paw", is the moral.

Yours, sagely, Orpheus C. Kerr.

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The National School for the Soldier.

Elementary work for the soldier; by Capt. Van Ness, 50 cts.

Tom Tiddler's Ground.

Charles Dickens's new Christmas Story, paper cover, 25 cts.

National Hymns.

An essay by Richard Grant White. 8vo. embellished, $1.00.

George Brimley.

Literary Essays reprinted from the British Quarterlies, $1.25.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

First complete collection of Poems, blue and gold binding, $1.00.

Out of His Head.

A strange and eccentric romance by T. B. Aldrich, $1.00.

The Course of True Love.

Never did run smooth. A Poem by Thomas B. Aldrich, 50 cts.

Poems of a Year.

By Thomas B. Aldrich, author of "Babie Bell," &c., 75 cts.

The King's Bell.

A Mediæval Legend in verse, by R. H. Stoddard, 75 cts.

The Morgesons.

A clever novel of American Life, by Mrs. R. H. Stoddard, $1.00.

Beatrice Cenci.

An historical novel by F. D. Guerrazzi, from the Italian, $1.50.

Isabella Orsini.

An historical novel by the author of "Beatrice Cenci," $1.25.

A Popular Treatise on Deafness.

For individuals and families, by E. B. Lighthill, M.D., $1.00.

Oriental Harems and Scenery.

A gossipy work, translated from the French of Belgiojoso, $1.25.

Lola Montez.

Her lectures and autobiography, with a steel portrait, $1.25.

John Doe and Richard Roe.

A novel of New York city life, by Edward S. Gould, $1.00.

Doesticks' Letters.

The original letters of this great humorist, illustrated, $1.50.

Plu-ri-bus-tah.

A comic history of America, by "Doesticks," illus., $1.50.

The Elephant Club.

A humorous description of club-life, by "Doesticks," $1.50.

Vernon Grove.

A novel by Mrs. Caroline H. Glover, Charleston, S. C., $1.00.

The Book of Chess Literature.

A complete Encyclopædia of this subject, by D. W. Fiske, $1.50.

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