"Being members of a race which we regard as a speshees of monkeys, my

black children, the fact that this is a white man's war will prevent

your taking part in the entirely different race about to come off.

After the manner of Andrew Jackson at New Orleans, I have called upon

you to do something for your adopted country; but as my friend Andrew

was particular to make his proclamation read '_free_ negroes,' there

can be no parallel between the two cases further. Therefore, return to

your masters, my children, and tell them that the United States of

America wars not against them rights of which you are a part. Go! And

remember, that as Gradual Emancipation is about to come off, you will

soon know the juicy richness of being free to visit all parts of the

world, except those not included in the pleasing map of Nova Zembla."

The contrabands departed, my boy, in blissful procession, and many of

them are undoubtedly happy enough now. Happier, my boy, than they could

hope to be if suffered to remain in this conservative and

constitutional world.

While the Mackerels were coming out of their holes, and polishing their

shovels for the march, I observed that the general walked thoughtfully

to his tent, in deep silence. I found Captain Villiam Brown expelling

two reporters from the lines, lest they should prematurely divulge the

movement then going on to the Confederacy seated on an adjacent fence,

and says I to him:

"Tell me, my fiery warrior, wherefore is it that the chieftain seeks

his solitary tent?"

"Ah!" says Villiam, reverently, "it is to pray for the cause of liberty

and the rights of man, after the manner of George Washington, Mount

Vernon, Virginia. Come with me, my cherub," says Villiam piously, "and

you shall see martial greatness in a touching aspeck."

We went softly to the tent together, my boy, and there beheld the

beloved general of the Mackerel Brigade, with his face devoutly

upturned. His face was devoutly upturned, my boy; but we could see

something intervening between his countenance and the sky, and

discovered, upon closer inspection, that it was a tumbler. Can it be,

my boy, that this good man thought that Heaven, like any distant

earthly object, could be brought nearer by looking toward it through a

glass? Here is food for thought, my boy--here is food for thought.

And now, Commodore Head having fished his iron-clad fleet from the

tempestuous bosom of Duck Lake, and everything being in readiness--the

march of the Mackerel Brigade commenced, with a silence so intense that

we could distinctly hear all that anybody said.

First, came a delegation of political chaps from the Sixth Ward,

conversing with each other on the state of the country, and considering

eight hundred and forty excellent plans for saving the Union, and

getting up a straight-out ticket.

Then appeared the well-known promenade band of the Mackerel Brigade,

executing divers pleasant _morceaux_ on his night-key bugle, an

occasional stumble over a stone giving the airs a happy variety of

sudden _obligati_ improvements.

Next appeared the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade, modestly

refusing to receive all the credit for the skillful movement, and

assuring his staff that he really would not prefer to be President of

the United States in 1865.

Followed by Commodore Head, with his squadron on his shoulders,

swearing as usual in his iron-plated manner, and vowing to capture

Vicksburg before he was twenty years older.

Then advanced Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, Captain Bob Shorty, and

Captain Samyule Sa-mith, each indignantly rejecting the idea that this

movement was a retreat, and expressing the hope that Wendell Phillips

would be immediately hung for it.

Then came a train of wagons containing all the provisions that could

not be thrown away.

Succeeded by the Mackerel Brigade with shovels at a shoulder-arms, and

noses suggestive of strawberry patches in the balmy month of June.

And was this _all_ the procession? you will ask; did nothing come after

the Brigade itself?

I am not a positive man, my boy, and care not to assert a thing unless

I positively know it to be true. It was growing dark when we reached

our destination, and I could not see distinctly toward the rear: yet I

think I _did_ see something coming after the Mackerel Brigade.

What was it?

It was the Southern Confederacy, my boy--the Southern Confederacy.

Your, excitedly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXIV.

SHOWING HOW THE COSMOPOLITANS MET AGAIN, TO BE INTRODUCED TO THE

"NEUTRAL BRITISH GENTLEMAN," AND HEAR MR. BONBON'S FRENCH

STORY.

WASHINGTON, D. C., August 25th, 1862

Ever since the British chap read all that unpublished British poetry at

the Club, my boy, I have been anxious to favor him with an "Idyl,"

written by a friend of mine who has traveled much in Albion, and writes

_ex-cathedra_. Last night there was a fair chance, and I then introduced

THE NEUTRAL BRITISH GENTLEMAN.

Incrusted in his island home that lies beyond the sea,

Behold the great original and genuine 'TIS HE;

A paunchy, fuming Son of Beef, with double weight of chin,

And eyes that were benevolent--but for their singular tendency

to turn green whenever it is remarked that his

irrepressible American cousins have made another

Treaty with China ahead of him--and taken Albion in.

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

With William, Duke of Normandy, his ancestors, he boasts,

Came over from the shores of France to whip the Saxon hosts;

And this he makes a source of pride; but wherefore there should be

Such credit to an Englishman--in the fact that he is descended

from a nation which England is forever pretending

to regard as slightly her inferior in everything,

and particularly behind her in military and naval

affairs--we really cannot see.

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

He deals in Christianity, Episcopalian brand,

And sends his missionaries forth to bully heathen land;

Just mention "Slavery" to him, and with a pious sigh

He'll say it's 'orrid, scandalous--although he's ready to fight

for the Cotton raised by slaves, and forgets how he

butchered the Chinese to make them take Opium,

and blew the Sepoys from the guns because the

poor devils refused to be enslaved by the East India

Company--or his phi-lan-thro-py.

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

He yields to Brother Jonathan a love that passeth show--

"We're Hanglo-Saxons, both of us, and carn't be foes, you know."

But as a Christian Englishman, he cannot, cannot hide

His horror of the spectacle--of four millions of black beings

being held in bondage by a nation professing the

largest liberty in the world, though in case of an

anti-slavery crusade the interests of his Manchester

factors would imperatively forbid him to--take

part on either side.

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

Now seeing the said Jonathan by base rebellion stirred,

And battling with pro-slavery, it might be thence inferred

That British sympathy, at last, would spur him on to strife;

But, strange to say, this sympathy--is labelled "NEUTRALITY,"

and consigned to any rebel port not too closely blockaded

to permit English vessels, loaded with munitions, to

slip in. And when you ask Mr. Bull what he means

by this inconsistent conduct, he becomes virtuously

indignant, rolls up his eyes, and says: "I carn't

endure to see brothers murdering each other and

keeping me out of my cotton--I carn't, upon my life!"

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

Supposing Mr. Bull should die, the question might arise:

Will he be wanted down below, or wafted to the skies?

Allowing that he had his choice, it really seems to me

The moral British Gentleman--would choose a front seat with

his Infernal Majesty; since Milton, in his blank

verse correspondence with old _Times_, more than

once hinted the possibility of Nick's rebellion

against Heaven succeeding; and as the Lower Secessia

has cottoned to England through numerous

Hanoverian reigns, such a choice on the part of the

philanthropical Britisher would be simply another

specimen--of his NEUTRAL-I-TY!

This Neutral British Gentleman, one of the modern time.

When Smith-Brown had heard that, my boy, he sniffed grievously, and

says he: "England never _was_ happreciated in this blarsted country."

I believe him, my boy.

It being Bonbon's turn to read a story, he unrolled his papers and gave

us

THE CONFESSION.

"During my short stay in France, I belonged to a convent of Carthusian

monks, and there became acquainted with the man whose confession

constitutes my story. He had applied for admission to our order, as one

who had tired of life's gaieties, and bestowed his wealth, which was

enormous, upon the holy church. Brother Dominique was the name he

assumed; and his austere devotion speedily gained him notoriety for

great piety; but there was something so unnatural in his actions, and,

at times, so incoherent in his speech, that we, who were his daily

companions, involuntarily shuddered when he spoke to us. Among the

various incongruities of his character, was a gloomy reserve--or,

rather, pride, which repulsed all advances of friendship, and impressed

upon the mind a conviction that Brother Dominique's religion was more

like that of a hypocrite foiled in his schemes, than of a pure-minded

man, whose sense of duty to his Creator had induced him to assume the

serge and rosary. This conviction was more than confirmed by his

occasional exclamations of anger and defiance, as though once more a

prey to the passions of an outer world; and, at the expiration of a

year from the time of his entrance, the new brother was an object of

suspicion, if not dislike, to the whole convent, excepting myself.

"My sentiments in regard to him were those of pity; for I felt

confident that some great sorrow was preying upon his mind; and the

wild agony which would often contort his whole countenance, while at

evening prayers, made me anxious to know something of his history.

"One evening, having received an order to visit the cell of Dominique

from our superior, I was surprised to find a curiously-fashioned lamp,

burning in a niche, directly opposite an iron cot, on which the monk

was sleeping. Knowing that the convent rules expressly forbade a light

at that hour, I was about to extinguish it, when there fell upon my

startled ear a loud yell, like that of a springing tiger, and, in an

instant, I was seized by the throat. Filled with dismay, I struggled to

extricate myself, when the beams of the lamp fell upon the writhing

features of Dominique, pallid as those of a corpse, and spattered with

froth from his lips.

"'Devil, I defy thee!' he exclaimed, dashing me violently against the

wall; and then quitting his hold.

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

my breath.

"'It is a lie! I am not mad!' he ejaculated, glaring fiercely upon me,

and biting his lip until the blood streamed from his beard.

"Hardly knowing what I did, I again approached the lamp; when he again

sprang to my side, and pushed me violently from before it.

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

"'You are excited,' I replied, with all the calmness I could muster. 'I

thought you were asleep, or I should first have spoken to you about

your lamp, the burning of which, at this late hour, is a violation of

the rules.'

"He covered his face with his hands while I was speaking; and when he

again looked up, all traces of former agitation had vanished.

"'Forgive me, father,' he said, with composure. 'Our superior has

granted me the privilege of having a light always burning, as I am

subject to fits, such as you have just witnessed, and cannot do without

it. God have mercy upon me! I might have murdered you,' he added,

turning suddenly pale again, and leaning against the damp wall.

"I delivered my message, being anxious to leave a being whose passions

were so violent when aroused; but he called me back as I turned away,

and resting upon his hard bed, motioned for me to take a seat beside

him.

"I hesitated about complying at first; but there was an expression of

mingled sorrow and entreaty resting upon his whole countenance, that

awoke my sympathy and conquered fear. Closing the door of the cell, I

obeyed him in silence, and sat down with a feeling of awe not to be

defined.

"'Father,' he said, laying one hand on each of my shoulders, and

staring fixedly in my face, 'Will you hear me confess?'

"The extreme abruptness of the question made me start from him with a

gesture of surprise, but I answered not.

"'Will you hear a tale of crime from a criminal?' he continued,

pressing heavily upon me, 'a tale of murder from a murderer!'

"I felt convinced that I had a maniac to deal with, and remembering to

have heard that any sign of timidity but added fuel to the fires of

insanity, I steadily returned his stare, and responded as quietly as I

could.

"'Brother Dominique, if your soul is burthened with crimes, why not

confess to the superior who is our father confessor?'

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

"Fearful that, by refusing, I should again arouse him to violence, I

drew my cowl closely over my head to guard against the damp air, and

bade him tell me his sorrows.

"He, at once, fell upon his knees before me--nor could I persuade him

to assume any other attitude.

"'Here on my knees,' he began, 'will I tell a tale that shall freeze

your blood, and make you turn from me in scorn, or hatred. You will not

betray me?'

"I assured him I would not.

"'I am the last of a noble Florentine house, which bears the names of

sovereigns upon its registers. My father was a cold, stern man, proud

of his high descent, and arrogant with those beneath him. My mother was

the daughter of a Venetian noble, bright and beautiful as a diamond,

and insensible to all the softer warmths of women as is that precious

gem. I was their only child, and all the love their hearts were capable

of feeling was bestowed upon me; all my desires were gratified ere

expressed; obsequious menials stood about my path eager to obey my

slightest nod; velvet received my infant footsteps, and the atmosphere

around me was one of mellow music.

"'I grew up to manhood a pampered child of fortune, happy only in the

midnight orgie or early morning revel, and the most polished profligate

of my native city; yet my father regarded me with feelings of pride,

and my mother looked upon her son as one well worthy to inherit the

flaunting fortunes of his house. Although my father was ever kind to me

he was subject to occasional fits of violence, when he would beat the

servants, and render it necessary for his friends to confine him. It

was said that he had seized a gipsey woman who had been caught in the

act of stealing, causing her to be burned alive, and that while the

flames were torturing the poor wretch, she had denounced her

executioner with the bitterest execrations, and declared that he and

his offspring should feel the curse of madness. The prophecy so worked

upon my father's mind as to occasion periodical attacks of insanity, at

which seasons he would rave fearfully, and, as I said before, render

temporary confinement necessary. I cannot say that the knowledge of

this fact had any effect upon me then, for I was gay and thoughtless;

but, alas! it has since proved my bane, and poisoned every cup that has

touched my lips.

"'Onward I flew, in a whirl of wildest dissipation, until my

twenty-first birth day, when my father ordered me to meet him in the

library at a certain hour. Not daring to disobey him, although I

anticipated some cutting rebuke for my late headlong course, I waited

upon him at the appointed time, and was relieved when he asked me in a

kind tone to take a seat near him.

"'"Dominique," he said, "you have now reached an age when you must give

up childish follies, and be a man. You are my only son, and my titles

and fortune must one day be yours. It is my hope that you may support

them with honor; but, in order to do this you must take a decided step

at once--you must marry."

"'Although arrived at that period of life when woman usually becomes

the principal object of man's hope and ambition, I was totally

indifferent to them, and ridiculed those of my friends who had married,

or, as I termed it, become slaves for life. But I knew my father's

temper too well to thwart him, and appeared to acquiesce in his designs

for my future benefit. He informed me that the lady whom he had

selected to be my bride, was of a noble family, and would be at our

villa in a few days, when he wished me to render myself as agreeable as

possible, and at once commence my wooing.

"'I left him with a feeling of despair at being so soon obliged to give

up my gay companions and become suppliant to one whom I had never

before seen, and belonging to a sex that I held in contempt.

"'In my trouble I appealed to a young nobleman, an associate of mine,

for advice, and he recommended that I should go abroad without my

father's knowledge--afterwards giving him my reasons for so doing in a

letter, and humbly asking his forgiveness. This advice just suited my

disposition, and I resolved to follow it. Accordingly I collected

sufficient funds for my journey, and on the morning of the day when my

intended bride was to arrive at our villa, I started with my valet for

France.

"'Upon reaching Paris I wrote to my father, declaring my determination

to remain unmarried until tired of being my own master, and concluding

by asking his pardon for the step which I had taken. My father did not

answer this letter, and hence I supposed that he was seriously

offended; but this conviction did not prey upon my mind for any length

of time--indeed, I soon became more notorious in the French capital

than I had been at home for unbounded extravagance and heedless

dissipation. The well-known prominence and wealth of my family gained

access for me to the circles of the most exclusive aristocracy. The

glory and power of the unfortunate Louis and his peerless queen, Marie

Antoinette, were already on the wane; yet their magnificence far

eclipsed that of any other European court, and many traitors stood in

the glittering throng that swarmed about them, whose meekly down-cast

eyes were destined to blaze with the fires of rebellion, and whose

swords were yet to flash terror into the heart of that sovereign who

regarded them then as the staunchest bulwarks of his throne. With all

due ceremony, I was presented to the ill-fated representatives of

royalty, and quickly found myself the cynosure of all eyes, leered at

by languishing dames, sneered at by those of my own sex whom nature had

slighted, and honored with the attention of more than one aristocrat

who afterwards fell a victim to the fury of red republicanism. But the

sword of Damocles was suspended over our heads, and it soon fell with a

clash that aroused echoes in every corner of the globe. When first the

ferocious Club proclaimed its prerogative, I joined with others in

treating it as a subject beneath our notice; but, as the flames of

insurrection spread, and street barricades were successfully defended

against the assaults of the National Guard, I began to feel the danger

of being an aristocrat, and take measures for flight when events should

have reached their crisis. It was too late. At the dead of night, I was

aroused from my sleep by a violent uproar in the street below,

accompanied by a thundering at the court yard gates of my hotel. I

sprang from my couch to the window, and, with a vague apprehension of

what was to come, pulled aside the curtain and looked forth. Holy

Virgin! what a sight was there!--Thousands of howling demons, fast

losing all semblance of humanity, surging and roaring like an infernal

sea, with ghastly death-lights leaping above its waves and drowning

grim shadows beneath. 'Blood! blood!' was their watchword, and I heard

my name bandied from lip to lip, with bitter execrations. My pride was

aroused, and conquered every other emotion. Hastily drawing a heavy

military cloak over my head and form, I opened the casement, and walked

out upon the balcony. So completely did my garment shroud me, that the

bloodhounds knew me not, and for a moment their hellish cries sank into

dead silence.

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

"'"_Vive le Roi!_" I shouted in answer.

"'Oh, what rage there was in the yell responsive to my taunt. It seemed

as though Pandemonium had sent its countless fiends to join in the

chorus of brutal fury. The gates were fast yielding, and my servants

were constantly reminding me with pallid faces that I was ruthlessly

sacrificing their lives for my own. In a moment, my resolution was

made. I hastily assumed my usual dress, and wrapping the cloak about

me, went down into the court and placed myself in a dark corner.

"'"Open the gates," I cried, disguising my voice, and throwing it as

far forward as possible.

"'With quaking limbs, my servant obeyed the order, and in another

moment, I felt the hot tide of devils bolting past me, into the elegant

saloons of my hotel. So intent were the mob upon despoiling and

plundering, that I was enabled to gain the street unmolested; but at

that point, some enemy called my name, and with a shout of triumph,

hundreds of infuriate demons started toward me. Knowing that resistance

would be worse than madness, I drew my sword, and clenching it firmly

in my right hand, with the point in front of me, I ran swiftly before

them. Again arose the shouts, and onward came my enemies, panting for

blood. Desperation gave me strength, and like a hunted deer, I far

out-sped my pursuers; but human nature cannot be taxed beyond a certain

point, and as I turned into the Rue St. Martin, my strength began to

fail me, and my breath came hot and quick. Giving up all hope of escape

and resolving to sell my life dearly, I was about to stand at bay, when

an open door in a house close by caught my glance, and with the

rapidity of thought, I darted through and closed it behind me. My

hunters had not yet turned the corner, but I could hear their cries and

with regained strength, I ascended a flight of stairs and entered an

apartment, when a scream of surprise arrested my progress. A young girl

stood before me with uplifted hands and astonishment painted upon every

feature.

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

"'"I am pursued by the _canaille_, mademoiselle, and entered here to

recruit my strength. I will die like a man."

"'"You are a royalist?"

"'"Yes."

"'I turned to the door, when she eyed me closely for some moments, and

then opening a closet in the wall, pointed to its interior, without

speaking. I saw at once that she wished to save me, and after raising

her hands to my lips in mute expression of my gratitude, I entered the

closet, and heard her turn the key in the lock. Almost at the same

moment, loud shouts arose from the street and heavy footsteps were

heard ascending the stairs.

"'"Whose house is this?" demanded a gruff voice, as its owner

apparently entered the room, in company with others.

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

"'"Which side?"

"'"_Vive la Republique._"

"'"_Tres bien._ He can't be here, comrades; he has given us the slip.

Where is your father, mademoiselle?"

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

"'"Then he will be back soon, for the building is in flames, though its

master has escaped us. Adieu, mademoiselle."

"'My nerves and muscles had been drawn to the last degree of tension,

excitement had buoyed me up for a time; but now that my pursuers were

departing and danger no longer surrounded me, a reaction took place,

and I fell insensible upon the floor of my closet, while my fair jailer

was in the act of liberating me.

"'Soon a scorching heat fell upon my brain, and in fancy I returned to

my father's house. Dire shapes of blood haunted me, until I raved like

a maniac and cursed the author of my being as the author of my

destruction.

"'I woke as from a dream, and found myself lying upon a soft couch,

attended by a physician, and a tall, middle-aged man, wearing the red

republican badge--I owed my life to one of a class which I had ever

despised. Monsieur Foliere had returned home soon after my pursuers had

quitted it; and found his daughter attempting to revive me; great as

was the risk he incurred by protecting a royalist, he did not hesitate

to send at once for a surgeon, and order every comfort necessary to

preserve my life.

"'I endeavored to express my gratitude; but the stern citizen frowned,

and from that time forth, I said no more on the subject. Health slowly

returned to its temple, and as it sent the warm blood tingling freshly

through my veins, love mingled with the current that flowed to the

heart. Cerise, my saviour, my guardian angel, hovered about my pillow

like a spirit of light, awaking in my breast a passion which had never

dwelt there before. She was not what the world termed a beauty; but

there was a quiet grace about her actions, and a smiling, lovely

dignity ever shining from her large brown eyes, that so drew her to me,

as to make me silent and melancholy when she was not present.

"'Not to linger over a period, the purest and brightest of my

existence, suffice it to say, that Cerise returned my passion, and I

was blest with her love. I told her my name, and painted the splendors

of Florence, while she listened with a gentle smile of approbation, and

consented to become my wife, should her father raise no objection.

"'Anticipating no difficulty in that quarter, my happiness was

unalloyed, and I considered her as all my own. At length, when my

health was fully re-established, I asked a private interview with

Citizen Foliere, and demanded the hand of his daughter in marriage. I

described in glowing terms my love for Cerise and her reciprocation--I

spoke of my high rank in Florence, the many honors of my family, and

its great antiquity; the advantages which would accrue to him from

having such a son-in-law--in fact, presented my views in every light of

interest and paternal affection that I could devise. The stern

republican heard me through in silence, and then answered coldly--

"'"Young man, you were received into my house, a fugitive from

retributive justice, and sheltered by me at the risk of my own good

name and life. I pitied your youth, and yielded my protection, when

duty bade me surrender you to my friends. Would you repay me by robbing

me of my richest treasure, or forever blighting her existence by

arousing in her bosom a hopeless passion? My daughter cannot be yours,

though you boasted the blood of a sovereign; she shall never sit in the

palaces of our oppressors. My decision is irrevocable, and this subject

must be forever at rest."

"'Frantic with indignation and disappointment, I flew to Cerise, and

with the violence of a maniac, acquainted her with my ill-success; I

swore she should be mine, or I would slay myself at her feet. By turns

she wept and expostulated, until I accused her of faithlessness, when

she threw herself into my arms, and in an agony of tears, bade me do

with her as I pleased.

"'That night I was on my way from Paris, with my _wife_ clasped to my

breast, calling down heaven's bitterest curses upon my head, should I

ever cease to love her as I then did, and kissing the hot tears from

her cheeks in a burning, maddening transport of blind devotion.

"'Oh madman! wretch that I was--why did I not fall a withered corpse at

the feet of that innocent girl, who sacrificed a father's love for me?

"'At Genoa I purchased a villa in a retired spot, and there tasted the

intoxicating joys of elysium; but fate was darkening in clouds above my

head, and the bridal garlands were soon to blossom in a harvest of

blood. I wrote again to my father, acquainting him with the step I had

taken, and narrating my escape from death in France. An answer soon

came, and in the presence of my wife I read as follows:

"'"DOMINIQUE--Foolish boy, you have well nigh driven me to madness by

your conduct, and your mother has gone to the grave a victim to the

folly of her son. Come hither at once, if you would not kill me also,

and behold the wreck that remains of

"'"YOUR FATHER."

"'The vague tone of this communication, and the intelligence of my

mother's death, overwhelmed me with sorrow. Cerise, dear Cerise, fell

upon my bosom and reproached herself as being the author of all my

troubles. In vain did I try to forget my own griefs, and strive to

console her; she soon became calm, but the smile of contentment no

longer beamed from her eyes, and her peace was departed forever. She

insisted upon obedience to my father's request, and when I yielded,

accompanied me to my native city silent and tearless.

"'Resolving to see my father alone, I left my wife at an obscure house

in the suburbs of the city, and promising to return when I had softened

my parent's wrath, I set out with a heavy heart for the home of my

childhood.

"'The servants at once recognized me, but I could only learn it from

their glances, for they led the way in silence to the saloon of

reception.

"'My father was seated in a remote corner, conversing with some person

when I entered, and on beholding me, at once came forward and embraced

me with every token of affection. Astounded at receiving such a salute,

when I expected nothing but reproach, I stood motionless, staring at

him in silence, until the other person present approached. Never shall

I forget the appearance of Lucia on that day. Her raven locks, falling

below her waist and mingling imperceptibly with the folds of her sable

robe, contrasted strikingly with the snow-white purity of her

complexion, over which her piercing eyes, shed a lustre truly

spiritual. As my father introduced us, our glances met, and I felt a

thrill to my inmost soul.

"'It maddens me to dwell upon those scenes, and I will hasten to the

conclusion of my story. I forgot Cerise, my honor--everything, in the

society of her who had once been selected to wed with me. Day followed

day until a month had elapsed, and I still remained fascinated to the

spot, false to my vows, false to my wife, and true to nothing but blind

infatuation. My father beheld me sinking deeper and deeper in the black

waves of infamy, and a light of demoniac exultation burned in his eyes.

I marked his triumph, and I, too, felt a savage joy, though for what

reason, I knew not.

"'At length he taunted me as the husband of a lazarone. He pointed with

hellish glee to where Lucia stood, the incarnation of perfection, and

bade me behold what I had lost. My brain was on fire, a thousand furies

tugged at my heartstrings, and as my father clasped my hands in his and

looked down into my soul, I felt that savage joy again, and a demon

possessed me. My father approached his face to mine, until his hot

breath burned upon my cheek, and whispered in my ear; it was enough.

With a loud laugh I left him and flew, rather than ran, to where my

deserted wife was watching for me, sad and alone.

"'Why did she not tax me with my perfidy? Why did not her angel soul

arise in its innocent love, to crush me with the glancing of an eye?

Oh, that she had uttered one reproach, one bitter word! She saw me, and

with a cry of joy, cast her white arms about my neck, as on our

marriage; they were like chains of searing, glowing iron to me, and I

dashed her from me, howling in the delirium of my torments. She marked

the wild fire that flashed from my eye, the dark flush that burned upon

my cheek, my breast heaving with the struggles of the fiend within, my

hair hanging in disordered masses over my throbbing brow, the cowardly

trembling of the hand concealed in my bosom; she beheld a fiend

incarnate in the form of one who had sworn to love and cherish her

forever; yet no word of reproach arose from those lips I had so often

kissed. Again her arms were about me, and again I attempted to dash her

to the ground.

"'"My husband, my dear Dominique!" she shrieked, clinging to me, and

pressing her cheeks, pallid and cold, against mine, glowing and burning

with the reflected fires of hell. The spell of madness fell upon me, as

I struggled with that faithful wife, and hissing froth boiled from

between my teeth, mingling with her long locks of auburn hair. I

suffered all the torments of the damned as we swayed to and fro, until

her strength began to fail and her arms relaxed their hold. Then, with

a horrid laugh, I wound her long curls about my hand, and plunged a

stiletto to its hilt in her breast.

"'The warm blood of life poured in a torrent upon me, and as my victim

lay gasping upon the ground, I danced frantically about her, laughing

with glee.

"'I did not wait to see her die--I _dared not_ do it--but all gory as I

was, I returned to my father. He met me with a smile, and his calmness

communicated itself to me.

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

"'With blood upon my hand, and madness in my brain, I wooed Lucia with

all the cunning of insanity, and another gentle heart soon beat for me

alone.

"'We were married! I remember the bright glare of the lights, the holy

dignity of the priests, the gay laughter of the brilliant company, as

my health and _happiness_ were pledged in goblets of rare wines, the

face of my _second_ wife shining like that of an angel, with fond,

confiding love for _me_; and then my father! We looked at each other,

and smiled exultantly--we murderers, madmen, receiving the homage of

reasonable beings. I was filled with mad joy, and sent forth peals upon

peals of laughter while the ceremony was being performed. My father

joined in my unnatural merriment, and surprise and fear was painted on

every countenance. I saw the lips of Lucia tremble, and squeezed her

hand so that she groaned with pain. Oh! what would I not have given to

have been in the open air, yelling my triumph to the beast in his lair

and the bird on the wing; making nature's arena to echo my bursts of

mirth, and rising far above the earth on a sea of discord. My father

continued near me through the ceremony, and left the saloon at its

conclusion; but I _knew_ that his feelings were like mine and envied

his liberty.

"'Then I grew calm again, and friends congratulated me, and music

filled the air, and the dance went on, and I kissed my bride until she

involuntarily shrank from me in confusion. I was very happy then.

"'At length the midnight hour arrived and the maidens of Lucia

conducted her, veiled in blushes, to the nuptial couch. How beautiful

did she look, arrayed in spotless white, such as bright angels wear. An

hour elapsed ere I flew to her chamber and threw myself upon the floor

in a paroxysm of mirth. There was a large lamp of glass that burned

before a mirror in our bridal chamber, and as its perfumed oil was

consumed a delicious odor ladened the air; as I rolled upon the carpet

and tore it with my teeth, the light shone in my eyes, and in an

instant I ceased all motion and stared fixedly at it, while cold drops

of water came out upon my temple.

"'Timidly my bride approached and spoke to me; but I answered her not;

for there was another form before my eyes; another bride speaking to my

soul. There was an explosion; the lamp fell into a thousand pieces, and

where it had been there stood _my murdered wife_, with the blood

pouring from her bosom, and the stiletto in her hand. I saw her as

plainly as I now see you, and she bade me _slay her rival_! I knew my

fate decreed it so; I dared not disobey the dead, and with a howl of

fury, I sprang upon Lucia, my _second_ bride. In vain she clasped her

hands to me in prayer for mercy; in vain she tried to shriek for help;

I grasped her pale throat until my nails sank into the flesh, and a

purple hue spread over her face. There I saw her sink from blooming

health to ghastly death, and every feature was visible to me in all its

convulsive workings, although the light was out.

"'My spirit wife stood before me and my last victim, until she faded to

nothing in the morning light.

"'As the beams of the sun streamed in upon me, I took my dead bride in

my arms and stalked gaily down to the saloon of my father. I heard him

laughing loudly, and with a laugh I answered him as I carried my burden

into his presence. He, too, had something in his arms, and it was the

lifeless form of Cerise, crumbling to decay, and fresh from a banquet

of worms. We placed our treasures side by side upon a table, and

embraced each other with yells of laughter. Higher and higher rose our

mirth, and louder grew our shouts of triumph, until the street beneath

us was crowded with people, and the servants burst into the saloon

where we held our revel.

"'We were seized and carried before the Duke, with the cold corpses of

my wives; but we laughed when they called us murderers, and cursed when

others called us madmen.

* * * * *

"'The keepers of the madhouse awoke me from my slumbers to tell me that

my father had died during the night. What was that to me? I wanted a

light burning beside me all night, and then he would not come from the

grave to visit me. So I laughed and was merry to think that I was

locked up in a madhouse. After many years I was released from my

prison, and came thither to take the cowl of a monk. Think not that I

am mad, holy father, when I solemnly swear that the shades of my wives

stand beside me every night, and only wait until the light goes out, to

drag me down to hell. I see them _now_, with bleeding bosom, and throat

bearing the prints of my nails! Cerise! Lucia! I defy thee both! The

lamp still burns! ha! ha! ha!'

"With a horrid laugh brother Dominique fell upon his face on the

ground, like one blasted by a stroke from heaven; and with a vague

feeling of terror, I crawled stealthily to my own cell.

"On the following day we met at morning prayer, in the chapel, but he

treated me as though we had never known each other, and the events of

the preceding night were never again mentioned by either of us.

"One evening, loud peals of laughter were heard issuing from the cell

of the maniac, and several of the monks hastened thither with me, to

learn its cause. On opening the door, I first beheld the lamp lying

extinguished in its niche, while brother Dominique was stretched upon

the stony pavement in strong convulsions, giving vent every now and

then to sounds of mirth, so dreadful that we stopped our ears, and fled

horrified to the superior. When all was again silent we returned to the

cell; but the maniac was not there, and the niche was vacant."

Such, my boy, was the story related by M. Bonbon, the reading making

him hoarse, and the plot suggesting a nightmare also.

Yours, staringly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXV.

NOTING THE REMARKABLE RETROGRADE ADVANCE OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE

UPON WASHINGTON, AND THE UNSEEMLY RAIDS OF THE RECKLESS

CONFEDERACY.

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

As every thing continues to indicate, my boy, that President Lincoln is

an honest man, I am still of the opinion that the restoration of the

Union is only a question of time, and will be accomplished some weeks

previous to the commencement of the Millennium. It is the "Union as it

was" that we want, my boy, and those who have other articles to sell

are hereby accused of being accursed Abolitionists. I was talking the

other day to a venerable Congressman from Maryland, who had just

arrived to protest against the disturbance of mail facilities between

Baltimore and the capital of the Southern Confederacy, and says he, "I

have several friends who are Confederacies, and they inform me that

they are perfectly willing to return to the Union as it Was, in case

they should fail in their present enterprise. If I thought," says the

Congressman, hastily placing a lottery-ticket in his vest-pocket, "if I

thought that this war was to be waged for the purpose of injuring the

Southern Confederacy, rather than to restore the Union as it was, I

should at once demand more mileage of the Government, and repeatedly

inquire what had become of all the 'Wide-Awakes.'"

As he uttered this last horrible threat, my boy, I was impressed with a

sense of something darkly democratic. Too many of the "Wide-Awakes" of

the last campaign are indeed fast asleep now, when their country needs

them. I saw one of them slumbering near Culpepper Court House last

week. He was sleeping with his right arm twisted in the spokes of a

disabled cannon wheel, and a small purple mark was on his right temple.

But he was not alone in his forgetful sloth, my boy; for near him, and

rigidly grasping his disengaged hand, was a Democrat slumbering too!

The sight, I remember, rendered me so honestly indignant, that I could

not help pointing it out to the Mackerel Chaplain, who was engaged in

selling hymn-books to the wounded. The Chaplain looked a moment at the

Fusion Ticket before us.

"They sleep for the Flag," says he, softly, "and may its Stars shed

pleasant dreams upon their loyal souls for ever."

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

about

OUR GUIDING STARS.

The planets of our Flag are set

In God's eternal blue sublime,

Creation's world-wide starry stripe

Between the banner'd days of time.

Upon the sky's divining scroll,

In burning punctuation borne,

They shape the sentence of the night

That prophesies a cloudless morn.

The waters free their mirrors are;

And fair with equal light they look

Upon the royal ocean's breast,

And on the humble mountain brook.

Though each distinctive as the soul

Of some new world not yet begun,

In bright career their courses blend

Round Liberty's unchanging Sun.

Thus ever shine, ye Stars, for all!

And palsied be the hand that harms

Earth's pleading signal to the skies,

And Heav'ns immortal Coat of Arms.

You are probably aware, my boy, that the unconquerable Mackerel Brigade

is still advancing upon Washington in a highly respectable and

strategic manner; and that all correspondents are excluded from the

lines, lest some of them, in their natural blackness of heart, should

construe the advance upon Washington into a retreat from Richmond.

But I gained admission to the scene by adopting the airy and pleasing

uniform of the Southern Confederacy; and am thereby enabled to give you

some further account of the skillful retrograde advance to which I

dimly referred in my absorbing last.

The uniform of the Southern Confederacy is much respected by many of

our officers, my boy, and is the only guise in which a fellow-being may

scrutinize the national strategic works with entire safety.

Thus attired, I joined the Mackerel Brigade in its cheerful work of

pushing Richmond away from its martial front, and having penetrated to

the rear where horrible carnage was being wrought in the frantic ranks

of the Confederacy, I beheld the idolized General of the Mackerel

Brigade anxiously searching for something upon the ground. In a moment,

he looked up, and says he to the warriors in his neighborhood:

"My children, have you seen anything of a small black bottle that I

placed upon the grass, just now, when I turned to speak to my aid?"

A Mackerel chap coughed respectfully, and says he: "I guess it was

taken by some equestrian Confederacies, which has just made another

raid."

"Thunder!" says the General, "that's the third bottle I've lost in the

same way within an hour." And he proceeded slowly and thoughtfully to

mount his horse, which stood eyeing him with funereal solemnity and

many inequalities of surface.

Turning to another part of the line, my boy, I beheld Captain Villiam

Brown and Captain Bob Shorty in the act of performing a great strategic

movement with the indomitable Conic Section, many of whom were

employing the moment to take a last look at the canteens presented to

them before leaving home by their devoted mothers. A number of reckless

Confederacies had just crossed a bridge spanning a small stream near

by, and the object of this daring movement was to suddenly destroy the

bridge before they could retreat and then make prisoners of the whole.

It was a sublime conception, my boy--it was a sublime conception, and

rich with strategy.

Like panthers surrounding their unsuspecting prey, the wily Mackerels

swept noiselessly across the bridge, applied their axes with the

quickness of thought, and in a moment the doomed structure fell

splashing into the water. It was beautiful to see Villiam's honest

exultation at this moment; his eyes brightened like small bottles of

brandy with the light shining through them, and says he:

"We have circumvented the Confederacy. Ah!" says Villiam, proudly; "the

United States of America is now prepared to continue in the exchange

business, and--"

He paused. He paused, my boy, because he suddenly observed that Captain

Bob Shorty had commenced to scratch his head in a dismal manner.

"I'm blessed," says Captain Bob Shorty, in a cholerical manner--"I'm

blessed if I don't think there's some mistake here, my military infant!"

"Ha!" says Villiam, with dignity; "do you discover a flaw in the great

chain woven by the United States of America around the doomed

Confederacy?"

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

"I don't wish to make unpleasant insinuations; but it seems to me that

this here body of infantry has left itself on the wrong side of the

stream!"

And so it had, my boy. By one of those little mistakes which will

sometimes occur in the most victorious armies, the Conic Section had

thoughtlessly _crossed the bridge_ before destroying it, thus leaving

themselves on one side of the river, while the riotous Confederacies

were on the other.

How they got across again, at a fordable place higher up, just in time

to see the Confederacies cross again, at a fordable place lower down, I

will not pause to tell you, as such information might retard

enlistments.

Once more stationing myself near the General of the Mackerel Brigade,

who sat astride his funereal charger like the equestrian statue of the

Duke of Wellington, I was watching his motions attentively, when a body

of horsemen suddenly dashed by him, and I saw, as they disappeared,

that he was left bareheaded.

"Thunder!" says the general, winking very violently in the sunlight,

and rattling his sword in a fearless manner, "where's my cap gone to?"

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

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

another raid."

"Hum!" says the general, thoughtfully, "that's very true. Thunder!"

says the general to himself, as it were: "this is all Greeley's work."

Pondering deeply over this last remark, I sauntered to another part of

the field, where the Orange County Howitzers were being prepared to

repel the charge of a regiment of Confederacies, who had just come

within our lines for the purpose. The artillery was well handled, my

boy, and not a piece would have been captured but for the splendid

discipline of the gunners. They were too well disciplined to dispute

orders, my boy; and as Captain Samyule Sa-mith had accidentally

forgotten to give the order to "load" before he told them to fire, the

effect of our metal upon the hostile force was not as inflammatory as

it might have been.

The next I saw of Samyule, he was making his report to the general, who

received him with much enthusiasm.

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

affability.

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

"Several of them have just gone South."

I am unable to state what response the general intended to make, my

boy; for at this instant a body of horsemen swept between the speakers,

one of the riders jerking the veteran's horse violently from under him,

and galloping the steed away with him. Up sprang the general, in a

violent perspiration, and says he:

"Where's my horse gone to?"

"I guess," says a Mackerel chap, stepping up--"I guess that it was took

by the equestrian Confederacy, which has just made another raid."

"Thunder!" says the general, "they'll take my coat and vest next." And

he retired to a spot nearer Washington.

I would gladly continue my narrative of the advance movement, my boy,

showing how our forces continued their march in excellent order, safely

reaching a spot within ten miles of the place they gained on the

following day; but such revelations would simply tend to confuse your

weak mind with those great doubts concerning military affairs which

tend to render civilization impertinently critical.

It is the simple duty of civilians, my boy, to implicitly trust our

brass-buttoned generals; of whom there are enough to furnish the whole

world with war--and never finish it at that.

Yours, weekly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXVI.

IN WHICH OUR CORRESPONDENT ASTONISHES US BY ENGAGING IN SINGLE

COMBAT WITH M. MICHELET, AND DEMOLISHING "L'AMOUR" AND "LA

FEMME."

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

While I was lounging in a banker's drawing-room this morning, my boy,

waiting for the filthy lucre chap to come down and say that he was glad

to see me, I chanced to see the eternal "L'Amour" and "La Femme" lying

upon a table in the apartment. The sight threw me into a bad humor, for

I detest those books, my boy, and wish the United States of America had

never seen them.

Monsieur Michelet, a French individual of questionable morals, first

writes a book about "Love," and then clinches it with one about

"Woman." It is hardly necessary to add, that he treats both subjects in

a thoroughly French manner, and makes one a continuation of the other.

Love is a charming little story in every man's life, "complete in one

number"--Number one. Woman is a love-story, "to be continued" until,

like all other continued stories, it ends with marriage!

Such is the logic implied by Monsieur Michelet's two books, and whether

it is calculated to elevate or degrade the weaker sex, a majority of

educated American women have eagerly read the books and accepted the

sentiments as so many compliments. And the men? They leisurely rove

through the leaves of monsieur's mental Valambrosa, and say: "How

Frenchy!" And in that natural exclamation we find the most complete and

just criticism of "L'Amour" and "La Femme" possible to American lips or

pen.

This Michelet, my boy, is a man of talent and remarkably clear poetical

perception. He is as much like Hallam as a Frenchman can be like an

Englishman, and France honors him for his development of the poetry of

her history; but is that any reason why he should be accepted as the

modern High-priest of Love and the Censor of Woman? By no means. Madame

de Stael was thinking of a Frenchman when she wrote: "Love is only an

episode in man's life"--and may have referred to herself when she

added: "but it is woman's whole existence." Had an American woman

spoken this, we should suspect the sentiment to be nothing more than

the reproach of a disappointed passion; but of the Frenchman it is

indisputably true, as well as of woman wherever we find her.

The French do not know what Fidelity means, my boy; they have chameleon

souls, and remain true to one object only until another comes within

their reach. Like mad bulls, they are attracted by the quiescent warmth

of fiery-red; and, having attained it, tear it to pieces in their

passion.

What can such people know about Love? Nothing. They call Love

"L'Amour," and when we speak of a man's "amours," we mean that he

"loves" like a Frenchman. Monsieur Michelet is a Frenchman; and

supposing him to be an ordinary one, we must accept his sentiments

regarding Woman as we would those of an Apicius regarding a delicacy he

apostrophizes before devouring. But Michelet's temperament is poetical,

and while he looks upon Woman as a foretaste of the sensualist's

paradise, and upon Love as the means of gaining it, he covers up the

grossness of his ideas with robes borrowed from the angels. Adopting

Kepler's canon, that "harmony is the perfection of relations," he makes

Woman, the creature, a continuation of Love, the sentiment; and the

tenor of his "L'Amour" and "La Femme" is, that both must be possessed

by man, in order to perfect the union which makes them a perfect One.

Wherever I go I find these books: cheek to cheek they repose on the

carved table of the lady's boudoir; shoulder to shoulder they stand on

the library shelf; _tete-a-tete_ they give the rich centre-table an

equivocal aspect. Young men and maidens, old men and matrons, children

and chambermaids read them; yet they have no social effect. Woman

understands love and herself; Man thinks he understands both; and the

fictitious fervor of Monsieur Michelet has no more effect upon either

than so much prismatic froth. It addresses itself piquantly to the eye,

and murmurs like a shell in the ear; but once out of sight and hearing,

and it is only an excuse for light talk and laxity of thought.

I am glad to record this; it shows that our national morality is in no

danger of being wrecked on the French coast by any such tropical gales

as Michelet, Feydeau, or Dumas can blow. Let our publishers bring over

a few more cargoes from the Augaean stables of French literature in

English bottoms, and I will guarantee them large profits. We will read

them, and immediately forget all about it.

But to return to Michelet again. Our women read his "Woman," and

imagine that it compliments their sex--flatters them. Fortunate is it,

that flattery very seldom changes a woman's character, though it may

sway her judgment. She accepts it as her right, but seldom believes it.

Queen Elizabeth graciously extended her hand to be kissed when her

noble lover compared her to "the sun, whose faintest ray extinguishes

the brightest planet;" yet that same hand had signed the flatterer's

death-warrant. At the moment she was pleased, and her good sense dazed;

but her heart was not reached. Flattery, skillfully administered, may

add fuel to a woman's love; but the fire must first be kindled with

something more sympathetic. An American woman may read "La Femme," and

complacently receive its subtle _equivoques_ as so much fuel added to

her vanity; but that vanity was kindled into existence in the first

place by the genuine homage of some honest man.

It was Michelet's "Woman," my boy, that suggested this letter; yet I

did not intend, at the outset, to devote so much space to his

unwholesome sophistry. If I have shown, however, that Michelet's

"Woman" is only such a being as he would have created under that name,

could he have changed places with the Deity, I have not wasted time and

ink. Thank fortune, there is but one French deity, and his proper name

commences with a D.

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

As she stands before me in the light of Nature, she is no "enigma," as

voluntarily-puzzled poets have called her; but a being easily defined,

and not more nearly related to the angels than man. To the best of her

sex we attribute one natural weakness and one virtue--Curiosity and

Modesty. Everybody must allow this much. But why should we make such a

distinction between these two qualities? Let us trace them back to

their exemplar:

Eve's curiosity was the first effect of her serpentine temptation. Was

it not? Well, that curiosity caused her to eat the forbidden fruit.

Having eaten it, and caused Adam to eat, she suddenly became possessed

of modesty, and made herself an apron of fig-leaves. It is but natural

to infer that her first blush was worn at the same time, though Milton

attributes blushes to the angels. As angels are immaterial beings, I

think Milton was mistaken. Now, if modesty, as well as curiosity, was

the result of Satanic temptation, why should one be called a weakness

and the other a virtue? Are not both the fruits of original sin?

Woman's love is said to be stronger and more lasting than man's. Is it

so? Let us trace it back to its beginning:

Eve's love for Adam did not prevent her fall. She met the Prince of

Darkness and listened to his blandishments, as too many ladies of the

present time prefer the society of bogus courtiers to that of their

Adams of husbands. She forever disgraced Adam, herself, and her future

family, just to please the tempter. Was this a proof the depth and

vitality of Woman's love? And Adam? Why, rather than refuse any request

of the woman he loved, however extravagant, he voluntarily shared in

her ruin, and courted the curse of her fall. Did this prove that Man's

love is weaker and shorter-lived than Woman's?

Now, I should like to see some one impudent enough to assert that Eve

was more curious, or less modest, or more fickle than are the best of

her female descendants. Such impudence is not compatible with the

present position of civilization. Then, as Eve was the great exemplar

of her sex in Modesty and Fidelity as well as Curiosity, it follows

that Woman's Modesty is the result of inherited sin, and her Fidelity

in Love no greater than Man's.

Alas! for the "angels" of the poets, my boy. Prove that her Modesty and

Love are anything but heavenly, and what remains to make Woman angelic?

I could honor, love, and might obey the Best of Her Sex; but I shall

never worship her. She is not a Deity--only a Woman. I believe that God

intends each woman for a wife; yet six marriages out of every dozen are

unhappy ones. And what is the reason? Simply this:

Before marriage, man generally accepts one of the two poetical theories

respecting Woman. He either supposes her to be an angel, purer and more

elevated in her nature than he in his; or gloats over her as a delicate

morsel prepared for his special delectation by the gods. In either

case, he finds out his mistake when it is too late to rectify it, and

his disappointment is but the refinement of disgust. He either

discovers that woman is only a human being, and very much like himself

by nature; or that constant familiarity with her brings her down to the

level of a man in his estimation. There is but one possibility of

escape from disappointment in either case; the death of husband or wife

within a year of the wedding day!

Husbands and wives, have I spoken truly?

But there are exceptions to every rule. Some men marry women for the

sake of having homes of their own; others, for money; still others,

because it is the fashion. The man who marries for a comfortable home

often gets what he desired, and is contented; the mercenary husband is

likely to do and feel the same; the fashionable husband generally cuts

his throat. These exceptions do not break the rule.

It may be asked: Why do widowers so often marry again, if they were so

disappointed in their first wives? My boy, you are no philosopher. How

many men have learned wisdom by experience? Only a few, and they are

all dead. If a sailor is shipwrecked, and nearly killed on his first

voyage, does he forsake the sea forever after? If a man buys an image

supposed to be made of marble, and discovers that it is plaster, does

he never buy another image? Because you and your neighbors chance to

buy a barrel of bad eggs, are you satisfied that good ones are not to

be had?

An enthusiastic young man marries a girl whom he supposes to be an

"angel." A year passes, and he mourns over his mistake. A few more roll

away, and she dies. Does the widower profit by his experience? No! He

says to himself: "My late wife was not an 'angel;' but that sweet girl

I saw yesterday certainly is. She is entirely different from my late

wife." Well, he marries angel No. 2. She proves to be No. 1 in a

different dress.

A tropical young man is infatuated with the physical beauty of a girl,

and marries her with the idea that he will never weary of looking at

her. A year passes, and he is heartily tired of her. She dies. Does the

widower profit by his experience? No! He says to himself: "I was

wearied of my late wife because her hair, eyes and complexion were the

same as mine. Physiologists say that opposites are necessary to

matrimonial bliss. There is Miss ----, with her hair, eyes and

complexion, in direct antithesis with mine. I am _sure_ I should never

weary of her!" He marries her. And tires of her.

Do you see, my boy?

And now to remedy this evil: Let us look upon woman as she is. If an

"angel" with golden hair, snowy complexion, pearly teeth, heaven blue

eyes, and no appetite, sounds better in poetry than a true woman, with

auburn hair, fair complexion, clean teeth, and nice blue eyes, why, let

the poets rant about "angels." But poetry has nothing to do with so

practical an event as marriage, and its "angels" will not do for wives.

A man cannot be guilty of a more absurd and unprovoked piece of

injustice, than that of persisting in believing his bride more of an

angel than human. He might as well go to a jeweller's, and insist upon

buying a pearl for a diamond, when the certain result of such folly

would be his denunciation of the pearl as a swindle, when time

convinced him of its real character. No true woman desires to be looked

upon as an "angel," nor to have her beauty valued as a joy imperishable.

It is very common for women to lament the indifference of husbands who

were the most attentive and obedient of lovers. I have explained the

cause of the defection.

To secure happiness--or contentment, at least--in the marriage state,

we must regard woman as our equal by nature, whatever superiority or

inferiority she may possess by virtue of her mental or social

education. We must not look _up_ to her, nor _down_ upon her, but

straight _at_ her. We must not base our love for her upon supposed

angelic qualities. If we desire to make her happy, and be happy

ourselves, we must recognize her human origin in common with our own,

and accept her physical inferiority as security for the continuance of

our own love in all its normal strength.

Of course there are grades in human nature. Some natures are more

refined than others, from the effects of their surroundings and

education. But the lover should recognize no degree higher than his own

when he selects his mistress. Then, if hers proves higher than his,

after marriage, he is delighted; if the same as his, he is satisfied.

But suppose it should prove lower than his? Such a supposition is

untenable in a marriage of mutual affection. A superior nature will

never gravitate to an inferior one by the attraction of real love.

There must be a natural sympathy; and sympathy is the rock upon which

all true love is founded.

Love never yet blended incompatible natures in marriage. Money often

does--brute-insanity sometimes.

You have probably concluded, by this time, my boy, that my ideas of the

true Woman and Monsieur Michelet's views of "La Femme" are decidedly at

variance.

I have sufficient faith in the good sense of Woman to believe that she

will give preference to my doctrine. If so, she will not translate "La

Femme" as "Woman," but as "grisette," "lorette," or "camelia lady." To

christen such a work "Woman," is to lay a snare for the Best of Her

Sex, and catch the Weakest in it. The female who allows it to affect

her may possibly make "a neatly-shod grisette," but never a good wife.

It may be asked why I have made "Woman" the subject of this letter, and

why I have adopted such a Frenchy style?

Simply because there is no subject less understood, my boy, by the

generality of young mankind; and because I deem it best to practice the

doctrine of _similia similibus curantur_ (in style) while quarreling

with Monsieur Michelet.

Yours, sentimentally,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXVII.

GIVING ASSURANCE OF THE UNMITIGATED SAFETY OF THE CAPITAL,

EXEMPLIFYING COLONEL WOBINSON's DRAFTING EXPERIENCE, AND

NARRATING A GREAT METAPHYSICAL VICTORY.

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

Everything is confident and buoyant here, my boy, a sense that the

President is an honest man, inspiring confidence on every side, and

surrounding the Government with well-known confidence men. The repeated

safety of the Capital, indeed, has even inspired the genius of New

England, as illustrated by a thoughtful Boston chap, with one of those

enlarged business ideas which will yet enable that section to betrade

the whole world. The thoughtful Boston chap has read all the war-news,

my boy, for the last six months, and as he happens to be a moral

manufacturer of burglar-proof safes, a happy pecuniary thought struck

him forcibly. After joining the church, to make sure of his morality

here, he came hither in haste, opened an establishment, read the

war-news once more, and then issued the following enterprising card:

BUY THE CELEBRATED

WASHINGTON SAFE!

Everybody thought it was the safe they'd read so much about in the

papers, my boy, and several hundreds were sold.

There was another chap, named Burns, the inventor of a Family and

Military Gridiron, who noticed how the thoughtful Boston chap was

making money by the advertising necessities of our distracted country.

Having been born in Connecticut at a very early age, my boy, he was not

long in finding a way to make his own eternal fortune, after the same

meritorious manner. So he at once repaired to a liquor shop, to make

sure that a majority of our staff-officers would hear him, and then,

says he, in stentorian tones:

"My sympathies are all with the Southern Confederacy, to whom I send

the weekly journals of romance on the day of publication. As to the

Union," says the Connecticut chap, hotly, "I have less confidence in it

than I have in my Patent Economical Family and Military Gridiron."

He was immediately arrested for this seditious talk, my boy, and all

the reporters telegraphed an exciting dispatch to the reliable morning

journals:

"_Exciting Affair--Arrest of an Influential Rebel!_--The celebrated Mr.

Burns has been arrested for publicly saying that he had more confidence

in his well-known and ingenious patent Economical Family and Military

Gridiron than he had in the Union. Upon hearing of his incarceration,

the most sanguine rebel sympathizers here admitted that the cause of

the South was lost forever."

The Connecticut chap remained in custody until he had received four

hundred orders for gridirons, from private families and army-chaplains,

and then he explained that the words he had used were uttered in the

heat of passion, and he was, of course, honorably discharged from

prison, to make way for a shameless, aged miscreant just committed for

two years' hard labor, on suspicion of having discouraged enlistments

by asserting that, although he was too old to go to the war himself, he

intended to send a substitute.

Simultaneously, all the reporters telegraphed again to the reliable

morning journals:

"_The Burns Affair Settled!--Full Particulars of the Gridiron!_--Mr.

Burns, the celebrated inventor of the famous Patent Gridiron, has been

honorably discharged by order of the Secretary of War. His inimitable

Gridiron is destined to have an immense sale.

"It cooks a beafsteak in such a manner that the appetite is fully

satisfied from merely looking at it, and the same steak will do for

breakfast next morning. This is a great saving. Persons having nothing

to eat find this Gridiron a great comfort, and hence the propriety of

introducing it in the army."

The Gridirons are having a great sale, my boy, and it is believed that

the business interests of the country are being rapidly improved by the

war.

Knowing that the Mackerel Brigade was making preparations to entrap the

Southern Confederacy at Molasses Junction, I ascended to the upper

gallery of my architectural steed, Pegasus, on Tuesday, in order that I

might not be unduly hurried on my journey. Taking Accomac on my way to

the battle-field, my boy, I called upon Colonel Wobert Wobinson, who is

superintending preparations for the draft there, and was witness to an

incident suitable to be recorded in profane history.

The draft in Accomac, my boy, is positively to take place on the 11th

of September; but it is not believed that the enrollment can be

finished before the 15th; in which case, the draft must inevitably take

place on the 20th. In fact, the Judge-Advocate of the Accomac states

positively that the conscription will commence on the 1st of October;

and volunteering is so brisk that no draft may be required. At least,

such is the report of those best acquainted with the more decisive

plans of the War Department, which thinks of joining the Temperance

Society.

The exempts were filing their papers of exemption with Colonel Wobert

Wobinson, my boy, and amongst them was one chap with a swelled eye, a

deranged neck-tie, and a hat that looked as though it might have been

used as an elephant's foot-bath. The chap came in with a heavy walk,

and says he:

"Being a married man, war has no terror for me; but I am obliged to

exempt myself from military affairs on account of the cataract in my

eyes."

Colonel Wobert Wobinson looked at him sympathizingly, and says he: "You

might possibly do for a major-general, my son, as it is blindness

principally that characterises a majority of our present major-generals

in the field; but fearing that your absence from home might cause a

prostration in the liquor business, I will accept your cataract as

valid."

The poor chap sighed until he reached the first hiccup, and then says

he: "I wish I could cure this here cataract, which causes my eyes to

weep in the absence of all woe."

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

family physician.

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

streams."

"Mill streams!" says Colonel Wobinson meditatively, "mill streams! Why,

then, you'd better dam your eyes."

"I think, my boy, I say I _think_, that this kindly advice of Colonel

Wobert Wobinson's must have been misunderstood in some way; for an

instant departure of several piously-inclined recruits took place

precipitately, and the poor chap chuckled like a fiend.

It is the great misfortune of our mother tongue, my boy, that words of

widely-different meanings have precisely the same sound, and in using

one you seem to be abusing another.

Arriving near the celebrated Molasses Junction, where a number of

Mackerels were placing a number of new cars and locomotives on the

track--the object being to delude the Southern Confederacy into taking

a ride in them, when, it was believed, the aforesaid Confederacy would

speedily be destroyed by one of those "frightful accidents" without

which a day on any American railroad would be a perfect

anomaly--arriving there, I say, I took an immediate survey of the

appointed field of strife.

To the inexperienced civilian eye, my boy, everything appeared to be in

a state of chaotic confusion, which nothing but the military genius of

our generals could make much worse. On all sides, my boy, I beheld the

Mackerel chaps marching and countermarching; falling back, retiring,

retreating, and making retrograde movements. Some were looking for

their regiments; some were insanely looking for their officers, as

though they did not know that the latter have resided permanently in

Washington ever since the war commenced; some were making calls on

others, and here and there might be seen squads of Confederates picking

up any little thing they might happen to find.

Finding the general of the Mackerel Brigade lunching upon a bottle and

tumbler near me, I saluted him, and says I:

"Tell me, my veteran, how it is that you permit the Southern

Confederacy to meander thus within your lines?"

The general looked toleratingly at me, and says he;

"I have a plan to entrap the Confederacy, and end this doomed rebellion

at one stroke. Do you mark that long train of army wagons down there

near my quarters?"

"Yes," says I, nervously.

"Well, then, my nice little boy," says the general, cautiously, "I'll

tell you what the plan is. These wagons contain the rations of our

troops. It is my purpose to induce the celebrated Confederacy to

capture these wagons and attempt to eat those rations. If the

Confederacy will only do that," says the general, fiercely, "it will be

taken sick on the spot, and we shall capture it alive."

I could not but feel shocked at this inhuman artifice, my boy. The

Southerners have indeed acted in away to forfeit all ordinary mercy,

but still, we should abstain from any retaliatory act savoring of

demoniac malignity. Our foes are at least human beings.

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

I:

"But how are the Mackerel warriors to subsist, my Napoleon, if you

allow the rations to go?"

"Thunder!" says the general, handing me a paper from his pocket. "They

are to subsist exclusively on the enemy. Just peruse this document,

which I have just fulminated."

Taking the paper, I found it to be the following

PROCLAMATION.

Whereas, The matter of provisions is a great expense to the United

States of America, besides offering inducements for unexpected raids on

the part of the famishing foeman; the Mackerel Brigade is hereby

directed to live entirely upon the Southern Confederacy, eating him

alive wherever found, and partaking of no other food.

The Brigade will not be permitted to take any clothing with it on the

march, being required henceforth to dress exclusively in the

habiliments of captured Confederacies.

We have done with retrograde movements. No more lines of retreat will

be kept open, and henceforth the Mackerel Brigade is to make nothing

but great captures.

By order of

THE GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE.

[Green Seal.]

This able document, my boy, pleased me greatly as an evidence that the

war had indeed commenced in earnest; and though at that moment, I

beheld some half a dozen Confederacies ransacking the tent where the

general kept his mortgages, his bank account, and other Government

property, I felt that our foes were about to be summarily dealt with at

last.

An orderly having finally given notice to the Confederacies rummaging

within our lines to get to their proper places, in order that the

battle might begin, the Anatomical Cavalry, under Captain Samyule

Sa-mith, made a headlong charge upon a body of foes who were destroying

a bridge near the middle of the field, and succeeded in obliging them

to remain there. This brilliant movement was the signal for a general

engagement, and a regiment of Confederacies at once advanced within our

lines and inquired the way to Washington.

Having given them the desired information, and allowed a number of

other similar regiments to take a position between the Mackerels and

the capital, the general gave orders for the Conic Section and the

Orange County Howitzers to fall cautiously back, in order that the

remaining Confederacies might get between us and Richmond.

You will perceive that by this movement, my boy, we cut the enemy's

force completely in two, thus compelling him to attack us either in the

front or in the rear, and giving him no choice of any other operation

save flank movements. Our plans being thus perfected, Captain Villiam

Brown, with Company 3, Regiment 5, was ordered to charge into a wood

near at hand, with a view to induce some recently-arrived reserve

Confederacies to take position in our centre, while still others would

be likely to flank us on the right and left.

You may remember, my boy, that it has heretofore been our misfortune to

fight on the circumference of a circle, while the Confederacy had the

inside, and this great strategic scheme was intended to produce a

result _vice versa_.

It was a great success, my boy--a great success; and our troops

presently found themselves inside the most complete circle on record.

Villiam Brown not only charged into the wood, but staid there; and when

one of the Orange County Howitzers was discharged with great precision

at a reporter who was caught sneaking into our lines, the report was

heard by the Venerable Gammon at Washington, causing that revered man

to telegraph to all the papers, that no one need feel alarmed, as he

was perfectly safe, and that our victory was very complete.

What particular danger the Venerable Gammon had incurred, I can't say,

my boy; nor what he knew about the battle; but his dispatch caused

renewed confidence all over the country, and was a great comfort to his

friends.

Having got the Confederacies just where he wanted them, the General of

the Mackerel Brigade now dispatched ten veterans under Sergeant O'Pake

to attack a few hundred foes who had intrenched themselves in an

unseemly manner right among our wagons. The Mackerels were well

received as prisoners of war, and paroled on the spot; a proceeding

which so greatly pleased the idolized general, that he at once issued

this second

PROCLAMATION.

It must be understood, that in his recent proclamation directing the

Mackerel Brigade to dine exclusively upon Southern Confederacies, the

general commanding did not intend that such dining should take place

without the free consent of aforesaid Confederacies.

It must not be understood that the order concerning the confiscation of

Confederate garments is intended to authorize a forcible confiscation

of such costume, in opposition to the free will of the wearers.

By "no lines of retreat being kept open," is meant: no lines of which

the general commanding was at that time cognizant.

THE GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE.

This admirable order, my boy, produced great enthusiasm in the ranks,

as no Confederacies had yet been caught, and there was some danger of

starvation in the _corps_.

And now, my boy, occurred that magnificent piece of generalship which

is destined to live forever on the annals of fame, and convince the

world that our military leaders possess a genius eminently fitting

every one of them for the next Presidency, or any other peaceful

office. By skillful manoeuvring, the gifted General of the Mackerel

Brigade had succeeded in cutting the enemy's force to pieces, the

pieces being mixed up with our own army. Then came the words: "Forward,

double-quick!"

Facing toward Washington, our vanguard forced the Confederacies before

them to move right ahead. Swiftly following the vanguard, and evidently

fancying that it was flying before them, came a regiment of

Confederacies. Pursuing the latter, as though in triumph, appeared the

Conic Section, Mackerel Brigade; closely succeeded in its turn by a

regiment of Confederacies in charge of our baggage-wagons; racing after

whom was a regiment of Mackerels; and so on to the end of the line.

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

remarkable movement?

That question, my boy, cannot be decided yet, as the whole procession

has scarcely reached Washington; but the answer may be said to depend

very much upon whether the last regiment coming in is Mackerel or

Confederate.

The contest, my boy, has assumed a profound metaphysical aspect, and

the development of a little more military genius on our own side will

tend to utterly confound our enemies and--everybody else.

Yours, ponderingly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXVIII.

INTRODUCING ONCE MORE THE COSMOPOLITAN CLUB, WITH A CURIOUS

"LAMENT," AND A STORY FROM THE SPANISH MEMBER.

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

You may remember, my boy, that some months ago there was a trespass of

depraved burglarious chaps at Wheatland, the seat of Ex-President

Buchanan. The matter might have slipped my own mind, had not the

British member of the Cosmopolitan, last night, read aloud the

following memorandum of the thing, found in a deserted Confederate camp

on the Rappahannock. The Briton waved his hand for silence, and says he:

LAMENT.

BY A CHEVALIER D'INDUSTRIE

It really seems as if the trick

Of this here game, secession,

Was bound to bring disgrace upon

Each wirtuous profession.

The days of chivalry are gone,

When gentlemen wos plucky,

And sooner'd starve than lower themselves

To make their swag and lucky.

Why, when I wos a little prig,

And took the junior branches,

We all looked down upon the chap

That traveled vulgar ranches.

It wos beneath a gentleman

To stoop to vulgar stealin's;

And when I see how things is changed,

It really hurts my feelin's.

We had some dignity, you see,

And upper circles knew it;

For if a thing wos wicious mean,

We wos too proud to do it!

The crib that wos respectable

Among the higher classes,

We cracked in style, like gentlemen.

And took the spoons and glasses.

But when a crib wos something low--

An author's, or a preacher's--

We had too much of self-respect

To recognize the creatures.

If taking watches wos the lay,

Or handkerchers, or purses,

We never noticed wulgar nobs,

Nor wictims of rewerses.

But things is changed since Johnny died,

And our profession's fallen

So werry low, it really ain't

A gentlemanly callin'.

There's some as once wos gentlemen

When cracksmen's art was balmy,

Now shame us all by fig'ring as

Contractors for the army!

What wonder, when our former pal,

A vulgar, sneakin' knave is,

They hang our pictures in a row

With Floyd, and Cobb, and Davis?

But just as if this wa'n't enough

To make us hide our faces,

A man we once look'd up to, all,

Must add to our disgraces;

A base, degenerate, shameless cove

Has sullied our profession,

By stoopin' to a lay that is

Depraved beyond expression.

He's activally come and went--

The werry thought's unmannin'--

He's activally gone and robbed

Ex-President Buchanan!

Alas! my boy, there is naught so fallen in humanity, but it may become

still more depraved. I have known members of State Legislatures to be

finally elected Congressmen. After the above _chanson_ had been read,

the Spanish member gave us his story of

DON BOBADIL BANCO;

OR, WHO OWNS THE BABY?

"I always respect a man who drinks good Port, especially if he

frequently invites me to take dinner with him, and hence I have

selected as my hero, a gallant Spaniard, whose fondness for the

delicious juice was never doubted.

"Don Bobadil Banco was a gentleman of good family, who graduated with

honor at Salamanca, and retired from thence to Madrid, in company with

a fellow student named Don Philip Funesca. The erudite pair hired

lodgings in an aristocratic part of the city, and after much delay,

installed one Dame Margy as their housekeeper, cook, and chambermaid,

being resolved to husband their scanty resources until, by coming of

age, they could inherit the estates and fortunes of their fathers.

"It is to be presumed that the friends entered society and made

consummate fools of themselves, as very young men generally do when

they first mingle with ladies; but as that period of their career can

possess very little novelty for most people, I shall only favor it with

this passing notice, and at once introduce the gallant pair as they

appeared on the ---- night, in the month of ----, in the year of our

Lord ----, at -- o'clock.

"In a very small room, before a very small window, was standing a very

small table, at the side of which were two very shabby chairs, on which

were seated two very young men; and as it was growing very dark, two

very small candles, in two very small candlesticks, were placed on the

very small table, in company with two very small decanters, filled with

very cheap Port, and two very old goblets, of very dirty pewter.

"The two very young men remained very still for a very long time, save

when they made very long applications to the very old goblets of very

cheap Port; and as you must be very anxious to know whether these very

young men were very ugly or very good looking, I shall be very happy to

profit by this very opportune state of things, and give a very concise

description of their personal charms.

"Don Bobadil was very tall, very thin, with very long black hair, very

small black eyes; very yellow complexion, very good teeth, and was

dressed very foppishly.

"Don Philip was very short, very fat, with very long brown hair, very

large brown eyes, very fair complexion, very large mouth, and was

plainly attired.

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

"'Well, Philip,' said Bobadil, at length, 'a bachelor's life, in

Madrid, is not quite so charming as in Salamanca; upon my word I have

almost become a limb of society, and it will prove a sad dismemberment

when I go to my father's villa. These gay senoritas have so completely

infatuated me, that I am never happy out of their company, and when I

think of leaving them altogether, it makes me really miserable,' and

the Don consoled himself with a huge swallow of wine.

"'I perfectly agree with you,' answered Don Philip, 'and dread the idea

of leaving the dear charmers without making one of them a prisoner.'

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

of Port.

"'You speak truly, my friend. Our purses are growing very light, and

nothing but wealthy wives will make them heavy. How unjust is the

decree that makes us wait until we are older before we can help

ourselves to the treasures of our families. Here are nearly thirty

hairs upon my chin, and yet the grim old hidalgoes call me a boy yet.

Sancta Maria! I should like to cross swords with some of those shaking

grandees, just to convince them that I have the strength of a man, if I

have not his years.'

"'The wish is perfectly natural, Don Philip, yet it can do us no good

at present, when our last flagons of wine stand before us, and Dame

Margy grows clamorous for her dues,' said Bobadil, imbibing large

draughts of grape juice.

"'_O, beatissimo, neustra Senora!_ Don't dwell on unpleasant facts, Don

Bobadil,' responded the other; 'we must replenish our treasures, and

the means to do it should be our present consideration. We must marry

stores of maravedis.'

"'That is coming to the point, my dear friend, and your words are

worthy of a sage; but, my dear Philip, to tell the truth, I dread

marriage for one reason, namely: that, by engaging in it, one becomes

liable to incur responsibilities known as babies. I do hate those noisy

little nuisances as I hate the devil, and, to have one constantly

squalling in my ears, would soon make a madman of me,' and our hero

drank heartily of liquor.

"'I will allow the truth of what you say,' replied Philip; 'the cry of

an infant is not quite as musical as the harp of Orpheus. Still, it is

better to endure such annoyance than to go about with empty purses, and

when one who is poor desires to have money, he must endure matrimony,

or become a rogue. Now there is Lisette, ready to fall into my arms at

any moment, and bring me a long purse; but I will never leave you a

bachelor, though I starve.'

"Tears arose involuntarily to the eyes of Bobadil, as his friend spoke

thus disinterestedly, and, after holding a cup of wine to his lips for

some moments, he answered:

"'My dear fellow, you are a sage and I am a fool. You shall not starve

for me though I have to become the father of five hundred little imps

to save you. Yes, dear Philip, I will sacrifice myself upon the altar

of friendship, and become a victim of Hymen.' Here the emotions of the

Spaniard became so violent that a large quantity of Port wine was

necessary to prevent syncope.

"Don Philip started from his seat, and eyed his friend with every mark

of unbounded surprise.

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

"'Before another pair of days have shown their tails above the tide of

time,' answered Bobadil with poetic fervor, having recourse to the

decanter containing Port.

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

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

"'Has some fair sonora smiled upon you?'

"'Not only has she smiled upon me, but she has actually laughed at me.

Port would never intoxicate me.'

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

"'Nevertheless, Don Philip, it is true as a _pater_. My pride would not

allow me to mention my case to you, until I became successful in my

suit; and when that was decided, I waited until you should be similarly

circumstanced, and we might marry together. Your frequent absence from

our lodgings, at night, aroused my suspicions, and I resolved to find

out your secret before imparting mine. Now that you have named your

mistress, I will acknowledge that I, also, have one, whose name is

Leonora, and I intend to make her my wife, when you lead Lisette to the

altar.'

"'I am rejoiced to hear you speak thus,' answered Don Philip, 'and

Lisette will partake of my joy; but, tell me, Bobadil, will you gain

wealth by this union?'

"'Gold enough to build a second Escurial, my dear Philip. Leonora is

the daughter of a rich Jew, and can show more maravedis than the

Infanta of Spain.'

"'Better and better. But how is it that her father will allow her to

wed a Catholic?' inquired Philip.

"'He is not to be consulted in the matter at all. I may as well relate

the circumstances of our acquaintance, and you will at once perceive

that the Israelite's consent is not required. Two weeks ago, I was

passing a small house not far from the Plaza del Rio, and, chancing to

look up, beheld the face of a beautiful Senora looking from a window.

Our glances met, whereupon she drew back with a blush, and I gallantly

kissed the tip of my glove. Although she immediately drew shut the

lattice, I fancied, from her look, that she was not displeased with my

conduct, and set about finding out who she was. I soon ascertained that

her father was a rich Jew, named Miguel, that his wife was dead, and

that he lived with his daughter and a wrinkled duenna, whom he had

enlisted to watch Leonora. Much as I despise Jews, the beauty of

Leonora had sunk into my heart, and I resolved to have an interview

with her, though our most Holy Church, should excommunicate me for it.

Accordingly, I passed the house every day for a week, and each time the

lady withdrew from the window with a blush, as I saluted her. This

encouraged me to scrape acquaintance with the pythoness who guarded

her, and by means of several small bribes, I was at length admitted to

a private interview with Leonora. My idol was coy at first, but after

one or two stolen visits, she returned my passion in an honorable way,

and will become my bride whenever it may please me to carry her off

from her old thief of a father.'

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

"'Not so,' replied Bobadil. 'My angel has a fortune of her own locked

up in a trunk, and I shall take good care to secure it in the first

place.'

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

he again spoke--

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

"'What an owl you are,' retorted Don Bobadil; 'Leonora shall pass for

as good a Catholic as the Pope himself.'

"'My dear friend, you delight me!' exclaimed Don Philip, springing from

his seat and embracing Bobadil; 'let us then make ourselves and our

mistresses happy at once--this very night! You can go after Leonora

while I seek Lisette.'

"Our hero found it necessary to take a drink of something after this

proposition, and then responded:

"'Spoken like a Spaniard and a gentleman; I will go to the house of

Miguel and bring the trunk of treasure from thence--that, you know,

should be secured first. After bringing it hither I will go back after

Leonora, and when next we meet I shall be a married man.'

"'Do so, Don Bobadil,' returned Philip, 'and I will, in like manner,

gain the fortune and hand of Lisette. Let us hasten, my friend, and we

shall be independently wealthy before morning.'

"Together they drank the remainder of the wine, and having given

certain orders to Dame Margy, left the house, each taking a different

route.

"It rained in torrents, when my hero wrapped his long cloak about him

and set out. The tormenting drops ran the length of his nose and poured

into his bosom, they crawled damply down his boots, they trickled

grievously into his ears, they clung to his long black hair, and soaked

through his sombrero; yet did the brave Spaniard press onward, as a

hero advances to the breastworks amid a storm of shot and shells. Love

had cast its thickest blanket about his heart, and a flame burned

glaringly there that nothing but matrimony and maravedis could quench.

Arriving in front of his mistress's abode, my hero picked up a handful

of sand, and threw it lightly against a window pane, such being the

signal by which he was to make known his presence when Miguel was at

home. Almost immediately a lattice was opened, and a woman's head,

ornamented with a scarlet cap _de nuit_ was thrust out.

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

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

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

"'Don Bobadil Banco.'

"'Don Bobadil Banco had better go home, if he don't want to have his

head broken with a flowerpot,' snarled the duenna.

"'Now, my dear Laura.'

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

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

"'You _are_ drunk!' screamed the lady.

"'No, I am not; but, pray, make less noise, my good Laura, or you will

have the alguazils about my ears. Tell your lady that I am here, and

you shall have a purse of ducats.'

"'Oh! ah! I will,' replied the mercenary woman, retiring quickly from

the window and again closing the lattice.

"The adventurous Spaniard stood in soak for half an hour, at the end of

which Dame Laura, cautiously admitted him at the door, and he soon

knelt before his mistress. Donna Leonora was a charming little

brunette, with raven curls and sparkling black eyes full of mirth.

"'Sancta Maria! what is the matter, Don Bobadil?' she exclaimed, eyeing

the kneeling personage with surprise.

"'Dearest Leonora, idol of my heart!' replied Bobadil, clasping her

waist, 'here on my knees let me implore you to become mine forever, and

make me happier than the angels. Recent events, which I cannot explain

at present, have rendered it necessary for me to thus intrude upon you

at an unseasonable hour, and implore that your promise to become my

bride may be at once fulfilled.'

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

"'Pardon my haste, dear Leonora,' answered Don Bobadil. 'I know how

exquisitely sensitive your nature is; but heaven destined us for each

other, and when I leave you, I leave a part of myself.'

"'The gentleman speaks wisely,' interrupted the duenna. 'Your father

has smoked his opium and will sleep until after meridian to-morrow. Go

with Don Bobadil, Senora, and Miguel shall learn all from me when he

awakes.'

"Leonora resisted for awhile; but her objections were speedily

overcome, and she at length yielded to the combined entreaties of her

lover, and subtle reasoning of her mercenary duenna. Such is love.

"'Here is a load for you, Senor,' said the latter personage, pointing

to a chest studded with brass nails that stood near. 'Carry it off as

quickly as possible, and return for your mistress when you have placed

her fortune in a safe place.'

"Our hero at once acceded to plans so consonant with his own, and after

embracing the Senorita, he seized the chest and hastened with it to his

lodgings. It was a heavy load for one man, and the rain still poured

furiously down; but the lover danced on like a feather before the

vagrant zephyrs of spring, and soon deposited his precious freight in

the room where he had lately held converse with Don Philip. This done,

he hastened back to the house of Don Miguel, impatient to secure his

fair bride; but Dame Laura met him at the door, with her fingers

pressed upon her lips, and her form barring his further progress.

"'Hist! not a word!' she whispered cautiously. 'The Jew was aroused by

the noise you made descending the stairs, and would not be satisfied

until he had searched the house with a candle in one hand and a drawn

sword in the other. He is quiet now, and if not again disturbed, will

soon sleep again. Return to your lodgings, and when Miguel slumbers, I

will hasten thither with my lady. Not a word! Go!'

"Conquering his impatience, Don Bobadil thrust a purse of slim

proportions into the bony hand of his confidante, and turned into the

street without breathing a syllable.

"As he ascended the stairs to his own room, the sound of voices fell

upon his ear, and fearing for the safety of his treasure, he rushed

headlong into the apartment with his sword drawn and a determination to

slaughter the intruders. His anger was soon turned to pleasure, when he

beheld Don Philip seated beside a very pretty female, whose hands he

held in his own, and whose ringletted head rested upon his shoulder,

with an air of familiarity that would have been the death of any old

maid, whose sight could have been blighted by such a scene. He also

noticed a chest somewhat smaller than the one he had obtained by right

of seizure, standing near the window, and felt doubly happy in the

conviction that his friend had brought home something more substantial

than a wife.

"'Lisette, this is my friend, Don Bobadil Banco,' said Don Philip,

leading the lady forward and presenting her. 'This, Don Bobadil, is my

wife, and though she has no proud title, I shall be proud to present

her to my family as one worthy of a gentleman's affection.'

"'My dear Philip, allow me to congratulate you on the possession of a

lady, who, if her virtue equals her beauty, must indeed be an angel,'

and our hero bowed with his accustomed courtesy to the blushing

Senorita.

"'But where is the mistress, of whom you boasted a short time since?'

asked Philip, glancing towards the door, as though expecting to behold

a fourth person. 'I supposed that I should find her here with a priest.'

"'The Jew took me for a thief, and woke up, or Donna Leonora would be

here now. But her duenna has promised to bring her hither soon and we

must have patience.'

"'Then take a seat, Don Bobadil, and I will relate the manner in which

I became possessed of Lisette, for I know you are dying to hear it,

though your pride hides your curiosity. While we were at Salamanca, I

became acquainted with a poor orphan girl, who won my heart by her

beauty and virtuous conduct. Other students saw and admired her; but

their admiration was not such as honor sanctioned, and the girl left

the place, preferring a strange place with quiet, to a home in which

she was constantly subject to insult and annoyance. At the time I knew

not the reasons for her sudden departure, and it filled me with sorrow.

I hid my feelings from you, however, fearing that your disposition for

mirth might lead you to make a butt of me. I came hither with you, and

beheld many fair ladies, but to none did my heart incline, and the fair

orphan of Salamanca remained mistress of my thoughts. About a week

after our arrival in Madrid, you went to a ball one evening, leaving me

to comfort Dame Margy until you came back. Not much liking such

company, I strolled forth to the grand plazza and entered a theatre

with the crowd. Numerous familiar faces appeared in various parts of

the building, and while I went about to greet my friends, the play was

commenced. I believe I should not have looked upon the stage at all, so

busily was I engaged, had not the tones of a voice made me start back

in amazement, and look wildly toward the performers. Near the centre of

the stage, clad in the costume of her _role_, and bowing in a flowery

train, was a form and face that sent the blood hurtling through my

veins like molten lead. After standing like one petrified for some

moments, I suddenly quitted the boxes, and gained admittance behind the

scenes. I had not been mistaken; the orphan of Salamanca and the

actress of Madrid were one. I need not tell an ardent lover like

yourself the effect of such a meeting; it is sufficient to say, that

Lisette bade farewell to the stage, whither necessity had forced her,

and took from thence a liberal compensation. Such is the history of my

amour, Don Bobadil; and, as we each have caskets at hand, I propose

that we become acquainted with their contents.'

"'Donna Leonora owns the one I brought hither, and it may displease her

should I open it,' answered our hero.

"'Not at all, my friend; she is to be your wife before morning, and

what belongs to your wife belongs equally to you.'

"'Oh! very well,' responded Bobadil.

"'I will display the riches of Lisette first to encourage you, and you

may follow with the dowry of Senora Leonora,' said Don Philip, taking

off the lid of the second chest.

"Our hero looked on in surprise, as his friend displayed its contents,

and his pride made him tremble, lest his own portion should prove less

costly. There were gorgeous robes, satin slippers, magnificent

ornaments of gold, sparkling brilliants, bracelets, necklaces, and

brooches, set with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds, a tiara sparkling

like a constellation of midnight stars, and an immense leather bag

filled with valuable coins.

"'Why, Don Philip, you have all the riches of Indus here!' exclaimed

Don Bobadil, opening wide his eyes in astonishment.

"'So much for your discrimination, Bobadil,' returned Philip. 'These

robes belong to an actress' wardrobe, and are more gaudy than valuable.

These rubies, emeralds, and diamonds are pieces of colored and crystal

glass, intended to dazzle unsophisticated eyes, but nearly worthless to

the jeweler; the gold setting is worth its weight in brass, and these

coins alone are genuine. But let us now look upon your dowry, my

friend, when, I doubt not, that we shall be made to wink by the glitter

of pure gems and true metal.'

"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.