As I sit looking out of my window, my boy, on the street below, and

notice how tranquilly all things are going on here, despite the

excitement of the time, a deep sense of satisfaction steals over me,

and the American Eagle of patriotic pride flaps his breezy pinions on

the oak tree of my heart. Though I have just been laughing myself

almost sick at the ludicrous manner in which my friend, the

Confederacy, has walked right straight into the cunning trap prepared

for his destruction by our own noble and profound generals, actually

hastening his own annihilation by rushing blindly through our lines,

and capturing the twenty or thirty artful villages, towns, and

garrisons left there for the express purpose of tempting him to his

dreadful doom--though I have just been splitting my sides over this

roaring case of ridiculous suicide, my boy, the city of Washington

still maintains its calmness! Ever conscious that conquer we must, for

our cause it is just, this city remains as placid as a summer dream;

nearly all the liquor-shops doing a good business through the day, and

the evening finding a majority of our army officers at their posts.

Lamp-posts, my boy.

There is something touchingly grand in the calmness of Washington under

such circumstances, and it reminds me of a pleasing little incident in

the Sixth Ward.

There was a female millinery establishment on the third floor of a

building composed principally of stairs, fed with frequent small rooms,

and the expatriated French comtesse, who realized fashionable bonnets

there, used one of her windows to display her wares. At this window, my

boy, she always kept a young woman of much bloom and symmetry, with the

latest Style on her head, and an expression of unutterable smile on her

face. A young chap carrying a trumpet in the Fire Department happened

to notice that this angel of fashion was always at the window when he

went by; and as the thought that she particularly admired his personal

charms crept over him, he at once adopted the plan of passing by every

day, attired in the garments best calculated to render fire-going

manhood most beautiful to the eye. He donned a vest representing in

detail the Sydenham flower-show on a yellow ground, wore inexpressibles

representing innumerable black serpents ascending white columns,

assumed a neck-tie concentrating all the highest glories of the Aurora

Borealis, mounted two breast-pins and three studs torn from some

glass-house, and wore a hat that slanted on his head in an engaging and

intelligent manner. Day after day he passed before the millinery

establishment, my boy, still beholding the beloved object at the

window, and occasionally placing his hand upon his heart in such a way

as to show a large and gorgeous seal-ring containing the hair of a

fellow-fireman who had caught such a cold at a great fire that he died

some years after. "How cam she is!" says he to himself, "and she's as

pretty as ninety's new hose-carriage. It seems to me," says the young

chap to himself, stooping down to roll up the other leg of his

pants--"it seems to me that I never see anything so cam. She observes

my daily agoing and yet she don't so much as send somebody down to see

if there's any overcoats in the front entry."

One day, my boy, a venerable Irish gentleman, keeping a boarding-house

and ice-cream saloon in the basement of the establishment, happened to

go to sleep on the stairs with a lighted camphene lamp in his hand, and

pretty soon the bells were ringing for a conflagration in that

district. Immediately our gallant firemen were on their way to the

spot; and having first gone through forty-two streets on the other side

of the city to wake the people up there and apprise them of their great

danger, reached the dreadful scene, and instantly began to extinguish

the flames by bringing all the furniture out of a house not more than

three blocks below. In the midst of these self-sacrificing efforts, a

form was seen to dart into the burning building like a spectre. It was

the enamored young chap who carried a trumpet in the department. He had

seen the beloved object sitting at the window, as usual, and was bent

upon saving her, even though he missed the exciting fight around the

corner. Reaching the millinery-room door, he could see the object

standing there in the midst of a sea of fire. "How cam she is," says

he. "Miss Milliner," says he, "don't you see you're all in a blaze?"

But still she stood at the window in all her calmness. The devoted

young chap turned to a fellow-fireman who was just then selecting two

spring bonnets and some ribbon for his wife, in order to save them from

the flames, and says he: "Jakey, what shall I do?" But Jakey was at

that time picking out some artificial flowers for his youngest

daughter, my boy, and made no answer. Unable to reach the devoted maid,

and rendered desperate by the thought that she must be asleep in the

midst of her danger, the frantic young chap madly hurled his trumpet at

her. It struck her, and actually _knocked her head off_! Horrified at

what he had done, the excited chap called himself a miserable wretch,

and was led out by the collar. It was Jakey who did this deed of

kindness, and says he: "What's the matter with you, my covey?" The poor

young chap wrung his hands, and says he: "I've killed her, Jakey, I've

killed her--and she so cam." Jakey took some tobacco, and then says he:

"Why, that was only a pasteboard gal, you poor devil." And so it was,

my boy--so it was; but the affair had such an effect upon the young

chap that he at once took to drinking, and when delirium tremens marked

him for its own, his last words were: "I've killed her, Jakey, I've

killed her--and she so cam."

Washington, my boy, is "cam" in the midst of a conflagration. That is

to say, the Government is "cam," they say; and it may be doubted

whether it would be otherwise, even with its head knocked off.

The other day, I paid another visit to the Mackerel camp across the

river, and was present at a meeting of officers called to debate upon

the propriety of presenting a sword to the beloved general, for his

heroism in the late great battle. Captain Samyule Sa-mith was in favor

of the presentation, and says he: "Our inimitable leader, which is the

admiration of everybody, richly deserves the blade in question. In the

thickest of that deadly fray, his coat-tails were torn entirely off by

a parrot shell."

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

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

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

"Close to the buttons."

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

time?"

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

it."

"That's because you have a feeble intelleck, Samyule," says Villiam,

mildly. "The human form," says Villiam, reasoningly, "has such

variations of surface, that a projectile hurled at it in a straight

line, cannot simply graze it to any extent without making a wound in

some place. The coat-tails of the human form," says Villiam, lucidly,

"could not without injury to that form be severed at the buttons by a

ball, unless they were _sticking straight out_ at the instant; and it

is important that the United States of America should know whether the

face of the wearer was turned toward the Southern Confederacy, or in an

opposite direction, at the exact moment of the disaster."

The electrifying wisdom of this thoughtful speech, my boy, had the

effect to produce an immediate adjournment of the general's friends;

for when the test of anatomy is applied to a man's bravery, that

bravery becomes a mere matter of form.

The general, my boy, is the idol of his Mackerel children, and as our

armies slowly advance to deal the death-blow to this impious rebellion,

it will be proved that he was not responsible for a single one of the

mistakes he has made, and could have taken Richmond long ago, but for

his inability to do so. Heaven forgive these Jacobin black-republicans

who object to his being President in 1865! This is the prayer of twenty

millions of free white men under the Constitution, as was very justly

observed to me by a political chap from New Haven last week. On

Tuesday, the Mackerel Brigade was on the outskirts of Accomac--Company

3, Regiment 1, being sent ahead, under Colonel Wobert Wobinson, to

watch the movements of some regiments of Confederacies, who were

believed to be either there or in South Carolina. The advance-guard

stayed there two days, my boy, and then an orderly came riding in to

the general, with the request that he would immediately send

re-enforcements and provisions, as Company 3, Regiment 1, was in danger

of starvation and defeat, at short notice.

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

perspiring orderly:

"I have heard your request, my child; but before I comply with it, I

wish to know what is the present political complexion of Colonel

Wobinson."

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

"I don't know; but for God's sake, general, send us something to eat,

and some help, or not one of us can be saved."

The general waved his hand magisterially, and says he:

"That's very true. But I must first know what are the sentiments of

Colonel Wobinson on the negro question."

The orderly might have responded, my boy, had he not fainted just then

from weakness. In pity for his comrades, orders were at once given for

the transportation of provisions, and re-enforcements to Company 3

before the end of the month; and had the before mentioned Confederacies

delayed marching into Accomac until that time, I should not be obliged

now to chronicle another of those disasters to our arms, which the

traitorous harangues of Wendell Philips have so outrageously produced.

If this war is to be prosecuted with vigor, my boy, we must repose

unlimited confidence in the ability of the Administration and of our

generals, resolutely frowning down all Jacobin demonstrations at home,

and suffering our leaders to be interfered with by no one but each

other. If we permit civilians to manage matters, the country will be

undone; but if, on the contrary, we trust everything to our generals,

the country will be "done"--brown.

Luckily for us all, the occupation of Accomac by the celebrated

Southern Confederacy, is a part of the great plan of the General of the

Mackerel Brigade to end this rebellion in one crushing blow, and as

soon as the entire Confederacy shall have entered Accomac in safety,

the Mackerel Brigade will proceed to bag it.

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

There you go again, my boy! always meddling with what you don't

understand, and presuming, in your civilian imbecility, to doubt the

practicability--not to say the utility--of a covert invincibility,

rendering it a futility on the part of Southern agility to take for

weak debility what is really strategic facility, and bound, in its

great fertility of warlike inventibility and utter reliability, to turn

all the foe's agility to a final accountability, that shall cause him,

in future humility, to treat us, at least, with civility.

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

This strategy's like some plan for grain depending so much on a fall of

rain, that, in less than a week, should the drought remain, 'twould

ruin it altogether. It pondereth blindly whether or no the opposite

hosts will do so-and-so: and how it will end at last, you know,

dependeth upon the "whether".

Yours, calmly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXX.

COMMENCING WITH HISTORICAL REFERENCE; RELATING THE EPISODE OF

SPURIOSO GRIMALDI, AND DETAILING THE LAMENTABLE FAILURE OF

CAPTAIN SAMYULE SA-MITH TO PERISH HEROICALLY.

WASHINGTON, D. C., September 20, 1862.

I am in a star-spangled state of mind, my boy, in consequence of our

recent great victories, and would most respectfully request the

Governors of all the States to push forward re enforcements

immediately. Having rashly ventured into Accomac after forage and the

pursuit of happiness, the well-known Southern Confederacy is now

hemmed-in with much carnage, and finds itself hem'd and haw'd. The

South, the South, we love her still, no love than ours profounder; and,

having cornered her at last, we've thrown our arms around her.

Let us rejoice together, my boy, over the victory that has brought new

lustre to our flag, and proceed to extract from history a few parallels

calculated to indicate that the United States of America are somewhat

superior to the ancients in the art of war.

At the battle of Thermopylae the heroic Greeks engaged in the conflict

with their foes to the number of some thousands, and as their foes also

prosecuted hostilities simultaneously, the result was a struggle

terminating in the discomfiture of the defeated party. _Omnium vincit

omnia._ At the siege of Troy, the Trojans became involved in active

warfare with the Greeks, the latter being the adversaries of their

opponents, and though either side used their weapons against the other

side, victory finally perched upon the banners of the conqueror, and

produced the general effect of _sic transit gloria mundi_. The Troy

_Tribune_ suppressed all mention of McClellan in its account of this

spirited affair. The dreadful struggle of Argentium was commenced by

the attack of one host upon its antagonists, and raged bitterly, until

a cessation of hostilities found the victors holding an advantage over

the defeated. Burnside's division was not engaged. In the awful affair

of Roncesvalles, the myrmidons of Charlemagne and the hirelings of

Spain committed a breach of the peace by prosecuting a mutual affray,

resulting in the overthrow of the legions which were principally

overcome, and an advantage for the brigades chiefly entitled to the

victory. _Nihil est nullus._

It will be perceived, my boy, that the army of the Potomac was engaged

in none of those celebrated contests, as they did not all take place in

the same week. We make much better time, my boy, than the ancients.

I told you in my last, that the celebrated Southern Confederacy had

courted inevitable destruction by marching madly into Accomac at the

very moment when the victorious Mackerel Brigade was marching out--and

before I proceed further with the tale of invasion, I must pause to

relate the strange episode of Spurioso Grimaldi.

Spurioso Grimaldi, my boy, superintended the emigration from Italy to

this country of a hand-organ that was banished for playing

revolutionary tunes some time ago, and on arriving upon our shores

proceeded immediately to don a red shirt, and plan revolutions for the

coming fall and winter seasons. Upon the breaking out of the war he

enlisted three volunteers under his banner from the chorus of the

Academy of Music; but it was not until the recent occupation of Accomac

that he attempted to put his first revolutionary scheme into operation.

Then, indeed, he armed his three divisions with three George Law

muskets, and having gained the borders of suffering Accomac, he issued

the following:

PROCLAMATION.

Accomackians! How are you to day? This is, indeed, a pleasant morning,

and the crops look well. Accomackians, arise! For years you have been

the terror of all strangers stopping at your hotels. The accommodations

you offer, taken into consideration with the prices you charge, are

sufficient to appal the world! Arise! Remember Waterloo, and Wagram,

and Bull Run, and other battles in which you took no active part. Now!

Right away! Hey?

GRIMALDI.

As the Union element still lives in Accomac, my boy, and wishes nothing

done to disturb the neighborhood, he could not but deem Mr. Grimaldi's

movement ill advised, and issued the following responsive

PROCLAMATION.

S. Grimaldi, at the head of an army of three equipped and disciplined

troops, calls the Accomackians to arms. This is scarcely the time for

such a call, and the army of liberation is scarcely adequate to the

enterprise proposed. Some disaster might occur should an army of three

equipped and disciplined troops attack a force of twenty thousand,

under Stonewall Jackson, at this present crisis. Therefore, let Accomac

rest in peace, and continue to keep a hotel.

UNION L. LAMENT.

These proceedings caused great excitement down at Paris and London, my

boy, and the excellent and independent journals of those places

proceeded at once to publish several yards of profound editorial on the

probable convulsion of the earth's surface, in consequence of S.

Grimaldi's revolutionary proceedings.

"The entire habitable universe," said the Paris _Pitcher_, "appears on

the verge of terrible upheavings, and the army of S. Grimaldi seems

destined to work an entire change in the economy of the creation, and

oblige the North and South Poles to change places permanently."

Not to be outdone, the London _Tumbler_ issued an extra, composed

entirely of auction advertisements and an excited editorial: "The black

cloud so long brooding over the shrinking countenance of upturned

nature seems at length prepared to vomit its horrid flames over the

entire surface of animated humanity. S. Grimaldi, who is now marching

on Accomac, is not unlikely to prove the instrument of this

earth-rending explosion. The unholy American rebellion dwindles to

insignificant nothingness in comparison with this terrible affair."

So Grimaldi marshaled his three divisions, my boy, and having marched

upon Accomac, was promptly arrested by the police and incarcerated to

await an examination. So much for the episode of Spurioso Grimaldi.

Turning from events which have a deeper interest for Europe than for

our own victorious but distracted country, let me cheer and improve

your mind, my boy, with some account of the recent glorious victories

around Accomac, wherein the fearless and unwounded Mackerel Brigade

acquired another coat of glory, making the third this season.

It was Tuesday morn, when Captain Samyule Sa-mith of the advance guard,

having satisfied himself that the Brigade was about to achieve its

crowning victory, concluded that the time for expiring after the manner

of General Wolfe at Quebec had arrived at last. The battle had already

commenced, my boy, and a squad of evil-minded Confederacies were in

full retreat after the Mackerel pickets, when Samyule hastily fell upon

his back, and beckoned for the artist of Frank Leslie's Illustrated

paper, motioned for the nearest reporter to take out his note-book,

drew a lock of red hair from his bosom and kissed it, waved his left

hand feebly toward his country's standard, and, says he: "_Tete

d'Armee!_ I die for the old fla--"

"Stop!" shrieked a Mackerel, dashing frantically to his side at this

instant. "The Anatomical Cavalry, which is ordered to charge the foe,

wishes to know if it shall take its horses along."

Up sprang Samyule, and says he:

"Tell the horsemen to take everything but their trunks with them, and

not to stay more than a week. I really believe," says Samyule in a

great passion--"I really believe the artillery will be wanting to know

next if they'd better load before firing."

Just at this time, my boy, the Conic Section of the Mackerel Brigade,

under Captain Villiam Brown, came charging toward the spot with fixed

bayonets, their gallant leader waving his sword, Escalibar, over his

head, and calling on his troops to lead on to victory. Forward they

went like mad, rushing past us in swift fury, and composing the

heaviest visitation of red noses ever yet launched upon a foe. To be

sure, no foe was visible in the immediate line of their charge; but as

they happened to be going down a pretty steep hill at the time, it was

quite possible that they might meet some adversaries before they could

stop themselves.

Fired by the sight, Captain Samyule Sa-mith flew to take command of a

company of Mackerels, who were busily firing their muskets at some

Confederacies not more than two miles distant; and having placed

himself at the head thereof, was about to proceed in pursuit of warlike

adventures, when he caught sight of a body of men, followed by another

body of men, moving along in the valley below him.

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

"Oh," says a sergeant beside him, "that's the No. 3 army of the

Confederacy, escorting some prisoners which they have just taken at

Harper's Ferry."

Samyule regarded the spectacle attentively for a moment, and says he:

"Well, there's only one thing more I want to know about it. I want to

know," says Samyule thoughtfully, "which of them two bodies of infantry

is the army, and which is the prisoners?"

Was there the tiniest, wee-ist, smallest fragment of sarcasm in his

speech? Find out for yourself, my boy--find out for yourself.

It was shortly after this remark, and while the Orange County Howitzers

were raining a tempest of shot and shell at everything but the enemy,

that a small bit of shrapnell fell near Samyule's feet, and again

reminded him of his latter end. Noting that he was observed by those

around him, my boy, and that the surroundings of the scene were

picturesque, he uttered a hollow groan and fell prone to the earth.

Then picking up the bit of shrapnell, and laying it upon his heart, he

kicked once, and says he:

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

"Forward with Company 2, immediately," thundered a messenger who at

this moment came tearing to the spot. "The Confederacy has flanked the

Conic Section, and is trying to escape."

Preferring to defer death itself rather than see his beloved country

outwitted by the rebels, Captain Samyule Sa-mith darted swiftly to his

feet at the word, and instantaneously led Company 2 down the hill at

double-quick. I followed him half-way, my boy, and then turned off into

a cross road, where I found Captain Villiam Brown striving to get a

portion of the devoted Conic Section into a straight line by ranging it

against a fence. Villiam ceased his labors when he saw me approaching,

and says he:

"Here's conquering beings for you. Ah!" says Villiam, proudly, "I sent

these invincible beings on a bayonet charge just now, and they have all

come back without their muskets."

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

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

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

"Why," says Villiam, confidentially, "they didn't bring a single one

back with them, and of course they must have left them sticking into

the paralyzed Confederacies."

If Villiam could draw a checque as easily as he can draw an inference,

my boy, he might paper the outside of the universe with ten dollar

bills and have enough fifties left to make a very deep border.

Leaving the decimated _corps_ to reorganize, I hastened down the hill

again, and arrived at the bottom only to find a group of reporters and

Mackerels surrounding a manly prostrate form. Company 2 had just

succeeded in routing some Confederacies from a melon-patch, and Captain

Samyule Sa-mith was improving the opportunity to expire once more in an

affecting manner.

Lifting his feeble head when he saw me, and pulling a small flag a

little further out of a side-pocket in his coat, the perishing warrior

smiled half way down his chin, and says he:

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

"One moment, if you please!" shouted Colonel Wobert Wobinson, breaking

through the group.--"Could you make it convenient to pay me that dollar

you owe me, Samyule?"

Samyule arose deliberately to his feet again, my boy, wearing upon his

countenance the most awful expression I ever saw upon a human face.

"Well," says Samyule, furiously, "I've tried to die for my country

three times to-day, and never got further than the old fla--! There is

such vulgarity in them which incessantly surrounds me," says Samyule,

bitterly, "that they won't even let me die in peace."

Here a Mackerel chap sniffed differentially, and says he: "But you was

trying to die in war, capting."

There was something so inhuman in the idea of a man making a joke on

such a serious occasion, as that, my boy, that the entire party was

struck dumb with horror; and one of the spectators retired

precipitately behind a tree, where I immediately heard him laughing

wildly with joy over the thought that it was not himself who had been

guilty of such a hideous enormity.

It would be useless for me to spend more time in showing how the battle

raged to a victorious conclusion, leaving the Mackerel Brigade in

triumphant possession of the ground it occupied at the outset, and the

Confederacy rooted to the spot it held from the commencement.

Scarcely had the strife been finished half an hour, when the popular

General of the Mackerel Brigade arrived to direct all the movements in

person, and to gain some knowledge of the victories he had just won.

Accompanying him was the political chap from New Haven, who at once

proceeded to congratulate the troops and address them on the subject of

the next election.

"My brothers in arms," says he, with fond familiarity, "having done our

duty as patriots, let us proceed to ballot for President of the United

States in 1865. Need I say that our victorious general is the man?"

Truly, my boy, we shall have little difficulty in selecting a chief

magistrate next term, when there is such a General longing for the

nomination.

Yours, politically,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXXI.

SHOWING HOW THE PRESIDENT AND THE GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE

ISSUED GREAT EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATIONS, AND HOW THE CHAPLAIN

WROTE A RADICAL POEM.

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

"John Brown's body," which has been "marching on" for some time past,

my boy, being thus considerably in advance of our strictly

Constitutional Army, has at length made a great strategic movement, and

evoked the following promissory note from our Honest Old Abe:

COLORLESS DOMICIL, Sept. 22d, 1862.

"Ninety days after date I promise to pay the Southern Confederacy, or

order, the full amount of its deserts.

"$ _Emancipation._ H. O. ABE."

The morning after this little settlement was made, my boy, I met the

conservative Kentucky chap on Pennsylvania avenue, and was greatly

edified by his high-minded remarks on the subject. "Having recently

disposed of any attached contrabands to good advantage," says he,

sagely, "I am now deeply convinced that my brother-in-law, the Southern

Confederacy, has brought this dispensation upon himself. I have said

all along that it would be so at last," says the genial Kentucky chap,

casting another glance at the score of a recent game of Euchre which he

held in his hand. "I have said all along that it would be so at last,

and I am still disposed to sustain the Administration and crush the

Black Republicans."

When I remembered the sentiments held by this accommodating chap only

about a week ago, my boy, I could not but feel that he had made a

remarkably sudden revolution on the axes he had to grind; and as there

was a pleasing spice of human audacity in his easy way of suiting his

style to the political demands of the moment, I was strongly reminded

of a chap I once knew in the Sixth Ward.

He was a young chap of gorgeous vest-pattern, and one Sunday afternoon

he went out riding with another sprightly young chap, who was

accompanied by his plighted pink bonnet. They were riding joyously

along in their hired vehicle, my boy, pleasantly discussing the merits

of Eighty's new foreman, and other subjects equally well calculated to

entertain and improve the fond female mind, when, as they turned a

sharp corner, there loomed up, at some distance ahead, a house bearing

a sign reading:

FEED STORE

OATS FOR SALE HERE.

No sooner did the spirited livery-horse observe this dangerous sign, my

boy, than he dashed toward it in a manner worthy of my own gothic

steed, the architectural Pegasus; and as there happened to be a few

stones in the way, the two chaps and the pink bonnet were presently

shot into the surrounding atmosphere without regard to the character of

the day. While the excited quadruped went on with the two fore-wheels

of the vehicle for the purpose of reading the sign nearer by, the chap

of the gorgeous vest-pattern announced his safe arrival in a sand-bank

by the appropriate and cheery cry of "Fire! fire! fire!" and the other

chap and the pink bonnet warbled hasty thanksgivings in the bosom of a

romantic ditch. How they finally caught the spirited livery horse, and

induced him to come back to the city again by making a copy of the sign

on a bit of paper, and placing it in his mouth, and how they ultimately

reached home, you must imagine. But in about a week after, the

unnatural livery-stable keeper brought suit against the smitten chap

for the two hind-wheels of his wagon; and when the young chap of

gorgeous vest-pattern was put upon the stand to prove that the

catastrophe was not the driver's fault, he winked agreeably at the

people, and says he: "My friend and assoshate exerted hisself visibly

to subdue the fiery old oat-mill. As it was, his brains was nearly

dashed out, his neck-tie was sprained, and he _found his watch wound

up_."

Here the livery lawyer thought he had the friendly chap in a tight

place, and says he:

"You say that by being thrown from the wagon so violently, the

defendant's watch was wound up. Perhaps you will inform the court how

such a strange phenomenon _could_ occur?"

The young chap merely paused long enough to make another desperate

attempt to reconcile the bottom-edge of his waistcoat to the top-edge

of his inexpressibles, and says he, with a fine smile:

"Why, it was easy enough for his watch to be wound up by it, my covey;

because _he turned three times in the air before he lit_."

Accommodating conservative chaps, my boy, though momentarily thrown out

of their reckoning, by reason of sudden proceedings caused by the

latest signs of the times, have a happy aptitude for turning-about as

often as may seem necessary, before alighting on a fixed principle.

The Mackerel chaplain, who came up from Harper's Ferry on Monday

afternoon, was delighted with H. O. Abe's promissory note, and

considers that old John Brown is at last

AVENGED.

GOD'S scales of Justice hang between

The deed Unjust and the end Unseen,

And the sparrow's fall in the one is weighed

By the Lord's own Hand in the other laid.

In the prairie path to our Sun-set gate,

In the flow'ring heart of a new-born State,

Are the hopes of an old man's waning years,

'Neath headstones worn by an old man's tears.

When the bright sun sinks in the rose-lipped West,

His last red ray is the headstone's crest;

And the mounds he laves in a crimson flood

Are a Soldier's wealth baptized in blood!

Do ye ask who reared those headstones there,

And crowned with thorns a sire's gray hair?

And by whom the Land's great debt was paid

To the Soldier old, in the graves they made?

Shrink, Pity! shrink, at the question dire;

And, Honor, burn in a blush of fire!

Turn, Angel, turn from the page thine eyes,

Or the Sin, once written, never dies!

They were men of the Land he had fought to save

From a foreign foe that had crossed the wave,

When his sun-lit youth was a martial song,

And shook a throne as it swelled along.

They were sons of the clime whose soft, warm breath

Is the soul of earth, and a life in death;

Where the Summer dreams on the couch of Spring,

And the songs of birds through the whole year ring;

Where the falling leaf is the cup that grew

To catch the gems of the new leaf's dew,

And the winds that through the vine-leaves creep

Are the sighs of Time in a pleasant sleep.

But there lurked a taint in the clime so blest,

Like a serpent coiled in a ring-dove's nest,

And the human sounds to the ear it gave

Were the clank of chains on a low-browed Slave!

The Soldier old at his sentry-post,

Where the sun's last trail of light is lost,

Beheld the shame of the Land he loved,

And the old, old love in his bosom moved.

He cried to the land, Beware! Beware

Of the symboled Curse in the Bondman there!

And a prophet's soul in fire came down

To live in the voice of old John Brown.

He cried; and the ingrate answer came

In words of steel from a tongue of flame;

They dyed his hearth in the blood of kin,

And his dear ones fell for the Nation's Sin!

O, matchless deed! that a fiend might scorn,

O, deed of shame! for a world to mourn;

A Soldier's pay in his blood most dear,

And a land to mock at a Father's tear!

Is't strange that the tranquil soul of age

Was turned to strife in a madman's rage?

Is't strange that the cry of blood did seem

Like the roll of drums in a martial dream?

Is't strange the clank of the Helot's chain

Should drive the Wrong to the old man's brain,

To fire his heart with a santon's zeal,

And mate his arm to the Soldier's steel?

The bane of Wrong to its depth had gone,

And the sword of Right from its sheath was drawn;

But the cabined Slave heard not his cry,

And the old man armed him but to die.

Ye may call him Mad, that he did not quail

When his stout blade broke on the unblest mail;

Ye may call him Mad, that he struck alone,

And made the land's dark Curse his own;

But the Eye of God looked down and saw

A just life lost by an unjust law;

And black was the day with God's own frown

When the Southern Cross was a martyr's Crown!

Apostate clime! the blood then shed,

Fell thick with vengeance on thy head,

To weigh it down 'neath the coming rod

When thy red right hand should be stretched to God.

Behold the price of the life ye took;

At the death ye gave 'twas a world that shook;

And the despot deed that one heart broke,

From their slavish sleep a Million woke!

Not all alone did the victim fall,

Whose wrongs first brought him to your thrall;

The old man played a Nation's part,

And ye struck your blow at a Nation's heart!

The freemen-host is at your door,

And a Voice goes forth with a stern "No More!"

To the deadly Curse, whose swift redeem

Was the visioned thought of John Brown's dream.

To the Country's Wrong, and the Country's stain,

It shall prove as the scythe to the yielding grain;

And the dauntless pow'r to spread it forth,

Is the free-born soul of the chainless North.

From the East, and West, and North they come,

To the bugle's call and the roll of drum;

And a form walks viewless by their side--

A form that was born when the Old Man died!

The Soldier old in his grave may rest,

Afar with his dead in the prairie West;

But a red ray falls on the headstone there,

Like a God's reply to a Soldier's pray'r.

He may sleep in peace 'neath the greenwood pall,

For the land's great heart hath heard his call;

And a people's Will and a people's Might,

Shall right the Wrong and proclaim the Right.

The foe may howl at the fiat just,

And gnash his fangs in the trodden dust;

But the battle leaves his bark a wreck,

And the Freeman's heel is on his neck.

Not all in vain is the lesson taught,

That a great soul's Dream is the world's New Thought;

And the Scaffold marked with a death sublime

Is the Throne ordained for the coming time.

The chaplain runs as naturally to poetry, my boy, as a water-melon does

to seed, and his muse is apt to be--alas! what a melancholy one!

In my last epistle, I was somewhat hyperbolical when I meant to be

metaphorical, as some of the older writers were allegorical when they

meant to be categorical. I told you, my boy, that we had cornered the

prudish Confederacy in Accomac, and "thrown our arms around her." Your

natural ignorance will demand an explanation; and I deem it fit to say,

that by the phrase "thrown our arms around her," I meant to say that

certain Mackerel regiments, in furtherance of the profound strategy of

the General of the Mackerel Brigade, had thrown their arms away, on

every side of the entrapped Confederacy. It was believed that the

Confederacy was perfectly safe for immediate capture, my boy; but upon

the discovery that the fords of Allkwyet River, in the rear of Accomac,

where the Confederacy could cross, were adjoining each other, and

extended from the source of the river to its mouth, it was deemed

proper to let the Confederacy court further ruination by retiring in

that direction. Hence, whilst the watchful Conic section took a brief

nap, the Anatomical Cavalry was sent rapidly in front of the

disgracefully retreating Confederacy to clear the road for it to the

river, and then telegraph the news of the great victory to all the

excellent morning journals.

It was another splendid stroke of profound strategy, my boy, and would

have crowned the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade with new

laurels, had he not been too bashfully modest to understand it himself.

Finding, however, that it seemed to be better than something worse, he

told his staff a small story to clear his throat, and then unfurled the

following

PROCLAMATION.

I, the General of the Mackerel Brigade, next President of the United

States of America, and Commander-in-Chief of the Mackerel Army and

superior improved iron-plated squadron, do hereby swear, that on this

occasion, as in a previous instance, the war will be prosecuted for the

object of practically maintaining the Constitution forever destroyed,

and restoring friendly relations between the sections and States

inexorably alienated; that it is my practical purpose to suggest, at

the next orderly meeting of the Mackerel Brigade, a practical offer of

pecuniary compensation for the slaves of the so-called Border States

which have refrained, through patriotic fear, from waging unnatural

hostilities with the United States of America and my practical self.

Gradual Emancipation having thus set in, as far as those States are

concerned, either voluntarily, or by virtue of a superior discretion,

persons of African descent will again be privileged, or voluntarily

compelled to colonize in Nova Zembla, where bear hunting is still in

full bloom; that on the first day of April, in the year of our Lord one

thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves by

what is then known as the ruins of the Southern Confederacy, shall be

then, thence, thenceforward and forever free, if they choose to

consider themselves so, and are able to achieve their independence;

that on the aforesaid first of April, the General of the Mackerel

Brigade will designate the States, or parts of States, which have

rendered this proclamation nugatory, by returning involuntarily, and by

force of our arms, to their allegiance, inviting them to elect members

of Congress, boarders at Willard's and Senators as usual, the same as

though their somewhat-prolonged rebellion against the United States of

America had been a rather meritorious arrangement, entitling them to

more than ordinary consideration.

And I do hereby respectfully request all officers to refrain in future

from paying the traveling expenses of persons of African descent sent

by them to their revolted masters after a term of trench service, as

there don't appear to be any common-sense in such expenditure.

And the General of the Mackerel Brigade will further recommend, that

all citizens of the United States remaining loyal now, or who may

become loyal, voluntarily or otherwise, at any period of the world's

history, be fully compensated for all losses sustained by the United

States, including the loss of memory or eye sight.

In witness whereof, behold the signature and seal of the

GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE.

(Green Seal.)

While I am compelled to admit, my boy, that I do not exactly understand

by what authority the General of the Mackerel Brigade is empowered to

issue this Proclamation; and that some of its clauses--particularly the

last--strike me as being somewhat muddled, I yet regard it as at least

a faint evidence that the tremendous farce in which we have so long

been playing such bloody parts is at last coming to an end.

And since the farce seems drawing to a close, perhaps your farcical

Orpheus C. Kerr could select no fitter time than this to withdraw with

grace from the field.

As this thought occurs to me, my boy, I look up, and behold a couple of

our brigadiers a few paces off, with only two tumblers between them.

Their faces are expressionless. I have seen apple-dumplings with more

expression, especially when dressed with sauce. It is impossible, my

boy, that any wise thing should enter into the heads of our

brass-buttoned generals under any possible circumstances; and with

heavy heart, I acknowledge the conviction that I must still rush the

quill.

Yours, enduringly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXXII.

REPORTING THE LATEST SMALL STORY FROM "HONEST ABE," AND DESCRIBING

THE MOST MERCENARY BAYONET CHARGE ON RECORD.

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

Our Honest Abe, my boy, may lack these brilliant qualities which in the

great legislator may constitute either the live-oak sceptre of true

patriotism or the dexter finger of refined roguery, as the genius of

the age pivots on honesty or diplomacy; but his nature has all the

sterling characteristics of the heartiest manhood about it, and there

is a smiling sun in his composition which never sets. That he is in his

anecdotage, my boy, is a fact

"Which nobody can deny;

Or, if they do, they lie!"

yet even his anecdotes have that simple sunlight in them which is,

perhaps, a greater boon to the high place of a nation in the dark hour,

than the most weird and perpetual haze of crafty wisdom could be.

There was a dignified chap here from New York on Monday; a chap who has

invented many political conventions in his time, and came here for the

special purpose of learning everything whatsoever concerning the

present comparative inactivity of the able-bodied Mackerel Brigade.

The Mackerel Brigade, my boy, has done little more than skirmish on the

festive borders of the well-known Southern Confederacy since the great

metaphysical victory in which it gained such applause and lost a few

muskets, and the dignified convention chap called upon the Honest Abe

to learn the meaning of the present situation.

Rumor states that it was the Honest Abe's hour of fragmentary leisure

when this inquiring chap perforated the White House; and that he was

sitting with his boots on the window-sill, carving a pine toothpick

from a vagrant chip.

"Mr. President," says the dignified chap, affably, "such is the agony

of the public mind in consequence of the present uncertainty in

military affairs that I feel it my duty, as a humble portion of that

Mind, to respectfully request of you some information as to the reason

for the cotemporary Mackerel inactivity."

"Hem!" says the Honest Abe, combing his locks with his right hand, and

placing a small bit of the chip in the right corner of his Etruscan

mouth: "Perhaps I cannot better answer your question, neighbor, than by

relating a small tale:

"There was a man out in Iowa who owned a large farm, on which he raised

everything but the interest of his purchase-money, and it cost him so

little to send his crops to the market that he was all the time wishing

he could find the crops to send. Now, this man was very tenacious of

his rights," says the Honest Abe, putting the argument with his

jack-knife--"he was very tenacious of his rights; and when a

squatter-sovereign from Missouri came and squatted right on one of his

best pieces of land, he determined to whip that squatter-sovereign

within an inch of his life, and then send him trooping. So he goes down

one day to where the squatter had run up a shingle house," says the

Honest Abe, brushing a chip from his right knee, "he goes down there,

and says he to the squatter: 'If you don't make tracks from here in

twenty-four hours, you varmint, I'll make you smell thunder and see

chain-lightnin'.' The squatter threw away the axe with which he was

thumping down a maple log for a door-post, and says he: 'This is a free

country, stranger; and if you'll come to a place where the grass is

thick enough to make a tidy tumble, we'll have it out at once.' This

put the old man's dander right up," says the Honest Abe, pulling down

his vest; "this put his dander right up, and says he: 'Grass be darned!

Here's a spot of ground as bare as the top of Governor Chase's head,

and I'll jest trouble you--y' old varmint you--to find how soft it is

for a night's lodgings.' After this speech there was no more to be

said; so the two geniuses repaired to the bare spot, and squared away

at each other like all possest. The old man was great on the science of

the thing," says the Honest Abe, using the toe of one boot as a

boot-jack to pull the other half-way off--"the old man was great on the

science of boxing; but the squatter had the muscle, and in about two

winks the old 'un was packing the gravel. Up he got again, very

ricketty in the shoulder-blades, and came to call like a grizzly in

bee-time, striking out with a bang up science, and would have triumphed

gloriously if he hadn't suddenly gone to gravel again, with all his

baggage. On this occasion, he righted with both his elbows out of

joint, and says he: 'You're as good as chawed up--y' old varmint,

you--but I'll come back here next spring, and have it out with you on

this same spot.' The squatter agreed to that, and they parted for the

time.

"Now the story of this drawn-fight got abroad, you see," says the

Honest Abe, working the blade of his jack-knife with his thumb--"it got

abroad; and one day a neighbor went to the old 'un, and says he:

'There's one thing about that big fight of yours, Uncle Billy, I can't

understand. What made you put off the end of the show till next spring?'

"'Have you seen the cantankerous spot where we fit?' says the old 'un,

moving his shoulders uneasily.

"'Truelie,' says the neighbor.

"'Well,' says the old 'un, craftily, 'I'm just waiting _till that thar

spot has a trifle of grass on it_.'"

At the conclusion of this natural little narrative, my boy, the

dignified conventional chap hurried from the White House scratching his

head: and I really believe, my boy--I really believe, that his

sensitive soul detected an analogy not gushingly flattering to national

strategy and the President of the United States for 1865.

Soon after hearing of this, I met him at Willard's, and says I: "Well,

my sagacious Mirabeau, what is your final opinion of our Honest Abe?"

He merely paused long enough to swear at a button which happened to

burst from the neck-band of his shirt just then, and says he: "The

Honest Abe is a well-meaning Executive, enough. He's a well-meaning

Executive," says the dignified chap, with an air of slightly-irritated

good-nature; "but I wish he'd do something to save his country, instead

of telling small tales all the time."

Our President is an honest man, my boy, and the glass in his spectacles

isn't exactly made of the paper they print telegrams upon.

Learning that the Mackerel Brigade was still awaiting abject peace

propositions from the exhausted Confederacy, on the borders of Accomac,

I scaled the outer walls of my Gothic steed, Pegasus, on Wednesday, and

sped thither on the metaphorical wings of retarded lightning. A wisp of

hay was clinging to the wiry mane of the architectural animal, my boy,

and this I used to delude the spirited steed from making those sudden

stops in which he invariably indulges whenever a passing acquaintance

hails us with the familiar salutation of "Hey!--where are you bound?"

The charger has evidently a confused idea of the word "Hey," my boy.

Upon gaining the outskirts of Accomac, I met Company 3, Regiment 5,

Mackerel Brigade, just coming out to make a bayonet-charge upon one of

the Confederacy's earthworks not far away. I might have let the

warriors pass by unheeded, my boy, as I was deeply ruminating upon

strategy; but as they came nearer, I noticed among them a file of red

noses dragging along a Mackerel, who was tearing and groaning like a

madman. In fact, the chap became so violent just then, that Captain

Villiam Brown precipitately dropped his canteen and halted the company.

I looked at the devoted and nearly-sober beings clustered about the

struggling chap, and says I:

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

gymnastic friend?"

A Mackerel, largely patched in several departments of his attire,

shaded his voice with a crab-like hand, and says he: "That is Jakey

Mogs, which got a letter from his virchoose femly just the instant we

was ordered to fix bayonets, and he's gone cracked because the Captain

can't let him leave for home in a big rush."

Here the refractory chap burst furiously from those who were holding

him, fell upon his knees before the captain, and says he, as he cried

like a woman: "For God's sake, Cap, _do_ let me go home just this once,

and I swear to God I won't stay there more than just one minnit! My old

woman wrote this herself (tearing the letter from his ragged breast),

and she says our little Tom is dying. He's a-dying--O good Lord! it's

too much! Please let me go, my dear, good Cap, and I won't be gone an

hour; and I'll bring you back the pootiest little bull-tarrier you ever

see; and you can shoot me for desertion--honor bright! My Tommy's

a-dying, I tell you, and she's wrote for me to come right away. Just an

hour, Cap, for God's sake!--only _half_ an hour, and I'll come back and

be shot--honor bright!"

As the wild words came pouring out of the poor fellow's working soul,

there fell a breathless hush upon all his comrades; the line of

bayonets seemed to me to reflect the soft light of the afternoon with a

kind of strange quiver, and though the Captain turned his head sternly

away from the suppliant, there was not that firmness in the arm

circling to his hip which drives home the sword of the strong.

"Take the being under guard," says Villiam, hoarsely; "for he _must_

go."

At the word, the rude father sprang to his feet, with a tigerish glare

in his eyes, dashed the letter to the ground, tore his bowie from its

sheath; and as, with the howl of a wild beast, he made a furious thrust

at one of those who approached to secure him--Nature broke in the

tempest, and he fell into the arms of a comrade, in a fit. They sent

him back, then, to camp, and Company 3, Regiment 5, moved forward once

again, as though nothing had happened.

Alas! my boy, when this whole war is the sensitive nerve of a vast

nation, and vibrates a thrill of mortal agony to a million of souls at

each jar the very air receives from a shot, what matter is it if a

single heart be broken.

I pondered this deeply as I followed Company 3; nor did I heed the

affable remarks occasionally volunteered by Captain Villiam Brown until

we gained the edge of the field wherein was located a company of

bushwhacking Confederacies, as was supposed, behind a scientific

mud-work. Captain Bob Shorty and Captain Samyule Sa-mith were already

on the ground to witness the bayonet charge; and it was well that they

had provided bits of smoked glass to view it through, as the glaring

brilliancy of the anticipated feat might have proved hurtful to the

naked eye. As I took my place with them, my boy, I could not but admire

the rapidity with which Captain Villiam Brown kicked some of his beings

into a straight line before the foe's front, and at the same time

addressed them after the manner of a great commander:

"Comrades," says Villiam, his voice quivering finely with

uncontrollable valor, "the eyes of future centuries are looking down

upon you on this present occasion, and your distracted country expects

you to propel the gleamy steel. Ah!" says Villiam, taking another hasty

look at his notes, "the distracted country has great confidence in

bayonet charges, which are quite valuable on account of their scarcity

in this unnatural war. My fellow-beings," says Villiam, allowing

several Mackerels to get in front of him, that he might more readily

direct their movements, "we will now proceed to charge bayonets."

From our point of vantage, we saw that serried host sweep on, my boy,

their movements being exceedingly rapid for several yards; when they

went slower, and finally stopped.

Captain Samyule Sa-mith eyed them intensely through his glass, and says

he: "It appears to me that there is temporary inactivity in the ranks,

and I can see some manly heads turned the wrong way."

Captain Bob Shorty frowned until his left eyebrow contracted a delicate

streak of smoke from _his_ glass, and says he: "You speak like one of

feeble mind, Samyule. The legs, not the head, are the portions of the

human frame to be watched in a baynit charge."

Taught by this remark, I gazed at the nether continuations of our

country's hope and pride, and my glass told me that many of them were

working in their sockets as though belonging to wholly irresponsible

parties. Were those devoted men about to change their base of

operations and entrap Stonewall Jackson's whole force again, without

waiting to receive a shot?

It was a moment of dreadful suspense.

Then did the matchless genius of Villiam Brown arise to the full

demands of the breathless occasion, in one of those subtle appeals to

human nature's great undercurrent which leads men as children often are

led. In the rear of the Confederacy's work was the slanting side of a

precipitous hill, and to this hill-side he had secretly dispatched the

paymaster of the _corps_, by a circuitous route, with a package that

looked as though it might contain Treasury Notes under his arm. Just at

this awful juncture, when the fate of the day hung by a hair, that

paymaster made his appearance on the hill-side above the mud-work, and

put on his spectacles to make himself more plainly visible.

"Comrades," says Villiam, pointing to the celestial figure, "yonder is

the disbursing genius of the United States of America. Charge baynits,

and let us be paid off."

Though the whole Confederacy had been in the way at that moment, my

boy, it would not have delayed the charge. Forward went Company 3,

Regiment 5, with mercenary celerity, capturing the hostile work with

great success; and finding therein a Confederate letter, stating that

the Confederacy could not so far demean itself as to fight a force

whose leader had not been educated at West Point.

There is a point, my boy, _beyond_ which the Confederacy cannot hope to

offer successful resistance to our arms, and recent events would seem

to indicate that it is West Point.

Yours, formally,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXXIII.

MAKING MENTION OF ANOTHER MEETING OF THE COSMOPOLITAN CLUB, AT

WHICH THE TURKISH AND RUSSIAN MEMBERS READ THEIR STORIES.

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

At the meeting of the Cosmopolitans last evening, my boy, N. E.

Ottoman, the Turkish chap, related the tale of

THE SULTAN'S FAVORITE.

"In all Circassia, there was no woman to be compared with Zara, for

beauty. Her eyes were like the stars, her hair was threads of gold, her

teeth were pearls, her complexion more white and pure than the marble

of Patras, and her form was like those of the houris, whom Allah has

locked up in paradise, for the benefit of all true believers.

"The father of this beautiful girl was a mountain chieftain, much noted

for his physical strength, bravery, and insatiable avarice. His wife

died in giving birth to Zara, and upon her child he lavished all the

affection which his iron heart could nourish; but gold overcame the

finer feelings of a parent, and Nemyl beheld the bud of childhood

bursting forth into the soul-subduing woman with thoughts in which

there was far more speculation than love.

"'You shall be sold to the Sultan,' said he to her, 'and he will soon

become your most devoted slave. You may make him do what you will, and

I shall become respected and rich, as the father of a Sultan's

favorite.'

"Zara made no reply to such anticipations; for, although she honored

the _alem penali_ of mankind, her affections had lighted upon another

object.

"During the war between the Russians and Circassians, truces of a few

days' duration were quite frequent, and at such periods those of both

parties who were upon the plains, intermingled, and spoke words of

peace to each other. On one of these occasions, a Russian detachment

was quartered near the habitation of Nemyl, and a young officer, who

beheld Zara, fell in love with her at first sight, although he saw

nothing but her form; for her face was covered.

"Garstoff (for such was his name) made various attempts to have

communication with the insensible object of his passion; but, for some

days, his efforts were in vain--the Circassians being very ready to

keep truce with his countrymen, but very jealous, also, of any

attention bestowed upon one of their own nation. The officer beheld the

brief period of peace fast drawing to an end, and was about to resign

his darling object, when fortune unexpectedly befriended him.

"One evening as he was returning to his camp, a sound of clashing steel

fell upon his ear, and, turning in the direction from whence it came,

he observed a horseman bravely defending himself against the assaults

of four men in Turkish costume. Swift as lightning, his sword flew from

his scabbard, and going to the assistance of the rider, he made two of

the assailants bite the dust, while the others took to their heels and

quickly disappeared.

"'Your assistance was most timely, and I owe my life to you,' said the

horseman, dismounting from his steed, and peering into the face of his

new ally.

"'I am happy to have been of service to a brave man,' replied Garstoff,

'but who were those scoundrels?'

"'I know them not,' answered the other, 'but suppose them to belong to

a band of mountain thieves, who are prowling about the camps in search

of plunder. I perceive, by your uniform, that you are one of our

enemies. But we are at peace now, and as you have saved my live, I

extend the hand of friendship to you. Come with me to my house, and we

will eat salt together.'

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

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

"'I cannot refuse your kind invitation,' said Garstoff. And Nemyl

remounting his horse, the two set off at good speed not saying another

word until they arrived at the house of the chieftain. It was a

spacious but rude habitation, and the only attendant who welcomed the

pair was a pretty little girl of scarce ten years. Nemyl fastened the

horses of himself and visitor under a low shed, and then proceeded to

an apartment where _rabols_, viands, various fruits, mountain herbs,

and large vessels filled with coffee and eastern wines, were placed

upon a table with covers for three persons.

"'We sup here,' he said, motioning Garstoff to a seat beside the board,

and taking one himself. 'I expected to have met one of our chiefs

to-night, and brought him to my house, but those fellows stopped me,

and I changed my company. Eat--What is your name?'

"'Major Garstoff.'

"A shade passed over the features of Nemyl, at the sound of that name,

and he grasped the hilt of his scymetar, for he had heard of the

officer's attempt to speak with Zara, and it was only a thought of

recent events that restrained him from rushing upon the bold barbarian

with the fury of a tiger.

"Garstoff beheld the change in his host's manner, and had grasped his

own weapon, to defend himself from any sudden attack, when a door was

opened, and Zara entered the department, preceded by the little slave,

looking more beautiful than ever.

"The officer was filled with various emotions by her presence; for he

at once recognised her as the idol of his heart, and all feelings of

anger disappeared at once.

"'This is my child Zara,' said Nemyl, with affected indifference. 'The

great Sultan has an apartment for her in his seraglio, and his Aga has

already bargained with me for her purchase.'

"Garstoff watched the girl's countenance, while her father spoke thus,

and was delighted to perceive that she was discomposed by his words;

but resolving to avoid a quarrel with his entertainer, he replied:

"'Happy must be the man, whether sultan or renegade, who is destined to

claim so much beauty for his own.'

"The suspicions of Nemyl were lulled to sleep by such disinterested

expressions, and he ate and drank with his visitor, in all good will,

while Zara listened in silence to their conversation. At length, the

fumes of the liquors which he had swallowed, mounted to his brain, and

after giving vent to some incoherent oaths, the Circassian fell upon

the floor in a state of insensibility. His visitor was quite astonished

by such a catastrophe; but as it afforded him an opportunity to

converse with Zara, he rather rejoiced at it.

"'Fair lady,' said he, 'can it indeed be true that your charms are

destined to wither in the Sultan's harem?'

"'It is true, stranger,' answered Zara, in mournful tones, 'the Aga of

Soliman, spoke with my father at Constantinople, and I am to be borne

thither soon.'

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

"'No!' replied the beautiful Circassian, with emphasis. 'But it is the

will of Allah, and I must submit.'

"She arose from her seat, and beckoning for the attendant, was about to

leave the apartment, when Garstoff, laid his hand upon her arm, and

gently restrained her.

"'Forgive my rudeness,' he said, with much earnestness; 'but, Zara, I

cannot behold your sacrifice, without endeavoring to avert it. I am a

stranger to you; but you are not a stranger to me; for I have seen you,

when you thought yourself unobserved, and a fire has been kindled in my

breast, which nothing but possession of you can ever abate. Tell me to

perform some deed, that I may prove the ardor of my love; let me save

you from the fearful doom that threatens you--'

"'Stop! Christian,' interrupted the maid; 'I have never seen your face

before, and how can I trust a stranger? Go! or Nemyl shall punish you

when he awakes. I can hear your words no longer.'

"'Think not that I fear your father,' answered Garstoff, 'though I

stand in his house; yet I will no longer excite your anger by staying

here.'

"He arose, and would have departed, had not the daughter of Nemyl

placed herself in his way.

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

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

"'That would not help me, Christian. Dare you appear in the field as a

rival to the sultan, for my favor?'

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

"'Why do you not _buy me_, then?'

"The Russian staggered back and turned pale at the suggestion; for it

reminded him how wholly the woman was beyond his reach, and filled him

with despair.

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

"'Five thousand doblas,' answered Zara, composedly; 'the great sultan

will give _four_ thousand, and if you offer _five_, my father will

surely sell me to you.'

"'Alas! what a curse is poverty!' exclaimed Garstoff, smiting his

forehead. 'I have only my pay, and it would not amount to that sum in

three years. What shall I do?'

"His sorrow evidently affected Zara, and for some moments they remained

silent. At length, her eyes brightened, and she said in peremptory

tones;

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

"'That is true!' ejaculated the Russian, kissing her willing hand in

ecstasy. 'Then indeed have I not suffered in vain. I will take you to a

country where the sovereign will smile upon you as my bride, and you

shall forget a land where women are sold like dogs. Bless you for the

suggestion, dear Zara, I thought of it before; but dared not anticipate

so much happiness. When will you fly with me?'

"'At this hour, two days hence, I will be in the garden alone!'

responded the girl, with a familiar glance.

"'It is enough!' said Garstoff. 'I will be here with horses and arms,

and morning shall behold you in the camp of my countrymen. Till then,

farewell.'

"The lovers separated so hastily, because Nemyl had commenced to move;

Zara going with the mute attendant to her apartment, and Garstoff

departing for his encampment. When both had disappeared, Nemyl arose to

his feet, while a dim, but grim smile, played about his lips, and all

signs of intoxication vanished.

"'Oh, ho!' he muttered, between his set teeth. 'The son of a dog would

rob me of my daughter and four thousand doblas. I will take good care

to be in the garden two days hence, and the son of Shitan shall find

what it is to rival the sublime sultan. They thought me drunk with

grape juice, but they shall suffer for it. By Allah! they shall!' and

he threw himself upon a couch, where he soon fell asleep, to dream of

gold and vengeance.

"The truce was within three days of its expiration and Garstoff,

overjoyed at the success of his impious design, hastened to prepare for

its execution. He procured horses, assistants, and arms; and on the

night appointed proceeded towards the house of Nemyl. When within a

short distance of the garden, he dismounted from his horse and leaving

that together with the others provided, in care of a few soldiers who

composed his guard, he drew his sword and walked cautiously towards the

place of rendezvous. Climbing to the top of the wall, he paused for a

moment to survey the scene beneath; but all was still as the grave, and

he sprang into the garden. A few fleecy clouds had hitherto obscured

the moon; but now she sailed beyond their shade, and by her silver

light the Russian discovered a figure dressed in white, at a short

distance in front of him.

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

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

moment she was in his arms.

"'We must haste away,' said Garstoff, when the first rapture of their

meeting was over, and she hung upon his arm.

"'Yes! yes! I am afraid Nemyl has discovered us. There have been

strange men about the house to-day,' replied Zara, looking timidly

about her; for guilt is ever suspicious, even in broad day.

"Garstoff said no more, but quickly regained the wall; and, drawing

forth a rope-ladder from under his coat threw it over the wall, so that

it hung down on either side, and having fastened it in the middle,

descended after Zara. Catching her in his arms, he darted back; and, in

a few seconds, was standing with her upon the path.

"'Whose steps are those?' she exclaimed, in terror, as the sound of

advancing footsteps fell upon her ears.

"'They are my soldiers, dearest,' answered her lover, applying a

whistle to his lips, and blowing a shrill blast; although he was

himself astonished that they approached before the signal agreed upon

was given.

"'Draw your sword, captain--we are surprised!' shouted his followers,

as they rode hastily up; and almost before the annoyed Garstoff could

clasp his weapon, a troup of fierce Circassians surrounded him, while

another party attacked his soldiers with great fury.

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

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

"'Then disarm him, my men; but harm him not at your peril!' said the

Circassian; and, after a desperate resistance, Garstoff was made a

prisoner, Zara lay fainting in the arms of two stout mountaineers, and

every Russian soldier bled to death.

"'To the house with them!' said Nemyl, in his usual tones, leading the

way with an air of triumph.

"Garstoff soon found himself in the apartment where he had supped with

the father of Zara, who now stood before him as his captor.

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

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

"'Remember, Christian, the truce expires to-morrow, and if I keep you a

prisoner until then, you will be treated as a prisoner of war.'

"'I know it.'

"'You are now completely in my power; and there is but one feeling that

withholds my sword from your heart. Do you know what feeling that is?'

"'Fear!'

"'No, Christian devil! Nemyl knows no such word! It is _gratitude_ for

the preservation of my life towards my preserver. _You are free._

Depart in peace.'

"'I honor the nobility of your sentiments,' answered Garstoff, filled

with admiration of such magnanimity; 'yet I would willingly yield my

life to preserve Zara from the fate you promise her.'

"'Mention not her name. She deserves the bowstring, instead of the

Sultan's embraces,' said Nemyl, sternly.

"'Are you then so insensible to----'

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

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

"'But you have them not?'

"'Alas, no!'

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

"Garstoff looked frantically about him for a moment and then rushed

from the apartment like one demented.

"'My friends,' continued Nemyl, turning to the mountaineers, who stood

behind him--'I wished you to aid me in recovering a lost treasure, and

you drew your swords for me. My daughter is delivered from the

Christian robber, and six of his soldiers are sent to Eblis. I gave the

dog his life, because he saved mine, when it was nearly forfeited; but

we shall soon meet in battle, and then let the Giaour beware! Depart in

peace, my friends.'

"As I have before stated, Zara fell into a swoon, immediately after the

first appearance of her father, on the evening of her attempted flight,

and was carried to her chamber, unconscious of how the affray resulted.

For two days, she was kept a prisoner in her own apartment, seeing no

one but the little mute. At the end of that period, her father made his

appearance, while she slept, and rudely pulled her from the couch on

which she lay.

"'Holy Prophet, have mercy!' she exclaimed, in an agony of fear,

imagining that he intended to slay her.

"'Dress, and prepare to depart!' thundered Nemyl. 'We must be on the

road before day-break.'

"Trembling like an aspen, Zara suffered the attendant to array her, and

then asked, with quivering lips--

"'Where do you intend to take me!'

"'_To the Sultan!_' exclaimed Nemyl; and, as she sank upon her knees at

his feet, he added, furiously, 'Base girl, you would have covered me

with disgrace by following a Christian dog; but Allah gave me strength,

and I slew the barbarian in his toils.'

"In silence the girl rose to her feet, and signified her readiness to

depart by a low salaam.

"At the street door stood the litter prepared for her reception, and

Nemyl pushing her into it, drew the curtains, and gave the signal to

the drivers, while he mounted his horse and accompanied them. On

arriving at the city of the Sultan (which they did after a tedious

journey), Nemyl conveyed his daughter to the grand bazaar; for, in

fact, he never received an offer from the Sultan, but spread the report

that other purchasers might present themselves, whose positions would

fail to gratify the desires of his inordinate ambition. Not long had he

remained there with the litter, when the Kislar Aga of Soliman entered

the bazaar, and made directly towards him, with long strides.

"'What animal have you in your litter that you keep it closed like a

cage?' asked the Aga.

"'Your slave will show you that you may judge of it for yourself,'

answered Nemyl, and drawing the curtains, disclosed Zara, with tears

upon her cheeks.

"The Aga started back in amazement at beholding such a display of

beauty, and all his anger vanished like snow beneath a sunbeam. He well

knew that the addition of such an ornament to the Sultan's harem,

through his instrumentality, would add greatly to his consequence; and

his satisfaction was so evident, that Nemyl beheld it with delight,

and--profited by it.

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

to appear indifferent.

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

"'Five thousand doblas! _Bismillah!_ dare you laugh at our beards? That

money would buy a dozen women.'

"'I was offered that by a Russian officer,' said the Circassian,

without moving his eyes.

"For a moment the Aga hesitated, but the idea of selecting a favorite

speedily overcame all his scruples, and bidding Nemyl follow him with

the litter, he proceeded to a private door of the imperial seraglio,

and gave Zara in charge of two female slaves.

"Thus was the fairest flower of Franquistan placed in the imperial

garden, and he who had trained it was soon on his way home, with five

thousand doblas in his pocket.

"What pencil could portray the delight of his sublime highness, or what

tongue could repeat the language of his immaculate lips, when he beheld

his Aga's new purchase.

"'_Barek Allah!_' praise be to God; 'what an hour!' he exclaimed,

kissing her passionately.

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

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

"Zara wept, and would not be comforted during the first few days of her

residence at the seraglio; but finally the kind words of his sublime

highness conquered her obstinacy, and throwing herself at his feet, she

made a full confession of her fondness for Garstoff, and his vain

attempt to carry her away by stratagem.

"The Sultan was much afflicted by this news, for he really loved Zara,

and was aware, that, should her defection become known, his honor would

compel him to plunge her lifeless body into the Bosphorus.

"'My dear Zara,' he said, encircling her waist with his arms, 'you have

been frank with me, but beware that you speak of this affair to no one

else, or your life will surely be sacrificed. This Garstoff is dead,

and can now be nothing to you; do not waste your affections upon a

skeleton; but let them revert to me, and Soliman will become the slave

of your will.'

"In such a manner did the Refuge of Mankind talk to the daughter of

Nemyl, until she gradually drew the veil of forgetfulness over past

sorrows, and respected his sublime highness, if she did not love him.

Taking the highest rank in the harem, no wish of hers remained

unanswered; masters of every art were furnished as her instructors;

subservient slaves were ever ready to do her bidding, and costly

presents of every description rolled in upon the favorite, from those

who had--axes to grind.

"Each day the Sultan became more deeply in love with her, and in the

same proportion, she became each day more odious to those, whom, from

old age, or satiety, the magnificent Soliman had quitted for Zara.

Among the most violent enemies of the new favorite, was the queen

mother, who suborned the Kislar Aga to her will, and through him,

maintained a thorough system of espionage upon every word and action of

the object of her hatred; but Zara rendered all her efforts futile

until one day while going abroad, she observed a person dressed in the

janissary uniform, whose form appeared familiar; and what was her

emotion, when he turned his face toward her, and discovered the

features of _Garstoff_!"

* * * * *

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

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

"No, sir," says the Turkish chap; "you should remember that Nemyl

spared his life."

"I don't remember anything about it," says the British chap, crustily;

"but I suppose you told that part of the story when I was asleep.

Proceed."

* * * * *

"The Kislar Aga, who stood behind her litter, noted Zara's emotions and

their apparent cause, and when he returned to the palace, made his

instigatress acquainted with her rival's strange conduct. The wily

woman at once perceived that Zara was partially in her power, and

instructed her instrument to watch the favorite closely, and gain

further information. Meanwhile, their intended victim suffered the

pangs of remorse, and old feelings awakened from their long sleep,

struggled fiercely with the usurping passions in her bosom.

"The sight of the Russian, whom she believed to be in his grave, made

her frantic with sorrow, and she resolved to speak with him, although

by so doing, she would risk discovery and an ignominious end.

"To accomplish her purpose she called upon the Aga, as he had always

appeared devoted to her special interests, and, describing the person

of her lover, asked him to carry a billet to Garstoff, and thus gain a

rich reward.

"'Aga,' she said, with composure, 'you must find this man, and ask him

if his name is not Garstoff. Should he start, and answer yes, give him

this slip of paper, and say no more.'

"With many vows of fidelity, the Aga received the billet, and carried

it direct to--the queen mother.

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

"'GARSTOFF: I have seen you, and would speak with you. Meet me near the

mosque of Omar, to-morrow, at the tenth hour.'

'ZARA.'

"'She is caught at last,' said the triumphant plotter; 'but we must let

the affair run on, until the Sultan may be convinced by his own eyes of

her guilt.'

"Accordingly, the slave departed in search of the disguised Russian,

whom he soon discovered from the description given him by Zara.

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

"'Great heavens!--yes, it is!' answered the janissary, in great

confusion.

"'Then here is something for you,' said the Aga; and, handing him the

billet, turned upon his heel.

"Great was the surprise of Garstoff when he read the letter; but joy

quickly overcame wonder, and he hastened to procure a suitable disguise

for the strange meeting.

"At the appointed hour he stood before the mosque, and presently a

muffled figure approached him, whom his beating heart proclaimed to be

the long lost object of his adoration. It was indeed Zara, and, in one

moment, they were in each other's arms.

"The Russian hastened to relate his adventures since they last saw each

other, and finished by saying:

"'I gave up my commission, dearest Zara, to seek for you, and now that

we once more behold each other, let us never part again. This hated

uniform I assumed to facilitate my search; it shall be thrown aside now

and forever.'

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

"'Zara, tell me, for heaven's sake, have you listened to the Sultan's

words of love? Are you, are you--his--slave?' gasped Garstoff,

staggering against the wall.

"Zara looked to the ground.

"'I see it all,' he continued, in frantic accents. 'Zara, you are lost!

lost to me forever! I go to my death. Zara, a last farewell!' He was

about to leave her, when she caught his arm, and hissed in his ear:

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

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

"'And I am _quite_ mad. Listen to me, faithless Christian. I beheld you

in the streets when you saw me not, and have risked honor, life, every

thing, to come to you, and be your slave. How could I help what has

passed? My father--'

"'Zara, you should have _died_ first.'

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

low tones:

"'Christian, you are right; I should, indeed, have preferred death to

my present fate; but it is too late now. I will return to my _master_;

yet do I hope to see you once again. Will you not grant me that favor?'

"'Once more,' answered Garstoff mechanically.

"'Then come here to-morrow, and you will find a large chest; place

yourself in it, and two slaves will bring you to me. Do you promise?'

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

"'Base dog!' muttered Zara, as she again muffled her features, 'you

have rejected the daughter of Nemyl, and she sleeps not while you press

the earth.'

"The favorite sped hastily back to the palace, and entered by a secret

door, while the Kislar Aga, who had concealed himself near her at the

mosque, and witnessed the interview, hastened to the queen mother, and

made his report, when she exclaimed:

"'Allah be praised! this Circassian will soon be under the Bosphorus;

for Zara will meet her gallant, and his serene highness shall behold

himself dishonored.'

"Knowing the extreme affection entertained for Zara by Soliman, the

cautious woman was wary in her communication, and did not reveal the

whole matter, until the Sultan's suspicions had been aroused by her

hints. He first ridiculed, then listened silently, then believed; and,

finally, agreed to conceal himself in the Sultana's apartment, and

judge for himself.

"He waited until the moment of assignation approached, and was looking

upon the unconscious object of his gaze with returning confidence, when

a curtain of the apartment was raised, and two negro slaves entered,

bearing a large chest between them.

"Zara motioned for them to leave it and depart; and then raising the

lid, Garstoff stepped forth, and the Sultan uttered an inward groan.

"'Drink this, and it will give you strength,' said Zara, presenting a

goblet of liquor to the janissary.

"Garstoff raised the cup to his lips, and drained it at a draught; on

which the fair Circassian burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

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

"'Wine makes me merry!' she answered, drinking from another goblet.

'And now, Christian, do you know what you came here for?'

"'To see you for the last time.'

"'That is true, follower of Isauri--_you go not hence alive!_'

"'What mean you, woman?' exclaimed Garstoff, starting from his seat

with pallid cheeks.

"'_I mean that you have swallowed poison!_' screamed Zara, the fire of

insanity blazing from her eyes. 'You scorned the daughter of Nemyl, and

she has taken revenge! Pray to Isauri--pray to--'

"Garstoff dropped upon the floor, a disfigured corpse, and the Sultan

bounded from his place of concealment upon Zara; but the purple veins

of her forehead were swelling out like cords, and before he could speak

to her she was--_dead!_"

* * * * *

"Really," says Vitchisvitch, the Russian member, drawing a long breath,

"there is too much of the 'blood and thunder' style about that story to

suit me; but here is something more quiet."

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

THE LITTLE MAN IN GREEN.

"On a clear, cold night in December, Nicholas Dimitri, a young officer

of Cossacks, was walking slowly through a public street of St.

Petersburg, with a military cloak thrown over his shoulder, and looking

steadfastly to the ground, as though intent upon some prospect of no

ordinary interest. Acquaintances of all ranks were constantly passing

him, but their silent salutes met no return, and many a surmise was

hazarded as to what his mission was, that it caused such evident

abstraction in one so generally admired for his flow _d'esprit_.

Unconscious of attracting attention, Nicholas strode onwards wrapped in

thought, until he became aware of violent collision with some person

going in an opposite direction, and almost immediately a hoarse voice

exclaimed:

"'What, in the name of all that's good, are you about? Are not the

walks wide enough for both of us, that you must needs knock a man's

breath out of his body in this way? By the Admiral's wig! I've a mind

to return the compliment with my fists, you lubber.'

"The officer of Cossacks started involuntarily, as his reverie was thus

broken, and beheld standing before him a very stout individual, rather

below the ordinary height in stature, with iron-grey hair, prominent

features much embrowned, and clad in a plain green uniform, such as was

worn by the privates in the army. The little man stood directly in his

path, with an expression of good natured defiance resting upon his

countenance, and flourishing a short cane in his right hand.

"'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Nicholas, somewhat provoked, 'but I was

hardly conscious of being in the street at all. Allow me to pass, sir,

I am in haste.' He attempted to get by the little gentleman, but that

person had no idea of allowing such a move, and in the coolest possible

manner linked his arm with that of the impatient officer.

"'It's my watch now,' he said, with a short laugh, 'and as you don't

bunk in just yet, we may as well be company for each other. I ain't

particular about which way you go, so up with your irons and we'll

scud.'

"'I can permit no such familiarities,' replied Nicholas, angrily,

attempting to release his arm. 'Are you intoxicated, that you do not

perceive I am an officer? Let go my arm, sir, or I will call the

patrol, and place you under guard.'

"Notwithstanding this threat, the little man still hung on, and walked

boldly beside him with great good humor.

"'Ha! ha! you think I belong to the army, Mr. Officer,' he observed,

with much jocularity. 'I know rather more about the sea, and never tip

my cap to anything less than a frigate captain. But never mind that.

This street should be better lighted, and yet if it had been, I should

never have known you--don't you think so? Now really don't you think

the Emperor or Czar should pay more attention to lighting the streets?

I should think the people would grumble about it--don't they?'

"Seeing that his new acquaintance was determined to walk beside him,

the officer had resolved to let him talk without venturing a reply, but

this slur upon the Czar wounded his pride, and he answered impatiently,

"'You cannot be a Russian, sir, or you would not dare speak thus

disrespectfully of the greatest, noblest, and best living sovereign.

Why should we need more light, sirrah, when the moon is shining

brightly? Let me warn you not to speak this way before others, or you

may receive rough treatment. Every Muscovite honors and loves the Czar

as a father, and a slighter cause than that just given by you has cost

many a foreigner his life in St. Petersburg.'

"As the young man spoke, he seemed to forget his companion, and yielded

his whole soul to the enthusiasm of loyalty.

"'I like you,' said the little man, heartily.

"'Indeed!'

"'Yes, and will help you.'

"'Help me?' asked Nicholas, stopping suddenly in his walk, eyeing his

companion with mingled astonishment and suspicion.

"'I said so. Is there anything extraordinary in that!'

"'Who are you?' demanded the officer, sternly.

"'No matter about that. I am your friend.'

"'How do I know that?' asked Nicholas, still more astonished.

"'I will prove it. You are in love!'

"'Most men are at some periods of their lives.'

"'Very true, but _you_ are in love _now_, and the lady of your

affection is far above you in station.'

"'How in heaven's name do you know this? Who are you?' exclaimed the

officer, completely thrown off his guard, and staring wildly at his odd

companion.

"'It matters not how I know, or who I am. Let it suffice to say that I

_do_ know, and can aid you,' said the little man, with a more dignified

air than he had before assumed. 'Restrain your feelings, and merely

answer yes or no, to what I am about to say. You are loved by the lady?'

"'I believe--or, rather, trust so.'

"'She is the Countess Walewski?'

"'No.'

"'Her ward Olinska?'

"'I shall answer no more questions,' said Nicholas, compressing his

lips.

"'Then, Mr. Officer, I will ask no more questions, but confine myself

strictly to statements. You love Olinska, and have a rival in Admiral

Praxin, who is favored by the Czar. So strong are your rival's claims

that you have no resource save a clandestine marriage. You are now on

your way to the hotel of the Countess, intending to perfect your plans

with her aid, and baffle the Czar in his designs for the advantage of

Admiral Praxin. Don't say a word to me now, you will receive a message

before long. Good night, Nicholas Dimitri.'

"The little man nodded his head most knowingly, and fairly ran off,

leaving the astounded lover looking at the moon.

"Nicholas remained perfectly still for some moments, looking vacantly

upward, and then went on his way, like one who had just awakened from a

strange dream.

"'What can this mean?' he asked himself. 'This man, whom I never saw

before, has told me of things which no mortal save myself should know,

and he is even acquainted with my name. This matter must be quickly

settled, or I shall be placed under arrest, with no hope for the

future.'

"Arriving presently at the door of an aristocratic mansion, he sent up

his card, and was speedily ushered into an elegant boudoir, where a

beautiful and richly-dressed lady was waiting to receive him. The

Countess Walewski was not a young woman, yet the bloom of earlier years

still lingered on her cheek, and the sprightly vivacity of girlhood

shot forth from her dark brown eyes.

"'My dear Nicholas, you are behind time,' she said, giving her hand to

the young officer, and causing him to take a seat beside her on a

velvet couch. 'Lovers are not often tardy in keeping their

appointments, but as I am not the lady, I must excuse you. Upon my

word--I did not observe it before--you look discontented. Nothing has

happened, I hope?'

"'Dearest lady, we are betrayed!' answered Nicholas, gloomily.

"'You are jesting.'

"'Would to God, I were! A strange man encountered me in the street as I

came hither--' and Nicholas gave a full account of his interview with

the little man in green.

"The Countess appeared much alarmed by the narration, and, for some

moments after its conclusion, remained silent, but at length she

recovered sufficient courage to reply,

"'This is strange indeed--and yet, Nicholas, this man may be a member

of the police, who, as you know, make themselves masters of our very

thoughts. You say he expressed a desire to assist you, and declared

himself your friend; he may have some object in this we know not of--'

"'No living man shall rob me of my prize,' interrupted Nicholas,

passionately. 'Olinska will be guided by me, and before morning we will

be far from the capital. There is no time to lose; we must hasten

towards Moscow this very night. Where is she? Why is she not here to

meet me?'

"'Restrain your passion; be prudent, I entreat you,' exclaimed the

Countess, grasping his wrists. 'Olinska loves you, and you alone; but I

am her guardian, and she submits to my wishes, as duty bids her. Be

yourself, Nicholas, and avoid any rash action. You cannot see Olinska

to-night.'

"'Has your ladyship combined with my enemies to make a madman of me?'

asked the officer, with great bitterness.

"'Have my actions been those of an enemy?' responded the Countess, with

a reproachful smile. 'My dear Nicholas, I would have spared you a pang,

but you compel me to tell all. My ward is to have an interview with

Admiral Praxin to-morrow, by order of the Czar.'

"'With Admiral Praxin!' exclaimed Nicholas, starting to his feet.

"'Such is the truth. I do not believe that Peter will compel Olinska;

but his command was imperative, and must be obeyed at all risks. Do not

fear for Olinska--she is wholly yours, though a king should ask her

hand. The Admiral can only sue to be rejected, and after that you must

fly.'

"'Lady, I submit to your wishes,' said Nicholas. 'I honor the Czar, as

all Russians should honor him, but Olinska shall be mine, though he

should send a dozen admirals to thwart me.'

"After some further consultation of a desultory character, the officer

of Cossacks took his leave, and retired to a bed rendered sleepless by

doubts and fears.

"On the following morning, before he had completed his toilet, a

servant entered the apartment to announce a visitor, followed by a

little creature, not more than three feet in height, dressed in a

livery of blue and silver.

"'This gentleman desired to speak with you, sir, immediately,' said the

grinning servant, pointing to the new comer, and bowing himself out of

the room.

"The minute specimen of humanity said not a word, but assumed an air of

great consequence, and with much ceremony presented a letter. Nicholas

could not repress a smile at the messenger's grotesque appearance, but

his mirth sobered into surprise when he read as follows:

"'NICHOLAS DIMITRI: The bearer of this missive is my servant, who will

be of great service to both you and myself, in events about to

transpire. Answer his questions without hesitation, and rest assured

that Olinska shall be yours, despite the Czar and Admiral Praxin, or I

am much mistaken. I will be present at the wedding. Your friend,

"'THE LITTLE MAN IN GREEN.'

"The young officer dropped the note from his hand, and eyed the dwarf

in silent amazement.

"'Is that your death warrant?' asked the latter, ironically.

"'Who wrote this?' demanded Nicholas.

"'My master.'

"'And who is your master?'

"'The Little Man in Green. Ha! ha!' laughed the dwarf.

"'His name? I must know his name!' exclaimed Nicholas.

"The abbreviated Mercury placed a finger beside his little nose, in a

very knowing manner, at the same time winking sagaciously.

"'I can answer no such question,' he said; 'my master desires to remain

_incog._ at present. My name is Orloff, and I wish you to answer one

inquiry: Does the ward of the Countess Walewski have an interview with

Admiral Praxin to-day?'

"'She does.'

"'That is sufficient; you will hear from me soon,' and Orloff fled

through the open door, with a speed truly marvelous.

"Nicholas called after him in vain, and then called his servant to

dress him, with a vague apprehension of evil, and a belief that no

lover ever had so many to assist his wooing as himself.

* * * * *

"Olinska, the daughter of a noble Polish family, was deprived of her

parents at an early age, and selected for her guardian the high-minded

Countess Walewski. Her childish years were spent in Warsaw, the city of

her forefathers; but the Countess was obliged to remain at St.

Petersburg, being a member of the Czarina's household, and thither she

called her ward, to be presented at court, and drown the memory of her

sorrows in the gaieties of the capital.

"Young, beautiful and unsophisticated, chaperoned by an illustrious

lady, and reputed to be heiress of great wealth, the Polish maiden

speedily became the magnet and toast of a brilliant circle, and a prize

for which scores of young nobles contended. But the heart of Olinska

was not to be purchased with titles, and while the scions of

aristocracy knelt vainly at her feet, she bestowed her virgin

affections upon Dimitri, whose silent homage defeated that of all

others, with its proud, peculiar dignity. Military rank is esteemed by

the Russians as little inferior to that of inheritance; yet they

acknowledge a difference, and the line drawn between them by the usages

of society cannot be overstepped with impunity. The young officer,

although admitted into court circles, was aware of the distance between

himself and the lady in a social sense; but the encouragement she gave

him, so insensibly drew them together, that disparity of birth was

forgotten, and love--the great leveller of conditions--reigned

paramount.

"However misanthropically a man may express his indifference to the

world's opinion, we are all, more or less, its most subservient slaves,

and although Nicholas Dimitri assured his idol that the gossip of

fashionables was nothing to him, he deemed it proper to solicit the

kind offices of the Countess, as a go-between; and apparently visited

the guardian, when, in reality, the fair ward was the object of his

intentions.

"Peter the Great, who, at that period, occupied the throne of Russia,

had an unpleasant habit of rewarding his bachelor friends for worthy

deeds, with the hand of some fair maiden of his court; and, having

beheld the Polish lady, he resolved to bestow her upon Admiral Praxin,

who, though often regarded with suspicion by his sovereign, had lately

rendered 'the state good service.' Olinska repulsed the old sailor's

advances with disdain; but the Czar requested her to grant him a

private interview, and a request from such a source being synonymous

with a command, the lady felt obliged to grant it.

"Alone she sat, in a gorgeously furnished apartment, when the Admiral

was announced, her sable locks shading a neck and bosom that rivalled

the snow in their whiteness, and supporting her head with a hand of

nature's choicest modeling.

"Admiral Praxin was a man in the 'sere and yellow leaf' of meridian

life. His form was firm and upright, and his costume was that of a

youthful courtier; but deep wrinkles tracked his brow with the

footprints of age, and his hair had caught the snow-flakes of the

mountain's farther side. That foretaste of eternal torments, the gout,

had rather confused the measure of his tread, and the stout old Admiral

entered the lady's presence with an ungraceful limp.

"As he passed into the room, a little figure clad in blue and silver,

followed him noiselessly and, with wonderful agility, darted behind a

curtain of the window.

"Olinska received her admirer with some embarrassment, which he seemed

at first to reciprocate; but at length, after many leers and grimaces,

his countenance assumed a determined expression, and he went directly

to the point.

"'Madam,' he said, 'you can scarcely be ignorant of the object for

which I now visit you; nor can you feel more deeply than I the

extremely unpleasant position in which we are both placed, by the

desire of Peter. Aside from the duty I owe my sovereign of submitting

entirely to his will, I have a sentiment in my heart, which, should it

find a reflection in yours, will make me the happiest of men. My title

and fortune are trifles; but the sentiment of love for yourself, united

to that of loyal obedience, may, perhaps, be deemed by you as more

powerful suitors for your hand and heart.'

"'It were foolish in me to pretend to misunderstand you, my lord,'

replied Olinska, with dignity. 'I am aware that the Czar favors your

suit, and looks upon me as a fitting bride for one whom he delights to

honor; but, greatly as I honor and respect both my sovereign and

yourself, I must positively refuse obedience in this instance, and

assume the right to act for myself. I am deeply grateful to you, my

lord, for your intended kindness, but must, with all due respect,

reject your offer, and close our interview.'

"As she spoke, her bosom heaved with emotions boiling within, her eye

flashed, and the right of woman to maintain her prerogative shone from

every feature.

"'Consider well, lady, before you drive me to despair by such cruelty!'

exclaimed the Admiral, with vehemence. 'Consider what you are casting

aside as worthless. I have influence at court beyond that of the most

powerful; the very Czar fears to offend me, and the wife of Admiral

Praxin will be second only to the imperial Catherine in grandeur and

dominion. Let me hope that this is only maiden coyness, and that

deliberation may alter your decision.'

"'I will not deceive you, my lord,' responded the lady, 'by awaking

hopes which can never be realized. My hand shall never be yielded to

any man by compulsion, or implied claims which I do not acknowledge;

nor do I recognize any other right than my own to dispose of it. Dwell

upon the subject no longer, or your title to the name of friend will be

forfeited. Allow me to retire.'

"Dismay was betrayed in every lineament of the sailor's countenance, as

he marked the firm tones in which these words were spoken; but anger

quickly took its place as he asked, with a glance of suspicion,

"'Lady, have I a rival?'

"Olinska answered not, and arose to leave the apartment, when Praxin

quickly intercepted her, and fell upon his knees.

"'Olinska, you shall not leave me thus!' he exclaimed, in tones hoarse

with excitement. 'If love will not incline you to accept me, let

ambition do it. _I have the power to place you on the throne of

Russia_, if you but say the word; your own countrymen, the refugees

from Sweden, and twenty thousand discontented serfs will rise at my

bidding; the navy is mine, and, by a wave of the hand, I can become an

Emperor.'

"With a look of the most unmitigated disdain, the lady regarded the

supplicant at her feet.

"'I will not parley longer with a _traitor_,' she said, in tones so

cold and piercing that he involuntarily recoiled from her, and she

walked from the apartment with a queenly air.

"'I'll be revenged for this,' muttered the discarded suitor, as, with a

frowning brow, he took his departure.

"Then forth sprang Orloff from his place of concealment, with a smile

of no ordinary magnitude distorting his little face.

"'Good! and now for the Countess!' he exclaimed, following the Admiral.

"Meanwhile, Nicholas had wandered about the city in a most pitiable

state of apprehension, and was about to rush madly to the hotel of the

Countess, when he beheld the dwarf hastening toward him, carrying a

letter at arm's length.

"'Here--from the Countess,' ejaculated Orloff, panting for breath, and

handing him the missive. Nicholas hastily tore it open, and read:

"'DEAR NICHOLAS:--Olinska has had an interview with the Admiral, and,

from its results, I fear the worst. Have a chaise and four, at the

private door of my hotel before sunset to-day. You may trust Orloff.

"'In haste, WALEWSKI.'

"'Shall I engage the conveyance?' asked the dwarf, with a grin.

"'Yes! I will trust you,' replied the excited officer.

"'You will find all in readiness, at the private door, by four

o'clock!' said Orloff, and he disappeared as quickly as he came.

"At the appointed hour, Nicholas repaired to the spot where a chaise

and its attendants were awaiting him, and right speedily a muffled

figure emerged from the private door, and touched his arm.

"'Olinska, dearest Olinska.'

"'Let us hasten, Nicholas, I fear we are betrayed,' answered Olinska,

trembling in his arms.

"The officer quickly placed her in the chaise, and the horses had made

their first spring forward when a great tumult arose in the street, and

looking forth from a window of the vehicle, Nicholas beheld, to his

dismay, half a score of imperial cavalry galloping furiously toward him.

"'Onward! onward!' he shouted to the drivers, and sank back upon his

seat beside the fainting girl.

"At the top of their speed fled the four chaise horses, making the

vehicle bounce from the earth as though it were composed entirely of

springs; but they were no match for the full-blooded animals of the

cavalry, and the latter soon came up with them.

"'Stop, in the name of the Czar,' said the leader, drawing his sword.

"At the command, the postillions dropped their reins, and the chaise

came to a dead halt. Then the door was burst open; and Nicholas, with a

pistol in each hand, sprang into the road.

"'Gentlemen,' he said hurriedly, 'you must allow me to proceed; the die

is cast, and there is no turning back. Stand aside, sirs, I do not wish

to shed your blood.'

"'Colonel Dimitri,' answered the leader, 'we are sorry that such is our

duty, but the Czar has ordered us to apprehend you and your companion;

and carry you before him; I therefore apprehend you in the name of

Czar.'

"'This is tyranny and I will resist it to the last,' exclaimed the

excited lover. 'I have not broken the laws, and am no political

criminal. Why should I be treated thus? You may take me gentlemen, but

not alive.'

"'We must do our duty,' answered the other. 'Surround and disarm him,'

he added, turning to his followers.

"The soldiers approached to obey his orders, and the desperate colonel

had levelled his weapons, when Olinska, sprang from the chaise and

knelt upon the ground before him.

"'Submit, Nicholas; for my sake submit,' she exclaimed, energetically,

clasping her hands towards him.

"Nicholas regarded her attentively for a moment, and then lowered his

weapons.

"'I am your prisoner,' he said; 'take me where you will.'

"The captured pair, were returned to the vehicle, the horses' heads

were turned, and in silence they proceeded to the palace of the Czar.

"The imperial mansion was very different in those days from what it now

is. No gaudy trappings, neither external nor internal, proclaimed the

abode of royalty; for Peter the Great appealed to hearts, not the eyes

of his subjects, and for the inspection of foreigners he had an army,

unrivaled in discipline and accoutrements, by any in Europe. A small

ante-chamber, plainly furnished, and adorned with various models of

ships, paintings, and rude implements of warfare led into the hall of

audience, equally unostentatious, and the imperial dining saloon, plain

as that of an ordinary tradesman.

"Into the latter apartment, Nicholas and Olinska were led by their

captors, pale and silent, but undismayed.

"A long table, bearing on its centre an immense pie, was loaded with a

rich repast; and about it, were seated the most distinguished nobles

and generals of the empire, and Admiral Praxin; while at its head, on

elevated seats, appeared the Czar and Czarina.

"'Ha! here are the two fugitives!' exclaimed Peter, observing the

entrance of the party and approaching them.

"Nicholas started at the sound of that voice, and looking up,

recognized in his sovereign, _The Little Man in Green_.

"'Your pardon, sire!' he exclaimed falling upon his knees, and

remembering with the great trepidation how scurvily he had treated

royalty in disguise.

"'Arise, Colonel Dimitri,' said the Czar kindly; 'you need not think of

what has past; I am satisfied that you are a true and loyal subject.

But what possessed you to run away with this little rebel, man? Did you

not know that she was affianced to Admiral Praxin?'

"'Pardon me sire, I did not,' answered Nicholas.

"'And you Olinska; you have disregarded our wishes, and thrown the

gallant admiral overboard?' continued Peter, addressing the trembling

girl, with a mixture of severity and good-nature.

"Olinska bowed her head.

"'What say you Praxin? Are you willing to yield your bride to the army,

and let the navy remain a bachelor?'

"The Admiral had turned all colors, at the first entrance of Olinska,

but marking that she remained silent, he plucked up sufficient courage

to reply.

"'I cannot accept the lady's hand without her heart.'

"'Did you sue for them like a man?' demanded Peter, sternly.

"'I hope so, your majesty.'

"'You lie, base traitor!' thundered the Czar, eyeing him with a glance

that chilled his blood.

"'Has _she_ betrayed me?' ejaculated Praxin, turning deadly pale, and

involuntarily clutching the handle of his sword.

"'No,' answered Peter in hoarse tones, 'witness, come forth.'

"At that moment, the upper covering of the great pie was observed to

move, and in another instant, it was thrown back, discovering the

mighty Orloff, seated within the dish.

"'God save the Czar!' said the dwarf, rising and stepping forth upon

the table, with a bow of studied politeness.

"'Orloff, point out the traitor,' said Peter.

"Orloff assumed an air of great penetration, and pointed toward the

Admiral, who stood alone, with his back against the wall, a perfect

picture of despairing guilt.

"'That is the man,' said the dwarf.

"'Give your proof.'

"'Your majesty must know, that I was present while Admiral Praxin was

wooing the lady Olinska, and heard him say that your majesty dared not

offend him; he also declared that she had but to say the word, and he

would make her an Empress, explaining how he had the Poles, the Serfs,

the Swedish refugees, and the navy at his command, ready at his bidding

to make him Emperor of Russia.'

"'What say you to this charge?' demanded Peter.

"Praxin had regained somewhat of composure during the dwarf's speech;

and at its conclusion he approached the Czar and falling upon his

knees, surrendered his sword and belt.

"'I am guilty,' he said, in firm tones. 'Take my sword, gracious

sovereign, and with it receive back the commission I have forever

disgraced. In a moment of ungovernable passion I spoke words which

should have choked me ere I uttered them, and which I would give my

life to recall. I desire no mercy; yet I would ask forgiveness of

Olinska, for daring to breathe treason in her presence.'

"'Let us both forget it,' said Olinska, gently.

"'Alas _I_ can never forget it,' he replied, pressing her hands to his

lips, and resuming his former attitude.

"The Czar gazed some moments attentively and silently upon the face of

Praxin, as though to read his inmost soul, and then turning to

Nicholas, he said: