"'Colonel Dimitri, it is but just that I should explain my conduct to

you and Olinska, as it was by making an unconscious tool of you that I

have ferreted this matter out. I intended that Olinska should have

wedded the Admiral, not knowing that her affections had been given to

another; but lately I have distrusted him and ordered a spy of the

police to watch him closely. My agent speedily brought me news of

_your_ engagement, and your intended course; and I resolved to throw

myself in your way, and gain a slight knowledge of your character. You

know how I succeeded in that attempt. I also requested Olinska to

receive the Admiral privately, and sent Orloff to be present--though

concealed--at the interview. The Countess Walewski was made acquainted

with my plans, by the dwarf, and hence your presence here. As a

punishment for an attempt to outwit me, I command that you be married

before you leave the palace. As for you, Admiral,' he continued,

turning to Praxin, 'in consideration of the many services you have

rendered us, I grant you a free pardon. You have been humiliated in the

eyes of your friends, and have failed to win a prize worthy of my best

subject. May you learn the lesson that passion will not always excuse

dangerous words, nor is a sovereign's leniency everlasting.'

"Universal rejoicings followed this generous speech, and the victims of

the royal whim retired from the imperial palace, married--for better or

worse."

This Russian tale sent us all home very thirsty, my boy; for its effect

was very dry.

Yours, weariedly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXXIV.

CONCERNING THE SERIOUS MISTAKE OF THE VENERABLE GAMMON, THE

CHAPLAIN'S POETICAL DISCOVERY, THE PROMOTION OF COMMODORE HEAD,

AND THE RECEPTION OF THE PRESIDENT'S PROCLAMATION BY THE

SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY.

WASHINGTON, D. C., October 12th, 1862.

The Southern Confederacy having delayed to sue for peace, my boy, until

the safety of Washington requires that national strategy should

continue metaphysical hostilities, it may be as well for you and me as

a nation to prepare for a speedy commencement of War in earnest. The

North, my boy, has not begun to fight yet; and as the stolid centuries

roll on, and the hoary years move one by one into the sunless solitude

of Eternity, it becomes daily more evident that the North's actual

putting forth of all its strength is merely a question of time. The

giant is only just rousing from his slumbers, and nothing but his legs

and feet appear to be thoroughly awake yet.

Now, is the time, my boy, for the idiotic Confederacy to save himself,

by returning penitently to that beneficent Government which would have

realized the millenium at half-past two o'clock on the Fourth of July,

1776, but for the unseemly villainy of the accursed Black Republicans,

many of whom are shortly to be hung.

That is to say, such is the opinion of the Venerable Gammon, whose

benignant presence is believed to have proved the salvation of our

distracted country in the Revolutionary War, though I can find nothing,

except his protecting patriarchal deportment toward all the present

universe, to justify the idea that he ever benefited anything. It

soothes the human soul, my boy, to hear this Venerable man discoursing

on the most trite subjects in tones, and with an air calculated to

bless all created things as with a paternal benediction. Surrounded by

a number of his idolatrous national children, and standing in front of

Willard's the other evening, he pointed fatly to a bright star

overhead, and says he:

"That star is like our country. That star," says the Venerable Gammon,

with a meaningless smile of angelic purity, "is like any other star on

our flag; _though clouds may hide it in its ascending node, it is still

knowed to be ascending_."

Then everybody felt cheered with the peaceful conviction that Columbia

was saved at last; and it's my private belief, my boy--my private

belief, that the attached populace looked upon this good old man as the

one who had made the star.

Yet, strange as it may seem, this venerable Benefactor made a little

mistake on Tuesday. A sportive young chap came to him with a newspaper

in his hand, and says he: "Let me see if you can tell, my _Pater

Patria_, what paper this article is in"--and proceeded to read the

following high-minded editorial:

"TREASON OF THE BLACK REPUBLICANS.

"True to their foul instincts, the Greely, Cheever, and Wendell

Phillips herd of treasonable fanatics are now accusing their 'Honest

Old Abe' of ruining the country. It was their votes that elected the

rail-splitter, and now they turn tail upon him and howl maledictions

because he will not carry out their fiendish intents by erecting a

revolutionary guillotine in every Northern town and city. That

blasphemous mountebank, Beecher, may as well cease his treasonable

impiety at once; for he and his Sharps'-rifle crew are responsible for

the present bankruptcy of the whole country, and the people will yet

hold them to strict account for every drop of blood that has been and

will be shed in this unnatural strife."

When sportive chap ceased reading, the Venerable Gammon waved his obese

hand with the fond, familiar air of a pleased benignity, and says he:

"Of course, I know what paper that is, my son. I know the ring of those

sterling conservative sentiments," says the Venerable Gammon, with calm

satisfaction, "and am blessed in the knowledge that our loyal New York

Herald is still true to the Constitution and to the principles of my

old friend, Georgey Washington--or 'old Wash,' as he permitted me to

call him."

The sportive chap softly picked his teeth with a wisp from a broom, and

says he: "But this ain't the Herald at all, you dear old soul; it's a

copy of the Richmond Whig!" It was at this very moment, my boy, that

the Venerable Gammon was first attacked by that dreadful cough which

put an end to all further conversation, and has since excited the most

fearful apprehensions lest a bereaved country should suddenly be called

to mourn the untimely loss of its benign idol.

On Tuesday afternoon, I had a talk with the Mackerel chaplain, who had

remained here over Sunday to administer consolation to a dying

brigadier, and was grievously wounded in spirit to find that the

telegraph had committed a trifling breach of spelling, and that that

brigadier was only dyeing his hair, which had suddenly turned white in

a single night on the strength of a rumor that there might be some

fighting in the morning.

The Mackerel chaplain, my boy, is of inestimable value to a wounded

man, his vivid and spiritual manner of describing the celebrated Fire

Department of the other world being a source of unspeakable comfort and

reassurance to the sufferer. "I am afraid you have led a sinful life,

my fellow-worm," says he to the sick Mackerel, "and can only advise you

to buy one of these hymn-books from me, which I can afford to sell for

six shillings."

But what the chaplain talked to me about, was his discovery, at a

village not far from Winchester, of a new

"PICCIOLA."

It was a Sergeant old and gray,

Well singed and bronzed from siege and pillage,

Went tramping in an army's wake,

Along the turnpike of the village.

For days and nights the winding host

Had through the little place been marching,

And ever loud the rustics cheered,

'Till ev'ry throat was hoarse and parching.

The Squire and Farmer, maid and dame,

All took the sight's electric stirring,

And hats were waved and staves were sung,

And kerchiefs white were countless whirring.

They only saw a gallant show

Of heroes stalwart under banners,

And in the fierce heroic glow,

'Twas theirs to yield but wild hosannahs

The Sergeant heard the shrill hurrahs,

Where he behind in step was keeping;

But glancing down beside the road

He saw a little maid sit weeping.

"And how is this?" he gruffly said,

A moment pausing to regard her;--

"Why weepest thou, my little chit?"--

And then she only cried the harder.

"And how is this, my little chit?"

The sturdy trooper straight repeated,

"When all the village cheers us on,

That you, in tears, apart are seated?

"We march two hundred thousand strong!

And that's a sight, my baby beauty,

To quicken silence into song

And glorify the soldier's duty."

"It's very, very grand, I know,"

The little maid gave soft replying;

"And Father, Mother, Brother too,

All say 'Hurrah' while I am crying;

"But think--O Mr. Soldier, think,

How many little sisters' brothers

Are going all away to fight

And may be _killed_, as well as others!"

"Why bless thee, child," the Sergeant said,

His brawny hands her curls caressing,

"'Tis left for little ones like you

To find that War's not all a blessing."

And "Bless thee!" once again he cried;

Then cleared his throat and looked indignant,

And marched away with wrinkled brow

To stop the struggling tear benignant.

And still the ringing shouts went up

From doorway, thatch, and fields of tillage;

The pall behind the standard seen

By one alone, of all the village.

The oak and cedar bend and writhe

When roars the wind through gap and braken;

But 'tis the tenderest reed of all

That trembles first when Earth is shaken.

It is with infinite satisfaction, my boy, that I record the recognition

of Commodore Head's priceless services on Duck Lake by the Secretary of

the Navy. Our grim old son of Neptune is created Rear-Admiral, with the

privilege of snubbing gunboat captains, receiving serenades, attending

launches, and lavishing untold scorn upon the feeble imitations of

affrighted Europe.

Hence, there would appear to be an imperative demand in current

literature for an authoritative

SKETCH OF COMMODORE HEAD.

This venerable ornament of our peerless naval service, to whom the eyes

of the whole world are now directed, was born of one of his parents at

an early period of his existence, and has since incurred the years

temporarily elapsing between that epoch and the present auspicious

occasion. The subject of our brief biography entered the navy when he

was only fifty years old, as commander of the Mackerel iron-plated

squadron on Duck Lake, where he became widely noted for success in

fishing, as well as for his skill in eluding vessels running the

blockade. At one time, indeed, he came very near capturing a

Confederate ram, being only prevented by failing to find the key of the

box containing his spectacles in time to reconnoiter the wily foe.

Commodore Head's conversation concerning the speedy capture of

Vicksburg, Charleston, Savannah and Mobile, is instructive to all

minds, and his promotion is an event calculated to prove that the war

is about to begin in earnest.

* * * * *

Rear-Admirals, my boy, are an aristocratic institution; and their

creation must serve to convince besotted Europe, that in making a naval

distinction between rank and file, our discriminating Government knows

how to compromise matters by bestowing a new rank upon an old file.

It was on Wednesday that my architectural steed, the Gothic Pegasus,

renewed his usual weekly journey to desolated Accomac, cheerfully

conveying me thither at a speed that did not keep the same roadside

house in view more than half an hour at a time. Having hitched the

funereal stallion to a copy of Senator Sumner's recent Faneuil Hall

speech, believing that document sufficiently heavy to hold him, I gave

him a discarded straw-hat of mine for his dinner, and strolled into the

Mackerel camp.

To the everlasting disgrace of our rulers be it said, my boy, I found

the devoted Mackerel Brigade progressing toward deep suffering at a

rate which made me thank Heaven that I owned no chickens within sight

of the harrowing scene. Being thoughtlessly supplied with three days'

rations at a time, these neglected martyrs incur all the perils of

suffocation and cruel nightmare by doing nothing on the first day but

eat from morning till night, what is left over at midnight being used

to pelt each other with. Then for two whole days these gallant men who

are fighting our battles find famine staring them in the face, and I

actually heard one emaciated Mackerel chap offering a whole week's pay

to another Mackerel chap for a Confederate cracker which he had picked

up in a field, wishing to consign that cracker to his friends at home

as a sample of the unnatural food with which an ungrateful Republic

feeds its faithful soldiers. I even found many Mackerels without

knapsacks and blankets, which they had lost in adventures at "Old

Sledge"; and there was that in the countenances of others which sured

me that their poor faces had not been washed since the commencement of

the war!

My soul turns sick at these things, my boy, and they even have an

effect upon a beholder's stomach. To think that our noble volunteers,

our country's preservers, should be subjected to sufferings in which

they have not even the poor consolation of knowing that somebody else

than themselves is responsible therefor.

Reflectively I turned from the scene of agony, and had rambled some

fifteen minutes in an adjacent bit of woods, when the sound of voices

near by made me stop short behind a tree and peer eagerly through an

opening in the nearest thicket.

Seated just beyond some evergreen bushes were four dilapidated

Confederacies, solemnly discussing the great Emancipation Proclamation

of our Honest Abe; whilst close by them, and astride of a mossy stone,

was the accomplished swordsman, Captain Munchausen, frantically, and

with many hiccups, endeavoring at one and the same time to catch a

phantom fly and maintain his equestrian position.

One of the Confederacies took a bite from a cold potato which he held

in his hand, and, says he:

"I reckon that it's near time for the unsubjugated South to adopt

Retaliatory measures, and proclaim that all prisoners hereafter taken

by the Confederacy shall be previously shot and made into

bone-ornaments."

Here Captain Munchausen burst into an unseemly peal of laughter as he

made another wild clutch at the phantom-fly, and says he:

"Wher--where's Mary's--ary's--snuff-box?"

Not perceiving that this special remark was relevant to the question in

view, a second Confederacy merely tightened the string which held his

inexpressibles in place, and, says he:

"What has been proposed by the Honorable Gentleman from the Alms House

is not sufficiently severe. No mercy should be shown to the Washington

demon, and I move that any Federal soldiers found disturbing a

Confederacy during the progress of a battle shall be at once executed

for arson."

The impression created by this motion extended even to Captain

Munchausen, who fell flat on his face in a frantic attempt to catch the

spectral insect, and exclaimed, in tones of awful solemnity:

"I don't want (hic) to be marri--ry--arried--Hic!"

After a moment's pause, the third Confederacy finished buttoning his

coat with a bit of corn-cob, and says he:

"I move that the last Resolution be amended, to make it a capital crime

for any person whatever to be guilty of Federal extraction."

Now, it chanced, my boy, that there was a Mackerel picket eating a

confiscated watermelon in a clump of bushes close behind me; and just

at this crisis of the debate, he casually tossed a piece of the rind in

the direction of the Confederacies. It happened to fall in their midst,

whereupon the enraged statesmen were seized with great tremblings, and

immediately skedaddled in all directions, the last being Captain

Munchausen, who at first endeavored to carry a rock of some hundred

pounds' weight away with him, and ultimately retreated in a

highly-circuitous manner, with an expression of abject despair under

his cap.

It is said, my boy, that the celebrated Confederacy will resent the

Proclamation by raising the Black Flag. It is a common belief, that if

such be the case, it will be the duty of our generals to raise the

blacks without flagging.

Yours, if it come to that,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXXV.

SETTING FORTH THE FALSE AND TRUE ASPECTS OF BEAMING OLD AGE

RESPECTIVELY, AND SHOWING HOW THE UNBLUSHING CONFEDERACY MADE

ANOTHER RAID.

WASHINGTON, D. C., October 19th, 1862.

It is a beautiful and improving thing, my boy, to see the wise and

polished mob of a great nation paying unmitigated reverence to fussy

gray hairs, and much shirt collar; and hence I never grew tired of

considering the dignified case of the Venerable Gammon, whom everybody

regards as the benign paternal relative of his country. When I see

Generals, Senators, and other proprietors of Government property,

hanging breathlessly upon the words of this sublime old man, just as

though such words were so many gallows, I feel the cause of Justice

typified to my mind's eye, and am myself enthusiastic enough to believe

that hanging is too good for them. Whether at Willard's, the White

House, the Capitol, or in his native Mugville, the Venerable Gammon is

ever the same beneficent being, beaming blandly upon the whole universe

from above his ruffles, and paternally permitting it to exist in his

presence.

The precise thing he has done in his fearfully long lifetime, my boy,

to beget such an agony of love and worship from everybody, has not yet

come to the immediate knowledge of anybody; but he is the moss-grown

oracle of the United States of America, and it gives me unspeakable

satisfaction to reproduce as follows, his benign letter of advice to

the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade:

MUGVILLE, July 4, 1776.

DEAR SIRRAH,--Justly regarding you as the next President of the United

States, and an honored successor of my old friend, Georgey Washington,

I deem it proper, by reason of my great importance and infirmities, to

repeat in writing with a pen what I have before spoken to you with my

tongue--this supplement to my printed views (dated April the First) on

the highly inflamed condition of our glorious and distracted Union.

To meet the expectations of a populace admiring my venerable shape, I

deem it consistent with my retiring modesty and infirmities to dictate

to you the four plans you may pursue by way of making yourself

President of our distracted Commonwealth in 1865.

I.--Throw off the old and assume a new designation--the sly old party;

give the South entire control of the whole country, and, my wig upon

it, we shall have no secession; but, on the contrary, an early return

of the entire Confederacy to Washington. Without some equally benignant

measure, we shall be compelled to fight all the Border States and put

them down at once, instead of keeping two hundred thousand soldiers

peaceably employed in making their loyalty continually sure.

II.--Collect the war taxes outside of the States where the tax-payers

live, or declare upon paper that they are already collected.

III.--Conquer the seceded States by the unheard-of agency of an actual

army. I think this might be done in a few hundred years by a young and

able general to be found on some railroad, with six hundred thousand

disciplined spades. Estimating a third of this number to remain for

ever stationary on the Potomac, and a loss of a still greater number by

consummate strategy and changings of base. The loss of chickens and

contrabands on the other side would be frightful, however great the

morality of the mudsills.

This conquest would cost money that might otherwise go to beautify the

South, secure fifteen swearing and deeply-offended provinces, and be

immediately followed by a new election for President in 1865.

IV.--Say to the Seceded States, in one of which I own some mortgages:

"_How are you, Southern Confederacy?_"

Deliberately, I remain,

Your father and the country's,

V. GAMMON.

This touching letter, my boy, I recommend to your most prayerful

consideration, as a paternal outpouring of shirt-collared old age.

Old age! how beautiful art thou in the glory of thy spectacles, and the

sublime largeness of thy stomach and manner. And yet, would you believe

it, my boy? I am sometimes possessed of great doubtings as to the

genuineness of that majesty which makes a continually-looming Venerable

Shape such a great blessing to an imperiled land. Sometimes there comes

to me a rickety vision of:

AGE BLUNTLY CONSIDERED.

As Age advances, ails and aches attend,

Backs builded broadest burdensomely bend;

Cuttingly cruel comes consuming Care,

Dealing delusions, drivelry, despair.

Empty endeavor enervately ends,

Fancy forlornly feigns forgotten friends;

Gout, grimly griping, gluttonously great,

Hasten's humanity's hard-hearted hate.

Intentions imbecile invent ideas

Justly jocunding jolly jokers' jeers:

Knowledge--keen kingdom knurlyably known--

Lingers, lamenting life's long lasting loan,

Mammonly mumming, magnifying motes,

Nurtures numb Nature's narrowest nursery notes,

Opens old age's odious offering out--

Peevish punctilio, parrot-pining pout.

Qualmishly querrying, quarrelsomely quaint,

Rousing rife ridicules' repealed restraint;

Speaking soft silliness--such shallow show

That tottering toysters, tickled, titter too.

Useless, ungainly unbeloved, unblest,

Virtue's vague visor, vice's veiling vest,

Wheezingly whimpering, wanting wisdom, wit,

Xistence, Xigent, Xclaims--Xit!

Youths, you're yelept youth's youngest; yet you'll

Zestless zig-zaggers zanyable zealed.

I exhibited that pleasing little poem to a Mackerel chap, who

stuttered, my boy; and he came so near going into apoplexy through his

endeavors to read it, that I was obliged to make a joke, in order that

he might smile, relax, and recover.

And now let your mind fly, like a wearied dove, to the celebrated

Arcadian scenes of festive Accomac, where the Mackerel Brigade

continues to reconnoitre in force, and awaits the death of the

Confederacy by old age. Men, my boy, who entered this strategic war in

the full bloom of youth, now go with stooping shoulders and tottering

gait when they have a barrel of flour to carry, and the bloom has

departed from every part of them save the extreme tip of that handle of

the human countenance which first meets the edge of an open door in the

dark. Even the Mackerel brass-band begins to grow feeble, often making

pitiable attempts to execute stirring strains on his night key bugle,

as though unconscious that by long disuse in his pocket it had become

clogged with bread and cheese.

There is, on the Southern border of Accomac, my boy, a solitary house,

containing furniture and the necessaries of life, which the Conic

Section of the Mackerel Brigade had been ordered to guard. It stands

immediately on the verdant banks of Awlkwyet River, where that stream

must be at least ten inches deep; and as the first regular bridge is

ten miles below it, of course the Conic Section, to guard the house,

was placed at the end of that bridge--it being a principle of national

strategy never to recognize any Confederate raid not made across a

regular bridge.

Now it chanced, that while the Conic Section at the bridge was taking a

short nap, having been up very late the night before; and while the

beloved General of the Mackerel Brigade was visiting a portion of his

beautiful home-circle in Paris, that a very dirty Confederacy, riding

in a seedy go-cart, made his appearance on the bank of the river

opposite the house, and commenced to make a raid right through the

water to the shore this side. His geometrical steed wet his feet

thereby, and the wheels of his squeaking vehicle were damped by this

barbarian way of offering irregular opposition to the Government; but

what cared he for the rules of civilized warfare, which are the only

authorized West Point editions? Like all his infatuated countrymen, he

was rendered less than strategic by the demon of Secession, and he

crossed by the unmilitary ford instead of by the military bridge.

This is, indeed, heart-sickening.

There was a Mackerel chap who slept in the house to take care of a

large black bottle, and when he heard the go-cart driving up before the

door, he stuck his head out of the window, and says he:

"What is it which you would have in these irregular proceedings, Mr.

Stuart?"

The Confederacy dismounted from his chariot, tied a bag of oats over

his charger's head, and says he:

"I'm making a raid."

The Mackerel waved his hand southward, and says he:

"You'll find the bridge just below. Don't stay here," says the

Mackerel, earnestly, "or you'll exasperate the North to fury."

Here the Confederacy made some remark in which the name of the North

and a profane expletive were connected very closely, and proceeded to

bring from the house a hobby-horse which stood in the hall. After

placing this valuable article in his go-cart, he next brought out a

cooking-stove; closely following this with some chairs, a dining-table,

two feather beds, a tea-set, four wine-glasses and some tumblers, a

looking-glass, four sheets, two cottage bedsteads, a Brussels carpet,

and a Maltese cat. With these and a few other exceptions, my boy, he

made no attempt to disturb private property; thereby proving that the

President's Proclamation has already produced a wholesome effect in the

degenerate South.

While this was going on, the vigilant Mackerel guard descended

privately from a back window, and made a forced march to where the

Conic Section were watching something which looked like a man in the

Southern horizon--instantly making known the audacious raid of the

thieving Confederacy, and asking whether the new levies of the

Executive's last call were likely to arrive early enough to take

measures for the prevention of the capture of Washington.

While the question was in debate, my boy, the beloved General of the

Mackerel Brigade arrived with his trunk and umbrella from Paris, and

having caused it to be telegraphed to all the reliable morning journals

that the Confederacy were now in a fair way to be captured alive, he at

once took measures to cut off the retreat of the latter. Captain

Villiam Brown, with Company 3, Regiment 5, was at once ordered to

construct a pontoon bridge across the river some miles below, and watch

it vigilantly day and night; Captain Bob Shorty and Colonel Wobert

Wobinson, with the Anatomical Cavalry, were dispatched to take

possession of a railroad leading to Manassas; whilst Captain Samyule

Sa-mith with the balance of the Conic Section, was commanded to make a

detour of three hundred miles, and endeavor to reach the invaded house

before midwinter set in.

All these movements were in accordance with profound strategy, my boy,

and cut off the Confederacy from retreat by every route in the world,

except the insignificant one he came by.

Satisfied that the war was going to end in about sixty days, after

which we should have time to defeat combined Europe, the Mackerel guard

hastened back to the domicil, which he reached just in time to find the

Confederacy topping his go-cart with some kindling-wood from the cellar.

I regret to say, my boy--I blush for my species as I make the

incredible revelation--that upon receiving the information of his

surrounding and probable strategic capture by the vigilant Mackerel

Brigade, the irreverent Confederacy burst into a hideous horse-laugh,

and at once proceeded to appropriate the poor Mackerel chap's own shoes

and stockings. With the deepest horror I record, that he also tweaked

the Mackerel's nose.

"I did not intend this as a permanent invasion," says the impious

Confederacy, as he remounted his go-cart and turned his geometrical

Arabian toward the water again; "but I have just married a daughter of

South Carolina--one of two twins--and reckoned that I needed some

things to set up housekeeping. Farewell, foul Hessian," says the

Confederacy, as he splashed through the water to the opposite

bank--"fare thee well, and tell your fiendish ruler, that it is

somewhat impossible to conquer the sunny South."

The Mackerel chap gazed thoughtfully after the go-cart as it

disappeared on the other side of the balmy Awlkwyet stream, and says

he: "Rail on, my erring brother; but if you'd only stayed here one more

week, you might not have escaped thus for seven whole days. Had the

army been insufficient to secure you," says the Mackerel to himself,

"had the army been insufficient to secure you, why, there's the police."

Raids, my boy, are so intrinsically irregular in their character, that

no provision can be made for them in a regular army; hence they are

sometimes necessitated to take provisions for themselves as they go on.

Yours, radiantly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXXVI.

REFERRING TO THE MOSQUITO AS A TEST OF HUMAN NATURE, EXPLAINING THE

LONG HALT OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE, AND NOTING THE COURT OF

INQUIRY ON CAPTAIN VILLIAM BROWN.

WASHINGTON, D. C., October 26th, 1862.

Early this morning, my boy, I sauntered across the Long Bridge and took

my seat upon the topmost rail of a fence enclosing a trampled meadow.

There I sat, like Marius, my boy, contemplating the architectural ruin

embodied in my Gothic steed, Pegasus, and ever and anon whistling

abstractedly to my frescoed dog, Bologna.

By the gods! I really love these dumb friends of mine. The speculative

eye of the world sees in poor Pegasus nothing more than an

architectural dream--the church architecture of the future--and, I must

confess, my boy, that the Gothic charger _does_ look something like a

skeleton chapel at a distance; it sees in Bologna only a mongrel cur,

whose taste for the calves of human legs is an epicurean outrage on

walking society. But for me, my boy, there is a human pathos in the

patient fidelity of these zoological curiosities which appeals to my

best manhood. I have had a hard and thankless life of it; my experience

with the knowing political chaps of the Sixth Ward was enough to grind

everything like human tenderness out of my nature, and make me turn

into an arrogant and contemptuous misanthrope; but there are times when

the cold nose of Pegasus against my cheek, or a wag from that speaking

tail of Bologna--which curls up behind him like a note of

interrogation, to ask how his master feels--will give me such a

sensation of wishing to protect and be kind to the Helpless, that I

feel myself a better man for the practical Christianity of such humble

society.

There is my mosquito, the youthful Humboldt, too! He came to me one

night, about two years ago, my boy, practising much profound strategy

to capture my nose; and when I foiled him by a free use of both arms of

the service, the unterrified and humming manner in which he changed the

base of his operations and came on again, excited my admiration and

respect. Catching him in a little net cage made from the musquito bars

of my bed, I kept him safely by me, and now use him as a test of human

nature. In God's providence, each minute created thing has its

appointed use, my boy, and depend upon it, the use of the musquito is

to test human nature.

There was a veteran political chap from Albany called upon me last

Sunday night. A sage and aged chap of infinite vest, who wears the

broad-brimmed hat of reticent respectability, and nestles in much

shirt-collar like a centuried owl. Having taken a pinch of snuff after

the dirty manner of a Gentleman of the Old School, he merely paused to

take a hasty glance at the plan for the next Senatorial election in his

note book, and then says he:

"I'm grievously dis'pointed, yea, piteously vexed, to see the partisan

spirit raging so furiously in State elections, at a time when an

expiring country calls upon all her sons, irrespective of party, to

join hands in the great work of saving her. Why cannot these turbulent

denouncers of each other be like me, who recognize no division of party

in this national crisis? I would have a union of all men to vote for

the one great ticket of my choice; and even the democrat I would

recognize as a fellow being in such a case."

I suspected this grievous old chap to be a hypocrite, my boy, and I

managed to let Humboldt free from his cage for the purpose of testing

him. As the aged chap commenced to get warm, Humboldt began to make

raids round his sagacious head, and with divers slaps in the air, the

aged chap waxed spirited, and says he;

"Pshoo! pshoo!--As I was saying, we should all strive to conciliate our

political adversaries--pshoo! and endeavor to promote a spirit of unity

even with the most disaffected peace men--pshoo, you beast!--and not

act like Greeley and Wendell Phillips, and Beecher--confound it,

pshoo!--and other infernal fanatics; who, by their indiscreet,

imprudent--curse it, pshoo!--and infernal, God-forsaken niggerism, are

wounding the tenderest feelings--thunder and lightning, pshoo!--and

rousing the hellish passions of really good democrats, who thereby make

capital from their sadly mistaken--blazes and blue lightning,

pshoo!--and devilish craziness, which is unfortunately confusing--good

heavens, pshoo, pshoo!--and damning their own party, and knocking

thunder out of the gubernatorial canvass; besides--besides--"

Here this aged chap made a flying leap at Humboldt, missed his aim, and

then dashed madly from the room.

Depend upon it, my boy, a musquito is a great test of human nature. The

little chap operates like an outside conscience, and brings the real

thing to the surface.

Why does not the Mackerel Brigade advance?

This, my boy, is the question of the hour. For what do our heroes wait?

Is it for india-rubbers, or umbrellas, or fine-tooth combs? No! be not

deceived: it is for none of these.

Hem! The fact is, my boy, many respectable though married Mackerels

entered the army of the Accomac when they were in the prime of life;

and as old age steals softly upon them, as the seasons and the bases of

operations run through their changes, and year succeeds year, the

eye-sight of many of them waxes dim, and fails in the process of

Nature. I know some thousands of Mackerels, my boy, who are already so

blind that they have not seen a rebel for six months; and hence, no

advance-movement can be judiciously made until the brigade is supplied

with spectacles. Without these, the idolized General of the Mackerel

Brigade will not do anything until he gets ready. It was the want of

these, as I now discover, that prevented our troops seeing the Southern

Confederacy when he made his late raid across Awlkwyet River. Let the

spectacles be at once procured, my boy; or an indignant and bleeding

nation will at once demand a change in the Cabinet.

Company 3, Regiment 5, is the only Company yet fitted with glasses, and

was therefore selected to make a reconnoissance toward Paris, under

Colonel Wobert Wobinson, on Tuesday afternoon, for the purpose of

discovering whether the Confederacies there were very tired of waiting

yet. Glaring through their spectacles, these gallant beings advanced

until they met a Parrot shell going the other way, and then returned

with hasty discipline, bringing with them a captured contraband, who

was so anxious to remain in their company that he actually ran very

fast.

Upon regaining the camp in Accomac, my boy, the colonel had the

intelligent contraband brought before him, and says he:

"If I mistake not, friend Africa, you were escaping from the bonds of

oppression when we took you?"

The intelligent contraband shifted a silver soup-ladle from one pocket

to the other, and says he:

"Yes, mars'r colonel, I hab left my ole mars'r for de good of his

bressed soul." Here the attached bondman sniffed and shook his head.

"Are you pious?" says Colonel Wobinson, much affected by such an

example of humble devotion.

"Yes, mars'r I is dat," says the fond creature, wiping his brow with a

silk vest from his dress-coat pocket, "and I wished to save my ole

mars'r from de sin of de wicked. I know dat it was wrong for him to own

niggas, and dat he was more sinful de more he done it. And I run away,

Mars'r Colonel, to save dat ole man's bressum soul from any more dam."

Colonel Wobinson took off his spectacles in order that the steam from

his tears might not dim them, and says he:

"I had not looked for this in one so black. Leave those silver spoons

with me, friend Africa, and I will send them to my wife. Sergeant,

convey this dark being, who has taught us all such a lesson of

self-sacrifice, to the chaplain; and tell the chaplain to look out for

his pocket."

How beautiful is it, my boy, to see in the uncouth, unlettered slave, a

spirit of piety so shiningly practical. When I beheld the brutalized

bondman evince such signs of religion, I am reminded of those tender

and precocious little babes, who sometimes delight their mothers with

exalted utterances of the like, and am inclined to believe that one

knows just as much about it as the other does.

It pains me to say, my boy, that Captain Villiam Brown so far forgot

himself on Wednesday, upon discovering the non-arrival of the

spectacles, that he used language of an incendiary description against

the beloved General of the Mackerel Brigade, thereby proving himself to

be one of those crazy fanatics who are trying to ruin our distracted

country. He said, my boy, that the adored General of the Mackerel

Brigade was a dead-beat, and furthermore observed that he would be very

sorry to take his word.

Such language could not pass unnoticed, and a Court of Inquiry,

composed of Captains Bob Shorty, Samyule Sa-mith, and Colonel Wobert

Wobinson, was instantly called. The Court had a decanter and tumbler

only, to aid its deliberations, it being determined by the War

Department that no fact which could be detected even by the aid of a

glass, should go uninspected.

Villiam having been summoned to the presence, Samyule declared the

Court in session, and says he:

"The sad duty has become ours, to investigate certain charges against a

brother in arms which has heretofore been the mirror of chivalry. It is

specified against him:

"'_First_--That said Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, did affirm,

declare, avow, testify, and articulate, with his tongue, licker, and

organ of speech, that the General of the Mackerel Brigade was a

dead-beat.

"'_Second_--That aforesaid Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, did

proclaim, utter, enunciate, fulminate and swear, that he would not take

the word of the General of the Mackerel Brigade.'

"What has the culprit to say to these charges? Did he say that our

idolized Commander was a dead-beat?"

Villiam smiled calmly, and says he: "The chaste remark exactly fits the

orifice of my lips."

"Confine yourself to English," says Colonel Wobinson, majestically.

"What do you mean by the observation?"

"Why," says Villiam, pleasantly, "I meant, that before he was beaten he

must be dead. And after death, you know," says Villiam, reaching one

hand abstractedly toward the decanter, "after death, you know, we must

all _b'eaten_ by worms."

This explanation, my boy, was satisfactory, and conveyed a grave moral

lesson; but the court felt convinced that the second charge could

not be thus simply answered.

Captain Samyule Sa-mith set down the tumbler for a moment, and says he:

"You're not guilty on the first count, Villiam; but didn't you say that

you wouldn't take the word of the General of the Mackerel Brigade?"

"Which I did," says Villiam.

"And what excuse have you to offer, my trooper?" says Captain Bob

Shorty, pointing the question with his spoon.

"Is the general a gentleman?" says Villiam, searchingly.

The court believed him to be such.

"Ah!" says Villiam, "then if he's a gentleman, he always _keeps_ his

word, and of course it is impossible to _take_ it."

Verdict of "not guilty, with a recommendation to mercy."

Courts of Inquiry, my boy, are calculated to draw out the rich humor of

military character, and are equally useful and appropriate with all

other jokes, in times of devastating war.

Yours, smilingly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXXVII.

SHOWING WHAT EFFECT DEMOCRATIC TRIUMPHS HAVE UPON THE PRESIDENT,

NOTING OUR CORRESPONDENT'S STRANGE MISTAKE ABOUT A BRITISH

FLAG, AND INDICATING THE STRAGETIC ADVANCE OF THE MACKEREL

BRIGADE.

WASHINGTON, D. C., November 7th, 1862.

The late election in New York, my boy, has electrified everybody except

our Honest Abe, who still goes about smiling, like a long and amiable

sexton, and continues to save our distracted country after the manner

of an honest man. On Tuesday night, a high moral Democratic chap, of

much watch-seal, who had just received a dispatch all about the

election, went to see the Honest Abe, for the express purpose of

telling him that the Democratic party had been born again, and was on

the point of protesting against everything whatsoever, except the

Constitution of our forefathers. He found the Honest Abe cracking some

walnuts before the fire, my boy, and says he:

"The celebrated Democratic organization, of which I am Assistant

Engineer, has carried the State of New York in a manner impossible to

express, and will now proceed to demand of you a vigorous prosecution

of that unnatural strife in which are involved our lives, our

liberties, and the pursuit of happiness. We admire to see your harmless

honesty," says the chap, blandly, "and we believe you to be a fresh

egg; but we protest against the arbitrary arrest of men which is

patriots, only conservatively Democratic; and we insist upon a vigorous

prosecution of Constitutional hostilities against our misguided

brothers who are now offering irregular opposition to the Government."

The Honest Abe cracked a walnut, and says he: "You say, neighbor, that

the organization still insists upon a vigorous prosecution of the war?"

The Democratic chap sliced a toothpick from the arm of the chair with

his knife, and says he: "That is the present platform on which we are

_E pluribus unum_."

"Well," says the Honest Abe, "I believe that you mean well; but am

reminded of a little story.

"When I was practicing law out in Illinois," says the Honest Abe,

twisting the bow of his black necktie around from under his left ear,

"there was an old cock, with two sons, living near me in a tumble-down

old shanty. He lived there until half his roof blew off one windy

night, and then he concluded to move to a new house, where the chimney

didn't take up all the upper story. On the day when he moved, he'd got

most all his traps changed to the other residence, and had sent one of

his sons to see that they were all got safely indoors, when suddenly a

shower commenced to come up. The old man and his other offspring, who

had stayed to hurry him, were taking up a carpet from the floor at the

time the first dose of thunder cracked, and the offspring says he,

'Hurry up, old crazy-bones, or we'll be ketched in the freshet before

you get up this here rich fabric.' The stern parent heeded the

admonition, and went ripping away the carpet around the edges of the

room, until he came near where the offspring was standing, and there it

stuck. He pulled, but it wouldn't come, and he says, says he: ''Pears

to me that dod-rotted tack must be a tenpenny nail--it holds on so.'

You see, the old screw was very blind without his specs," says the

Honest Abe, buttoning his vest askew, "and he couldn't see just where

the tack was. Another peal of thunder at this moment made the irascible

offspring still madder, and he says, says he: 'You misabul old cripple,

if you don't hurry up we'll be ketched, I tell you!' As he made this

dutiful remark he went stamping to the window, and at the same moment

the cantankerous tack came out, and the aged parent went over on his

back with the carpet up to his chin. He got up and dusted, and says he:

'Well, now, that _is_ cur'ous--how suddent it went.' Then he proceeded

to rip away again, until it came near the window, and there it stuck

once more. The wild offspring saw him tugging again, and it made him so

wrathy that he says, says he: 'Why in thunder didn't you take the nails

out first, you crooked old sinner, you? It's enough to make me weep

afresh for the old woman, to see how you--' But he didn't finish his

observation; for, as he walked toward where the hammer lay, the tack

came out, and the old 'un went to bed again under the carpet. Up sprang

the sad parent, spitting rags, and he says, says he: 'Well now, how

cur'ous--to think it should come so suddent!' Still on he went, until

the carpet was all up from around the edges; but when he tried to draw

it away on his shoulder, it was fast somewheres yet. R-r-rum-bum-boom!

went the thunder; and says the infuriated offspring, says he: 'Well, I

never did see such a blundering old dad as you be. We'll be ketched in

the rain as sure as grasshoppers; and all because you didn't take my

advice about the hammer in the first place.' The poor old 'un tugged,

and pulled, and panted, and says he: 'Well, now, it _is_ cur'ous, I

swun to massey. There can't be no tacks way out in the middle of the

floor here, can they?' To make sure, the old blind-pate was going down

on his knees to take a mouse-eye view, when all of a sudden he gave a

start, and he says, says he: 'Why, 'pears to me, Sammy, _you're

standin' on the carpet yourself!_' And so he was--so he was," says the

Honest Abe, smiling into the fire, "and that was the why the carpet had

stuck fast in so many places."

"Now," says the Honest Abe, poking the Democratic chap in the ribs with

his knuckles; "if your organization wants me to move vigorously in this

war, tell them not to be standing on my carpet all the time. Otherwise,

I must still keep tacking about."

The Democratic chap had been slowly rising from his chair as this small

moral tale drew toward its exciting conclusion, and at the last word he

fled the apartment with quivering watch-seal.

Our President, my boy, has a tale for every emergency, as a rat-trap

has an emergency for every tail.

It was on the morning of this same day, that I had a pleasing

conversation on the state of our foreign relations with a phlegmatic

British chap connected with the English Ministry, who is remaining here

for the purpose of beholding anarchy in the North, which he has been

requested to immediately communicate to one of Great Britain's morning

journals. We were taking Richmond together at Willard's, my boy, and

had just been speaking of the English Southern pirate "Alabama" in

terms of neutrality, when suddenly the phlegmatic chap drew a roll of

silk from one of his pockets, fastened it to his cane, unfurled it

before my eyes, and says he:

"By the way, sir, 'ow do you like this ere h'original h'idea of mine?

Do you see what it is?"

"Yes, friend Bifstek," says I, Frenchily, "that is indeed the Black

Flag."

The chap turned very red in the face, my boy, and says he: "The Black

Flag! what a 'orrible h'idea! You must be thinking of the h'Alabama.

What h'induces you to suppose such a thing!"

[Illustration]

"Why," says I, "there's the Skull and Crossbones plain enough."

"Skull and Crossbones!!" says he, "why, that's the beautiful Hinglish

crest--a crown and sceptres; and this is my new h'original design, ye

know, for a new Hinglish Revenue Flag."

It was then, my boy, that I discovered my error, and apologized for my

obliquity of vision. It was strange, indeed, that I should mistake for

a skull the insignia of royalty, even though a crown is not

unfrequently found identified with a numskull.

On the same Tuesday, my boy, there was a small election in a town just

this side of Accomac, and I went down there early in the morning, to

the office of the excellent independent evening journal, that I might

see the returns as soon as they came in. The editor was talking to two

chaps--a Republican and a Democrat--and, says he:

"The organ which my humble talents keep a-going is strictly

independent, and I have no choice of candidates. I care only for my

country, one and individual," says the editor, touchingly, "and can

make no arbitrary discrimination of mere parties; but as you both

advertise your tickets in my moral journal, a sense of duty may induce

me to favor the side whose advertisement weighs the most."

After this gentle insinuation, my boy, each chap hastily commenced to

write his advertisement. The Republican inscribed his upon a _very_

heavy piece of brown wrapping-paper to make it weighty; but the

Democrat selected a plain bit of foolscap, only putting in a

hundred-dollar Treasury Note, to keep it from blotting.

When the editor came to look at the two, he coughed slightly, and says

he: "I have always been a Democrat."

"But my advertisement certainly weighs the most," says the Republican

chap, hotly.

The editor ate a chestnut, and says he: "Not in an intellectual sense,

my friend."

"My paper is twice as heavy as his," says the chap; "and as to the

Treasury Note, I had some scruples--"

"There!" says the editor, interruptingly, "you tell the whole story, my

friend. In the temple of a free and reliable press, as well as

elsewhere, some scruples bear very little proportion in weight to one

hundredweight."

The American press, my boy, might occasionally adopt as an appropriate

motto, the present Napoleon's observation, that "_L'Empire c'est la_

PAY."

Turning from intellectual matters, let me glance at our country's hope

and pride, the Mackerel Brigade, each member of whom feels confident of

ultimately crushing out this hideous Rebellion as soon as national

strategy shall have revealed the present whereabouts of the affrighted

Confederacy. Last week, my boy, the Brigade moved gorgeously from

Accomac, headed by the band, who played exciting strains upon his

night-key bugle; and was only fired upon from the windows of wayside

houses by helpless women, against whom the United States of America do

not make war.

Woman, my boy, is the most helpless of God's creatures; and is so far

from having power to help any other being, that she even can't help

being herself sometimes.

The sun shone brightly down upon the spectacles of the ancient

Mackerels as they once more took the road toward Paris; and as the

light was reflected from the glistening glasses upon the carmine noses

of which they were astride, it seemed as though each warrior had a rose

in the middle of his countenance to symbolize the beautiful idea, that

they had all arose for their distracted country's preservation.

Captain Villiam Brown, mounted on his geometrical steed, Euclid, was

conversing affably with Captain Bob Shorty, as they rode along

together, when a Lieutenant of the Anatomical Cavalry came dashing

toward him, and says he:

"Captain, there's something missing from the rearguard."

Villiam assumed a thoughtful demeanor, and says he: "Is it a miss fire?"

"No," says the Lieutenant, agitatedly: "but we miss two--"

"Not baggage wagons?" says Villiam, giving such a start that Euclid

nearly fell upon his knees; "don't tell me that two wagons are missing."

"Why no," says the Lieutenant, with emotion, "it's not two wagons that

we miss, but two Brigadiers."

"Ah!" says Villiam, fanning himself with his cap. "How you alarmed me.

I thought at first that it was two wagons. Let the procession go on,

and I'll send for two more Brigs the next time I have a friend going to

Washington."

It would please me, my boy, to detail the further movements of the

Mackerels, but the cause of strategy demands that I should say no more

on that topic just at present.

The beloved General of the Mackerel Brigade was at Washington when he

heard of the advance which his enemies would pretend that he did not

lead in person, and says he to the messenger:

"Are my gallant children ready for a fight?"

"Much so," says the messenger.

"Is the weather clear, my child?"

"Salubrious."

"Thunder!" says the General, valorously. "Then I really believe that I

must move my headquarters across the Potomac!"

The Potomac, my boy--to speak with all due reverence for sacred

things--in the numerous backs and forths it so constantly imposes upon

the military, would seem calculated to turn this war into another

Crusade, and make all our heroes literal soldiers of the "cross."

Yours, metaphorically,

OEPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXXVIII.

IN WHICH THE STORY TOLD BY THE GERMAN MEMBER OF THE COSMOPOLITAN

CLUB IS DULY REPORTED.

WASHINGTON, D. C., November 12th, 1862.

Herr Tuyfeldock, my boy, the high-Dutch cosmopolitan, supernaturalized

the last meeting of the club with his old-fashioned story of

HERMANN, THE DEMENTED.

"At the base of a lofty mountain, and overshadowed by its beetling

cliffs, stood a rude hut, built of heavy logs, and surmounted by a

roof, the eaves of which descended in broad scollops over the windows

of the tenement, and gave it the appearance of a small boy wearing his

father's hat. In the surrounding scenery there was a wild grandeur and

magnificence with which no work of art would have been in keeping.

Immediately in the rear of the humble habitation, abruptly rose one of

a range known as the Hartz Mountains, stretching far away toward the

west in waves of bright and shadowy emerald, as the light fell upon

them, and covered with gloomy forests, peopled with unblest spirits by

the legends of olden times. In front and on both sides, spreading out

its vast expanse of verdant soil, until it appeared to meet with the

horizon, was a noble plain, bearing scattered clumps of trees, through

which a few isolated huts were discernable. It was like Light and Shade

meeting, with the hut under the cliff to mark their boundaries.

"Evening had just begun to tint the fragrant air with her sombre hues,

when a figure was apparent, moving over the plain in the direction of

the lonely domicil, and, as it approached nearer, the muscular form and

pleasing features of a young hunter were visible. He was exceedingly

tall, yet symmetrical in every limb, and quick in his movements as a

chamois on its native hills. His dress comprised a coat and leggins of

blue material, ornamented with silver buttons, a pair of heavy boots,

and a narrow-brimmed straw hat, from which a wolf's tail depended. He

carried a long rifle, and a bag for small game swung, with a powder

flask, or horn, at his side.

"Arriving in front of the hut, he paused a moment to examine some

footprints on the soil, and then tapped gently at the door with the

butt of his piece. In an instant it was opened by a beautiful girl,

with light blue eyes, flaxen curls, and a complexion of pure red and

white, who, though dressed in the coarsest attire, yet looked and shone

a perfect goddess of the solitude.

"'Dearest Marcella,' exclaimed the hunter, seizing her extended hand,

and carrying it to his lips with all the ardor of a lover.

"'I feared you were not coming to-night, Wilhelm,' answered Marcella,

with a blush of pleasure, as she led him into the hut by the hand which

she still retained.

"The apartment thus entered occupied the whole structure, save a

portion apparently partitioned off with wolf skins; and a rude table,

six chairs, and a goatskin covered couch, were the only articles of

furniture it contained, excepting a few trophies of the chase hanging

from the walls, and a woodman's axe placed over the mantel. The floor

was composed of logs, and was very uneven, save directly opposite the

fire-place, where a large flat stone was firmly imbedded in the earth;

and a small oil lamp, swinging in chains from the arching roof above,

gave forth a pale light which mingled imperceptibly with that of

departing day in a mellow twilight.

"'Marcella,' said Wilhelm, as they sat beside each other on the couch,

'I can scarcely realize that you are the wild little fairy, with whom I

used to explore the dark woods of haunted Hartz. I can remember, too,

standing with you under the blighted pine, and relating old legends

which I heard my father tell, while you listened with breathless

attention, and looked like a startled chamois, when the wind rustled

among the leaves.'

"'Those were happy days!' murmured Marcella.

"'They were, indeed!' continued Wilhelm, with enthusiasm--'yet why

should infancy monopolize all the richest pleasures of life? As we grow

older, our understanding becomes more clearly defined, and

circumstances which rendered our childhood happy, should become more

truly appreciated as blessings, instead of growing homely and irksome

to us.'

"'It is because the matured mind requires a wider field for exercise,'

said Marcella. 'When I used to roam with you in the forest or on the

plain, those localities constituted our little world, and I cared for

no other; but as my father taught me the learning of books, I awoke to

a sense of uneasiness, and a consciousness of restricted liberty. The

beautiful world of which I read became replete with attractions

hitherto unknown to me, and I longed to quit these wild scenes, and

behold the palaces of princes.'

"'So it was with me,' responded her lover. 'As you may remember, my

parents hoarded up their little earnings, that I might enjoy the

advantages of education, and I went to Gottingen with the feeling of

one who was about to drink of pleasure at its fountain-head; but alas!

Marcella, the wide world is like a piece of glass, which may sparkle in

the distance with all the brilliancy of a diamond, and after leading us

wildly onward, becomes the more worthless, for our endeavors to gain a

closer view. I imagined that the learning of schools would confer

happiness; it became mine, and I found it a mockery. I mixed with the

rich, gay and gifted; but my object still eluded pursuit. Marcella, I

became convinced that I left true happiness behind me, when I departed

from home; and returned to its shelter, resolved to leave it no more. I

tasted of the cup, and found it bitter.'

"'My father talks in that manner,' answered Marcella. 'He hates the

world for the injury it has done him, and even our few neighbors excite

his scorn, by their foolish fears of him. I am sure if they knew him

well, they could not help loving him as I do; he is so noble, so brave,

so generous, that I cannot understand why he is called "The Demented,"

unless it is because his superior intelligence is regarded by the hinds

as a supernatural gift. Perhaps that is the reason,' she added,

haughtily.

"'You wrong the honest peasants,' said the hunter, hastily; 'who,

though ignorant, possess the gifts of reason and discrimination. Your

father will not allow them to know him better, and the extraordinary

quantity of game which he obtains would arouse superstitious whispers

from more enlightened minds.'

"'Poor deluded creatures!' exclaimed Marcella, scornfully. 'Because my

father's aim is truer than theirs, ought he to be looked upon as one

demented? Because, by his skill in woodcraft, he surpasses their

success, should they shun him with looks of horror? Because he refuses

to join in their low revels, should they regard him as a ghost-seer?

Wilhelm, you have learning, and ought to frown down these foolish

superstitions, instead of partaking in them. Did you love Marcella as

you have often sworn you do, the man who spoke evil of her parent,

would from that moment become your enemy.'

"'And so he should, dearest Marcella; but alas! their suspicions are

but too well founded, and though you may be offended, I dare not deny

that I myself believe him to be in league with the Evil One.'

"'Then leave me!' exclaimed Marcella, starting from beside him. 'Why

should you wish to wed the child of such a man? Might you not find a

devil in me? Why should I love a being whose lips have declared my

father a demon? Go! Wilhelm, I took you for a man; but you have the

soul of a dwarf.'

"Her eyes flashed indignation as she spoke, and in the eyes of her

lover she appeared more beautiful than ever.

"'I can forgive your reproaches, for I know them to be actuated by

noble sentiments,' he replied, drawing her gently back to her seat.

'Honor to our parents is nature's first law, and God forbid that I

should condemn it; but, dearest Marcella, there should be no reserve

between us, who have grown up side by side, as it were, and I speak to

you as I would to no one else--not even my parents. That I love you,

you surely cannot doubt, and that love would be worth little to either

of us, did it enjoin concealment of our true opinions from each other.

I speak as an honest man, when I tell you, that I once beheld your

father in the Black Forest, accompanied by a stranger, who was not of

this world.'

"'Great God!' ejaculated Marcella, starting up with affright.

"'Forgive me, dearest; but you forced me to say it in my own defence.

Calm yourself and we will talk of this fearful subject no longer.'

"'Wilhelm, you are not trifling with me?'

"'As I hope to be saved, no.'

"The daughter of Hermann trembled for a moment, as though the spirit of

Fear had touched her, and the dim rays of the swinging lamp, as they

fell upon her finely cut features, revealed the undisguised terror

there betrayed. But she quickly settled rigidly as a marble effigy, and

her voice was firm, as she said:

"'Wilhelm, I believe you, and may God help my unfortunate father. Tell

me of what you _saw_, and disguise nothing!'

"'It were better to remain untold, Marcella.'

"'I must and will hear it,' she answered with cold determination.

"'Then it must be told,' said the young hunter, with an involuntary

shudder. 'On the second day after my arrival from Gottingen University,

I started out from my father's cot, to course hares, taking with me my

dog and rifle, intending to remain absent all day. For some hours I was

quite successful, and succeeded in killing a score of the fleet

animals, but after noon they grew scarce, and as the sun was sinking in

the west, I paused wearied and exhausted on the borders of the Black

Forest, while my dog was panting in the shade. As I stood thus, leaning

upon my gun, the sound of a bugle call fell upon my ears, and almost

immediately afterwards your father suddenly passed me in the direction

from whence it came, looking straight forward with a stony, fascinated

stare, so full of mingled despair and earnestness, that I trembled with

superstitious fear, and even my dog crawled to my feet, quivering in

every limb. Onward he strode, unconscious of a watcher, to a shaded

spot on the border, just beyond my position, known as the Witch's

Circle. As he reached it, the bugle was again sounded, when immediately

a tall cloaked figure rode out of the forest to meet him, and they

saluted each other in silence. I could not discern the stranger's

features, but I noticed with breathless horror that the steps of the

horse which he rode, as well as those of another which he led by the

bridle, gave forth no more sound than if they were planted in air----'

"Wilhelm suddenly paused in his narrative, as a beautiful White Fawn

suddenly sprang from behind a suspended wolf skin, and alighted

directly in front of him. Daylight no longer lent its rays to illumine

the apartment, and as the animal's eyes were visible through the misty

beams of the lamp, they seemed to glare and blaze like coals of vivid

fire.

"'Heaven preserve me!' ejaculated the young hunter, crossing himself.

"'It is my pet, Leo; do not fear him,' said Marcella in low tones.

"'Your father mounted the unoccupied saddle,' continued Wilhelm, going

on with his adventure; 'and together they disappeared between the

pines; noiselessly as the falling of a feather. At short intervals I

heard the sound of the bugle growing fainter and fainter, until it died

away in the windings of the mountains. I called my dog and hastened

home, without daring to look behind, lest I should behold the

mysterious riders following on my track.'

"A short silence succeeded, during which Marcella gently wept, and

caressed the fawn. At length she spoke:

"'Dear Wilhelm, I now see the reason why you have ever avoided my

father, and come here only while he is away. Perhaps it is better that

you should continue to do so, for he is very irritable, and your

meeting might be attended with fearful results. Leave me, Wilhelm; I

expect him every moment; it is already past his usual time of return.'

"'I must speak with your father to night, dearest,' said the hunter,

encircling her waist with his arm.

"'God forbid!' she exclaimed, looking up to him with great alarm.

"'It must be so, Marcella; I am about to ask a gift of him, and his

answer will either make me the happiest of men, or leave me miserable

for life. I will ask his daughter of him as one who has a just claim,

and I cannot believe he will refuse me.'

"'Wilhelm, you do not know my----'

"At this moment there came a measured rapping at the door, and Marcella

arose to open it, trembling with undefined dread. Hermann the Demented

pressed a kiss upon her brow as he passed the threshold, and entered

his cabin.

"He was an old man, for his hair was grey, and deep wrinkles furroughed

his brow; but his form was fully developed and upright as that of

meridian manhood, and there was a changing fire in his eye that

indicated all the energy of youth. His dress was a mixture of military

and peasant garb, and he wore a tall, black felt hat, encircled with a

red ribbon. Game of every kind hung in such profusion from his broad

shoulders, that it almost entirely concealed his person, and he bore in

his hand a rifle which few men could handle. On arriving beneath the

lamp, he deposited his spoils upon the floor, and then, for the first

time, observed the presence of the young hunter.

"'Ha! is that you Wilhelm!' he exclaimed, casting aside his rifle, and

extending his hand in a friendly manner, 'I am especially glad to

welcome a brother craftsman to my cover, on a night when I have had

such uncommon luck. Look at that heap, and tell me if you ever saw

another such.'

"'You are famed as a fortunate hunter,' answered the other, gazing upon

the immense pile at his feet with astonishment.

"'Yes, yes, Wilhelm, there are few men can bag hares with Hermann, the

Demented,' and the old man laughed a hollow laugh.

"'Your skill must indeed be extraordinary, when it enables you to

secure many of these animals _after nightfall, and without hounds_,'

returned Wilhelm, looking fixedly at the hunter with a penetrating

glance.

"Immediately upon the entrance of her father Marcella had drawn the

table from the wall, and commenced to prepare an humble meal; she was

standing in a distant corner of the cabin, when her lover spoke thus:

"Hermann started back with a look of fierce anger.

"'What mean you, young man!' he asked in stern tones.

"'I had no intention of giving offence, Mynheer Hermann.'

"'Your looks, at least, were impertinent,' muttered the old hunter,

turning abruptly from him, and commencing to sort his game.

"The simple meal was soon ready, and the three persons partook of it

without so much as a whisper. When it was finished, and while the young

girl was replacing her few utensils, Hermann produced a large

Meerschaum pipe, and having filled it with tobacco, lit it with a chip

from the fire-place; looking inquiringly at his guest as he smoked.

"'You were, doubtless, surprised to find me here?' said the latter,

with some hesitancy in his manner.

"'I am not often so highly honored,' responded Hermann, quietly sending

forth a wreath of smoke from between his teeth.

"'Do you understand my object, Mynheer Hermann?'

"'Certainly I do, Mynheer Wilhelm.'

"'Indeed,' ejaculated the young hunter, with a look of inquiry.

"'Of course,' said Hermann, ironically; 'you come to my cot, Mynheer

Wilhelm, hoping to behold some diabolical orgie, or the working of some

cabalistic spell, by which I secure success in the chase. You expect to

see me in communion with the mountain spirits, and allowing a

long-tailed demon to breathe upon my rifle. Look around you, my honored

guest; is not my daughter some horrid witch in disguise? Is not this

gentle fawn, a bloodthirsty spectre metamorphosed? Do you not see at

least a dozen goblins climbing the barrel of my rifle? Ha, ha, ha! you

will add another to the thousand and one legends about _Hermann the

Demented_. And tell me, young man, what is to prevent my offering you

as a sacrifice to my counsellor, the devil? People would say it served

you right, for entering this unholy place. You had better depart before

my familiar makes his appearance to sup with me, from the skulls of

children. I assure you, mynheer, that yonder stone bottle contains

human blood. Fly, before the spell begins to work.'

"Although the old man frequently laughed while speaking, there was a

hollowness, and unreal zest in his mirth, that made the young hunter

shudder.

"'You have made a great mistake, Mynheer Hermann,' he replied calmly.

'I came here with no such despicable intentions as those you attribute

to me. To be plain and honest with you, I am here to ask a gift of you.'

"'What is it, boy?'

"'Your daughter, mynheer.'

"Dropping the pipe, and springing to his feet, Hermann confronted his

guest, glaring upon him with vindictive fury.

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

"'Mynheer Hermann, be calm, I beseech you; you have obliged me to make

the request thus abruptly, and I am willing to abide the consequences.

I love Marcella, and she loves me. I would make her my wife.'

"For a moment, the father held his hand to his brow and fixed a glance

upon the young hunter, as though to read his inmost soul; then turning

quickly to his child, who sat near him, trembling with fear, he asked

excitedly:

"'Is this true, Marcella?'

"'Yes, dear father,' she replied, arising from her seat, and laying her

head fondly upon his breast.

"He looked down upon her beautiful face, suffused with tears, in

silence; slowly the flash of anger faded from his countenance, leaving

the gleam of idolatrous affection shining there. The feelings of a

parent overcame all others, and a bright drop glistened on his cheek.

"'My darling, my only treasure,' he murmured, pressing her closely to

him. 'Your happiness is my only earthly object.'

"'Wilhelm,' he continued, placing his disengaged hand upon the youth's

shoulder, 'I wronged you in my suspicions, and ask your forgiveness.

Your face, as well as that of my darling, convince me that I wronged

you. Yet I cannot grant you my child, until you have first heard

somewhat of her history, and my own. Not but that she is a jewel, the

proudest king might wear upon his bosom with honor,' he continued, with

spirit; 'but no man shall ever accuse me of practising a lie.'

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

went on:

"'To no other living being have I ever told my strange story, and there

is that in your countenance, which tells me you are no traitor. Listen

attentively to what I say: I was born on the estate of a nobleman in

Transylvania, to whom my father was steward, and spent the happiest

days of my existence roving about those vast domains, a free and joyous

child. At the age of thirteen, I was placed in a school, where I

advanced rapidly in learning, until I was the acknowledged phenomenon

of the village, and the pride of my fond father. Years of unalloyed

peace rolled over my head, during which I wooed the beautiful daughter

of a landed gentleman--won and married her by stealth. Her father's

rage knew no bounds in the first moments of discovery, and he

threatened to separate us; but my wife's entreaties soon banished his

anger, and we were soon received in full favor both by him and my own

parents. Oh! what unsubstantial, foolish, joyous days were those! How

did I idolize the girl, whom I had won, as a heathen worships his

household god.

"'At length a fearful epidemic swept the country; my father was one of

the first victims, and my heartbroken mother soon followed him,

bequeathing us her dying benediction. It was my first trial, and in the

bitterness of my grief, I left the familiar scenes of my boyhood. To

this spot I came with my beautiful wife and built this cabin, resolving

to spend the remainder of my days in these soothing solitudes. But my

fate was yet to be accomplished. My father's employer found me out, and

sent a message, earnestly requesting me to become his steward. Yielding

to the importunities of my wife--for I could refuse her nothing--I

accepted the proposal, and journeyed back to Transylvania with a heavy

heart; for a cloud seemed hanging over me, a presentiment of sorrow to

come. The nobleman received me more as an equal than as a servant, and

uttered many encomiums on my father's worth, which could not but prove

grateful to a heart like mine. I loved and honored him at once; and

resolved to testify my gratitude by a faithful discharge of my duties.

He was still a young man, but I felt no jealousy, when the idol of my

heart praised him, blind wretch that I was! At length, the cloud, so

long forming, burst over me in a flood of misery. Almost immediately

after the birth of our daughter, the father of my Marcella came to me

and imparted a secret that almost deprived me of my senses. Poor old

man! he thought I knew all before, and my ravings filled him with

alarm. Frantically I swore revenge, and with murder in my heart, was

about to seek the destroyer of my peace; but the old man restrained me,

and after a violent debate, I resolved to say nothing to my wife about

the matter, and kept a strict watch upon her. Alas! her father's

suspicions proved too just. I surprised her in company with her

paramour, and after loading them with the bitterest curses, took my

daughter and returned to the hut under the cliff. My whole life was

blighted, every hope was crushed; but the very madness of my despair

gave me strength, and I swore vengeance on my enemy. On the evening of

that fearful day, after lulling my unfortunate child to sleep, I knelt

down on the flat stone before you, and in the fervor of delirium,

called upon _The Spirits of Hartz Mountains_ for aid. Scarcely had the

sacrilegious petition left my lips, when there came a gentle knocking

at the door, accompanied by a shrill bugle note, signifying

bewilderment in the forest. Like one in a dream, I answered the

mysterious summons, and immediately a White Fawn bounded into the hut,

followed by a tall stranger, wrapped in a cloak of fine material.

"'"You called me and I have come," he said, in tones that made me

shudder, and peer into his eyes, in which there was a fearful

fascination which I could not resist.

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

"'"Varno of The Black Forest," he answered, in a voice of rolling

thunder. I know not why it was, but at his reply my fear vanished, and

my wrongs arose before me in their darkest coloring.

"'"Can you aid me?" I asked, returning his piercing glance. Never shall

I forget the fearful distinctness with which he said:

"'"Hermann Vandervelt, I know what you would require of me, and you

shall be satisfied, _but there is a price attached to my services_;

three requests shall be granted, and then _you must be mine, soul and

body_. Will you swear to this?"

"'Like a maniac, I fell upon my knees before the stranger, shouting, in

the height of passion: "Grant me but _revenge_ upon the betrayer of my

honor, and I will be yours, eternally yours, soul and body yours; I

swear by the God who--"

"'"Silence!" thundered the stranger, his eyes glowing like coals of

withering, devouring fire.

"'"Hermann, you must swear by the _Spirits of Hartz Mountains_."

Wrought up to frenzy, I obeyed him. He dictated a fearful oath, and

when I had repeated it, he said, in tones that froze my blood:

"'"Hermann Vandervelt, take your rifle and seek your enemy; he shall

fall by your hand. I will leave you this animal (pointing to the fawn,)

and when you would see me, let it return to the forest. Remember, I

have granted _one_ request; _two_ more shall be granted, _and then you

will be mine_."

"'His horrid laugh is still ringing in my ears. In silence, I opened

the door, and beheld, dimly through the darkness, a tall steed with

blazing eyes, standing motionless upon the plain. As the stranger

passed me, a momentary chill, like that of the grave, fell upon me; he

mounted, and I saw him no longer. Grasping my rifle, I fled through the

darkness like a fiend of blood, the White Fawn following my footsteps

like a hound. No rest, no meat, did I take until I saw my enemy lying

before me, bleeding to death, while the Fawn lapped his blood.

"'"I am Hermann!" I shouted in his ears, and then flew back wildly, as

I came. My child was nearly dead from neglect when I returned from the

doubly-cursed spot; but I tended her faithfully, and she soon went

forth with me to the forest; and the White Fawn never left her side.

"'I was a successful hunter at first; but suddenly my fortune changed,

and I could get no more food. Then was the spell of madness on me once

more, and _I set the White Fawn free_. Again there came a knocking at

the door; again the Fawn sprang in, followed by its master. _My second

request was granted--there remains but one more!_ From that night my

familiar has met me on the borders of the Black Forest nightly, and the

darkest depths are filled with game for me. Such is my story, Wilhelm,

and here, on my bosom, reposes the child of my affection. Speak boldly,

as becomes a man; would you wed the daughter of _Hermann, the

Demented_?'

"While the old man related his fearful story, various emotions were

apparent on the handsome face of Wilhelm, but at its conclusion

unwavering resolution was stamped upon his features.

"'Hermann!' he said, extending his right hand to the old hunter, 'I

sincerely pity you as the victim of circumstances, but the blight does

not touch Marcella; I love her more dearly than ever, and if you will

give her to me, she shall find in me a husband who would shed his last

drop of blood for her.'

"'Wilhelm, you are worthy of my child, take her and may heaven grant

you the blessings it has denied to me. Bring a holy man here to-morrow,

and make her rightly yours. I would see her happy before I--' He

suddenly paused, placed his weeping daughter in her lover's arms, and

turned aside to hide the starting tear.

"Soon Wilhelm was wending his way over the plain, and the innocent

Marcella retired to her narrow apartment of wolf skins; but the old man

sat with his face beneath the lamp, and the White Fawn crouched beside

him. Long did he meditate through the lonely watches of the night, and

the sweat of agony stood upon his temples. Slowly did he stagger to

where the wolf skins hung, and raising them in his trembling hands,

dwelt mournfully upon the picture before him. There, on her couch, in

all the artless grace of slumber, lay the only being on earth whom he

loved. One faultless arm was hidden beneath the pillow, the other half

shadowed her face, and bore a glossy veil of flaxen curls. Her ruby

lips were apart, as though she had fallen asleep while yet the evening

prayer was on her tongue. Dimly streamed the light of the swinging lamp

upon the human temple of purity, and Hermann, the Demented, wept like

an artless child.

"'It must be done--_it is the last_,' he murmured, dropping the rude

partition, and quickly opening the cabin door.

"Swift as the meteor falling through the shades of night, flew the

White Fawn out into the darkness, with a plaintive cry. With bowed head

the old man clasped his hands and listened. He hears a shot, a bugle

note echoes through the dew-ladened air, and the ghostly rider is again

at his door.

"'You sent for me, and I am here,' said Varno, entering the cabin, and

casting the White Fawn cold and dead, upon the floor.

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

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

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

"'_Beware!_' thundered the other.

"'Speak not so loudly, or you will wake my child,' said the hunter,

gazing fearfully toward where Marcella slept.

"'Fear not, good Hermann, the sleep of the innocent cannot be disturbed

by a Spirit of Evil. Declare your wish and it shall be granted.'

"'Then hear me, fiend, devil, or whatever thou art! I would have my

child happy; I would have her husband ever warm in his love for her as

he is this moment; I would have the curse of her parents forever

averted from her head. Grant me this and I am thine.'

"'It shall be so,' answered Varno, with something like pity in his

tones. 'Thou must meet me at sunset on the evening of to-morrow, beside

the _Witch's Circle_--there shall our compact be fulfilled. _This is

the third and last. Remember._

"The dark spirit passed from the hut under the cliff but his shadow

lingered behind; and the old hunter knelt beneath the swinging lamp,

with the dead fawn at his feet, desolate and lone.

"The day smiled brightly on Marcella, the genial sunbeams dispelling

night's horrors. She looked sadly when her father told her how the

White Fawn had been wounded by some wandering hunter, and had sought

the hut to die there; but the presence of Wilhelm made her cheerful as

the morn, and Hermann felt rewarded for his sacrifice.

"A missionary monk stood within the old cabin, and said the words that

joined two lives in one. When the holy rite was finished, the wedded

pair knelt at the feet of The Demented, and called down Heaven's

richest blessings on his head; but alas! he could not say 'Amen,' for

he remembered his compact, and the words of Varno still rang in his

ears. He watched his child with more than earthly care till the sun

began to sink once more behind the Black Forest, then seizing his

rifle, he kissed her blushing cheek, and sallied forth toward the

mountains.

"'Dear father, may you soon give up such unholy pastimes,' murmured

Marcella, looking fondly after him as his grey hairs floated in the

wind.

"'God grant that he may,' murmured her husband, fervently, pressing her

to his heart.

"But the old hunter returned no more. The wolf started as he lay in his

lair, when a man rushed by his covert in the Black Forest. A bugle,

wildly sounded, awoke the bird in his leafy bower. Two men met at the

Witch's Circle, while a day was dying, and the shades of the wood

closed over them forever."

* * * * *

Yours, contemplatively,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXXIX.

SHOWING HOW THE NATIONAL INSANITARY COMMITTEE MADE A STRANGE

BLUNDER; HOW THE BELOVED GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE WAS

REMOVED AND EXALTED; AND ENDING WITH AN INFALLIBLE RECIPE.

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

As I calmly observe the present situation of our military affairs, my

boy, and consider how persistently the Blue Ridge continues to get

between our great strategic army and the dilapidated Southern

Confederacy, I am impressed with the idea that the salvation of our

distracted country demands the removal of either the Blue Ridge or the

beloved General of the Mackerel Brigade.

I admit, my boy, that the Mackerel Brigade has spent time enough in one

locality since the last battle to remove the incompetent and imbecile

Blue Ridge, and that the immense number of spades consigned to that

veteran _corps_ might be construed into the belief that they were

really engaged in that great stragetic task. Furthermore, that the

Mackerels have only succeeded in marching fifteen miles in six weeks,

legitimates the supposition that they are going up very steep hills;

but it must be borne in mind, my boy, that it is the Honest Abe's best

policy to conciliate all political parties for the sake of Northern

unity of action, and it cannot be doubted that the removal of the Blue

Ridge at this crisis would occasion the bitterest heart-burnings and

jealousies in the manly bosom of our nation's Democratic organization.

It would be construed into proof that the Honest Abe had yielded to the

fiendish clamor of the crazy Abolitionists, and had rendered a

restoration of the adored Union-as-it-Was of our forefathers

impossible, by destroying that Blue Ridge which was an essential part

of the Union. The manly Organization, my boy, would prefer an armistice

with the unseemly Confederacy to a removal of the Blue Ridge--a

removal, my boy, authorized neither by the Constitution, the pursuit of

happiness, nor the rights of man. The Blue Ridge is at the head of our

army, and our army is at the foot of the Blue Ridge. The mistaken

Confederacy is on the other side, my boy, and the Organization very

justly reasons, that the fiendish Abolitionists virtually confess

themselves to be, in heart, on the same side with the Confederacy; for

if their desired removal of the Blue Ridge were carried out, the

distinction of the two opposite sides would be practically lost, and

the United States of America and the Southern Confederacy would be all

on one side, and there might be an unconstitutional collision.

Hence, my boy, the Honest Abe has concluded to leave the Blue Ridge

where it is, and remove the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade.

But before I proceed to describe the inexpressible anguish produced by

the adoption of even this grievous alternative, permit me to record the

useful proceedings of the National Insanitary Committee, in their

philanthropical investigation of the lunacy now prevailing to an

alarming extent in the Army of Accomac.

For some weeks past, my boy, insanity has been frightfully upon the

increase in the ranks of the unconquerable Mackerel Brigade. Many

Mackerels have even gone raving at times, persisting in the vague and

incoherent exclamation that they "_Couldn't See It_." There was some

hope that this terrible mental aberration might be stayed, if the

superannuated _corps_ were supplied with spectacles; but the relief

thus given was only temporary; and finally, when one of the poor maniac

chaps went so far as to yell, that, even by the aid of his spectacles,

he couldn't see what was the use of butting against the Blue Ridge all

the time, it was deemed proper to call in the National Insanitary

Committee.

Captain Samyule Sa-mith, whose duty it was to draw the Brigade up in

two lines--the sane chaps on one side of the fence, and the insane on

the other--hastened back to Accomac to finish a game of "Old Sledge,"

on which four drinks were distinctly pending, and left the aged

Committee to perform its task at leisure.

In anticipation of this sad ceremony, my boy, I had sent my

architectural steed, the gothic Pegasus, down to Accomac, and thither I

went on Tuesday morning, to amble totteringly from thence to the scene

of Insanitary proceedings.

The Committee had just commenced work upon its line of chaps, and was

examining the patients one by one.

The first invalid, Lively Mike, was born in the Sixth Ward, and weighed

ninety-two pounds. He was a poor, slouching chap, my boy, resembling

poverty's Ruin, two-thirds covered by an ivy vine of rags. His angular

countenance was rich with unwashings, save a clean irregular circle

just around his ugly mouth.

I asked how it happened that this one part of his face was clean, when

all the rest was dirty; and they told me, my boy, that it was the place

where his poor old mother had kissed him at parting.

Lively Mike's first symptom of his dreadful malady was a feeling of

overwhelming weariness, as though he had been for a long time in one

spot doing nothing. The feeling deepened into sullen, dangerous

madness, until it was finally unsafe to let him go at large, as he had

several times attempted to shoot scouting Confederacies.

The next hopeless patient was Big-nose Jake. Born at the commencement

of his career in the Sixth Ward, and weighing ninety-four pounds

without his knapsack, Big-nose had always enjoyed good health, with the

exception of starvation; but was in the habit of muttering to himself

that Strategy was a great humbug, and he'd rather die at home in his

bunk in the engine-house than in a swamp, without a single fire in six

months. His only way of keeping warm was by occasionally huddling up to

a Confederate picket, and receiving _his_ fire.

No. 3 was Baby Jim, a resident of the Sixth Ward for many years, and

weighing ninety-one pounds. His first attack of his malady came in the

shape of an incoherent and irrepressible desire to get up a Directory

of Army Names, so that the families of Mackerels in the Army of Accomac

might know where their relatives were, and how old they had got to be.

Sometimes he would be suddenly seized with the absurd notion that the

General of the Mackerel Brigade was killing more men by strategy than

would be slain in fifty battles.

Another hapless maniac was Cross-eyed Tom. His family is well known in

the Sixth Ward; weight, ninety-seven pounds. Always enjoyed excellent

health, until one day, when it suddenly struck him--uncalled-for, as it

were--that he hadn't seen the Colonel of his regiment for six months.

The demon of insanity tempted him to believe that his Colonel had all

along been drinking bad gin and threatening to resign, in Washington,

instead of staying with his men and getting acquainted with them. He

knew that he must be entirely mistaken about this, but couldn't shake

off the horrible delusion.

A fifth lunatic was the Worth street Chicken. Had voted several times a

day in the Sixth Ward, and weighed ninety-nine pounds. The Chicken

could not say that he was really a sick man; but had moments when he

could not resist the malignant temptation to imagine, that the

celebrated Southern Confederacy was just as even with us now as it was

a year ago, with several majestic raids for small trumps. At times he

was troubled with bad dreams about all the Treasury Notes becoming

worthless if the General of the Mackerel Brigade went into winter

quarters.

And so the Insanitary Committee went down the whole line, my boy,

closely questioning the poor chaps who had lost their reason, and

eliciting continued proofs of the national ravages of Insanity.

"Truly," says the chief Insanitary chap, cleaning his nails with his

jack-knife; "truly these unhappy beings are hopelessly deranged, and

must be sent to the Asylum. Their ravings are beyond all precedent."

Just as he finished speaking, my boy, and whilst he was picking his

teeth to assist meditation, Captain Samyule Sa-mith came riding hastily

in from his successful game of "Old Sledge," bringing the stakes with

him, and says he:

"Well, old Medicusses, have you examined the beings which is unhappily

bereft of sense?"

"Yea," says the Insanitary chap, with a grievous groan, "we've examined

all those poor creatures, in that whole line, and find them all

hopelessly and incurably mad."

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

"_Which_ line?"

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

"By all that's Federal!" says Samyule, slapping his left leg; "I'll be

blessed if you old goslings hav'n't been examining the WRONG LINE! Them

veterans there are the _sane_ ones!"

Insanity, my boy, like Charity, so seldom begins at home, that we

sometimes mistake the best kind of sanity for it when we meet the

latter, as a stranger, abroad. The man we call a maniac is frequently

nothing more than a sane man seen through a maniac's spectacles.

But the whole body of Mackerels, sane and insane alike, unite in a

feeling of strong anguish blended with enthusiasm, at the removal of

the beloved General of the Mackerel Brigade. He has been so much a

Father to them all, that they never expected to get a step farther

while he was with them.

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

When the General heard of his removal, my boy, he said that it was like

divorcing a husband from a wife, who had always supported him, and

immediately let fly the following

FAREWELL ADDRESS.

_Head-quarters of the Army of Accomac,

Foot of the Blue Ridge._

MY CHILDREN:

An order from the Honest Abe divorces us, and gives the command of all

these attached beings to Major-General Wobert Wobinson. (Heartrending

and enthusiastic cheers.)

In parting with you, I cannot express how much I love your dear bosoms.

As an army, you have grown from youth to old age under my care. In you

I have never found doubt nor coldness, nor anything else. The victories

you have won under my command will live in the nation's works of

fiction. The strategy we have achieved, the graves of many unripe

Mackerels, the broken forms of those disabled by the Emancipation

Proclamation--the strongest associations that can exist among

men--still make it advisable that you should vote for me as President

of the United States in 1865. Thus we shall ever be comrades in

supporting the Constitution, and making the Constitution support us.

THE GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE.

[Green Seal.]

It was while this affecting document was being read to the Army, my

boy, that a procession of political chaps with banners and a small

cannon, landed from a boat on Awlkwyet River, and came filing affably

into camp. Only pausing to insult two correspondents of the _Tribune_,

and to fire the cannon so close to a farmhouse that it broke all the

windows, these pleasant chaps at once organized a meeting and gave

orders that all fighting should be postponed till after the session.

The Hon. Mr. X. Stream proceeded to say that he considered Mr. Lincoln

a strictly honest, upright, able, and noble-hearted man (cheers); but

it could not be denied that his Administration was a wretched

failure--a blending of brutal imbecility with hellish despotism. (Much

enthusiasm). While it continued so, everything in the stock-market

would go up--_up_--UP! until the bubble burst. The General of the

Mackerel Brigade had been removed (universal sobbing) but it was only

that he might shine the brighter before a Democratic Convention in 1865.

The Hon. Prince Van Brumagen next spoke. Undoubtedly, he would be

called a traitor for what he was about to say, but he was accustomed to

that sort of talk from every one who knew him. He wished to see this

war vigorously pushed forward; but he could never consent to see

violence offered to men who only warred against us because they were

mistaken. Our Southern friends had imagined that the Abolitionists

wanted to prevent their enjoyment of the pursuit of happiness which was

guaranteed to them by the Constitution. They were mistaken, and

seceded. The Union as it was had passed away from us, but was

undoubtedly somewhere on the Globe; and as the Globe was constantly

revolving, we had only to stand still, and it would come round again to

us in due time.

The Hon. Fernando Fuel next undressed his thoughts to the meeting. As

proprietor of the City of New York, which he had frequently bought, he

protested against the removal of the General of the Mackerel Brigade at

this inclement season of the year. The idolized General was beloved

even by the Rebels, and his own devoted troops had cheered even louder

when parting with him, if possible, than when he had first come among

them.

Here the speaker was interrupted by a chap who suddenly touched off the

cannon and simultaneously unfurled a new banner. Borrowing a piece of

smoked glass, I looked through it at the dazzling standard, and read

upon its eloquent folds:

REGULAR HIGH-MORAL NOMINATIONS!

FOR THE SENATE IMMEDIATELY;

AND

FOR PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES IN

1865.

THE (LATE) GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL

BRIGADE.

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

Just keep him where he is, until his lack of wisdom, want of Skill,

attract unto his banner those who, from perverseness, _will_ have foes.

Then freely make his dullness known; and when you'd cast him from his

throne, you'll find become _his_ followers true, all men who seek a

feud with _you_. To serve the always-malcontent, and give their spleen

a chance for vent, a knave, a dunce, a stump! would do as well, my boy,

as I, or you.

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

Yours, sagely,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

[Illustration]

NEW BOOKS

And New Editions Recently Issued by

CARLETON, PUBLISHER,

(Late RUDD & CARLETON,)

_413 BROADWAY, NEW YORK._

N.B.--THE PUBLISHER, upon receipt of the price in advance, will send

any of the following Books, by mail, POSTAGE FREE, to any part of the

United States. This convenient and very safe mode may be adopted when

the neighboring Booksellers are not supplied with the desired work.

State name and address in full.

Les Miserables.

Victor Hugo's great novel--the only complete unabridged translation.

Library Edition. Five vols. 12mo. cloth, each, $1.00.

The same, five vols. 8vo. cloth, $1.00. Paper covers, 50 cts.

The same, (cheap ed.) 1 vol. 8vo. cloth, $1.50. paper, $1.00.

Les Miserables--Illustrations.

26 photographic illustrations, by Brion. Elegant quarto, $3.00.

Among the Pines,

or, Down South in Secession Time. Cloth, $1.00, paper, 75 cts.

My Southern Friends.

By author of "Among the Pines." Cloth, $1.00. paper, 75 cts.

Rutledge.

A powerful American novel, by an unknown author, $1.50.

The Sutherlands.

The new novel by the popular author of "Rutledge," $1.50.

The Habits of Good Society.

A hand-book for ladies and gentlemen. Best, wittiest, most

entertaining work on taste and good manners ever printed, $1.50.

The Cloister and the Hearth.

A magnificent new historical novel, by Charles Reade, author

of "Peg Woffington," etc., cloth, $1.50, paper covers, $1.25.

Beulah.

A novel of remarkable power, by Miss A. J. Evans. $1.50.

Artemus Ward, His Book.

The racy writings of this humorous author. Illustrated, $1.25.

The Old Merchants of New York.

Entertaining reminiscences of ancient mercantile New York

City, by "Walter Barrett, clerk." First Series. $1.50 each.

Like and Unlike.

Novel by A. S. Roe, author of "I've been thinking," &c. $1.50.

Orpheus C. Kerr Papers.

Second series of letters by this comic military authority. $1.25.

Marian Grey.

New domestic novel, by the author of "Lena Rivers," etc. $1.50.

Lena Rivers.

A popular American novel, by Mrs. Mary J. Holmes, $1.50.

A Book about Doctors.

An entertaining volume about the medical profession. $1.50.

The Adventures of Verdant Green.

Humorous novel of English College life. Illustrated. $1.25.

The Culprit Fay.

Joseph Rodman Drake's faery poem, elegantly printed, 50 cts.

Doctor Antonio.

A charming love-tale of Italian life, by G. Ruffini, $1.50.

Lavinia.

A new love-story, by the author of "Doctor Antonio," $1.50.

Dear Experience.

An amusing Parisian novel, by author "Doctor Antonio," $1.00.

The Life of Alexander Von Humboldt.

A new and popular biography of this _savant_, including his

travels and labors, with introduction by Bayard Taylor, $1.50.

Love (L'Amour.)

A remarkable volume, from the French of Michelet. $1.25.

Woman (La Femme.)

A continuation of "Love (L'Amour)," by same author, $1.25.

The Sea (La Mer.)

New work by Michelet, author "Love" and "Woman," $1.25.

The Moral History of Woman.

Companion to Michelet's "L'Amour," from the French, $1.25.

Mother Goose for Grown Folks.

Humorous and satirical rhymes for grown people, 75 cts.

The Kelly's and the O'Kelly's.

Novel by Anthony Trollope, author of "Doctor Thorne," $1.50.

The Great Tribulation.

Or, Things coming on the earth, by Rev. John Cumming, D.D.,

author "Apocalyptic Sketches," etc., two series, each $1.00.

The Great Preparation.

Or, Redemption draweth nigh, by Rev. John Cumming, D.D.,

author "The Great Tribulation," etc., two series, each $1.00.

The Great Consummation.

Sequel "Great Tribulation," Dr. Cumming, two series, $1.00.

Teach us to Pray.

A new work on The Lord's Prayer, by Dr. Cumming, $1.00.

The Slave Power.

By Jas. E. Cairnes, of Dublin University, Lond. ed. $1.25.

Game Fish of the North.

A sporting work for Northern States and Canada. Illus., $1.50.

Drifting About.

By Stephen C. Massett ("Jeemes Pipes"), illustrated, $1.25.

The Flying Dutchman.

A humorous Poem by John G. Saxe, with illustrations, 50 cts.

Notes on Shakspeare.

By Jas. H. Hackett, the American Comedian (portrait), $1.50.

The Spirit of Hebrew Poetry.

By Isaac Taylor, author "History of Enthusiasm," etc., $2.00.

A Life of Hugh Miller.

Author of "Testimony of the Rocks," &c., new edition, $1.50.

A Woman's Thoughts about Women.

By Miss Dinah Mulock, author of "John Halifax," etc., $1.00.

Curiosities of Natural History.

An entertaining vol., by F. T. Buckland; two series, each $1.25.

The Partisan Leader.

Beverley Tucker's notorious Southern Disunion novel, $1.25.

Cesar Birotteau.

First of a series of Honore de Balzac's best French novels, $1.00.

Petty Annoyances of Married Life.

The second of the series of Balzac's best French novels, $1.00.

The Alchemist.

The third of the series of the best of Balzac's novels, $1.00.

Eugenie Grandet.

The fourth of the series of Balzac's best French novels, $1.00.

The National School for the Soldier.

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

Tom Tiddler's Ground.

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

National Hymns.

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

George Brimley.

Literary Essays reprinted from the British Quarterlies, $1.25.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

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

Out of His Head.

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

The Course of True Love.

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

Poems of a Year.

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

The King's Bell.

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

The Morgesons.

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

Beatrice Cenci.

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

Isabella Orsini.

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

A Popular Treatise on Deafness.

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

Oriental Harems and Scenery.

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

Lola Montez.

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

John Doe and Richard Roe.

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

Doesticks' Letters.

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

Plu-ri-bus-tah.

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

The Elephant Club.

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

Vernon Grove.

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

The Book of Chess Literature.

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

END

* * * * *

Transcriber's Note: Blank pages have been deleted. Discovered

publisher's punctuation errors have been corrected. Other errors were

corrected as follows:

p. 25: salt--which is verydear[very dear] here just

p. 27: for mr. bob peter's[peters'] "hours" at home were

p. 29: connection with the childrem[children] of ham, it

p. 33: after this overpowing[overpowering] revelation, it was

p. 33: that mr. bob peter's[peters'] presentation to

p. 37: in the heavy dalies,[dailies] and philosophical poetry

p. 56: the account of mr. peter's[peters'] arrest in the

p. 61: a musket ball be's[he's] comin' shtraight to

p. 66: making a rapid retrogade[retrograde] movement, when villiam

p. 74: i made a reconnoisance[reconnoissance] in force, on

p. 79: have sometimes feared, by[my] boy, that our

p. 97: moral drama by captaim[captain] villiam brown.

p. 105: second regular meeting ot[of] the cosmopolitan club,

p. 106: electrified by the treaures[treasures] of british literature

p. 118: wink at secession symphathizers[sympathizers]. it takes so

p. 129: the veteran mackerel signed[sighed] deeply, as he spread open

p. 138: a horse physically incapacited[incapacitated] from running away

p. 143: great original and geniune[genuine] 'tis he; a

p. 151: of life when women[woman] usually becomes the principal

p. 154: far out-sped my pusuers[pursuers]; but human nature

p. 154: dearly, i was abont[about] to stand at bay,

p. 161: masses over my throbing[throbbing] brow, the cowardly

p. 163: bosom, and the stilletto[stiletto] in her hand.

p. 168: of the skillful retrogade[retrograde] advance to which i

p. 169: beheld the idolized genral[general] of the mackerel brigade

p. 172: child?" says the geneneral[general], with paternal affability.

p. 174: in which our co respondent[correspondent] astonishes us by

p. 178: no "enigma," as voluutarily[voluntarily]-puzzled poets have

p. 183: money often does--brute insanity[brute-insanity]

p. 188: might cause a prostraton[prostration] in the liquor business,

p. 228: of captain samyule sa-smith[sa-mith] to perish heroically.

p. 231: at paris and loudon[london], my boy, and the

p. 232: be outdone, the loudon[london] tumbler issued an

p. 235: the word, and instaneously[instantaneously] led company 2 down

p. 246: fords of allkwyet riyer[river], in the rear

p. 248: of the mackerel brigrade[brigade] will further recommend,

p. 250: than the most wierd[weird] and perpetual haze

p. 257: at the nether continnations[continuations] of our country's

p. 258: operations and entrap stonwall[stonewall] jackson's whole

p. 264: and he eat[ate] and drank with his visiter[visitor]

p. 266: willing hand in extacy[ecstasy]. 'then indeed have i

p. 272: "'five thousand doblas," answered nemly[nemyl], composedly.

p. 272: god; 'what an houri[hour]!' he exclaimed, kissing her

p. 276: are you--his--slave?' gasped gartstoff[garstoff], staggering

p. 277: two slaves will will[delete will] bring you to me.

p. 291: he took his deparure[departure]. "then forth sprang orloff

p. 295: past; i am satified[satisfied] that you are a

p. 297: a moment of ungoverable[ungovernable] passion i spoke words

p. 298: for the unseemly villany[villainy] of the accursed

p. 302: bereaved country should sudnenly[suddenly] be called to

p. 308: from a cold potatoe[potato] which he held in

p. 313: feigns forgotten friends; grout[gout], grimly griping

p. 316: slept in the hous[house] to take care

p. 318: had the army being[been] insufficient to secure you,

p. 321: and make me turn [into] an arrogant and contemptuous

p. 325: language of an incedeniary[incendiary] description

p. 325: of captains bob shortly[shorty], samyule sa-mith,

p. 327: court felt convinced that that[del 2nd that] the second charge

p. 326: ours, to investigate certing[certain] charges against

p. 331: with quivering watch-seal. onr[our] president, my boy,

p. 344: caressed the fawn. a[at] length she spoke:

p. 351: scarcely had the sacreligious[sacrilegious] petition

p. 350: "'"varno of het[the] black forest," he answered,

p. 355: night, flew the wbite[white] fawn out into the

END