that be the end? Will not Russia revenge the Crimea by aiding
us--will not Austria be dismembered, France on fire, Southern Europe in
arms, and one storm of anarchy sweep over the world? It is all possible,
should we persevere in fighting the enemy with one hand and feeding him
with the other.

* * * * *

There is such a thing as silly theatrical sentiment, and much of it is
shown in the vulgar, melodramatic acting out of popular songs, as shown
by the subjoined brace of anecdotes:

DEAR SIR: I have had, in my time, not a little experience
of jailer, warden, and, of late, camp life, and would like to say a
word about silly, misplaced sympathy, of which I have witnessed
enough in all conscience.

At one time, while officering it in a prison not one thousand
miles--as the penny papers say--from the State of New-York, we
received into our hands about as degraded a specimen of the _genus_
'murderer,' as it was ever my lot to see. He had killed a woman in
a most cowardly and cruel manner, and was, to my way of thinking,
(and I was used to such fellows,) about as brutal-looking a human
beast as one need look at. However, we had hardly got him into a
cell, before a carriage drove up to the door, and a
splendidly-dressed lady, with a basket of oranges and a five-dollar
camellia bouquet, asked to see the prisoner.

'_Do_ let me see him!' she cried, 'I read of him in the newspaper,
and, guilty as he is, I would fain contribute my mite to soothe
him.'

'He is a rough customer, marm,' said my assistant.

'Yes, but you know what the poet says:

"Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell."

So she went in. She took but small notice of the prisoner, however,
arranged her bouquet, left her oranges, and departed. It occurred
to me to promptly search the bouquet for a concealed note or file,
so I entered the cell as she went out. I found Shocky, as we called
him, sucking away at an orange, and staring at the flowers in great
amazement. Finally, he spoke.

'Wat in ----'s the use a sendin' them things to a feller fur,
unless they give him the rum with 'em?'

'What do you suppose they are meant for?' I replied.

'Why, to make bitters with, in course. An't them come-a-mile
flowers?'

The second is something of the same sort. Not long si