omitting the words "dollar" and "fund." Carried
unanimously.

Then all the Accomackians went pleasantly home, my boy, except one
seedy chap who had stood patiently before the platform during all the
proceedings; and there he still stood, with his arms folded, when all
the rest had gone. He was a somewhat loaferish chap, with some
appearance of the philosopher.

The chairman looked at him, and says he:

"What are you waiting for, my friend?"

The chap gave an extra chew to his tobacco, and says he:

"I'm waiting for that ere Great Union meeting to come off."

"Why," says the chairman, "the meeting is all over."

"Yes, I know--_that_ meeting," says the chap, explainingly; "but I mean
the Great _Union_ meeting."

It is astonishing, my boy, how much ignorance there is in this world.
Here was a sane human being who had attentively stood all through a
meeting in aid of our sacred national cause, and yet did not know that
it was a Union meeting.

Thursday was the day when I reached the head-quarters of the Mackerel
Brigade, at the ancient city of Paris, arriving just in time to witness
one of those strategic naval exploits which will yet cause the American
name to be respected wherever there is nothing particular against it.

It appears, that after his last successful experiment with his patent
swivel gun, that stanch old sea-dog, Rear Admiral Head, devoted much of
his time on Duck Lake fishing for bass, believing that noble expanse of
waters to be free from all obstructions and open to the commerce of the
world. The commerce did not come, my boy; but several insidious
Confederacies did; and as our glorious old son of Neptune always sat
with his back to their side of the lake when fishing, they constructed
a pier which extended from the shore to the main deck of the
iron-plated Mackerel Squadron, the "Secretary Welles," and had planted
seven villanous horse-pistols to command the Admiral's fish-basket and
umbrella before our hoary old salt discovered that the war was still
going on.

"Riddle my turret!" says the grim old Triton, in his iron-plated
manner, "I believe a blockade is established; dent my plates if I
don't."

Heartily did that pride of our Navy call up the culpably inattentive
Mackerel crew, who were eating clams in the stern-sheets, and quickly
was the gallant "Secretary Welles" withdrawn out of the range of the
Confederacies' murderous fire; her swivel gun raking the atmosphere
fore and aft, whil