afety."

This noble proposition, my boy, might have been accepted unanimously,
had not the discharge, at that instant, of a horse-pistol from the
ramparts of Fort Bledandide caused the entire regiment to partially
disappear! That is to say, every man went down upon his stomach,
according to the latest principles of regimental strategy.

"Ah!" says Villiam, "how are the mighty fallen!"

Loudly rang a tremendous horse-laugh from the Confederacies in the
Fort, several of whom were seen making off toward Paris with Orange
County howitzers under each arm. I could see, by the aid of my smoked
glass, that the Chivalry on the ramparts was sitting on a chest, with
his discharged horse-pistol across his knee, and a series of feeble
winks chasing each other around his Confederate eyelids.

"By all that's Federal!" says Captain Bob Shorty, "the scorpion
surrenders!"

At the word, up sprang Regiment 5, like the men of Roderick Dhu, and
straightforward they swept into Fort Bledandide, as a wave of the angry
sea will sometimes sweep into a doomed barrel on the beach. Such was
the shock of this dare-devil charge, that the winking Confederacy on
the ramparts incontinently rolled off his chest and was captured
without much carnage.

"Do you surrender to the United States of America?" says Villiam, with
much star-spangled banner in his manner.

The Confederacy raised himself up on an elbow and hiccup'd gloomily.

"By all that's Federal!" says Captain Bob Shorty, "he's been drinking
some of that air Commissary whiskey of ours."

Then, my boy, did Captain Villiam Brown evidence that exquisite quality
of our humanity, which bids us forget all wrongs and enmities at the
eloquent appeal of death. No sooner had Captain Bob Shorty made the
above remark, than his whole aspect changed to pity, and he feelingly
knelt beside the miserable captive.

"Have you any last request to make, poor inseck?" asked Villiam, much
affected.

The misguided Confederacy was speechless; but made an attempt to
scratch his breast.

"Ah!" says Villiam, with deep emotion, "you mean that your conscience
is a still small woice."

Here the Confederacy scratched his left leg feebly; and says Captain
Bob Shorty:

"According to your rule, Villiam, his conscience must be quite large,
extending to his legs."

Nervously arose Captain Villiam Brown to his feet, with such a shudder
running through his manly frame as caused every brass button to jingle.

"I thi