sly the sanguinary
Confederacy on the roof put a double charge of dried beans through the
coat-tails of Captain Bob Shorty, and our troops--"the object of the
reconnoissance being fully accomplished"--withdrew in good order to
their former position.

Quickly, thereupon, appeared a canvas banner from the garret windows of
Paris, inscribed: "Chalk up the First Round for the Southern
Confederacy!" and the first day's fight was over.

All that night, my boy, did the venerable Mackerel Brigade lay upon
their arms, finding all their hands asleep, in consequence, when
morning broke; and as often as a venturesome Confederacy skulked near
Fort Bledandide to steal a cannon, just so often did one Mackerel
picket nudge another Mackerel picket and ask him if he didn't think he
heard something.

At last there came a gradual hush over everything, as though the whole
world were an antechamber to a room in which rested some dear sick
child. Then the sharp edges of this terrestrial bowl in which we hang
over the sun at night began to define themselves all around, as though
an early candle had just been brought underneath to light the fire. And
at last a slowly-deepening lurid glow appeared around the sides of the
bowl, as though the fire was just getting a start. It was morning.

Fearful that if I go on in that strain any longer, some sentimental
Philadelphian may carry me off by main force to write for the "Lady's
Book," let me call your notice to the extreme left of the Mackerel
line, where Captain Samyule Sa-mith and the Anatomical Cavalry,
supported by Sergeant O'Pake and Regiment 3, were formed in line of
battle, facing certain rickety Confederacies under Captain Munchausen.

"Comrades," says Samyule, vainly attempting to keep the hind-legs of
his anatomical steed from trying to surround the two
fore-legs--"comrades, one blow, and Syracuse is free! For-r-ward!"

But what is this, starting up, as from the ground, right in the path of
what else had been the most exorbitant cavalry charge on record? It is
the aged Miss P. Hen, with her white plush bonnet much mashed from a
recent severe single combat with the Conservative Kentucky Chap, and
the ninety-ninth number of the History of the War still unsold. She ate
a Graham biscuit, and says she:

"Just once--I only want to say just once, that everybody is a-howling
at me like wolves, and abusing me, because I said 'On to Paris.' So I
want to say, just once, that I never, never wil