Democratic
newspapers," says Villiam, explainingly, "in order that my Constitution
may be protected from harm."

I glanced at him askant, my boy, and says I, innocently, "I see a still
better reason for your clothing yourself for battle in newspapers."

"Ah!" says Villiam, complacently, "you think that I adopt the
intellectual garment to show that my line of battle is ten cents a
line."

"No, my hero," says I, pleasantly, "I think you clothe yourself for
battle in printed matter, to make sure that 'he who runs may read.'"

I would not say positively that Villiam "saw" this agreeable remark, my
boy. I am not prepared to affirm that he took the hit; but as the
canteen left his hand, my ears recognized a hasty whiz, and the effect
upon the side of the tent, near my head, was perforating.

Turning from the spot, I next had my attention attracted by a tall
whiskered chap, in a paralyzed whirlpool of gray rags, who was closely
examining a stack of Mackerel muskets near at hand. Hearing me ask his
object, he remarked casually that I was a "mudsill," and says he:

"As the unconquerable Southern Confederacy has a great contempt for the
Yankee army, it has sent me here to see whether these muskets are worth
taking. If they proved to be worth taking, the war was to continue; if
not, I was to offer indirect proposals for peace, as the Sunny South
does not wish to protect a struggle that does not pay."

Instead of replying to him, I stepped aside to give place to the
Conservative Kentucky chap, who had just been denouncing the Message to
the Mackerel Chaplain in the tent, and was greatly outraged by the
Chaplain's response.

It seems that he had abruptly addressed the Chaplain, and says he: "If
that Message wants to make the nigger the equal of the conservative
element by implication, I hereby announce that Kentucky considers
herself much offended. I fight for that flag," says he, hotly, pointing
to the national standard,--"I fight for the stars on that flag, to aid
the cause of the white man alone; and with the black man Kentucky will
have nothing to do whatever."

The Chaplain looked dreamily at the flag, as it patched the sky above
him, and says he:

"For men of your way of thinking, my friend, that banner should bear a
sun, rather than the stars."

"Hem!" says the Kentucky chap. "How so?"

"Why," says the Chaplain, gravely, "beneath the stars alone, you cannot
tell a black man from a white man. The master and slav