"Are you Chivalry?" says Villiam, thoughtfully.

"Is it Chivalry!--ah, but it's that I am, and me father before me, and me childers that's afther me. If Chivalry was praties I could furnish a dinner to all the wur-ruld, and have enough left to fade the pigs."

"Murphy is a French name," says Villiam, drawing a copy of Vattel on International Law from his pocket and glancing at it, "but I will not dispute what you say. You must do without your contraband, however; for slavery and martial law don't agree together in the United States of America."

"Mr. Black," says Villiam, gravely, turning to the emanc.i.p.ated African, "you have come to the right shop for freedom. You are from henceforth a freeman and a brother-in-law. You are now your own master," says Villiam, encouragingly, "and no man has a right to order you about. You are in the full enjoyment of Heving's best gift--Freedom! Go and black my boots."

The moral grandeur of this speech, my boy, so affected the Southern planter that he at once became a Union man, took the Oath with the least bit of water in it, and asked permission to have his own boots blacked.

I have been deeply touched of late, my boy, by the reception of a present from the ladies of Alexandria. It is a beautiful little dog, named Bologna (the women of America think that Bologna is the G.o.ddess of war, my boy), shaped like a door-mat rolled up, and elegantly frescoed down the sides in white and yellow. The note accompanying the gift was all womanly.

"Accept," it said, "this slight tribute, as an index of the feelings with which the American women regards the n.o.ble volunteer. Wear this gift next your heart when the fierce battle rages; but, in the meantime, give him a bone."

Bologna is a pointer, my boy--a Five-Pointer.

As a dead poet expresses it, Woman is "Heaven's n.o.blest, best, and last good gift to man;" and I a.s.sure, you, my boy, that she is just the last gift he cares about.

Yours, in bachelordliness,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER XLVI.

WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE FOLLOWED AN ILl.u.s.tRIOUS EXAMPLE, AND VETOED A PROCLAMATION. ALSO RECORDING A MILITARY EXPERIMENT WITH RELIABLE CONTRABANDS.

WASHINGTON, D.C., May 20th, 1862.

Rejoice with me, my boy, that I have got back my gothic steed, Pegasus, from the Government chap who borrowed him for a desk. The splendid architectural animal has just enough slant from his back-bone to his hips to make a capital desk, my boy; and then his tail is so handy to wipe pens on. In a moment of thirst he swallowed a bottle of ink, and some fears were entertained for his life; but a gross of steel pens and a ream of blotting paper, immediately administered, caused him to come out all write. In a gothic sense, my boy, the charger continues to produce architectural illusions. He was standing on a hill-side the other day, with his rear-elevation toward the spectators, his head up and ears touching at the top, when a chap, who has been made pious by frequent conversation with the contrabands, noticed him afar off, and says he to a soldier, "What church is that I behold in the distance, my fellow-worm of the dust?" The military veteran looked, and says he, "It does look like a church; but it's only a animated hay-rack belonging to the cavalry."

"I see," says the pious chap, moving on; "the beast looks like a church, because he's been accustomed to steeple-chases."

I have also much satisfaction in the society of my dog, Bologna, my boy, who has already become so attached to me that I believe he would defend me against any amount of meat. Like the Old Guard of France, he's always around the bony parts thrown; and, like a _bon vivant_, is much given to whining after his dinner.

The last time I was at Paris, my boy, this interesting animal made a good breakfast off the calves of the General of the Mackerel Brigade's legs, causing that great strategetical commander to issue enough oaths for the whole Southern Confederacy.

"Thunder!" says the General, at the conclusion of his cursory remarks, "I shall have the hydrophobia and bite somebody. It's my opinion," says the General, hastily licking a few grains of sugar from the spoon he was holding at the time, "it's my opinion that I shall go rabid as soon as I see water."

"Then you're perfectly safe, my conquering hero," says I; "for when _you_ see water, the Atlantic Ocean will be princ.i.p.ally composed of brandy pale."

Speaking of Paris, it pains me, my boy, to say, that Captain Villiam Brown's Proclamation for the conciliation of southern Union men has been repudiated by the General of the Mackerel Brigade.

"Thunder!" says the General, taking a cork from his pocket in mistake for a watch-key, "it's against the Const.i.tution to open a bar so far away from where Congress sits."

And he at once issued the following

"PROCLAMATION.

"Whereas, There appears in the public prints what presumptuously pretends to be a proclamation of Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, in the words following, to wit:

'PROCLAMATION.

'The Union men of the South are hereby informed that the United States of America has rea.s.serted hisself, and will shortly open a bar-room in Paris. Also, cigars and other necessaries of life.

'By order of

'CAPTAIN VILLIAM BROWN, Eskevire.'

"And whereas, the same is producing much excitement among those members from the Border States who would prefer that said bar-room should be nearer Washington, in case of sickness. Therefore, I, General of the Mackerel Brigade, do proclaim and declare that the Mackerel Brigade cannot stand this sort of thing, and that neither Captain Villiam Brown nor any other commander has been authorized to declare free lunch, either by implication or otherwise, in any State: much less in a state of intoxication, of which there are several.

"To persons in this State, now, I earnestly appeal. I do not argue: I beseech you to mix your own liquors. You cannot, if you would, be blind to the signs of the times, when such opportunity is offered to see double. I beg of you a calm and immense consideration of them (signs), ranging, it may be, above personal liquor establishments. The change you will receive after purchasing your materials will come gently as the dues from heaven--not rending nor wrecking anything. Will you not embrace me? May the extensive future not have to lament that you have neglected to do so.

"Yours, respectfully, the

"GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE."

[Green seal.]

When Villiam read this conservative proclamation, my boy, he looked thoughtfully into a recently-occupied tumbler for a few moments, and then says he:

"There's some intelleck in that. The general covers the whole ground.

Ah!" says Villiam, preparing, in a dreamy manner, to wash out the tumbler with something from a decanter, "the general so completely covers the whole ground sometimes, that the police departmink is required to clear it."

I believe him, my boy.

The intelligent and reliable contrabands, my boy, who have come into Paris from time to time, with valuable news concerning all recent movements not taking place in the Confederacy, were formed lately by Villiam, into a military company, called the Sambory Guard, Captain Bob Shorty being deputed to drill them in the colored-manual of arms. They were dressed in flaming red breeches and black coats, my boy, and each chaotic chap looked like a section of stove-pipe walking about on two radishes.

I attended the first drill, my boy, and found the oppressed Africans standing in a line about as regular as so many trees in a maple swamp.

Captain Bob Shorty whipped out his sleepless sword, straightened it on a log, stepped to the front, and was just about to give the first order, when, suddenly, he started, threw up his nose, and stood paralyzed.

"What's the matter, my blue and gilt?" says I.

He stood like one in a dream, and says he:

"'Pears to me I smell something."

"Yes," says I; "'tis the scent of the roses that hangs round it still."

"True," says Captain Bob Shorty, recovering, "it does smell like a cent; and I haven't seen a cent of my pay for such a long time, that the novelty of the odor knocked me. Attention, company!"

Only five of the troops were enough startled by this sudden order, my boy, to drop their guns, and only four stooped down to tie their shoes.

One very reliable contraband left the ranks, and says he:

"Mars'r, hadn't Brudder Rhett better gub out the hymn before the service commence?"