And now, my boy, commenced a series of scientific manoeuvres that only Russell, of the _London Times_, could describe properly. Lord Mortimer advanced circularly to the attack in four columns, affrighting the air with horrid yells of defiance; and I noticed, with a feeling of mysterious awe, that his eyes had turned a dreadful and livid green, whilst an expression of inexpressible bitterness overspread his countenance.

Fathoming the enemy's plan at a glance, Bologna presented his front and rear divisions alternately, to distract the fire of the foe; and then, by a rapid and skillful flank movement, cut off a portion of Lord Mortimer's tail from the main body.

This reminded me of General Mitch.e.l.l's tactics, my boy.

Here the conservative Kentucky chap wanted to stop the fight. Says he:

"Mortimer will be forever alienated if he loses any more of his tail. I protest against the dog's teeth," says he; "for they'll render future reconciliation between the two impossible. Let him use his paws alone,"

says the conservative chap, reasoningly, "and he won't injure Mortimer's const.i.tution so much."

"You're too late with your talk about conciliation, my n.o.ble Cicero,"

says I. "It's the cat's nature to show affection for his young ones, even, by licking them, and Mortimer will never be convinced that Bologna cares for him until he has been soundly licked by him."

"Ah--well," says the Kentucky chap, vaguely, "let hostilities proceed."

Finding that the enemy had cut off a portion of his train in the rear, Mortimer quickly ma.s.sed his four columns and precipitated them upon the head of Bologna's two front divisions, succeeding in destroying a bark half launched, and driving him back four feet.

"Hurroar for Mortimer!" says the Kentucky chap; and then he burst into the Conservative Virginia National Anthem:

"John Smith's body lies a-mouldering in the grave, 'Twas him that Pocahontas risked her father's wrath to save; And unto old Virginia certain Chivalry she gave, That still go scalping on!"

"Calm your exultation, my impulsive Catiline," says I, "and behold the triumph of Bologna."

Undaunted by the last claws of the foe's argument, my boy, the frescoed dog hurled back the torrent of invasion, and, with a howl of triumph, charged headlong upon Mortimer's works, routing the foe, who retreated under cover of a cloud of fur.

I looked at the conservative Kentucky chap, my boy, and I could see by his expression that it would be useless for me to ask of him a contribution toward rewarding Bologna with a star-spangled kennel. He still felt neutral, my boy.

I had intended to remain in Paris all the week; but on receiving a telegraphic dispatch from the General of the Mackerel Brigade to attend a Strawberry Festival he was about to give in this city, I hastened hither. For I am very fond of the gay and festive strawberry, my boy, on account of its resemblance to one of the hues in our distracted banner.

The Strawberry Festival was given in an upper room at Willard's, and the arrangement of the fruit would have provoked an appet.i.te in a marble statue. At short intervals around the table were strawberries in fours, supported by pedestals of broken ice, which was kept in position by a fluid of pleasing color, and walled in by a circular edging of thin gla.s.s. Strips of lemon and oranges garnished the rich fruit, and from their midst sprang up a dainty mint plant, and a graceful hollow straw.

When the festival was in full operation, my boy, the General of the Mackerel Brigade arose to his feet, and waved his straw for silence.

Says he:

"My children, though this strawberry festival is ostensibly for the purpose of encouraging fruit culture by the United States of America, it has yet a deeper purpose. The democratic party," says the general, paternally, "is about to be born again, and it is time to make preparation for the next Presidential election in 1865. I must go to Albany and Syracuse, and see the State Conventions; after which I must attend to the re-organization of the party in New York city. Then I go to Pennsylvania to do stump duty for a year; and from thence, to--"

Here a serious chap, who had taken rather too much Strawberry Festival, looked up, and says he:

"But how about the war all that time?"

"The war!--the war!" says the general, thoughtfully. "Thunder!" says the general, with such a start that he spilt some of his Festival, "I'd really forgotten all about the war!"

"Hum!" says the serious chap, gloomily, "you're worth millions to a suffering country--_you_ are."

"Flatterer!" says the general blandly.

"Yes," says the chap, "you're worth millions--with a hundred per cent off for cash."

_In vino veritas_ is a sage old saying, my boy, and I take it to be a free translation of the Scripture phrase, "In spirit and in truth."

Our brigadiers are so frequently absent-minded themselves, my boy, that they are not particularly absent-minded by the rest of the army.

Upon quitting the Strawberry Festival I returned post-haste again to Paris, where I arrived just in time to start with Captain Bob Shorty and a company from the Conic Section of the Mackerel Brigade on a foraging expedition. We went to look up a few straw-beds for the feeding of the Anatomical Cavalry horses, my boy, and the conservative Kentucky chap went along to see that we did not violate the Const.i.tution nor the rights of man.

"It's my opinion, comrade," says Captain Bob Shorty, as we started out--"it's my opinion, my Union ranger, that this here unnatural war is getting worked down to a very fine point, when we can't go out for an armful of forage without taking the Const.i.tution along on an a.s.s. I think," says Captain Bob Shorty, "that the Const.i.tution is as much out of place here as a set of fancy harness would be in a drove of wild buffaloes."

Can such be the case, my boy--can such be the case? Then did our Revolutionary forefathers live in vain.

Having moved along in gorgeous cavalcade until about noon, we stopped at the house of a First Family of Virginia who were just going to dinner. Captain Bob Shorty ordered the Mackerels to stack arms and draw canteens in the front-door yard, and then we entered the domicil and saluted the domestic ma.s.s-meeting in the dining-room.

"We come, sir," says Bob, addressing the venerable and high-minded Chivalry at the head of the table, "to ask you if you have any old straw-beds that you don't want, that could be used for the cavalry of the United States of America."

The Chivalry only paused long enough to throw a couple of pie-plates at us, and then says he:

"Are you accursed abolitionists?"

The conservative Kentucky chap stepped hastily forward, and says he:

"No, my dear sir, we are the conservative element."

The Chivalry's venerable wife, who was a female Southern Confederacy, leaned back a little in her chair, so that her little son could see to throw a teacup at me, and says she:

"You ain't Tribune reporters--be you?"

"We were all noes and no ayes." Quite a feature in social intercourse, my boy.

The aged Chivalry caused three fresh chairs to be placed at the table, and having failed to discharge the fowling-piece which he had pointed at Captain Bob Shorty, by reason of dampness in the cap, he waved us to seats, and says he:

"Sit down, poor hirelings of a gorilla despot, and learn what it is to taste the hospitality of a Southern gentleman. You are Lincoln hordes,"

says the Chivalry, shaking his white locks, "and have come to butcher the Southern Confederacy; but the Southern gentleman knows how to be courteous, even to a vandal foe."

Here the Chivalry switched out a cane which he had concealed behind him, and made a blow at Captain Bob Shorty.

"See here," says Bob, indignantly, "I'll be--"

"Hush!" says the conservative Kentucky chap, agitatedly, "don't irritate the old patriarch, or future amicable reconstruction of the Union will be out of the question. He is naturally a little provoked just now," says the Kentucky chap, soothingly, "but we must show him that we are his friends."

We all sat down in peace at the hospital board, my boy, only a few sweet potatoes and corn-cobs being thrown by the children, and found the fare to be in keeping with the situation of our distracted country--I may say, war-fare.

"In consequence of the blockade of the Washington Ape," says the Chivalry, pleasantly, "we only have one course, you see; but even these last-year's sweet potatoes must be luxuries to mercenary mud-sills accustomed to husks."

I had just reached out my plate, to be helped, my boy, when there came a great noise from the Mackerels in the front door-yard.

"What's that?" says Captain Bob Shorty.

"O, nothing," says the female Confederacy, taking another bite of hoe-cake, "I've only told one of the servants to throw some hot water on your reptile hirelings."

As Captain Bob Shorty turned to thank her for her explanation, and while his plate was extended, to be helped, the aged Chivalry fired a pistol at him across the table, the ball just grazing his head and entering the wall behind him.