As I turned to leave him, my boy, I could not help thinking how often the world will call a man a "Second" So-and-so, long before he has anything like commenced to be first, even.

Yours, doubtingly, ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LX.

REPORTING THE SECOND REGULAR MEETING OF THE COSMOPOLITAN CLUB, AND THE BRITISH MEMBER'S CITATION OF THE ENGLISH POETS.

WASHINGTON, D. C., August 5th, 1862.

This is a dull day, my boy; and when there is no longer any sunshine to make steel bayonets and bra.s.s b.u.t.tons glimmer to the eye, war is stript of half its pomp, and the American mind takes a plain, practical view of the strife.

Truth to tell, this secession is a very shabby, unromantic thing to fight about. There is really no poetry at all about it, my boy, and when one would rhyme about it, the mantle of poesy refuses to fall upon him, though a bogus sort of Hood may possibly keep him in countenance.

The cause of this war is simply this--

PER SE.

Sepoys--sea-thieves-- C. Bonds--see slaves-- See seizures made in every kind of way; See debts sequestrated-- Sea-island frustrated; Segars--seditionists--and C. S. A., Seduced from honor bright-- Secluded from serenest Wisdom's light-- Sea-pent by ships of war-- Selected planters for the world no more; Severely snubbed by all-- Secure to fall; Sedately left alone by all who see Seed poisonous sown in sectional retrogression; See-saw diplomacy, sedition foui _per se_; Sequel--that serio-comic scene-- SECESSION!

Speaking of poetry; I attended the meeting of the Cosmopolitan Club on Monday night, and was much electrified by the treasures of British literature unfolded by Smith-Brown. That double-chinned chap brought to view a roll of ma.n.u.script, and says he:

"Instead of reading a story for your entertainment, gentlemen, I propose to make you acquainted with the war-sentiments of a few of Albion's poet's, as expressed in certain unpublished verses of theirs which have privately come into my possession.

"First, let me commend to your attention some amiable rhymes by a bard who knows more about this blarsted country than it knows about hitself":

A MISTAKE BY HEAVEN!

_By Dr. Charles Mack--y._

In Heaven's Chancery the Records stand Of men and deeds in each and ev'ry land, And as new rulers rise, or empires fall, Appointed angels make a note of all.

To mark the changes in this world of late There came a Spirit from the Throne of Fate, Instructed closely, to be sure and see Who earth's chief rulers for _this_ year might be.

His task accomplished, back the Spirit flew To Heaven's Chancery, as bade to do, And from his vestments took the mystic scroll That named each potentate, from Pole to Pole.

Recording Angels glanced it sharply o'er, To note each change from what the Records bore; But found no nations changing potentates Until they came to the United States.

"Another President!" the angels sighed, "Another President!" the Fates replied; And straight a pen the Chief Recorder took To write the ruler's name within his book.

He wrote--(alas! 'twill hardly be believed The very angels could be so deceived)-- He wrote the name that all his sprites might read-- Not Abr'am Lincoln; no! but--THURLOW WEED.

If foreign nations fail to judge your cause In strict accordance with set Christian laws, It is no proof of their intending crimes, Since angels, even, make mistakes at times!

We were all silent after that, my boy, and says the old British chap:

"The next ma.n.u.script expresses the conservative sentiment of Britain's Isle, the measure being peculiar and the manner inquiring. Hattention!--

THE WAR.

BY SIDNEY DOBELL.

I.

Oh, the war, the war, _Oh_, the war, the war, OH, the war-- With pools of gory, dripping grime, And ghastly, beastly, horrible rime, The soldier b.l.o.o.d.y, stiff and stark-- The cannon thunders, hark! hark!

Columbia, how's the war?

II.

Oh, the blood, the blood, _Oh_, the blood, the blood, OH, the blood-- Curdling, welling, staining the ground, Bubbling from wounds with sick'ning sound; The life gone out in a wind of swords,-- Murderers leagued in hordes! hordes!

Columbia, how's the blood?

III.

Oh, the roar, the roar, _Oh_, the roar, the roar, OH, the roar-- Thousands grappling, tearing to death, Fever, madness and h.e.l.l in a breath; Rage, despair, oath and scream-- Rivers crimson stream! stream!

Columbia, how's the roar?

IV.

Oh, the blaze, the blaze, _Oh_, the blaze, the blaze.

OH, the blaze, Homes in flames, lighting the storm, Torches for death in a brother's form; Ruin, ravage, ashes and smoke,-- Hopes and heart-strings broke! broke!

Columbia, how's the blaze?

V.

Oh, the groan, the groan, _Oh_, the groan, the groan, OH, the groan-- Mothers sonless, homeless and old, Sisters brotherless, lone and cold, Children starving, wailing for bread,-- Fathers and brothers dead! dead!

Columbia, how's the groan?

VI.

Oh, the woe, the woe, _Oh_, the woe, the woe, OH, the woe, Cities famishing, villages still, Blood in the valley and fire on the hill; Horror, havoc, curses and tears,-- Dark desolation for years! years!

Columbia, how's the woe?

VII.

Oh, the end, the end, _Oh_, the end, the end, OH, the end, Griefs and graves at every hearth, Heaven offended, outraged Earth: Prayers for vengeance from ev'ry tomb-- Borne to the living a doom! doom!

Columbia, how's the end?

Here Bonbon, the French chap, struck in, and says he: "Oh, the a.s.s, the a.s.s, _Oh_, the a.s.s, the a.s.s, OH, the a.s.s----"

"Silence, Napoleon!" says the British chap, "and r-r-remember Waterloo!

The next metrical gem," says he, "ill.u.s.trates the deeper profundity of British thought, and conveys a moral lesson of the deepest significance to babes and sucklings. Hem!"--

COLUMBIA'S AGONY.