e very particular purpose. He offered his friend
a tumbler and a cigar, and they talked nimbly of a thousand things. Who
had come, who had gone, and how superb Mrs. Delilah Jones was, who had
suddenly appeared upon the scene, invested with mystery, and bringing a
note to each of the colleagues from General Belch.

"Mrs. Delilah Jones," said that gentleman, in a private note to Ele, "is
our old friend, Kitty Dunham. She appears in Washington as the widow of a
captain in the navy, who died a few years since upon the Brazil station.
She can be of the greatest service to us; and you must have no secrets
from each other about our dear friend, who shall be nameless."

To Abel Newt, General Belch wrote: "My dear Newt, the lady to whom I have
given a letter to you is daughter of an old friend of my family. She
married Captain Jones of the navy, whom she lost some years since upon
the Brazil station. She has seen the world; has money; and comes to
Washington to taste life, to enjoy herself--to doff the sables, perhaps,
who knows? Be kind to her, and take care of your heart. Don't forget the
Grant in the arms of Delilah! Yours, Belch."

Abel Newt, when he received this letter, looked over his books of reports
and statistics.

"Captain Jones--Brazil station," he said, skeptically, to himself. But he
found no such name or event in the obituaries; and he was only the more
amused by his friend Belch's futile efforts at circumvention and control.

"My dear Belch," he replied, after he had made his investigations, "I
have your private note, but I have not yet encountered the superb
Delilah; nor have I forgotten what you said to me about working 'em
through their wives, and sisters, etc. I shall not begin to forget it
now, and I hope to make the Delilah useful in the campaign; for there are
goslings here, more than you would believe. Thank you for such an ally.
_You_, at least, were not born to fail. Yours, A. Newt."

"Goslings, are there? I believe you," said Belch to himself, inwardly
chuckling as he read and folded Abel's letter.

"Ally, hey? Well, that _is_ good," he continued, the chuckle rising into
a laugh. "Well, well, I thought Abel Newt was smart; but he doesn't even
suspect, and I have played a deeper game than was needed."

"I guess that will fix him," said Abel, as he looked over his letter,
laughed, folded it, and sent it off.

Mr. Ele by many a devious path at length approached the object of his
visit, and hoped