the
conquering hero.

Sunday came. It was a blessed satisfaction that at the Church of St.
Fortunatus all the communicants were friends of the Rebellion. The
Reverend Bogus de Bogus was himself an extremist in his advocacy of
Slavery and the Slave Confederacy. But what was the consternation of the
whole assembly, at hearing him, on that eventful Sabbath, pray for the
President and other authorities of the United States! Had he been
tampered with by the Beast? What was the world coming to? How
intolerable that the solar system should move on as regularly and
indifferently as if nothing had happened!

The fomenters of Rebellion in the Monument City continued hopeful,
notwithstanding the defection of the Reverend Bogus de Bogus. Mrs.
Dinwiddie almost worried Dinwiddie's life out, teasing him for money
with which to buy quinine and percussion-caps to smuggle into Rebeldom.
Barbara worked till her taper little forefinger looked like a
nutmeg-grater, making shirts and drawers for the "gallant Palmetto
Tenth," in which certain sprigs of aristocracy from Baltimore had
enlisted. The regiment was commanded by that splendid fellow, Charlie
Pegram.

What was Barbara's despair, on learning that all the products of her
labors had been intercepted by the "Beast," and were safely stored at
"these headquarters"! Mrs. Dinwiddie went into hysterics at the news,
but was suddenly restored, on hearing Dinwiddie enter, and inquire in
the most cold-blooded manner, "Why isn't dinner ready?" Falling upon
that monster in human shape, she crushed him so far into silence by her
indignation, that he was glad to make a meal of a few crackers and a
glass of ale, and then retire for his afternoon cigar to the repose of
his counting-room.

The war (the civil, not the domestic, we mean) went on. Battle succeeded
battle, and skirmish skirmish, with alternating successes, when at last
came the Emancipation Proclamation, not in the earthquake, nor in the
whirlwind, but in the still small voice. "Well, what of it? 'Tis a mere
paper bomb!" said Belshazzar at Richmond, looking out on Libby and Belle
Isle. Mrs. Dinwiddie read the "Richmond Enquirer," and thought, for the
thousandth time, how intolerable life would be, if ever again Yankees
were to be suffered to live within a thousand miles of a genuine
descendant of the Cavaliers. "Spaniels must be whipped into
subservience," said Mr. Jefferson Davis, alluding to the abhorred race
north of Mason and Dixo