C. KERR.

LETTER LXXXVII.

IN WHICH OUR CORRESPONDENT HAS A DEADLY AFFAIR OF HONOR WITH A
GENTLEMAN FROM KENTUCKY; EXPERIENCES "CONTRABAND" HOSPITALITY AND
MELODY; ATTENDS A GREAT MEETING IN ACCOMAC; AND WITNESSES A
PRODIGIOUS NAVAL ACHIEVEMENT.

WASHINGTON, D.C., March 15th, 1863.

Kentucky, my boy, has considered herself a general boon to mankind ever
since she was discovered by Colonel Boone; but there are different
kinds of boons known to mankind, and if I should chance to mention the
baboon as amongst the noisiest and least respectable of the species, my
remark may not be regarded as entirely destitute of a personal bearing.
It was in the honeyed accents of admiring friendship that I conveyed
this chaste zoological idea to the Conservative Kentucky chap on Monday
last, as we took Richmond together at Willard's bar, and I regret to
say that he made it _casus belli_. Accidentally dropping his
bowie-knife on the floor, and hastily replacing his ruffles over the
handle of his pocket revolver, he polished the blade of his dirk with a
blood-colored silk handkerchief, and says he:

"Kentucky fought for Washington in the Revolution; she has, thus far,
prosecuted the present war without fear; nor will she shrink from even
shedding personal gore where the provocation is the offspring of Yankee
lowness."

He said this, with exceeding majesty, my boy, and I felt that I was
indeed involved in complications with the Border States.

"I understand you, my warrior," says I, calmly; "but if this affair is
to come off immediately, where are we to find our seconds?"

The Kentucky chap hastily called a small boy to him, and says he:

"Sonny, just run out into the street and ask any two gentlemen you meet
to step in here for a moment." "You see," says he, turning to me, "it's
better to have two brigadier-generals for seconds, as a battle might
take place while we are away, and there are no private soldiers to
spare at present."

"Yes," says I, thoughtfully, "that's very true."

The brigadiers were obtained, my boy, and, with murder in our hearts,
we started forth to seek a spot appropriate for carnage in private. It
was just the hour of mid-day, and we were wending our sanguinary way in
silence, when, upon turning a corner of one of the public buildings,
the sound of sweet music fell upon our ears, and we came suddenly upon
a brass band and a party of singers, who were discoursing witching
strains