st the fearless old sea-dog sat down upon a reversed
pail amidships, and addressed a letter breathing future vengeance to
the unseemly Copperheads of the North. "Sink my Monitor!" says he
hotly; "let them beware of the time when the Navy returns to its
peaceful home!"

But it was on Thursday, my boy, that the Rear Admiral was to run the
blockade of the Confederacies' pier, and Captain Villiam Brown, Captain
Bob Shorty, and myself, stood upon the edge of Duck Lake, with our
pieces of smoked glass in our hands, to behold this triumph of
consummate naval strategy.

At the hour appointed, we beheld Rear Admiral Head and his Mackerel
crew slipping over the stern of the Mackerel squadron into the water,
and immediately the "Secretary Welles" commenced to float past the
Confederacies' batteries with the tide. Onward she went, despite the
plunging fire from the horse-pistols, and, presently, we could see her
go safely ashore. Never shall I forget the beautiful glow of triumph
that overspread the noble countenance of Rear Admiral Head, as he and
his crew waded through the water to the place where we stood.

"Unrivet my armor!" says he, in his stern, iron-plated manner; "I call
that running a blockade in good style."

"Yes," says I, sceptically; "but how are you going to get the squadron
back again?"

"Eh?" says he, "what was that question, young man?"

"Why," says I, anxiously, "now that the squadron has run the blockade,
how are you going to get her back again?"

"By all that's iron-clad," says the grim old sea-dog, violently, "I
forgot all about that."

"Ah!" says Captain Villiam Brown, pleasantly, "can't you dig a canal?"

At this moment there was a tremendous explosion; something was seen
flying through the air, and then the swivel gun of the "Secretary
Welles," with the Admiral's fish-basket and umbrella attached, fell
beside us on the sand. In their haste to take possession of our
squadron, the Confederacies had dropped some sparks from their pipes
into the powder-magazine, blowing our entire armament back to us!

Providence, my boy, is evidently on our side in this war; which
accounts for the fact that human naval genius has not yet entirely
ruined us.

Yours, devoutly,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.

LETTER LXXXVIII.

CONCERNING INTELLECTUAL GIANTS AND PINS; WITH A FEW WORDS AS TO
CERTAIN DRAMATIC STREET-SCENES SUPPOSED TO BE OF DAILY OCCURRENCE;
AN AFFECTING WESTERN POEM; AND A BRIEF GLIMPSE OF A