well in
sending such beautiful birds for our Thanksgiving bankwick; but they've
made a strange mistake. Really," says Villiam, toying with the cork of
the bottle of cough-drops, as it protruded from his ruffles,--"really,
I find, that _not one of these Turkeys is stamped_!"

At this juncture the same old Mackerel again stepped forward, and asked
if the turkeys came by mail?

"No," says Villiam, with much sympathy of manner. "I don't mean
postage-stamps, but the Internal Revenue. Turkeys," says Villiam,
reasoningly, "come under the head of 'Unnecessary Luxuries,' and are
not legal unless stamped. But," says Villiam, with sudden benignity,
"your officers possess the necessary stamps, and will sell them to you
at twenty-five cents apiece."

It was a beautiful proof of the untiring vigilance and energy of our
national regimental officers, my boy, that they happened to have the
stamps on hand just as they did; though, if there happened to be stamps
required on geese, I am afraid that every Mackerel who paid his
twenty-five cents would come in for one of those chaste little pictures
on himself.

And now, the stamps being purchased and the New England eagles
distributed, there commenced such a scene of martial revelry and
good-nature as the world never saw before. In every direction--at the
openings of tents--around open-air fires--everywhere, the jolly
festival went on.

Strolling to the outer picket-line, I saw a Mackerel chap lay aside his
gun, seat himself upon the ground, and commence handling a nice little
turkey which had just been brought to him by a comrade. He smacked his
lips audibly, my boy, and was just in the act of tearing off a
"drumstick" when I saw him suddenly look up to a point ahead of him,
and instantly cease all motion. Curious to know what had thus
fascinated him, as it were, and so abruptly checked his feast, I also
looked in that direction.

Right across the little field in front of us, seated on the last
remaining post of a ruined fence, was a ragged Confederacy, in a
perfect whirlpool of tatters, who had rested his musket upon the
ground, and was alternately gnawing an army biscuit and casting longing
looks toward his happier enemy. He was a dreadfully thin, hollow-eyed
chap, my boy, and shivered in the cold. The Mackerel stared at him
without motion for some minutes, and then commenced to handle his
turkey again. Then he stared again, dropped his turkey, picked it up,
and finally rose to