le thankfulness to
Heaven may be divided into two equal parts:

I. An ardent desire to destroy combined Europe.

II. A disposition to set fire to combined Europe, bringing off the
women and children in small boats.

Hah, hah! does combined Europe tremble? Does C. E. offer a certain sum
to be let off?

"Shall I ever forget, my boy, the recent terrible remark of that grim
old sea-dog, Rear Admiral Head, just after that late tremendous capture
of Fort Piano, on Duck Lake, by the Mackerel Chalybeate
squadron,--shall I ever forget it?

"Chip my turret!" says that venerable salt, in his iron-plated
manner,--"Chip my turret if I couldn't take my flag-ship, the
'_Aitch_,' and crush Europe like a perishing insect,--unrivet my plates
if I couldn't!"

But why should I dwell upon the dreadful suggestions of a theme like
this? Europe--crowded Europe--millions of people--bright summer
morning--everybody in the streets--Bang! whiz!--Great combinations of
the Lieutenant General--Victoria and Louis N., do you surrender?--We
DO!

Solemnly do I say to you, my boy, let us mix plenty of this sort of
thing in our devout gratitude to Providence for His mercies to us as a
people, and henceforth we may confidently count upon the support of
Providence--Rhode Island.

Fairly and benignantly shone the blessed sun over valley and hill on
the morning of that recent memorable day when I scaled the
architectural heights of my Gothic Pegasus, and turned his
front-elevation toward the Mackerel camp before the much-banged City of
Paris. Brightly gleamed the fluted roof of my ancient pile of a steed
as he went blithely forward on three legs, keeping one in reserve in
case of accident: joyous was the alacrity with which he waltzed an
imitative earthquake and tossed his child's-coffin of a head. The
exhilaration of the motion, the proud sense of being borne again, might
ultimately have plunged me into a delicious dream of being divided into
two parts, my boy, had I not suddenly discovered, on the road-side,
some twenty yards ahead of me, the figure of a being seated upon a
camp-stool. Hastily dismounting from my architectural animal, and tying
him to an oak in such a manner that he presented somewhat the
perspective of a modest country church with a tree before the door, I
stole carefully upon the being in my front, and found it to be the
Conservative Kentucky chap, engaged in the muscular game of "Bluff"
with himself.

His venerable hat, my