rly
respecting the tremendous events _quorum pars magna fuit_, during the
Bugaboo and Kickapoo campaign.

The first opportunity which presented itself, and which (_horresco
referens_) I did not in the least scruple to seize, occurred at
the Church of the Reverend Doctor Drummummupp, where I found myself
established, one Sunday, just at sermon time, not only in the pew, but
by the side, of that worthy and communicative little friend of mine,
Miss Tabitha T. Thus seated, I congratulated myself, and with much
reason, upon the very flattering state of affairs. If any person knew
anything about Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith, that
person, it was clear to me, was Miss Tabitha T. We telegraphed a few
signals, and then commenced, _soto voce_, a brisk _tete-a-tete_.

"Smith!" said she, in reply to my very earnest inquiry; "Smith!--why,
not General John A. B. C.? Bless me, I thought you _knew_ all about
_him!_ This is a wonderfully inventive age! Horrid affair that!--a
bloody set of wretches, those Kickapoos!--fought like a hero--prodigies
of valor--immortal renown. Smith!--Brevet Brigadier General John A. B.
C.! why, you know he's the man"--

"Man," here broke in Doctor Drummummupp, at the top of his voice, and
with a thump that came near knocking the pulpit about our ears; "man
that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live; he cometh up and
is cut down like a flower!" I started to the extremity of the pew, and
perceived by the animated looks of the divine, that the wrath which had
nearly proved fatal to the pulpit had been excited by the whispers of
the lady and myself. There was no help for it; so I submitted with a
good grace, and listened, in all the martyrdom of dignified silence, to
the balance of that very capital discourse.

Next evening found me a somewhat late visitor at the Rantipole theatre,
where I felt sure of satisfying my curiosity at once, by merely stepping
into the box of those exquisite specimens of affability and omniscience,
the Misses Arabella and Miranda Cognoscenti. That fine tragedian,
Climax, was doing Iago to a very crowded house, and I experienced some
little difficulty in making my wishes understood; especially, as our box
was next the slips, and completely overlooked the stage.

"Smith?" said Miss Arabella, as she at length comprehended the purport
of my query; "Smith?--why, not General John A. B. C.?"

"Smith?" inquired Miranda, musingly. "God bless me, did you ever beh