termed a rebel. He was a traitor in the
vilest sense of the word: a malignant hater of the QUEEN and the
country: the sort of traitor that mediaeval justice contemplated when it
sentenced the criminal so called to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. He
was a sanguinary cruel caitiff; a dogged miscreant who not only preached
pike massacres, but yelled and raved for sulphuric acid, which he would
have had rascals to squirt into soldiers' eyes. Those, therefore, who
are not up to American drollery will naturally be scandalised by the
seemingly sympathetic description, given by the _New York Tribune_, of
the advent of such a fellow amongst the freest and most enlightened
people on earth. Says our facetious contemporary:--

"As the _Prometheus_ came up the river, she was boarded by MESSRS.
MEAGHER and WILLIAM MITCHELL, the brother of the patriot. The
meeting between these friends in sorrow and persecution was
affecting in the extreme. Tears of joy were shed on both sides."

Tears which scalded the cheeks down which they flowed; being vitriolic.
Without this comment--which would have spoiled the gravity of the
burlesque--the _Tribune_ proceeds:

"On nearing the wharf, the news of MR. MITCHELL'S arrival spread
like wildfire, and ships and piers were literally swarming with the
immense throng who crowded to give him a freeman's welcome."

No doubt this is the naked truth. There are, unfortunately, a great many
scoundrels and ruffians in New York who have an ardent admiration for a
fellow scoundrel and ruffian. It is unnecessary that a New York journal
should explain that these vagabonds are not Americans. But that
explanation is requisite for our stolid readers, whom we will presently
tell who the wretches really were. An individual of the noble and
generous American nation would as soon think of hugging a rattle-snake
or a copper-head, as of taking to his bosom the venomous and
vitriol-squirting MITCHELL.

As MR. MITCHELL and his companions proceeded to their
destination--which, notwithstanding the impulsive nature of American
moral feeling, was not the nearest pump--he experienced various honours,
which the waggish reporter of his triumph enumerates with whimsical
exaggeration--particularising "roar of artillery," "dense mass of human
beings," the carriages that bore them, being "followed by the throng,"
his way resembling "the march of a conqueror"--not by any means such a
march as that of a ma