Villiam's idea of heaping coals of fire, my boy, is as literal as was the translation of Enoch.
On learning of the repulse from Richmond, all the Southern Union men of Paris commenced to remember that the rebels are our brethren, and that this war was wholly brought about by the fiendish abolitionists.
"Yes!" says a patriotic chap from Accomac, sipping the oath loyally, "the Abolitionists brought this here war about, and I have determined not to support it. Our slaves read the Tribune, and have learned so much from military articles in that paper that the very life of the South depended upon separation."
In fact, my boy, notwithstanding the efforts of Captain Villiam Brown to tranquillize public feeling by seizing the telegraph office and railroad depot, telegraphing to everybody he knew for reënforcements, the excitement was steadily increasing, until word came from Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, that no enemy had been in sight at all.
When the intelligence was brought to the General of the Mackerel Brigade, and as soon as the band had finished serenading him, he called for a fresh tumbler, and says he:
"I may as well tell you at once, my children, that this whole matter is simply a part of my plan for bringing this unnatural war to a speedy termination. Company 3 retired by my design, and—and—in fact, my children," says the general, confidingly, "it's something you can't understand—it's strategy."
Perhaps it was, my boy—perhaps it was; for there is more than one reason to believe that strategy means military shoes with the heels in front.
Yours, cautiously,
Orpheus C. Kerr.