"Did you order the rebel to surrender his incendiary establishment to the United States of America?" says Villiam, majestically returning his canteen to his bosom.
"I did, sire," says the Orderly, gloomily.
"What said the unnatural scorpion?" says Villiam.
"Well," says the Orderly, "his reply was almost sarcastic."
"Ha!" says Villiam, "what was't?"
"Why," says the Orderly, sadly, "he said that if I didn't want to see a dam fool, I'd better not go into a store where they sold looking-glasses."
"Ah!" says Villiam, nervously licking a cork, "that was sarcastic. Let the Orange County Howitzers push to the front," says Villiam, excitedly, "and we'll shatter the Southern Confederacy. Hello!" says Villiam, indignantly, "Who owns that owdacious dog there?"
I looked, my boy, and behold it was my frescoed canine, Bologna, who was innocently discussing a bone right in the track of the advancing artillery. I whistled to him, my boy, and he loafed dreamily toward me.
The Orange County Howitzers thundered forward, and then hurled an infernal tempest of shell and canister into the horizon, taking the roofs off of two barns, and making twenty-six Confederate old maids deaf for life. At the same instant, Ajack, the Mackerel sharpshooter, put a ball from his unerring rifle through a chicken-house about half a mile distant, causing a variety of fowl proceedings.
"Ah!" says Villiam, critically, "the angels will have to get a new sky, if the artillery practice of the United States of America keeps on much longer."