It would please me, my boy, to detail the further movements of the Mackerels, but the cause of strategy demands that I should say no more on that topic just at present.
The beloved General of the Mackerel Brigade was at Washington when he heard of the advance which his enemies would pretend that he did not lead in person, and says he to the messenger:
"Are my gallant children ready for a fight?"
"Much so," says the messenger.
"Is the weather clear, my child?"
"Salubrious."
"Thunder!" says the General, valorously. "Then I really believe that I must move my headquarters across the Potomac!"
The Potomac, my boy—to speak with all due reverence for sacred things—in the numerous backs and forths it so constantly imposes upon the military, would seem calculated to turn this war into another Crusade, and make all our heroes literal soldiers of the "cross."
Yours, metaphorically,
Oepheus C. Kerr.