''It is only a trifle,' said Mr. Polk, 'which you can easily grant, and which will please you.'

''It is granted,' interrupted the grateful Sanders.

''I may be arrested,' continued Mr. Polk, 'within a few minutes, for disagreeing with some measures which Governor Harris has urged upon the people.'

''Never mind that,' said the impetuous Sanders; 'I'll stand by you.'

''All I want,' continued Mr. Polk, 'is for you to return to Nashville as a hostage for my wife and family.'

''Bill Polk,' said George gravely, but firmly, 'you are a man I love; I love you, and I love your wife and family; but if ever I go back to Nashville, may I be d——d!'

'Of course, there was no reply to this, and the redoubtable George and the Provisional Government soon went on their way rejoicing.

'We do not pretend to give this in the language or manner of Mr. Polk, which is said to be inimitable; neither do we claim him as a 'Union man.' He has remained quietly at home, and taken no part in the contest; but we are indebted to him, or to some one who has reported it as coming from him, for a genial and laughable account of the exit of what once promised to be very injurious to our State, and still more for his characterization of that wise, pushing, incomprehensible character, George N. Sanders, Member of Congress from the Seventh District of Kentucky to Richmond.'

We have long wondered what became of Sanders, the illustrious author of that excellent term, 'the Tobacco States,' which so exactly defines the Southern border. The last time we saw him was while talking with Arctic Dr. Hayes, a few days before his departure for the Unknown Sea. Just then Sanders went by arrayed in all the glory of a perfectly new pareil partout suit of spring clothes. Days passed by, and we heard of him as frantically endeavoring to galvanize the C.S.A. at Montgomery, Alabama, into faith in his exceeding Southern proclivities. It was up-hill work, as we were told—almost as hard as several other small renegade literati and politicians found it, when they, too, went over into Dixie about a year ago. In vain did George N. Sanders utter the largest size secession words—no office rewarded him, no foreign mission fell into the fat fingers of the deserter. The change from the comfortable quarters of the New-York Hotel to hurried war-marches and wild retreats must have been indeed trying; only that so many politicians have of late fared quite as badly, that pity would seem wasted. Meanwhile we would suggest, as a good question for youthful democratic debating-societies: 'When we catch the enemy, what shall be done with George N. Sanders?'

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