war at all; but," ses I, "while the South have had a single end an purpose, we've been all at odds and ends. The war has been carried on by us jest like old Sol Pendergrast's boy ploughed. Old Sol took his oldest boy, Adam, a thick-heded feller, out one Spring, an set him to ploughin. He told him to go to work an strike a furrow across a field to a _black heifer_, an then keep on. After givin this direcshin, old Sol went off to the house an left Adam alone. The boy started his oxen in a bee line for the _black heifer_, but wen he got pretty clus to her, she threw up her tail an ran off in another direcshin. Adam thought he must foller the heifer, no matter where she went; so he struck another bee line for her, and with jest the same result. Wen he got clus to her, the heifer give another frisk to her tail, an off she went. Adam geed his oxen around, and struck for her agin; an so he kept on all day. At nite the old man cum out to see how Adam had got along. He found the field all cut up with furrows, zig-zag, criss-cross, an in every direcshin, an asked Adam wat on arth it ment. 'Wal,' ses the thick-headed numskull, 'you told me to steer for the _black_ heifer, an I've done it all day, but the denied critter wouldn't stand still, an so the furrows are a kinder criss-cross, you see.' Now," ses I, "that is jest wat Linkin has been doin. Greeley told him to steer for the nigger, an the result is jest like Adam Pendergrast's ploughing. There's a considerable fightin ben done, but it is all criss-cross, zig-zag, an don't amount to nothin, an so it will be to the end of the chapter." Wen I sed this, the Deacon knocked the ashes out of his pipe, an ses he, "Wal, Majer, wat do you think the war will amount to, enyhow?" "Wall," ses I, "I guess it will end a good deal like the feller who thought he could make a horse-shoe jest as well as a blacksmith." Ses the Deacon, ses he, "How was that, Majer?" "Wal," ses I, "one day a feller in a blacksmith's shop made a bet that he could make a horse-shoe jest as well as the blacksmith himself, though he hadn't never heated an iron nor struck a blow on an anvil. The feller sed it didn't require any great gumption to make a horse-shoe. So he took a piece of iron an at it he went. He put it in the fire, heated it an commenced poundin it, but the more he pounded, the more it didn't look like a horse-shoe. He finally gave up the job, an said if he couldn't make a horse-shoe he _could_ make a wagon-bolt. So at it he went, but the more he pounded an the more he heated his iron, the less it grew, an finally he found that he couldn't make even a wagon-bolt. Then he declared that he had iron enough left for a horse-shoe nail, and that he _would_ make, but upon trying, he found that the most difficult job of all. Finally, giving up in despair, ses he, 'Wal, one thing I can do enyhow, I can make a _siss_!' an plunging the tongs an what was left of the iron in the water, he did get up a very