anuther being, you can't make him enything but a sarvent. These fellers, like that white cravated chap, who was jest here, and who employ their time sendin flannel shirts and tooth-picks to the wild nigger in Afriky, don't know nothin' more about niggers than they do 'bout the interior of the arth. You might presarve all the brains they've got in a drop of brandy, and they would have as much sea-room as a tad-pole in Lake Superior." "Wal," ses Linkin, ses he, "Majer, let's drop the nigger jest now, as I want to ask you whether you think the rebils kin take Washington?" "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, that depends upon strutegy agin. Ef you keep Ginnerals in the field who don't pay eny attention to 'lines of retrete,' afore you know it, Kernel, that feller with a Stonewall in his name, will be around on the North side of the White House, an I'm afeered my 'line of retrete' to Downingville will be cut off." "That's so, Majer, and my retrete to Springfield may be a hard road to travel." When Linkin made this remark, he looked kinder oneasy. I didn't know what to say, so I did jest what I allers do in that case, I whistled! Ses Linkin, ses he, "Majer, are you whistlin to keep your courage up?" Ses I, "No, Kernel, I ain't afraid a mite, but," ses I, "I'm in what old Deacon Doolittle calls a quandary." Ses he, "What's your quandary?" "Wal," ses I, "I was thinkin what I would do ef the rebils should take Washington." The Kernel didn't say nothin for about a minute. He looked very serious, and finally, ses he, "Majer, we're in a tight place, an there is no use denyin it, but it don't do any good to get into a fit of hysterices about it." "Yes," ses I, "Kernel, but it makes me feel solem to see this grate Old Ship of State knockin around, an, may be, jest reddy to sink." "Wal, Majer," ses the Kernel, "that remark reminds me of a story. A good many years ago, an old feller, a free an easy chap, owned a steamboat on the Missippi river, an he was a grate fiddler. He had nothing to do, an ginnerally went up an down the river on the boat, spending his time in fiddlin, an tellin stories. One day the boat struck a snag, an was fast fillin with water. The old feller was in the cabin sawin away on his fiddle when the boat struck, but he paid no attenshin to it, but kept rite on fiddlin. Finally, one of the passengers came in an told him that the captain warn't tryin to save the boat as he ought, and that she would be lost in ten minutes. 'Wal,' ses the old feller, 'she's been a _loosin_ concarn for five years,' and he kept on fiddlin. Pretty soon another passenger rushed in, and screamed out 'She's settlin very fast.' Ses he, 'I wish she'd _settle_ with me before she goes down,' an still he kept on fiddlin. The next that was seen of him he was swimmin ashore, with his fiddle under his arm an the bow in his mouth. Now, Majer, if they take Washington, and the ship sinks, _we'll swim ashore_!"