“With bloody hands to hospitable graves,” said Robson. “Speak quick, my Wigman. That’s the Southern formula, I believe, invented, like the new song of _Dixie_, by an impertinent Yankee. It’s devilish hard we have to import from these blasted Yankees the very slang and music we turn against them.” “Answer me, Mr. Charles Kenrick,” said Wigman, assuming a front of judicial severity, “did you mean any offence to the Confederacy by dishonoring the sentiment of hostility to its enemy?” “Damn the Confederacy!” said Kenrick. “Hear him,” said Robson. “Was there ever such blasphemy? Please write it down, Onslow, that he damns the Confederacy. And write Wigman down an—No matter for that part of it! We shall hear Kenrick blaspheming slavery by and by.” “Damn slavery!” said Kenrick. “Kenrick is joking,” said Onslow. “Kenrick was never more serious in his life, Mr. Onslow!” “Look here, my dear fellow,” said Robson, “there _are_ sanctities which must not be invaded, even under the privilege of Champagne. Insult the Virgin Mary, traduce the Holy Trinity, profane the Holy of holies, say that Jeff Davis isn’t a remarkable man, as much as you please, but beware how you speak ill of the peculiar institution. We’ll twist the noose for you with a pleased alacrity unless you retract those wicked words, and do penance in two tumblers of Heidsieck drunk in expiation of your horrible levity.” “Damn slavery!” reiterated Kenrick. “He’s a subject for the Committee of Safety,” suggested Wigman. “Kenrick is playing with us all this while,” said Onslow. “Come! Confess it, old schoolfellow! You honor the new flag as much as I do.” “I’ll show you how much I honor it,” said Kenrick; and, going to a table where a small Confederate flag was stuck in a leg of bacon, he tore off the silken emblem, ripped it in four parts, and, casting it on the floor, put his foot on the fragments and spat on them. Wigman drew a small bowie-knife from a pocket inside of his vest, and, starting to his feet, kicked back his chair, and rushed with somewhat tortuous motion towards Kenrick; but, having miscalculated his powers of equilibrium, the Senator fell helplessly on the floor, and dropped his knife. Robson kicked it to a distant part of the room, and, helping Wigman to his feet, placed him in his chair, and counselled him not to try it again. “It is to me that Mr. Kenrick must answer for this insult to the flag,” said Onslow. Kenrick bowed. Then, resuming his seat, he took a fresh glass, and, filling it till it overflowed with Champagne, rose and exclaimed: “The Union! not as it _was_, but as it _shall_ be, with universal freedom,—from the St. Croix to the Rio Grande,—from Cape Cod to the Golden Gate!” Kenrick touched his lips reverently to the wine, then put it down, and, taking from his bosom a beautiful American flag made of silk, shook it out, and said, “Here, gentlemen, is _my_ religion.”