4 A.M. to 5 A.M.--Find out the Archbishop. Bang at his front door till he puts his head out of window, and wants to know "What on earth's the matter?" Hide round the corner. Repeat same business, with more or less success, at the residence of the Chief Justice, then at that of the Clerk of the Peace, and at those of any other officials I can call to mind, winding up by a regular good row at that of the General in Command. Trumpeter comes out. Take bugle from him, and give the call. General in Command rubs his eyes sleepily, and says he'll be down presently. 5 A.M.--Hurry back to station. Catch early cattle-train going back to Berlin. Jump on engine, and declare myself. Wire approach down line, and tear away with the cattle, at seventy miles an hour, getting back to Berlin just in time for breakfast. Fancy I woke them up! Altogether, a very enjoyable outing. * * * * * [Illustration: GENUINE ENTHUSIASM. (_A Thaw Picture_.) WHAT MATTER AN INCH OR TWO OF SURFACE-WATER, IF THE ICE BE STILL SOUND UNDERNEATH!] * * * * * "ROUGE ET NOIR!" OR, JONATHAN'S PERPLEXING PROBLEM. (_SOME WAY AFTER HOSEA BIGLOW'S "JONATHAN TO JOHN."_) _Jonathan (who has been reading the Articles on "The Negro Question in the United States," in the English "Times") loq._:-- It may be ez you're right, JOHN, And both my hands _are_ full; _You_ know ez I can fight, JOHN, (I've wiped out "Sitting Bull"). Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess We see our fix," sez he. "The 'Thunderer's' paw lays down the law, Accordin' to J.B. To square it's left to _me_!" Blood ain't so cool as ink, JOHN; Big words are easy wrote; The "coons"--well, you don't think, JOHN, I'll let 'em cut my throat. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess Ghost-dance must stop," sez he. "Suppose the 'braves' and black ex-slaves Hed b'longed to ole J.B. Insted of unto me?" Ten art'cles in your _Times_, JOHN, Hev giv me good advice. I mind th' old Slavery crimes, JOHN. I don't need tellin' twice. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, I only guess," sez he, "Seven million blacks on his folks' backs Would kind o' rile J.B. Ez much ez it riles me!" The Red Man,--well, I s'pose, JOHN, We'll hev to wipe _him_ aout. Sech pizonous trash ez those, JOHN, The world kin do without. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess Injuns must go," sez he. "COOPER's Red Man won't fit our plan, Though he once witched J.B. As once he fetched e'en _me_!" The Black Man! Ah, that's wuss, JOHN. The chaps wuz right, ay _joost_, Who said the Slavery cuss, JOHN, Wud yet come home to roost. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess The problem set," sez he, "By that derned Nig. is black and big, And fairly puzzles me, Ez it wud do J.B."