The second is something of the same sort. Not long since, a lot of us--I am an H. P., 'high private,' now--were quartered in several wooden tenements, and in the inner room of one lay the _corpus_ of a young Secesh officer, awaiting burial. The news soon spread to a village not far off. Down came tearing a sentimental and not bad-looking specimen of a Virginny dame. 'Let me kiss him for his mother!' she cried, as I interrupted her progress. '_Do_ let me kiss him for his mother!' 'Kiss whom?' 'The dear little lieutenant, the one who lies dead within. P'int him out to me, sir, if you please. I never saw him, but--oh!' I led her through a room in which Lieutenant ----, of Philadelphia, lay stretched out on an up-turned trough, fast asleep. Supposing him to be the 'article' sought for, she rushed up, and exclaiming, 'Let me kiss him for his mother,' approached her lips to his forehead. What was her amazement when the 'corpse,' ardently clasping its arms around her, returned the salute vigorously, and exclaimed: 'Never mind the old lady, Miss, go it on your own account. I haven't the slightest objection!' Sentiment is a fine thing, Mr. Editor, but it should be handled as one handles the spiked guns which the rebels leave behind, loaded with percussion-caps--very carefully. Yours amazingly, WARDEN. * * * * * Readers who are desirous of seeing Ravenshoe fully played out will please glance at the following: RAVENSHOE--ITS SEQUEL. PREFACE There are those who assert that the doctrine of Compensation is utterly ignored in Ravenshoe. They instance the rewarding Welter, a coarse, brutal scoundrel and sensual beast, with wealth and title, and such honor as the author can confer, as an insult to every rational reader; nor can they think Charles Ravenshoe, or Horton, who endeavored right manfully to support himself, repaid for this exertion, and for bearing up stoutly against his troubles, by being compelled 'to pass a dull, settled, dreaming, melancholy old age' as an invalid. It may naturally be thought that a residence of years in Australia, the mother of Botany Bay, where not exactly the best of American society could be found, has had its effect in embittering even an Englishman against Americans, and of embroiling him with his own countrymen; therefore the reader must smile at this principle of rewarding vice and punishing virtue; it is what Ravenshoe pretends to be--something novel. The extreme dissatisfaction of the public with this volume calls imperatively for a satisfactory conclusion to it, consequently a sequel is now presented in what the Australians call the most 'bloody dingo[6] politeful' manner. CHAPTER I. A small boy with a dirty face met another small boy similarly caparisoned. Said the first: 'Eech! you don' know how much twicet two is?'