"I'm supporting the Constitution," says Samyule, breathlessly, "I'm a conservative, and--." Here Samyule tumbled over something and fell flat on his stomach. "By all that's blue!" says Villiam, frantically, "why the thunder don't somebody shoot that unnatural dog!" I looked, my boy, and beheld it was my frescoed canine, Bologna, who had run between the legs of the fallen warrior, with the remains of a captured Confederate chicken. I whistled, my boy, and the faithful creature angled towards me with mitigated ears. "I'm supporting the Constitution," repeated Samyule, rising to his feet and examining a small, black bottle to see if anything had spilt, "I'm a conservative, and have left the field to restore this here misguided contraband to his owner, which is a inoffensive rebel. War," says Samyule, convincingly, "does not affect the Constitution." "Ah!" says Villiam, "that's very true. Take the African chasseur to his proper master, and tell him that the United States does not war against the rights of man." Now it happened, my boy, that the withdrawal of this force to carry out the Constitution, so weakened the Advance Guard, that the Southern Confederacy commenced to gain ground, and Villiam was obliged to form Company 3, Regiment 5, in line immediately, for a charge to the rescue. He got the splendid _corps_ to leave the distillery where they were quartered, for a few minutes, and says he: "There's beings for you, my nice little boy! Here's veteran centurions for you." "Yes," says I, admiringly. "I never saw so many red noses together before, in all my life." "Ah!" says Villiam, dreamily, "there's nary red about them, except their noses. And now," says Villiam, "you will see me lead a charge destined to cover six pages in the future history of our distracted country." "Soldiers of the Potomac!" says Villiam, drawing his sword, and hastily sharpening it on the left profile of his geometrical steed, "your comrades are engaging nine hundred and fifty thousand demoralized and routed rebels, and you are called upon to charge bayonets. Follow me." Not a man moved, my boy. Many of them had families, and more were engaged to be married to the women of America. They were brave but not rash. Villiam drew his breath, and says he: "The United States of America, born on the Fourth of July, 1776, calls upon you to charge bayonets, Come on, my brave flowers of manhood!" Here a fearless chap stepped out of the ranks, and says he: "In consequence of the heavy dew which fell this morning, the roads is impassable." Villiam remained silent, my boy, and drooped his proud head. Could nothing induce those devoted patriots to strike for the forlorn hope? Suddenly, a glow of inspiration came over his face, he rose in his saddle like a flash, waved his sword toward the foe, and shouted-- "I know you now, my veterans! The day is hot, yonder lies our road, and--my peerless Napoleons," said Villiam, frenziedly: "COME AND TAKE A DRINK!"