Fairly and benignantly shone the blessed sun over valley and hill on the morning of that recent memorable day when I scaled the architectural heights of my Gothic Pegasus, and turned his front-elevation toward the Mackerel camp before the much-banged City of Paris. Brightly gleamed the fluted roof of my ancient pile of a steed as he went blithely forward on three legs, keeping one in reserve in case of accident: joyous was the alacrity with which he waltzed an imitative earthquake and tossed his child's-coffin of a head. The exhilaration of the motion, the proud sense of being borne again, might ultimately have plunged me into a delicious dream of being divided into two parts, my boy, had I not suddenly discovered, on the road-side, some twenty yards ahead of me, the figure of a being seated upon a camp-stool. Hastily dismounting from my architectural animal, and tying him to an oak in such a manner that he presented somewhat the perspective of a modest country church with a tree before the door, I stole carefully upon the being in my front, and found it to be the Conservative Kentucky chap, engaged in the muscular game of "Bluff" with himself. His venerable hat, my boy, sat far down over his ears, like some shabby bird of night just stooping to carry off two oysters; a curious antiquity in the shape of a black stock loomed gloomily under his chin, as a memorial sepulchre in which some departed collar was supposed to be sacredly entombed; his face was toward Kentucky, and in his hands he was vivaciously shuffling a number of cards. "Hum, hem!" soliloquized the Conservative Kentucky chap, complacently--"ten of spades--king of diamonds--king of hearts--ace of clubs--ace of hearts--ace of"-- Here the Conservative Kentucky chap uttered an absolutely startling cough and, at the same instant, passed three of the aces up his left sleeve! "Yes," said the Conservative Kentucky chap, still to himself, "the pasteboards are all right--hem!--it's your deal. Ah! ten is it?--I'll go twenty better--forty--sixty! Hem! Ace and two Kings is it? Look here--three aces! Good-night, gents."--and the Conservative Kentucky chap at once sang, with triumphant and great effect: "Four years the war have looked upon, But haven't brought the end meant; Nor anything except the Constitutional Amendment; Oh, Kentucky! an't this a go, Kentucky? Oh, Kentucky! an awful blow, Kentucky!" As the last note of exquisite melody died away upon the air, I slapped him on the shoulder, and says I: "Well done, my son of Hoyle!" The Conservative Kentucky chap sprang wildly to his feet, my boy, simultaneously "making a pass" of the cards into his pocket, and commenced dancing insanely before me with a view of hiding from my notice the four of clubs, which he had dropped to the ground and was anxious to conceal in the mud.