Loud ring the bugles, my boy, on either side, as when two chivalrous cocks crow defiance to each other from neighboring roosts; and presently two rival circus-companies met in tremendous collision with two-up and two-down, two over and two under: guard--parry--feint--thrust! Twick, thwack, slam, bang; click-click, click-click, click-click; chip, chop, higgledy-piggledy, crush, crowd, and helter-skelter. "Let me get at you, foul Hessian!" roared the hairy Munchausen, with his horse hopping sideways in every direction. "Die in thy sins!" shouted the excited Samyule, taking a slide toward his charger's ears, as that spirited animal ecstatically waved his hinder feet in the air. "Coward, thou would'st fly me!" ejaculated Munchausen, just as his Arabian got a-straddle of a caisson. "You are my prisoner!" thundered Samyule, endeavoring to restrain his blooded courser from climbing a tree near by. "Beg for your life!" howled Munchausen, frantically clasping his arms about the neck of his Hambletonian colt as they went skipping against an ambulance together. "Say thy last prayer!" yelled Samyule, backing frenziedly into the middle of the Christian Commission. "This to thy heart!" screamed Munchausen, disappearing in a ditch. "Victory!" ejaculated Samyule, rolling down a hill. And the second day's fighting was ended. Night again upon the battle-field. The wearied soldier, as he seeks a few hours of repose upon the damp and dreary ground, wonders what the people of the great patriotic cities will think of the battle of the day; whether they are indeed unspeakably proud and fond of the men perilling and losing their lives that the nation may live? Oh, believe it, thou most innocent of heroes; for is it not so written in all our excellent morning journals? Put no trust in the Satyrs who tell thee that thy countrymen at home, in the exultation of victory, hold thee only as an unconsidered part of the dumb and blind machine which hoists thy captain to eminence. Yet would I have thee turn thy fairest hope, thy perfect faith, to that one spot of all the world where kneels to-night some fond, familiar form; where loving hands are humbly uplifted for an absent one, and quivering lips implore, Almighty Father, guard him still! Now tremble, earth, and shake, ye friendly spheres, for the Mackerel Brigade, glittering with spectacles and gorgeous with red neckties and gold watches, advances for a third round with the unblushing Confederacies of Paris, several of whom are on the roof with duck-guns in their hands and slaughter in their hearts. As I gaze upon the wonderful scene through my bit of smoked glass, the Orange County Howitzers burst into a roar, not unlike a Dutch chorus, and the sun is in momentary danger of being hit.