"Still mad with terror at his grievous plight, He lifts a foot, as though to kick at last; When, lo! his leg goes through an op'ning slight, And there two wiry circles hold it fast. "He plunges, staggers, tries to tear the bands Which make that woman's Skeleton complete; Then reeleth blindly unto where she stands, And falls in helpless bondage at her feet!" When the poor tool of tyranny was released from this terrific skeleton, he looked as bewildered as one who had just returned from the outskirts of civilization; but still his fiendish taste for trunk-inspection was not conquered. He returned to the edge of the wardrobe abyss, drew forth an immense white article, and says he: "Do my spectacles relate a fiction, or is this indeed a Sibley tent for the use of the Confederacy?" At this moment the excellent young woman hastily snatched the article away from him, and says she: "You nasty thing, that's my"--here she blushed. At times, my boy, woman's blush is the imperial banner of virgin Modesty thrown out to catch the breeze that wafts the sound of coming rescue, and means: "_God is my defence._" At other times, it is the eloquent protest of a fine intelligence which deprecates the test that would turn all its hidden beauties to the public eye, and means: _Humility is born of Genius._ But in this case, it was the lurid flush of anger, and meant--_a petticoat_. Not wishing to further betray the reproachful fact that he was an unmarried Mackerel, Sergeant O'Pake closed the trunk with emphasis, and permitted the triumphant young woman of America to trip it lightly to the South.