Sustaining himself against the fierce evening breeze by
holding firmly to both shoulders of his nephew, this striking apparition
regards the two young men with as much austerity as is consistent with
the flapping of the cape of his sun-bonnet.
"Gentlelemons," he says, with painful syllabic distinctness, "can I
believe my ears? Are you already making journalists of yourselves?"
They hang their heads in shame under the merciless but just accusation.
"Here you are," continues BUMSTEAD, "a quartette of young fellows who
should all be friends. NEDS, NEDS! I am ashamed of you! MONTGOMERIES,
you should not let your angry passions rise; for your little hands were
never made to bark and bite." After this, Mr. BUMSTEAD seems lost for a
moment, and reclines upon his nephew, with his eyes closed in
meditation. "But let's all five of us go up to my room," he finally
adds, "and restore friendship with lemon tea. It is time for the North
and South to be reconciled over something hot. Come."
Leaning upon both of them now, and pushing them into a walk, he
exquisitely turns the refrain of the rejected National Hymn--
"'Twas by a mistake that we lost Bull Bun,
When we all skedaddled to Washington,
And we'll all drink atone blind,
Johnny fill up the bowl?"
Thus he artfully employs music to soothe their sectional animosities,
and only skips into the air once as they walk, with a "Whoop! That was
something _like_ a snake!"
Arriving in his room, the door of which he has had some trouble in
opening, on account of the knob having wandered in his absence to the
wrong side, Mr.
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