onto my ear. The music seized; and a regiment of Jarsey Muskeeters, all
armed to the teeth and wearin' cowhide butes, marched single-file into
my open window.

The Kernal, a gray-headed old war-worn vetenary, alited from his hoss,
and tide the animal to the bed-post.

The Commander then mounted ontop of the wash-stand, and helpin' hisself
to a chaw of tobacker out of my box, which lay aside him, the old
scoundrel commenced firin' his tobacker juice in my new white hat. "See
here, Kernal," said I, somewhat riled at seein' him make a spittoon of
my best 'stove-pipe,' "if it's all the same to you, spose'n you eject
your vile secretion out of the winder."

"Cork up, old man," said the impudent raskle, "or ile spit on ye and
drown you."

All about the room the privates were sacreligously misusing my property.

One red-headed old Muskeeter, who was so full of somebody's blood he
couldn't hardly waddle, was seated in the rockin'-chair, and with my
specturcols on his nose, was readin' a copy of PUNCHINELLO, and laffin'
as if heed bust.

Another chap had got my jack-nife, and was amusin' hisself by slashin'
holes in my bloo cotton umbreller, which two other Muskeeters had shoved
up, and was a settin' under, engaged in tyin' my panterloon legs into
hard nots.

Another scallawag had jammed my coat part way into my butes, and was