mind. He could not recollect it, and replied, "I was thinking of something else. It won't do to let to-morrow take care of itself. Your good merchant don't think of the ships that are in, but those that are to come in. The evil of to-day is irreparable. Look ahead to avoid breakers. You can't when your ship is on them. All you can then do is to save yourself and retrieve disaster. I was thinking of something else when I threw the sergeant's cigar away." And then he added, laughing, "Did I do that, really?" a smoker as Grant, but very unlike him in his at his head-quarters in Nashville, Rousseau enstyle of smoking. Grant smokes as if he endeavored to recall this occurrence to Sherman's joyed his cigar. Sherman smokes as if it were a duty to be finished in the shortest imaginable time. Grant will smoke lying back in his chair, his body and mind evidently in repose, his countenance calm and settled. He blows the smoke slowly from his mouth, and builds his plans and thoughts in the clouds which are formed by it about his head. He smokes his tobacco as the Chinese do their opium, and with that certain sort of oblivious disregard for every thing else which it is said characterizes the opium smoker. He enjoys his mild Havana in quiet dignity, half-smoking, half-chewing it. Sherman puffs furiously, as if his cigar was of the worst character of "penny grabs" and would not "draw." He snatches it frequently, and, one might say, furiously, from his mouth, brushing the ashes off with his forefinger. He continually paces the floor while smoking, generally deep in thought of important matters, doubtless; but a lookeron would imagine that he was endeavoring to solve the question of how to draw smoke through his cigar. He seldom or never finishes it, leav-lips, but he suffers its fire occasionally to die ing at least one half of it a stump. When he used to frequent the Associated Press rooms at Louisville, in 1861, he would often accumulate and leave upon the agent's table as many as eight or ten of these stumps, which the porter of the rooms used to call "Sherman's old soldiers." On the battle-field where he commands Sherman presents a somewhat different appearance from the Sherman before described. His nervous manner is toned down. He grits his teeth, and his lips are closed more firmly, giving an expression of greater determination to his countenance. His eyes are somewhat closed, as if endeavoring to see the furthermost limits of the battle-field, and, as it were, peer into the future and see the result. His cigar is between his out. He is less restless of body; his arms are more confined to their proper limits; and he is content to stay in one spot. He talks less at such moments than at calmer ones. During the battle of Shiloh, while hotly engaged, near the log church which gave its name to the battle-field, Sherman met a brigade of Buell's fresh troops moving forward to his support, and hastily asked whose troops they were. Rousseau, who commanded the brigade, rode hastily through the line to meet Sherman, who had been dismounted by the fire of the enemy for the third time, and had one wounded arm in a sling, while his face was blackened by the fire of his own artillery. "Rousseau's brigade,” said that officer-"your old troops, General Sherman.” At the mention of his name Rousseau's men, who had made their first campaign under Sherman, recognized him. "There's old Sherman," ran along their lines, and in an instant more there broke above the din of the battle three loud ringing cheers for "Old Sherman." Sherman took no notice of the cheers at the time; but his subsequent report of the battle showed that he was not oblivious to the compliment. At the moment he simply ordered the brigade forward. It was about the time the rebels began falling back, and soon the advance thus ordered became a pursuit of the foe. Even until long after Anderson's assumption of command at Louisville the agent of the New Orleans papers continued sending his telegrams for the rebel papers to New Orleans. This man was a rabid secessionist, and disliked Sherman exceedingly. He used to say of him that he smoked as some men whistled-"for want of thought." This is undoubtedly a mistake; for close observers say that, while smoking, Sherman is deepest absorbed in thought. He is certainly, when smoking, almost totally oblivious to what is going on around him. This peculiar absence of mind had an excellent illustration in a circumstance which occurred at Lebanon Junction, Kentucky, when first occupied by Sherman and the Home Guards. While walking up and down the railroad platform at that place, awaiting the repair of the telegraph line to Louisville, Sherman's cigar gave out. He immediately took another from his pocket, and approaching the orderly-sergeant of the "Marion Zouaves"-one of the Home Guard companies-asked for a light. The sergeant had only a moment before lighted his cigar, and With the personal appearance of General Shertaking a puff or two to improve the fire, he hand-man the public are but little acquainted. Very ed it, with a bow, to the General. Sherman carefully lighted his weed, took a puff or two to assure himself, and having again lapsed into his train of thought, abstractedly threw away the sergeant's cigar. Rousseau and several other officers were standing by at the time, and laughed heartily at the incident; but Sherman was too deeply buried in thought to notice the laughter or mishap. Three years subsequently, few full-length pictures of him have been made. Of the numerous engravings and photographs which have been published since he became famous very few are good likenesses, and none conveys a proper idea of his general appearance. The best photograph which the writer has seen of him is the one by Brady, from which the accompanying engraving is made. The outlines of the features are given with great accuracy, He has by the success of his later grand campaigns fully established his originality, and has added to the theory and art and history of war two of its most interesting chapters. The campaign of Atlanta was prosecuted on a plan a new system of warfare but even to new sys tems of tactics. Never before in the history of war had an army been known to be constantly under fire for one hundred consecutive days. Men whom three years of service had made vet fighting they had never heard of before. The whole army became at once from necessity pioneers and sharp-shooters. and any one familiar with the General's physiognomy will pronounce it a faithful likeness, though the position in which the subject sat serves to conceal the extreme Romanism of his nose. The expression is that of Sherman in a good-humor. He seldom has such a self-satis-as extensive as bold, and gave rise not only to fied air. A critical observer of the picture in question would remark that Sherman has done in this case what he seldom takes time or has inclination to do, and has given the artist a special sitting. He has “made himself up" for the occasion. If the critic were one of Sher-erans learned during that campaign a system of man's soldiers he would notice the absence from his lips of the inevitable cigar. The coat, it will be observed, is buttoned across the breast, and is the chief fault of the engraving, for Sherman seldom or never buttons his coat either across his breast or around his waist. His vest is always buttoned by the lower button only, and, fitting close around his waist, adds to his appearance of leanness. It is doubtful if at this time any one can be found, except the General's tailor, who can tell when his coat was new. He appears to have an aversion to new clothes, and has never been seen in complete suit or heard in creaking boots. It may be said that he nev-utation as an original strategist. er conforms to the regulations in respect to the color of his suit; for the uniform he generally wears has lost its original color, and is of that dusty and rusty tinge, and with that lack of gloss which follows constant use. The march through Georgia is still the wonder of the campaign of 1864, filled as it was with strange events and startling and original movements. Undertaken with deliberation and from choice, it is now recognized as the boldest movement of the war. Its originality may be said to have insured its success. It was so startling and unexpected to the enemy that he could take no steps to oppose it. On these successes Sherman could have with safety risked his rep HEARTS AND TREES. One would readily FROM laughing lips of gray-eyed morn imagine, judging by its appearance, that he purchased his uniform second-hand. The hat which he generally wears is of the same order of faded "regulation," with the crown invariably puffed out instead of being pushed in, in the “Burnside style." The regulation cord and tassel he does not recognize at all. With the exception of his eyes none of the features of Sherman's countenance are indicative of his character. Altogether he is commonplace in appearance, neither excessively handsome nor painfully repulsive, and attracts less notice than his peculiar style of dress. At the same time divest him of his regulations, and in a crowd his face would attract attention and afford a study. His eyes, conforming to his general character, are as restless as his body or mind. They are rather of a dull though light color, their restlessness giving them whatever they possess of brilliancy and animation. His lips close firmly and closely, and with the deep lines running from his nostrils to either corner of his mouth, give to the lower half of his face an air of decision indicative of his character. His hands are long, slender, and tapering, like those of a woman, and are in admirable keeping with his figure. His short, crisp whiskers, which grow unshaven, and which appear to be stunted in growth, are of a dingy red, or what is commonly called "sandy" color. He takes very little care of his whiskers and hair, each having to be content with one careless brushing a day. has, perhaps, as great a disregard for his personal appearance as he has for what others may say or think of him. He A fresher tide of life is gushing; Lifting me up, the weight of Spring; My spirit seems awakening. Aught of a tidal ebb and flow? Intense or subtle, less or more; With death and darkness world all o'er. In youth we seek to carve our name Deep-lettered on some hearts of worth, Till Time restoreth earth to earth: But hail this knowledge with a smile; So swift to hide our memories! IT OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. BY CHARLES DICKENS. IN FOUR BOOKS.-BOOK THE THIRD. A LONG LANE. CHAPTER I. LODGERS IN QUEER STREET. was a foggy day in London, and the fog was heavy and dark. Animate London, with smarting eyes and irritated lungs, was blinking, wheezing, and choking; inanimate London was a sooty spectre, divided in purpose between being visible and invisible, and so being wholly neither. Gaslights flared in the shops with a haggard and unblessed air, as knowing themselves to be night-creatures that had no business abroad under the sun; while the sun itself, when it was for a few moments dimly indicated through cireling eddies of fog, showed as if it had gone out and were collapsing flat and cold. Even in the surrounding country it was a foggy day, but there the fog was gray, whereas in London it was, at about the boundary line, dark yellow, and a little within it brown, and then browner, and then browner, until at the heart of the City -which call Saint Mary Axe-it was rusty black. From any point of the high ridge of land northward, it might have been discerned that the loftiest buildings made an occasional struggle to get their heads above the foggy sea, and especially that the great dome of Saint Paul's seemed to die hard; but this was not perceivable in the streets at their feet, where the whole metropolis was a heap of vapor charged with muffled sound of wheels, and enfolding a gigantic catarrh. At nine o'clock on such a morning, the place of business of Pubsey and Co. was not the liveliest object even in Saint Mary Axe-which is not a very lively spot-with a sobbing gaslight in the counting-house window, and a burglarious stream of fog creeping in to strangle it through the keyhole of the main door. But the light went out, and the main door opened, and Riah came forth with a bag under his arm. Almost in the act of coming out at the door Riah went into the fog, and was lost to the eyes of Saint Mary Axe. But the eyes of this history can follow him westward, by Cornhill, Cheapside, Fleet Street, and the Strand, to Piccadilly and the Albany. Thither he went at his grave and measured pace, staff in hand, skirt at heel; and more than one head, turning to look back at his venerable figure already lost in the mist, supposed it to be some ordinary figure indistinctly seen, which fancy and the fog had worked into that passing likeness. Arrived at the house in which his master's chambers were on the second-floor, Riah proceeded up the stairs, and paused at Fascination Fledgeby's door. Making free with neither bell nor knocker, he struck upon the door with the top of his staff, and, having listened, sat down on the threshold. It was characteristic of his habitual submission, that he sat down on the raw dark staircase, as many of his ancestors had probably sat down in dungeons, taking what befell him as it might befall. After a time, when he had grown so cold as to be fain to blow upon his fingers, he arose and knocked with his staff again, and listened again, and again sat down to wait. Thrice he repeated these actions before his listening ears were greeted by the voice of Fledgeby, calling from his bed, "Hold your row! I'll come and open the door directly!" But in lieu of coming directly, he fell into a sweet sleep for some quarter of an hour more, during which added interval Riah sat upon the stairs and waited with perfect patience. At length the door stood open, and Mr. Fledgeby's retreating drapery plunged into bed again. Following it at a respectful distance, Riah passed into the bedchamber, where a fire had been sometime lighted, and was burning briskly. "Why, what time of night do you mean to call it?" inquired Fledgeby, turning away beneath the clothes, and presenting a comfortable rampart of shoulder to the chilled figure of the old man. "Sir, it is full half past ten in the morning." "The deuce it is! Then it must be precious foggy?" 66 Very foggy, Sir." "And raw, then?" "All right. I'll turn the general subject over in my mind for a minute or two, and while I'm about it you can empty your bag and get ready for me." With another comfortable plunge Mr. Fledgeby fell asleep again. The old man, having obeyed his directions, sat down on the edge of a chair, and, folding his hands before him, gradually yielded to the influence of the warmth, and dozed. He was roused by Mr. Fledgeby's appearing erect at the foot of the bed, in Turkish slippers, rose-colored Turkish trowsers (got cheap from somebody who had cheated some other somebody out of them), and a gown and cap to correspond. In that costume he would have left nothing to be desired, if he had been further fitted out with a bottomless chair, a lantern, and a bunch of matches. "Now, old 'un!" cried Fascination, in his light raillery, "what dodgery are you up to next, sitting there with your eyes shut? You ain't asleep. Catch a weasel at it, and catch a Jew!" "Truly, Sir, I fear I nodded," said the old man. "Not you!" returned Fledgeby, with a cunning look. "A telling move with a good many, I dare say, but it won't put me off my guard. Not a bad notion though, if you want to look indifferent in driving a bargain. Oh, you are a dodger!" The old man shook his head, gently repudiating the imputation, and suppressed a sigh, and moved to the table at which Mr. Fledgeby was now pouring out for himself a cup of steaming and fragrant coffee from a pot that had stood ready on the hob. It was an edifying spectacle, the young man in his easy-chair taking his coffee, and the old man with his gray head bent, standing awaiting his pleasure. "Now!" said Fledgeby. "Fork out your balance in hand, and prove by figures how you make it out that it ain't more. First of all, light that candle." Riah obeyed, and then taking a bag from his breast, and referring to the sum in the accounts for which they made him responsible, told it out upon the table. Fledgeby told it again with great care, and rang every sovereign. "I suppose," he said, taking one up to eye it closely, "you haven't been lightening any of these; but it's a trade of your people's, you know. You understand what sweating a pound means; don't you?" "Much as you do, Sir," returned the old man, with his hands under opposite cuffs of his loose sleeves, as he stood at the table, deferentially observant of the master's face. 66 'May I take the liberty to say something?" “You may,” Fledgeby graciously conceded. "Do you not, Sir-without intending it—of a surety without intending it-sometimes mingle the character I fairly earn in your employment with the character which it is your policy that I should bear?" "I don't find it worth my while to cut things so fine as to go into the inquiry," Fascination coolly answered. "Not in justice?" "Bother justice!" said Fledgeby. "Not in generosity ?" "Jews and generosity!" said Fledgeby. "That's a good connection! Bring out your vouchers, and don't talk Jerusalem palaver." The vouchers were produced, and for the next half hour Mr. Fledgeby concentrated his sublime attention on them. They and the accounts were all found correct, and the books and the papers resumed their places in the bag. "Next," said Fledgeby, "concerning that bill-broking branch of the business; the branch I like best. What queer bills are to be bought, and at what prices? You have got your list of what's in the market ?" "Sir, a long list," replied Riah, taking out a pocket-book, and selecting from its contents a folded paper, which, being unfolded, became a sheet of foolscap covered with close writing. "Whew!" whistled Fledgeby, as he took it in his hand. "Queer Street is full of lodgers just at present! These are to be disposed of in parcels; are they?" "In parcels as set forth," returned the old man, looking over his master's shoulder; "or the lump." "Half the lump will be waste-paper, one knows beforehand," said Fledgeby. "Can you get it at waste-paper price? That's the question." Riah shook his head, and Fledgeby cast his small eyes down the list. They presently began to twinkle, and he no sooner became conscious of their twinkling, than he looked up over his shoulder at the grave face above him, and moved to the chimney-piece. Making a desk of it, he stood there with his back to the old man, warming his knees, perusing the list at his leisure, and often returning to some lines of it, as though they were particularly interesting. At those times he glanced in the chimney-glass to see what note the old man took of him. He took none that could be detected, but, aware of his employer's suspicions, stood with his eyes on the ground. Mr. Fledgeby was thus amiably engaged when a step was heard at the outer door, and the door was heard to open hastily. "Hark! That's your doing, you Pump of Israel," said Fledgeby; "you can't have shut it." Then the step was heard within, and the voice of Mr. Alfred Lammle called aloud, "Are you any where here, Fledgeby?" To which Fledgeby, after cautioning Riah in a low voice to take his cue as it should be given him, replied, "Here I am!" and opened his bedroom door. "Come in!" said Fledgeby. "This gentleman is only Pubsey and Co. of Saint Mary Axe, that I am trying to make terms for an unfortunate friend with in a matter of some dishonored bills. But really Pubsey and Co. are so strict with their debtors, and so hard to move, that I seem to be wasting my time. Can't I make any terms with you on my friend's part, Mr. Riah?" "I am but the representative of another, Sir," returned the Jew, in a low voice. "I do as I am bidden by my principal. It is not my capital that is invested in the business. It is not my profit that arises therefrom." "Ha ha!" laughed Fledgeby. "Lammle?" "Ha ha!" laughed Lammle. "Yes. Of course. We know." "Devilish good, ain't it, Lammle?" said Fledgeby, unspeakably amused by his hidden estly as at the first expressive side, and then joke. looked at Lammle, who responded with another "Always the same, always the same!" said extensive sweep of his right arm. Lammle. "Mr.-" "Riah, Pubsey, and Co., Saint Mary Axe," Fledgeby put in, as he wiped away the tears that trickled from his eyes, so rare was his enjoyment of his secret joke. "Mr. Riah is bound to observe the invariable forms for such cases made and provided," said Lammle. "He is only the representative of another!" cried Fledgeby. "Does as he is told by his principal! Not his capital that's invested in the business. Oh, that's good! Ha ha ha ha!" Mr. Lammle joined in the laugh and looked knowing; and the more he did both, the more exquisite the secret joke became for Mr. Fledgeby. "However," said that fascinating gentleman, wiping his eyes again, "if we go on in this way we shall seem to be almost making game of Mr. Riah, or of Pubsey and Co., Saint Mary Axe, or of somebody which is far from our intention. Mr. Riah, if you would have the kindness to step into the next room for a few moments while I speak with Mr. Lammle here, I should like to try to make terms with you once again before you go." : "Whose doing is this?" said Fledgeby. "Impossible to imagine," said Lammle. "Perhaps," suggested Fledgeby, after reflecting with a very discontented brow, "somebody has been giving you a bad character." "Or you," said Lammle, with a deeper frown. Mr. Fledgeby appeared to be on the verge of some mutinous expressions, when his hand happened to touch his nose. A certain remembrance connected with that feature operating as a timely warning, he took it thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger and pondered; Lammle meanwhile eying him with furtive eyes. "Well!" said Fledgeby. "This won't improve with talking about. If we ever find out who did it we'll mark that person. There's nothing more to be said, except that you undertook to do what circumstances prevent your doing." "And that you undertook to do what you might have done by this time if you had made a prompter use of circumstances," snarled Lammle. "Hah! That," remarked Fledgeby, with his hands in the Turkish trowsers, "is matter of opinion." "Mr. Fledgeby," said Lammle, in a bullying tone, "am I to understand that you in any way reflect upon me, or hint dissatisfaction with me, The old man, who had never raised his eyes during the whole transaction of Mr. Fledgeby's joke, silently bowed and passed out by the door which Fledgeby opened for him. Having closed it on him, Fledgeby returned to Lammle, stand-in this affair?" ing with his back to the bedroom fire, with one hand under his coat-skirts, and all his whiskers in the other. "Halloa!" said Fledgeby. "There's something wrong!" "How do you know it ?" demanded Lammle. “Because you show it,” replied Fledgeby in unintentional rhyme. "Well then; there is," said Lammle; "there is something wrong; the whole thing's wrong." "No," said Fledgeby; "provided you have brought my promissory note in your pocket, and now hand it over." Lammle produced it, not without reluctance. Fledgeby looked at it, identified it, twisted it up, and threw it into the fire. They both looked at it as it blazed, went out, and flew in feathery ash up the chimney. "Now, Mr. Fledgeby," said Lammle, as before; "am I to understand that you in any way "I say!" remonstrated Fascination very slow-reflect upon me, or hint dissatisfaction with me, ly, and sitting down with his hands on his knees in this affair?" to stare at his glowering friend with his back to the fire. "I tell you, Fledgeby," repeated Lammle, with a sweep of his right arm, "the whole thing's wrong. The game's up." "No," said Fledgeby. "Finally and unreservedly no?" "Fledgeby, my hand." Mr. Fledgeby took it, saying, "And if we "What game's up?" demanded Fledgeby, as ever find out who did this, we'll mark that perslowly as before, and more sternly. "THE game. OUR game. Read that." Fledgeby took a note from his extended hand and read it aloud. "Alfred Lammle, Esquire. Sir: Allow Mrs. Podsnap and myself to express our united sense of the polite attentions of Mrs. Alfred Lammle and yourself toward our daughter, Georgiana. Allow us also wholly to reject them for the future, and to communicate our final desire that the two families may become entire strangers. I have the honor to be, Sir, your most obedient and very humble servant, JOHN PODSNAP." Fledgeby looked at the three blank sides of this note, quite as long and earn son. And in the most friendly manner let me mention one thing more. I don't know what your circumstances are, and I don't ask. You have sustained a loss here. Many men are liable to be involved at times, and you may be, or you may not be. But whatever you do, Lammle, don't-don't-don't, I beg of you-ever fall into the hands of Pubsey and Co. in the next room, for they are grinders. Regular flayers and grinders, my dear Lammle," repeated Fledgeby with a peculiar relish, "and they'll skin you by the inch, from the nape of your neck to the sole of your foot, and grind every inch of your skin to tooth-powder. You have seen what Mr. Riah |