As I lounged, after tea, in the vestibule of the reading-room, an eccentric citizen of Arkansas varied the entertainment.  A short, thin man, of the cracker type, swarthy, long-bearded, and untidy, he was dressed in well-worn civilian costume, with the exception of an old blue coat showing dim remnants of military garniture.  Heeling up to a gentleman who sat near me, he glared stupidly at him from beneath a broad-brimmed hat, demanding a seat mutely, but with such eloquence of oscillation that no words were necessary.  The respectable person thus addressed, not anxious to receive the stranger into his lap, rose and walked away, with that air of not, having seen anything so common to disconcerted people who wish to conceal their disturbance.  Into the vacant place dropped the stranger, stretching out his feet, throwing his head back against the wall, and half closing his eyes with the drunkard’s own leer of self-sufficiency.  During a few moments of agonizing suspense the world waited.  Then from those whiskey-scorched and tobacco-stained lips came a long, shrill “Yee-p!”

It was his exordium; it demanded the attention of the company; and though he had it not, he continued:—­

“I’m an Arkansas man, I am.  I’m a big su-gar planter, I am.  All right!  Go a’ead!  I own fifty niggers, I do.  Yee-p!”

He lifted both feet and slammed them on the floor energetically, pausing for a reply.  He had addressed all men; no one responded, and he went on:—­

“I’m for straightout, immedit shession, I am.  I go for ’staining coursh of Sou’ Car’lina, I do.  I’m ready to fight for Sou’ Car’lina.  I’m a Na-po-le-on Bonaparte.  All right!  Go a’ead!  Yee-p!  Fellahs don’t know me here.  I’m an Arkansas man, I am.  Sou’ Car’lina won’t kill an Arkansas man.  I’m an immedit shessionist.  Hurrah for Sou’ Car’lina!  All right!  Yee-p!”

There was a lingering, caressing accent on his “I am,” which told how dear to him was his individuality, drunk or sober.  He looked at no one; his hat was drawn over his eyes; his hands were deep in his pockets; his feet did all needful gesturing.  I stepped in front of him to get a fuller view of his face, and the action aroused his attention.  He surveyed my gray Inverness wrapper and gave me a chuckling nod of approbation.

“How are ye, Bub?  I like that blanket, I do.”

In spite of this noble stranger’s goodwill and prowess, we still found Fort Sumter a knotty question.  In a country which for eighty years has not seen a shot fired in earnest, it is not wonderful that a good deal of ignorance should exist concerning military matters, and that second-class plans should be hatched for taking a first-class fortification.  While I was in Charleston, the most popular proposition was to bombard continuously for two whole days and nights, thereby demoralizing the garrison by depriving it of sleep and causing it to surrender at the first