They were now nearing the city, and the “Two Marys” having been left far astern, the squadron put about, preparatory to setting the major on board his own ship, which was done without the firing of a gun, and with as much caution as if they had been handling eggs of a venerable age.  It must however be said for the credit of the military profession, that the major never relaxed one iota of his gallantry, and left the yacht with many kind remembrances for the ladies, especially Miss Flora, whose beauty he declared he had never seen excelled, though he had read all Mrs. Southworth’s novels by candle light.  It ought also to be mentioned that one of the officers, seeing his necessities, and being a man of a philanthropic turn, gave him a pair of breeches, with a stripe down the side.  And with these the major consoled himself that he had at least parted friends with the Yacht Club, and that, after all, there was no great loss without some small gain.

The squadron executed a maneuver, fired two guns, and parted company with the “Two Marys,” as, with seven days’ news from Barnstable, she neared Peck Slip, and made fast to a wharf, on which was assembled a very dejected looking throng of people.  Those fortunate enough to have hats took them off, and began cheering in the wildest manner, whilst the more respectable, whose raiment was of an exceedingly damp description, and had been used at night for beds, took to using their hands upon the heads of their neighbors.  Here and there a philosophical policeman was seen, with his hands in his pockets.  “Heavens!” said I to myself, “instead of being on the road to fame, we have fallen among vagabonds, who will plunder us!” But I was relieved of my fears by being informed that they were all honest voters, who, though they had not a shirt to their backs, took righteous good care of the city’s affairs.

When it became known that the major and myself were really on board, there was a great firing of guns, and such other demonstrations of welcome as made the major glad at heart; for he had changed his nether garments, and was now sure the news of what had so recently befallen him had not reached New York.  There now came on board four flabby men, dreamy of countenance, and whose dilapidated garments bespoke them persons of menial occupations.  But as neither St. Paul, nor Alexander the Great, nor Henry Ward Beecher, (who, I take it, is as great a man as either of them, and will leave more portraits of himself than both,) never dressed according to their “circumstances,” so these four flabby men, the major thought, must not be judged by the condition of their raiment, for it was nothing new to see great men shabbily dressed.