ing several officers of his army from the service ough-bred gentleman. Hooker has energy equal for various reasons. Among the number was to Grant; but he has not Grant's patience, stoiGeneral Hooker, dismissed, as might naturally cism, or imperturbability. He is not content, be supposed, for having criticised the action of like Grant, to wait for results. His strength lies his commanding General at Fredericksburg. in his momentum; Grant's in his weight. It The order, which was known as "General Or- was perhaps because Hooker so nearly resembles der No. 8," was not carried into effect, and only him, and because Howard had such opposite saw the light through the treachery of a clerk characteristics, that Sherman preferred the latin the Adjutant-General's office of the army. ter as commander of the Army of the TennesOn the contrary, Burnside soon after resigned see. Howard and Hooker have certain qualiand Hooker assumed command of his army. ties in common, but yet are as different in organization as Sherman and Howard. Howard is, like Hooker, a finished gentleman. No one meeting him can fail to notice that both are equally graceful, equally handsome, equally dignified, considerate, manly, and courteous. But Howard, unlike Hooker, is exceedingly methodical, is always calm, self-possessed, and of a lymphatic rather than bilious temperament. Hooker is ever sanguine, Howard a quick worker; but it is not to be supposed that Hooker flags in his hasty labor. His energy never gives out, and he is as persistent as Thomas, more so than Sherman, and vies with Grant in this respect. Hooker left the Army of the Cumberland in consequence of having freely criticised Sherman's movements on the advance on Atlanta. The failure of Sherman to promptly follow up his success in seizing Snake Creek Gap, and to retrieve the blunder of M'Pherson on retiring before Resacca in May, 1864, was particularly provoking not only to Hooker but to every other commander who saw Joe Johnston clip through Sherman's fingers in consequence of that delay, and Hooker very freely alluded to it as a blunder. The natural consequence of this, and sub sequent instances of candid criticism on Hooker's part, was the creation of some considerable prejudice against him in Sherman's mind, and, when he found an opportunity, he took occasion to resent it. When M'Pherson was killed Hooker was left the senior Major-General in command of a corps in Sherman's army, and he naturally expected to be placed in command, the more so as the President so desired. Sherman appointed General O. O. Howard to the command, subject of course to the approval of the Commander-in-Chief. Mr. Lincoln telegraphed Sherman requesting him to appoint General Hooker, and in Sherman's reiteration of his desire to have General Howard appointed, the President urged Hooker's appointment in stronger terms. General Sherman replied that "his resignation was at the service of the President," and made it a condition of Hooker's appointment that he should be allowed to resign. The consequence was that Howard was appointed and Hooker was relieved at his own request, and sent by the President to command the Department of the Northwest. He retained this command until July last, when he was ordered to relieve General Dix, and assumed com-ity of a bull-fighting Spaniard. He was fast getmand of the Department of the East on July 15, 1865. But It is not to be supposed from what has been said about Hooker's disposition to criticise that he is of a vindictive nature. His disgust is not irrevocable. He is always ready to forgive a blunder when retrieved by a success. He is particularly constant in his friendships. There are several instances of his friendship for men, which are remembered without being remarkable except for their constancy, and as illustrating the kindness of his heart. He was particularly devoted years ago to a friend whom he made in Mexico under rather singular circumstances. During the battle of Churubusco he was sent by Pillow with an order to one of the brigade commanders. Being compelled to cross a ditched field-very common in Mexico-he went on foot, with only his sabre at his side. While crossing the field he was suddenly attacked, not by Mexican Lancers, but by a Mexican bull, who dashed unexpectedly at him. He immediately turned and gave battle in the true matador style, thrusting with his sabre whenever an opportunity offered, and springing out of the way with all the activ ting weary of the sport, however, when he saw a private of the Mounted Rifles and called on him Like most nervous men Hooker is untiringly to shoot the beast. The soldier quickly obeyed energetic. He goes at every thing, as he does orders, crossed the ditch and shot the bull, much at the enemy, with a dash. He talks at you to the relief of Hooker. The soldier immediwith vigor, piles argument on argument in rap-ately afterward disappeared, and Hooker found id succession-which requires no less vigorous it impossible to discover him, though search was thought to follow and answer-couples facts with invectives, and winds up with a grand charge of resistless eloquence which has much the same effect as the grand charge of a reserve force in battle. He works with the same rapidity-the same nervous, resistless energy, and does not know what fatigue is. He has energy equal to Sherman, and in his organization and habits is like Sherman. Hooker is the very impersonation of manly grace, dignity, delicacy—a thor made through camp for the preserver of his life. com to General Hooker; but we have chosen to use it as the heading for this article because it accurately as well as briefly describes the character of the man. It was given him by an accident, but it was a happy one; and when history comes to sum up the characteristics of our heroes, she will apply it as indicative of Hooker's character. The circumstances under which it was given are as follows: The agent of the New York Associated Press is often compelled, during exciting times, to furnish his telegraphic accounts by piecemeals, in order to enable the papers to lay the facts before the public as fast as possible; and hence, in order to number the pages correctly, he has to originate what are called "running heads," each being repeated with every page. It was common, for instance, during the trial of the conspirators at Washington, to number the pages: "Assassins, 1;""Assassins, 2," etc.; and during the removal of the President's body to Springfield the running headline was: "the Funeral, 1;" "the Funeral, 2," etc. When the account of the battle of Malvern Hill was being received by the Associated Press, there was such great excitement in the city that it even extended to the telegraph operators and copyists, who were generally proof against such fevers of excitement. In the midst of the sensation which that battle created, one of the copyists, in his admiration of the gallantry and daring of General Hooker as detailed in the report, improvised a "running head," "Fighting Joe Hooker," which was repeated page after page. Two or three of the papers adopted it as the head-line for the printed accounts, and heralded the battle under that name. The name "stuck," and has been fixed on Hooker irretrievably. Instead of accepting the title as a decree of fate, Hooker can not bear to hear it. "It always sounds to me," he once said, when allusion had been made to it, "as if it meant 'Fighting Fool.' It has really done me much injury in making the public believe I am a furious, headstrong fool, bent on making furious dashes at the enemy. I never have fought without good purpose and with fair chances of success. When I have decided to fight, I have done so with all the vigor and strength I could command." A very general idea prevails that General Hooker is a hard drinker, very often indulging to very great excess. As far as the writer's rather close observation goes, this is a mistake. It had its origin with that pestiferous class of humorists who devote their energies to the renewal of old jokes for the sake of modern application. Many of the false impressions which were afloat regarding Mr. Lincoln found their origin in the habit which the Joe Millers of the age had of crediting their stories, both witty and vulgar, to Mr. Lincoln instead of to the Irish usher as formerly. It is from these same fellows that Hooker has suffered, and threefourths of those who declare him to be a drunkard have no better foundation for the assertion than a story told as coming from Mr. Lincoln, and commending Hooker to avoid Bourbon County in his passage through Kentucky. A very excellent article of sherry forms the chief contents of his wine chest, and supplies his camptable. His style of living in camp was elegant, more from the attention of the staff officers who messed with him than from his own desire, taste, or exertions. He was always indifferent to personal comfort, though very particular as to personal appearance. His complexion may have been the origin of the stories about his drunkenness, but every one familiar with him knows that his roseate hue was natural to him. His complexion was red and white most beautifully blended, until he looks as rosy as the most healthy woman alive. His skin never tans nor bleaches, but peals off from exposure, leaving the same rosy complexion always visible. The Spanish women in the city of Mexico with whom he was a great favorite, described his complexion by an adjective, a mongrel Spanish word now forgotten, but which signified, "the only man as beautiful as a woman." El Capitan Hermoso, "the Handsome Captain," was a phrase as common with the Mexican ladies of the Mexican capital as General Hooker is now with the American ladies of New York, or "Fighting Joe" with the American public generally. El Buenmozo was another phrase among them; while more intimate admirers called him El Guero, "the LightHaired." The light-brown hair is now much tinged with gray, and El Buenmozo-the comely youth-is now, despite the ravages of time and the attractions of the Spanish and other dames, a finely preserved old bachelor. The tall, erect, muscular figure of El Capitan Hermoso has not, however, been bent or weakened by age. His physical endurance is just as great as when he marched through Mexico. He springs as nimbly into the saddle at the sound of battle as he did twenty years ago, and the full, clear eye of the commander of the Department of the East is just as bright to-day as it was when he was simply Captain and Chief of Staff to General Pillow. The great changes of the past twenty years have affected not his features but his fortunes. He has risen grade by grade, by personal gallantry, to the rank of Brigadier-General in the regular army of the United States, and is already enjoying the command of a Major-General. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. BY CHARLES DICKENS. IN FOUR BOOKS.-BOOK THE FOURTH. A TURNING. CHAPTER V. CONCERNING THE MENDICANT'S BRIDE. THE impressive gloom with which Mrs. Wil He read the letter, and faintly exclaimed, "Dear me!" "You may well say Dear me !" rejoined Mrs. Wilfer, in a deep tone. Upon which encourage THE wid on his return from ment he said it again, though scarcely with the the wedding knocked so hard at the door of the cherubic conscience, and likewise so impaired the firmness of the cherubic legs, that the culprit's tottering condition of mind and body might have aroused suspicion in less occupied persons than the grimly heroic lady, Miss Lavinia, and that esteemed friend of the family, Mr. George Sampson. But the attention of all three being fully possessed by the main fact of the marriage, they had happily none to bestow on the guilty conspirator; to which fortunate circumstance he owed the escape for which he was in nowise indebted to himself. "You do not, R. W.," said Mrs. Wilfer from her stately corner, "inquire for your daughter Bella." "To be sure, my dear," he returned, with a most flagrant assumption of unconsciousness, "I did omit it. How or perhaps I should rather say where-is Bella?" "Not here," Mrs. Wilfer proclaimed, with folded arms. The cherub faintly muttered something to the abortive effect of "Oh, indeed, my dear!" "Not here," repeated Mrs. Wilfer, in a stern sonorous voice. "In a word, R. W., you have no daughter Bella." "No daughter Bella, my dear?" "No. Your daughter Bella" said Mrs. Wilfer, with the lofty air of never having had the least copartnership in that young lady: of whom she now made reproachful mention as an article of luxury which her husband had set up entirely on his own account, and in direct opposition to her advice: "-your daughter Bella has bestowed herself upon a Mendicant." "Good gracious, my dear!" success he had expected; for the scornful lady then remarked, with extreme bitterness: "You said that before." "It's very surprising. But I suppose, my dear," hinted the cherub, as he folded the letter after a disconcerting silence, "that we must make the best of it? Would you object to my pointing out, my dear, that Mr. John Rokesmith is not (so far as I am acquainted with him), strictly speaking, a Mendicant ?" "Indeed ?" returned Mrs. Wilfer, with an awful air of politeness. "Truly so? I was not aware that Mr. John Rokesmith was a gentleman of landed property. But I am much relieved to hear it." "I doubt if you have heard it, my dear," the cherub submitted with hesitation. "Thank you," said Mrs. Wilfer. "I make false statements, it appears? So be it. If my daughter flies in my face, surely my husband may. The one thing is not more unnatural than the other. There seems a fitness in the arrangement. By all means!" Assuming, with a shiver of resignation, a deadly cheerfulness. But here the Irrepressible skirmished into the conflict, dragging the reluctant form of Mr. Sampson after her. "Ma," interposed the young lady, "I must say I think it would be much better if you would keep to the point, and not hold forth about people's flying into people's faces, which is nothing more nor less than impossible nonsense." "How!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilfer, knitting her dark brows. "Just im-possible nonsense, Ma," returned Lavvy, "and George Sampson knows it is, as well as I do." Mrs. Wilfer suddenly becoming petrified, fixed her indignant eyes upon the wretched George: who, divided between the support due from him to his love, and the support due from him to his love's mamma, supported nobody, not even himself. "Show your father his daughter Bella's letter, Lavinia," said Mrs. Wilfer, in her monotonous Act of Parliament tone, and waving her hand. "I think your father will admit it to be documentary proof of what I tell him. I believe your father is acquainted with his daughter Bella's writing. But I do not know. He may tell "The true point is," pursued Lavinia, "that you he is not. Nothing will surprise me." Bella has behaved in a most unsisterly way to "Posted at Greenwich, and dated this morn-me, and might have severely compromised me ing," said the Irrepressible, flouncing at her father in handing him the evidence. "Hopes Ma won't be angry, but is happily married to Mr. John Rokesmith, and didn't mention it beforehand to avoid words, and please tell darling you, and love to me, and I should like to know what you'd have said if any other unmarried member of the family had done it!" with George and with George's family, by making off and getting married in this very low and disreputable manner-with some pew-opener or other, I suppose, for a bridemaid-when she ought to have confided in me, and ought to have said, If, Lavvy, you consider it due to your engagement with George that you should countenance the occasion by being present, then, Lavvy, I beg you to be present, keeping my secret from | have been foolish; but I am still a little weak Ma and Pa.' As of course I should have done." and giddy; don't let go my hand, George!" "As of course you would have done? In- And whom she afterward greatly agitated at ingrate!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilfer. "Viper!" tervals, by giving utterance, when least expect"I say! You know, ma'am. Upon my honored, to a sound between a sob and a bottle of you mustn't," Mr. Sampson remonstrated, shak- soda-water, that seemed to rend the bosom of ing his head seriously. "With the highest re- her frock. spect for you, ma'am, upon my life you mustn't. No, really, you know. When a man with the feelings of a gentleman finds himself engaged to a young lady, and it comes (even on the part of a member of the family) to vipers, you know!I would merely put it to your own good feeling, you know," said Mr. Sampson, in rather lame conclusion. Mrs. Wilfer's baleful stare at the young gentleman in acknowledgment of his obliging interference was of such a nature that Miss Lavinia burst into tears, and caught him round the neck for his protection. 66 My own unnatural mother," screamed the young lady, "wants to annihilate George! But you sha'n't be annihilated, George. I'll die first!" Mr. Sampson, in the arms of his mistress, still struggled to shake his head at Mrs. Wilfer, and to remark: "With every sentiment of respect for you, you know, ma'am-vipers really doesn't do you credit." "You shall not be annihilated, George!" cried Miss Lavinia. "Ma shall destroy me first, and then she'll be contented. Oh, oh, oh! Have I lured George from his happy home to expose him to this! George, dear, be free! Leave me, ever dearest George, to Ma and to my fate. Give my love to your aunt, George dear, and implore her not to curse the viper that has crossed your path and blighted your existence. Oh, oh, th!" The young lady who, hysterically speaking, was only just come of age, and had never gone off yet, here fell into a highly creditable crisis, which, regarded as a first performance, was very successful; Mr. Sampson, bending over the body meanwhile, in a state of distraction which induced him to address Mrs. Wilfer in the inconsistent expressions: "Demon- with the highest respect for you-behold your work!" The cherub stood helplessly rubbing his chin and looking on, but on the whole was inclined to welcome this diversion as one in which, by reason of the absorbent properties of hysterics, the previous question would become absorbed. And so, indeed, it proved, for the Irrepressible gradually coming to herself, and asking with wild emotion, "George dear, are you safe?" and further, "George love, what has happened? Where is Ma?" Mr. Sampson, with words of comfort, raised her prostrate form, and handed her to Mrs. Wilfer as if the young lady were something in the nature of refreshments. Mrs. Wilfer with dignity partaking of the refreshments, by kissing her once on the brow (as if accepting an oyster), Miss Lavvy, tottering, returned to the protection of Mr. Sampson; to whom she said, "George dear, I am afraid I Among the most remarkable effects of this crisis may be mentioned its having, when peace was restored, an inexplicable moral influence of an elevating kind, on Miss Lavinia, Mrs. Wilfer, and Mr. George Sampson, from which R. W. was altogether excluded, as an outsider and nonsympathizer. Miss Lavinia assumed a modest air of having distinguished herself; Mrs. Wilfer, a serene air of forgiveness and resignation; Mr. Sampson, an air of having been improved and chastened. The influence pervaded the spirit in which they returned to the previous question. "George dear," said Lavvy, with a melancholy smile, "after what has passed, I am sure Ma will tell Pa that he may tell Bella we shall all be glad to see her and her husband." Mr. Sampson said he was sure of it too; murmuring how eminently he respected Mrs. Wilfer, and ever must, and ever would. Never more eminently, he added, than after what had passed. "Far be it from me," said Mrs. Wilfer, making deep proclamation from her corner, "to run counter to the feelings of a child of mine, and of a Youth," Mr. Sampson hardly seemed to like that word, "who is the object of her maiden preference. I may feel-nay, know-that I have been deluded and deceived. I may feel-nay, know-that I have been set aside and passed over. I may feel-nay, know-that after having so far overcome my repugnance toward Mr. and Mrs. Boffin as to receive them under this roof, and to consent to your daughter Bella's,” here turning to her husband, "residing under theirs, it were well if your daughter Bella," again turning to her husband, "had profited in a worldly point of view by a connection so distasteful, so disreputable. I may feel-nay, know—that in uniting herself to Mr. Rokesmith she has united herself to one who is, in spite of shallow sophistry, a Mendicant. And I may feel well assured that your daughter Bella," again turning to her husband, "does not exalt her family by becoming a Mendicant's bride. But I suppress what I feel, and say nothing of it." Mr. Sampson murmured that this was the sort of thing you might expect from one who had ever in her own family been an example and never an outrage. And ever more so (Mr. Sampson added, with some degree of obscurity), and never more so, than in and through what had passed. He must take the liberty of adding. that what was true of the mother was true of the youngest daughter, and that he could never forget the touching feelings that the conduct of both had awakened within him. In conclusion, he did hope that there wasn't a man with a beating heart who was capable of something that remained undescribed, in consequence of Within a few weeks afterward the Mendicant's bride (arm in arm with the Mendicant) came to tea, in fulfillment of an engagement made through her father. And the way in which the Mendicant's bride dashed at the unassailable position so considerately to be held by Miss Lavvy, and scattered the whole of the works in all directions in a moment, was triumphant. "Dearest Ma," cried Bella, running into the room with a radiant face, "how do you do, dearest Ma?" And then embraced her, joyous“And Lavvy darling, how do you do, and how's George Sampson, and how is he getting "My dearest girl," urged Mr. Sampson, "shely. ought to know it." "No, George," said Lavinia, in a tone of res-on, and when are you going to be married, and olute self-denial. "No, dearest George, let it be buried in oblivion." Mr. Sampson considered that "too noble." "Nothing is too noble, dearest George," returned Lavinia. "And Pa, I hope you will be careful not to refer before Bella, if you can help it, to my engagement to George. It might seem like reminding her of her having cast herself away. And I hope, Pa, that you will think it equally right to avoid mentioning George's rising prospects, when Bella is present. It might seem like taunting her with her own poor fortunes. Let me ever remember that I am her younger sister, and ever spare her painful contrasts, which could not but wound her sharply." Mr. Sampson expressed his belief that such was the demeanor of Angels. Miss Lavvy replied with solemnity, "No, dearest George, I am but too well aware that I am merely hu man." Mrs. Wilfer, for her part, still further improved the occasion by sitting with her eyes fastened on her husband, like two great black notes of interrogation, severely inquiring, Are you looking into your breast? Do you deserve your blessings? Can you lay your hand upon your heart and say that you are worthy of so hysterical a daughter? I do not ask you if you are worthy of such a wife-put Me out of the question-but are you sufficiently conscious of, and thankful for, the pervading moral grandeur of the family spectacle on which you are gazing? These inquiries proved very harassing to R. W., who, besides being a little disturbed by wine, was in perpetual terror of committing himself by the utterance of stray words that would betray his guilty foreknowledge. However, the scene being over, and-all things consideredwell over, he sought refuge in a doze; which gave his lady immense offense. how rich are you going to grow? You must tell me all about it, Lavvy dear, immediately. John, love, kiss Ma and Lavvy, and then we shall all be at home and comfortable." Mrs. Wilfer stared, but was helpless. Miss Lavinia stared, but was helpless. Apparently with no compunction, and assuredly with no ceremony, Bella tossed her bonnet away, and sat down to make the tea. "Dearest Ma and Lavvy, you both take sugar, I know. And Pa (you good little Pa), you don't take milk. John does. I didn't before I was married; but I do now, because John does. John dear, did you kiss Ma and Lavvy? Oh, you did! Quite correct, John dear; but I didn't see you do it, so I asked. Cut some bread and butter, John; that's a love. Ma likes it doubled. And now you must tell me, dearest Ma and Lavvy, upon your words and honors! Didn't you for a moment-just a moment-think I was a dreadful little wretch when I wrote to say I had run away?” Before Mrs. Wilfer could wave her gloves, the Mendicant's bride in her merriest affectionate manner went on again. "I think it must have made you rather cross, dear Ma and Lavvy, and I know I deserved that you should be very cross. But you see I had been such a heedless, heartless creature, and had led you so to expect that I should marry for money, and so to make sure that I was incapable of marrying for love, that I thought you couldn't believe me. Because, you see, you didn't know how much of Good, Good, Good, I had learned from John. Well! So I was sly about it, and ashamed of what you supposed me to be, and fearful that we couldn't understand one another and might come to words, which we should all be sorry for afterward, and so I said to John that if he liked to take me without any "Can you think of your daughter Bella, and fuss he might. And as he did like, I let him. sleep?" she disdainfully inquired. And we were married at Greenwich church in To which he mildly answered, "Yes, I think the presence of nobody-except an unknown inI can, my dear.” "Then," said Mrs. Wilfer, with solemn indignation, "I would recommend you, if you have a human feeling, to retire to bed." "Thank you, my dear," he replied; "I think it is the best place for me." And with these unsympathetic words very gladly withdrew. dividual who dropped in," here her eyes sparkled more brightly, "and half a pensioner. And now, isn't it nice, dearest Ma and Lavvy, to know that no words have been said which any of us can be sorry for, and that we are all the best of friends at the pleasantest of teas!" Having got up and kissed them again, she |