five o'clock in the morning
WASHINGTON , D.C. , November -- , 1861 . Having just made a luscious breakfast , my boy , on some biscuit discovered amid the ruins of Herculaneum , and purchased expressly for the grand army by a contracting agent for the Government , I take a sip of coffee from the very boot in which it was warmed , and hasten to pen my dispatch . On Wednesday morning , my boy , the army here was reënforced by a very fat man from Boston , who said he 'd been used to Beacon street all the days of his life , and considered the State House somewhat superior to St. Peter 's at Rome . He was a very fat man , my boy : eight hands high , six and a half hands thick , and his head looked like a full moon sinking in the west at five o'clock in the morning . He said he joined the army to fight for the Union , and cure his asthma , and Colonel Wobert Wobinson thoughtfully remarked , that he thought he could grease a pretty long bayonet without feeling uncomfortable . This fat man , my boy , was leaning down to clean his boots just outside of a tent , when the General of the Mackerel Brigade happened to come along , and got a back view of him . `` Thunder ! ''