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forward to some action there in the peninsula in the spring. But it is the naval blockade that is hurting us, hurting real bad. That is why we have been diverting all our resources to readying the ironclad Virginia for battle. When she sails our prayers go with her to break the blockade and sink the Northern fleet. When that happens we can bring in supplies by the boatload. Our cotton is eagerly sought in Britain and the funds from that will buy the gunpowder, cannon and supplies that we so desperately need."
    Benjamin had been leafing slowly through the file while the President talked. He pulled out a handful of newspaper clippings.
    "They're from the North," Jefferson Davis said. "They are crowing like cockerels up there, all puffed with victory, over the imprisonment of Mason and Slidell. Let them gloat. I'm beginning to feel that this may all be a blessing in disguise. I do declare that those two Southern gentleman are doing more for the Confederacy sitting in that Yankee prison then they ever could have done in Europe. The British are all het up at this violation of their territory. I believe that every shipyard over there is building a blockade runner or a raider for us. And the wonderful part is that the Yankees did this to themselves. Nothing that we might have done could have been of greater aid to our cause."
    "I agree Mr. President, agree strongly. Our ambassadors to Boston are doing wonderfully fine there. Let us thank the Lord and pray to Him that they remain in that prison while the British get themselves more and more irritated. They should be congratulated on their sagacity in being captured by the Yankees."

    Lord Palmerston was seated in the wingchair before the glowing coal fire, his right leg extended and resting on a mound of cushions. His eyes were closed and ringed with lines of pain. He opened them slowly when the butler announced Lord John Russell.
    "Ah, John, do come in. Pour yourself a port—and one for me if you please. A large one if you would be so kind."
    He sipped and smacked his lips with pleasure, then grimaced and pointed to his supported foot.
    "Gout. Infernal bloody nuisance. Hurts like the very blazes of hell. Quacks can't do a thing about it. I drink their foul nostrums and nothing improves in the slightest. They try to blame the port for the condition, simpering nonces. Port's the only thing that seems to help in the slightest. But enough of that. Of greater importance. You must tell me. How did it go at the palace?"
    "Wonderfully. Her Majesty agreed that we should make all preparations to increase the pressure on the Americans—even before they have had a chance to respond to our ultimatum. Prince Albert is doing very poorly, I regret to report. The physicians now are sure that his lung congestion is far more serious than they had previously determined. They believe that he has all the symptoms of the typhoid fever."
    "I say! But he has not been in the south, has not left London."
    "He doesn't need to. You've smelled the drains in WindsorCastle. Mephitic! Anything could lurk in their bowels. Nothing has ever been done to improve the various closets and sinks there. Noxious effluvia escape from the old drain—the stench of the cesspools make parts of the Castle almost uninhabitable. I am surprised that more are not felled by the miasma."
    "Poor Albert, poor man."
    "If there is any good to come of his illness it is the Queen's anger. She feels that, in his weakened condition, he should not have attempted to work on our dispatch. She is positive that he gave his strength for his country, and she fears he may perhaps, terrible thought, even give his life. She blames the Americans for everything, everything. No action we take will be too severe."
    "Such a fine woman—and a veritable dragon in defense of St. George. So what shall we do first?"
    "First we demonstrate to the Yankees the firmness of our will."
    "Which is indeed of the firmest."
    "We reconsider our neutrality in supplying