"PROCLAMATION."The Union men of the South are hereby informed that the United States of America has reasserted hisself, and will shortly open a bar-room in Paris. Also, cigars and other necessaries of life."By order of"Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire.
"PROCLAMATION.
"The Union men of the South are hereby informed that the United States of America has reasserted hisself, and will shortly open a bar-room in Paris. Also, cigars and other necessaries of life.
"By order of
"Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire.
"There," says Villiam, "the human intelleck may do what violence might fail to accomplish. Ah!" says Villiam, "moral suasion is more majestik than an army with banners."
In just half an hour after the above Proclamation was issued, my boy, the hum of countless approaching voices called us to the ramparts. A vast multitude was approaching. It was the Union men of the South, my boy, who had read the manifesto of a beneficent Government, and were coming back to take the Oath—with a trifle of sugar in it.
How necessary it is, my boy, that men intrusted with important commands—generals and governors responsible for the pacification and welfare of misguided provinces—should understand just how and when to touch that sensitive chord in our common nature which vibrates responsively when man is invited to take something by his fellow-man.
Scarcely had Villiam assumed his office and suppressed two reporters, when there were brought before him a fugitive contraband of the color of old meerschaum, and a planter from the adjacent county, who claimed the slave.
"It's me—that's Misther Murphy—would be afther axing your riverence to return the black crayture at once," says the planter; "for its meself that owns him, and he runn'd away right under me nose and eyes as soon as me back was turned."
"Ah!" says Villiam, balancing a tumbler in his right hand. "Are you a Southerner, Mr. Murphy?"
"Yaysir," says Mr. Murphy, "it's that I am, intirely. Be the same token, I was raised and born in the swate South—the South of Ireland."
"Are you Chivalry?" says Villiam, thoughtfully.
"Is it Chivalry!—ah, but it's that I am, and me father before me, and me childers that's afther me. If Chivalry was praties I could furnish a dinner to all the wur-ruld, and have enough left to fade the pigs."
"Murphy is a French name," says Villiam, drawing a copy of Vattel on International Law from his pocket and glancing at it, "but I will not dispute what you say. You must do without your contraband, however; for slavery and martial law don't agree together in the United States of America."
"Mr. Black," says Villiam, gravely, turning to the emancipated African, "you have come to the right shop for freedom. You are from henceforth a freeman and a brother-in-law. You are now your own master," says Villiam, encouragingly, "and no man has a right to order you about. You are in the full enjoyment of Heving's best gift—Freedom! Go and black my boots."
The moral grandeur of this speech, my boy, so affected the Southern planter that he at once became a Union man, took the Oath with the least bit of water in it, and asked permission to have his own boots blacked.
I have been deeply touched of late, my boy, by the reception of a present from the ladies of Alexandria. It is a beautiful little dog, named Bologna (the women of America think that Bologna is the goddess of war, my boy), shaped like a door-mat rolled up, and elegantly frescoed down the sides in white and yellow. The note accompanying the gift was all womanly.
"Accept," it said, "this slight tribute, as an index of the feelings with which the American women regards the noble volunteer. Wear this gift next your heart when the fierce battle rages; but, in the meantime, give him a bone."
Bologna is a pointer, my boy—a Five-Pointer.
As a dead poet expresses it, Woman is "Heaven's noblest, best, and last good gift to man;" and I assure, you, my boy, that she is just the last gift he cares about.
Yours, in bachelordliness,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XLVI.
WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE FOLLOWED AN ILLUSTRIOUS EXAMPLE, AND VETOED A PROCLAMATION. ALSO RECORDING A MILITARY EXPERIMENT WITH RELIABLE CONTRABANDS.
Washington, D.C., May 20th, 1862.
Rejoice with me, my boy, that I have got back my gothic steed, Pegasus, from the Government chap who borrowed him for a desk. The splendid architectural animal has just enough slant from his back-bone to his hips to make a capital desk, my boy; and then his tail is so handy to wipe pens on. In a moment of thirst he swallowed a bottle of ink, and some fears were entertained for his life; but a gross of steel pens and a ream of blotting paper, immediately administered, caused him to come out all write. In a gothic sense, my boy, the charger continues to produce architectural illusions. He was standing on a hill-side the other day, with his rear-elevation toward the spectators, his head up and ears touching at the top, when a chap, who has been made pious by frequent conversation with the contrabands, noticed him afar off, and says he to a soldier, "What church is that I behold in the distance, my fellow-worm of the dust?" The military veteran looked, and says he, "It does look like a church; but it's only a animated hay-rack belonging to the cavalry."
"I see," says the pious chap, moving on; "the beast looks like a church, because he's been accustomed to steeple-chases."
I have also much satisfaction in the society of my dog, Bologna, my boy, who has already become so attached to me that I believe he would defend me against any amount of meat. Like the Old Guard of France, he's always around the bony parts thrown; and, like abon vivant, is much given to whining after his dinner.
The last time I was at Paris, my boy, this interesting animal made a good breakfast off the calves of the General of the Mackerel Brigade's legs, causing that great strategetical commander to issue enough oaths for the whole Southern Confederacy.
"Thunder!" says the General, at the conclusion of his cursory remarks, "I shall have the hydrophobia and bite somebody. It's my opinion," says the General, hastily licking a few grains of sugar from the spoon he was holding at the time, "it's my opinion that I shall go rabid as soon as I see water."
"Then you're perfectly safe, my conquering hero," says I; "for whenyousee water, the Atlantic Ocean will be principally composed of brandy pale."
Speaking of Paris, it pains me, my boy, to say, that Captain Villiam Brown's Proclamation for the conciliation of southern Union men has been repudiated by the General of the Mackerel Brigade.
"Thunder!" says the General, taking a cork from his pocket in mistake for a watch-key, "it's against the Constitution to open a bar so far away from where Congress sits."
And he at once issued the following
"PROCLAMATION."Whereas, There appears in the public prints what presumptuously pretends to be a proclamation of Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, in the words following, to wit:'proclamation.'The Union men of the South are hereby informed that the United States of America has reasserted hisself, and will shortly open a bar-room in Paris. Also, cigars and other necessaries of life.'By order of'Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire.'"And whereas, the same is producing much excitement among those members from the Border States who would prefer that said bar-room should be nearer Washington, in case of sickness. Therefore, I, General of the Mackerel Brigade, do proclaim and declare that the Mackerel Brigade cannot stand this sort of thing, and that neither Captain Villiam Brown nor any other commander has been authorized to declare free lunch, either by implication or otherwise, in any State: much less in a state of intoxication, of which there are several."To persons in this State, now, I earnestly appeal. I do not argue: I beseech you to mix your own liquors. You cannot, if you would, be blind to the signs of the times, when such opportunity is offered to see double. I beg of you a calm and immense consideration of them (signs), ranging, it may be, above personal liquor establishments. The change you will receive after purchasing your materials will come gently as the dues from heaven—not rending nor wrecking anything. Will you not embrace me? May the extensive future not have to lament that you have neglected to do so."Yours, respectfully, the"General of the Mackerel Brigade."[Green seal.]
"PROCLAMATION.
"Whereas, There appears in the public prints what presumptuously pretends to be a proclamation of Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, in the words following, to wit:
'proclamation.
'The Union men of the South are hereby informed that the United States of America has reasserted hisself, and will shortly open a bar-room in Paris. Also, cigars and other necessaries of life.
'By order of
'Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire.'
"And whereas, the same is producing much excitement among those members from the Border States who would prefer that said bar-room should be nearer Washington, in case of sickness. Therefore, I, General of the Mackerel Brigade, do proclaim and declare that the Mackerel Brigade cannot stand this sort of thing, and that neither Captain Villiam Brown nor any other commander has been authorized to declare free lunch, either by implication or otherwise, in any State: much less in a state of intoxication, of which there are several.
"To persons in this State, now, I earnestly appeal. I do not argue: I beseech you to mix your own liquors. You cannot, if you would, be blind to the signs of the times, when such opportunity is offered to see double. I beg of you a calm and immense consideration of them (signs), ranging, it may be, above personal liquor establishments. The change you will receive after purchasing your materials will come gently as the dues from heaven—not rending nor wrecking anything. Will you not embrace me? May the extensive future not have to lament that you have neglected to do so.
"Yours, respectfully, the
"General of the Mackerel Brigade."
[Green seal.]
When Villiam read this conservative proclamation, my boy, he looked thoughtfully into a recently-occupied tumbler for a few moments, and then says he:
"There's some intelleck in that. The general covers the whole ground. Ah!" says Villiam, preparing, in a dreamy manner, to wash out the tumbler with something from a decanter, "the general so completely covers the whole ground sometimes, that the police departmink is required to clear it."
I believe him, my boy.
The intelligent and reliable contrabands, my boy, who have come into Paris from time to time, with valuable news concerning all recent movements not taking place in the Confederacy, were formed lately by Villiam, into a military company, called the Sambory Guard, Captain Bob Shorty being deputed to drill them in the colored-manual of arms. They were dressed in flaming red breeches and black coats, my boy, and each chaotic chap looked like a section of stove-pipe walking about on two radishes.
I attended the first drill, my boy, and found the oppressed Africans standing in a line about as regular as so many trees in a maple swamp.
Captain Bob Shorty whipped out his sleepless sword, straightened it on a log, stepped to the front, and was just about to give the first order, when, suddenly, he started, threw up his nose, and stood paralyzed.
"What's the matter, my blue and gilt?" says I.
He stood like one in a dream, and says he:
"'Pears to me I smell something."
"Yes," says I; "'tis the scent of the roses that hangs round it still."
"True," says Captain Bob Shorty, recovering, "it does smell like a cent; and I haven't seen a cent of my pay for such a long time, that the novelty of the odor knocked me. Attention, company!"
Only five of the troops were enough startled by this sudden order, my boy, to drop their guns, and only four stooped down to tie their shoes. One very reliable contraband left the ranks, and says he:
"Mars'r, hadn't Brudder Rhett better gub out the hymn before the service commence?"
"Order in the ranks!" says Captain Bob Shorty, with some asperity, "Attention, Company!—Order Arms!"
The troops did this very well, my boy, the muskets coming down at intervals of three minutes, bringing each man's cap with them, and pointing so regularly toward all points of the compass, that no foe could possibly approach from any direction without running on a bayonet.
"Excellent!" says Captain Bob Shorty, with enthusiasm. "Only, Mr. Rhett, you needn't hold your gun quite so much like a hoe. Carry arms!"
Here Mr. Dana stepped out from the ranks, and says he:
"Carrie who, mars'r?"
"Go to the rear," says Captain Bob Shorty, indignantly. "Present Arms!"
If Present Arms means to stick your bayonet into the next man's side, my boy, the troops did it very well.
"Splendid!" says Captain Bob Shorty. "Shoulder Arms—Eyes Right—Double-quick, March! On to Richmond!"
The troops obeyed the order, my boy, and haven't been seen since. Perhaps they're going yet, my boy.
Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, started for an advance on Richmond yesterday, and by a forced march got within three miles of it. Another march brought them within five miles of the place; and the last despatch stated that they had but ten miles to go before reaching the rebel capital.
Military travel, my boy, is like the railroad at the West, where they had to make chalk marks on the track to see which way the train was going.
Yours, on time,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XLVII.
INTRODUCING A POEM BASED UPON AN IDEA THAT IS IN VIOLET—A POEM FOR WHICH ONE OF THE WOMEN OF AMERICA IS SOLELY RESPONSIBLE.
Washington, D.C., May 24th, 1862.
One of the Northern women of America, my boy, has sent me a note, for the express purpose of expressing her hatred of the Southern Confederacy. She says, my boy, that the Confederacy is a miserable man, only fit for pecuniary dishonesty; and that even the gentle William Shakspeare couldn't help revealing the peculiar failing of the Floydulent section when he spoke so feelingly of
"The sweet South,That breathes upon a bank of Violets,Stealingand giving odor."
"The sweet South,That breathes upon a bank of Violets,Stealingand giving odor."
"The sweet South,
That breathes upon a bank of Violets,
Stealingand giving odor."
A fair hit, my boy—a fair hit; and sorry should I be to let the sweet South breathe upon any kind of a bank in which I had a deposit.
Speaking of violets; the woman of America sent one of those pretty flowers in her note; and, as I looked upon it, I thought how fit it was to be
THE SOLDIER'S EPITAPH.The woodlands caught the airy fire upon their vernal plumes,And echoed back the waterfall's exultant, trilling laugh,And through the branches fell the light in slender golden bloomsTo write upon the sylvan stream the Naiad's epitaph.On either side the sleeping vale the mountains swelled away,Like em'ralds in the mourning ring that circles round the worldAnd through the flow'r-enamel'd plain the river went astray,Like scarf of lady silver'd o'er around a standard furled.The turtle wooed his gentle mate, where thickest hung the boughs,While round them fell the blossoms plucked by robins' wanton bills;And on its wings the zephyr caught the music of his vows,To waft a strain responsive to the chorus of the hills.'Twas in a nook beside the stream where grapes in clusters fell,And twixt the trees the swaying vines were lost in leafy showers,That fauns and satyrs, tamed to rest beneath the noonday spell,Gave silent ear and witness to the meeting of the flowers.The glories of the fields were there in summer's bright array,The virgins of the temple vast where Noon to Ev'ning nods,To crown as queen of all the rest whose bosom should displayThe signet of a mission blest, the cipher of the gods.The royal Lily's sceptred cup besought an airy lip,The Rose's stooping coyness told the bee was at her heart,While all the other sisters round, with many a dainty dip,Sought jewels hidden in the grass, and waved its spears apart."We seek a queen," the Lily said, "and she shall wear the crownWho to the Mission of the Blest the fairest right shall prove;For unto her, whoe'er she be, has come in sunlight downThe badge of Nature's Royalty, from angel hands above."I go to deck the wreath that binds a fair, imperial brow,Whose whiteness shall not be the less that mine is purer still;For though a band of sparkling gems is set upon it now,'Twill be the fairer that the Church in me beholds her will.""I claim a loyal suitor's touch," the Rose ingenuous said,"And he will choose me when he seeks the bow'r of lady fair,To match me, with a smile, against her cheek's betraying red,And place me, with a kiss, within the shadows of her hair."And next the proud Camellia spoke: "Where festal music swells,And solemn priest, with gown and book, a knot eternal ties,I go to hold the vail of her who hears her marriage-bells,And pledges all her life unto the Love that never dies."The Laurels raised their glowing heads, and into language broke:"'Tis ours to honor gallant deeds that awe a crouching world;We rest upon the warrior's helm when fades the battle's smoke,And bloom perennial on the shield that back the foeman hurled."And other sisters of the field, the woodland, and the vale,Each told the story of her work, and glorified her quest;But none of all the noble ones had yet revealed the taleThat taught them from the gods she wore the signet in her breast.At length the zephyr raised a leaf, the lowliest of the low,And there, behold a Violet the Spring let careless slip;Beyond its season blooming there where newer beauties grow,Enshrined like an immortal thought that lives beyond the lip."We greet thy presence, little one," the graceful Lily said,And quivered with a silent laugh behind her snowy screen,"Upraise unto the open sun thy modest little head;For here, perchance, in thee at last the Flow'rs have found their queen."A tremor shook the timid flower, and soft her answer came:"'Tis but a simple duty left to one so small as I;And yet I would not yield it up for all the higher fameOf nodding on a hero's helm, or catching beauty's eye."I go to where an humble mound uprises in a field,To mark the place of one whose life was lost a land to save;Where bannered pomp no birth attests, nor marbled sword nor shield;I go to deck," the Violet said, "a simple soldier's grave."There fell a hush on all the flowers; but from a distant groveBurst forth the anthem of the birds in one grand peal of praise;As though the stern old Forest's heart had found its early love,And all of earth's sublimity was melted in its lays!Then, as the modest flower upturned her blue eyes to the sun,There fell a dewdrop on her breast as shaken from a tree;The lowliest of the sisterhood the godlike Crown had won;For hers it was to consecrate Truth's Immortality.The woodlands caught the airy fire upon their vernal plumes,And echoed back the waterfall's exultant, trilling laugh;And through the branches fell the light in slender golden blooms,To sanctify the Violet, the Soldier's Epitaph.
THE SOLDIER'S EPITAPH.
THE SOLDIER'S EPITAPH.
The woodlands caught the airy fire upon their vernal plumes,And echoed back the waterfall's exultant, trilling laugh,And through the branches fell the light in slender golden bloomsTo write upon the sylvan stream the Naiad's epitaph.
The woodlands caught the airy fire upon their vernal plumes,
And echoed back the waterfall's exultant, trilling laugh,
And through the branches fell the light in slender golden blooms
To write upon the sylvan stream the Naiad's epitaph.
On either side the sleeping vale the mountains swelled away,Like em'ralds in the mourning ring that circles round the worldAnd through the flow'r-enamel'd plain the river went astray,Like scarf of lady silver'd o'er around a standard furled.
On either side the sleeping vale the mountains swelled away,
Like em'ralds in the mourning ring that circles round the world
And through the flow'r-enamel'd plain the river went astray,
Like scarf of lady silver'd o'er around a standard furled.
The turtle wooed his gentle mate, where thickest hung the boughs,While round them fell the blossoms plucked by robins' wanton bills;And on its wings the zephyr caught the music of his vows,To waft a strain responsive to the chorus of the hills.
The turtle wooed his gentle mate, where thickest hung the boughs,
While round them fell the blossoms plucked by robins' wanton bills;
And on its wings the zephyr caught the music of his vows,
To waft a strain responsive to the chorus of the hills.
'Twas in a nook beside the stream where grapes in clusters fell,And twixt the trees the swaying vines were lost in leafy showers,That fauns and satyrs, tamed to rest beneath the noonday spell,Gave silent ear and witness to the meeting of the flowers.
'Twas in a nook beside the stream where grapes in clusters fell,
And twixt the trees the swaying vines were lost in leafy showers,
That fauns and satyrs, tamed to rest beneath the noonday spell,
Gave silent ear and witness to the meeting of the flowers.
The glories of the fields were there in summer's bright array,The virgins of the temple vast where Noon to Ev'ning nods,To crown as queen of all the rest whose bosom should displayThe signet of a mission blest, the cipher of the gods.
The glories of the fields were there in summer's bright array,
The virgins of the temple vast where Noon to Ev'ning nods,
To crown as queen of all the rest whose bosom should display
The signet of a mission blest, the cipher of the gods.
The royal Lily's sceptred cup besought an airy lip,The Rose's stooping coyness told the bee was at her heart,While all the other sisters round, with many a dainty dip,Sought jewels hidden in the grass, and waved its spears apart.
The royal Lily's sceptred cup besought an airy lip,
The Rose's stooping coyness told the bee was at her heart,
While all the other sisters round, with many a dainty dip,
Sought jewels hidden in the grass, and waved its spears apart.
"We seek a queen," the Lily said, "and she shall wear the crownWho to the Mission of the Blest the fairest right shall prove;For unto her, whoe'er she be, has come in sunlight downThe badge of Nature's Royalty, from angel hands above.
"We seek a queen," the Lily said, "and she shall wear the crown
Who to the Mission of the Blest the fairest right shall prove;
For unto her, whoe'er she be, has come in sunlight down
The badge of Nature's Royalty, from angel hands above.
"I go to deck the wreath that binds a fair, imperial brow,Whose whiteness shall not be the less that mine is purer still;For though a band of sparkling gems is set upon it now,'Twill be the fairer that the Church in me beholds her will."
"I go to deck the wreath that binds a fair, imperial brow,
Whose whiteness shall not be the less that mine is purer still;
For though a band of sparkling gems is set upon it now,
'Twill be the fairer that the Church in me beholds her will."
"I claim a loyal suitor's touch," the Rose ingenuous said,"And he will choose me when he seeks the bow'r of lady fair,To match me, with a smile, against her cheek's betraying red,And place me, with a kiss, within the shadows of her hair."
"I claim a loyal suitor's touch," the Rose ingenuous said,
"And he will choose me when he seeks the bow'r of lady fair,
To match me, with a smile, against her cheek's betraying red,
And place me, with a kiss, within the shadows of her hair."
And next the proud Camellia spoke: "Where festal music swells,And solemn priest, with gown and book, a knot eternal ties,I go to hold the vail of her who hears her marriage-bells,And pledges all her life unto the Love that never dies."
And next the proud Camellia spoke: "Where festal music swells,
And solemn priest, with gown and book, a knot eternal ties,
I go to hold the vail of her who hears her marriage-bells,
And pledges all her life unto the Love that never dies."
The Laurels raised their glowing heads, and into language broke:"'Tis ours to honor gallant deeds that awe a crouching world;We rest upon the warrior's helm when fades the battle's smoke,And bloom perennial on the shield that back the foeman hurled."
The Laurels raised their glowing heads, and into language broke:
"'Tis ours to honor gallant deeds that awe a crouching world;
We rest upon the warrior's helm when fades the battle's smoke,
And bloom perennial on the shield that back the foeman hurled."
And other sisters of the field, the woodland, and the vale,Each told the story of her work, and glorified her quest;But none of all the noble ones had yet revealed the taleThat taught them from the gods she wore the signet in her breast.
And other sisters of the field, the woodland, and the vale,
Each told the story of her work, and glorified her quest;
But none of all the noble ones had yet revealed the tale
That taught them from the gods she wore the signet in her breast.
At length the zephyr raised a leaf, the lowliest of the low,And there, behold a Violet the Spring let careless slip;Beyond its season blooming there where newer beauties grow,Enshrined like an immortal thought that lives beyond the lip.
At length the zephyr raised a leaf, the lowliest of the low,
And there, behold a Violet the Spring let careless slip;
Beyond its season blooming there where newer beauties grow,
Enshrined like an immortal thought that lives beyond the lip.
"We greet thy presence, little one," the graceful Lily said,And quivered with a silent laugh behind her snowy screen,"Upraise unto the open sun thy modest little head;For here, perchance, in thee at last the Flow'rs have found their queen."
"We greet thy presence, little one," the graceful Lily said,
And quivered with a silent laugh behind her snowy screen,
"Upraise unto the open sun thy modest little head;
For here, perchance, in thee at last the Flow'rs have found their queen."
A tremor shook the timid flower, and soft her answer came:"'Tis but a simple duty left to one so small as I;And yet I would not yield it up for all the higher fameOf nodding on a hero's helm, or catching beauty's eye.
A tremor shook the timid flower, and soft her answer came:
"'Tis but a simple duty left to one so small as I;
And yet I would not yield it up for all the higher fame
Of nodding on a hero's helm, or catching beauty's eye.
"I go to where an humble mound uprises in a field,To mark the place of one whose life was lost a land to save;Where bannered pomp no birth attests, nor marbled sword nor shield;I go to deck," the Violet said, "a simple soldier's grave."
"I go to where an humble mound uprises in a field,
To mark the place of one whose life was lost a land to save;
Where bannered pomp no birth attests, nor marbled sword nor shield;
I go to deck," the Violet said, "a simple soldier's grave."
There fell a hush on all the flowers; but from a distant groveBurst forth the anthem of the birds in one grand peal of praise;As though the stern old Forest's heart had found its early love,And all of earth's sublimity was melted in its lays!
There fell a hush on all the flowers; but from a distant grove
Burst forth the anthem of the birds in one grand peal of praise;
As though the stern old Forest's heart had found its early love,
And all of earth's sublimity was melted in its lays!
Then, as the modest flower upturned her blue eyes to the sun,There fell a dewdrop on her breast as shaken from a tree;The lowliest of the sisterhood the godlike Crown had won;For hers it was to consecrate Truth's Immortality.
Then, as the modest flower upturned her blue eyes to the sun,
There fell a dewdrop on her breast as shaken from a tree;
The lowliest of the sisterhood the godlike Crown had won;
For hers it was to consecrate Truth's Immortality.
The woodlands caught the airy fire upon their vernal plumes,And echoed back the waterfall's exultant, trilling laugh;And through the branches fell the light in slender golden blooms,To sanctify the Violet, the Soldier's Epitaph.
The woodlands caught the airy fire upon their vernal plumes,
And echoed back the waterfall's exultant, trilling laugh;
And through the branches fell the light in slender golden blooms,
To sanctify the Violet, the Soldier's Epitaph.
I asked the General of the Mackerel Brigade, the other day, what kind of a flower he thought would spring above my head when I rested in a soldier's sepulchre? and he said "A cabbage!" my boy—he said "A cabbage!"
Yours, inversely,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XLVIII.
TREATING CHIEFLY OF A TERRIBLE PANIC WHICH BROKE OUT IN PARIS, BUT SUBSEQUENTLY PROVED TO BE ONLY A NATURAL EFFECT OF STRATEGY.
Washington, D.C., June 1st, 1862.
It is my belief—my solemn and affecting belief, my boy, that our once distracted country is destined to be such a great military power hereafter, that an American citizen will be distinguishable in any part of the world by his commission as a brigadier. Even Congressmen will answer to the command of "Charge—mileage!" and it is stated that sons of guns in every variety are already being born at the West—sons of "Pop" guns, my boy.
The last time the General of the Mackerel Brigade was here, he was so much pleased with the high state of strategy developed at the War Office, that he visited all the bar-rooms in Washington, and ordered the tumblers to be at once illuminated.
"Thunder!" says the general to Colonel Wobert Wobinson, of the Western Cavalry, as they were taking measures to prevent any possible mistake by seeing the enemy double, "this war is making great tacticians of the whole nation, and if I wanted my sons to become Napoleons, I'd put them into the War Office for a week. My sons! my sons!" says the general hysterically, motioning for a little more hot water, "why are you not here with me in glory, instead of remaining home there, like ripe plums on the parent tree."
"Plums! plums!" says Colonel Wobinson, thoughtfully. "Ah! I see," says the colonel, pleasantly, "your sons are damsons."
The general eyed the speaker with much severity of countenance, my boy, and says he:
"Ifyouhave any sons, my friend, they are probably fast young men, and take after their father—at the approach of the enemy."
The general is rather proud of his sons, my boy, one of whom wrote the following, which he keeps pinned against the wall of his room:—
POOR PUSSY.We count mankind and keep our census still,We count the stars that populate the night;But who, with all his computation, canCon catty nations right?In all the lands, in zones of all degrees,No spot im-puss-able is known to be;And sure, the ocean can't ignore the Cat,Whose capital is C.Despise her not; for Nature, in the workOf making her, remembered human laws,And gave to Puss strange gifts of human sort;Before she made her paws:First, Puss is like a soldier, if you please;Or, like a soldier's officer, in truth;For every night brings ample proof she isA fencer from her youth.A model cosmopolitan is she,Indifferent to change of place or time;And, like the hardy sailor of the seas,Inured to every climb.Then, like a poet of the noble sort,Who spurns the ways of ordinary crews,She courts the upper-storied attic salt,And hath her private mews.In mathematics she eclipses quiteOur best professors of the science hard,When, by her quadrupedal mode, she showsHer four feet in a yard.To try the martial simile once more:She apes the military drummer-man,When, at appropriate hours of day and night,She makes her ratty plan.She is a lawyer to the hapless rat,Who strives in vain to fly her fee-line paws,Evading once, but to be caught againIn her redeeming claws.Then turn not from poor Pussy in disdain,Whose pride of ancestry may equal thine;For is she not a blood-descendant ofThe ancient Catty line?
POOR PUSSY.
POOR PUSSY.
We count mankind and keep our census still,We count the stars that populate the night;But who, with all his computation, canCon catty nations right?
We count mankind and keep our census still,
We count the stars that populate the night;
But who, with all his computation, can
Con catty nations right?
In all the lands, in zones of all degrees,No spot im-puss-able is known to be;And sure, the ocean can't ignore the Cat,Whose capital is C.
In all the lands, in zones of all degrees,
No spot im-puss-able is known to be;
And sure, the ocean can't ignore the Cat,
Whose capital is C.
Despise her not; for Nature, in the workOf making her, remembered human laws,And gave to Puss strange gifts of human sort;Before she made her paws:
Despise her not; for Nature, in the work
Of making her, remembered human laws,
And gave to Puss strange gifts of human sort;
Before she made her paws:
First, Puss is like a soldier, if you please;Or, like a soldier's officer, in truth;For every night brings ample proof she isA fencer from her youth.
First, Puss is like a soldier, if you please;
Or, like a soldier's officer, in truth;
For every night brings ample proof she is
A fencer from her youth.
A model cosmopolitan is she,Indifferent to change of place or time;And, like the hardy sailor of the seas,Inured to every climb.
A model cosmopolitan is she,
Indifferent to change of place or time;
And, like the hardy sailor of the seas,
Inured to every climb.
Then, like a poet of the noble sort,Who spurns the ways of ordinary crews,She courts the upper-storied attic salt,And hath her private mews.
Then, like a poet of the noble sort,
Who spurns the ways of ordinary crews,
She courts the upper-storied attic salt,
And hath her private mews.
In mathematics she eclipses quiteOur best professors of the science hard,When, by her quadrupedal mode, she showsHer four feet in a yard.
In mathematics she eclipses quite
Our best professors of the science hard,
When, by her quadrupedal mode, she shows
Her four feet in a yard.
To try the martial simile once more:She apes the military drummer-man,When, at appropriate hours of day and night,She makes her ratty plan.
To try the martial simile once more:
She apes the military drummer-man,
When, at appropriate hours of day and night,
She makes her ratty plan.
She is a lawyer to the hapless rat,Who strives in vain to fly her fee-line paws,Evading once, but to be caught againIn her redeeming claws.
She is a lawyer to the hapless rat,
Who strives in vain to fly her fee-line paws,
Evading once, but to be caught again
In her redeeming claws.
Then turn not from poor Pussy in disdain,Whose pride of ancestry may equal thine;For is she not a blood-descendant ofThe ancient Catty line?
Then turn not from poor Pussy in disdain,
Whose pride of ancestry may equal thine;
For is she not a blood-descendant of
The ancient Catty line?
Speaking of strategy, my boy, you will remember that Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, started for an advance on Richmond last week, and were within ten miles of that city. Subsequently they made another forced march of five miles, leaving only fifteen miles to go; and on Tuesday, a messenger came in from them to Captain Villiam Brown, with the intelligence that the advance was already within twenty-five miles of the rebel head-quarters.
"Ha!" says Villiam, "the Confederacy is doomed; but I must curb the advancing impetuosity of these devoted beings, or they'll be in Canada in a week. I think," says Villiam, calculatingly, "that a retreat would bring us to the summer residence of the Southern Confederacy in less time."
Here another messenger came in from the Richmond storming party, and, says he:
"The advance on Richmond has failed in consequence of the shoes furnished by the United States of America."
"Ah!" says Villiam, hastily setting down a goblet.
"Yes," says the chap, mournfully, "them air shoes has demoralized Company 3, which is advancing back to Paris at double-quick. Them shoes," says the chap, "which was furnished by the sons of Revolutionary forefathers by a contractor, at only twenty-five dollars a pair for the sake of the Union, has caused a fatal mistake. They got so ragged with being exposed to the wind, that when Company 3 hastily put them on for an advance on Richmond, they got the heels in front and have been going in the wrong direction ever since."
"Where did you leave your comrades?" says Villiam.
"At Joneses Court House," says the chap.
"Ah!" says Villiam, "is that a healthy place?"
"No," says the chap, "it's very unhealthy—I was drunk all the time I was there."
"I see," says Villiam, with great agitation, "my brave comrades are in a tight place. Let all the newspaper correspondents be ordered to leave Paris at once," says Villiam to his adjutants, "and we'll take measures for a second uprising of the North."
When it became generally known, my boy, that Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, were falling back across Duck Lake, there was great agitation in Government circles, and the general of the Mackerel Brigade prepared to call out all persons capable of bearing arms.
"The Constitution is again in danger," says the general, impulsively, "and we must appeal to the populace."
"Ah!" says Villiam, "it would also aid our holy cause to call out the women of America. For the women of America," says Villiam, advisedly, "are capable of baring arms to any extent."
"No!" says the general. "Woman's place in this war is beside the couch of the sick soldier. Thunder!" says the general, genially, "it's enough to make us fonder of our common nature to see the devotion of women to the invalid volunteer. As I was passing through the hospital just now," says the general, feelingly, "I saw a tender, delicate woman acting the part of a ministering angel to a hero in a hard ague. She was fanning him, my friend—she was fanning him."
"Heaven bless her!" says Villiam, with streaming eyes; "and may she never be without a stove when she has a fever. I really believe," says Villiam, glowingly, "that if woman found her worst enemy, even, burning to death, she would heap coals of fire upon his head."
Villiam's idea of heaping coals of fire, my boy, is as literal as was the translation of Enoch.
On learning of the repulse from Richmond, all the Southern Union men of Paris commenced to remember that the rebels are our brethren, and that this war was wholly brought about by the fiendish abolitionists.
"Yes!" says a patriotic chap from Accomac, sipping the oath loyally, "the Abolitionists brought this here war about, and I have determined not to support it. Our slaves read theTribune, and have learned so much from military articles in that paper that the very life of the South depended upon separation."
In fact, my boy, notwithstanding the efforts of Captain Villiam Brown to tranquillize public feeling by seizing the telegraph office and railroad depot, telegraphing to everybody he knew for reënforcements, the excitement was steadily increasing, until word came from Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, that no enemy had been in sight at all.
When the intelligence was brought to the General of the Mackerel Brigade, and as soon as the band had finished serenading him, he called for a fresh tumbler, and says he:
"I may as well tell you at once, my children, that this whole matter is simply a part of my plan for bringing this unnatural war to a speedy termination. Company 3 retired by my design, and—and—in fact, my children," says the general, confidingly, "it's something you can't understand—it's strategy."
Perhaps it was, my boy—perhaps it was; for there is more than one reason to believe that strategy means military shoes with the heels in front.
Yours, cautiously,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XLIX.
NOTING THE ARCHITECTURAL EFFECTS OF THE GOTHIC STEED, PEGASUS, AND DESCRIBING THE MACKEREL BRIGADE'S SANGUINARY ENGAGEMENT WITH THE RICHMOND REBELS.
Washington, D.C., June 8th, 1862.
Once more, my boy, the summer sun has evoked long fields of bristling bayonets from the seed sown in spring tents, and the thunder of the shower is echoed by the roar of the scowling cannon. Onward, right onward, sweeps the Sunset Standard of the Republic, to plant its Roses and its Lilies on the soil where Treason has so long been the masked reaper; to epitaph with its eternal Violet the honored battle-graves of the heroic fallen, and to set its sleepless Stars above the Southern Cross in a new Heaven of Peace.
In my voyage down the river, to witness the great battle for Richmond, I took my frescoed dog, Bologna, and my gothic steed, Pegasus. The latter architectural animal, my boy, has again occasioned an optical mistake. Being of a melancholy turn, and partaking somewhat of the tastes of the horrible and sepulchral German Mind, the gothic charger has peregrinated much in a churchyard near Washington, frequently standing for hours in that last resting-place, lost in profound mortuary contemplation, to the great admiration of certain vagrant crows in the atmosphere. On such occasions, my boy, his casual pace is, if possible, rather morerequiescat in"pace" than on ordinary marches. I was going after him in company with a religious chap from Boston, who is going down South to see about the contrabands being born again, when we caught sight of Pegasus, in the distance. The sagacious architectural stallion had just ascended the steps leading into the graveyard, my boy, and presented a gothic and pious appearance. The religious chap clutched my arm, and says he:
"How beautiful it is, my fellow-sinner, to see that simple village church, resting like the spirit of Peace in the midst of this scene of war's desolation."
"Why, my dear Saint Paul," says I, "that's my gothic steed, Pegasus."
"Ahem!" says he. "You must be mistaken, my poor worm; for I can see half way down the aisle."
"The perspective," says I, "is simply the perspective between the hind legs of the noble creature, and his rear elevation deceives you."
"Well," says the religious chap, grievously, "if you ever want to do anything for the missionary cause, my poor lost lamb, just skin that horse and let me have his frame for a numble chapel, wherein to convert contrabands."
REQUIESCAT IN "PACE.", ARCHITECTURAL VIEW OF THE GOTHIC STEED, PEGASUS—REAR ELEVATION.
REQUIESCAT IN "PACE."ARCHITECTURAL VIEW OF THE GOTHIC STEED, PEGASUS—REAR ELEVATION.
On my way down the Potomac to Paris, my boy, with Pegasus and the intelligent dog Bologna, I met Commodore Head, of the new iron-plated Mackerel fleet, who was taking his swivel Columbiad to a blacksmith, to have the touch-hole repaired. The Commodore met with a great disappointment at Washington, my boy. He ordered the great military painter, Patrick de la Roach, to paint him a portrait of Secretary Welles, Cabinet size. When the picture came home, my boy, it was no larger than a twenty-five-cent piece, frame and all; and the portrait was hardly perceptible to the naked eye.
"Wedge my turret!" says the Commodore, in his iron-plated manner, "I wouldn't give a Galena for such a picture as that. What did you make it so small for, you daubing cuss?"
"Didn't you want it Cabinet size?" says the artist.
"Batter my plates! of course I did," says the Commodore.
"Well," says the artist, earnestly, "if you ever attended a Cabinet meeting, you'd know that that is exactly the Cabinet size of the Secretary of the Navy."
The Commodore related this to me, my boy, in the interval of naval criticisms on the gothic Pegasus, whom he pronounced as incapable of being hit at right angles by a shell as the Monitor. "Explode my hundred-pounder!" says the Commodore, admiringly, "I don't see any flat surface about that oat-crushing machine. Perforate my armor, if I do!"
A great battle was going on upon the borders of Duck Lake when we reached Paris, my boy, and on ambling to the battle-field with my steed and my dog, I found the Mackerel Brigade blazing away at the foe in a thunder-storm and vivid-lightning manner.
Captain Villiam Brown, mounted on the geometrical steed Euclid, to whom he had administered a pinch of Macaboy to make him frisky—was just receiving the answer of an orderly, whom he had sent to demand the surrender of a rebel mud-work in front.
"Did you order the rebel to surrender his incendiary establishment to the United States of America?" says Villiam, majestically returning his canteen to his bosom.
"I did, sire," says the Orderly, gloomily.
"What said the unnatural scorpion?" says Villiam.
"Well," says the Orderly, "his reply was almost sarcastic."
"Ha!" says Villiam, "what was't?"
"Why," says the Orderly, sadly, "he said that if I didn't want to see a dam fool, I'd better not go into a store where they sold looking-glasses."
"Ah!" says Villiam, nervously licking a cork, "thatwassarcastic. Let the Orange County Howitzers push to the front," says Villiam, excitedly, "and we'll shatter the Southern Confederacy. Hello!" says Villiam, indignantly, "Who owns that owdacious dog there?"
I looked, my boy, and behold it was my frescoed canine, Bologna, who was innocently discussing a bone right in the track of the advancing artillery. I whistled to him, my boy, and he loafed dreamily toward me.
The Orange County Howitzers thundered forward, and then hurled an infernal tempest of shell and canister into the horizon, taking the roofs off of two barns, and making twenty-six Confederate old maids deaf for life. At the same instant, Ajack, the Mackerel sharpshooter, put a ball from his unerring rifle through a chicken-house about half a mile distant, causing a variety of fowl proceedings.
"Ah!" says Villiam, critically, "the angels will have to get a new sky, if the artillery practice of the United States of America keeps on much longer."
Meantime Company 2, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, was engaging the enemy some distance to the right, under Captain Bob Shorty; and now there came a dispatch from that gallant officer to Villiam, thus:
"The Enemy's Multiplication is too much for my Division. Send me some more Democrats."Captain Bob Shorty."
"The Enemy's Multiplication is too much for my Division. Send me some more Democrats.
"Captain Bob Shorty."
"Ah!" says Villiam, "the Anatomical Cavalry and the Western Centaurs are already going to the rescue. Blue blazes!" says Villiam, cholerically, "Why don't that blessed dog get out of the way?"
I looked, my boy, and, behold! it was my frescoed canine, Bologna, calmly reasoning with a piece of army beef, in the very middle of the field. I whistled, my boy, and the intelligent animal floated toward me with subdued tail.
The obstruction being removed, the Anatomicals and the Centaurs charged gloriously under Colonel Wobert Wobinson, and would have swept the Southern Confederacy from the face of the earth, had not the fiendish rebels put a load of hay right in the middle of the road. To get the horses past this object was impossible, for they hadn't seen so much forage before in a year.
"Ah!" says Villiam, contemplatively, "I'm afraid cavalry's a failure in this here unnatural contest. Ha!" says Villiam, replacing the stopper of his canteen, and quickly looking behind him, "What means this spectacle which mine eyes observe?"
A cloud of dust opened near us, and we saw Captain Samyule Sa-mith rushing right into headquarters, followed by Company 6, having an aged and very reliable contraband in charge.
"Samyule, Samyule," says Villiam, fiercely, "expound why you leave the field with your force, at this critical period in the history of the United States of America?"
"I'm supporting the Constitution," says Samyule, breathlessly, "I'm a conservative, and—." Here Samyule tumbled over something and fell flat on his stomach.
"By all that's blue!" says Villiam, frantically, "why the thunder don't somebody shoot that unnatural dog!"
I looked, my boy, and beheld it was my frescoed canine, Bologna, who had run between the legs of the fallen warrior, with the remains of a captured Confederate chicken. I whistled, my boy, and the faithful creature angled towards me with mitigated ears.
"I'm supporting the Constitution," repeated Samyule, rising to his feet and examining a small, black bottle to see if anything had spilt, "I'm a conservative, and have left the field to restore this here misguided contraband to his owner, which is a inoffensive rebel. War," says Samyule, convincingly, "does not affect the Constitution."
"Ah!" says Villiam, "that's very true. Take the African chasseur to his proper master, and tell him that the United States does not war against the rights of man."
Now it happened, my boy, that the withdrawal of this force to carry out the Constitution, so weakened the Advance Guard, that the Southern Confederacy commenced to gain ground, and Villiam was obliged to form Company 3, Regiment 5, in line immediately, for a charge to the rescue. He got the splendidcorpsto leave the distillery where they were quartered, for a few minutes, and says he:
"There's beings for you, my nice little boy! Here's veteran centurions for you."
"Yes," says I, admiringly. "I never saw so many red noses together before, in all my life."
"Ah!" says Villiam, dreamily, "there's nary red about them, except their noses. And now," says Villiam, "you will see me lead a charge destined to cover six pages in the future history of our distracted country."
"Soldiers of the Potomac!" says Villiam, drawing his sword, and hastily sharpening it on the left profile of his geometrical steed, "your comrades are engaging nine hundred and fifty thousand demoralized and routed rebels, and you are called upon to charge bayonets. Follow me."
Not a man moved, my boy. Many of them had families, and more were engaged to be married to the women of America. They were brave but not rash.
Villiam drew his breath, and says he: "The United States of America, born on the Fourth of July, 1776, calls upon you to charge bayonets, Come on, my brave flowers of manhood!"
Here a fearless chap stepped out of the ranks, and says he: "In consequence of the heavy dew which fell this morning, the roads is impassable."
Villiam remained silent, my boy, and drooped his proud head. Could nothing induce those devoted patriots to strike for the forlorn hope? Suddenly, a glow of inspiration came over his face, he rose in his saddle like a flash, waved his sword toward the foe, and shouted—
"I know you now, my veterans! The day is hot, yonder lies our road, and—my peerless Napoleons," said Villiam, frenziedly:
"COME AND TAKE A DRINK!"
In an instant I was blinded with a cloud of dust, through which came the wild tramp and fierce hurrahs of Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade. The appeal to their finer feelings had carried them by storm, and they charged like the double-extract of a compound avalanche. I was listening to their cheers as they drove the demoralized foe before them, when a political chap came riding post-haste from Paris, and says he:
"How many voters have fallen?"
Before I could answer him, my boy, the triumphant Mackerels came pouring in, just in time to meet the General of the Mackerel Brigade, who had just rode up from a village in the rear, with an umbrella over his head to keep off the sun.
"My children," says the general, kindly, as their shouts fell upon his ears, "you have sustained me nobly this day, and we will enjoy the thanks of our grateful country together. I thank you, my children."
Here the political chap threw up his hat, and says he: "Hurroar for the Union! My fellow-beings," says the political chap, glowingly, "I announce the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade for President of the United States in 1865."
"Ah!" says Villiam—he would have said more, but at that moment his horse's legs became entangled in something, and both horse and rider went to grass. I looked, my boy, and behold, it was my frescoed dog Bologna, who had run against the geometrical steed of the warrior in pursuit of an army biscuit. I whistled, my boy, and the docile quadruped shrunk toward me with criminal aspect.
And so, the unblest cause of treason has received a decisive blow. The end approaches; but I can't say which end, my boy—I can't say which end.
Yours, martially,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER L.
REMARKING UPON A PECULIARITY OF VIRGINIA, AND DESCRIBING COMMODORE HEAD'S GREAT NAVAL EXPLOIT ON DUCK LAKE, ETC.
Washington, D.C., June 15th, 1862.
Early in the week I trotted to the other side of the river on my gothic steed Pegasus, and having lent that architectural pride of the stud to a thoughtful individual, who wished to make a sketch of his facade, I took a branch railroad for a circuitous passage to Paris, intending to make one stoppage on the way. The locomotive was about two-saucepan power, my boy, and wheezed like a New York Alderman at a free lunch. First we stopped at a town composed of one house, and that was a depot.
"What place is this?" says I to my fellow passenger, who was the conductor, and was reading theTribune, and was swearing to himself. "It's Mulligan's Court-House, the Capital of Sally Ann County," says he, and again took out the bill I had paid my fare with to see if it was good.
I took another branch road here, and we snailed along to another town, composed of a wood-pile. "What place is this?" says I to my fellow-traveller, the brakeman. "It's Abednego Junction, the capital of Laura Matilda County," says he, sounding my quarter on his seal ring to make sure that it was genuine. Now, as London, the city I was going to, happened to be the capital of Anna Maria County, my boy, I made up my mind that the sacred soil had as many metropolises as railways.
"Virginia," says a modern Southern giant of intellect, "is one grand embodied poem."
I believe him, my boy; for, like a poem, Virginia appears to have a capital at the commencement of every line.
Reaching London, and brushing past a crowd of our true friends the contrabands, whose cries of anguish upon hearing that I had brought them no plum-pudding, were truly harrowing, I pushed forward to the new Union paper, the London Times, with whose editor I had business.
Just as I entered the office, my boy, there rushed out in great rage an exasperated southern Union man. Having no gun about the house to pick off our pickets as they came into town, he borrowed a barber's pole and stuck it out of the window, proclaimed himself an oppressed Unionist, had a meeting of his family to elect him to the United States Congress from Anna Maria County, and made a thrilling Union address to two contrabands from his back-stoop. He wound up this great speech, my boy, by saying:
"Young men, it is your duty to fight for the Union, which has caused us all so many tears. If any young man's wife would fain dissuade him, let him say to her, in the language of the poet,