LETTER LXXXVIII.
CONCERNING INTELLECTUAL GIANTS AND PINS; WITH A FEW WORDS AS TO CERTAIN DRAMATIC STREET-SCENES SUPPOSED TO BE OF DAILY OCCURRENCE; AN AFFECTING WESTERN POEM; AND A BRIEF GLIMPSE OF AN ORDINARY CAVALRY DASH.
Washington, D.C., March 22d, 1863.
Greatness of mind, my boy, like greatness of body, consists no less in a capacity for making good use of small things than in an ability to master vast ones; and the intellect sublime enough to grasp the whole system of the universe, may not disdain to draw a useful lesson in human nature even from so minute an object as the Secretary of the Interior. The elephant, in the full amplitude of his physical greatness, has been briefly and comprehensively characterized as an animal able to knock down a giant and pick up a pin; and how shall the glorious human mind boast its superiority over matter, if it be not also endowed with the power of stooping as well as soaring? I believe, my boy, in the mind that picks up pins intellectual; especially in these days, when there are so few intellectual giants to knock down. Indeed, so important to the general system of intellect is the system of taking no less note of small things than of great ones, that a multitude of writers who deal only in the smallest kind of matters all their lives may themselves be denominated intellectual pins. I hold Mr. Tupper to be an intellectual pin, and Mr. Willis has also become somewhat of a pin in these his later years.
To the youthful soul, still steeped in those romantic dreams, of which a supper of pig's feet is the best artificial provocative I know, this war is a vast phantasmagoria of almighty giants struggling together in the clouds. There was a time when I, too, was able to see it to that extent; but time, and some experience in Virginia, have reduced my giants in the clouds to brigadiers in the mud; and from seeing our national banner in the character of a rainbow dipped in stars, I have come to regard it as an ambitious attempt to represent sunrise in muslin, the unexpected scantiness of the material compelling the ingenious artist to use a section of midnight to fill up.
Down in Accomac, the other day, I overheard a sentimental Mackerel chap, to whom I had imparted this flagging idea, inflicting it upon another Mackerel as original; but he was anxious to improve upon the comparison, and says he:
"Our National Standard is so much like a beautiful sunrise, that I could almost wish the full idea of an eternal morning could be further expressed in it by something to represent the dew."
The inferior Mackerel scratched his head, and says he:
"Why, my pay has been due for some time, and I myself am eternally mourning for it."
If we cast pearls before swine, my boy, we must not be surprised to find them taken for the seeds of cabbage-heads. I once told a Wall-street broker that I considered the break of day one of Nature's most glorious sights; and he said that he didn't mind it himself, if he didn't happen to have any of Day's notes on hand at the time.
But, to return to the giants and the pins; the absence of all giants in the way of events for the past week has induced me to take note of the pins; and close observation of a few of the latter induces me to believe that a strong Union feeling is beginning to be developed amongst the loyal masses of the North. For instance: one of the passengers in one of the street-cars of Paris, the other day, was a venerable man of ninety-three years and seven months, who sat quietly between two lady-passengers, eating roast chestnuts, and permitting the shells to fall upon their laps. Upon his hoary locks rested a white hat, well worn and mashed-in with time; his once light overcoat buttoned close to his throat, represented a drawn battle between grease spots and torn places; his venerable lower members were encased in blue overalls, somewhat shaded about the knees; and the large feet, resting easily upon the cushions of the opposite seat of the car, wore one slipper and one disabled boot. With the exception of a scarcely heard hiccup between every two chestnuts that he ate, not a sound was emitted by this venerable and striking figure as he sat there thus unobtrusively in a public car, like any ordinary passenger.
Presently, a young and boisterous lieutenant, vain of his new regimentals, and full of the airs of a new Jack-in-office, entered the car, and egotistically attempted to make his way to a seat. A faint hiccup saluted his ear, and, looking down, he found his way barred by the aged legs of the venerable stranger, whose feet were upon the opposite cushions.
"Let me pass, old man?" says the vain youngster, with the smart air of one who wishes to get to his seat.
The venerable stranger hardly raised his stern old eyes at the flippant remark, but ate another chestnut, as though no one had spoken.
"Come, my friend," says the conceited stripling, with fresh arrogance, "Be kind enough to move for a moment. I am Colonel P——."
In an instant, the aged frame sprang to his feet, opened all the windows, turned the conductor out of the car, locked the doors, mashed his hat down over his eyes, and frantically tearing open his dilapidated overcoat, displayedthe star of a major-general!
In an instant, the newly-fledged colonel lost all his knowing braggadocio, and cowered before the glorious old veteran, like a cowed cur (female of a bull-dog).
"Wr-r-r-etch!" exclaimed the hoary commander, in tones of thunder, relieved with the vivid lightning of a hiccup, "Do you knowme!"
The abashed young boaster could only bow his head in shame, and took the first opportunity to dash himself from the vehicle wherein he had been taught such a lesson. And this should teach us all, my boy, that bad clothes are not always a sure sign of the wearer being only a reporter for theTribune; nor do the ordinary symptoms of intoxication always indicate that the possessor lacks high rank in our national army.
Some hours later, on this same car, there transpired a somewhat different scene, but one equally calculated to prove that there is indeed a North. Twenty-three wealthy secessionists were in the swift vehicle, the only other passenger being a handsome lad of about sixteen, in the uniform of a brigadier. Rendered confident by their numbers, the enemies of our beneficent form of government entered into a venomous discussion of the siege of Vicksburg, asserting that the Yazoo Expedition had not yet captured forty-two steamboats of Confederacies, and that the announcement of the capture of the Mississippi River was premature.
The young soldier of the Republic went on with some candy he was eating, an apparently indifferent spectator of this symposium of treason; but the close spectator could not have failed to observe that his whole form was invisibly convulsed with a patriotic indignation. Presently, however, when one of the more hideous conspirators heartlessly remarked that we had not heard much of our army in Virginia lately, endurance ceased to be a virtue, and the young hero could no longer restrain himself.
In a moment his whole aspect changed; his eyes burst into a devouring blaze, and his cheeks were in flames before aught could be done to check the conflagration. Animated by the strength of a giant, in a cause which he believed to be a noble one, he shot the traitors one by one with his revolver, and buried them in an obscure swamp near the track; he paid the driver and conductor their wages, and induced them to enlist for three years; then, after selling both the horses at auction, he broke the car into kindling-wood for the use of the poor.
And this mere boy, who could make himself equal to an emergency,—what of him? I can fancy him a fond mothers pride, a venerable father's hope,—ay, even a tender sister's favorite snub. When this record of his glory reaches them, will they remember, in the midst of their proud exultation, the poor scribe whose humble pen relates to them the glories of their house? Will they drop one burning tear to the memory of him who at this moment does not know what on earth to write about next, and heartily wishes that he had been content to earn a respectable living as a reputable wood-sawyer, instead of turning writer? Will they sometimes give one idle thought to the unpretendinglitérateurwho has found the glorious reward of literary merit to be an assumption by one-horse country newspapers of the right to talk about him by his family name without troubling themselves to put in the civilized courtesy of "Mr."? Will they mention in their less urgent prayer, occasionally, the modest child of the quill, who would exceed all the horrors of the Inquisition with the foes of his country, by actually forcing them to write a column for a newspaper when they felt mentally incapable of penning a single coherent paragraph? Will they?
Ah! this is no country to appreciate genius; as they wrote upon the tomb of my early friend, the sweet-singing Arkansaw Nightingale, whose last sad manuscript to me described
"A BIG DOG FIT."Lige Simmons is as cute a chapAs ever you did see,And when the feller says a thing,It's sure as it can be."He owns a dog—and sich a bruteFor smellin' round a chap,I never see in all my life,You'd better bet your cap."Now Lige is proud of this here dog,And says the critter'll whipAs many wild-cats in an hourAs go to load a ship."'But, law,' says Lige, 'that animileIs awful in a row,And other pups 'longside of himAn't no account, nohow.'"In fact, one day, I saw the sameContemporaneous pupPitch into a NewfounlanderAnd chaw him slightly up."He's such a plaguy little cuss,You'd laugh to see him come;But when there's chawin' up to do,I tell you, boss, he's some!"One day, a pedler came to townWith ginger-beer and things,And patent clocks, and pious books,And fancy finger-rings."And underneath his cart was tiedA bull-dog of the kindThat tears your musn't-mention-'ems,In angry frame of mind."Now, Lige's dog was smellin' round,And when he see this here,He cocked his eye in agony,And acted awful queer."The bull-dog gin a rousin' shout,As Lige's dog went by,And gev him such a sassy nipThat fur began to fly."Then Lige's dog unfurled his tailAnd gev the wound a lick,And then pitched into that ere dogA way thatwasn'tsick."The critters had it nip and tuck,And made such awful noise,That Lige himself came up to see,With all the other boys."The pedler see him, and says he,Like one to fits inured:'I'm sorry, strannger; but I hopeYour yaller dog's insured.'"I tell you, boys, 'twas fun to seeThe grin that Lige put on,As in his cheek he put a chawAnd winked his eye at one."'Oh, let the varmints fit,' says Lige,'My pup is awful thin,And this here row will make him lookJist like himself ag'in.'"And all this while the fit went on,With such a mess of dustWe couldn't tell the upper dog,If all our eyes should bust."'Twas yell and yowl, and shout and growl,And stompin' awful hard,And sometimes they'd a tail stick outFrom where the dust was bar'd."Byme-by the noise began to die,And as it fainter grew,The dust began to settle down,And you could just see through."At last it cleared away entire,But all that we could seeWas Lige's dog a squattin' downBeneath the axletree."'Law!' says the pedler, lookin' blue,'What's happened tomypup?'Says Lige: 'It's my opinion, boss,My pup has eat him up.'"'But where's the chain I tied him with?'The pedler loud did call.And would you b'lieve me—Lige's dogHad swallowed chain and all!"One end was hangin' from his mouthAnd gev him such a cough,We had to fetch a chisel outAnd cut some inches off."Then that ere brute, to show the joyThat's nat'ral to dum brutes,Insulted that sad pedler there,By smellin' round his boots."The pedler dropped a tear, and thenSays he to Lige, says he:'I'd like to buy that yaller pupAnd take him home with me.'"But 'no,' says Lige, with proud disdainAnd sot down on a log,'That pup is plural now, you know—A dog within a dog.'"'He's twice as strong to fit,' says Lige;'For if he's killed outside,I'll turn the critter inside out,And letyourcritter slide.'"'Well,' says the pedler, with a sigh,'The pup's a trump, I think;But let us change the subject now;Say, strannger!—do you drink?'"
"A BIG DOG FIT.
"A BIG DOG FIT.
"Lige Simmons is as cute a chapAs ever you did see,And when the feller says a thing,It's sure as it can be.
"Lige Simmons is as cute a chap
As ever you did see,
And when the feller says a thing,
It's sure as it can be.
"He owns a dog—and sich a bruteFor smellin' round a chap,I never see in all my life,You'd better bet your cap.
"He owns a dog—and sich a brute
For smellin' round a chap,
I never see in all my life,
You'd better bet your cap.
"Now Lige is proud of this here dog,And says the critter'll whipAs many wild-cats in an hourAs go to load a ship.
"Now Lige is proud of this here dog,
And says the critter'll whip
As many wild-cats in an hour
As go to load a ship.
"'But, law,' says Lige, 'that animileIs awful in a row,And other pups 'longside of himAn't no account, nohow.'
"'But, law,' says Lige, 'that animile
Is awful in a row,
And other pups 'longside of him
An't no account, nohow.'
"In fact, one day, I saw the sameContemporaneous pupPitch into a NewfounlanderAnd chaw him slightly up.
"In fact, one day, I saw the same
Contemporaneous pup
Pitch into a Newfounlander
And chaw him slightly up.
"He's such a plaguy little cuss,You'd laugh to see him come;But when there's chawin' up to do,I tell you, boss, he's some!
"He's such a plaguy little cuss,
You'd laugh to see him come;
But when there's chawin' up to do,
I tell you, boss, he's some!
"One day, a pedler came to townWith ginger-beer and things,And patent clocks, and pious books,And fancy finger-rings.
"One day, a pedler came to town
With ginger-beer and things,
And patent clocks, and pious books,
And fancy finger-rings.
"And underneath his cart was tiedA bull-dog of the kindThat tears your musn't-mention-'ems,In angry frame of mind.
"And underneath his cart was tied
A bull-dog of the kind
That tears your musn't-mention-'ems,
In angry frame of mind.
"Now, Lige's dog was smellin' round,And when he see this here,He cocked his eye in agony,And acted awful queer.
"Now, Lige's dog was smellin' round,
And when he see this here,
He cocked his eye in agony,
And acted awful queer.
"The bull-dog gin a rousin' shout,As Lige's dog went by,And gev him such a sassy nipThat fur began to fly.
"The bull-dog gin a rousin' shout,
As Lige's dog went by,
And gev him such a sassy nip
That fur began to fly.
"Then Lige's dog unfurled his tailAnd gev the wound a lick,And then pitched into that ere dogA way thatwasn'tsick.
"Then Lige's dog unfurled his tail
And gev the wound a lick,
And then pitched into that ere dog
A way thatwasn'tsick.
"The critters had it nip and tuck,And made such awful noise,That Lige himself came up to see,With all the other boys.
"The critters had it nip and tuck,
And made such awful noise,
That Lige himself came up to see,
With all the other boys.
"The pedler see him, and says he,Like one to fits inured:'I'm sorry, strannger; but I hopeYour yaller dog's insured.'
"The pedler see him, and says he,
Like one to fits inured:
'I'm sorry, strannger; but I hope
Your yaller dog's insured.'
"I tell you, boys, 'twas fun to seeThe grin that Lige put on,As in his cheek he put a chawAnd winked his eye at one.
"I tell you, boys, 'twas fun to see
The grin that Lige put on,
As in his cheek he put a chaw
And winked his eye at one.
"'Oh, let the varmints fit,' says Lige,'My pup is awful thin,And this here row will make him lookJist like himself ag'in.'
"'Oh, let the varmints fit,' says Lige,
'My pup is awful thin,
And this here row will make him look
Jist like himself ag'in.'
"And all this while the fit went on,With such a mess of dustWe couldn't tell the upper dog,If all our eyes should bust.
"And all this while the fit went on,
With such a mess of dust
We couldn't tell the upper dog,
If all our eyes should bust.
"'Twas yell and yowl, and shout and growl,And stompin' awful hard,And sometimes they'd a tail stick outFrom where the dust was bar'd.
"'Twas yell and yowl, and shout and growl,
And stompin' awful hard,
And sometimes they'd a tail stick out
From where the dust was bar'd.
"Byme-by the noise began to die,And as it fainter grew,The dust began to settle down,And you could just see through.
"Byme-by the noise began to die,
And as it fainter grew,
The dust began to settle down,
And you could just see through.
"At last it cleared away entire,But all that we could seeWas Lige's dog a squattin' downBeneath the axletree.
"At last it cleared away entire,
But all that we could see
Was Lige's dog a squattin' down
Beneath the axletree.
"'Law!' says the pedler, lookin' blue,'What's happened tomypup?'Says Lige: 'It's my opinion, boss,My pup has eat him up.'
"'Law!' says the pedler, lookin' blue,
'What's happened tomypup?'
Says Lige: 'It's my opinion, boss,
My pup has eat him up.'
"'But where's the chain I tied him with?'The pedler loud did call.And would you b'lieve me—Lige's dogHad swallowed chain and all!
"'But where's the chain I tied him with?'
The pedler loud did call.
And would you b'lieve me—Lige's dog
Had swallowed chain and all!
"One end was hangin' from his mouthAnd gev him such a cough,We had to fetch a chisel outAnd cut some inches off.
"One end was hangin' from his mouth
And gev him such a cough,
We had to fetch a chisel out
And cut some inches off.
"Then that ere brute, to show the joyThat's nat'ral to dum brutes,Insulted that sad pedler there,By smellin' round his boots.
"Then that ere brute, to show the joy
That's nat'ral to dum brutes,
Insulted that sad pedler there,
By smellin' round his boots.
"The pedler dropped a tear, and thenSays he to Lige, says he:'I'd like to buy that yaller pupAnd take him home with me.'
"The pedler dropped a tear, and then
Says he to Lige, says he:
'I'd like to buy that yaller pup
And take him home with me.'
"But 'no,' says Lige, with proud disdainAnd sot down on a log,'That pup is plural now, you know—A dog within a dog.'
"But 'no,' says Lige, with proud disdain
And sot down on a log,
'That pup is plural now, you know—
A dog within a dog.'
"'He's twice as strong to fit,' says Lige;'For if he's killed outside,I'll turn the critter inside out,And letyourcritter slide.'
"'He's twice as strong to fit,' says Lige;
'For if he's killed outside,
I'll turn the critter inside out,
And letyourcritter slide.'
"'Well,' says the pedler, with a sigh,'The pup's a trump, I think;But let us change the subject now;Say, strannger!—do you drink?'"
"'Well,' says the pedler, with a sigh,
'The pup's a trump, I think;
But let us change the subject now;
Say, strannger!—do you drink?'"
But let me not indulge in sentiment, my boy, while it is still before me to describe the recent successful reconnoissance of the Anatomical Cavalry, whose horses remind me of the celebrated war-horse described by Job, inasmuch as it is believed that the far-famed patience of that scriptural patriarch would have stood a very poor chance with them.
The Grim Old Fighting Cox, the new General of the Mackerel Brigade, having learned from the New York daily papers, of the week previous, that a few hundred thousand freshly-drafted Confederacies were massing themselves on his right, resolved to order a triumphant reconnoissance by the Anatomical Cavalry and the Orange County Howitzers, for the purpose of discovering whether the war was actually going on yet. As the steeds of the cavalry were widely dispersed through the various gravel meadows around the Mackerel camp, my boy, and had grown somewhat wild from long disuse, I was somewhat puzzled to know how they could all be caught quickly enough, and says I to Captain Villiam Brown, who was to command the combined expedition:
"Tell me, my Pylades, how will you manage to organize the equestrian bone-works without losing too many hours?"
"Ah!" says Villiam, briskly replacing the cork in his canteen, and startling his geometrical steed, Euclid, from a soft doze, "we must make use of our knowledge of natural history, which is the animal kingdom. Observe the device used in such cases by the scientific United States of America."
I looked, my boy, and beheld a select company of joyous Mackerels hoisting a huge board to the top of a lofty pole, which must have been visible for a mile distant. The board simply bore, in large letters, the simple words:
"THE OATS HAVE COME."
and scarcely had it reached the top of the pole, when the anatomical steeds came pouring into the camp with frantic speed, and from every direction.
"Ah!" says Villiam, thoughtfully, "how powerful is instink, even in a dumb animal. I once had a dog," says Villiam, reflectively, "whose instink was so powerful, that to stop his vocal barking it was only necessary to show him a good-sized piece of bark. He felt," says Villiam, explainingly, "that it was a larger bark than his, and it made him silent."
Truly, my boy, there is often a marvellous similarity between instinct and reason, the former serving as the foundation of the latter, and not unfrequently being entirely destitute of a superstructure in military men.
The Cavalry and Howitzers having been arranged in such order that each supported the other, and a prospect of some carnage supported them both, the word was given to advance, and the warlike pageant swept onward very much as we read in the reliable morning journals. I was proceeding at the head of the cavalcade, with Villiam, pleasantly discussing with him the propriety of digging a canal to Richmond, and using the Cavalry on the tow-path, when there rode forth from the cover of a wood near at hand a horseman, whose stately bearing and dishevelled hat announced Captain Munchausen, of the celebrated Southern Confederacy. He waved his sword courteously to Villiam, and says he:
"You bring your hordes to measure sabres with us, I presume?"
Villiam rattled his good sword Escalibar4in its scabbard, and says he, grimly, "We are met together for that purpose."
Captain Munchausen smiled superciliously, and says he, "Is this intended by your vandals to be what you call a brilliant cavalry dash?"
Villiam waved his hand majestically, and says he:
"That is the exciting phrase."
"Then," says Munchausen, with unseemly levity of tone, "I can tell you, before you go any farther, that you are out of ammunition."
Here Captain Samyule Sa-mith, of the Howitzers, who had come up while the talking was going on, suddenly slapped his knee, and says he:
"That's so. I knew I had forgotten something in this here expedition, and it's the ammunition."
So we all went back to camp, Captain Munchausen being too much demoralized by the bad example to pursue us.
Our latest cavalry dashes, my boy, being reduced to their simplest meaning, signify devised charges of cavalry, which are based upon charges of artillery, which have forgotten to bring any charges with them.
Yours, retreatingly,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER LXXXIX.
SHOWING HOW THE GREAT CITY OF ROME HAS BEEN RUINED BY THE WAR; CITING A NOTABLE INSTANCE OF CONTEMPT OF COURT; DESCRIBING REAR ADMIRAL HEAD'S WONDERFUL IMPROVEMENT IN SWIVEL GUNS; AND PROVING THAT ALL IS NOW READY FOR THE REDUCTION OF FORT PIANO.
Washington, D.C., March 29th, 1863.
After due consideration of the different points of the Compass, and a fair estimate of the claims of each to superiority, I am inclined to give the preference to the Great North-west. It is to the Great North-west that we are indebted for our best facilities of sunset; some of the greatest hogs of the day come from Cincinnati; the principal smells of the age belong to Chicago, and the whiskey of Louisville has almost entirely superseded the pump of our forefathers. Hence, my boy, it was with a feeling akin to reverence that I witnessed the arrival in Accomac of a delegation of high moral Democratic chaps from the Great North-west, the other day; their mission being, to protest against all further continuation of a war which was degenerated into a mere bloodshed for the sake of New England; and to suggest that a convention of all the States be at once held in Kentucky, to arrange a peace that shall be acceptable to the Great North-west. I was asking the thoughtful chairman of the delegation what were his particular grievances, and says he:
"This war is ruining much valuable Real Estate in the Great North-west, of which I and my fellow-beings are proprietors; and cannot continue without proving the entire destruction of some of our largest cities. Just before this war broke out," says the thoughtful chap, impressively, "I gave a three-years' note of seven hundred and sixteen dollars and fifteen cents for the city of Rome, situated on the future line of the Atlantic and Pacific Canal, and divided into four hundred water-lots of five fathoms each. As soon as the Atlantic and Pacific Canal was built, the water would have been drawn off by means of eighteen large hydraulic pumps supported by Eastern capital, leaving the lots all ready for building purposes. The main street would then have been graded, and paved with the new patent Connecticut sub-drainage pavement, and would have extended two miles in a perfectly straight line, with a horse-railroad through the centre. The various intersecting streets I should have named numerically, commencing with 'First Street,' which faces upon the Atlantic and Pacific Canal, and so going on to 'One Hundred and Seventy-sixth street,' and so on. These streets would have been occupied exclusively by brown-stone-front residences, with a flag-staff bearing our national banner on the roof of each one, and rented to small private families without children. The full lots on the main street would have been used for the City Hall, the Lunatic Asylum, the Custom House, the Home for Deranged Persons, the Merchants' Exchange, the Corn Exchange, the Refuge for the Insane, the Grain Elevator, the Institution for Friendless Maniacs, the Principal Pork-Packing Establishment, the Hall of Records, the Office of the Superintendent of Central Parks, the Madman's Snug Harbor, and the Municipal Bar-Room. The sixty-eight principal banks would have discounted bills of exchange at sight, for the benefit of the numerous foreign vessels constantly arriving at the principal pier by way of the Atlantic and Pacific Canal, and the Fire Department would have been limited to twenty-three hundred hose-carriages and engines, with an educated Chief Engineer." Here the thoughtful Democratic chap gnashed his teeth, and says he:
"But the City of Rome has been entirely retarded by this here Black Republican New England war upon the sunny South, with which the great North-west has no earthly quarrel whatsoever."
I was pondering a reply to this very reasonable speech, my boy, when word was suddenly brought that one of the Mackerel pickets had just assassinated a young Confederacy, who had only fired twice upon his inhuman murderer. No sooner did the thoughtful Proprietor of the City of Rome hear this sickening news than he at once formed the other Democratic chaps into a coroner's jury, and hastily proceeded to hold a high moral inquest upon the body of the lamented deceased.
There being no witnesses to examine, and nothing in the pocket-book found upon the body, the proprietor of Rome removed two tears with his red silk handkerchief, and briefly summoned up the case. Kneeling desolately beside the cold remains, and taking one of the lifeless hands within his own, he sniffed feelingly, and says he:
"The young man which is here before us is another of them noble souls that have fallen gory sacrifices to the Mulock of War."
"You mean 'Moloch of War,'" says a juryman.
Whereupon he was committed to custody for contempt of court.
"This young man," continued the Proprietor of Rome, "may have had good cause to hate and despise the radical abolition offsprings of New England; but he had no quarrel with the glorious Democratic party of the Great North-west, which is now blindly fighting for his wooden-nutmeg foes. I will venture to say," says the thoughtful Roman, with great emotion, "that he even loved the Great North-west in his heart. Behold how freely he permits me to clasp his left hand to my friendly buzzom, even though he is dead."
Just then there was a sudden silence, my boy, for the right hand of the deceased young Confederacy was observed to be slowly rising in the air! Overcome with awe, the jury gazed upon the strange spectacle, like men under a wizard's spell. Slowly, slowly, the hand arose, until nearly above the face of the slain Confederacy; then it descended until it reached the half-averted countenance of the dead, and convulsively seized the nose between the thumb and fore-finger.
The Proprietor of the City of Rome changed color, and says he: "Well—ahem!—it can't be that—" Here he looked more closely at the body, and says he:
"I am at a loss to explain this remarkable phenomena."
A venerable juryman, of much shirt-collar, coughed to attract attention, and says he: "I should take the present attitude of our departed Confederate brother to be that of a man who smells something obnoxious."
Here the Proprietor of Rome suddenly dropped the left hand of the deceased Confederacy, and says he:
"Why, he must mean to insult the Great North-west."
"Yes," says the venerable juryman, "there can be but one construction of the present offensive attitude of this dead young being."
The thoughtful Proprietor of the City of Rome deliberately took off his spectacles, blew his nose, buttoned his coat up to his chin, and says he: "I have always advocated a vigorous prosecution of the war, and believe that full nine-tenths of our gallant troops are Democrats. What's the werdict?"
The shirt-collared juryman waved his hand impressively, and says he: "We find the deceased guilty of contempt of court in the Last Degree."
Then the Democratic chaps from the Great North-west held an enthusiastic mass meeting on the spot, and unanimously resolved that neither Kentucky nor Indiana would resist the Conscription Bill, should it be found unsafe to do so.
Believe me, my boy, when I say that the great Democratic party is stanchly loyal at heart, however strangely its head may seem to err at times; and never will it take a side with the enemies of the country, even whilst those enemies make offers to it not only aside but affront.
Upon going down to Paris on Friday, I found the well-disciplined and spectacled Mackerel Brigade greatly excited and demoralized by the insidious report that their famous new General, the Grim Old Fighting Cox, had actually washed himself. This injurious rumor, my boy, suggested such humiliating national recollections of those days of consummate strategy, when a certain egotistical commander indulged in the vanities of soap and hair-oil, that the Brigade were naturally terrified. Finally, however, the absurd story received a decisive quietus, when the Grim Old Fighting Cox was seen riding slowly on his unostentatious steed, the "Pride of the Canal," dressed in the unassuming republican habiliments of a stern and inflexible coal-heaver. It is needless to say that he had not washed himself. This war is at length beginning in earnest.
It is beautiful to see how the Grim Old Fighting Cox is improving the morals of the venerable Mackerels, and winning their affection, confidence, and respect. Coming, unexpectedly, upon a Mackerel, who had just laid aside his umbrella, and removed his spectacles, in order that he might weep the more freely, he fired a pistol over his head, and says he:
"What is the matter, my dear sir?"
"Oh!" says the poor Mackerel, sobbing, "I am in sore need of the pay which is due me for two years' faithful strategy to the Union, and know not where to get it."
The Grim Old Fighting Cox was much affected, and says he, softly: "You must humbly kneel, and beseech Providence for it."
The afflicted chap toyed with his spectacles, and says he: "But suppose Providence should refuse?"
"Then come to ME!" thundered the Grim Old Fighting Cox, with the air of a stern national parent.
I could relate hundreds of such significant anecdotes as this, my boy; though when the Grim Old Fighting Cox tells them himself to all the reporters of the reliable morning journals, he invariably desires that they shall go no further; but other great events demand my immediate attention.
It was very shortly after the victorious but disastrous blowing up of the Mackerel iron-plated squadron, the "Secretary Welles," on Duck Lake, by the infatuated Confederacies of Pier No. 1,—it was shortly after this event, which I duly recounted at the time, that our unconquerable old sea-dog, Rear Admiral Head, invented an entirely new iron-clad after the model of a Quaker hat, the turret being of solid iron all through, and so arranged that it could be used to cover the gangway amidships. In fact, my boy, the turret was a movable block of iron, with the swivel-gun mounted on top; so that if the turret happened to be hit, the artillery would not be disabled, and if the artillery was disabled, the turret would still be as good as ever. (Patent applied for.) There was some discussion as to what name should be given to this formidable monster, nearly the whole six-barrelled Indian language having been almost exhausted by our national navy; but finally it was resolved to call her the "Shockingbadhat,"—an old Choctaw title of much simplicity, signifying originally "The Head what errs," but now understood as meaning "The Head waters."
There has also been a great improvement in the swivel-gun, my boy, which has been so reconstructed as to remedy the evil of immediate bursting so common to our heavier ordnance. A select committee of Mackerels having been appointed to examine our national ordnance system, and discover the cause of its inefficiency, stated in their able report that the causes of the frequent bursting of our larger guns are,—
First.The powder used in propelling the appropriate missile against the enemy.
Second.The addition of an incendiary spark to said powder.
It was further stated in the report, that, although the barrel of a gun was frequently fractured when it exploded, there was no record of the touch-hole ever having burst; and the committee believed that this curious fact should serve as a valuable suggestion to the manufacturers of future heavy ordnance.
Acting upon this truly valuable suggestion, our stern old Son of Neptune caused his swivel-gun to be reconstructed upon a novel principle; the touch-hole was extended to the usual size of a barrel, and the barrel was reduced to the usual size of a touch-hole; so that, although the terrible weapon looked precisely the same as ever, it was, in reality,completely reversed!
But while the "Shockingbadhat" was being built, and receiving her terrific new armament, the shameless Confederacies on their Pier in Duck Lake had been industriously building Fort Piano and mounting it with their villanous horse-pistols; so that when the new Mackerel iron-plated squadron was ready for carnage and fishing, there was a hostile projection in the way.
"Chip my turret!" says Rear Admiral Head, in his iron-plated manner, "I think I shall have to blow a few more Rebels into eternity—smash my casemate! if I don't."
I stood upon the shore of Duck Lake, with a bit of smoked glass to my eye as usual, when our new monster of the deep came abreast of Fort Piano, and Rear Admiral Head commenced to reconnoitre through his pocket-microscope. The venerable commander gazed steadfastly through it for a moment, and then, says he:
"Crack my plates! if I don't perceive an insect on the wall of the hostile work."
There was indeed a solitary Confederacy seated upon the front wall of Fort Piano, dining sumptuously upon some fresh hoe-cake, and says he:
"You can't pass here without a New Jersey ferry-ticket."
(New Jersey, my boy, is now a Southern Confederacy, or a Peace of one.)
I could hear the glorious old naval hero say, in a suppressed voice, to the intelligent Mackerel crew on top of the turret:
"Depress your weapon four points to windward, grease the ball, and fire at his stomach."
In another instant, the whole landscape shook with a tremendous explosion, jarring the Admiral so greatly that his spectacles fell off, and causing his blue cotton umbrella to tremble like a leaf. The ball ascended to the zenith in a parabolical curve, and was lost amongst the other planets. I do not think, my boy, that the Confederacy would have been offended at this, had not the sudden noise caused him to jump in such a manner that he dropped his hoe-cake into the dirt. Upon this occurrence, however, he sprang to his legs on the wall, drew up a long pole from behind him, disrespectfully cracked our glorious old Rear Admiral over the head with it, and then commenced shoving at the turret of the "Shockingbadhat."
Perceiving the great danger of the squadron, and unmindful of his own wound, the venerable sea-dog hastily grasped at the pole, and says he: "Ah, now, what do you want to do that for, Mr. Davis? What's the use of pushing my turret overboard?"
He said this so mildly that the Confederacy burst into a prodigious horse-laugh, and drew in his pole again.
"As no possible good could be attained by taking Fort Piano, the indomitable old Rear Admiral at once returned with the squadron to his original anchorage; having gained all that was required, and proved his iron-clad monster to be fully qualified for actual service. Everything is now ready for the anticipated conquest of Duck Lake."
I give you the above in quotation marks, my boy, because it is the official report as it appears in all the reliable morning journals, and clearly and satisfactorily explains everything. The first of April is close at hand.
Yours, fortuitously,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XC.
GIVING A DEEP INSIGHT OF WOMAN'S NATURE; PRESENTING A POWERFUL POEM OF THE HEART BY ONE OF THE INTELLECTUAL FEMALES OF AMERICA; AND REPORTING THE SIGNAL DISCOMFITURE OF MR. P. GREENE.
Washington, D.C., April 5th, 1863.
Woman's heart, my boy, in its days of youthful immaturity and vegetable development, may be felicitously likened unto a delicate cabbage, with an invisible worm feeding upon its sensitive petals. To the eye of the ordinary and unfeeling observer, the cabbage is in perfect health, and its intense greenness is thoughtlessly accepted as a sure indication of an unravaged system. Man, proud man, with all his boasted human wisdom, would smile incredulously, if told that the tender vegetable—the magnified and nervous white rose, as it were—had beneath all its seeming verdancy, an insatiable and remorseless worm gnawing at its hidden core. Man, I say, would thus wallow in his miserable ignorance, and persist in his disgusting blindness. But mark that dainty little figure coming up the garden-walk, my boy. It does not walk erect, like boastful Man, does not spit tobacco-juice like haughty Man; and as it approaches nearer, we perceive that it is a hot-house Pig. Ay, my lord: I say to you, in all your glory of human understanding and trifling degree of snobbishness, it is a Pig. Yes, madam: I remark to you, in your jewels, and laces, and absurd new bonnet,—it is only a Pig.Onlya Pig! O-O-ONLY a Pig! And why should we say "only" a Pig; as though a Pig were soveryinferior to proud Man? We all accord to the awful and unfathomable German Mind a preternatural gift of philosophy, so far above the contemptibly-limited thing we call human understanding that no man can ever understand a word of it; and how does that German Mind express itself when it desires to describe the Vast, the Extensive, and the Somewhat Large? Why, it simply observes "Das is von 'Pig' thing." And is not this unaffected remark sufficient, my boy, to raise the wrongfully despised Pig to the dignity of an adjective, at least? But look once more at the hot-house Pig in question, as he stoops thoughtfully to the cabbage which derisive Man has esteemed perfectly sound. He pushes it once with his nose; he raises his eyes, blinking in the glorious sunshine; his tail vibrates a moment; a solemn wink,—a grunt of deep reflection,—and heturns to another cabbage!
Yes! this despised little roasting-pig, this unconsidered Flower, as it were, has surpassed all the vaunted wisdom of stuck-up Man, and discovered the worm at the core of the sensitive cabbage!
Woman's heart, my boy, in its days of youthful immaturity and vegetable development, is a metaphorical Cabbage with a figurative worm at its palpitating core. That worm is a passionate yearning for TRUE SYMPATHY. Heartless but wealthy Man comes along, and says: "This Cabbage is in perfect health, and I will Husband it." HedoesHusband it my boy, and what is the consequence? Not knowing anything about the existence of the worm, he cannot, of course, furnish that TRUE SYMPATHY which is necessary to end its horrible gnawings; and so the worm keeps feeding until the Cabbage Heart becomes a mere shell, when the least zephyr will break it. How different the result had that Heart been—or, that is to say, how changed would the case have been had she—or, in other words, what an opposite spectacle might we—or, rather she—if he—if she—
Really, my boy, I am all in a cold perspiration; for I find that I must have made some dreadful mistake in my argument. Hem! There reallymustbe some strange mistake in it, my boy; for I cannot follow it out without making it scandalously appear, that a man, to really understand a Woman's Heart, must be something of a Pig. This conclusion would be very insulting to the women of America, and there certainly must be some mistake about it.
What led me into this philosophical vein of analytical thought was a touching poem of the home affections, which was sent to me for perusal on Monday by one of the intellectual Young Women of America. It is one of those revelations of Woman's inner-self which move us to tearful compassion for a sex doomed to be the victim of man's selfishness and its own too-great sensibilities. The terrible picture of woe is called
"WOMAN'S HEART.5"BY SAIRA NEVERMAIR."We went to the world-loved Ball last night,—Claude and I, in our robes of gold;He in a coat as black as jet,And I in the jewels I wore of old."Diamonds covered my head in pounds,Seventy large ones lit my neck,—Over my skirts they burned in quarts,Counting in all a goodly peck."Hopped the canary 'neath the wires,—Spoke the canary not a word;When to my heart the chill has struck,How can I sing?—can ary bird?"We were together, Claude and I,Bonded together as man and wife;Little I thought, as I uttered my vows,What was the real Ideal of life."He is my Husband to love and obey,—Those were the words of the priest, I think,—He is to purchase the clothes I wear,Order my victuals and order my drink!"Well, it is well if it must be so:Woman the slave and man the lord;She the scissors to cut the threadsAfter the darning, and he the sword."Was it for this I played my cards,Tuned the piano's tender din,Cherished a delicate health, and atePickles and pencils to make me thin?"Better it were to be born a serf,Holding a soul by a master's lease;Better than learning Society's law,Gaining a Husband and forfeiting peace."Mortimer sighs as he sees me dance,Percy is sad as he passes by,Herbert turns pallid beneath my glance;All of them married—and so am I."Well, if the world must have it so,Woman can only stand and endure;Ever the grossness of all that is grossRises the tyrant of all that is pure."Marriage, they say, is a sacred thing;So is the fetter that yields a smart.Giveonecrumb to the starving wretch,And giveoneObject to Woman's Heart."Claude, they tell me, should own my love;Well, I have loved him nearly a week;Looking at one man longer than thatGrows to be tiresome—so to speak."What if he calls me Angel wife;Angels are not for the One to win;Yet is my passionate love like theirs,—Theirs is a love taking all men in."Hops the canary 'neath the wires,Speaks the canary not a word;When to my heart the chill has struck,How can I sing?—can ary bird?"
"WOMAN'S HEART.5
"WOMAN'S HEART.5
"BY SAIRA NEVERMAIR.
"BY SAIRA NEVERMAIR.
"We went to the world-loved Ball last night,—Claude and I, in our robes of gold;He in a coat as black as jet,And I in the jewels I wore of old.
"We went to the world-loved Ball last night,—
Claude and I, in our robes of gold;
He in a coat as black as jet,
And I in the jewels I wore of old.
"Diamonds covered my head in pounds,Seventy large ones lit my neck,—Over my skirts they burned in quarts,Counting in all a goodly peck.
"Diamonds covered my head in pounds,
Seventy large ones lit my neck,—
Over my skirts they burned in quarts,
Counting in all a goodly peck.
"Hopped the canary 'neath the wires,—Spoke the canary not a word;When to my heart the chill has struck,How can I sing?—can ary bird?
"Hopped the canary 'neath the wires,—
Spoke the canary not a word;
When to my heart the chill has struck,
How can I sing?—can ary bird?
"We were together, Claude and I,Bonded together as man and wife;Little I thought, as I uttered my vows,What was the real Ideal of life.
"We were together, Claude and I,
Bonded together as man and wife;
Little I thought, as I uttered my vows,
What was the real Ideal of life.
"He is my Husband to love and obey,—Those were the words of the priest, I think,—He is to purchase the clothes I wear,Order my victuals and order my drink!
"He is my Husband to love and obey,—
Those were the words of the priest, I think,—
He is to purchase the clothes I wear,
Order my victuals and order my drink!
"Well, it is well if it must be so:Woman the slave and man the lord;She the scissors to cut the threadsAfter the darning, and he the sword.
"Well, it is well if it must be so:
Woman the slave and man the lord;
She the scissors to cut the threads
After the darning, and he the sword.
"Was it for this I played my cards,Tuned the piano's tender din,Cherished a delicate health, and atePickles and pencils to make me thin?
"Was it for this I played my cards,
Tuned the piano's tender din,
Cherished a delicate health, and ate
Pickles and pencils to make me thin?
"Better it were to be born a serf,Holding a soul by a master's lease;Better than learning Society's law,Gaining a Husband and forfeiting peace.
"Better it were to be born a serf,
Holding a soul by a master's lease;
Better than learning Society's law,
Gaining a Husband and forfeiting peace.
"Mortimer sighs as he sees me dance,Percy is sad as he passes by,Herbert turns pallid beneath my glance;All of them married—and so am I.
"Mortimer sighs as he sees me dance,
Percy is sad as he passes by,
Herbert turns pallid beneath my glance;
All of them married—and so am I.
"Well, if the world must have it so,Woman can only stand and endure;Ever the grossness of all that is grossRises the tyrant of all that is pure.
"Well, if the world must have it so,
Woman can only stand and endure;
Ever the grossness of all that is gross
Rises the tyrant of all that is pure.
"Marriage, they say, is a sacred thing;So is the fetter that yields a smart.Giveonecrumb to the starving wretch,And giveoneObject to Woman's Heart.
"Marriage, they say, is a sacred thing;
So is the fetter that yields a smart.
Giveonecrumb to the starving wretch,
And giveoneObject to Woman's Heart.
"Claude, they tell me, should own my love;Well, I have loved him nearly a week;Looking at one man longer than thatGrows to be tiresome—so to speak.
"Claude, they tell me, should own my love;
Well, I have loved him nearly a week;
Looking at one man longer than that
Grows to be tiresome—so to speak.
"What if he calls me Angel wife;Angels are not for the One to win;Yet is my passionate love like theirs,—Theirs is a love taking all men in.
"What if he calls me Angel wife;
Angels are not for the One to win;
Yet is my passionate love like theirs,—
Theirs is a love taking all men in.
"Hops the canary 'neath the wires,Speaks the canary not a word;When to my heart the chill has struck,How can I sing?—can ary bird?"
"Hops the canary 'neath the wires,
Speaks the canary not a word;
When to my heart the chill has struck,
How can I sing?—can ary bird?"
Let us mingle our tears, my boy, in a gruel of compassion, as we conjointly reflect upon this affecting revelation of Woman's Heart.
On Thursday last, my architectural steed, the gothic Pegasus, conveyed me once more, by easy stages, to the outskirts of Paris, where I found the aged and respectable Mackerel Brigade cleaning their spectacles and writing their epitaphs preparatory to that celebrated advance upon the well-known Southern Confederacy which is frequently mentioned in ancient history. The Grim Old Fighting Cox, my boy, has rashly determined, that the unfavorable weather shall not detain our national troops another single year, and there is at last a prospect that our grandchildren may read a full and authentic report of the capture of Richmond in the reliable morning journals of their time. And here let me say to the grandchild Orpheus: "Be sure, my boy, that you do not permit your pardonable exultation at the triumph of your country's arms, to make you too severe upon the conquered foes of the Republic." I put in this little piece of advice to posterity, my boy, because I desire to have posterity magnanimous.
I was conversing affably with a few official Mackerels about several mutual friends of ours, who had been born, were married, and had expired of decrepitude during the celebrated national sieges of Vicksburg and Charleston, when a civilian chap named Mr. P. Greene came into camp from New York, with the intention of proceeding immediately to the ruins of Richmond. He was a chap of much spreading dignity, my boy, with a carpet-bag, an umbrella, and a walking-cane.
"Having read," says he, "in all the excellent morning journals, that Richmond is being hastily evacuated by the starving Confederacy, I have determined to precede the military in that direction. Possibly," says he, impressively, "I may be able to find a suitable place in the deserted city for the residence of my family during the summer."
Captain Villiam Brown listened attentively, and says he:
"Is your intelligence official, or founded on fact?"
The civilian chap drew himself up with much dignity, and says he:
"I find it in all the morning journals."
Certainly this was conclusive, my boy; and yet our supine military men were willing to let this unadorned civilian chap be the first to enter the evacuated capital of the stricken Confederacy. Facing toward that ill-fated place, he moved off, his carpet-bag in his left hand, his umbrella In his right, and his cane under one arm, a perfect impersonation of the spirit of American Progress. By slow and dignified degrees he grew smaller in the distance, until finally he was out of sight.
It was some six hours after this, my boy, that we were conversing as before, when there suddenly appeared, coming toward us from the direction of the capital of the Confederacy, the figure of a man running. Rapidly it drew nearer, when I discovered it to be Mr. P. Greene, in a horrible condition of dishevelment, his umbrella, cane, and carpet-bag gone, his hair standing on end, his coat-tails projective in the breeze, and his lower limbs making the best time on record. Onward he came, like the wind, and before we could stop him, he had gone by us, dashed frantically through the camp, and was tearing along like mad toward Washington.
"Ah!" says Villiam, philosophically, "he derived his information from the daily prints of the United States of America, and has seen the elephant. The moral," says Villiam, placidly, "is very obvious,—put not your trust in print, sirs."
If it be indeed true, that there is "more pleasure in anticipation than in reality," the war-news we find in our excellent morning journals should give us more pleasure than one poor pen can express.
Yours, credulously,
Orpheus C. Kerr.