_The New York Election--Mr. Lincoln Tells a Story--Cannot Do Justice
to the Subject--Mr. Lincoln Feels Bad--The Major Amuses him by a
Joke--How to get up a Message--Keeping a Party Together--The Excelsior
Political Prepared Glue--The Different Stripes of Abolitionists--
Boating on the Mississippi River--Poleing Along._
WASHINGTON, Nov. 10th, 1862.
_To the Editers of The Cawcashin:_
I expect you were very much surprised in not gettin a letter from me
last week, but the truth is, I got one partly writ jest as the news of
the elecshins in New York an Jersey cum in, an I should have finished
it an sent it on ef the Kernel had not been taken down sick so sudden.
Wen the rumor fust cum that York city had gone over thirty thousand for
Seemore, an that Fernandow an Ben. Wood an Jeemes Brooks had been
elected to Congriss, the Kernel didn't say a word, but looked as ef
he'd drop down thru the floor. I didn't like to speak fust, but I see
the Kernel warn't going to, an so ses I, "How do you feel, Mr.
Presidint?" "Wal," ses he, "Majer, I'll tell you a story. A good meny
years ago there lived in lower Kentuck an old feller named Josh Miller.
Now, it was ginerally reckoned in that part of the country that old
Josh could out-swear eny feller that ever lived. Josh was a kind of
gineral teamster, an had a two-hoss wagon with which he did chores for
everybody round the village. One day he had on a load of ashes, an was
goin up a steep hill, sittin on the fore part of his wagon. Wen about
half way up the hind-board of his wagon cum out, an old Josh not lookin
round, nigh about all the ashes jarred out, so wen he got to the top of
the hill he didn't have a pan full left. He stopped his hosses,
however, an got out, an a hull lot of fellers, who knew the ability of
old Josh in the swearin line, gathered around expecting to here the
tallest kind of strong words. The old feller looked fust at his wagon
an then at the ashes all strewed along the road, an finally ses he,
'Boys, there's no use in tryin--_I can't do jestice to the subject_.'
An now, Majer," ses the Kernel, "That jest my condition now--I can't do
jestice to the subject, an I don't feel like talkin; in fact, I _can't_
talk."
I see the Kernel felt very bad, an ef he couldn't talk nor tell
stories, I didn't know wat on arth might happen. I was afeered he would
get so full that sumthin like the dropsy would set in. An sure enuf,
that nite not a word did he speak, nor a story did he tell. The
consekence was, he began to swell an bloat like a mad porkepine. I see
at once that I must turn doctor agin, or there was no tellin how soon
he might kick the bucket. He was growin wus fast, actually beginnin to
look _blue_. So ses I, "Kernel, there's no help for it; you must be
tapped!" "Tapped!" ses he, "Majer, tapped! There warn't enything ever
_tapped_ in my house that lasted more that a week. Oh no! I ain't reddy
to die yet." I see the "rulin pashin was strong in deth," jest as the
poet's say; but as soon as I got a joke out of him, I knew that he
would survive. So thinks I to myself, I'll see ef I can fetch him to by
another joke; so ses I, "Kernel, suppose 'tappin' should kill you, you
would go to a _world of spirits_!"
Wen I said this, he jumped rite up out of his chair, laughin, an takin
me by the hand, ses he, "Majer, you are the best frend I've got. Wen
I'm sick you doctor me, an wen I'm down spereted you jest joke me rite
out of the dumps." Ses he, "Majer, I've a good mind to make you
Commander-in-Cheef of the Army." "No, no," ses I, "Kernel, don't do
that, for I should think you had sumthin agin me, an wanted to hand me
over to the Abolishinists to be punished!"
The Kernel and I have also been bizzy sence I wrote you last in getting
up the next message. He has been ritin his ideas on little slips of
paper about two inches wide, as they have happened to pop in his head,
an then submitten 'em to me to sort of polish up. The Kernel ses that
ritin a message is a good deal like gettin out timber for a barn in the
woods. Fust, you want the sills, then the posts, then the girders, then
the plates, an finally the rafters. We ain't got the sills fairly hewed
out and squared yit. The truth is, the Kernel is kinder worried as to
how exactly to lay the foundashin. Wilson, who is now here, ses the
sills must be of Abolishin timber, and no mistake. I telled the Kernel
that sich stuff was the poorest kind of bass-wood, an wouldn't stand
nohow. Then he thought of puttin in a mixture of Abolishin timber an
sum constitutional saw-logs, but I telled him that that would make it
so cross-grained that it wouldn't bear eny weight at all, an by the
time we got the rafters on it would all smash down in a pile. "Wal,"
ses he, "Majer, I must do sumthin to keep my party together. I must
contrive sum sort of a mixture that won't look too much Abolishin, an
yet that won't drive off the old, genewine friends of freedom." "Wal,"
ses I, "I don't think your party kin hold together much longer, enyhow.
It seems to me it is mity nigh now fallen to pieces, an it won't take
much longer to knock it into so menny pieces that you can't no more
putty 'em together than you can find the tail of a rainbow."
"Wal," ses the Kernel, "Majer, don't you think I've done well in keepin
it together as long as I have?" Ses I, "Yes, Kernel, ef there's a
feller in this country that ought to git out a patent for 'Excelsior
Political Prepared Glue,' it is you. You've kept together the most
cross-grained, knotty, knerly lot of political timber that ever was
made up into eny political party." Ses I, "There's the Greeley stripe.
Now, it's enuf to give any party the dyspepsy to have such a set of
bran-bread, free-luv, long-haired set of fellers in it. An ther's
Gerrit Smith an his stripe, a kind of maroon-colored, mongrel breed of
politicians, sumthin like a cross between a Jamacy nigger an an
Esquimaw; an then ther's Wendell Phillips an old Garrison, sort of
Abolishin alligators; an fineally you've got a sort of half-an-half
fellers in your party who try to be conservative, who quote Blackstun
and the law dicschinnaries, an set great stress upon being very
moderate. Now, how you've contrived, Kernel, to keep all these
different ingredients together is a mystery." "Wal, Majer, ef I hadn't
larn't sumthin about boatin on the Mississippi River, wen I was young,
I don't believe I would ever have been able to steer the ship of State
at all." "Why," ses I, "how is that?" "Wal," ses he, "goin up the
Mississippi River is a good deal like being Presidint. Sumtimes you
have to go one way and sumtimes another. Sumtimes you go slam rite in
one bank an sumtimes in t'other, and then it ain't at all oncommon to
get on a sand-bar, an lay there no one can tell how long. Now, Majer,
that's a good deal like being Presidint, an you see I've kept my party
together by jest goin first one way an then t'other. Wen the Abolishin
tide cum along strong, I'de jest let the vessel foller the current, go
with it, an wen she struck the other shore, of course, it would take
another tack. Sumtimes, when all hands got a quarrelin, I jest let her
rip rite on a sand-bar, and there let her lay until I made 'em settle
their disputes. But, I tell you, Majer, there's one that has been the
best of all to keep my party together. Wen they've got purty mutinous,
I've threatened to discharge all hands an get a new set. Then you ought
to see how soon they stop quarrelin. Ther's nothin they so much dred as
to lose the offices. Take away the cow that gives the milk, an they
would all blat jest like weaned calves. So wen I stop the ship an tell
them that I'm goin to clear the deck an put on a new crew, I tell you
they are as whist as mice. So you see, I go poleing along. First this
way, then that, jest like goin up the Mississippi River, for all the
world."
"Wal," ses I, "Kernel, that seems to me a rather hap-hazard, no-policy
way of bein Presidint. It ain't statesmanlike." "Wal, Majer, mebby it
is and mebby it ain't; but I'm goin to make things shake now, sence the
elecshins are over. Things have got to be more lively."
I didn't say nothin, for I see the Kernel was gettin his back up. At
last, ses I, "Kernel, have you tried eny of that old rye lately?" Ses
he, "No, Majer, I ain't, but I feel like wettin my gills to-nite. How
do you feel?" "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, a little good whiskey never goes
agin the grain." At that the Kernel sent for the feller who does
chores, an we both took a swig. Wen I thought he was in purty good
humor, ses I, "Kernel, why did you remove McClellin?" Ses he, "Majer, I
can't tell you now, but jest recollect my story about 'polein around,'
an gettin in 'Abolishin currents,' an you kin guess." I sed nothin, for
I see the Kernel was very mum, so I bid him good-nite, and slept as
sound on that old rye as I ever did wen I was a boy. The Kernel is
famous for good whiskey, anyhow.
Yours, till deth,