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THE
Orpheus C. Kerr Papers
Are now comprised in three volumes, uniformly bound, price $1.50, each
sold separately, entitled:
_FIRST SERIES_,
_SECOND SERIES_,
_THIRD SERIES_,
To say that these criticisms of Orpheus C. Kerr are universally known,
admired, and laughed at, would be superfluous. Their inimitable wit and
sarcasm have made the author famous, and since his letters have been
published in book form their circulation has been enormous Copies will
be sent by mail _free_, on receipt of price, $1.50
by
CARLETON, Publisher,
New York.
THE
ORPHEUS C. KERR PAPERS.
THIRD SERIES.
Even M. Louvois, the prime-minister, taxed Sulli with his impudence,
which, he said, by no means became a man who had no other recommendation
but that of making people laugh. "Why, what the d--l!" cried Sulli;
"you would do as much, if you were able!" ... and Sulli got the
appointment.
MEMOIRS OF THE OPERA.
NEW YORK:
_Carleton, Publisher, 413 Broadway._
MDCCCLXV.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
GEO. W. CARLETON,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District
of New York.
Cambridge Press.
DAKIN AND METCALF.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
LETTER LXXX.
Reporting our Uncle Abe's latest little Tale. Our Correspondent's
Historical Chaunt. The Boston Novel of "Mr. Smith". And a Funeral
Discourse by the devout Chaplain of the Mackerel Brigade. 7
LETTER LXXXI.
Showing how a Minion of Tyranny was terribly punished for
interfering with the conservative Women of America. And describing
the Kentucky Chap's remarkable Skirmish with his Thanksgiving
Dinner. 25
LETTER LXXXII.
Noting the utter Destruction, by an inebriated Journalist, of the
Venerable Gammon's benignant Speech. Introducing the new General of
the Mackerel Brigade. And describing a curious Phenomenon on Duck
Lake. 34
LETTER LXXXIII.
Referring to Washington City and the President's Message, and giving
the Southern Confederacy's very reasonable Peace Proposition. 43
LETTER LXXXIV.
Proving that Russia is indeed our Friend. Instancing the terrific
Bombardment of Paris. And telling how the new General of the
Mackerel Brigade delighted all with his surprising "Shape". 51
LETTER LXXXV.
Holding the Government strictly accountable for the Occurrence of a
recent "Military Necessity". Recounting the affecting Episode of the
Mackerel Drummer-Boy. And depicting the new Mackerel General's first
great Battle. 57
LETTER LXXXVI.
Touching upon a late Ovation to a Parent of his Country. Giving the
Conservative Kentucky Map of all America. And introducing a second
new General of the Mackerel Organization. 66
LETTER LXXXVII.
In which our Correspondent has a deadly Affair of Honor with a
Gentleman from Kentucky. Experiences "Contraband" Hospitality and
Melody. Attends a great Meeting in Accomac. And witnesses a
prodigious Naval Achievement. 73
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. 88
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. 101
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. 111
LETTER XCI.
Containing the Venerable Gammon's Report of the Manner in which the
War has conducted itself up to this Time. And the most Surprising
Epitaph of a Victim of Strategy. 119
LETTER XCII.
In which our enthusiastic Correspondent surpasses AEschylus in the
way of an Invocation. And describes Rear Admiral Head's great Naval
Demonstration against Fort Piano. 128
LETTER XCIII.
Teeming with Consummate Strategy, and relating an extraordinary
Geometrical Effort of Military Genius. 135
LETTER XCIV.
Affording an Instance of Imperceptible Patriotism. Presenting the
profound Commentary of an eminent foreign Military Critic. And
Reporting the last Effusion of the General of the Mackerel
Brigade. 143
LETTER XCV.
Noting the continued Anguish of the Conservative Kentucky Chap, and
the Death of Nemo. And describing an immense popular Demonstration
against the Outrages of Federal Oppression. 150
LETTER XCVI.
Devoted principally to Social Matters, and the benignant Bearing of
V. Gammon at a Diplomatic Soiree. 158
LETTER XCVII.
Introducing the great Moral Exhibition of the "Effigynia". Glancing
at a fourth new Mackerel General. And showing how the President's
Draft on Accomac was protested at sight. 164
LETTER XCVIII.
Recounting a chaste "Reconstruction" Anecdote of the Sixth Ward.
And divulging Captain Villiam Brown's ingenious Alphabetical
Experiment with Company Three. 172
LETTER XCIX.
In which our Correspondent is betrayed into Argument. But recovers
in time to give us the usual Christmas Song and Story of the
Renowned Brigade. 181
LETTER C.
Giving divers Instances of strangely-mistaken Identity. And
revealing a wise Method of saving the Country from Bankruptcy. 194
LETTER CI.
Explaining the well-meant Duplicity of the Journals of the
Opposition. Affording another Glimpse of the Irrepressible
Conservative Sentiment. And showing how Thanksgiving-Day was kept by
the Mackerels. 201
LETTER CII.
Showing the ingenious Financial Energy of a greatly reduced
Politician. And Describing a Combat illustrative of the
Philosophical Contentment of the well-known Southern Confederacy
under all Reverses. 213
LETTER CIII.
Being another and final Christmas Report. Including a Small Story
from our Uncle Abe. A Circular from the Secretary of State. A
Supernatural Carol from Sergeant O'Pake. And a tremendous
Ghost-Story from an unappreciated Genius. 222
LETTER CIV.
Explaining, in a lucid and perfectly satisfactory Manner, the
powerful Inactivity of that portion of the venerated Mackerel
Brigade residing before the ancient City of Paris, and presenting
certain genial Details of a recent Festive Conglomeration. 243
LETTER CV.
Being our Correspondent's last Effort prior to the Commencement of a
new Mackerel Campaign. Introducing a metrical Picture of the most
remarkable Single Combat on Record. And showing how the Romance of
Woman's sensitive Soul can be crushed by the thing called Man. 254
LETTER CVI.
Wherein will be found certain profound Remarks upon the Variations
of Gold, etc., and a wholesome little Tale illustrative of that
famous Popular Abstraction, the Southern Treasury Note. 261
LETTER CVII.
Recording the latest Delphic Utterances of One whom we all honor
without knowing why. And recounting the truly marvellous Affair of
the Fort built according to Tacitus. 267
LETTER CVIII.
Narrating the utterly unparalleled Conquest of Paris by the
venerable Mackerel Brigade, after Three Days' inconceivable
Strategy. In Fact, a Battle-Report after the Manner of all our
excited Morning Journals. Upon perusing which, each Reader is
expected to wrap himself up in the American Flag and shake his fist
at Combined Europe. 277
LETTER CIX.
Which endeth the Third Volume of this inexpressibly veracious
History of the War. And showeth how a Great Republic finally
overcame its surpassingly Mendacious Foes, and how it evinced its
unspeakable Gratitude to Providence for such a Victory. 289
THE
ORPHEUS C. KERR PAPERS.
THIRD SERIES.
LETTER LXXX.
REPORTING OUR UNCLE ABE'S LATEST LITTLE TALE; OUR CORRESPONDENT'S
HISTORICAL CHAUNT; THE BOSTON NOVEL OF "MR. SMITH;" AND A FUNERAL
DISCOURSE BY THE DEVOUT CHAPLAIN OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE.
WASHINGTON, D.C., Jan. 4th, 1863.
The more I see of our Honest Abe, my boy,--the more closely I analyze
the occasional acts by which he individualizes himself as a unit
distinct from the decimals of his cabinet,--the deeper grows my faith
in his sterling wisdom. Standing a head and shoulders above the other
men in power, he is the object at which the capricious lightnings of
the storm first strike; and were he a man of wax, instead of the grand
old rock he is, there would be nothing left of him but a shapeless and
inert mass of pliable material by this time. There are deep traces of
the storm upon his countenance, my boy; but they are the sculpture of
the tempest on a natural block of granite, graduating the features of
young simplicity into the sterner lineaments of the mature sublime, and
shaping one of those strong and earnest faces which God sets, as
indelible seals, upon the ages marked for immortality. Abused and
misrepresented by his political foes, alternately cajoled and
reproached by his other foes,--his political friends,--he still pursues
the honest tenor of the obvious Right, and smiles at calumny. His
good-nature, my boy, is a lamp that never goes out, but burns, with a
steady light, in the temples of his mortality through all the dark
hours of his time:
"As some tall cliff that rears its awful form,
Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm;
Though round its base the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head."
They tell a story about the Honest Abe which this good pen of mine
cannot refrain from writing. A high moral, political chap from the
Sixth Ward, having learned that there was a pleasing clerical vacancy
in the Treasury Department, sought a hasty interview with the Honest
Abe, and says he:
"I am a member of our excellent National Democratic Organization, which
is at this moment eligible for office, on the score of far more true
loyalty to the Union of our forefathers than can be found in any other
organization of the present distracting period. I will admit," says the
genial chap, in a fine burst of honesty, "that our Organization has
done much for the sake of the South in times past; I will admit that we
have seemingly sided with the sunny South for the sake of our party. I
will admit," says this candid chap, with a slight cough, "that our
excellent Democratic Organization has at times seemed to sympathize
with our wayward sisters for the sake of itself _as_ an Organization.
But now," says the impressive chap majestically, "having heard the
recent news from Sumter, the excellent Organization of which I am a
part, stands ready to sacrifice everything for the sake of the Union,
and demands that it shall be admitted to all the privileges of
undisguised loyalty."
Here the excited chap blushed ingenuously, and says he:
"Any offices which you might have to dispose of would be acceptable to
the Organization of which I am a prominent part."
The Honest Abe was wiping the blade of his jack-knife with his thumb at
the time, and says he:
"What you say about the present willingness of the Organization to
sacrifice everything for the sake of the Union, neighbor, reminds me of
a small tale. When I was beating the prairies for clients in Illinois,"
says the Honest Abe, smiling at the back of the hand in which he held
the jack-knife,--"when I was stalking for clients, I knew an old 'un
named Job Podger, who lived at Peoria."
Here the honest Abe leaned away over the arm of his chair toward the
attentive political chap, and says he--
"Podger didn't know as much as would fill a four-inch spelling-book;
but he had enough money to make education quite dispensable, and his
wife knew enough for all the rest of the family. This wife was a very
good woman in her way," says the Honest Abe, kindly,--"she was a very
good woman in her way, and made my friend Podger so happy at home that
he never dared to go away from home without her permission. Her
temper," says the Honest Abe, putting one of his feet upon the sill of
the nearest window,--"her temper was of the useful nature to keep my
friend Podger and the children sufficiently warm all the year round,
and I don't think she ever called Job Podger an Old Fool except when
company was present. If she had one peculiarity more than another, it
was this: she was always doing something for Podger's sake."
Here the political chap was seized with a severe cough; but the Honest
Abe only smiled pleasantly at his jack-knife, and went on:
"She was always doing something for Podger's sake. Did she buy a new
dress, it was for Podger's sake; did she have a tea-party and a
quilting-bee, it was solely for the sake of Podger; did she refuse to
contribute for the fund of the heathen, it was solely on account of Mr.
Podger. But her strong point in this matter," says the Honest Abe,
leaning back in his chair against the wall, and scraping the sole of
his left boot with his knife, "her strong point was, that she endured a
great deal of suffering for Podger's sake. Did she sprain her ankle on
the cellar-stairs, she would say: 'Just see what I suffer for _your_
sake, Podger;' did she have a sick headache from drinking too much
Young Hyson, she would tie up her face in camphor, and say: 'Only see,
Podger, how much I bear for _your_ sake;' did she catch cold from
standing too long before a dry-goods shop window, she would go and sit
in a dark room with a flannel stocking round her neck, murmuring: 'I
was a goose ever to marry such a fool of a man as you be,--but I am
willing to suffer even this for _your_ sake.' In fact," says the Honest
Abe, commencing to cut his nails,--"in truth, that woman was always
suffering for Podger's sake, and Podger felt himself to be a guilty
man.
"One day, I remember, my friend Podger and his wife were going to
Chicago to buy a new set of furs for Podger's sake, and just as Podger
got comfortably nested in his seat in the car, the suffering woman ate
a lozenge, and says she: 'I shan't be fit to live, Podger, if you don't
go out to the baggage car again, and make certain sure that they'll get
all our baggage.'
"Now Podger had been out six times before to see about the same thing,"
says the Honest Abe, earnestly; "he'd been out six times before, and
began to feel wrathy. '_Our_ baggage!' says he, 'OUR baggage! Mrs.
Podger.' Here my friend Podger grew very red in the face, and says he:
'I rather like that, you know,--OUR baggage!--two brass-bound trunks
and covers, belonging to Mrs. Podger; three carpet-bags and one
reticule with steel lock, the property of Mrs. P.; two bandboxes and a
green silk umbrella, belonging to Mary Jane Podger; three shawls tied
up in a newspaper, and two baskets, owned by Mrs. M. J. Podger; one
clean collar and a razor, carried by Job Podger. OUR baggage!'
"Here my friend Podger attempted to laugh sardonically behind his
collar, and came near going straight into apoplexy. Would you believe
it," says the Honest Abe, poking the political chap in the ribs with
his jack-knife, "would you believe it? Mrs. Podger burst at once into
bitter tears, and says she: 'Oh, o-h! a-hoo-hoo-hoo! to think I should
have to suffer in this way for my husband's sake!' It wasn't long after
that," says the Honest Abe, lowering his tone, "it wasn't very long
after that, when Mrs. P. took a violent cold on her lungs, from
standing too long on the damp ground at a camp-meeting for Podger's
sake, and was soon a very sick woman.
"What particularly frightened my friend Podger was, that she didn't say
that this was for his sake for two whole days, and in his horror of
mind he went and brought a clergyman to see her. This clergyman," says
the Honest Abe, with reverence of manner, "this clergyman was not one
of those sombre, forlorn pastors, who would make you think that it is a
grievous thing to be a priest unto your benignant Creator; he rather
indicated by his ever-cheerful manner that the only perpetual happiness
is to be found in a life of pious ministrations. When he followed my
friend Podger to the bedside, he smiled encouragingly at the sick Mrs.
P., and rubbed his hands, and says he: 'How do we find ourselves now,
my dear madam? Are we about to die this pleasant morning?' She answered
him feebly," says the Honest Abe, feelingly, "she answered him feebly,
for she was very weak. She said that she feared she had not spent her
life as she should, but trusted that the prayers she had breathed
during her hours of pain would not be unanswered. 'Ah!' said she, 'I
feel that I could suffer still more than I have suffered, for my
Intercessor's sake!'
"The moment she uttered these last words," says the Honest Abe, "the
moment she uttered these words, my friend Podger, who had been standing
near the door, the very picture of misery, suddenly gave a start,
brightened up with a look of intense joy, beckoned the clergyman to
follow him into the kitchen, and fairly danced down stairs. In fact,
the good minister found him dancing about the kitchen like one
possessed, and says he:
"'Mr. Podger! Job Podger! I am shocked. What can you mean by such
conduct?'
"My friend Podger caught him around the neck, and says he:
"'She's going to get well--she's going to get well! I knew she wouldn't
go and leave her poor old silly Job in that way. Oh, an't I a happy old
fool, though!'
"The clergyman stepped back in alarm, and says he:
"'Are you mad, sir? How do you know your wife will get well?'
"Poor Podger looked upon the parson with a face that fairly beamed, and
says he: 'How do I _know_ it? Why, didn't you hear her yourself? _She's
commenced to call me names!_'"
Here the Honest Abe smiled abstractedly out of the window, and says he:
"She did get well, too, and lived to suffer often again for Podger's
sake: You see," says the Honest Abe, turning suddenly upon the
political chap, as though he had not seen him before,--"you see, Mrs.
Podger had been so much in the habit of suffering everything for my
friend Podger's sake, that when she spoke of suffering even for the
noblest cause, he naturally thought she was only calling names. And
that's the way," says the Honest Abe, cheerfully, "that's the way with
your Democratic Organization. It has been so long in the habit of
sacrificing everything for the sake of the sunny South and Party, that
when it talks of sacrificing both for the sake of the holy cause of
Union, it seems to me as though it is only calling names!"
Immediately upon the termination of this wholesome domestic tale, the
political chap sprang from his seat, smiled feebly at the ceiling for a
minute, crammed his hat down over his eyes, and fled greatly
demoralized.
The New Year, my boy, dawns blithely upon our distracted country as
accurately predicted by the Tribune Almanac; and having given much deep
thought to the matter, I am impressed with the conviction that the
first of January is indeed the commencement of the year. There is
something solemn in the idea; it is the period when our tailors send in
their little bills, and when fresh thoughts of the negro race steal
upon our minds. How many New Years have arrived only to find the
unoffending American, of African descent, a hopeless bondman, toiling
in hopeless servitude, and wearing coarse underclothing! Occasionally,
my boy, he would wear a large seal ring, but it was always brass; and
now and then he would exhibit a large breastpin, but it was always
galvanized. When I see my fellow-men here wearing much jewelry, I think
of the unoffending negro, and say to myself, "from the same shop, by
all that's bogus!"
'Twas on New-Year's Eve that I took prominent part in a great literary
entertainment at the tent of Captain Villiam Brown, near the shore of
Duck Lake; and responded to universal mackerel desire by sweetly
singing an historical Southern
ROMAUNT.
I.
'Tis of a rich planter in Dixie I tell,
Who had for his daughter a pretty dam-sel;
Her name it was Linda De Pendleton Coates,
And large was her fortune in treasury notes.
CHORUS.--Concisely setting forth the exact value of those happy
treasury notes:
The treasury note of the Dixian knight
Possesses a value that ne'er comes to light,--
Except when the holder, too literal far,
May bring it to light as he lights his segar.
II.
Miss Linda's boudoir was a sight to behold:
A Northern man's breast-bone a shelf did uphold;
Of dried Yankee ribs all her boxes were full;
Her powder she kept in a Fire Zouave's skull.
CHORUS.--Beautifully explaining Southern taste for Northern bones,
and proving that an author's bones are sacred in the sight of
Southern damsels:
Your soft Southern maidens (like nations at large,
Who take the dear bones of their authors in charge)
Are so literary, they'd far rather scan
A Norther's dead bones than the best living man.
III.
She played the piano; embroidered also,
And worked worsted poodles and trees in a row;
Made knitting-work slippers that no one could wear,
And plastered pomatum all over her hair.
CHORUS.--Satisfactorily revealing to the curious fair sex why she
used pomatum when Bandoline was in fashion:
Though Bandoline surely excels all pomade,
The Southern supply couldn't run the blockade;
At first it _did_ bring an exorbitant sum,
And then contrabandoline straight did become.
IV.
As Linda was practising "Norma," one day,
Her father came in in his usual way;
And having first spat on the carpeted floor,
Went on to address her as never before:
CHORUS.--Showing conclusively why this tender parent had never done
so before:
On Southern plantations when money is flush
Paternal affection comes out with a gush:
But when, as in the war times, the cash is _non est_,
The Father is lost in the planter distressed.
V.
"My daughter, my Linda," he tenderly said,
"Your mother for several years has been dead;
But not until now could I muster the strength
To tell you what all must have found out at length."
CHORUS.--Casually demonstrating how it must really have been found
out at length:
The Dixian feminines, true to their sex,
To each other's precedents pay their respects;
And if there's a secret in any girl's life,
They're bound to disclose it before she's a wife.
VI.
"That you are my child, it were vain to deny;
But who was your mother? There, darling, don't cry.
The truth must be told, though it harrows me sore,
Your ma was an Octoroon slave,--nothing more."
CHORUS.--Analytical of morals in the sunny South, and touchingly
illustrative of the Institution affected by the Emancipation
Proclamation:
Your slave is your property, therefore 'tis clear
The child of your slave is your chattel fore'er;
Though you the child's father may happen to be,
That child is a slave,--otherwise, prop-er-ty.
VII.
"I've bred you, my darling, as ladies are bred,
You've got more outside than inside of your head;
But now, that your pa can no longer afford
A daughter to keep, you must go by the board."
CHORUS.--Concerning the manner of going by the board generally
adopted in the land of Chivalry:
The planter on finding his funds getting low,
Right straight to an auctioneer's shambles doth go;
And "Find me a ready-cash buyer," says he,
"To take his own pick out of my fam-i-ly."
VIII.
Miss Linda sprang up with a look of dismay:
"You surely don't mean, dear papa, what you say?"
Then spake the stern parent, nowise looking blue,
But smiling, in fact: "Well, I reckon I do."
CHORUS.--Calculated to account for the complacency of the tender
parent on this trying occasion:
Now what, after all, is a sale to the chit?
Some gallant may buy her and love her a bit;
One half of the women in marriages sought
Are simply and plainly and formally bought.
IX.
"Dear father," said Linda, "step out for a while,
I'll think the thing over, and merit your smile;
For if what I'd bring would relieve you the least,
I'll bring it myself, though I'm sold like a beast."
CHORUS.--Tending to deprecate any imputation on the maiden's
refinement that might follow her use of that last expression:
The culture of woman, as known in the South,
Tends greatly to widen and quicken the mouth;
And if a fair Southerner's language is coarse,
'Tis because nothing finer her style would endorse.
X.
The parent went out, and he stayed for an hour,
Having taken some punch and a Hennessey--sour;
And when he came back, 'twas his daughter he found
Slain by her own scissors, and dead on the ground.
CHORUS.--Suggesting facts to the coroner's jury, and clearing up
all mystery as to the lamentable suicide:
Since scissors for ripping out stitches are made,
A girl in extremity finds them an aid;
She's only to open them fairly and wide,
And give them a cut at the stitch in her side.
XI.
Beside the dead body a billet displayed,
Said, "See, dearest father, the mischief you've made;
I couldn't survive to be sold; for you know,
I'd far rather die than a sell-ibate go."
CHORUS.--Commenting genially on the idiosyncrasy of female
character evidenced in this revelation:
All over the world it is plain to espy
That woman a husband has e'er in her eye;
And if no fine fellow her husband can be,
She'll even take up with a _felo de se_!
XII.
The neighbors came in. "What a pity!" said they,
"To lose such a daughter, and in such a way."
"My daughter be hanged!" said the parent sublime,--
"_It's one thousand dollars I'm euchred this time!_"
CHORUS.--Deducing a beautiful and useful moral from this burst of
paternal agony:
My dear fellow-citizens, lay it to heart:
Who'd sell a young woman must work it up smart:
Or else, like the planter, whose story I've told,
He'll only go selling to find himself sold.
When I had finished singing, Captain Samyule Sa-mith exhibited a small
manuscript, and says he:
"The noise having ceased, I will proceed to read a small moral tale,
written by a young woman which lives in Boston, and is destined to
become an eddycator of mankind. The fiction is called
"MR. SMITH.[1]
"The first of April. You know the day. A point of time, an unit of
twenty-four hours, with a night on each side of it, and the sun laid on
top to keep it in its place. You have undoubtedly passed the day in New
England at some period of your miserable life. You have felt your
coarse nature repulsed, too, when some weary and desolate little child
has dreamily pinned a bit of paper to the hinder-most verge of the
garment men call a coat, and then called the attention of passers-by to
your appearance. You have despised that little, weary, hollow-eyed
child for it. Beware how you strike that child; for I tell you that the
child is the germ of the thing they call man. The germ will develop; it
will grow broadly and largely into the full entity of Manhood. In
striking the present Child you strike the future Man. Ponder this
thought well. Let it fester in your bosom.
[1] The idea that this moral and exciting tale appeared
originally in the _Atlantic Monthly_, is scornfully repelled by
the Editor of this work.
"John Smith sat at his table, in the lowest depths of a dreamy
coal-mine, and helped himself to some more pork and beans. I know not
what there was way down in the black recesses of the man's hidden soul
to make him want so much pork and beans. I look into my heart to find
an answer to the question, but no answer comes. Providence does not
reveal all things to us. Is it not well it should be so?
"He was a hard, iron-looking, adamantine man. His eyes were glowing
furnaces for the crucibles of thought. You felt that he saw you when he
looked at you. His nose was like a red gothic tower built amidst broken
angles of sullied snow, and his mouth was the cellar of that tower. His
hair was of the sort that resists a comb. You have seen the same sort
on the heads of men of great thought. It is the tangled bush in which
the goat of Thought loses itself.
"John Smith hiccupped, as he helped himself to some more pork and
beans. He did not notice that the foot which he had semi-consciously
placed on a pale, sickly child, was beginning to move. But it did move,
and there crawled from under it the shape of a diseased dwarf of
womanhood. This timid, pallid thing, uplifted itself to its bleeding
feet, and nestled to the side of John Smith.
"'Y'o hae been separated by unspeaking space from dis humble leetle
place for some hours longer that zis boosom could uncomplainingly
indure,--y'o have.'
"The child meant to say, in its coarse, brutal, unlettered way, that
the man had been absent too long.
"John Smith helped himself to some more pork and beans. He was a man,
you know, and could not answer without deep thought. He took his knife
and wiped it thoughtfully upon her head, and then sawed off a sickly
yellow curl. When he placed that curl on the same plate with the pork
and beans, its coils seemed like those of some golden snake.
"'Girletta,' he said, with the ring of iron in his tones, 'why is it
that the beasts never want to marry? God made them as He made us; yet
they never ask priests to make them slaves to each other.'
"The sickly little waif cringed closer to that inscrutable great heart
which underlaid a soul of eternal questioning. She shuddered like a
wounded hog, but could not answer. An inward fever was devouring her.
"The man took some more pork and beans. 'Girletta,' he said, almost
fiercely, 'the beasts teach me a lesson; but I will not, dare not,
SHALL not heed it. I want a home; my heart demands some one to work for
me; to support me. I am weary of labor, and want some one to labor and
toil and suffer for me, and do my washing. I love you. Have me.'
"The atom of womanhood contorted her diseased features into the pale
twist of agony, and her bosom heaved with stormy wavings, like the side
of a tortured and choking brute. Falling to the ground, she writhed,
and struggled, and kicked convulsively, as though seized with some
inward pang. Then she rose slowly to her shattered little feet, and
drew an old cupboard to the middle of the wretched cave and beat her
head against it.
"It was the child's first taste of that great mystery of perfect love
which woman is doomed to share with the thing called Man.
"'Yo'air indulging in secret cachinnation, at the expense of my sair
heart.'
"The child meant that he was laughing at her.
"John Smith helped himself to some more pork and beans, and sat back in
his stern, dark chair. What were his thoughts as he looked down on that
miniature fragment of womanly humanity? Perhaps he thought that there
might be angels way up in heaven just like her. Bright seraphs, with
ruby eyes, and silver wings, and golden harps, and just such pale,
haggard, gaunt, sunken, bleared little faces.
"'Girletta,' he said, 'I hereby make thee mine. Take some of these pork
and beans.'
"She fell upon his bosom.
"There let us leave them. Do you think they were any less happy,
because they were way down in a dreamy, rayless coal-mine, where men
work their souls away to give others warmth? If you think so, you have
never felt what true love is. Your degraded and starless nature has
never had one true soul to lean upon. When you lean upon a soul, you
see everything through that soul, which gives its own hue to
everything. Man's love is a pane in his bosom, and through that pane
the eyes of woman look forth to see the new world. The medium is the
ultimatum. God gives us love that we may live more cheaply and happily
together than if we were separate. A bread-pudding is richer where
there are two hearts, than plum-pudding is to one alone. The world will
learn this yet, and then the lion will lie down with the lamb, and even
you will be less depraved. The First of April found John Smith
unmarried, but it left him nearly wedded. Let us think of this when the
spring birds sing again. It will make us more human, more charitable,
and fitter to be blest."
As Samyule finished reading this excellent religious tale, my boy, I
stole from the tent to meditate in silence upon the terrible revelation
of human nature. Are there not dozens of Smiths in this world,--ay,
even John Smiths? I should think so, my boy,--I should think so.
On Friday morning, I went to Accomac, to attend the funeral of a young
chap who had finished with delirium tremens, and was deeply affected by
the funeral sermon of the Mackerel Chaplain, who had kindly volunteered
for the occasion.
Having shaken hands with the parents of deceased, the worthy man
commenced the service.
He said that man was born to die. He had known a number of men to die,
and believed that death was every man's lot. If our dear brother here
could speak, he would say that it was his lot. What was death, after
all, but an edict of liberty? Death was the event that set us free, and
freedom was a priceless blessing. Political demagogues pretended to
believe that certain men should be the slaves of other men, because
their skins were a little darker than the others. What a bright
argument was this! If dark skins disentitled men to freedom, he (the
speaker) could point out more than one Democrat who certainly ought to
be a slave. (Great laughter.) Freedom was plainly the condition
Providence intended for all men, without regard to color, no matter
what Tammany Hall might say to the contrary. It was because we had
permitted a violation of this condition in the cases of four millions
of fellow-beings, that this terrible war had come upon us. We could
only conquer by declaring the slaves, now and forever, FREE!
(Tumultuous and enthusiastic applause.) It was the duty of every loyal
man to see that this principle was carried out, even as they were about
to carry their departed brother out: though it must not be inferred
that he meant it should be carried out on _beer_. (Great laughter.)
When we had once settled this matter at home, we could afford to say to
John Bull and Louis Napoleon: "Interfere if you dare. We are ready for
you both." [Male parent of the deceased--"Why don't you go and fight
yourself?"] That gentleman who spoke then, is as bad as the patient who
said to the doctor who was recommending some wholesome medicine to him:
"Why don't you take it yourself, if it's good?" (Great laughter and
applause.) But he would detain them no longer, or the papers would say
that he had talked politics.
At the conclusion of this discourse, my boy, the male parent of the
deceased offered the following preamble and resolution:
WHEREAS, It has pleased an inscrutable and all-wise Providence to free
our departed brother from the bonds of life; and
WHEREAS, Freedom is the normal condition of all mankind: therefore, be
it
RESOLVED, That we will vote for no man who is not in favor of Universal
Liberty, without respect to color.
Passed, unanimously.
Politics, my boy, are, in themselves, a distinct system of life and
death; and when we say that a man is politically dead, we mean that
even his en-graving is forgotten; and that the brick which he carries
in his hat is a species of head-stone.
Yours, post obit,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER LXXXI.
SHOWING HOW A MINION OF TYRANNY WAS TERRIBLY PUNISHED FOR
INTERFERING WITH THE CONSERVATIVE WOMEN OF AMERICA; AND DESCRIBING
THE KENTUCKY CHAP'S REMARKABLE SKIRMISH WITH HIS THANKSGIVING
DINNER.
WASHINGTON, D.C., Jan. 7th, 1863.
As I make it a practice to pay all my honest debts, my boy, and have
never flagellated a person of African descent, I could not properly
come under the head of "Chivalry" in an American dictionary, though I
might possibly come under its feet in the "Union-as-it-Was;" yet I have
that in my nature which revolts at the thought of a war against women,
and am sufficiently chivalrous to defend any cause whose effects are
crinoline. The bell-shaped structure called Woman, my boy, was created
expressly to conquer unresisting adversaries; to win engagements
without receiving a blow, and to do pretty much as she pleases, by
pleasing pretty much as she does. She is a harmless creation of
herself, my boy; and to war directly against her because she may chance
to influence her male friends to war against us, is about as sensible
as it would be to execrate our hatter because a gust of wind blows our
new beaver into the mud. If the hatter had not made the hat, the wind
could not have blown it off, and if God had not made women, she could
not encourage the well-known Southern Confederacy against us; but shall
we turn enemy to the hatter, or to the woman, on this account? Not if
we know ourselves, my boy, and recognize the high moral spirit of
justice observable in the Constitution.
Being thus possessed of a reverence for that sex whose bonnets remind
me of cake-baskets, I cannot refrain from frowning indignantly upon
that horrible spirit of national tyranny which has inspired Sergeant
O'Pake, of the demoralized Mackerel Brigade, to issue the following
"GENERAL ORDER."
"For the purpose of simplifying national strategy to those
conservative women of America who, while engaged in the pursuit of
happiness as guaranteed by the Constitution, desire to visit the
Southern Confederacy, it is ordered that they shall answer the
following paternal questions before passing the lines of the
Mackerel Brigade:
"I. For how many years has your age been Just Twenty-two?
"II. How many novels do you consume per week?
"III. Were you ever complained of to the authorities for
inordinate piano-forte playing?
"IV. Do you work slippers for the heathen?
"V. If so; for _what_ He, then?
"VI. What newspaper's 'Marriages and Deaths' do you consider the
best?
"VII. In selecting a church to attend, what colored prayer-book do
you find most becoming to your complexion?
"VIII. How much display of neck do you consider necessary to
indicate a Modesty which shrinks from showing an ankle?
"IX. Did you ever stoop to folly? or is it Folly alone that
stoops to you?
"X. Did you ever eat as much as you wanted at dinner, when
members of the opposite sex were opposite?
"It is also ordered that no female visitor to the celebrated
Southern Confederacy shall carry more than eight large trunks and a
bonnet-box for each month in the year; and that no female shall
pass the line, whose dimensions in full dress exceed the ordinary
space between two pickets, as the latter will, on no account be
permitted to edge away from their stations at this trying crisis in
the history of our distracted country.
"O'PAKE,
"Sergeant Mackerel Brigade."
This inhuman order had scarcely been issued when there came to the
Mackerel lines in front of Paris a virtuous young female, aged 23 with
the figures reversed, who was disgusted with the great vulgarity of the
North, and wished to visit the marriageable Southern Confederacy,
having heard that the Confederacy was carefully Husbanding its
resources. Being a poor girl, with "nothing to wear," she only had
seven Saratoga trunks, ten bandboxes, fourteen small carpet-bags, and a
lap-dog; yet the ill-bred O'Pake was suspicious enough to examine one
of her trunks.
He ruthlessly opened it in her presence, my boy, and quickly met with
the horrible fate which was at once immortalized by the Mackerel
Chaplain in the following awful presentment:
"THE AVENGING SKELETON."
"When tyrant purpose made the martial fool
With brief authority profoundly drunk,
Unto his minions issued forth a rule,
To search each Southward-going woman's trunk.
"There was a Sergeant of the Mack'rel ranks
Made one attempt to carry out the law;
But ah!--to Providence a thousand thanks!--
He met a doom to fill the soul with awe.
"Scarce had his impious hands the task begun;--
Scarce had he ope'd the vast and mammoth thing,--
When, from the trunk's interior Phlegethon,
Came forth a horrid phantom, with a spring!
"It was a dreadful monster, without flesh,
Made up of ever-less'ning, perfect hoops;
More terrible to vision than secesh,
With all his ragged, whiskey-drinking troops.
"The wretched Sergeant started back with fear,
And would have 'scaped the penalty incurred;
But, ah! the spectre caught him by an ear,
And held him trembling like a prisoned bird.
"Wrought up to frenzy by mishap so dire,
He struck the phantom in his thoughtless rage;
But 'twas like fanning to put out a fire,
And straight his hand was tangled in a cage!
"And then his other tyrant hand he tried
To ease the springs that pressed him ev'rywhere;
His futile blow the Skeleton defied,--
His other hand was taken in a snare!
"Then round his form the dread avenger coiled,
Like snakes' backbones in unelastic curl;
By prison-bars his wished retreat is foiled,
And in a cage behold the trembling churl.
"Still mad with terror at his grievous plight,
He lifts a foot, as though to kick at last;
When, lo! his leg goes through an op'ning slight,
And there two wiry circles hold it fast.
"He plunges, staggers, tries to tear the bands
Which make that woman's Skeleton complete;
Then reeleth blindly unto where she stands,
And falls in helpless bondage at her feet!"
When the poor tool of tyranny was released from this terrific skeleton,
he looked as bewildered as one who had just returned from the outskirts
of civilization; but still his fiendish taste for trunk-inspection was
not conquered. He returned to the edge of the wardrobe abyss, drew
forth an immense white article, and says he:
"Do my spectacles relate a fiction, or is this indeed a Sibley tent for
the use of the Confederacy?"
At this moment the excellent young woman hastily snatched the article
away from him, and says she:
"You nasty thing, that's my"--here she blushed.
At times, my boy, woman's blush is the imperial banner of virgin
Modesty thrown out to catch the breeze that wafts the sound of coming
rescue, and means: "_God is my defence._" At other times, it is the
eloquent protest of a fine intelligence which deprecates the test that
would turn all its hidden beauties to the public eye, and means:
_Humility is born of Genius._ But in this case, it was the lurid flush
of anger, and meant--_a petticoat_.
Not wishing to further betray the reproachful fact that he was an
unmarried Mackerel, Sergeant O'Pake closed the trunk with emphasis, and
permitted the triumphant young woman of America to trip it lightly to
the South.
The Mackerel Brigade at present constitutes one of three parallel
lines, the other two being the celebrated City of Paris and the well
known Southern Confederacy. Paris is the central one, and may be called
the line of battle, over which the Orange County Howitzers are
continually hurling shot and shell at the glorious sun. During the day
it is much frequented by Southern Confederacies, who drink anything
that will pour into a tumbler; and in the evening it is visited by our
indomitable troops, who go to look at the empty bottles. You may ask,
my boy, why the Confederacies are not routed, and Paris occupied? I
answer, that the new General of the Mackerel Brigade will not attack an
inferior force, and is waiting until there shall be something worth
killing on the opposite side. Too often did the former General of the
Mackerel Brigade make the mistake this high-minded conduct is intended
to avoid; too often, after an interval of only a few months, did he
lead the majestic Mackerels ahead of him into the field, and then
hastily retire, upon finding that the Confederacies were too inferior
in numbers to make their conquest worth while. But we shall have no
more such mistakes, for the new General will not move against the foe
until the latter is strong enough to make carnage desirable. Besides,
the man who was to build a bridge across Duck Lake, could not come last
week, on account of the rain, and there are no ferryboats running.
On Thanksgiving Day, however, we had a skirmish of thrilling intensity.
The conservative Kentucky chap, my boy, has got command of Company 2,
Regiment 1, and having drilled them in swearing, to the sound of the
Emancipation Proclamation, for a whole fortnight, he has brought them
to a high state of discipline and profanity. On Thursday morning, just
after one of our scouts had cleaned his spectacles, he beheld a
Confederate turkey emerge from this side of Paris and proceed to insult
the United States of America by hideous gobblings. The alarm was at
once given, and after swearing at his men to give them confidence, the
conservative Kentucky chap led them forth to capture the obscene bird.
Onward pushed the spectacled veterans, with fixed bayonets, addressing
their eyes with pleasant oaths, and hoping that they might meet Horace
Greeley.
The Confederate turkey was eating a worm at the moment, and only paused
long enough to eye our troops with that species of disdain which comes
of Southern birth. He felt, as it were, that he was protected by the
Constitution of our forefathers.
The conservative Kentucky chap, being fond of turkey for dinner
himself, waved his glittering sword above his head, and says he:
"The South has brought this upon herself. Make ready.--"
He was about to add "Fire!" my boy! but he had just put on his
spectacles, and a sudden change came over his Kentucky countenance.
Says he:
"For Heaven's sake, don't fire! Vallandigham me," says he, staring
right over the turkey,--"Vallandigham me, if I didn't come near telling
them to shoot! And there's a nigger coming after the turkey as sure as
death. Ah! what an escape!"
A Mackerel chap, who had noticed his staring and great agitation,
approached respectfully, and says he:
"Does a obstacle to victory protrude?"
The conservative Kentucky chap spat at a copy of the "Tribune," which
he threw upon the ground for the purpose, and says he:
"Notwithstanding any Proclamations whatsoever, Kentucky is not waging
this war against the institution of slavery. In the dim distance I
behold a contraband apparently approaching the turkey, and there must
be no bombardment until he has returned to his rightful owner."
The Mackerel chap wiped his boots with the "Tribune," and says he:
"I do not see our brother Africa at all."
Here the Confederate turkey, who had finished his worm, turned heavily
from the scene, and presently disappeared on the other side of Paris.
The Kentucky chap still kept staring afar off, and says he:
"Why, I can see him, though he appears to be at a great distance."
Now it chanced, my boy, that while the conservative Kentucky chap was
saying this, the Mackerel chap gazed at him fixedly, and then says he,
in just astonishment:
"Methinks there is a object on one of the glasses of your spectacles,
Capting."
Frantically the Kentucky chap tore off his spectacles, and discovered
upon one of the glasses an object indeed. It was a small picture of a
negro minstrel, my boy, cut from the show-bill of some country band,
and pasted upon the spectacles of Kentucky's rising son. It had been
secretly placed there the night before by a Democratic chap from the
Sixth Ward, to give a constitutional turn to the war.
The mind's eye of Conservatism, my boy, looks upon the war through
spectacles so seldom cleaned, that what most offends it, is more than
likely to be what exists only in its own looking-glasses.
Yours, spectacularly,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER LXXXII.
NOTING THE UTTER DESTRUCTION, BY AN INEBRIATED JOURNALIST, OF THE
VENERABLE GAMMON'S BENIGNANT SPEECH; INTRODUCING THE NEW GENERAL OF
THE MACKEREL BRIGADE; AND DESCRIBING A CURIOUS PHENOMENON ON DUCK
LAKE.
WASHINGTON, D.C., Jan. 15th, 1863.
The venerable Gammon, has melted sadly home to Mugville since the
removal of the late idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade, and a
worshipping peasantry are exasperated at his unnatural wrongs.
I cannot exactly, see, my boy, how this venerable man is so deeply
injured by the said removal; in fact, it does not appear to me that he
can have any interest in the change whatever; but his appearance of
deep affliction has called scalding tears to all beholding eyes, and
the attached populace crawl in the dust at the subduing aspect of his
inexpressible woe.
It was on the Tuesday evening of this revered and aged patriot's
arrival in adoring Mugville, that he was tumultuously serenaded by the
brass-band of the Young Men's Democratic Christian Association, which
is composed exclusively of constitutional chaps. He was frantically
besought to respond; and then it was that he fell a hapless and
venerable victim to the great, heart-rending mistake of an inebriated
reporter for a reliable morning journal. The beloved old being meant to
make only a few pithy, telling remarks to the enthusiastic band, and
this was, in fact, his veritable
SPEECH.