Chapter XXVI: Letter XIX

NOTICING THE ARRIVAL OF A SOLID BOSTON MAN WITH AN UNPRECEDENTED LITERARY PRIZE, AND SHOWING HOW VILLIAM BROWN WAS TRIUMPHANTLY PROMOTED.

WASHINGTON, D.C., November --, 1861.

Having just made a luscious breakfast, my boy, on some biscuit discovered amid the ruins of Herculaneum, and purchased expressly for the grand army by a contracting agent for the Government, I take a sip of coffee from the very boot in which it was warmed, and hasten to pen my dispatch.

On Wednesday morning, my boy, the army here was reenforced by a very fat man from Boston, who said he'd been used to Beacon street all the days of his life, and considered the State House somewhat superior to St. Peter's at Rome. He was a very fat man, my boy: eight hands high, six and a half hands thick, and his head looked like a full moon sinking in the west at five o'clock in the morning. He said he joined the army to fight for the Union, and cure his asthma, and Colonel Wobert Wobinson thoughtfully remarked, that he thought he could grease a pretty long bayonet without feeling uncomfortable. This fat man, my boy, was leaning down to clean his boots just outside of a tent, when the General of the Mackerel Brigade happened to come along, and got a back view of him.

"Thunder!" says the general, stopping short; "who's been sending artillery into camp?"

"There's no artillery here, my boy," says I.

"Well," says he, "then what's the gun-carriage doing here?"

I explained to him that what he took for a gun-carriage was a fat patriot blacking his boots; and he said that he be dam.

Soon after the arrival of this solid Boston man, my boy, I noticed that he always carried about with him, suspended by a strap under his right arm, something carefully wrapped in oilskin. He was sitting with me in my room at Willard's the other evening, and says I to him:

"What's that you hug so much, my Plymouth Rocker?"

He nervously clutched his treasure, and says he:

"It's an unpublished poem of the Honorable Edward, which I found in a very old album in Beacon street. It's an immortal and unpublished poem," says he, fondly taking a roll of manuscript from the oilskin wrapper,--"by the greatest and most silent statesman of the age. You'll recognize the style at once.--Listen--

"ADVICE TO A MAID.

"Perennial maiden, thou art no less fair
Than those whose fairness barely equals thine;
And like a cloud on Athos is thy hair,
Touched with Promethean fire to make it shine
Above the temple of a soul divine;
And yet, methinks, it doth resemble, too,
The strands Berenice 'mid the stars doth twine,
As Mitchell's small Astronomy doth show;
Procure the book, dear maid, when to the town you go.

"Young as thou art, thou might'st be younger still,
If divers years were taken from thy life:
And who shall say, if marry man you will,
You may not prove some man's own wedded wife?
Such things do happen in this worldly strife,
If they take place--that is, if they are done;
For with warm love this earthly dream is rife--
And where love shines there always is a sun--
As I remark in my Oration upon Washington.

"Supposing thou dost marry, thou wilt yearn
For that which thou dost want; in fact, desire--
The wisdom shaped for older heads to learn,
And well designed to tame Youth's giddy fire:
The wisdom, conflicts with the world inspire,
Such as, perchance, I may myself possess,
Though I am but a man, as was my sire,
And own not wisdom such as gods may bless;
For man is naught, and naught is nothingness.

"Still, I may tell thee all that I do know,
And telling that, tell all I comprehend;
Since all man hath is all that he can show,
And what he hath not, is not his to lend.
Therefore, young maid, if you will but attend,
You shall hear that which shall salute your ear;
But if you list not, I my breath shall spend
Upon the zephyrs wandering there and here,
The far-off hearing less, perhaps, than those more near.

"Remember this: thou art thy husband's wife,
And he the mortal thou art married to;
Else, thou fore'er hadst led a single life,
And he had never come thy heart to woo.
Rememb'ring this, do thou remember, too,
He is thy bridegroom, thou his chosen bride;
And if unto his side thou provest true,
Then thou wilt be for ever at his side;
As Tacitus observes, with some degree of pride.

"See that his buttons to his shirts adhere,
As Trojan Hector to the walls of Troy;
And see that not, Achilles-like, appear
Rents in his stocking-heels; but be your joy
To have his wardrobe all your thoughts employ,
Save such deep thought as may, in duty given,
Suit to his tastes his dinners; nor annoy
Digestion's tenor in its progress even;
Then his the joy of Harvard, Boston, and high Heaven.

"If a bread-pudding thou wouldst fondly make--
A thing nutritious, but no costly meal--
Of bread that's stale a due proportion take,
And soak in water warm enough to feel;
Then add a strip or two of lemon-peel,
With curdled milk and raisins to your taste,
And stir the whole with ordinary zeal,
Until the mass becomes a luscious paste.
Such pudding strengthens man, and doth involve no waste.

"See thou thy husband's feet are never wet--
For wet brings cold, and colds such direful aches
As old Parrhasius never felt when set
On cruel racks or slow impaling stakes.
Make him abstain, if sick, from griddle-cakes--
They, being rich, his stomach might derange--
And if in thin-soled shoes a walk he takes,
See that his stockings he doth quickly change.
Thus should thy woman's love through woman's duties range.

"And now, fair maiden, all the stars grow pale,
And teeming Nature drinks the morning dews;
And I must hasten to my Orient vale,
And quick put on a pair of over-shoes.
If from my words your woman's heart may choose
To find a guidance for a future way,
The Olympian impulse and the lyric muse
In such approval shall accept their pay.
And so, good-day, young girl--ah me! oh my! good-day.

"EDWARD EVERDEVOURED."

As the solid Boston man finished reading this useful poem, he looked impressively at me, and says he:

"There's domestic eloquence for you! The Honorable Edward is liberal in his views," says he, enthusiastically, "and treats his subject with some latitude."

"Yes," says I, thoughtfully, "but they call it Platitude, sometimes."

He didn't hear me, my boy.

It is with raptures, my boy, that I record the promotion of Villiam Brown, Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, to the rank of Captain, with the privilege of spending half his time in New York, and the rest of it on Broadway. Villiam left the army of the Upper Potomac to pass his examination here, and the Board of Examiners report that he reminded them of Napoleon, and made them feel sorry for the Duke of Wellington. One of the questions they asked him was:

"Suppose your company was suddenly surrounded by a regiment of the enemy, and you had a precipice in your rear, and twenty-seven hostile batteries in front--what would you do?"

Villiam thought a moment, and then says he:

"I'd resign my commission, and write to my mother that I was coming home to die in the spring-time."

"Sensible patriot," says the Board. "Are you familiar with the history of General Scott?"

"You can bet on it," says Villiam, smiling like a sagacious angel; "General Scott was born in Virginia when he was quite young, and discovered Scotland at an early age. He licked the British in 1812, wrote the Waverly Novels, and his son Whahae bled with Wallace. Now, old hoss, trot out your commission and let's liquor."

"Pause, fair youth," says the Board. "What makes you think that General Scott had a son named 'Whahae'? We never heard that before."

"Ha!" says Villiam, agreeably, "that's because you don't know poickry. Why," says Villiam, "if you'll just turn to Burns' works, you'll learn that

"'Scot's wha' ha'e wi' Wallace bled,'

"and if that ain't good authority, where's your Shakspeare?"

The Board was so pleased with Villiam's learning, my boy, that it gave him his commission, presented him with two gun-boats and a cannon, and recommended him for President of the New York Historical Society.

It was rumored in camp last night, that the army would go into winter-quarters, and I asked Colonel Wobinson if he couldn't lend me a few of the quarters in advance, as I felt like going in right away. He explained to me that winter-quarters would only be taken in exchange for Treasury Notes, and I withdrew my proposition for a popular loan.

Yours, speculatively,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.