Chapter XXXII: Letter XXV

PRESENTING THE CHAPLAIN'S NEW YEAR POEM, AND REPORTING THE SINGULAR CONDUCT OF THE GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE ON THE DAY HE CELEBRATED.

WASHINGTON, D.C., January 2d, 1862.

Another year, my boy, has dawned upon a struggle in which the hopes of freedom and integrity all over the world are breathlessly involved; and if the day-star of Liberty is destined to go down into the ocean wave, what is to become of the unoffending negroes? I extract this beautiful passage, my boy, from the forthcoming speech of a fat Congressman, who is a friend to the human race, and charges the Administration with imbecility and with mileage. I conversed with him the other evening, and, after discussing various topics, asked him what he thought of the Washington statue as it stood? He winked three times, and then says he:

"The only Washington statue I know anything about, is _statu quo_."

The chaplain of the Mackerel Brigade joined seriously in our staff festivities on New Year's eve, my boy; but as midnight approached he grew very silent, and at a quarter of twelve he arose from his seat by the fire and asked permission to read something which he had written.

"I would not retard your inevitable inebriation," says he to us, as he drew a manuscript from one of his pockets, "but it is only fitting that we should pay some regard to

"THE DYING YEAR.

"Dying at last, Old Year!
Another stroke of yonder clock, and thou
Wilt pass the threshold of the world we see
Into the world where Yesterday and Now
Blend with the hours of the No More To Be.

"I saw the moon last night
Rise like a crown from the dim mountain's head,
And to the Council of the Stars take way;
For thou, the king, though kinsman of the dead,
Swayed still the sceptre of Another Day.

"I see the moon to-night,
Sightless and misty as a mourner's eye,
Behind a vail; or, like a coin to seal
The lids of Time's last-born to majesty,
Touched with the darkness of a hidden Leal.

"Mark where yon shadow crawls
By slow degrees beneath the window-sill,
Timed by the death-watch, ticking slow and dull;
The tide of night is rising, black and still--
Old Year, thou diest when 'tis at its full!

"Ay! moan and moan again,
And shake all Nature in thine agony,
And tear the ermine robes that mock thee now
Like gilded fruit upon a blasted tree;
To-morrow comes! To-morrow, where are Thou?

"Wouldst thou be shrived, Old Year?
Thou subtle sentence of delusive Time,
Framed but to deepen all the mystery
Of Life's great purpose! Come, confess the crime,
And man's Divinity shall date from thee!

"Speak to my soul, Old Year;
Let but a star leave its bright eminence
In thy death-struggle, if this deathless Soul
Holds its own destiny and recompense
In the grand mast'ry of a GOD'S control!

"No sound, no sign from thee?
And must I live, not knowing why I live,
Whilst Thou and years to come pass by me here
With faces hid, refusing still to give
The one poor word that bids me cease to fear?

"That word, I charge thee, speak!
Quick! for the moments tremble on the verge
Of the black chasm where lurks the midnight spell,
And solemn winds already chant thy dirge--
Give Earth its Heaven, or Hell a deeper Hell!

"Speak! or I curse thee here!
I'll call it YEA if but a withered twig,
Tossed by the wind, falls rattling on the roof;
I'll call it YEA, if e'en a shutter creak,
Breathe but on me, and it shall stand for proof!

"Too late! The midnight bell--
The crawling shadow at its witching flood,
With the deep gloom of the Beyond is wed,
And I, unanswered, sit within and brood,
And thou, Old Year, art silent--Thou art DEAD!"

When the chaplain finished his reading, my boy, I told him that he must excuse the party for going to sleep, as they were really very tired.

On New Year's day, my boy, the General of the Mackerel Brigade desired me to make a few calls with him; and appeared at my lodgings in a confirmed state of kid gloves, which he bought for the express purpose of making a joke.

"A happy New Year to you, my Duke of Wellington," says I. "You look as frisky as a spring lamb."

Immediately a look of intense meaning came over his Corinthian face, and he remarked, with awful solemnity:

"Thunder! you might better call me a goat, my Prushian blue, seeing that I've got a couple of kids on hand just now."

The joke was a good article in the glove line, my boy, and I don't think that the general had been studying over it more than four hours before we met.

We made our first call at a house where the ladies were covered with smiles as with a garment; and remarked that the day was fine. The general smiled in return, until his profile reminded me of a cracked tea-pot; and says he: "Ladies, allow me to tender the compliments of the season. In this wine," says he, "which I hold in my hand, I behold the roses of your cheeks when you blush, and the sparkle of your eyes when you laugh. Let us hope that another New Year will find our unhappy country free from her enemies, and the curse of African slavery blotted out of the map."

I whispered to the general that slavery wasn't on the map at all; and he confidentially informed me, that I be dam.

We then repaired to a house where the ladies had a very happy expression of countenance, and told us that it was a pleasant day. The general accidentally filled a wine glass with the deuce of the grape, and says he: "Ladies, suffer me to articulate the compliments of the season. This aromatic beverage," says he, "is but a liquid presentment of your blushes and glances. Let us trust that within a year our country will resume the blessings of peace, and the unhappy bondman will be obliterated from the map."

One of the ladies said, "te-he."

Another said that she felt "he! he! he!"

"I believe her, my boy!"

As we returned to the street, I told the general that he'd better leave out the map at the next place, and he said that he'd do it if he was'nt afraid that Congress would'nt confirm his appointment, if he did.

We then visited a family where the ladies had faces beaming with happiness, and observed that it was really a beautiful day. The general happened to be placed near a cut-glass goblet, and says he: "Ladies, in compliance with the day we celebrate, I offer the compliments of the season. This mantling nectar," says he, "blushes like women and glitters like her orbs. Let us pray that in the coming twelve months, the stars and stripes will be re-established, and the negro removed from the map."

He also said hic, my boy; and one of the ladies wanted "to know what that meant?"

I told her that _Hic_ was a Latin term from Cicero de Officiis, and meant _Hic jacet_--hear lies.

"O!" says she, "te-he-he!"

On reaching the sidewalk this time, my boy, the general clasped my hand warmly, and said he'd never forget me. He said I was his dear friend, and must never leave him; and I said I wouldn't.

We then called at a house where the ladies all smiled upon us, and remarked that we were having charming weather. The general raised a glass, and says he:

"Ge-yurls, I am an old man; but you are the complimens of season. You are blushing like the wine-glass, and also your sparkles. On another New Year's day let our banner--certainly let us all do it. And the negro slavery blot out the map."

As he uttered these feeling words, my boy, he bowed to me and kissed my hand. After which he looked severely at his pocket-handkerchief, and tried to leave the room by way of the fire-place.

I asked him if he hadn't better take some soda; and he said, that if I would come and live with him he would tell me how he came to get married. He said he loved me.

Shortly after this we called at a residence where the ladies all looked very happy and said that it was a fine day. The general threw all the strength of his face into one eye, and says he:

"Ladles, we are compl'm'ns, and you are the negroes on the map. This year--pardon me, I should intro-interror-oduce my two friends who is drunk--this year I say, our country may be hap--"

Here the general turned suddenly to me with tears in his eyes, and asked me to promise that I would never, never leave him. He said that I was a gen'l'm'n, and ought to give up drinking. I conducted him tenderly to the hall, where he embraced me passionately, and invited me to call and see him.

As soon as he had made a few remarks to a lamp-post, requesting it to call at Willard's as it went home, and tell his wife that he was well, I took his arm, and we moved on at right angles.

It is worthy of remark that at our next calling-place the ladies all beamed with joy, and told us that it was a delightful day. The general took a looking-glass for a window, and stood still before it, until I tapped him on the shoulder.

"D'you zee that drunken fool standing there in the street?" says he, pointing at the mirror. "It's Lord Lyons, s'drunk as a fool."

I told him that he saw only his own figure in the glass, and he said he would see me safe home if I would go right away. Chancing at the moment to catch sight of a wine-glass, my boy, he walked toward it in a circle, and hastily filled the outside of it from an empty decanter. Then balancing himself on one foot, and placing his disengaged hand on a pyramid of _blanc mange_ to support himself, he said impressively:

"Ladles, and gentle-lemons, the army will move on the first of May, and--"

Here the general went down under the table like a stately ship foundering at sea, and was heard to ask the wine-cooler to tell his family that he died for his country.

Owing to the very hilly nature of the street, my boy, I was obliged to accompany the general home in a hack; and as we rolled along towards the hotel, he disclosed to me an agitated history of his mother's family.

When last I saw him he was trying to make out why the chambermaid had put four pillows on his bed, and endeavoring to lift off the two extra ones without disturbing the others.

Candidly speaking, my boy, this New-Year's-calls business is not a sensible calling, and simply amounts to a caravan of monkeys attending a menagerie of trained crinoline.

Yours, philosophically,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.