Chapter LVIII: Letter XLV

EXEMPLIFYING THE INCONSISTENCY OF THE CONSERVATIVE ELEMENT, AND SETTING FORTH THE MEASURES ADOPTED BY CAPTAIN VILLIAM BROWN IN HIS MILITARY GOVERNMENT OF PARIS.

WASHINGTON, D.C., May 18th, 1862.

Suffer me, my boy, to direct your attention to the Congress of our once distracted country, which is now shedding a beautiful lustre over the whole nation, and exciting that fond emotion of admiration which inclines the human foot to perform a stern duty. "Congress," says Captain Samyule Sa-mith, nodding to the bar-keeper, and designating a particular bottle with his finger--"Congress," says he, "is a honor and a ornament to our bleeding land. The fortunes of war may fluctuate, the rose may fade; but Congress is ever stable. Yes," says Samyule, in a beautiful burst of enthusiasm, softly stirring the Oath in his tumbler with a toothpick, "Congress is stable--in short, a stable full of mules."

The Conservatives from the Border States, my boy, look upon the Southern Confederacy as a brother, whom it is our duty to protect against the accursed designs of the fiendish Abolitionists, who would make this war one of bloodshed. They ignore all party feeling, support the Constitution as it was, in contra-distinction to what it is, and object to any Confiscation measure calculated to irritate our misguided brothers and sisters in that beautiful land where

The suitor he goes to the planter so grand,
And "Give me your daughter," says he,
"For each unto other we've plighted our loves--
I love her and so she loves me,"
Says he,
"And married we're wishing to be."

The planter was deeply affected indeed,
Such touching devotion to see;
"The giving I couldn't afford; but I'll sell
Her for six hundred dollars to thee,"
Says he,
"Her mother was worth that to me."

Which I quote from a sweet ballad I recently found among some rebel leave-ings at Yorktown.

These conservative patriots, my boy, remind me of a chap I once knew in the Sixth Ward. A high moral chap, my boy, and full of venerable dignity. One night the virtuous cuss doing business next door to him, having just got a big insurance on his stock, and thinking himself safe for a flaming speculation, set fire to his own premises and then called "Murder" on the next corner. Out came the whole Fire Department, only stopping to have two fights and a scrimmage on the way, and pretty soon the water was pouring all over every house in the street except the one on fire. The high moral chap stuck his head out of the window, and says he:

"This here fire ain't in my house, and I don't want no noise around this here residence."

Upon this, some of our gallant firemen, who had just been into a fashionable drinking-shop not more than two blocks off, to see if any of the sparks had got in there, called to the chap to let them into his house, so that they might get at the conflagration more easily.

"Never!" said the chap, shaking his nightcap convulsively; "I didn't set fire to Joneses, and I can't have no Fire Department running around my entries."

"See here, old blue-pills," says one of the firemen, pleasantly, "if you don't let us in, your own crib will go to blazes in ten minutes."

But the dignified chap only shut down the window and went to bed again, saying his prayers backwards. I would not accuse a noble Department of violence, my boy, but in about three minutes there was a double back-action machine standing in that chap's front entry, with three-inch streams out of all the back windows. The fire was put out with only half a hose company killed and wounded, and next day there was a meeting to see what should be done with the incendiary when he was caught. The high moral chap was at that meeting very early, and says he:

"Let me advise moderation in this here unhappy matter. I feel deeply interested," says the chap, with tears; "for I assisted to put out the conflagration by permitting the use of my house by the firemen. I almost feel," says the genial chap, "like a fellow fireman myself."

At this crisis, a chap who was assistant engineer, and also Secretary to the Board of Education, arose, and says he:

"What are yer coughin' about, old peg-top? Didn't me and the fellers have to cave in your door with a night-key wrench--sa-a-ay? What are yer gassin' about, then? _You_ did a muchness--_you_ did! Yes--slightually--_in_ a horn. Now," says the gallant fireman, with an agreeable smile, "if you don't jest coil in yer hose and take the sidewalk very sudden, it'll be my duty, as a member of the Department, to bust yer eye."

I commend this chaste and rhetorical remark, my boy, to the attention of Border State Conswervatives.

Since the occupation of Paris by the Mackerel Brigade, affairs there have been administered with great intellectual ability by Captain Villiam Brown, who has been appointed Provisional Governor, to govern the sale of provisions.

The city of Paris, my boy, as I told you lately, is laid out in one house at present; and since the discovery, that what were at first supposed to be Dahlgren guns by our forces were really a number of old hats with their rims cut off, laid in a row on top of the earthworks, the democracy have stopped talking about the General of the Mackerel Brigade for next President.

The one house, however, was a boarding-house; and though all the boarders left at the approach of our troops, it was subsequently discovered that all of them save one, were good Union men, and were brutally forced to fly by that one Confederate miscreant. When Villiam heard of the fate of these noble and oppressed patriots, my boy, he suffered a tear to drop into the tumbler he had just found, and says he:

"Just Hevings! can this be so? Ah!" says Villiam, lifting a bottle near by to see that no rebel was concealed under it, "I will issue a proclamation calculated to conciliate the noble Union men of the sunny South, and bring them back to those protecting folds in which our inedycated forefathers folded theirselves."

Nobody believed it could be done, my boy--nobody believed it could be done; but Villiam understood his species, and issued the following

PROCLAMATION.

The Union men of the South are hereby informed that the United
States of America has reasserted hisself, and will shortly open a
bar-room in Paris. Also, cigars and other necessaries of life. By
order of

CAPTAIN VILLIAM BROWN, Eskevire.

"There," says Villiam, "the human intelleck may do what violence might fail to accomplish. Ah!" says Villiam, "moral suasion is more majestik than an army with banners."

In just half an hour after the above Proclamation was issued, my boy, the hum of countless approaching voices called us to the ramparts. A vast multitude was approaching. It was the Union men of the South, my boy, who had read the manifesto of a beneficent Government, and were coming back to take the Oath--with a trifle of sugar in it.

How necessary it is, my boy, that men intrusted with important commands--generals and governors responsible for the pacification and welfare of misguided provinces--should understand just how and when to touch that sensitive chord in our common nature which vibrates responsively when man is invited to take something by his fellow-man.

Scarcely had Villiam assumed his office and suppressed two reporters, when there were brought before him a fugitive contraband of the color of old meerschaum, and a planter from the adjacent county, who claimed the slave.

"It's me--that's Misther Murphy--would be afther axing your riverence to return the black crayture at once," says the planter; "for its meself that owns him, and he runn'd away right under me nose and eyes as soon as me back was turned."

"Ah!" says Villiam, balancing a tumbler in his right hand. "Are you a Southerner, Mr. Murphy?"

"Yaysir," says Mr. Murphy, "it's that I am, intirely. Be the same token, I was raised and born in the swate South--the South of Ireland."

"Are you Chivalry?" says Villiam, thoughtfully.

"Is it Chivalry!--ah, but it's that I am, and me father before me, and me childers that's afther me. If Chivalry was praties I could furnish a dinner to all the wur-ruld, and have enough left to fade the pigs."

"Murphy is a French name," says Villiam, drawing a copy of Vattel on International Law from his pocket and glancing at it, "but I will not dispute what you say. You must do without your contraband, however; for slavery and martial law don't agree together in the United States of America."

"Mr. Black," says Villiam, gravely, turning to the emancipated African, "you have come to the right shop for freedom. You are from henceforth a freeman and a brother-in-law. You are now your own master," says Villiam, encouragingly, "and no man has a right to order you about. You are in the full enjoyment of Heving's best gift--Freedom! Go and black my boots."

The moral grandeur of this speech, my boy, so affected the Southern planter that he at once became a Union man, took the Oath with the least bit of water in it, and asked permission to have his own boots blacked.

I have been deeply touched of late, my boy, by the reception of a present from the ladies of Alexandria. It is a beautiful little dog, named Bologna (the women of America think that Bologna is the goddess of war, my boy), shaped like a door-mat rolled up, and elegantly frescoed down the sides in white and yellow. The note accompanying the gift was all womanly.

"Accept," it said, "this slight tribute, as an index of the feelings with which the American women regards the noble volunteer. Wear this gift next your heart when the fierce battle rages; but, in the meantime, give him a bone."

Bologna is a pointer, my boy--a Five-Pointer.

As a dead poet expresses it, Woman is "Heaven's noblest, best, and last good gift to man;" and I assure, you, my boy, that she is just the last gift he cares about.

Yours, in bachelordliness,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.