LETTER LXXXIII.
REFERRING TO WASHINGTON CITY AND THE PRESIDENT'S MESSAGE, AND GIVING THE SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY'S VERY REASONABLE PEACE PROPOSITION.
WASHINGTON, D.C., Jan. 28th, 1863.
The city of Washington, my boy, without her Congress, is like a maidenwithout her plighted young man. She surveys herself in the mirror ofthe Potomac, and says she: "Where's my Congress, without whom I am likea gas bracket deserted by its old flame?" Alas! all flesh is gas, myboy, and some of our congressmen are very fleshy. Their presence it isthat makes Washington a light for the world, and many of them who oncerode high horses have alighted. At the present moment our distractedcountry is enveloped in darkest night, and the day seems so far offthat many Mackerels despair of ever seeing payday, even. At such a timewhat a blessing is that Congress which burns to illumine us after themanner of an elaborate chandelier! It passes away to leave everythingdark; it returns, and behold all is darkey.
I was in my room at my hotel, when Congress commenced to arrive,conversing with Captain Bob Shorty; and, as a seedy-looking,middle-aged chap passed by on the opposite side of the street, thecaptain looked out of the window, and says he:
"That's one of the new legislators, my Pythias."
"How can you tell a new Solon from an old one?" says I, curiously.
"Why," says Captain Bob Shorty, profoundly, "an old congressman neverwears a tall hat. An old congressman," says Captain Bob Shorty, sagely,"always wears a soft hat, so that it wont be injured by being knockedover his eyes."
I pondered deeply over this idea, my boy, and it seemed to me that asoft hat must be the real Cap of Liberty.
Passing over the organization of Senate and House, which suggestedthoughts of ancient Rome about the time she was saved by geese, I shallproceed to notice the Message which our honest Abe fired into Congressfrom his intellectual breastworks during the week.
You have undoubtedly read this Abe L. paper, my boy, in the reliablemorning journals, making due allowance for the typographical outragescommitted by printers of opposite politics; but there was one portionof it gotten up for the honest Abe by the Chaplain of the MackerelBrigade, and this portion is so mutilated in the publishing, that Icannot refrain from giving you the true version. Speaking of the costto the country of Emancipation with compensation, the Chaplain wrote:
"Certainly it is not so easy to pay something as it is to pay nothing;but it is easier to pay a small sum than it is to pay a large sum; andit is easier to pay any bill when we have the money, than it is to paya smaller bill when we have no money. Compensated Emancipation requiresno more money than would be necessary to the progress of RemuneratedEnfranchisement, which would not close before the end of five hundredyears. At that time, we shall undoubtedly have five hundred times asmany people as we have now, provided that no one dies in the mean time;and supposing the premium on gold to increase in the same ratio as ithas increased since our last census was taken, the premium on thespecie belonging to five hundred times our present population will beamply sufficient to pay for all persons of African descent.
"I do not state this inconsiderately. At the same ratio of increase aswe now realize, American gold will soon be worth more than all Europe.We have ten millions nine hundred and sixty-three thousand miles, whileEurope has three millions eight hundred thousand, and yet the averagepremium on specie, in some of the States, is already above that ofEurope. Taking the brokers in the aggregate, I find that if one golddollar is worth $1.30 in one year,
It will be worth $2.60 in two years, " " " " 3.90 " 3 " " " " " 5.20 " 4 " " " " " 6.50 " 5 "
"This shows a yearly increase. If a gold dollar is worth $6.50 in fiveyears, it will, of course, be worth $3,250 or five hundred times asmuch in five hundred years. Thus, when our population is five hundredtimes as great as at present, supposing each man to have a single golddollar, the premium of $3,250 on his gold dollar will enable such manto purchase thirty-two and a half persons of African descent from theloyal slaveholders of our border States at $100 a piece, though hewould be virtually expending but one dollar himself.
"This scheme of emancipation would certainly make the war shorter thanit now has a prospect of being. In a word, it shows that a dollar willbe much harder to pay for the war than will be a dollar foremancipation on the proposed plan."
You will observe, my boy, that this same great mathematical idea isadvanced in the Message as it is printed; but our Honest Abe has chosento vary the terms somewhat. If you have a gold dollar, my boy, salt itdown for five hundred years, and some future generation of offspringwill call you blessed for leaving them $3,250 in postage-stamps.
On my last journey toward Paris, finding the Mackerel Brigade stillhalting before that ancient city, I rode straight to the tent ofCaptain Villiam Brown, whom I found making himself a fall overcoat fromsome old newspapers, while the Chaplain sat near by, making himself apair of shoes from a remnant of calico.
"Well, paladin," says I to Villiam, "what is it that so long detainsour noble army on the path of conquest?"
Villiam sighed as he used a little more paste to fasten the sleeves ofthe garment he was constructing, and says he:
"It's the overcoats."
"Why," says I, epigrammatically, "don't they go far enough forward infront?"
"Ah!" says Villiam, thoughtfully, "they come far enough forward infront, but then they leave the rear exposed. On Monday," says Villiam,reflectively, "Company Three's overcoats arrived, and I requested thewarriors to attire themselves after the designs of frequentfashion-plates. But scarce had their manly forms commenced to assumethe garments, when the garments tore frantically from their warlikeshapes."
"Hum!" says I, questioningly, "the overcoats were Rebels in disguise."
"No," says Villiam, gloomily, "but it took two Mackerels to hold anovercoat together while another warrior put it on, and when it wasbuttoned in front, the rear presented the aspeck of two separatedepartments. I am now making myself a stronger coat of Democraticnewspapers," says Villiam, explainingly, "in order that my Constitutionmay be protected from harm."
I glanced at him askant, my boy, and says I, innocently, "I see a stillbetter reason for your clothing yourself for battle in newspapers."
"Ah!" says Villiam, complacently, "you think that I adopt theintellectual garment to show that my line of battle is ten cents aline."
"No, my hero," says I, pleasantly, "I think you clothe yourself forbattle in printed matter, to make sure that 'he who runs may read.'"
I would not say positively that Villiam "saw" this agreeable remark, myboy. I am not prepared to affirm that he took the hit; but as thecanteen left his hand, my ears recognized a hasty whiz, and the effectupon the side of the tent, near my head, was perforating.
Turning from the spot, I next had my attention attracted by a tallwhiskered chap, in a paralyzed whirlpool of gray rags, who was closelyexamining a stack of Mackerel muskets near at hand. Hearing me ask hisobject, he remarked casually that I was a "mudsill," and says he:
"As the unconquerable Southern Confederacy has a great contempt for theYankee army, it has sent me here to see whether these muskets are worthtaking. If they proved to be worth taking, the war was to continue; ifnot, I was to offer indirect proposals for peace, as the Sunny Southdoes not wish to protect a struggle that does not pay."
Instead of replying to him, I stepped aside to give place to theConservative Kentucky chap, who had just been denouncing the Message tothe Mackerel Chaplain in the tent, and was greatly outraged by theChaplain's response.
It seems that he had abruptly addressed the Chaplain, and says he: "Ifthat Message wants to make the nigger the equal of the conservativeelement by implication, I hereby announce that Kentucky considersherself much offended. I fight for that flag," says he, hotly, pointingto the national standard,--"I fight for the stars on that flag, to aidthe cause of the white man alone; and with the black man Kentucky willhave nothing to do whatever."
The Chaplain looked dreamily at the flag, as it patched the sky abovehim, and says he:
"For men of your way of thinking, my friend, that banner should bear asun, rather than the stars."
"Hem!" says the Kentucky chap. "How so?"
"Why," says the Chaplain, gravely, "beneath the stars alone, you cannottell a black man from a white man. The master and slave of the broadnoonday are equals under the stars; for if the sun shines upon the oneworking that the other may be idle, the gentle planets of the nightmake master and bondman of one hue and perfect equals in Nature's ownRepublic,--starry Night. The banner for you, my friend, should bear thesun, to show that it is but for a day."
The conservative Kentucky chap came away swearing, my boy; and hence,it was in no very good humor that he now saluted the Confederateraggedier.
"Hem!" says he, ungraciously, "where did all those rags come from, andwhat is their name?"
The Confederacy hastily put on a pair of white cotton gloves, and sayshe:
"Am I addressing the Democratic Organization?"
"You address the large Kentucky branch," says the Conservative chap,pulling out his ruffles.
"Then," says the Confederacy, "I am prepared to make an indirectproposition for peace. My name is Mr. Lamb, by which title theDemocratic Organization has always known the injured Confederacy, and Ipropose the following terms: Hostilities shall at once cease, and thetwo armies be consolidated under the title of the Confederate StatesForces. The war-debts of the North and South shall be so united thatthe North may be able to pay them without confusion. An election for anew President shall at once be held, everybody voting save those whohave shown animosity to the sunny South. France shall be driven out ofMexico by the consolidated armies, the expense being so managed thatthe North may pay it without further trouble. Upon these terms, theConfederacy will become a peaceful fellow-man."
"Hem!" says the Kentucky chap, "What you ask is perfectly reasonable. Iwill consider the matter after the manner of a dispassionate Democrat,and return you my answer in a few days."
Here I hastily stepped up, and says I, "But are you not going toconsult the President at all about it, my Jupiter Tonans?"
"The President? the President?" says the Conservative Kentucky chap,with a vague look. "Hem!" says he, "I really forgot all about thePresident!"
The Democratic Organization, my boy, in its zeal to benefit itsdistracted country, is occasionally like that eminent fire company inthe Sixth Ward, which nobly usurped with its hose the terrible businessof putting out a large conflagration, and never remembered, until itsbeautiful machine was all in position, that another company offellow-firemen had exclusive possession of all the waterworks.
Yours, comparingly,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.