In the name uv common sense and ordnary politikle sagassity, I protest!
Androo Johnson may possibly be on the high road to Dimocrisy; but, ez yet, what ashoorence hev we? Am I datin my letters from “Post Orifis, Confedrit × Roads?” Hez there bin, as yit, any well authenticated case uv the removal uv a Ablishnist, and the apintment uv a constooshnel Democrat in his stead? Not that I hev heard of. Per contrary, the Ablishnists—them ez wuz apinted by Linkin—are still holdin on, ez calm ez a summer mornin, without any apparent fear uv any change affectin them.
Who pays for the Halls? Who pays the music? Who pays the Powder? Dimocrats who do these scent Post Offises in the distanse. Are they like the the war hoss in Job’s writins, who smelled the battle afar off, and remarked Ha, Ha! to the trumpets? Let me enticet sich that they kin make a better investment uv their means.
The cost uv one meetin, put in korn whisky, wood not only solace theirselves, but start half a dozen Ablishnists on the road to Dimocrisy.
Men is deceptive. I hev hopes uv Androo Johnson myself, and principally becoz Vallandigum and Fernandy Wood hev hopes. Them buzzards kin smell carrion a long distance, and they are seldom at fault. In this case, they may be. They base their hopes on Johnson’s speech, at Washington, on the 22d. There may be suthin in it; but ain’t it possible that the stench wich they took for Dimocrisy, and wich they sposed cum from Johnson, ariz from them ez surrounded him?
“But,” sez a Dimocrat, whose nose, from long continued lack of supplies, hez softened down from a generous crimson to a ghastly bloo, and who woodent hev a small Post orifis at no price, ef it wuznt offered him, “look at the class he spoke to.”
Wat noncents! Androo wuz mad. There wuz a mass uv bile on hiz politikle stumick wich must be got rid uv. He had sum nasty things to say, and it wuz a part uv the eternal fitness uv things that he shood hev a nasty audience to say em to.
I don’t propose to go orf into spasms over the present sitooashun. Johnson proposes to continoo the Freedmens’ Buro, and hezn’t no noshun of repeelin the test oath, or uv drawin the military out uv the Dimocratik States. So far as heard from, we uv the South is still in a stait of abject custitood. Our habis corpuses wich Linkin took away from us hevn’t bin returned, and we are obleeged to git along ez best we kin without em. I knocked down a small nigger yisterday, for the purpus uv assertin the sooperiority uv the Cauchashun race over the Afrikin, and wuz to wunst hauled up afore a Freedmen’s Buro, and fined. Our high-toned and chivalrous members are exclooded from Congris on the frivolus plea that they wuz kernels and briggydeer Ginerals in the Confederit servis; and all these outragis agin Dimocrisy Androo Johnson, by permittin, absolootly approves.
I could probably swaller all these things. I am a Dimokrat uv thirty years standin, and, uv course, hev bin on both sides uv every politikle fence. The seats of my politikle pants is full of slivers. But, before I take down these things, I WANT TO KNOW WHAT I AM GOIN TO GIT FOR IT. Ef Androo Johnson goes back on his party and his pledges, he, uv course, asks us to go back on ourn. In sich transactions, where both parties, by bein engaged in it at all, confess themselves ruther a low grade of skoundrels, I think it well enuff to hev the consideration paid down.
Ef Androo Johnson wants me, he knows the terms. I am his to command, for a consideration; ez much so ez is the thousands uv Demokrats who hev bin, for the past week, gittin up Demonstrations. But I want suthin to go on. When I hev his permisson, under the broad seel uv the Post Orfis Department, to write “P.M.” after my illustrious name, I shell be prepared to wade in. I hev bin huntin up several reasons for supportin him. I hev em all ready. I only want this additional one, and then I fling my banner to the breeze. Faith is sed to be the sun of all religious systems. Post Offis is the central figger in all Democratic creeds—the theme uv conversation by day, and the staple uv dreems by night. How long! oh, how long!