How beautiful is Old Age, my boy, when it neither drinks nor swears. There is an oily and beneficent dignity about fat Old Age which overwhelms us with a sense of our crime in being guilty of youth. I have at last been introduced to the Venerable Gammon, who is all the time saying things; and he is a luscious example of overpowering Old Age. He is fat and gliding, my boy, with a face that looks like a full moon coming out of a sheepskin, and a dress indicating that he may be anything from a Revolutionary Forefather to the patriarch of all the Grace Church sextons. I can't find out that he ever did anything, my boy, and no one can tell why it is that he should treat everybody in office and out of it in such a fatherly and fatly condescending manner; but the people fairly idolize him, my boy, and he is all the time saying things.
When I was introduced to the Venerable Gammon he was beaming benignantly on a throng of adoring statesmen in the lobby of Congress, and I soon discovered that he was saying things.
"Men tell us that this war has only just commenced," says the Venerable Gammon with fat profundity, "but they are wrong. War is like a stick, which has two ends—the end nearest you being the beginning."
Then each statesman wanted the Venerable Gammon to use his pocket-handkerchief; and five-and-twenty desperate reporters tore passionately away to the telegraph office to flash far and wide the comforting remarks of the Venerable Gammon.
Are we a race of unsuspecting innocents, my boy, and are we easily imposed upon by shirt-ruffles and oily magnitude of manner? I believe so, my boy—I believe so.
Speaking of Congress; I attended one of its sittings the other day, my boy, and was deeply edified to observe its manner of legislating for our happy but distracted country.
The "Honorable Speaker" (né Grow) occupied the Chair.
Mr. Podgers (republican, Mass.) desired to know if the tax upon Young Hyson is not to be moderated? Speaking for his constituents he would say that the present rate was entirely too high to suit any grocer—
Mr. Staggers (conservative, Border State) wished to know whether this body intended to legislate for white men or niggers? His friend, the pusillanimous scoundrel from Massachusetts, chose to oppose the tax on Young Hyson because—to use his own words—it would not "suit a negro, sir—"
Mr. Podgers thought his friend from the Border State was too hasty. The phrase he used was "any grocer."