"It would appear, my beloved Pater Patria, that military matters are not quite as interesting as a woman with a headache just now."
The Venerable Gammon pitied my youth, and waved his hand fatly by way of a silent blessing to all the world. "Military affairs," says he, effulgently, "are like metaphysics. Military affairs," says the Venerable Gammon, benignantly, "are like that which we do not understand—they defy our comprehension and comprehend our defiance."
Then all the Congressmen looked at each other, as much as to say the Union was saved at last; and I felt like a babe in the presence of the great Behemoth of the Scriptures.
How the Venerable Gammon has anything at all to do with this war, I can't find out, my boy, but when the affectionate populace learned that the Venerable Gammon had returned from Mugville, they
swarmed around his carriage, and entreated him either to spit upon them, or save them from slow decay by a speech. It was then the Venerable man raised his hand in soothing benediction, and says he:
"My friends, you are young yet, and have much to learn concerning war. I can only say to you, my friends, that all goes well with McClellan; and, if you will only hasten to fill up old regiments, raise a few thousand new ones, and go yourselves, the advance upon Richmond may commence at any time."
The most enthusiastic cheering followed this comforting speech of the Venerable Gammon, and six ecstatic chaps immediately offered to volunteer as major-generals.
Shall we presume to talk of drafting, my boy, when there is such readiness on the part of the people to lead the troops? I think not, my boy, I think not. Let the draft be protested.
On Wednesday I again took a trip to Paris, accompanied by my frescoed dog, Bologna, and found upon reaching that city that the Mackerel Brigade had built itself a theatre, after the manner of Drury Lane, and was about to partake of the rich intellectual drama. This chaste temple might possibly be taken for a cowshed, my boy, by those who are not conversant with architecture in one story. It occupies a spot which has been rising ground ever since the Mackerels commenced to dig trenches around it, and the front door is so spacious that you have to go all around the building to find where it stops opening. The seats are similar to those which are supposed to have been so popular with the Count de Grasse and the stage is exquisitely
extemporized from several flour-barrels, with a curtain created from the flannel petticoats recently belonging to the wife of the Southern Confederacy.