ERFECTLY SATISFACTORY MANNER, THE
POWERFUL INACTIVITY OF THAT PORTION OF THE VENERATED MACKEREL
BRIGADE RESIDING BEFORE THE ANCIENT CITY OF PARIS, AND PRESENTING
CERTAIN GENIAL DETAILS OF A RECENT FESTIVE CONGLOMERATION.

WASHINGTON, D.C., March 6th, 1865.

Methinks, my boy, that I see you sagely assuming a pair of massive
ears, a pair of silver spectacles, and a blue cotton umbrella, for the
purpose of accurately personating the celebrated Public Sentiment, and,
in that gifted character, peremptorily requiring me to explain the
present use of the venerable Mackerel Brigade!

Mastering for a moment the noble rage of the unimperilled patriot at a
request so vulgarly practical, I sternly refer you to the latest able
articles in all our exciting and learned morning journals; wherein you
will be taught that such portion of the aged Mackerel organization as
has of late years invested Paris is in reality the gorgeous Pivot
around which revolve all the other brass buttons of ultimate national
triumph. And is not each editor of these excellent and sanguine morning
journals well qualified by his military genius to represent a General
Ism, oh?

But perhaps, my boy, you fail to find ocular demonstration in that
illumination. It is barely possible that you refuse to acknowledge
optical conviction in a lucidity of that description. It may be that
your cornea lacks ability to transmit a specific image in that
polarization of prismatics. It strikes me as not improbable that
you--can't see it in that light.

Then come with me to the Mackerel camp before Paris, and mark where the
antique Brigade is sitting-up with the expiring Confederacy. Observe
how each morning's sun is reflected from the gleaming spectacles of the
venerable military organization; while occasional rains make those same
innumerable glasses resemble fairy lakes with dead fish in them. Note
with what a respectable air of a reliable family physician each
patriarchal warrior exhumes, from somewhere down his leg, the massive
gold watch which he has been induced to buy for $10 of one of those
national benefactors in jewelry who advertise affectionately in our
more parental weekly journals of romance--and remarks, oracularly:

"It being exactly three o'clock by this here nineteen-carat repeater,
that air Confederacy has got just one hour less to live."

The fact, my boy, that this timely observation would apply with about
equal accuracy to the whole hum