WASHINGTON.
DEAR CRITTENDEN,—If
Messrs. Crittenden and Burnley, or either of them, want exercise, let them
visit the sick. Here I am ensconced, like a Hebrew of old, on my back, about to
dine, but, unlike the Hebrew, with no stomach for dinner. Oh, these cursed
influenzas, they fatten on Washington patronage alone! Hot water runs out of
one eye like sap from a sugar-tree, or like lava from Vesuvius. The mucous
membrane of my nose, "os frontis" and "os occipitis," is,
of course, in a melting mood. Did you ever look into the technology of anatomy?
If not, this Latin will be above “your huckleberry." Is there no news—no
lies brought forth to-day? Has the Father of Lies been celebrating the 8th of
January, and allowed his children a holiday? Is Kossuth a candidate for the
Presidency? Oh, you should have seen Sam Houston last night, with a red
handkerchief hanging down two feet from the rear pocket of his coat! He looked
like the devil with a yard of brimstone on fire in his rear. All the candidates
were there, and acted as if they thought themselves second fiddlers to the
great leader of the orchestra in that humbug theatre.
Civilized men are
all asses. Your gentleman of God's making, nowadays, is only to be found in
savage life. God help us! Good-night,
SOURCE: Ann Mary
Butler Crittenden Coleman, Editor, The Life of John J. Crittenden: With
Selections from His Correspondence and Speeches, Vol. 2, p. 38
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