one unless to destroy, and to one
who sympathises in that same amiable wish. To undermine a rival or
to destroy an enemy, Seward will expend any amount of slander; but,
in the absence of personal interest, Seward, though officially
civilian, is, by nature, far too good and too old a soldier to waste
ammunition upon worthless game.

_Dec. 23._--Why could not Mr. Lincoln choose for his Secretary of
State some man who has a holy and wholesome horror of pen, ink, and
paper? Some man gifted with a sound brain, who never is quick at
writing a dispatch, and would demand double salary as the price of
writing one? Oh! Mr. Lincoln, had you but done this, not only would
all America, but all Europe also be truly thankful for great
immunity from the curse of morbid attempts at diplomacy and
statesmanship.

_Dec. 23._--Mr. Lincoln's proclamation to the butchered army! For
heaven's sake let us know, pray, _pray_ let us know who was
Lincoln's amanuensis? I hope it was not Stanton. The army is
defiled. "An accident," says this precious proclamation, "has
prevented victory." _What_ accident? Let the country know the
precise nature of that same accident, and the manner, time, and
place of its occurrence! Burnside talks about a fog! Oh! yes, a
deep, dense terribly foul fog--in the _cerebellum_! Is that the
_accident_ of which the precious proclamation so impudently speaks?
Lincoln makes the wonderful discovery that the crossing and the
recrossing of the river are quite peerless, absolutely unparallelled
military achievements.

Happy it was for the army, and happy for the country that at
Fredericksburgh, our heroic soldiers gave far other and nobler
proofs of more than human courage and fortitude than the mere
crossing and recrossing of a river.

The _Tribune_ is either in its dotage, or still worse. Burnside's
unsoldierly blundering is compared to the great victorious splendors
of Asperm, Esslingen, Wagram, and the tyrant-crushing three days of
immortal Waterloo! The _Tribune_ lauds the crossing and the
recrossing of the river, as an act of superhuman bravery; and
Lincoln sympathises with the heavily wounded, and twaddles
extensively about _comparative_ losses. Comparative to what? Oh!
spirits of Napoleon and his braves; oh! spirit of true history,
veil your blushing brows! And the _Tribune_ dares to make this
impudent attempt at befogging the American people, and at the same
time dares to tell that people that it is "intelligent."