University of Virginia Library

LETTER VII.

Major Downing manges the Official Correspondence
of the President— A simple Government—Peleg
Bissel's Churn.

My Good Friend,—` The Government,
will leave here on Saturday, so you must tell
all our friends to stop sending any more letters
here. We go strait to Washington, to put
things to rights there for winter.

I and the Gineral have got things now pretty
considerable snug; and it is raly curious to
see how much more easy and simple all the
public affairs go on, than they did a spell ago,
when Mr. Adams was President. If it warnt
for Congress meetin, we cou'd jest go about
pretty much where we pleas'd, and keep
things strait too; and I begin to think now,
with the Gineral, that arter all, there is no
great shakes in managin the affairs of the
nation. We have pretty much all on us ben
joggin about now since last grass, and things
are jest as strait and clear now, as they was
then. The Gineral has nigh upon made up

his mind, that there is no use to have any
more Congress. They only bother us—they
wou'd do more good to stay at home, and
write letters to us tellin what is goin on
among 'em at home. It would save a considerable
sum of money too; and I'm also
sartain that there is a plaguy raft of fellows
on wages that don't earn nothin. Howsever,
we are goin on makin things more simple
every day; and we once and a while nock
off a pretty considerable number of cogg-wheels
and trunnel-heads.

The Gineral says he likes things simple as a
mouse-trap. But what I like most is, he won't
have no one about him who outranks me; so
there is me, and Major Barry, and Major
Smith, and Major Earl, and Major Donaldson,
and Major Lewis, and Major Eaton—and
Major Blair, a pretty considerable of a man
to do the printing, and tell the folks where
we be, and once and a while where the land
sales and contracts be too. There is enuff on
us to do all that's wanted. Every day, jest
after breakfast, the Gineral lights his pipe,
and begins to think pretty hard, and I and
Major Donaldson begin to open letters for
him; and there is more than three bushels
every day, and all the while coming. We

don't git through more than a bushel a day;
and never trouble long ones, unless they
come from Mr. Van Buren, or Mr. Kindle, or
some other of our great folks. Then we sort
'em out, jest as Zekil Bigelow does the
mackerel at his packin-yard, for tho' there are
plaguy many more sorts than he finds among
fish, we only make three sorts, and keep 3
big baskets, one marked `not red,' another
`red, and worth nothin,' and another `red,
and to be answered.' And then all the Gineral
has to do, is to say, `Major, I reckon we
best say so and so to that,' and I say `jest so,'
or not, jest as the notion takes me—and then
we go at it.

We keep all the Secretaries, and the Vice
President, and some District Attornys, and a
good many more of our folks, and Amos
Kindle, moving about; and they tell us jest
how the cat jumps. And, as I said afore,
if it warnt for Congress meetin once a year,
we'd put the Government in a one horse waggon,
and go jest where we liked.

The Gineral was amazingly tickled tother
day. Peleg Bissel—(you know Peleg, who is
all the while whitlin, and sawin, and makin
clocks and apple-parers, and churns, and lives

nigh Seth Sprague's school-house, down to
Downingville), well, Peleg sent the Gineral a
new churn of his own invention; and he
calls it the `Jackson Churn,'—he wants a
patent for it. The cute crittur says, in his
letter to the Gineral, that that 'ere churn is
jest like his Government—it's only got one
wheel—and a smasher—and that it will make
more butter than any other churn, and out of
eny most anything. The Gineral is so
tickled with it, he will set and turn it nearly
all day. Says he, `Major, I like this 'ere
churn amazingly; that Bissel is a knowin fellow.
If that churn had been made by Congress,
it would have more than 50 wheels and
springs, and make no more butter arter all.
Major,' says he, `tell Peleg I thank him, and
send him a patent.'

And so I did; and I tell'd him in the letter,
that the Gineral would keep his churn in the
hall of the White House, to let folks see that
it didn't require as many cog-wheels to make
butter as they think on, and then when they
come up chamber, in the Cabinet-room, and
find only me and the President, they'll understand
it the better. When the Gineral come
to sign this letter—`Well,' says he, `Major

that's jest what I was thinking on.' We get
every day an everlastin bach of letters from
Mr. Van Buren and Amos Kindle, and they
are so plaguy jagged, that we can't make 'em
fit exactly with some others, eny most as
jagged, from the South and West, and all
from our folks too. One wants one thing,
and one wants tother. Some of our folks
down South say, if the Bank is put down, we
shall all be split up into splinters there. And
jest so, only tother way, they say, we shan't
find in a week any of our folks North, if the
Bank is rechartered, and some talk of the
nullifiers in Georgia goin for Mr. Van Buren,
and that we must look out sharp, and not do
nothing agin 'em. And some say that 'ere
tower of Mr. Webster away west, and his
speeches, bother some on 'em plagily. I was
a little stumped for a spell myself; and I
tell'd the Gineral, says I, `Gineral, if you
expect me to satisfy all these folks, you're
mistaken; we can't do it,' says I. `Well,
then,' says he, `we must send for Mr. Van
Buren.' This kinder nettled me, and says I,
`Gineral, you han't forgot that 'ere churn
already.' `No, no,' says he, `we'll stick to
that, Major.' `Well, then,' says I, `do you
think that Mr. Van Buren will use that 'ere
churn?—he keeps his bread buttered,' says I
`by more wheels than that 'ere churn's got.
`Well, Major,' says the Gineral, `he is a plaguy
curious crittur, arter all—he'll make wheels
turn sometimes right agin one another, yet
he gits along—and when he lets his slice fall,
or some one nocks it out of his hand, it
always, some how, falls butter side up.'
`Well,' says I, `Gineral, don't you know
why?' `Not exactly,' says he, `Major.' `Well,'
says I, `I'll tell you—he butters both sides at
once,' says I. The Gineral drew his face all
into a rumple for about a minet, and then he
snorted right out.

The Gineral talks of goin to the Hermitage
next spring—he says he thinks he has done
enuff for the country—and I think so too—he
says I may go along with him, or stay and
lend Mr. Van Buren a hand—we'll say something
about this in the Message, perhaps.