Paris letter — writers.
A Paris letter, published in the
Northern papers two weeks ago, furnishes a report that
France and
England intend, after the 4th of March next, to recognize
Lincoln as the
President of the
Northern States, and to recognize the
South as an independent nation.
We have not a word to say against the
Paris letter writers.
We recognize
their independence without hesitation.
They are independent in their income, and have never owed allegiance to truth or probabilities at any time.
A more comfortable berth than that of
Paris letter writer for a London journal is not easily found.
Paris is not a dear city.
Twenty years ago a letter-writer could live quite comfortably there for twenty dollars a month.
The salary even of subordinates was three guineas a week.
Expenses are heavier in
Paris now, but salaries have probably risen.
Four hours a day would be a large allowance of work for them, and the remainder of the twenty-four hours is disposable for loafing and lying.
In such a city as
Paris, young men of education, who have found the bar in
England a rather rough and toilsome way of climbing to distinction find no difficulty in refreshing themselves after the arduous labors of their correspondence, and leading, on the whole, a luxurious and effervescent life.
Of course, they are expected to render a
quid pro quo; not to be altogether lilies of the valley — to be useful not less than ornamental.
The English breakfast table, with its tea and toast, would furnish meagre entertainment but for side dishes of gossip and scandal set forth by the newspaper.
The letter writers are expected to entertain
Mr. Bull with a sensation before he goes to Change.
Public affairs and private affairs must be served hot, smoking and savory.
There is no such
chef de cuisine in all
Paris as "Our Own Correspondent." He will make the best of soups out of bones, and convert a frog into a chicken.
We remember an
attache of a London press, who visited the
Confederacy in the beginning of the war. Up to that time, we had supposed no one could approach an American letter-writer in fishing up minnows, and, by fertility of genius, transforming them into whales.
This Englishman beat our American news- hunters at their own weapons.
His pen had the flexibility of an elephant's trunk, and could pluck a geranium or pull up a tree with equal facility.
We do not know what has become of him. He deserved to be promoted to the Paris-letter staff.
The
Paris letter-writers do not earn their bread in idleness.
They manage the affairs of all
Europe.
They have uninterrupted access to all the Cabinets, especially the
Cabinet of
Louis Napoleon.
That impassive and inscrutable monarch, whose purposes the shrewdest diplomatists endeavor in vain to fathom, unbosoms himself with the artlessness of a child to the
Paris letter-writers.
In their presence he relaxes that grim secretiveness which his own ministers often fail to unlock, and, in strict secrecy between gentlemen, you know, relieves his burthened mind to the men of the press.
That isolated soul of his comes out of its icy, solitary cell, and basks in the warm sunshine of mutual confidence.
It is atrocious, that, after all this, they blab the next day every word he has told them.
They do not deserve to be trusted with any more secrets.
As to other continental Powers, they can keep nothing from the hundred eyes and trumpet tongues of the
London press.
They do not even pretend to.-- The
Paris letter-writers know their policy before they know it themselves, and publish it accordingly.
Sometimes they admonish them in solemn tones of the errors of their way, and castigate them sharply if they do not reform.
They swing the knout over the
Emperor of
Russia with as little reluctance as he would employ it upon one of his own serfs.
We believe that if the
Czar Peter were alive, they would not hesitate, upon proper occasion, to scarify his tough epidermis.
We should like to see him scratching himself after one of these flagellations.
Of course, it would not be expected that these high and mighty potentates should be ignorant of the purposes of
England and
France towards this benighted hemisphere.
France and
England are going to recognize both
Lincoln and
Jeff. Davis.
Napoleon has told the letter-writers so in one of those cozy, confidential
tete a-tetes which they have over their wine in the hotel
Pouissin.--What an artless, gossipping old gentleman!
And how abominable that his confidence should be so abused!
But perhaps it is their sweet simplicity which has been victimized.
Perhaps the venerable
Slyboots was in his cups, and was joyously chaffing these pretty carrier pigeons.
We have a faint recollection of having heard reports of Recognition before.
Nevertheless, the letter-writers give a date this time.
We are to be recognized "after the 4th of March next"--
after, we doubt not, and when we are no longer able to recognize ourselves.
In the meantime, we shall try to be patient, hopeful and belligerent.
Our faith is a very robust and vigorous faith.
There are few achievements which it is not equal to. We can believe in a great many things; we can wrestle manfully with all manner of doubts and perplexities, but must, we confess it, when we are called upon to believe a Paris letter-writer, knock under; we hoist the white flag; no gullet of human credulity can perform such a feat and survive.
