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Two millions a day and a bankrupt Treasury; six hundred thousand men and not a front for six months.

--The war drake its slow length along; the Federal debt runs up at a rate alarming to the most reckless; and McClellan persists in doing nothing to satisfy the impatience and uneasiness of the Northern populace. At his wits ends to effect something to appease the restless popular anxiety for results, he takes sick, keeps his bed for three weeks, and gets well again, as unable as ever to show anything effected by six months of deep and all embracing strategy. The two most puzzled men on the Continent are McClellan and ChaseChase, to know how to make a revenue of fifty millions per annum pay an expenditure of six hundred millions; and McClellan, to find out some process by which a victory somewhere, however small, may be stolen or filched in some form, by some part of an army of six hundred thousand men.

The last advices from the North bring us intelligence of a cheerful character, at least from McClellan. Thus runs the hopeful oracle: ‘"Those whose impatience had induced them to murmur at the, to them, apparently unreasonable delay of any great military movement, will soon have occasion to acknowledge their error. Gen. McClellan confides his plans to none, except as they are to be executed. His purpose is to effectually crush out the rebellion, and to restore the public peace and the integrity of the Union.--Within the last few days, those who have been admitted even to a partial confidence, and among them some who have looked gloomily upon the future, are elated at the prospect presented, and express satisfaction that all will soon be convinced of the wisdom of the course of the commanding general."’ This is the sort of stuff with which the ‘"greatest General of the age"’ has beguiled his credulous adulators for six months of total and imbecile inactivity, with six hundred thousand men in the field, incurring expenditures at the rate of two millions a day! It is the most remarkable case of credulity and gullibility in all the records of human folly. The susceptibility of the Yankee race to delusion by the shallowest artifices stands out in the most ludicrous and pitiable light. What won't they believe, and what mountebank can they refuse to confide in, after being thus amused by McClellan? Two millions a day, and a bankrupt treasury; six hundred thousand men maintained in the field, and not a victory for six months, McClellan makes them put up with that; and yet McClellan is a great General! We begin to think McClellan really is a great politician. A man that can keep twenty millions of Yankees quiet under such a tax upon patience as that which tortures them, is certainly a man of great power over the populace. He would make a better President than General.

McClellan, however, is certainly about to do something dreadful at last. He was to have done so six months ago; but was not quite ready. He has been on the point of doing it every day since; but his far-reaching and consummate strategy was not quite perfected. He was about to accomplish his mighty purposes three weeks ago; but unhappily took sick, and was again and again thrown into relapses by impatient serenaders. He is now nearly ready again for the one hundred and eightieth and the very last time. What he is about to do admits of no doubt, it is ‘"effectually to crush out the rebellion, and restore the public peace and the integrity of the Union."’ That is the precise object to be achieved with the two millions a day and six hundred thousand men. How the work is to be accomplished he trusts to no man. The world is to know that part of the programme only when it is performed. He does not disclose it to his most confidential friends; but those who are admitted to partial conference with the great Riddle, comes a way delighted at the splendid prospects he unfolds to them, though not explaining the processes by which they are to be reached.

The substance of it all is that McClellan intends the immediate annihilation of the rebellion, that he has a plan of operations which he confides to nobody, that whoever talks to him on the subject imbibes great delight and undefinable ideas that something is about to be done, and that therefore the populace must be patient. That is McClellan's side of the programme; the other side is that grim two millions a day and six hundred thousand men for six months without a battle. Yet McClellan's fine fictions and promises carry the day over these stern and ugly facts. It is an old debate whether hope is a stronger passion than fear; and here McClellan typifies hope, and those two millions of dollars, those hundreds of thousands of soldiers, and those nameless battles, like the pale horse in the Apocalypse, ‘"with all hell following at their heels,"’ represent fear. McClellan has the day now, but the pale horse with his frightful retinue is abroad.

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