Lord Wharncliffe lately wrote to Minister Adams, requesting, on behalf of the Confederate Bazaar, of Liverpool, for permission to apply £17,000, which had been collected for that purpose, to the relief of the Confederate prisoners now in the hands of the Yankees. The object was, no doubt, to buy them blankets and warm clothes, to keep off some of the rigors of the approaching winter, which promises to be a very hard one. Adams wrote to Seward for instructions, and he received them. They are eminently brutal, and therefore eminently characteristic of the author. Had they been otherwise, people might have been led to doubt the paternity. But there can be no doubt now. There is but one man living whose heart would have allowed him to write such a letter as Seward's in reply to Adams. Even Yankeedom itself could not furnish another; although, with regard to that race, it is perfectly allowable to parody the witty speech of Lady Mary Worley Montague about the Naves, and say, "The world is made up of men, women and Yankees." But for the sufferings which the unfortunate Confederate prisoners must undergo in consequence of the rejection of this offering — for all the world, and none better than Seward, knows the wretched condition to which they are condemned by the cruelty of their gaolers — we should rejoice that this letter was written. It places Seward in his true light. The picture, drawn by his own hand, is inimitable. "Scratch a Russian," said Bonaparte, "and you will find a Tartar." Scratch a Yankee, and the paint falls off. You then have before you the genuine, unsophisticated savage. Seward instructs Adams to tell Lord Wharncliffe that his proposition to distribute "seventeen thousand pounds of British gold" among the insurgents is disallowed. The older portion of our readers recollects from what quiver Seward plucked that arrow; and Seward himself, no doubt, recollects how efficient it was in former times. In the war of Jackson upon Nick Biddle and the Bank, the latter were charged with bribing every body and everything, and it was all done with "British gold." Seward, always a demagogue, thinks the old device will help him at this pinch with his people, and he cannot resist the temptation of thrusting it into a diplomatic note. This letter will be published, Seward says, and then "the American people" (that is, the Yankees,) " will be likely to reflect that the sum thus insidiously tendered in the name of humanity constitutes no large portion of the profits which its contributors may be justly supposed to have derived from the insurgents by exchanging with them arms and the munitions of war for the coveted products of immoral and enervating slave labor." There it is. The virtuous Yankee nation, we suppose, never coveted any of these products. There is no such place as Lowell, and there are no cotton factories any where in Yankeedom. The Southern people are, of course, a very enervate, helpless people! They have not set all Yankeedom at defiance for the last four years! They have not compelled Lincoln to call out 3,700,000 men! They have not beaten the Yankees in every battle in which there was anything approaching an equality of numbers! They have not made them resort to every nation in Europe for recruits! They have not compelled them to enlist 200,000 negroes! Lincoln did not say that but for these negroes the United States could not have sustained the war! They have not driven the mercantile fleets of Yankeedom from the ocean, and compelled Yankee merchants all to ship in neutral bottoms! Assuredly, a people who could do all this have not been enervated by slavery or anything else. And Seward says slavery is enervating. It follows, therefore, that they did not do all these things. Perhaps they were conquered in sixty days, as Seward said they would be. Seward endeavors to throw the whole odium of Sheridan's and Sherman's wanton ravages upon the subjects of Great Britain. He says: ‘"Nor will any portion of the American people"’ (meaning still the Yankees) "be disposed to regard the sum thus ostentatiously offered for the relief of the captured insurgents as a too generous equivalent for the devastation and desolation which a civil war, promoted and protracted by British subjects, has spread throughout the States, which before were eminently prosperous and happy." There is some truth in this. British subjects — nay, we are disposed to think the British Government — did first conceive the idea of dissolving the Union, and they worked at it persistently for seventy years. In this pious enterprise, Mr. Seward himself was one of their most efficient co-laborers. It hardly becomes him, therefore, at this late day, to cast it into their teeth so palpably as he does in the sentence above. What will George Thompson, of the Tower Hamlets, and his co-laborers in Exeter Hall, say to this? But Mr. Seward seems to think they ought only to have gone as far as he wanted them, and no further. He, however, who raises the devil must abide the consequences. He need not hope he will only do what he wants him to do. When once raised, he is pretty certain to take matters into his own hands. The English assisted Mr. Seward in destroying the Union. It was folly to expect that they would stop there. Mr. Seward persists in calling this war an "unnatural and hopeless rebellion." Leaving out the rebellion part of the matter as not applicable to us, it is the most natural thing in the world. It is the very thing Mr. Seward labored for through twenty of the best years of his life; and now he has got it he ought not to speak of it in such terms. He ought to remember, too, that to call a cause hopeless does not make it so. Surely he cannot have forgotten his promises to put it down first in sixty, then in ninety, and, lastly, in thirty days. If he does not know it already, let us assure him that he imposes on nobody but his own Yankees. He ought to have learned by this time that big talk will not do. Europe can see — all the world can see — that his best general started to take this city seven months ago, and that, after having lost 150,000 men in the attempt, he is as far from success now as he was at first. No! no! Mr. Seward, our cause, so far from being hopeless, is as certain of success as the sun is of rising to-morrow.
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