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President Johnson Gives Evidence of His Occupancy of the Chair of the Executive.

Washington, March 1, 1866.

It is so well known that it is almost needless for me to repeat that politics in Washington are shaken from center to circumference, and the country seems astounded at the bearing of a little innocent speech which emanated from His Excellency the President, from the balcony of the White House. Didn’t Mr. Johnson take measures to prepare the minds of Congress and the people by his veto and still more significant message? Didn’t he send his “Premier” to the great metropolis to assure the people that “the war would cease in ninety days”? If the people are astonished, who is to blame for it? Have they forgotten the fact that they have a Southern President? Andrew Johnson is a man. Andrew Johnson is human. This is proved by his wise and decorous behavior on inauguration day, by his kindness of heart to the down-trodden, and by his willingness to grant pardons to those who humble themselves so much as to ask it. Isn’t his adopted State shivering out in the cold, and his own flesh and blood by marriage denied admittance to Congress—said flesh and blood holding credentials in his hands the genuineness of which cannot for a moment be doubted? But there is one way by which a great deal of trouble can be saved the country and end the war which is surely coming upon the land. It is not a war of cold steel, but the clash of mental weapons, and it is feared that the party which can rally the most humbug is sure to win, just as they used to do in the good old Democratic days when Andrew Johnson sat in the Senate and had political sagacity to see in what direction power lay. Wasn’t he a “Dimmicrat” then? And isn’t he a Democrat to-day? Having no further use for the cloak called Unionism, he throws it aside. Shall we acknowledge that we have been humbugged—acknowledge that we have been dolts, idiots? No; rather let us uphold the President and the Constitution. Let us all turn Democrats—every man, woman and child in the land—and then there will be nothing to fight for. But lest some unscrupulous politicians may fail to profit by good advice, I hasten to call the attention of postmasters and custom-house officers who have lately been flying the star-spangled banner, and advise them to lower it immediately; also to make haste and don a new political garment, made by the first tailor in the land, else they will come to grief, for already the Democrats, those long-neglected sufferers, are on the wing for Washington, to be present at the distribution of the spoils, and those unfortunate Republicans who were so unwise as to vote for Andy Johnson deserve to be ousted, and the vacant places should be filled by those returned rebels, for shouldn’t there be more rejoicing over the one that is found than the ninety and nine who never go astray?

And would all this trouble have come upon the land if the men had stayed at home managing business and the women had done the legislating? Was a woman ever known to take a frozen viper to her bosom? This great triumph was left for man to accomplish. After the sad experience of masculine politicians, I trust they will be content to remain quietly at home and let wiser and weaker heads take the affairs of the nation into their hands, and our word for it Charles Sumner and Thaddeus Stevens, the cause of this anguish, will have to hide their diminished heads. Sumner and Stevens are both unmarried men; they have been bachelors ever since they were born, and this headstrong course which they have taken, bringing anguish and woe into every city and hamlet in the land, is owing to the want of the softening and refining influence of woman. The President didn’t mention this fact from the balcony of the White House, but he no doubt would have done so if Messrs. Clampit and Aiken (counsel for the conspirators) had called his attention to it.

If some of my readers take exception to the political caste of the beginning of this letter, I will say that nothing else is thought of in Washington, much less talked about, and it is surprising to see the ladies conning newspapers that are devoted exclusively to politics. Never, since the opening guns upon Sumter, has so much feeling been expressed.

The solemnities of Lent are upon us, but, as the heads of the church wisely say that no fast need be indulged in if it endangers the health and life of the penitent—and fasting always does so—the fair Episcopalians of Washington, those of my acquaintance, take the season of Lent to repair their constitutions which have been so sadly used in the whirl of gayety and the frivolity of fashionable life. I am glad the gay season is over. How comfortable to pack away ermine, and banish moire antiques to trunks seldom or never used, there to repose until another season, in company with odors of “night blooming cereus” or some such delicate perfume. But the best use which can be made of dresses which have done duty for one winter is to send them off by express to country cousins. But one must be careful what kind of country cousins one has, for any little generous act of this kind might upset one’s cream for a whole summer. It is a solemn fact that ladies have such sharp eyes that they can detect an old dress made new instantly, and any woman who has the audacity, for the sake of a little well-meant but foolish economy, to humbug her friends of the community in this way deserves the fate which is sure to be meted out to her—that of a little downward slide on the social scale. This applies to the extreme fashionables.

But there is another picture of Washington life. There are some women who come to Washington who bring with their presence the very atmosphere of the State which has the honor of sending their husbands here. They bring the old-fashioned country ways of living and thinking. They refuse to lower the necks of their dresses and are perfectly willing somebody should eclipse them. They even sit with old-fashioned knitting work in the evening, whilst their husbands are writing letters to their constituents, for all members do not keep a private secretary. And I have always noticed that men who wear stockings of their wives’ knitting are the ones who stand firmest when the shock of battle comes.

Spring is upon us. The winter has departed so gently that we almost forgot that he has been our guest for the last three months. And young Spring, with his balmy breezes, is here, for he brings none of his boisterous, blowy gambols with which he regales our kinfolk in more northern latitudes. The season has come suggestive of new-laid eggs and frisky calves gamboling in the pastures, all unmindful of the cruel knife. Oh, for a quiet week in the neighborhood of the Quaker City.