Would he see anything in his wife but a common spy
on his army; would he see anything in him but the weak victim, like many
others, of a scheming woman? Stories current in camp and Congress of the
way that this grim humorist had, with an apposite anecdote or a rugged
illustration, brushed away the most delicate sentiment or the subtlest
poetry, even as he had exposed the sham of Puritanic morality or of
Epicurean ethics. Brant had even solicited an audience, but had retired
awkwardly, and with his confidence unspoken, before the dark, humorous
eyes, that seemed almost too tolerant of his grievance. He had been
to levees, and his heart had sunk equally before the vulgar crowd, who
seemed to regard this man as their own buffoon, and the pompousness of
position, learning and dignity, which he seemed to delight to shake and
disturb.
One afternoon, a few days later, in sheer listlessness of purpose,
he found himself again at the White House. The President was giving
audience to a deputation of fanatics, who, with a pathetic simplicity
almost equal to his own pathetic tolerance, were urging upon this ruler
of millions the policy of an insignificant score, and Brant listened to
his patient, practical response of facts and logic, clothed in
simple but sinewy English, up to the inevitable climax of humorous
illustration, which the young brigadier could now see was necessary to
relieve the grimness of his refusal.
Pages:
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199