The Fairfield Herald

Silent Politicians.

The contributorial editor of the Yorkville Enquirer, in his quaint style, thus notices the silent politicians at the present juncture. The notice is well worth reading:

Some of our contemporaries express surprise at the fact that many of our hitherto voluminous advisers and country-savers are now silent—now when, if ever, we need the advice and wisdom of experience to guide us. It does not surprise us. The case is a very clear one.

If you have ever seen a coon up a tree while the hunter was chopping at the tree, and watched his course, you can readily understand the point of our illustration.

The coon gets high up in the tree, among the topmost boughs, and selects a fork. He keeps in this fork, keenly eyeing both the dogs and the axeman, especially the latter. After the tree begins to totter and fairly to start over to one side—and there is no longer a doubt which way the tree will fall—he jumps.

Our silent politicians are like the coon.

Whenever it becomes perfectly apparent which way political affairs are going to turn, then these Solons will speak out—will speak out vociferously, as soon as it is safe for them to do so.

Mark these men—these silent Solons. They are cowards, and we want brave men in times like these.

Gov. Perry is a brave man. He may be wrong—we believe some of his conclusions are—but we a thousand times prefer such men to those cowardly coon-politicians who are waiting until we are ruined, in order that they may see what advice will be most profitable to them to give us.

Away with such patriotism. To the dogs with such politics.

If inaction is the true policy, let them say so.

If they believe in radicalism, let them announce it now.

If Gov. Perry is right, let them say go.

Here half a dozen men have spoken, after months of agony and tyranny.— Are these half a dozen all our political leaders?

Indeed, seven years ago, (after secession was an inevitable fact,) we had eloquent speakers, and advisers, and country-savers, so that many with a dozen each night, it took a month to hear their speeches and all their advice.

Where are all these men?

A few of them sleep on the battle fields: but the great body of those eloquent men never got sleepy in that way.

Eternal silence, it is true, would become them well; but knowing that they are ready (as soon as the tree begins to fall) to jump to the front and tell us all about it, we deem it proper to call their attention to the subject now.

Col. Wm. C. Preston (peace to his honored memory) once described certain of our politicians as resembling the sea gull—that the sea gull, buffeted, driven and dashed onward by the violence of the storm at sea, seeks a foothold at last upon some jutting crag, and looking back upon the tempest—the troubled waters beneath and the thundering clouds above—and fancies, poor thing, that it is leading that storm!

Did any of our readers ever see one of those political gulls?