by John Beauchamp Jones
DECEMBER 13D.—Rained last night—and this morning we have warm April weather and bright sunshine.
It is getting to be the general belief among men capable of reflection, that no jugglery can save the Confederate States currency. As well might one lift himself from the earth by seizing his feet, as to legislate a remedy. Whatever scheme may be devised to increase the value of the Confederate States paper money, the obligor is the same. For the redemption of the currency (now worth about five cents in specie to the dollar), every citizen, and every description of property, has been pledged; and as the same citizens and the same property must be pledged for the redemption of any newly created currency, there is no reason to suppose it would not likewise run the same career of depreciation. Nor can bonds be worth more than notes. Success in the field, only, can appreciate either; for none will or can be paid, if we fail to achieve independence.
The weather, this afternoon, is warm, calm, and clear; but the roads are too soft for military operations.
I am reading the Memoirs of Bishop Doane, by his son, Rev. William Croswell Doane. He was the great bishop truly; and his son proves an admirable biographer. I knew the bishop personally, and much of his personal history; and hence this work is to me, and must be to many others, very interesting. The coming year is to be an eventful one. We shall be able (I hope) to put 400,000 effective men in the field; and these, well handled, might resist a million of assailants from without. We have the center, they the circumference; let them beware of 1864—when the United States shall find herself in the throes of an embittered Presidential contest!
