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I hate your kind of people. You +are always ciphering out how much a man's health is injured, and how much +his intellect is impaired, and how many pitiful dollars and cents he +wastes in the course of ninety-two years' indulgence in the fatal +practice of smoking; and in the equally fatal practice of drinking +coffee; and in playing billiards occasionally; and in taking a glass of +wine at dinner, etc., etc., etc. And you are always figuring out how +many women have been burned to death because of the dangerous fashion of +wearing expansive hoops, etc., etc., etc. You never see more than one +side of the question. You are blind to the fact that most old men in +America smoke and drink coffee, although, according to your theory, they +ought to have died young; and that hearty old Englishmen drink wine and +survive it, and portly old Dutchmen both drink and smoke freely, and yet +grow older and fatter all the time. And you never try to find out how +much solid comfort, relaxation, and enjoyment a man derives from smoking +in the course of a lifetime (which is worth ten times the money he would +save by letting it alone), nor the appalling aggregate of happiness lost +in a lifetime by your kind of people from not smoking. Of course you can +save money by denying yourself all the little vicious enjoyments for +fifty years; but then what can you do with it? What use can you put it +to? Money can't save your infinitesimal soul. All the use that money +can be put to is to purchase comfort and enjoyment in this life; +therefore, as you are an enemy to comfort and enjoyment, where is the use +of accumulating cash? It won't do for you to say that you can use it to +better purpose in furnishing a good table, and in charities, and in +supporting tract societies, because you know yourself that you people who +have no petty vices are never known to give away a cent, and that you +stint yourselves so in the matter of food that you are always feeble and +hungry. And you never dare to laugh in the daytime for fear some poor +wretch, seeing you in a good humor, will try to borrow a dollar of you; +and in church you are always down on your knees, with your eyes buried in +the cushion, when the contribution-box comes around; and you never give +the revenue officer full statement of your income. Now you know these +things yourself, don't you? Very well, then what is the use of your +stringing out your miserable lives to a lean and withered old age? What +is the use of your saving money that is so utterly worthless to you? In +a word, why don't you go off somewhere and die, and not be always trying +to seduce people into becoming as "ornery" and unlovable as you are +yourselves, by your villainous "moral statistics"? Now I don't approve +of dissipation, and I don't indulge in it, either; but I haven't a +particle of confidence in a man who has no redeeming petty vices, and so +I don't want to hear from you any more. I think you are the very same +man who read me a long lecture last week about the degrading vice of +smoking cigars, and then came back, in my absence, with your +reprehensible fireproof gloves on, and carried off my beautiful parlor +stove.</p> +<br> +<p> +"YOUNG AUTHOR."—Yes, Agassiz does recommend authors to eat fish, because +the phosphorus in it makes brain. So far you are correct. But I cannot +help you to a decision about the amount you need to eat—at least, not +with certainty. If the specimen composition you send is about your fair +usual average, I should judge that perhaps a couple of whales would be +all you would want for the present. Not the largest kind, but simply +good, middling-sized whales.</p> +<br> +<p> +"SIMON WHEELER," Sonora.—The following simple and touching remarks and +accompanying poem have just come to hand from the rich gold-mining region +of Sonora:</p> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<br> To Mr. Mark Twain: The within parson, which I have set to poetry + under the name and style of "He Done His Level Best," was one among + the whitest men I ever see, and it ain't every man that knowed him + that can find it in his heart to say he's glad the poor cuss is + busted and gone home to the States. He was here in an early day, + and he was the handyest man about takin' holt of anything that come + along you most ever see, I judge. He was a cheerful, stirin' + cretur, always doin' somethin', and no man can say he ever see him + do anything by halvers. Preachin was his nateral gait, but he + warn't a man to lay back and twidle his thumbs because there didn't + happen to be nothin' doin' in his own especial line—no, sir, he was a + man who would meander forth and stir up something for hisself. His + last acts was to go his pile on "Kings-and" (calklatin' to fill, but + which he didn't fill), when there was a "flush" out agin him, and + naterally, you see, he went under. And so he was cleaned out as you + may say, and he struck the home-trail, cheerful but flat broke. I + knowed this talonted man in Arkansaw, and if you would print this + humbly tribute to his gorgis abilities, you would greatly obleege + his onhappy friend. +</blockquote></blockquote> +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + + + <br> + HE DONE HIS LEVEL BEST<br><br> + + Was he a mining on the flat—<br> + He done it with a zest;<br> + Was he a leading of the choir—<br> + He done his level best.<br> +<br> + If he'd a reg'lar task to do,<br> + He never took no rest;<br> + Or if 'twas off-and-on—the same—<br> + He done his level best.<br> +<br> + If he was preachin' on his beat,<br> + He'd tramp from east to west,<br> + And north to south-in cold and heat<br> + He done his level best.<br> +<br> + He'd yank a sinner outen (Hades),**<br> + And land him with the blest;<br> + Then snatch a prayer'n waltz in again,<br> + And do his level best.<br> + + + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + + +<p> **Here I have taken a slight liberty with the original MS. "Hades" + does not make such good meter as the other word of one syllable, but + it sounds better.</p> + + + <center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + + + + He'd cuss and sing and howl and pray,<br> + And dance and drink and jest,<br> + And lie and steal—all one to him—<br> + He done his level best.<br> +<br> + Whate'er this man was sot to do,<br> + He done it with a zest;<br> + No matter what his contract was,<br> + HE'D DO HIS LEVEL BEST.<br> + + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + +<p>Verily, this man was gifted with "gorgis abilities," and it is a +happiness to me to embalm the memory of their luster in these columns. +If it were not that the poet crop is unusually large and rank in +California this year, I would encourage you to continue writing, Simon +Wheeler; but, as it is, perhaps it might be too risky in you to enter +against so much opposition.</p> +<br> +<p> +"PROFESSIONAL BEGGAR."—NO; you are not obliged to take greenbacks at +par.</p> +<br> +<p> +"MELTON MOWBRAY," Dutch Flat.—This correspondent sends a lot of +doggerel, and says it has been regarded as very good in Dutch Flat. I +give a specimen verse:</p> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<br> The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, +<br> And his cohorts were gleaming with purple and gold; +<br> And the sheen of his spears was like stars on the sea, +<br> When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.** +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<p> **This piece of pleasantry, published in a San Francisco paper, was + mistaken by the country journals for seriousness, and many and loud + were the denunciations of the ignorance of author and editor, in not + knowing that the lines in question were "written by Byron."</p> + +<p>There, that will do. That may be very good Dutch Flat poetry, but it +won't do in the metropolis. It is too smooth and blubbery; it reads like +buttermilk gurgling from a jug. What the people ought to have is +something spirited—something like "Johnny Comes Marching Home." However, +keep on practising, and you may succeed yet. There is genius in you, but +too much blubber.</p> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<br> "ST. CLAIR HIGGINS." Los Angeles.—"My life is a failure; I have + adored, wildly, madly, and she whom I love has turned coldly from me + and shed her affections upon another. What would you advise me to + do?" +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>You should set your affections on another also—or on several, if there +are enough to go round. Also, do everything you can to make your former +flame unhappy. There is an absurd idea disseminated in novels, that the +happier a girl is with another man, the happier it makes the old lover +she has blighted. Don't allow yourself to believe any such nonsense as +that. The more cause that girl finds to regret that she did not marry +you, the more comfortable you will feel over it. It isn't poetical, but +it is mighty sound doctrine.</p> +<br> +<blockquote><blockquote> +<br> "ARITHMETICUS." Virginia, Nevada.—"If it would take a cannon-ball + 3 and 1/3 seconds to travel four miles, and 3 and 3/8 seconds to + travel the next four, and 3 and 5/8 to travel the next four, and if + its rate of progress continued to diminish in the same ratio, how + long would it take it to go fifteen hundred million miles?" + +</blockquote></blockquote> +<p>I don't know.</p> +<br> +<p> +"AMBITIOUS LEARNER," Oakland.—Yes; you are right America was not +discovered by Alexander Selkirk.</p> +<br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<br> "DISCARDED LOVER."—"I loved, and still love, the beautiful Edwitha + Howard, and intended to marry her. Yet, during my temporary absence + at Benicia, last week, alas! she married Jones. Is my happiness to + be thus blasted for life? Have I no redress?" + +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<p>Of course you have. All the law, written and unwritten, is on your side. +The intention and not the act constitutes crime—in other words, +constitutes the deed. If you call your bosom friend a fool, and intend +it for an insult, it is an insult; but if you do it playfully, and +meaning no insult, it is not an insult. If you discharge a pistol +accidentally, and kill a man, you can go free, for you have done no +murder; but if you try to kill a man, and manifestly intend to kill him, +but fail utterly to do it, the law still holds that the intention +constituted the crime, and you are guilty of murder. Ergo, if you had +married Edwitha accidentally, and without really intending to do it, you +would not actually be married to her at all, because the act of marriage +could not be complete without the intention. And ergo, in the strict +spirit of the law, since you deliberately intended to marry Edwitha, and +didn't do it, you are married to her all the same—because, as I said +before, the intention constitutes the crime. It is as clear as day that +Edwitha is your wife, and your redress lies in taking a club and +mutilating Jones with it as much as you can. Any man has a right to +protect his own wife from the advances of other men. But you have +another alternative—you were married to Edwitha first, because of your +deliberate intention, and now you can prosecute her for bigamy, in +subsequently marrying Jones. But there is another phase in this +complicated case: You intended to marry Edwitha, and consequently, +according to law, she is your wife—there is no getting around that; but +she didn't marry you, and if she never intended to marry you, you are not +her husband, of course. Ergo, in marrying Jones, she was guilty of +bigamy, because she was the wife of another man at the time; which is all +very well as far as it goes—but then, don't you see, she had no other +husband when she married Jones, and consequently she was not guilty of +bigamy. Now, according to this view of the case, Jones married a +spinster, who was a widow at the same time and another man's wife at the +same time, and yet who had no husband and never had one, and never had +any intention of getting married, and therefore, of course, never had +been married; and by the same reasoning you are a bachelor, because you +have never been any one's husband; and a married man, because you have a +wife living; and to all intents and purposes a widower, because you have +been deprived of that wife; and a consummate ass for going off to Benicia +in the first place, while things were so mixed. And by this time I have +got myself so tangled up in the intricacies of this extraordinary case +that I shall have to give up any further attempt to advise you—I might +get confused and fail to make myself understood. I think I could take up +the argument where I left off, and by following it closely awhile, +perhaps I could prove to your satisfaction, either that you never existed +at all, or that you are dead now, and consequently don't need the +faithless Edwitha—I think I could do that, if it would afford you any +comfort.</p> +<br> +<p> +"ARTHUR AUGUSTUS."—No; you are wrong; that is the proper way to throw a +brickbat or a tomahawk; but it doesn't answer so well for a bouquet; you +will hurt somebody if you keep it up. Turn your nosegay upside down, +take it by the stems, and toss it with an upward sweep. Did you ever +pitch quoits? that is the idea. The practice of recklessly heaving +immense solid bouquets, of the general size and weight of prize cabbages, +from the dizzy altitude of the galleries, is dangerous and very +reprehensible. Now, night before last, at the Academy of Music, just +after Signorina ________ had finished that exquisite melody, "The Last Rose of +Summer," one of these floral pile-drivers came cleaving down through the +atmosphere of applause, and if she hadn't deployed suddenly to the right, +it would have driven her into the floor like a shinglenail. Of course +that bouquet was well meant; but how would you like to have been the +target? A sincere compliment is always grateful to a lady, so long as +you don't try to knock her down with it.</p> +<br> +<p> +"YOUNG MOTHER."—And so you think a baby is a thing of beauty and a joy +forever? Well, the idea is pleasing, but not original; every cow thinks +the same of its own calf. Perhaps the cow may not think it so elegantly, +but still she thinks it nevertheless. I honor the cow for it. We all +honor this touching maternal instinct wherever we find it, be it in the +home of luxury or in the humble coW-shed. But really, madam, when I +come to examine the matter in all its bearings, I find that the +correctness of your assertion does not assert itself in all cases. +A soiled baby, with a neglected nose, cannot be conscientiously regarded +as a thing of beauty; and inasmuch as babyhood spans but three short +years, no baby is competent to be a joy "forever." It pains me thus to +demolish two-thirds of your pretty sentiment in a single sentence; but +the position I hold in this chair requires that I shall not permit you to +deceive and mislead the public with your plausible figures of speech. +I know a female baby, aged eighteen months, in this city, which cannot +hold out as a "joy" twenty-four hours on a stretch, let alone "forever." +And it possesses some of the most remarkable eccentricities of character +and appetite that have ever fallen under my notice. I will set down here +a statement of this infant's operations (conceived, planned, and carried +out by itself, and without suggestion or assistance from its mother or +any one else), during a single day; and what I shall say can be +substantiated by the sworn testimony of witnesses.</p> + +<p>It commenced by eating one dozen large blue-mass pills, box and all; then +it fell down a flight of stairs, and arose with a blue and purple knot on +its forehead, after which it proceeded in quest of further refreshment +and amusement. It found a glass trinket ornamented with +brass-work—smashed up and ate the glass, and then swallowed the brass. +Then it drank about twenty drops of laudanum, and more than a dozen +tablespoonfuls of strong spirits of camphor. The reason why it took no +more laudanum was because there was no more to take. After this it lay +down on its back, and shoved five or six inches of a silver-headed +whalebone cane down its throat; got it fast there, and it was all its +mother could do to pull the cane out again, without pulling out some of +the child with it. Then, being hungry for glass again, it broke up +several wine glasses, and fell to eating and swallowing the fragments, +not minding a cut or two. Then it ate a quantity of butter, pepper, +salt, and California matches, actually taking a spoonful of butter, a +spoonful of salt, a spoonful of pepper, and three or four lucifer matches +at each mouthful. (I will remark here that this thing of beauty likes +painted German lucifers, and eats all she can get of them; but she +prefers California matches, which I regard as a compliment to our home +manufactures of more than ordinary value, coming, as it does, from one +who is too young to flatter.) Then she washed her head with soap and +water, and afterward ate what soap was left, and drank as much of the +suds as she had room for; after which she sallied forth and took the cow +familiarly by the tail, and got kicked heels over head. At odd times +during the day, when this joy forever happened to have nothing particular +on hand, she put in the time by climbing up on places, and falling down +off them, uniformly damaging her self in the operation. As young as she +is, she speaks many words tolerably distinctly; and being plain-spoken in +other respects, blunt and to the point, she opens conversation with all +strangers, male or female, with the same formula, "How do, Jim?"</p> + +<p>Not being familiar with the ways of children, it is possible that I have +been magnifying into matter of surprise things which may not strike any +one who is familiar with infancy as being at all astonishing. However, I +cannot believe that such is the case, and so I repeat that my report of +this baby's performances is strictly true; and if any one doubts it, +I can produce the child. I will further engage that she will devour +anything that is given her (reserving to myself only the right to exclude +anvils), and fall down from any place to which she may be elevated +(merely stipulating that her preference for alighting on her head shall +be respected, and, therefore, that the elevation chosen shall be high +enough to enable her to accomplish this to her satisfaction). But I find +I have wandered from my subject; so, without further argument, I will +reiterate my conviction that not all babies are things of beauty and joys +forever.</p> +<br> +<blockquote><blockquote> +<br> + "ARITHMETICUS." Virginia, Nevada.—"I am an enthusiastic student of + mathematics, and it is so vexatious to me to find my progress + constantly impeded by these mysterious arithmetical technicalities. + Now do tell me what the difference is between geometry and + conchology?" + +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<p>Here you come again with your arithmetical conundrums, when I am +suffering death with a cold in the head. If you could have seen the +expression of scorn that darkened my countenance a moment ago, and was +instantly split from the center in every direction like a fractured +looking-glass by my last sneeze, you never would have written that +disgraceful question. Conchology is a science which has nothing to do +with mathematics; it relates only to shells. At the same time, however, +a man who opens oysters for a hotel, or shells a fortified town, or sucks +eggs, is not, strictly speaking, a conchologist-a fine stroke of sarcasm +that, but it will be lost on such an unintellectual clam as you. Now +compare conchology and geometry together, and you will see what the +difference is, and your question will be answered. But don't torture me +with any more arithmetical horrors until you know I am rid of my cold. I +feel the bitterest animosity toward you at this moment—bothering me in +this way, when I can do nothing but sneeze and rage and snort +pocket-handkerchiefs to atoms. If I had you in range of my nose now I would +blow your brains out.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><h2><a name="poultry"></a>TO RAISE POULTRY</h2> +<br> + +<center><img alt="p081.jpg (131K)" src="images/p081.jpg" height="926" width="650"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<h3>[Being a letter written to a Poultry Society that had conferred a +complimentary membership upon the author. Written about 1870.]</h3></center> +<br> + +<p>Seriously, from early youth I have taken an especial interest in the +subject of poultry-raising, and so this membership touches a ready +sympathy in my breast. Even as a schoolboy, poultry-raising was a study +with me, and I may say without egotism that as early as the age of +seventeen I was acquainted with all the best and speediest methods of +raising chickens, from raising them off a roost by burning lucifer +matches under their noses, down to lifting them off a fence on a frosty +night by insinuating the end of a warm board under their heels. By the +time I was twenty years old, I really suppose I had raised more poultry +than any one individual in all the section round about there. The very +chickens came to know my talent by and by. The youth of both sexes +ceased to paw the earth for worms, and old roosters that came to crow, +"remained to pray," when I passed by.</p> + +<p>I have had so much experience in the raising of fowls that I cannot but +think that a few hints from me might be useful to the society. The two +methods I have already touched upon are very simple, and are only used in +the raising of the commonest class of fowls; one is for summer, the other +for winter. In the one case you start out with a friend along about +eleven o'clock on a summer's night (not later, because in some +states—especially in California and Oregon—chickens always rouse up just at +midnight and crow from ten to thirty minutes, according to the ease or +difficulty they experience in getting the public waked up), and your +friend carries with him a sack. Arrived at the henroost (your +neighbor's, not your own), you light a match and hold it under first one +and then another pullet's nose until they are willing to go into that bag +without making any trouble about it. You then return home, either taking +the bag with you or leaving it behind, according as circumstances shall +dictate. N. B.—I have seen the time when it was eligible and +appropriate to leave the sack behind and walk off with considerable +velocity, without ever leaving any word where to send it.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><img alt="p082.jpg (56K)" src="images/p082.jpg" height="891" width="365"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>In the case of the other method mentioned for raising poultry, your +friend takes along a covered vessel with a charcoal fire in it, and you +carry a long slender plank. This is a frosty night, understand. Arrived +at the tree, or fence, or other henroost (your own if you are an idiot), +you warm the end of your plank in your friend's fire vessel, and then +raise it aloft and ease it up gently against a slumbering chicken's foot. +If the subject of your attentions is a true bird, he will infallibly +return thanks with a sleepy cluck or two, and step out and take up +quarters on the plank, thus becoming so conspicuously accessory before +the fact to his own murder as to make it a grave question in our minds as +it once was in the mind of Blackstone, whether he is not really and +deliberately committing suicide in the second degree. [But you enter +into a contemplation of these legal refinements subsequently not then.]</p> + +<p>When you wish to raise a fine, large, donkey-voiced Shanghai rooster, you +do it with a lasso, just as you would a bull. It is because he must be +choked, and choked effectually, too. It is the only good, certain way, +for whenever he mentions a matter which he is cordially interested in, +the chances are ninety-nine in a hundred that he secures somebody else's +immediate attention to it too, whether it be day or night.</p> + +<p>The Black Spanish is an exceedingly fine bird and a costly one. +Thirty-five dollars is the usual figure, and fifty a not uncommon price for a +specimen. Even its eggs are worth from a dollar to a dollar and a half +apiece, and yet are so unwholesome that the city physician seldom or +never orders them for the workhouse. Still I have once or twice procured +as high as a dozen at a time for nothing, in the dark of the moon. The +best way to raise the Black Spanish fowl is to go late in the evening and +raise coop and all. The reason I recommend this method is that, the +birds being so valuable, the owners do not permit them to roost around +promiscuously, but put them in a coop as strong as a fireproof safe and +keep it in the kitchen at night. The method I speak of is not always a +bright and satisfying success, and yet there are so many little articles +of <i>vertu</i> about a kitchen, that if you fail on the coop you can generally +bring away something else. I brought away a nice steel trap one night, +worth ninety cents.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><img alt="p084.jpg (27K)" src="images/p084.jpg" height="479" width="339"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>But what is the use in my pouring out my whole intellect on this subject? +I have shown the Western New York Poultry Society that they have taken to +their bosom a party who is not a spring chicken by any means, but a man +who knows all about poultry, and is just as high up in the most efficient +methods of raising it as the president of the institution himself. +I thank these gentlemen for the honorary membership they have conferred +upon me, and shall stand at all times ready and willing to testify my +good feeling and my official zeal by deeds as well as by this hastily +penned advice and information. Whenever they are ready to go to raising +poultry, let them call for me any evening after eleven o'clock, +and I shall be on hand promptly.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><h2><a name="croup"></a>EXPERIENCE OF THE McWILLIAMSES WITH MEMBRANOUS CROUP +</h2> +<h3>[As related to the author of this book by Mr. McWilliams, a pleasant New +York gentleman whom the said author met by chance on a journey.]</h3> +</center> +<br> + +<center><img alt="p085.jpg (129K)" src="images/p085.jpg" height="881" width="650"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Well, to go back to where I was before I digressed to explain to you how +that frightful and incurable disease, membranous croup,[Diphtheria D.W.] +was ravaging the town and driving all mothers mad with terror, I called +Mrs. McWilliams's attention to little Penelope, and said:</p> + +<p>"Darling, I wouldn't let that child be chewing that pine stick if I were +you."</p> + +<p>"Precious, where is the harm in it?" said she, but at the same time +preparing to take away the stick for women cannot receive even the most +palpably judicious suggestion without arguing it; that is married women.</p> + +<p>I replied:</p> + +<p>"Love, it is notorious that pine is the least nutritious wood that a +child can eat."</p> + +<p>My wife's hand paused, in the act of taking the stick, and returned +itself to her lap. She bridled perceptibly, and said:</p> + +<p>"Hubby, you know better than that. You know you do. Doctors all say +that the turpentine in pine wood is good for weak back and the kidneys."</p> + +<p>"Ah—I was under a misapprehension. I did not know that the child's +kidneys and spine were affected, and that the family physician had +recommended—"</p> + +<p>"Who said the child's spine and kidneys were affected?"</p> + +<p>"My love, you intimated it."</p> + +<p>"The idea! I never intimated anything of the kind."</p> + +<p>"Why, my dear, it hasn't been two minutes since you said—"</p> + +<p>"Bother what I said! I don't care what I did say. There isn't any harm +in the child's chewing a bit of pine stick if she wants to, and you know +it perfectly well. And she shall chew it, too. So there, now!"</p> + +<p>"Say no more, my dear. I now see the force of your reasoning, and I will +go and order two or three cords of the best pine wood to-day. No child +of mine shall want while I—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, please go along to your office and let me have some peace. A body +can never make the simplest remark but you must take it up and go to +arguing and arguing and arguing till you don't know what you are talking +about, and you never do."</p> + +<p>"Very well, it shall be as you say. But there is a want of logic in your +last remark which—"</p> + +<p>However, she was gone with a flourish before I could finish, and had +taken the child with her. That night at dinner she confronted me with a +face as white as a sheet:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mortimer, there's another! Little Georgi Gordon is taken."</p> + +<p>"Membranous croup?"</p> + +<p>"Membranous croup."</p> + +<p>"Is there any hope for him?"</p> + +<p>"None in the wide world. Oh, what is to become of us!"</p> + +<p>By and by a nurse brought in our Penelope to say good night and offer the +customary prayer at the mother's knee. In the midst of "Now I lay me +down to sleep," she gave a slight cough! My wife fell back like one +stricken with death. But the next moment she was up and brimming with +the activities which terror inspires.</p> + +<p>She commanded that the child's crib be removed from the nursery to our +bedroom; and she went along to see the order executed. She took me with +her, of course. We got matters arranged with speed. A cot-bed was put +up in my wife's dressing room for the nurse. But now Mrs. McWilliams +said we were too far away from the other baby, and what if he were to +have the symptoms in the night—and she blanched again, poor thing.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><img alt="p087.jpg (43K)" src="images/p087.jpg" height="497" width="401"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>We then restored the crib and the nurse to the nursery and put up a bed +for ourselves in a room adjoining.</p> + +<p>Presently, however, Mrs. McWilliams said suppose the baby should catch it +from Penelope? This thought struck a new panic to her heart, and the +tribe of us could not get the crib out of the nursery again fast enough +to satisfy my wife, though she assisted in her own person and well-nigh +pulled the crib to pieces in her frantic hurry.</p> + +<p>We moved down-stairs; but there was no place there to stow the nurse, and +Mrs. McWilliams said the nurse's experience would be an inestimable help. +So we returned, bag and baggage, to our own bedroom once more, and felt a +great gladness, like storm-buffeted birds that have found their nest +again.</p> + +<p>Mrs. McWilliams sped to the nursery to see how things were going on +there. She was back in a moment with a new dread. She said:</p> + +<p>"What can make Baby sleep so?"</p> + +<p>I said:</p> + +<p>"Why, my darling, Baby always sleeps like a graven image."</p> + +<p>"I know. I know; but there's something peculiar about his sleep now. +He seems to—to—he seems to breathe so regularly. Oh, this is +dreadful."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, he always breathes regularly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know it, but there's something frightful about it now. His nurse +is too young and inexperienced. Maria shall stay there with her, and be +on hand if anything happens."</p> + +<p>"That is a good idea, but who will help you?"</p> + +<p>"You can help me all I want. I wouldn't allow anybody to do anything but +myself, anyhow, at such a time as this."</p> + +<p>I said I would feel mean to lie abed and sleep, and leave her to watch +and toil over our little patient all the weary night. But she reconciled +me to it. So old Maria departed and took up her ancient quarters in the +nursery.</p> + +<p>Penelope coughed twice in her sleep.</p> + +<p>"Oh, why don't that doctor come! Mortimer, this room is too warm. This +room is certainly too warm. Turn off the register-quick!"</p> + +<p>I shut it off, glancing at the thermometer at the same time, and +wondering to myself if 70 was too warm for a sick child.</p> + +<p>The coachman arrived from down-town now with the news that our physician +was ill and confined to his bed. Mrs. McWilliams turned a dead eye upon +me, and said in a dead voice:</p> + +<p>"There is a Providence in it. It is foreordained. He never was sick +before. Never. We have not been living as we ought to live, Mortimer. +Time and time again I have told you so. Now you see the result. Our +child will never get well. Be thankful if you can forgive yourself; I +never can forgive myself."</p> + +<p>I said, without intent to hurt, but with heedless choice of words, that I +could not see that we had been living such an abandoned life.</p> + +<p>"Mortimer! Do you want to bring the judgment upon Baby, too!"</p> + +<p>Then she began to cry, but suddenly exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"The doctor must have sent medicines!"</p> + +<p>I said:</p> + +<p>"Certainly. They are here. I was only waiting for you to give me a +chance."</p> + +<p>"Well do give them to me! Don't you know that every moment is precious +now? But what was the use in sending medicines, when he knows that the +disease is incurable?"</p> + +<p>I said that while there was life there was hope.</p> + +<p>"Hope! Mortimer, you know no more what you are talking about than the +child unborn. If you would—As I live, the directions say give one +teaspoonful once an hour! Once an hour!—as if we had a whole year +before us to save the child in! Mortimer, please hurry. Give the poor +perishing thing a tablespoonful, and try to be quick!"</p> + +<p>"Why, my dear, a tablespoonful might—"</p> + +<p>"Don't drive me frantic! . . . There, there, there, my precious, my +own; it's nasty bitter stuff, but it's good for Nelly—good for mother's +precious darling; and it will make her well. There, there, there, put +the little head on mamma's breast and go to sleep, and pretty soon—oh, +I know she can't live till morning! Mortimer, a tablespoonful every +half-hour will—Oh, the child needs belladonna, too; I know she does—and +aconite. Get them, Mortimer. Now do let me have my way. You know +nothing about these things."</p> + +<p>We now went to bed, placing the crib close to my wife's pillow. All this +turmoil had worn upon me, and within two minutes I was something more +than half asleep. Mrs. McWilliams roused me:</p> + +<p>"Darling, is that register turned on?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I thought as much. Please turn it on at once. This room is cold."</p> + +<p>I turned it on, and presently fell asleep again. I was aroused once +more:</p> + +<p>"Dearie, would you mind moving the crib to your side of the bed? It is +nearer the register."</p> + +<p>I moved it, but had a collision with the rug and woke up the child. I +dozed off once more, while my wife quieted the sufferer. But in a little +while these words came murmuring remotely through the fog of my +drowsiness:</p> + +<p>"Mortimer, if we only had some goose grease—will you ring?"</p> + +<p>I climbed dreamily out, and stepped on a cat, which responded with a +protest and would have got a convincing kick for it if a chair had not +got it instead.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mortimer, why do you want to turn up the gas and wake up the child +again?"</p> + +<p>"Because I want to see how much I am hurt, Caroline."</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><img alt="p090.jpg (45K)" src="images/p090.jpg" height="495" width="399"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"Well, look at the chair, too—I have no doubt it is ruined. Poor cat, +suppose you had—"</p> + +<p>"Now I am not going to suppose anything about the cat. It never would +have occurred if Maria had been allowed to remain here and attend to +these duties, which are in her line and are not in mine."</p> + +<p>"Now, Mortimer, I should think you would be ashamed to make a remark like +that. It is a pity if you cannot do the few little things I ask of you +at such an awful time as this when our child—"</p> + +<p>"There, there, I will do anything you want. But I can't raise anybody +with this bell. They're all gone to bed. Where is the goose grease?"</p> + +<p>"On the mantelpiece in the nursery. If you'll step there and speak to +Maria—"</p> + +<p>I fetched the goose grease and went to sleep again. Once more I was +called:</p> + +<p>"Mortimer, I so hate to disturb you, but the room is still too cold for +me to try to apply this stuff. Would you mind lighting the fire? It is +all ready to touch a match to."</p> + +<p>I dragged myself out and lit the fire, and then sat down disconsolate.</p> + +<p>"Mortimer, don't sit there and catch your death of cold. Come to bed."</p> + +<p>As I was stepping in she said:</p> + +<p>"But wait a moment. Please give the child some more of the medicine."</p> + +<p>Which I did. It was a medicine which made a child more or less lively; +so my wife made use of its waking interval to strip it and grease it all +over with the goose oil. I was soon asleep once more, but once more I +had to get up.</p> + +<p>"Mortimer, I feel a draft. I feel it distinctly. There is nothing so +bad for this disease as a draft. Please move the crib in front of the +fire."</p> + +<p>I did it; and collided with the rug again, which I threw in the fire. +Mrs. McWilliams sprang out of bed and rescued it and we had some words. +I had another trifling interval of sleep, and then got up, by request, +and constructed a flax-seed poultice. This was placed upon the child's +breast and left there to do its healing work.</p> + +<p>A wood-fire is not a permanent thing. I got up every twenty minutes and +renewed ours, and this gave Mrs. McWilliams the opportunity to shorten +the times of giving the medicines by ten minutes, which was a great +satisfaction to her. Now and then, between times, I reorganized the +flax-seed poultices, and applied sinapisms and other sorts of blisters +where unoccupied places could be found upon the child. Well, toward +morning the wood gave out and my wife wanted me to go down cellar and get +some more. I said:</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><img alt="p091.jpg (41K)" src="images/p091.jpg" height="481" width="379"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"My dear, it is a laborious job, and the child must be nearly warm +enough, with her extra clothing. Now mightn't we put on another layer of +poultices and—"</p> + +<p>I did not finish, because I was interrupted. I lugged wood up from below +for some little time, and then turned in and fell to snoring as only a +man can whose strength is all gone and whose soul is worn out. Just at +broad daylight I felt a grip on my shoulder that brought me to my senses +suddenly. My wife was glaring down upon me and gasping. As soon as she +could command her tongue she said:</p> + +<p>"It is all over! All over! The child's perspiring! What shall we do?"</p> + +<p>"Mercy, how you terrify me! I don't know what we ought to do. Maybe if +we scraped her and put her in the draft again—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, idiot! There is not a moment to lose! Go for the doctor. +Go yourself. Tell him he must come, dead or alive."</p> + +<p>I dragged that poor sick man from his bed and brought him. He looked at +the child and said she was not dying. This was joy unspeakable to me, +but it made my wife as mad as if he had offered her a personal affront. +Then he said the child's cough was only caused by some trifling +irritation or other in the throat. At this I thought my wife had a mind +to show him the door. Now the doctor said he would make the child cough +harder and dislodge the trouble. So he gave her something that sent her +into a spasm of coughing, and presently up came a little wood splinter or +so.</p> + +<p>"This child has no membranous croup," said he. "She has been chewing a +bit of pine shingle or something of the kind, and got some little slivers +in her throat. They won't do her any hurt."</p> + +<p>"No," said I, "I can well believe that. Indeed, the turpentine that is +in them is very good for certain sorts of diseases that are peculiar to +children. My wife will tell you so."</p> + +<p>But she did not. She turned away in disdain and left the room; and since +that time there is one episode in our life which we never refer to. +Hence the tide of our days flows by in deep and untroubled serenity.</p> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p>[Very few married men have such an experience as McWilliams's, and so the +author of this book thought that maybe the novelty of it would give it a +passing interest to the reader.]</p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><h2><a name="venture"></a>MY FIRST LITERARY VENTURE</h2></center> +<br> + +<center><h3>[written about 1865]</h3></center> +<br> + +<p>I was a very smart child at the age of thirteen—an unusually smart +child, I thought at the time. It was then that I did my first newspaper +scribbling, and most unexpectedly to me it stirred up a fine sensation in +the community. It did, indeed, and I was very proud of it, too. I was a +printer's "devil," and a progressive and aspiring one. My uncle had me +on his paper (the Weekly Hannibal Journal, two dollars a year in +advance—five hundred subscribers, and they paid in cordwood, cabbages, and +unmarketable turnips), and on a lucky summer's day he left town to be +gone a week, and asked me if I thought I could edit one issue of the +paper judiciously. Ah! didn't I want to try! Higgins was the editor on +the rival paper. He had lately been jilted, and one night a friend found +an open note on the poor fellow's bed, in which he stated that he could +not longer endure life and had drowned himself in Bear Creek. The friend +ran down there and discovered Higgins wading back to shore. He had +concluded he wouldn't.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><img alt="p094.jpg (64K)" src="images/p094.jpg" height="897" width="359"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>The village was full of it for several days, +but Higgins did not suspect it. I thought this was a fine opportunity. +I wrote an elaborately wretched account of the whole matter, and then +illustrated it with villainous cuts engraved on the bottoms of wooden +type with a jackknife—one of them a picture of Higgins wading out into +the creek in his shirt, with a lantern, sounding the depth of the water +with a walking-stick. I thought it was desperately funny, and was +densely unconscious that there was any moral obliquity about such a +publication. Being satisfied with this effort I looked around for other +worlds to conquer, and it struck me that it would make good, interesting +matter to charge the editor of a neighboring country paper with a piece +of gratuitous rascality and "see him squirm."</p> + +<p>I did it, putting the article into the form of a parody on the "Burial of +Sir John Moore"—and a pretty crude parody it was, too.</p> + +<p>Then I lampooned two prominent citizens outrageously—not because they +had done anything to deserve, but merely because I thought it was my duty +to make the paper lively.</p> + +<p>Next I gently touched up the newest stranger—the lion of the day, the +gorgeous journeyman tailor from Quincy. He was a simpering coxcomb of +the first water, and the "loudest" dressed man in the state. He was an +inveterate woman-killer. Every week he wrote lushy "poetry" for the +journal, about his newest conquest. His rhymes for my week were headed, +"To MARY IN H—l," meaning to Mary in Hannibal, of course. But while +setting up the piece I was suddenly riven from head to heel by what I +regarded as a perfect thunderbolt of humor, and I compressed it into a +snappy footnote at the bottom—thus: "We will let this thing pass, just +this once; but we wish Mr. J. Gordon Runnels to understand distinctly +that we have a character to sustain, and from this time forth when he +wants to commune with his friends in h—l, he must select some other +medium than the columns of this journal!"</p> + +<p>The paper came out, and I never knew any little thing attract so much +attention as those playful trifles of mine.</p> + +<p>For once the Hannibal Journal was in demand—a novelty it had not +experienced before. The whole town was stirred. Higgins dropped in with +a double-barreled shotgun early in the forenoon. When he found that it +was an infant (as he called me) that had done him the damage, he simply +pulled my ears and went away; but he threw up his situation that night +and left town for good. The tailor came with his goose and a pair of +shears; but he despised me, too, and departed for the South that night. +The two lampooned citizens came with threats of libel, and went away +incensed at my insignificance. The country editor pranced in with a +war-whoop next day, suffering for blood to drink; but he ended by forgiving +me cordially and inviting me down to the drug store to wash away all +animosity in a friendly bumper of "Fahnestock's Vermifuge." It was his +little joke. My uncle was very angry when he got back—unreasonably so, +I thought, considering what an impetus I had given the paper, and +considering also that gratitude for his preservation ought to have been +uppermost in his mind, inasmuch as by his delay he had so wonderfully +escaped dissection, tomahawking, libel, and getting his head shot off.</p> + +<p>But he softened when he looked at the accounts and saw that I had +actually booked the unparalleled number of thirty-three new subscribers, +and had the vegetables to show for it, cordwood, cabbage, beans, and +unsalable turnips enough to run the family for two years!</p> + + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><h2><a name="newark"></a>HOW THE AUTHOR WAS SOLD IN NEWARK</h2></center> +<br> +<center><h3>[written about 1869]</h3></center> +<br> + +<center><img alt="p096.jpg (103K)" src="images/p096.jpg" height="892" width="650"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>It is seldom pleasant to tell on oneself, but some times it is a sort of +relief to a man to make a confession. I wish to unburden my mind now, +and yet I almost believe that I am moved to do it more because I long to +bring censure upon another man than because I desire to pour balm upon my +wounded heart. (I don't know what balm is, but I believe it is the +correct expression to use in this connection—never having seen any +balm.) You may remember that I lectured in Newark lately for the young +gentlemen of the——-Society? I did at any rate. During the afternoon +of that day I was talking with one of the young gentlemen just referred +to, and he said he had an uncle who, from some cause or other, seemed to +have grown permanently bereft of all emotion. And with tears in his +eyes, this young man said, "Oh, if I could only see him laugh once more! +Oh, if I could only see him weep!" I was touched. I could never +withstand distress.</p> + +<p>I said: "Bring him to my lecture. I'll start him for you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you could but do it! If you could but do it, all our family +would bless you for evermore—for he is so very dear to us. Oh, my +benefactor, can you make him laugh? can you bring soothing tears to those +parched orbs?"</p> + +<p>I was profoundly moved. I said: "My son, bring the old party round. +I have got some jokes in that lecture that will make him laugh if there +is any laugh in him; and if they miss fire, I have got some others that +will make him cry or kill him, one or the other." Then the young man +blessed me, and wept on my neck, and went after his uncle. He placed him +in full view, in the second row of benches, that night, and I began on +him. I tried him with mild jokes, then with severe ones; I dosed him +with bad jokes and riddled him with good ones; I fired old stale jokes +into him, and peppered him fore and aft with red-hot new ones; I warmed +up to my work, and assaulted him on the right and left, in front and +behind; I fumed and sweated and charged and ranted till I was hoarse and +sick and frantic and furious; but I never moved him once—I never started +a smile or a tear! Never a ghost of a smile, and never a suspicion of +moisture! I was astounded. I closed the lecture at last with one +despairing shriek—with one wild burst of humor, and hurled a joke of +supernatural atrocity full at him!</p> + +<p>Then I sat down bewildered and exhausted.</p> + +<p>The president of the society came up and bathed my head with cold water, +and said: "What made you carry on so toward the last?"</p> + +<p>I said: "I was trying to make that confounded old fool laugh, in the +second row."</p> + +<p>And he said: "Well, you were wasting your time, because he is deaf and +dumb, and as blind as a badger!"</p> + +<p>Now, was that any way for that old man's nephew to impose on a stranger +and orphan like me? I ask you as a man and brother, if that was any way +for him to do?</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><h2><a name="bore"></a>THE OFFICE BORE</h2></center> +<br> +<center><h3>[written about 1869]</h3></center> +<br> + +<center><img alt="p098.jpg (140K)" src="images/p098.jpg" height="896" width="650"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>He arrives just as regularly as the clock strikes nine in the morning. +And so he even beats the editor sometimes, and the porter must leave his +work and climb two or three pairs of stairs to unlock the "Sanctum" door +and let him in. He lights one of the office pipes—not reflecting, +perhaps, that the editor may be one of those "stuck-up" people who would +as soon have a stranger defile his tooth-brush as his pipe-stem. Then he +begins to loll—for a person who can consent to loaf his useless life +away in ignominious indolence has not the energy to sit up straight. +He stretches full length on the sofa awhile; then draws up to half +length; then gets into a chair, hangs his head back and his arms abroad, +and stretches his legs till the rims of his boot-heels rest upon the +floor; by and by sits up and leans forward, with one leg or both over the +arm of the chair. But it is still observable that with all his changes +of position, he never assumes the upright or a fraudful affectation of +dignity. From time to time he yawns, and stretches, and scratches +himself with a tranquil, mangy enjoyment, and now and then he grunts a +kind of stuffy, overfed grunt, which is full of animal contentment. At +rare and long intervals, however, he sighs a sigh that is the eloquent +expression of a secret confession, to wit "I am useless and a nuisance, +a cumberer of the earth." The bore and his comrades—for there are +usually from two to four on hand, day and night—mix into the +conversation when men come in to see the editors for a moment on +business; they hold noisy talks among themselves about politics in +particular, and all other subjects in general—even warming up, after a +fashion, sometimes, and seeming to take almost a real interest in what +they are discussing. They ruthlessly call an editor from his work with +such a remark as: "Did you see this, Smith, in the Gazette?" and proceed +to read the paragraph while the sufferer reins in his impatient pen and +listens; they often loll and sprawl round the office hour after hour, +swapping anecdotes and relating personal experiences to each +other—hairbreadth escapes, social encounters with distinguished men, election +reminiscences, sketches of odd characters, etc. And through all those +hours they never seem to comprehend that they are robbing the editors of +their time, and the public of journalistic excellence in next day's +paper. At other times they drowse, or dreamily pore over exchanges, or +droop limp and pensive over the chair-arms for an hour. Even this solemn +silence is small respite to the editor, for the next uncomfortable thing +to having people look over his shoulders, perhaps, is to have them sit by +in silence and listen to the scratching of his pen. If a body desires to +talk private business with one of the editors, he must call him outside, +for no hint milder than blasting-powder or nitroglycerin would be likely +to move the bores out of listening-distance. To have to sit and endure +the presence of a bore day after day; to feel your cheerful spirits begin +to sink as his footstep sounds on the stair, and utterly vanish away as +his tiresome form enters the door; to suffer through his anecdotes and +die slowly to his reminiscences; to feel always the fetters of his +clogging presence; to long hopelessly for one single day's privacy; to +note with a shudder, by and by, that to contemplate his funeral in fancy +has ceased to soothe, to imagine him undergoing in strict and fearful +detail the tortures of the ancient Inquisition has lost its power to +satisfy the heart, and that even to wish him millions and millions and +millions of miles in Tophet is able to bring only a fitful gleam of joy; +to have to endure all this, day after day, and week after week, and month +after month, is an affliction that transcends any other that men suffer. +Physical pain is pastime to it, and hanging a pleasure excursion.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><h2><a name="greer"></a>JOHNNY GREER +</h2></center> +<br> + +<p>"The church was densely crowded that lovely summer Sabbath," said the +Sunday-school superintendent, "and all, as their eyes rested upon the +small coffin, seemed impressed by the poor black boy's fate. Above the +stillness the pastor's voice rose, and chained the interest of every ear +as he told, with many an envied compliment, how that the brave, noble, +daring little Johnny Greer, when he saw the drowned body sweeping down +toward the deep part of the river whence the agonized parents never could +have recovered it in this world, gallantly sprang into the stream, and, +at the risk of his life, towed the corpse to shore, and held it fast till +help came and secured it. Johnny Greer was sitting just in front of me. +A ragged street-boy, with eager eye, turned upon him instantly, and said +in a hoarse whisper</p> + +<p>"'No; but did you, though?'</p> + +<p>"'Yes.'</p> + +<p>"'Towed the carkiss ashore and saved it yo'self?'</p> + +<p>"'Yes.'</p> + +<p>"'Cracky! What did they give you?'</p> + +<p>"'Nothing.'</p> + +<p>"'W-h-a-t [with intense disgust]! D'you know what I'd 'a' done? I'd 'a' +anchored him out in the stream, and said, Five dollars, gents, or you +carn't have yo' nigger.'"</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><h2><a name="beef"></a>THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF THE GREAT BEEF CONTRACT</h2></center> +<br> +<center><h3>[written about 1867]</h3></center> +<br> + +<center><img alt="p101.jpg (106K)" src="images/p101.jpg" height="886" width="650"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>In as few words as possible I wish to lay before the nation what share, +howsoever small, I have had in this matter—this matter which has so +exercised the public mind, engendered so much ill-feeling, and so filled +the newspapers of both continents with distorted statements and +extravagant comments.</p> + +<p>The origin of this distressful thing was this—and I assert here that +every fact in the following <i>résumé</i> can be amply proved by the official +records of the General Government.</p> + +<p>John Wilson Mackenzie, of Rotterdam, Chemung County, New Jersey, +deceased, contracted with the General Government, on or about the 10th +day of October, 1861, to furnish to General Sherman the sum total of +thirty barrels of beef.</p> + +<p>Very well.</p> + +<p>He started after Sherman with the beef, but when he got to Washington +Sherman had gone to Manassas; so he took the beef and followed him there, +but arrived too late; he followed him to Nashville, and from Nashville to +Chattanooga, and from Chattanooga to Atlanta—but he never could overtake +him. At Atlanta he took a fresh start and followed him clear through his +march to the sea. He arrived too late again by a few days; but hearing +that Sherman was going out in the Quaker City excursion to the Holy Land, +he took shipping for Beirut, calculating to head off the other vessel. +When he arrived in Jerusalem with his beef, he learned that Sherman had +not sailed in the Quaker City, but had gone to the Plains to fight the +Indians. He returned to America and started for the Rocky Mountains. +After sixty-eight days of arduous travel on the Plains, and when he had +got within four miles of Sherman's headquarters, he was tomahawked and +scalped, and the Indians got the beef.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><img alt="p102.jpg (36K)" src="images/p102.jpg" height="431" width="333"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>They got all of it but one +barrel. Sherman's army captured that, and so, even in death, the bold +navigator partly fulfilled his contract. In his will, which he had kept +like a journal, he bequeathed the contract to his son Bartholomew. +Bartholomew W. made out the following bill, and then died:</p> + + + + + + <h3>THE UNITED STATES</h3> +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + In account with JOHN WILSON MACKENZIE, of New Jersey,</td></tr><tr><td> + deceased, </td><td> Dr.</td></tr><tr><td> + </td></tr><tr><td> + To thirty barrels of beef for General Sherman, at $100, </td><td>$3,000</td></tr><tr><td> + To traveling expenses and transportation </td><td> 14,000</td></tr><tr><td> + </td></tr><tr><td> + Total </td><td> $17,000</td></tr><tr><td> + Rec'd Pay't.</td></tr><tr><td> + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + + +<p> +He died then; but he left the contract to Wm. J. Martin, who tried to +collect it, but died before he got through. He left it to Barker J. +Allen, and he tried to collect it also. He did not survive. Barker J. +Allen left it to Anson G. Rogers, who attempted to collect it, and got +along as far as the Ninth Auditor's Office, when Death, the great +Leveler, came all unsummoned, and foreclosed on him also. He left the +bill to a relative of his in Connecticut, Vengeance Hopkins by name, who +lasted four weeks and two days, and made the best time on record, coming +within one of reaching the Twelfth Auditor. In his will he gave the +contract bill to his uncle, by the name of O-be-joyful Johnson. It was +too undermining for Joyful. His last words were: "Weep not for me—I am +willing to go." And so he was, poor soul. Seven people inherited the +contract after that; but they all died. So it came into my hands at +last. It fell to me through a relative by the name of +Hubbard—Bethlehem Hubbard, of Indiana. He had had a grudge against me +for a long +time; but in his last moments he sent for me, and forgave me everything, +and, weeping, gave me the beef contract.</p> + +<p>This ends the history of it up to the time that I succeeded to the +property. I will now endeavor to set myself straight before the nation +in everything that concerns my share in the matter. I took this beef +contract, and the bill for mileage and transportation, to the President +of the United States.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><img alt="p103.jpg (35K)" src="images/p103.jpg" height="431" width="337"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>He said, "Well, sir, what can I do for you?"</p> + +<p>I said, "Sire, on or about the 10th day of October, 1861, John Wilson +Mackenzie, of Rotterdam, Chemung County, New Jersey, deceased, contracted +with the General Government to furnish to General Sherman, the sum total +of thirty barrels of beef—"</p> + +<p>He stopped me there, and dismissed me from his presence—kindly, but +firmly. The next day I called on the Secretary of State.</p> + +<p>He said, "Well, sir?"</p> + +<p>I said, "Your Royal Highness: on or about the 10th day of October, 1861, +John Wilson Mackenzie of Rotterdam, Chemung County, New Jersey, deceased, +contracted with the General Government to furnish to General Sherman the +sum total of thirty barrels of beef—"</p> + +<p>"That will do, sir—that will do; this office has nothing to do with +contracts for beef."</p> + +<p>I was bowed out. I thought the matter all over and finally, the +following day, I visited the Secretary of the Navy, who said, "Speak +quickly, sir; do not keep me waiting."</p> + +<p>I said, "Your Royal Highness, on or about the 10th day of October, 1861, +John Wilson Mackenzie of Rotterdam, Chemung County, New Jersey, deceased, +contracted with the General Government to General Sherman the sum total +of thirty barrels of beef—"</p> + +<p>Well, it was as far as I could get. He had nothing to do with beef +contracts for General Sherman either. I began to think it was a curious +kind of government. It looked somewhat as if they wanted to get out of +paying for that beef. The following day I went to the Secretary of the +Interior.</p> + +<p>I said, "Your Imperial Highness, on or about the 10th day of October—"</p> + +<p>"That is sufficient, sir. I have heard of you before. Go, take your +infamous beef contract out of this establishment. The Interior +Department has nothing whatever to do with subsistence for the army."</p> + +<p>I went away. But I was exasperated now. I said I would haunt them; +I would infest every department of this iniquitous government till that +contract business was settled. I would collect that bill, or fall, as +fell my predecessors, trying. I assailed the Postmaster-General; +I besieged the Agricultural Department; I waylaid the Speaker of the +House of Representatives. They had nothing to do with army contracts for +beef. I moved upon the Commissioner of the Patent Office.</p> + +<p>I said, "Your August Excellency, on or about—"</p> + +<p>"Perdition! have you got here with your incendiary beef contract, at +last? We have nothing to do with beef contracts for the army, my dear +sir."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is all very well—but somebody has got to pay for that beef. +It has got to be paid now, too, or I'll confiscate this old Patent Office +and everything in it."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear sir—"</p> + +<p>"It don't make any difference, sir. The Patent Office is liable for that +beef, I reckon; and, liable or not liable, the Patent Office has got to +pay for it."</p> + +<p>Never mind the details. It ended in a fight. The Patent Office won. +But I found out something to my advantage. I was told that the Treasury +Department was the proper place for me to go to. I went there. I waited +two hours and a half, and then I was admitted to the First Lord of the +Treasury.</p> + +<p>I said, "Most noble, grave, and reverend Signor, on or about the 10th day +of October, 1861, John Wilson Macken—"</p> + +<p>"That is sufficient, sir. I have heard of you. Go to the First Auditor +of the Treasury."</p> + +<p>I did so. He sent me to the Second Auditor. The Second Auditor sent me +to the Third, and the Third sent me to the First Comptroller of the +Corn-Beef Division. This began to look like business. He examined his books +and all his loose papers, but found no minute of the beef contract. I +went to the Second Comptroller of the Corn-Beef Division. He examined +his books and his loose papers, but with no success. I was encouraged. +During that week I got as far as the Sixth Comptroller in that division; +the next week I got through the Claims Department; the third week I began +and completed the Mislaid Contracts Department, and got a foothold in the +Dead Reckoning Department. I finished that in three days. There was +only one place left for it now. I laid siege to the Commissioner of Odds +and Ends. To his clerk, rather—he was not there himself. There were +sixteen beautiful young ladies in the room, writing in books, and there +were seven well-favored young clerks showing them how. The young women +smiled up over their shoulders, and the clerks smiled back at them, and +all went merry as a marriage bell. Two or three clerks that were reading +the newspapers looked at me rather hard, but went on reading, and nobody +said anything. However, I had been used to this kind of alacrity from +Fourth Assistant Junior Clerks all through my eventful career, from the +very day I entered the first office of the Corn-Beef Bureau clear till I +passed out of the last one in the Dead Reckoning Division. I had got so +accomplished by this time that I could stand on one foot from the moment +I entered an office till a clerk spoke to me, without changing more than +two, or maybe three, times.</p> + +<p>So I stood there till I had changed four different times. Then I said to +one of the clerks who was reading:</p> + +<p>"Illustrious Vagrant, where is the Grand Turk?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, sir? whom do you mean? If you mean the Chief of the +Bureau, he is out."</p> + +<p>"Will he visit the harem to-day?"</p> + +<p>The young man glared upon me awhile, and then went on reading his paper. +But I knew the ways of those clerks. I knew I was safe if he got through +before another New York mail arrived. He only had two more papers left. +After a while he finished them, and then he yawned and asked me what I +wanted.</p> + +<p>"Renowned and honored Imbecile: on or about—"</p> + +<p>"You are the beef-contract man. Give me your papers."</p> + +<p>He took them, and for a long time he ransacked his odds and ends. +Finally he found the Northwest Passage, as I regarded it—he found the +long lost record of that beef contract—he found the rock upon which so +many of my ancestors had split before they ever got to it. I was deeply +moved. And yet I rejoiced—for I had survived. I said with emotion, +"Give it me. The government will settle now." He waved me back, and +said there was something yet to be done first.</p> + +<p>"Where is this John Wilson Mackenzie?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Dead."</p> + +<p>"When did he die?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't die at all—he was killed."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"Tomahawked."</p> + +<p>"Who tomahawked him?"</p> + +<p>"Why, an Indian, of course. You didn't suppose it was the superintendent +of a Sunday-school, did you?"</p> + +<p>"No. An Indian, was it?"</p> + +<p>"The same."</p> + +<p>"Name of the Indian?"</p> + +<p>"His name? I don't know his name."</p> + +<p>"Must have his name. Who saw the tomahawking done?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"You were not present yourself, then?"</p> + +<p>"Which you can see by my hair. I was absent.</p> + +<p>"Then how do you know that Mackenzie is dead?"</p> + +<p>"Because he certainly died at that time, and I have every reason to believe +that he has been dead ever since. I know he has, in fact."</p> + +<p>"We must have proofs. Have you got the Indian?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not."</p> + +<p>"Well, you must get him. Have you got the tomahawk?"</p> + +<p>"I never thought of such a thing."</p> + +<p>"You must get the tomahawk. You must produce the Indian and the +tomahawk. If Mackenzie's death can be proven by these, you can then go +before the commission appointed to audit claims with some show of getting +your bill under such headway that your children may possibly live to +receive the money and enjoy it. But that man's death must be proven. +However, I may as well tell you that the government will never pay that +transportation and those traveling expenses of the lamented Mackenzie. +It may possibly pay for the barrel of beef that Sherman's soldiers +captured, if you can get a relief bill through Congress making an +appropriation for that purpose; but it will not pay for the twenty-nine +barrels the Indians ate."</p> + +<p>"Then there is only a hundred dollars due me, and that isn't certain! +After all Mackenzie's travels in Europe, Asia, and America with that +beef; after all his trials and tribulations and transportation; after the +slaughter of all those innocents that tried to collect that bill! Young +man, why didn't the First Comptroller of the Corn-Beef Division tell me +this?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't know anything about the genuineness of your claim."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't the Second tell me? why didn't the Third? why didn't all +those divisions and departments tell me?"</p> + +<p>"None of them knew. We do things by routine here. You have followed the +routine and found out what you wanted to know. It is the best way. +It is the only way. It is very regular, and very slow, but it is very +certain."</p> + +<p>"Yes, certain death." It has been, to the most of our tribe. I begin to +feel that I, too, am called.</p> + +<p>"Young man, you love the bright creature yonder with the gentle blue eyes +and the steel pens behind her ears—I see it in your soft glances; you +wish to marry her—but you are poor. Here, hold out your hand—here is +the beef contract; go, take her and be happy! Heaven bless you, my +children!"</p> + +<p>This is all I know about the great beef contract that has created so much +talk in the community. The clerk to whom I bequeathed it died. I know +nothing further about the contract, or any one connected with it. I only +know that if a man lives long enough he can trace a thing through the +Circumlocution Office of Washington and find out, after much labor and +trouble and delay, that which he could have found out on the first day if +the business of the Circumlocution Office were as ingeniously +systematized as it would be if it were a great private mercantile +institution.</p> + + + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><h2><a name="fisher"></a>THE CASE OF GEORGE FISHER +</h2></center> +<br> + +<center><img alt="p109.jpg (114K)" src="images/p109.jpg" height="889" width="650"> +</center><br><br><br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<br>—[Some years ago, about 1867, when this was first published, few people +believed it, but considered it a mere extravaganza. In these latter days +it seems hard to realize that there was ever a time when the robbing of +our government was a novelty. The very man who showed me where to find +the documents for this case was at that very time spending hundreds of +thousands of dollars in Washington for a mail steamship concern, in the +effort to procure a subsidy for the company—a fact which was a long time +in coming to the surface, but leaked out at last and underwent +Congressional investigation.] +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<p>This is history. It is not a wild extravaganza, like "John Wilson +Mackenzie's Great Beef Contract," but is a plain statement of facts and +circumstances with which the Congress of the United States has interested +itself from time to time during the long period of half a century.</p> + +<p>I will not call this matter of George Fisher's a great deathless and +unrelenting swindle upon the government and people of the United +States—for it has never been so decided, and I hold that it is a grave and +solemn wrong for a writer to cast slurs or call names when such is the +case—but will simply present the evidence and let the reader deduce his +own verdict. Then we shall do nobody injustice, and our consciences +shall be clear.</p> + +<p>On or about the 1st day of September, 1813, the Creek war being then in +progress in Florida, the crops, herds, and houses of Mr. George Fisher, +a citizen, were destroyed, either by the Indians or by the United States +troops in pursuit of them. By the terms of the law, if the Indians +destroyed the property, there was no relief for Fisher; but if the troops +destroyed it, the Government of the United States was debtor to Fisher +for the amount involved.</p> + +<p>George Fisher must have considered that the Indians destroyed the +property, because, although he lived several years afterward, he does not +appear to have ever made any claim upon the government.</p> + +<p>In the course of time Fisher died, and his widow married again. +And by and by, nearly twenty years after that dimly remembered raid upon +Fisher's corn-fields, the widow Fisher's new husband petitioned Congress +for pay for the property, and backed up the petition with many +depositions and affidavits which purported to prove that the troops, +and not the Indians, destroyed the property; that the troops, for some +inscrutable reason, deliberately burned down "houses" (or cabins) valued +at $600, the same belonging to a peaceable private citizen, and also +destroyed various other property belonging to the same citizen. But +Congress declined to believe that the troops were such idiots (after +overtaking and scattering a band of Indians proved to have been found +destroying Fisher's property) as to calmly continue the work of +destruction themselves; and make a complete job of what the Indians had +only commenced. So Congress denied the petition of the heirs of George +Fisher in 1832, and did not pay them a cent.</p> + +<p>We hear no more from them officially until 1848, sixteen years after +their first attempt on the Treasury, and a full generation after the +death of the man whose fields were destroyed. The new generation of +Fisher heirs then came forward and put in a bill for damages. The Second +Auditor awarded them $8,873, being half the damage sustained by Fisher. +The Auditor said the testimony showed that at least half the destruction +was done by the Indians "before the troops started in pursuit," and of +course the government was not responsible for that half.</p> + +<p>2. That was in April, 1848. In December, 1848, the heirs of George +Fisher, deceased, came forward and pleaded for a "revision" of their bill +of damages. The revision was made, but nothing new could be found in +their favor except an error of $100 in the former calculation. However, +in order to keep up the spirits of the Fisher family, the Auditor +concluded to go back and allow interest from the date of the first +petition (1832) to the date when the bill of damages was awarded. This +sent the Fishers home happy with sixteen years' interest on $8,873—the +same amounting to $8,997.94. Total, $17,870.94.</p> + +<p>3. For an entire year the suffering Fisher family remained quiet—even +satisfied, after a fashion. Then they swooped down upon the government +with their wrongs once more. That old patriot, Attorney-General Toucey, +burrowed through the musty papers of the Fishers and discovered one more +chance for the desolate orphans—interest on that original award of +$8,873 from date of destruction of the property (1813) up to 1832! +Result, $10,004.89 for the indigent Fishers. So now we have: First, +$8,873 damages; second, interest on it from 1832 to 1848, $8,997.94; +third, interest on it dated back to 1813, $10,004.89. Total, $27,875.83! +What better investment for a great-grandchild than to get the Indians to +burn a corn-field for him sixty or seventy years before his birth, and +plausibly lay it on lunatic United States troops?</p> + +<p>4. Strange as it may seem, the Fishers let Congress alone for five +years—or, what is perhaps more likely, failed to make themselves heard +by Congress for that length of time. But at last, in 1854, they got a +hearing. They persuaded Congress to pass an act requiring the Auditor to +re-examine their case. But this time they stumbled upon the misfortune +of an honest Secretary of the Treasury (Mr. James Guthrie), and he +spoiled everything. He said in very plain language that the Fishers were +not only not entitled to another cent, but that those children of many +sorrows and acquainted with grief had been paid too much already.</p> + +<p>5. Therefore another interval of rest and silence ensued&mdsh;an interval +which lasted four years—viz till 1858. The "right man in the right +place" was then Secretary of War—John B. Floyd, of peculiar renown! +Here was a master intellect; here was the very man to succor the +suffering heirs of dead and forgotten Fisher. They came up from Florida +with a rush—a great tidal wave of Fishers freighted with the same old +musty documents about the same immortal corn-fields of their ancestor. +They straight-way got an act passed transferring the Fisher matter from +the dull Auditor to the ingenious Floyd. What did Floyd do? He said, +"IT WAS PROVED that the Indians destroyed everything they could before +the troops entered in pursuit." He considered, therefore, that what they +destroyed must have consisted of "the houses with all their contents, and +the liquor" (the most trifling part of the destruction, and set down at +only $3,200 all told), and that the government troops then drove them off +and calmly proceeded to destroy:—</p> + +<p>Two hundred and twenty acres of corn in the field, thirty-five acres of +wheat, and nine hundred and eighty-six head of live stock! [What a +singularly intelligent army we had in those days, according to Mr. +Floyd—though not according to the Congress of 1832.]</p> + +<p>So Mr. Floyd decided that the Government was not responsible for that +$3,200 worth of rubbish which the Indians destroyed, but was responsible +for the property destroyed by the troops—which property consisted of (I +quote from the printed United States Senate document):</p> + + +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + + + + + + </td><td> Dollars</td></tr><tr><td> + Corn at Bassett's Creek, </td><td>3,000</td></tr><tr><td> + Cattle, </td><td>5,000</td></tr><tr><td> + Stock hogs, </td><td>1,050</td></tr><tr><td> + Drove hogs, </td><td>1,204</td></tr><tr><td> + Wheat, </td><td>350</td></tr><tr><td> + Hides, </td><td>4,000</td></tr><tr><td> + Corn on the Alabama River, </td><td>3,500</td></tr> + <tr><td> </td></tr><tr><td> + Total, </td><td>18,104</td></tr><tr><td> + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> +<p>That sum, in his report, Mr. Floyd calls the "full value of the property +destroyed by the troops."</p> + +<p>He allows that sum to the starving Fishers, TOGETHER WITH INTEREST FROM +1813. From this new sum total the amounts already paid to the Fishers +were deducted, and then the cheerful remainder (a fraction under forty +thousand dollars) was handed to them and again they retired to Florida in +a condition of temporary tranquillity. Their ancestor's farm had now +yielded them altogether nearly sixty-seven thousand dollars in cash.</p> + +<p>6. Does the reader suppose that that was the end of it? Does he suppose +those diffident Fishers were satisfied? Let the evidence show. The +Fishers were quiet just two years. Then they came swarming up out of the +fertile swamps of Florida with their same old documents, and besieged +Congress once more. Congress capitulated on the 1st of June, 1860, and +instructed Mr. Floyd to overhaul those papers again, and pay that bill. +A Treasury clerk was ordered to go through those papers and report to Mr. +Floyd what amount was still due the emaciated Fishers.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><img alt="p113.jpg (60K)" src="images/p113.jpg" height="471" width="589"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>This clerk (I can +produce him whenever he is wanted) discovered what was apparently a +glaring and recent forgery in the papers; whereby a witness's testimony as +to the price of corn in Florida in 1813 was made to name double the +amount which that witness had originally specified as the price! The +clerk not only called his superior's attention to this thing, but in +making up his brief of the case called particular attention to it in +writing. That part of the brief never got before Congress, nor has +Congress ever yet had a hint of forgery existing among the Fisher papers. +Nevertheless, on the basis of the double prices (and totally ignoring the +clerk's assertion that the figures were manifestly and unquestionably a +recent forgery), Mr. Floyd remarks in his new report that "the testimony, +particularly in regard to the corn crops, DEMANDS A MUCH HIGHER ALLOWANCE +than any heretofore made by the Auditor or myself." So he estimates the +crop at sixty bushels to the acre (double what Florida acres produce), +and then virtuously allows pay for only half the crop, but allows two +dollars and a half a bushel for that half, when there are rusty old books +and documents in the Congressional library to show just what the Fisher +testimony showed before the forgery—viz., that in the fall of 1813 corn +was only worth from $1.25 to $1.50 a bushel. Having accomplished this, +what does Mr. Floyd do next? Mr. Floyd ("with an earnest desire to +execute truly the legislative will," as he piously remarks) goes to work +and makes out an entirely new bill of Fisher damages, and in this new +bill he placidly ignores the Indians altogether—puts no particle of the +destruction of the Fisher property upon them, but, even repenting him of +charging them with burning the cabins and drinking the whisky and +breaking the crockery, lays the entire damage at the door of the imbecile +United States troops down to the very last item! And not only that, but +uses the forgery to double the loss of corn at "Bassett's Creek," and +uses it again to absolutely treble the loss of corn on the "Alabama +River." This new and ably conceived and executed bill of Mr. Floyd's +figures up as follows (I copy again from the printed United States Senate +document):</p> + +<br><br> +<h3> The United States in account with the <br>legal representatives + of George Fisher, deceased.</h3> + +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + +1813— </td><td>DOL</td></tr><tr><td> + To 550 head of cattle, at 10 dollars, </td><td>5,500</td></tr><tr><td> + To 86 head of drove hogs, </td><td>1,204</td></tr><tr><td> + To 350 head of stock hogs, </td><td>1,750</td></tr><tr><td> + To 100 ACRES OF CORN ON BASSETT'S CREEK, </td><td>6,000</td></tr><tr><td> + To 8 barrels of whisky, </td><td>350</td></tr><tr><td> + To 2 barrels of brandy, </td><td>280</td></tr><tr><td> + To 1 barrel of rum, </td><td>70</td></tr><tr><td> + To dry-goods and merchandise in store, </td><td>1,100</td></tr><tr><td> + To 35 acres of wheat, </td><td>350</td></tr><tr><td> + To 2,000 hides, </td><td>4,000</td></tr><tr><td> + To furs and hats in store, </td><td>600</td></tr><tr><td> + To crockery ware in store, </td><td>100</td></tr><tr><td> + To smith's and carpenter's tools, </td><td> 250</td></tr><tr><td> + To houses burned and destroyed, </td><td>600</td></tr><tr><td> + To 4 dozen bottles of wine, </td><td>48</td></tr><tr><td> + </td></tr><tr><td> +1814—</td></tr><tr><td> + To 120 acres of corn on Alabama River, </td><td>9,500</td></tr><tr><td> + To crops of peas, fodder, etc </td><td>3,250</td></tr><tr><td> + </td></tr><tr><td> + Total, </td><td>34,952</td></tr><tr><td> + </td></tr><tr><td> + To interest on $22,202, from July 1813</td></tr><tr><td> + to November 1860, 47 years and 4 months, </td><td>63,053.68</td></tr><tr><td> + </td></tr><tr><td> + To interest on $12,750, from September</td></tr><tr><td> + 1814 to November 1860, 46 years and 2 months, </td><td>35,317.50</td></tr><tr><td> + </td></tr><tr><td> + Total, </td><td>133,323.18</td></tr><tr><td> + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> +<p>He puts everything in this time. He does not even allow that the Indians +destroyed the crockery or drank the four dozen bottles of (currant) wine. +When it came to supernatural comprehensiveness in "gobbling," John B. +Floyd was without his equal, in his own or any other generation. +Subtracting from the above total the $67,000 already paid to +George Fisher's implacable heirs, Mr. Floyd announced that the government +was still indebted to them in the sum of sixty-six thousand five hundred +and nineteen dollars and eighty-five cents, "which," Mr. Floyd +complacently remarks, "will be paid, accordingly, to the administrator of +the estate of George Fisher, deceased, or to his attorney in fact."</p> + +<p>But, sadly enough for the destitute orphans, a new President came in just +at this time, Buchanan and Floyd went out, and they never got their +money. The first thing Congress did in 1861 was to rescind the +resolution of June 1, 1860, under which Mr. Floyd had been ciphering. +Then Floyd (and doubtless the heirs of George Fisher likewise) had to +give up financial business for a while, and go into the Confederate army +and serve their country.</p> + +<p>Were the heirs of George Fisher killed? No. They are back now at this +very time (July, 1870), beseeching Congress through that blushing and +diffident creature, Garrett Davis, to commence making payments again on +their interminable and insatiable bill of damages for corn and whisky +destroyed by a gang of irresponsible Indians, so long ago that even +government red-tape has failed to keep consistent and intelligent track +of it.</p> + +<p>Now the above are facts. They are history. Any one who doubts it can +send to the Senate Document Department of the Capitol for H. R. Ex. Doc. +No. 21, 36th Congress, 2d Session; and for S. Ex. Doc. No. 106, 41st +Congress, 2d Session, and satisfy himself. The whole case is set forth +in the first volume of the Court of Claims Reports.</p> + +<p>It is my belief that as long as the continent of America holds together, +the heirs of George Fisher, deceased, will still make pilgrimages to +Washington from the swamps of Florida, to plead for just a little more +cash on their bill of damages (even when they received the last of that +sixty-seven thousand dollars, they said it was only one fourth what the +government owed them on that fruitful corn-field), and as long as they +choose to come they will find Garrett Davises to drag their vampire +schemes before Congress. This is not the only hereditary fraud (if fraud +it is—which I have before repeatedly remarked is not proven) that is +being quietly handed down from generation to generation of fathers and +sons, through the persecuted Treasury of the United States.</p> + + + + +<br><br> + +<center> +<table summary="" cellPadding=4 border=3> +<tr><td> + <a href="p1.htm">Previous Part</a> +</td><td> + <a href="3189-h.htm">Main Index</a> +</td><td> + <a href="p3.htm">Next Part</a> + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + + +</body> +</html> + |