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The South American Editor by Edward Everett Hale

 

     [I am tempted to include this little burlesque in this collection
     simply in memory of the Boston Miscellany, the magazine in which it
     was published, which won for itself a brilliant reputation in its
     short career. There was not a large staff of writers for the
     Miscellany, but many of the names then unknown have since won
     distinction. To quote them in the accidental order in which I find
     them in the table of contents, where they are arranged by the
     alphabetical order of the several papers, the Miscellany
     contributors were Edward Everett, George Lunt, Nathan Hale, Jr.,
     Nathaniel Hawthorne, N. P. Willis, W. W. Story, J. R. Lowell, C. N.
     Emerson, Alexander H. Everett, Sarah P. Hale, W. A. Jones,
     Cornelius Matthews, Mrs. Kirkland, J. W. Ingraham, H. T. Tuckerman,
     Evart A. Duyckinck, Francis A. Durivage, Mrs. J. Webb, Charles F.
     Powell, Charles W. Storey, Lucretia P. Hale, Charles F. Briggs,
     William E. Channing, Charles Lanman, G. H. Hastings, and Elizabeth
     B. Barrett, now Mrs. Browning, some of whose earliest poems were
     published in this magazine. These are all the contributors whose
     names appear, excepting the writers of a few verses. They furnished
     nine tenths of the contents of the magazine. The two Everetts,
     Lowell, William Story, and my brother, who was the editor, were the
     principal contributors. And I am tempted to say that I think they
     all put some of their best work upon this magazine.

     The misfortune of the Miscellany, I suppose, was that its
     publishers had no capital. They had to resort to the claptraps of
     fashion-plates and other engravings, in the hope of forcing an
     immediate sale upon persons who, caring for fashion-plates, did not
     care for the literary character of the enterprise. It gave a very
     happy escape-pipe, however, for the high spirits of some of us who
     had just left college, and, through my brother's kindness, I was
     sometimes permitted to contribute to the journal. In memory of
     those early days of authorship, I select “The South American
     Editor” to publish here. For the benefit of the New York Observer,
     I will state that the story is not true. And lest any should
     complain that it advocates elopements, I beg to observe, in the
     seriousness of mature life, that the proposed elopement did not
     succeed, and that the parties who proposed it are represented as
     having no guardians or keepers but themselves. The article was
     first published in 1842.]

It is now more than six years since I received the following letter from an old classmate of mine, Harry Barry, who had been studying divinity, and was then a settled minister. It was an answer to a communication I had sent him the week before.

     “TOPSHAM, R. I., January 22, 1836.

     “To say the truth, my dear George, your letter startled me a
     little. To think that I, scarcely six months settled in the
     profession, should be admitted so far into the romance of it as to
     unite forever two young runaways like yourself and Miss Julia
     What's-her-name is at least curious. But, to give you your due, you
     have made a strong case of it, and as Miss ——(what is her name, I
     have not yours at hand) is not under any real guardianship, I do
     not see but I am perfectly justified in complying with your rather
     odd request. You see I make a conscientious matter of it.

     “Write me word when it shall be, and I will be sure to be ready.
     Jane is of course in my counsels, and she will make your little
     wife feel as much at home as in her father's parlor. Trust us for
     secrecy.

     “I met her last week—”

But the rest of the letter has nothing to do with the story.

The elopement alluded to in it (if the little transaction deserves so high-sounding a name) was, in every sense of the words, strictly necessary. Julia Wentworth had resided for years with her grandfather, a pragmatic old gentleman, to whom from pure affection she had long yielded an obedience which he would have had no right to extort, and which he was sometimes disposed to abuse. He had declared in the most ingenuous manner that she should never marry with his consent any man of less fortune than her own would be; and on his consent rested the prospect of her inheriting his property.

Julia and I, however, care little for money now, we cared still less then; and her own little property and my own little salary made us esteem ourselves entirely independent of the old gentleman and his will.

His intention respecting the poor girl's marriage was thundered in her ears at least once a week, so that we both knew that I had no need to make court to him; indeed, I had never seen him, always having met her in walking, or in the evening at party, spectacle, concert, or lecture. He had lately been more domineering than usual, and I had but little difficulty in persuading the dear girl to let me write to Harry Barry, to make the arrangement to which he assented in the letter which I have copied above. The reasoning which I pressed upon her is obvious. We loved each other,—the old gentleman could not help that; and as he managed to make us very uncomfortable in Boston, in the existing state of affairs, we naturally came to the conclusion that the sooner we changed that state the better. Our excursion to Topsham would, we supposed, prove a very disagreeable business to him; but we knew it would result very agreeably for us, and so, though with a good deal of maidenly compunction and granddaughterly compassion on Julia's part, we outvoted him.

I have said that I had no fortune to enable me to come near the old gentleman's beau ideal of a grand-son-in-law. I was then living on my salary as a South American editor. Does the reader know what that is? The South American editor of a newspaper has the uncontrolled charge of its South American news. Read any important commercial paper for a month, and at the end of it tell me if you have any clear conception of the condition of the various republics (!) of South America. If you have, it is because that journal employs an individual for the sole purpose of setting them in the clearest order before you, and that individual is its South American editor. The general-news editor of the paper will keep the run of all the details of all the histories of all the rest of the world, but he hardly attempts this in addition. If he does, he fails. It is therefore necessary, from the most cogent reasons, that any American news office which has a strong regard for the consistency or truth of its South American intelligence shall employ some person competent to take the charge which I held in the establishment of the Boston Daily Argus at the time of which I am speaking. Before that enterprising paper was sold, I was its “South American man”; this being my only employment, excepting that by a special agreement, in consideration of an addition to my salary, I was engaged to attend to the news from St. Domingo, Guatemala, and Mexico.[6]

Monday afternoon, just a fortnight after I received Harry Barry's letter, in taking my afternoon walk round the Common, I happened to meet Julia. I always walked in the same direction when I was alone. Julia always preferred to go the other way; it was the only thing in which we differed. When we were together I always went her way of course, and liked it best.

I had told her, long before, all about Harry's letter, and the dear girl in this walk, after a little blushing and sighing, and half faltering and half hesitating and feeling uncertain, yielded to my last and warmest persuasions, and agreed to go to Mrs. Pollexfen's ball that evening, ready to leave it with me in my buggy sleigh, for a three hours' ride to Topsham, where we both knew Harry would be waiting for us. I do not know how she managed to get through tea that evening with her lion of a grandfather, for she could not then cover her tearful eyes with a veil as she did through the last half of our walk together. I know that I got through my tea and such like ordinary affairs by skipping them. I made all my arrangements, bade Gage and Streeter be ready with the sleigh at my lodgings (fortunately only two doors from Mrs. Pollexfen's) at half-past nine o'clock, and was the highest spirited of men when, on returning to those lodgings myself at eight o'clock, I found the following missives from the Argus office, which had been accumulating through the afternoon.

     No. 1.

     “4 o'clock, P. M.

     “DEAR SIR:—The southern mail, just in, brings Buenos Ayres papers
     six days later, by the Medora, at Baltimore.

     “In haste, J. C.”

(Mr. C. was the gentleman who opened the newspapers, and arranged the deaths and marriages; he always kindly sent for me when I was out of the way.)

     No. 2.

     “5 o'clock, P. M.

     “DEAR SIR:—The U. S. ship Preble is in at Portsmouth; latest
     from Valparaiso. The mail is not sorted.

     “Yours, J. D.”

(Mr. D. arranged the ship news for the Argus.)

     No. 3.

     “6 o'clock, P. M.

     “DEAR SIR:—I boarded, this morning, off Cape Cod, the Blunderhead,
     from Carthagena, and have a week's later papers.

     “Truly yours, J. E.”

(Mr. E. was the enterprising commodore of our news-boats.)

     No. 4.

     “6¼ o'clock, P. M.

     “DEAR SIR:—I have just opened accidentally the enclosed letter,
     from our correspondent at Panama. You will see that it bears a New
     Orleans post-mark. I hope it may prove exclusive.

     “Yours, J. F.”

(Mr. F. was general editor of the Argus.)

     No. 5.

     “6½ o'clock, P. M.

     “DEAR SIR:—A seaman, who appears to be an intelligent man, has
     arrived this morning at New Bedford, and says he has later news of
     the rebellion in Ecuador than any published. The Rosina (his
     vessel) brought no papers. I bade him call at your room at eight
     o'clock, which he promised to do.

     “Truly yours, J. G.”

(Mr. G. was clerk in the Argus counting-room.)

     No. 6.

     “7½ o'clock, P. M.

     “DEAR SIR:—The papers by the Ville de Lyon, from Havre, which I
     have just received, mention the reported escape of M. Bonpland from
     Paraguay, the presumed death of Dr. Francia, the probable overthrow
     of the government, the possible establishment of a republic, and a
     great deal more than I understand in the least.

     “These papers had not come to hand when I wrote you this afternoon.
     I have left them on your desk at the office.

     “In haste, J. F.”

I was taken all aback by this mass of odd-looking little notes. I had spent the afternoon in drilling Singleton, the kindest of friends, as to what he should do in any probable contingency of news of the next forty-eight hours, for I did not intend to be absent on a wedding tour even longer than that time; but I felt that Singleton was entirely unequal to such a storm of intelligence as this; and, as I hurried down to the office, my chief sensation was that of gratitude that the cloud had broken before I was out of the way; for I knew I could do a great deal in an hour, and I had faith that I might slur over my digest as quickly as possible, and be at Mrs. Pollexfen's within the time arranged.

I rushed into the office in that state of zeal in which a man may do anything in almost no time. But first, I had to go into the conversation-room, and get the oral news from my sailor; then Mr. H., from one of the little news-boats, came to me in high glee, with some Venezuela Gazettes, which he had just extorted from a skipper, who, with great plausibility, told him that he knew his vessel had brought no news, for she never had before. (N.B. In this instance she was the only vessel to sail, after a three months' blockade.) And then I had handed to me by Mr. J., one of the commercial gentlemen, a private letter from Rio Janeiro, which had been lent him. After these delays, with full materials, I sprang to work—read, read, read; wonder, wonder, wonder; guess, guess, guess; scratch, scratch, scratch; and scribble, scribble, scribble, make the only transcript I can give of the operations which followed. At first, several of the other gentlemen in the room sat around me; but soon Mr. C., having settled the deaths and marriages, and the police and municipal reporters immediately after him, screwed out their lamps and went home; then the editor himself, then the legislative reporters, then the commercial editors, then the ship-news conductor, and left me alone.

I envied them that they got through so much earlier than usual, but scratched on, only interrupted by the compositors coming in for the pages of my copy as I finished them; and finally, having made my last translation from the last Boletin Extraordinario, sprang up, shouting, “Now for Mrs. P.'s,” and looked at my watch. It was half past one![7] I thought of course it had stopped,—no; and my last manuscript page was numbered twenty-eight! Had I been writing there five hours? Yes!

Reader, when you are an editor, with a continent's explosions to describe, you will understand how one may be unconscious of the passage of time.

I walked home, sad at heart. There was no light in all Mr. Wentworth's house; there was none in any of Mrs. Pollexfen's windows;[8] and the last carriage of her last relation had left her door. I stumbled up stairs in the dark, and threw myself on my bed. What should I say, what could I say, to Julia? Thus pondering, I fell asleep.

If I were writing a novel, I should say that, at a late hour the next day, I listlessly drew aside the azure curtains of my couch, and languidly rang a silver bell which stood on my dressing-table, and received from a page dressed in an Oriental costume the notes and letters which had been left for me since morning, and the newspapers of the day.

I am not writing a novel.

The next morning, about ten o'clock, I arose and went down to breakfast. As I sat at the littered table which every one else had left, dreading to attack my cold coffee and toast, I caught sight of the morning papers, and received some little consolation from them. There was the Argus with its three columns and a half of “Important from South America,” while none of the other papers had a square of any intelligibility excepting what they had copied from the Argus the day before. I felt a grim smile creeping over my face as I observed this signal triumph of our paper, and ventured to take a sip of the black broth as I glanced down my own article to see if there were any glaring misprints in it. Before I took the second sip, however, a loud peal at the door-bell announced a stranger, and, immediately after, a note was brought in for me which I knew was in Julia's handwriting.

     “DEAR GEORGE:—Don't be angry; it was not my fault, really it was
     not. Grandfather came home just as I was leaving last night, and
     was so angry, and said I should not go to the party, and I had to
     sit with him all the evening. Do write to me or let me see you; do
     something—”

What a load that note took off my mind! And yet, what must the poor girl have suffered! Could the old man suspect? Singleton was true to me as steel, I knew. He could not have whispered,—nor Barry; but that Jane, Barry's wife. O woman! woman! what newsmongers they are! Here were Julia and I, made miserable for life, perhaps, merely that Jane Barry might have a good story to tell. What right had Barry to a wife? Not four years out of college, and hardly settled in his parish. To think that I had been fool enough to trust even him with the particulars of my all-important secret! But here I was again interrupted, coffee-cup still full, toast still untasted, by another missive.

     “Tuesday morning.

     “SIR:—I wish to see you this morning. Will you call upon me, or
     appoint a time and place where I may meet you?

     “Yours, JEDEDIAH WENTWORTH.”

     “Send word by the bearer.”

“Tell Mr. Wentworth I will call at his house at eleven o'clock.”

The cat was certainly out; Mrs. Barry had told, or some one else had, who I did not know and hardly cared. The scene was to come now, and I was almost glad of it. Poor Julia! what a time she must have had with the old bear!

At eleven o'clock I was ushered into Mr. Wentworth's sitting-room. Julia was there, but before I had even spoken to her the old gentleman came bustling across the room, with his “Mr. Hackmatack, I suppose”; and then followed a formal introduction between me and her, which both of us bore with the most praiseworthy fortitude and composure, neither evincing, even by a glance, that we had ever seen or heard of each other before. Here was another weight off my mind and Julia's. I had wronged poor Mrs. Barry. The secret was not out—what could he want? It very soon appeared.

After a minute's discussion of the weather, the snow, and the thermometer, the old gentleman drew up his chair to mine, with “I think, sir, you are connected with the Argus office?”

“Yes, sir; I am its South American editor.”

“Yes!” roared the old man, in a sudden rage. “Sir, I wish South America was sunk in the depths of the sea!”

“I am sure I do, sir,” replied I, glancing at Julia, who did not, however, understand me. I had not fully passed out of my last night's distress.

My sympathizing zeal soothed the old gentleman a little, and he said more coolly, in an undertone: “Well, sir, you are well informed, no doubt; tell me, in strict secrecy, sir, between you and me, do you—do you place full credit—entire confidence in the intelligence in this morning's paper?”

“Excuse me, sir; what paper do you allude to? Ah! the Argus, I see. Certainly, sir; I have not the least doubt that it is perfectly correct.”

“No doubt, sir! Do you mean to insult me?—Julia, I told you so; he says there is no doubt it is true. Tell me again there is some mistake, will you?” The poor girl had been trying to soothe him with the constant remark of uninformed people, that the newspapers are always in the wrong. He turned from her, and rose from his chair in a positive rage. She was half crying. I never saw her more distressed. What did all this mean? Were one, two, or all of us crazy?

It soon appeared. After pacing the length of the room once or twice, Wentworth came up to me again, and, attempting to appear cool, said between his closed lips: “Do you say you have no doubt that Rio Janeiro is strictly blockaded?”

“Not the slightest in the world,” said I, trying to seem unconcerned.

“Not the slightest, sir? What are you so impudent and cool about it for? Do you think you are talking of the opening of a rose-bud or the death of a mosquito? Have you no sympathy with the sufferings of a fellow-creature? Why, sir!” and the old man's teeth chattered as he spoke, “I have five cargoes of flour on their way to Rio, and their captains will—Damn it, sir, I shall lose the whole venture.”

The secret was out. The old fool had been sending flour to Rio, knowing as little of the state of affairs there as a child.

“And do you really mean, sir,” continued the old man, “that there is an embargo in force in Monte Video?”

“Certainly, sir; but I'm very sorry for it.”

“Sorry for it! of course you are;—and that all foreigners are sent out of Buenos Ayres?”

“Undoubtedly, sir. I wish—”

“Who does not wish so? Why, sir, my corresponding friends there are half across the sea by this time. I wish Rosas was in ——and that the Indians have risen near Maranham?”

“Undoubtedly, sir.”

“Undoubtedly! I tell you, sir, I have two vessels waiting for cargoes of India-rubbers there, under a blunder-headed captain, who will do nothing he has not been bidden to,—obey his orders if he breaks his owners. You smile, sir? Why, I should have made thirty thousand dollars this winter, sir, by my India-rubbers, if we had not had this devilish mild, open weather, you and Miss Julia there have been praising so. But next winter must be a severe one, and with those India-rubbers I should have made—But now those Indians,—pshaw! And a revolution in Chili?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No trade there! And in Venezuela?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir; yes, sir; yes, sir; yes, sir! Sir, I am ruined. Say 'Yes, sir,' to that. I have thirteen vessels at this moment in the South American trade, sir; say 'Yes, sir,' to that. Half of them will be taken by the piratical scoundrels; say 'Yes, sir,' to that. Their insurance will not cover them; say 'Yes, sir,' to that. The other half will forfeit their cargoes, or sell them for next to nothing; say 'Yes, sir,' to that. I tell you I am a ruined man, and I wish the South America, and your daily Argus, and you—”

Here the old gentleman's old-school breeding got the better of his rage, and he sank down in his arm-chair, and, bursting into tears, said: “Excuse me, sir,—excuse me, sir,—I am too warm.”

We all sat for a few moments in silence, but then I took my share of the conversation. I wish you could have seen the old man's face light up little by little, as I showed him that to a person who understood the politics and condition of the mercurial country with which he had ignorantly attempted to trade, his condition was not near so bad as he thought it; that though one port was blockaded, another was opened; that though one revolution thwarted him, a few weeks would show another which would favor him; that the goods which, as he saw, would be worthless at the port to which he had sent them, would be valuable elsewhere; that the vessels which would fail in securing the cargoes he had ordered could secure others; that the very revolutions and wars which troubled him would require in some instances large government purchases, perhaps large contracts for freight, possibly even for passage,—his vessels might be used for transports; that the very excitement of some districts might be made to turn to our advantage; that, in short, there were a thousand chances open to him which skilful agents could readily improve. I reminded him that a quick run in a clipper schooner could carry directions to half these skippers of his, to whom, with an infatuation which I could not and cannot conceive, he had left no discretion, and who indeed were to be pardoned if they could use none, seeing the tumult as they did with only half an eye. I talked to him for half an hour, and went into details to show that my plans were not impracticable. The old gentleman grew brighter and brighter, and Julia, as I saw, whenever I stole a glance across the room, felt happier and happier. The poor girl had had a hard time since he had first heard this news whispered the evening before.

His difficulties were not over, however; for when I talked to him of the necessity of sending out one or two skilful agents immediately to take the personal superintendence of his complicated affairs, the old man sighed, and said he had no skilful agents to send.

With his customary suspicion, he had no partners, and had never intrusted his clerks with any general insight into his business. Besides, he considered them all, like his captains, blunder-headed to the last degree. I believe it was an idea of Julia's, communicated to me in an eager, entreating glance, which induced me to propose myself as one of these confidential agents, and to be responsible for the other. I thought, as I spoke, of Singleton, to whom I knew I could explain my plans in full, and whose mercantile experience would make him a valuable coadjutor. The old gentleman accepted my offer eagerly. I told him that twenty-four hours were all I wanted to prepare myself. He immediately took measures for the charter of two little clipper schooners which lay in port then; and before two days were past, Singleton and I were on our voyage to South America. Imagine, if you can, how these two days were spent. Then, as now, I could prepare for any journey in twenty minutes, and of course I had no little time at my disposal for last words with Mr. and—Miss Wentworth. How I won on the old gentleman's heart in those two days! How he praised me to Julia, and then, in as natural affection, how he praised her to me! And how Julia and I smiled through our tears, when, in the last good-bys, he said he was too old to write or read any but business letters, and charged me and her to keep up a close correspondence, which on one side should tell all that I saw and did, and on the other hand remind me of all at home.

I have neither time nor room to give the details of that South American expedition. I have no right to. There were revolutions accomplished in those days without any object in the world's eyes; and, even in mine, only serving to sell certain cargoes of long cloths and flour. The details of those outbreaks now told would make some patriotic presidents tremble in their seats; and I have no right to betray confidence at whatever rate I purchased it. Usually, indeed, my feats and Singleton's were only obtaining the best information and communicating the most speedy instructions to Mr. Wentworth's vessels, which were made to move from port to port with a rapidity and intricacy of movement which none besides us two understood in the least. It was in that expedition that I travelled almost alone across the continent. I was, I think, the first white man who ever passed through the mountain path of Xamaulipas, now so famous in all the Chilian picturesque annuals. I was carrying directions for some vessels which had gone round the Cape; and what a time Burrows and Wheatland and I had a week after, when we rode into the public square of Valparaiso shouting, “Muera la Constitucion,—Viva Libertad!” by our own unassisted lungs actually raising a rebellion, and, which was of more importance, a prohibition on foreign flour, while Bahamarra and his army were within a hundred miles of us. How those vessels came up the harbor, and how we unloaded them, knowing that at best our revolution could only last five days! But as I said, I must be careful, or I shall be telling other people's secrets.

The result of that expedition was that those thirteen vessels all made good outward voyages, and all but one or two eventually made profitable home voyages. When I returned home, the old gentleman received me with open arms. I had rescued, as he said, a large share of that fortune which he valued so highly. To say the truth, I felt and feel that he had planned his voyages so blindly, that, without some wiser head than his, they would never have resulted in anything. They were his last, as they were almost his first, South American ventures. He returned to his old course of more methodical trading for the few remaining years of his life. They were, thank Heaven, the only taste of mercantile business which I ever had. Living as I did, in the very sunshine of Mr. Wentworth's favor, I went through the amusing farce of paying my addresses to Julia in approved form, and in due time received the old gentleman's cordial assent to our union, and his blessing upon it. In six months after my return, we were married; the old man as happy as a king. He would have preferred a little that the ceremony should have been performed by Mr. B——, his friend and pastor, but readily assented to my wishes to call upon a dear and early friend of my own.

Harry Barry came from Topsham and performed the ceremony, “assisted by Rev. Mr. B.”

G. H.

ARGUS COTTAGE, April 1, 1842.

FOOTNOTES:

[6] I do not know that this explanation is at all clear. Let me, as the mathematicians say, give an instance which will illustrate the importance of this profession. It is now a few months since I received the following note from a distinguished member of the Cabinet:—

     “WASHINGTON, January —, 1842.

     “DEAR SIR:—We are in a little trouble about a little thing. There
     are now in this city no less than three gentlemen bearing
     credentials to government as Chargés from the Republic of Oronoco.
     They are, of course, accredited from three several home
     governments. The President signified, when the first arrived, that
     he would receive the Chargé from that government, on the 2d
     proximo, but none of us know who the right Chargé is. The
     newspapers tell nothing satisfactory about it. I suppose you know:
     can you write me word before the 2d?

     “The gentlemen are: Dr. Estremadura, accredited from the
     'Constitutional Government,'—his credentials are dated the 2d of
     November; Don Paulo Vibeira, of the 'Friends of the People,' 5th of
     November; M. Antonio de Vesga, 'Constitution of 1823,' October
     27th. They attach great importance to our decision, each having
     scrip to sell. In haste, truly yours.”

To this letter I returned the following reply:—

     “SIR:—Our latest dates from Oronoco are to the 13th ultimo. The
     'Constitution of '23' was then in full power. If, however, the
     policy of our government be to recognize the gentlemen whose
     principals shall be in office on the 2d proximo, it is a very
     different affair.

     “You may not be acquainted with the formulas for ascertaining the
     duration of any given modern revolution. I now use the following,
     which I find almost exactly correct.

     “Multiply the age of the President by the number of statute miles
     from the equator, divide by the number of pages in the given
     Constitution; the result will be the length of the outbreak, in
     days. This formula includes, as you will see, an allowance for the
     heat of the climate, the zeal of the leader, and the verbosity of
     the theorists. The Constitution of 1823 was reproclaimed on the
     25th of October last. If you will give the above formula into the
     hands of any of your clerks, the calculation from it will show that
     that government will go out of power on the 1st of February, at 25
     minutes after 1, P. M. Your choice, on the 2d, must be therefore
     between Vibeira and Estremadura; here you will have no difficulty.
     Bobádil (Vibeira's principal) was on the 13th ultimo confined under
     sentence of death, at such a distance from the capital that he
     cannot possibly escape and get into power before the 2d of
     February. The 'Friends of the People,' in Oronoco, have always
     moved slowly; they never got up an insurrection in less than
     nineteen days' canvassing; that was in 1839. Generally they are
     even longer. Of course, Estremadura will be your man.

     “Believe me, sir, very respectfully, your obedient servant,

     “GEORGE HACKMATACK.”

The Cabinet had the good sense to act on my advice. My information proved nearly correct, the only error being one of seven minutes in the downfall of the 1823 Constitution. This arose from my making no allowance for difference of longitude between Piaut, where their government was established, and Opee, where it was crushed. The difference of time between those places is six minutes and fifty-three seconds, as the reader may see on a globe.

Estremadura was, of course, presented to the President, and sold his scrip.

[7] Newspaper men of 1868 will be amused to think that half past one was late in 1836. At that time the “Great Western Mail” was due in Boston at 6 P. M., and there was no later news except “local,” or an occasional horse express.

[8] The reader will observe the Arcadian habits of 1836, when the German was yet unknown.

 
 
 

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