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CURIOUS DREAM

AND

OTHER SKETCHES

f: _

■*

CURIOUS DREAM

AND OTHER SKETCHES

MARK TWAIN

AUTHOX OP "the celbbrateo juupimq froq'

SELECTED A.VD REVISED BY THE AUTHOR

TORONTO
THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY, LIMITED

li i

A CURIOUS DREAM.

CONTAINING A MORAL.

Night before last I had a singular dream.
I seemed to be sitting on a doorstep (in no
particular city, perhaps), ruminating, and the
time of night appeared to be about twelve
or one o'clock. The weather was balmy and
delicious. There was no human sound in the
air, not even a footstep. There was no sound
of any kind to emphasize the dead stillness,
except the occasional hollow barking of a
dog in the distance and the fainter answer of
a further dog. Presently up the street I
heard a bony clack-clacking, and guessed it
was the castanets of a serenading party. In
a minute more a tall skeleton, hooded, and
half clad in a tattered and mouldy shroud

[■

6 A CURIOUS DREAM.

whose shreds were flapping about the rib! 7
lattice-work of its person, swung by me wiih
a stately stride, and disappeared in the grey
gloom of the starlight. It had a broken and
worm-eaten coffin on its shoulder and a
bundle of something in its hand. I knew
what the clack-clacking was then ; it was this
party's joints working together, and his
elbows knocking against his sides as he
walked. I may say I was surprised. Before
I could collect my thoughts and enter upon
any speculations as to what this apparition
might portend, I heard another one coming —
for I recognised his clack-clack. He had two-
thirds of a coflin on his shoulder, and some
foot- and head- boards under his arm. I
mightily wanted to peer under his hood and
speak to him ^^^t when he turned and smiled
upon me with his cavernous sockets and his
projecting grin as he went by, I thought I
would not detain him. He was hardly gone
when I heard the clacking again, and another
one issued from the shadowy half-light. This
one was bending under a heavy gravestone,
sind dragging a shabby cofifm after him by a

A CURIOUS DREAW.

string. When he got to me he gcive me a
steady look for a moment or two, and then
rounded to and backed up to me, saying :

" Ease this down for a fellow, will you ?"

I eased the gravestone down till it rested
on the ground, and in doing so noticed that
it bore the name of *' John Baxter Copman-
hurst," with " May, 1S39," as the date of his
death. Deceased sat wearily down by me,
and wiped his os frontis with his major maxil-
lary — chiefly from former habit I judged, for
I could not see that he brought away any
perspiration.

"It is too bad, too bad," said he, drawing
the remnant of the shroud about him and
leaning his jaw pensively on his hand. Then
he put his left foot up on his knee and fell
to scratching his ankle bone absently with a
rusty nail which he got out of his coftin.

" What is too bad, friend ?"

" Oh, ever>ahing, everything. I almost
wish I never had died."

** You surprise me. Why do you say this ?
Has anything gone wrong? What is tlae
matter ? "

^ I

A CURIOUS DREAM.

"Matter! Look at this shroud — rags.
Look at this gravestone, all battered up.
Look at that disgraceful old cofrm. All a
man's property going to ruin and destruction
before his eyes, and ask him if anything is
wrong ? Fire and brimstone ! "

" Calm yourself, calm yourself," I said.
"It is too bad — it is certainly too bad, but
then I had not supposed that you would
much mind such matters, situated as you

are.

" Well, my dear sir, I do mind them. My
pride is hurt, and my comfort is impaired —
destroyed, I might say. I will state my case
— I will put it to you in such a way that you
can comprehend it, if you will let me," said
the poor skeleton, tilting the hood of his
shroud back, as if he were clearing for action,
and thus unconsciously giving himself a jaunty
and festive air very much at variance with the
grave character of his position in life — so to
speak — and in prominent contrast with his
distressful mood.

" Proceed," said L

-*i reside in the shameful old graveyard

A CURIOUS DREA}r.

a block or two above you here, In this street
— there, now, I just expected that cartilage
would let go ! — third rib from the bottom,
friend, hitch the end of it to my spine with a
string, if you have got such a thing about
you, though a bit of silver wire is a deal
pleasanter, and more durable and becoming,
if one keeps it polished — to think of shred-
ding out and going to pieces in this way, just
on account of the indifference and neglect of
one's posterity I " — and the poor ghost grated
his teeth in a way that gave me a wrench and
a shiver — for the effect is mightily increased
by the absence of muffling flesh and cuticle.
" I reside in that old graveyard, and have for
these thirty years ; and I tell you things are
changed since I first laid this old tired frame
there, and turned over, and stretched out for
a long sleep, with a delicious sense upon me
of being done with bother, and grief, and
anxiety, and doubt, and fear, for ever and
ever, and listening with comfortable and in-
creasing satisfaction to the sexton's work,
from the startling clatter of his first spadeful
on my coffin till it dulled away to the faint

A CURIOUS DREAM.

patting that shaped the roof of my new home
— delicious! My! I wish you could try it
to-night ! " and out of my reverie deceased
fetched me with a rattling slap with a bony
hand.

" Yes, sir, thirty years ago I laid me down
there, and was happy. For it was out in the
country, then — out in the breezy, flowery,
grand old woods, and the lazy winds gos-
siped with the leaves, and the squirrels
capered over us and around us, and the
creeping things visited us, and the birds filled
the tranquil solitude with music. Ah, it was
worth ten years of a man's life to be dead
then! Everjlhing was pleasant. I was in
a good neighbourhood, for all the dead
people that lived near me belonged to the
best families in the city. Our posterity ap-
peared to think the world of us. They kept
our graves in the very best condition; the
fences were always in faultless repair, head-
boards were kept painted or whitewashed,
and were replaced with new ones as soon as
they began to look rusty or decayed ; monu-
ments were kept upright^ railings intact and

A CURIOUS DREAM,

bright, the rosebushes and shrubbery tnmmed,
trained, and free from blemish, the walks clean
and smooth and gravelled. But that day is
gone by. Our descendants have forgotten
us. My grandson lives in a stately house
built v>ith money made by these old hands of
mine, and I sleep in a neglected grave with
invading vermin that gnaw my shroud to
build them nests withal ! I and friends that
lie with me founded and secured the prospe-
rity of this fine city, and the stately bantling
of our loves leaves us to rot in a dilapidated
cemetery which neighbours curse and stran-
gers scoff at. See the difference between the
old time and this, for instance. Our graves
are all caved in, now ; our head-boards have
rotted away and tumbled down ; our railings
reel this way and that, with one foot in the
air, after a fashion of unseemly levity ; our
monuments lean wearily, and our gravestones
bow their heads discouraged; there be no
adornments any more — no roses, nor shrubs,
nor gravelled walks, nor anything that is a
comfort to the eye, and even the paintless old
board fence that did make a show of holding

1 I

t»

A CURIOUS DREAM,

us sacred from companionship with beasts and
the defilement of heedless feet, has tottered
till it overhangs the street, and only adver-
tises the presence of our dismal resting-place
and invites yet more derision to it. And now
we cannot hide our poverty and tatters in the
friendly woods, for the city has stretched its
withering arms abroad and taken us in, and
all that remains of the cheer of our old home
is the cluster of lugubrious forest trees that
stand, bored and weary of city life, with their
feet in our coffins, looking into the hazy dis-
tance and wishing they were there. I tell
you it is disgraceful I

" You begin to comprehend — you begin to
see how it is. While our descendants are
living sumptuously on our money, right around
us in the city, we have to fight hard to keep
skull and bones together. Bless you, there
isn't a grave in our cemetery that doesn't
leak — not one. Every time it rains in the
night we have to climb out and roost in the
trees — and sometimes we are wakened sud-
denly by the chilly water trickling down the
back of our necks. Then I tell you there is

A CURIOUS DREAM.

»3

a general heaving up of old graves and kick-
ing over of old monuments, and scampering of
old skeletons for the trees ! Bless me, if you
had gone along there some such nights after
twelve you might have seen as many as
fifteen of us roosting on one limb, with our
joints rattling drearily and the wind wheezing
through our ribs I Many a time we have
perched there for three or four dreary hours,
and then come down, stiff and chilled through
and drowsy, and borrowed each other's skulls
to bale out our graves with — if you will glance
up in my mouth, now as I tilt my head back,
you can see that my head-piece is half full of
old dry sediment — how top-heavy and stupid
it makes me sometimes! Yes, sir, many a
time if you had happened to come along just
before the dawn you'd have caught us baling
out the graves and hanging our shrouds on
the fence to dry. Why, I had an elegant
shroud stolen from there one morning —
think a party by the name of Smith took it,
that resides in a plebeian graveyard over
yonder — I think so because the first time I
ever saw him he hadn't anything on but a

A CUJU/OC/S DREAAT.

chcck-sliirt, and the last time I saw him,
which was at a social gathering hi the new
cemetery, he was the best dressed corpse in
the company — and it is a significant fact that
he left when he saw me ; and presently an
old woman from here missed her coffm — she
generally took it with her when she went
anywhere, because she was liable to take
cold and bring on the spasmodic rheumatism
that originally killed her if she exposed
herself to the night air much. She was
named Hotchkiss — Anna Matilda Hotchkiss
— you might know her ? She has two upper
front teeth, is tall, but a good deal inclined to
stoop, one rib on the left side gone, has one
shred of rusty hair hanging from the left side
of her head, and one little tuft just above
and a little forward of her right ear, has her
under jaw wired on one side where it had
worked loose, small bone of left forearm
gone — lost in a fight — has a kind of swagger
in her gait and a * gallus' way of going with
her arms akimbo and her nostrils in the air —
has been pretty free and easy, and is all
damaged and battered up till she looks like a

(

>'■,

A CURIOUS DREAM

quecnsware crate in ruins — maybe you have
met her ?"

" God forbid !" I involuntarily ejaculated,
for somehow I was not looking for that form
of question, and it caught me a little off my
guard. But I hastened to make amends for
my rudeness and say, " I simply meant I had
not had the honour — for I would not deli-
berately speak discourteously of a friend of
yours. You were saying that you were
robbed — and it was a shame, too — but it ap-
pears by what is left of the shroud you have
on that it was a costly one in its day. How
did "

A most ghastly expression began to de-
velop among the decayed features and
shrivelled integuments of my guest's face,
and I was beginning to grow uneasy and
distressed, when he told me he was only
working up a deep, sly smile, with a wink in
it, to suggest that about the time he acquired
his present garment a ghost in a neighbour-
ing cemetery missed one. This reassured
me, but I begged him to confine himself to
speech thenceforth, because his facial expres-

I-

1.1

i H

A CURIOUS DREAM,

su )ri was uncertain. Even witli tlio most
elaborate care it was liable to n\iss fire.
Sniiiiiv^- should especially be avoidal. What
he uui;ht honestly consider a shining success
was likely to strike me in a very different
li^ht I said I liked to sec a skeleton cheerful,
even decorously pki} ful, but I did not think
sniilini^ was a skeleton's best hold.

** Yes, friend," said the poor skeleton, " the
facts are just as I have given them to you.
Two of these old graveyards — the one that I
resided in and one further along — have been
deliberately neglected by our descendants of
to-day until there is no occupying them any
longer. Aside from the osteological discom-
fort of it — and that is no light matter this
rainy weather — the present state of things is
ruinous to property. We have got to move
or be content to see our effects wasted away
and utterly destroyed. Now you will hardly
believe it, but it is true nevertheless, that
there isn't a single coffin in good repair
among all my acquaintance — now that is an
absolute fact I do not refer to low people
who come in a pine box mounted on an

A CURIOUS DREAM.

express wagon, but I am talking about your
high toned, silver-mounted burial -case, monu-
mental sort, that travel under black plumes
at the head of a procession and have choice
of cemetery lots — I mean folks like tlie
Jarviscs, and the Blcdsoes and Burlings, and
such. They are all about ruined. The most
substantial people in our set, they were. And
now look at them — utterly used up and
poverty - stricken. One of the lilcdsoes
actually traded his monument to a late bar-
keeper for some fresh shavings to put under
his head. I tell you it speaks volumes, for
there is nothing a corpse takes so much pride
in as his monument. He loves to read the
inscription. He comes after awhile to believe
what it says himself, and then you may see
him sitting on the fence night after night
enjoying it. Epitaphs are cheap, and they
do a poor chap a world of good after he is
dead, especially If he had hard luck while he
was alive. I wish they were ased more.
Now I don't complain, but confidentially I
do think it was a little shabby in my descend-
ants to give me nothing but this old slab of a

■( '

A CURIOUS DREAM.

gravestone — and all the more that there isn't
a compliment on it It used to have

'gone to his just reward*

on it, and I was proud when I first saw it, but
by-and-by I noticed that whenever an old
friend of mine came along he would hook his
chin on the railing and pull a long face and
read along down till he came to that, and
then he would chuckle to himself and walk
off, looking satisfied and comfortable. So I
scratched it off to get rid of those fools. But
a dead man always takes a deal of pride in
his monument Yonder goes half-a-dozen of
the Jarvises, now, with the family monument
along. And Smithers and some hired spectres
went by with his a while ago. Hello, II ig-
gins, good-by, old friend ! That's Meredith
niggins — died in '44 — belongs to our set in
tlie cemetery — fine old family — groat-grand-
mother was an Injun — I am on the most
familiar terms with him — he didn't hear mc
was the reason he didn't answer me. And I
am sorry, too, because I would have liked to
introduce you. You v/ould admire him. He

A CURIOUS DREAM,

«9

!s the most disjointed, sway-backed, and gene-
rally distorted old skeleton you ever saw, but
b.e Is full of fun. When he laughs it sounds
like rasping two stones tojjether, and he
always starts it off with a cheery screech like
raking a nail across a window-pane. \\Q.y^
Jones ! That is old Columbus Jones — shroud
cost four hundred dollars — entire trousseau,
including monument, twenty-seven hundred.
This was in the Spring of '26. It was enor-
mous style for those days. Dead people
came all the way from the Alleghanies to see
his tilings — the party that occupied the grave
next to mine remembers it well. Now do
you see that individual going along with a
piece of a head-board under his arm, one leg-
bone below his knee gone, and not a thing in
tlie world on ? That is Barstow Dalhouse,
and next to Columbus Jones he was the most
sumptuously outfitted person that ever entered
our cemetery. We are all leaving. We can-
not tolerate the treatment we are receiving at
the hands of our descendants. They open
new cemeteries, but they leave us to our igno-
miny. They mend the streets, but they never

A CURIOUS DREAM.

h\\

^ui

mend anything that is about us or belongs to
us. Look at that coffin of mine — yet I tell
you in its day it was a piece of furniture that
would have attracted attention in any drawing-
room in this city. You may have it if you
want it — I can't afford to repair it Put a
new bottom in her, and part of a new top,
and a bit of fresh lining along the left side,
and you'll find her about as comfortable as
any receptacle of her species you ever tried.
No thanks — no, don't mention it — you have
been civil to me, and I would give you all
the property I have got before I would seem
ungrateful. Now this winding-sheet is a kind
of a sweet thing in its way, if you would like

to . No ? Well, just as you say, but I

wished to be fair and liberal — there's nothing
mean about vie. Good-by, friend, I must
be going. I may have a good way to go to-
night — don't know. I only know one thing
for certain, and that is, that I am on the
emigrant trail, now, and I'll never sleep in
that crazy old cemetery again. I will travel
till I find respectable quarters, if I have to
hoof it to New Jersey. All the boys are

f.^

A CURIOUS DREAM,

jel
to

Ire

going. It was decided in public conclave,
last night, to emigrate, and by the time the
sun rises there won't be a bone left in our old
habitations. Such cemeteries may suit my
surviving friends, but they do not suit the
remains that have the honour to make these
remarks. My opinion is the general opinion.
If you doubt it, go and see how the departing
ghosts upset things before they started. They
were almost riotous in their demonstrations
of distaste. Hello, here are some of the
Bledsoes, and if you will give me a lift with
this tombstone I guess I will join company
and jog along with them — mighty respectable
old family, the Bledsoes, and used to always
come out in six-horse hearses, and all that
sort of thing fifty years ago when I walked
these streets in daylight. Good-by, friend."

And with his gravestone on his shoulder
he joined the grisly procession, dragging his
damaged coffin after him, for notwithstand-
ing he pressed it upon me so earnestly, I
utterly refused his hospitality. I suppose
that for as much as two hours these sad out-
casts went clacking by, laden with their dismal

•! I

•f: i

A CURIOUS DREAAf,

effects, and all that time I sat pityin,'^ thcin.
Onq or two of the younf^est and least dilapi-
dated among them inquired about midnight
trains on the railways, but the rest seemed
unacquainted with that mode of travel, and
merely asked about common public roads to
various towns and cities, some of wliich are
not on the map now, and vanished frcjm it
and from the earth as much as tlilrty yeans
ar^o, and some few of them never had existed
anywhere but on maps, and private ones in
real estate agencies at that. And they asked
about the condition of the cemeteries in these
towns and cities, and about the reputation i !ic
citizens bore as to reverence for the dea'^

This whole matter interested me deeply,
and likewise compelled my sympathy for these
homeless v. es. And it all sceminqf real, and
I not Icnowln;^ it was a dream, I mentioned
to one 'jhroudcd wanderer an idea that had
entered my head to publish an account of this
curious and very sorrowful exodus, but said
also that I could not describe it truthfully,
and just as it occurred, without seeming to
trille with a grave subject and exhibit an

A CURIOUS DREAM.

Irreverence for the dead that would shock
and distress their surviving friends. But this
bland and stately remnant of a formei* citizen
leaned him far over my gate and whisp red
in my ear, and said : — ■

** Do not let that disturb you. The cora-
munity that can stand such graveyards as
those we are emigrating from can stand
anything a body can say about the neglected
and forsaken dead that He m them."

At that very moment a cock crowed, and
the weird procession vanished and left not a
shred or a bone behind. I awoke, and found
myself lying with my head out of the bed and
** sagging " downwards considerably — a posi-
tion favourable to dreaming dreams with mo-
rals in them, maybe, but not poetry.

NoiE. — The reader is assured that if the cemeteries
in h.« town are kept in good order, this Dream is not
levelled at his town at all, but is levelled particularly and
venvmoa'sly at the next town.

J ;'

.,.: llf

A NEW BEECHER CHURCH.

^l:

■ *f

f if

If the Rev. Mr. Smith, or the Rev. Mr.
Jones, or the Rev. Mr. Brown, were about
to build a new church edifice, it would be
projected on the same old pattern, and be
like pretty much all the other churches in
the country, and so I would naturally men-
tion it as a new Presbyterian church, or a
new Methodist, or a new Baptist church,
and never think of calling it by the pastor's
name ; but when a Beecher projects a church,
that edifice is necessarily going to be some-
thing entirely fresh and original; it is not going
to be like any other church in the world ; it
is going to be as variegated, eccentric, and
marked with as peculiar and striking an in-
dividuality as a Beecher himself ; it is going
to have a deal more Beecher in it than any

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A NEW B LECHER CHURCH. 15

one narrow creed can fit into without rattlln'^-

f;>*

or any one arbitrary order of architecture can
symmetrically enclose and cover. Conse-
quently to call it simply a Congrregational
church would not give half an idea of the
thing. There is only one word broad enourrh,
and wide enough, and deep enough to take
in the whole affair, and express it cleanly,
luminously, and concisely — and that is
Beecher. The projected edifice I am
about to speak of is, therefore, properly
named in my caption as a new '' BcccJier
Church."

The projector is the Rev. Thomas K.
Beecher— brother of the other one, of course
—I never knew but one Beecher that wasn't,
and he was a nephew. The new church is
to be built in Elmira, N. Y., where Mr. B.
has been preaching to one and the same con-
gregation for the last sixteen years, and is
thoroughly esteemed and beloved by his
people. I have had opportunity to hear
all about the new church, for I have lately
been visiting in Elmira.

Now, when one has that disease which

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A NEW BEECHER CHURCH,

gives Its possessor the title of ** humorist,"
he must make oath to his statements, else
the public will not believe him. Therefore
I make solemn oath that what I am going
to tell about the new church is the strict
truth.

The main building — for there are to be
three, massed together in a large grassy
square, ornamented with quite a forest of
shade trees — will be the church proper. It
will be lofty, in order to secure good air and
ventilation. The auditorium will be circular
— an amphitheatre, after the ordinary pattern
of an opera-house, wiiJwiU gallciHes. It is to
seat a thousand persons. On one side (or
one end, if you choose) will be an ample,
raised platform for the minister, the rear half
of which will be occupied by the organ and
the choir. Before the minister will be the
circling amphitheatre of pews, the first thirty
or forty on the level floor, and the next rising
in graduated tiers to the walls. The seats
on the level floor will be occupied by the
aged and infirm, who can enter the church
through a hall under the speaker's platform,

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A NEW BEECIIER CHURCH.

Without climbing any stairs. The people
occupying the raised tiers will enter by a
dozen doors opening into the church from
a lobby like an opera-house lobby, and de-
scend the various aisles to their places. In
case of fire or earthquakes, these numerous
exits will be convenient and useful.

No space is to be wasted. Under the
raised tiers of pews are to be stalls for horses
and carriages, so that these may be sheltered
from sun and rain. There will be twenty-
four of these stalls, each stall to be entered
by an arch of ornamental mason r)'' — no doors
to open or shut. Consequently, the outside
base of the church will have a formidable
port-holed look, like a man-of-war. The stalls
are to be so mailed with " deadeners," and so
thoroughly plastered, that neither sound nor
smell can ascend to the church and offend
the worshippers. The horses will be in at-
tendance at church but an hour or two at a
time, of course, and can defile the stalls but
little ; an immediate cleansing after they
leave is to set that all right again.

There is to be no steeple on the church—

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A NEW BEECH ER CIIURCIT.

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merely because no practical use can be made
of it.

There is to be no bell, because all men
know what time church service begins with-
out that exasperating nuisance. In explana-
tion of this remark, I will state that at home I
suffer in the vicinity and under the distracting
clangour of thirteen church bells, all of whom
(is that right ?) clamour at once, and no two
in accord. A large part of my time is taken
up in devising cruel and unusual sufferings
and in fancy inflicting them on those bell-
I'ingers and having a good time.

The second building is to be less lofty
than the church ; is to be built right against
the rear of it, and communicate with it by a
door. It is to have two stories. On the
first floor will be three distinct Sunday school
rooms ; all large, but one considerably larger
than the other two. The Sunday school
connected with Mr. Beecher's church has
always been a ** graded " one, and each
department singularly thorough in its grade
of instruction ; the pupil wins his advance-
ment to the higher grades by hard-won pro-

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A NEW BEECHER CHURCH.

ficiency, not by mere added years. The
largest of the three compartments will be
used as the main Sunday school room, and
for the week-day evening lecture.

The whole upper story of this large build-
ing will be well lighted and ventilated, and
occupied wholly as a play-room for the
children of the church, and it will stand open
and welcome to them through all the week-
days. They can fill it with their playthings
if they choose, and besides it will be fur-
nished with dumb-bells, swings, rocking-
horses, and all such matters as children
delight in. The idea is to make a child look
upon a church as only another homey and a
sunny one, rather than as a dismal exile or
a prison.

The third building will be less lofty than
the second ; it will adjoin the rear of the
second, and communicate with it by a door
or doors. It will consist of three stories.
Like the other two buildings, it will cover
considerable ground. On the first floor will
be the " church parlours " where the usual
social gatherings of modern congregations

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A NEW BELCHER CHURCH,

are hdd. On the same floor, and openin,';
into the parlours, will be a reception-room
and also a circulating" library — ^free library
■ — not simply free to the church membership,
but to everybody, just as is the present
library of Mr. Beecher's church (and few
libraries are more extensively and more dili-
gently and gratefully used than this one).
Also on this first floor, and communicating^
■with the parlours, will be — tell it not in Gath,
publish it not in Askelon ! — six bath-rooms /
— hot and cold water — free tickets issued to
any applicant among the unclean of the con-
gregation ! The idea is sound and sensible,
for this reason. Many members of all con-
gregations have no good bathing facilities,
and are not able to pay for them at the
barber-shops without feeling the expense;
and yet a luxurious bath is a thing that all
civilized beings greatly enjoy and derive
healthful benefit from. The church buildings
are to be heated by steam, and consequently
the waste steam can be very judiciously
utilised in the proposed bath-rooms. In
speaking of this bath-room project, I have

A NEW BEECBER CHURCIL

3»

revealed a state secret — but I never could
keep one of any kind, state or otherwise.
Even the congregation were not to know of
this matter, the building committee were to
leave it unmentioned in their report ; but I
got hold of it — and from a member of that
committee, too — and I had rather part with
one of my hind legs than keep still about it.
The bath-rooms are unquestionably to be
built, and so why not tell it ?

In the second story of this third building
will be the permanent residence of the
"church missionary,'* a lady who constantly
looks after the poor and sick of the church ;
also a set of lodging and living rooms for the
janitors (or janitresses ? — for they will be
women, Mr. Beecher holding that women are
tidier and more efficient in such a position
than men, and that they ought to dwell upon
the premises and give them their undivided
care) ; also on this second floor are to be six
rooms to do duty as a church infirmary for
the sick poor of the congregation, this church
having always supported and taken care of
its own unfortunates instead of leaving them

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to the public charity. In the infirmary will
be kept one or two water-beds (for invaHds
whose pains will not allow them to lie on a
less yielding substance), and half-a-dozen re-
clining invalid-chairs on wheels. The water-
beds and invalid-chairs at present belonging
to the church are always in demand and
never out of service. Part of the appur-
tenances of the new church will be a horse
and an easy vehicle, to be kept and driven
by a janitor, and used wholly for giving the
church's indigent invalids air and exercise.
It is found that such an establishment is
daily needed — so much so, indeed, as to
almost amount to a church necessity.

The third story of this third building is to
be occupied as the church kitchen^ and it is
sensibly placed aloft, so that the ascending
noises and boarding-house smells shall go up
and aggravate the birds instead of the saints
— except such of the latter as are above the
clouds, and they can easily keep out of the
way of it, no doubt. Dumb-waiters will
carry the food down to the church parlours,
instead of up. Why is it that nobody has

A NEW BEECIIER CHURCH,

thought of the simple wisdom of this arrange-
ment before ? Is it for a church to step
forward and tell us how to get rid of kitchen
smells and noises ? If it be asked why the
new church will need a kitchen, I remind the
reader of the infirmary occupants, etc. They
must eat; and, besides, social gatherings of
members of this congregation meet at the
church parlours as often as three and four
evenings a week, and sew, drink tea, and

g . G . It commences with g, I

think, but somehow I cannot think of the
word. The new church parlours will be
large, and it is intended that these social
gatherings shall be promoted and encouraged,
and that they shall take an added phase, viz. ;
when several families want to indulge in a
little reunion, and have not room in their
small houses at home, they can have it in the
church parlours. You will notice in every
feature of this new church one predominant
idea and purpose always discernible — the
banding together of the congregation as a
family y and the making of the church a ho^ne.
You see it in the play-room, the library, the

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parlours, the baths, the infirmai'y — it is every-
where. It is the great central, ruling idea.
To entirely consummate such a thing would
be impossible with nearly any other congre-
gation in the Union ; but after sixteen years
of moulding and teaching, Mr. Beecher has
made it wholly possible and practicable with
this one. It is not stretching metaphor too
far to say that he is the father of his peop'e,
and his church their mother.

If the new church project is a curiosity, it
is still but an inferior curiosity compared to
the plan of raising the money for it. One
could have told, with his eyes shut and one
hand tied behind him, that it originated with
a Beecher — I was going to say with a lunatic,
but the success of the plan robs me of the
opportunity.

When it was decided to build a new church
edifice at a cost of not less tlian 40,000 dol-
lars nor more than 50,000 dollars (for the
membership Is not three hundred and fifty
strong, and there are not six men in it who
can strictly be called rich), ]\Ir. Beecher gave
to each member a printed circular worded usa

A NEW BEECIIER CHURCH, 35

follows — eacn circular enclosed in an enve-
lope prepaid and addressed to himself, to be
returned through the post-office :

[Confidential.]

It is proposed to build a meeting-house and otlier
rooms for tlie use of the church. To do this work
honestly and well, it is proposed to spend one year in
raising a part of the money in advance^ and in getting
plans anil making contracts.

1 year — plans and contracts . . Ap. i, 1871, to 187a
„ „ build and cover in . . . „ 1872,,, 1873
„ „ plaster, finish, and furnish, „ 1873, „ 1S74
„ „ pay for in full and dedicate, „ 1874, „ 1875

It is i)roposed to expend not less than twenty thousand
dollars nor more than fifty thou^.and— according to the
ability shown by the returns of these cards oi confidmiial
subscription. Any member of the Church and congrega-
tion, or any friend of the Church, is allowed and invited
to subscribe, but no one is urged.

T. K. Beeciier, Pastor. !

To help build our meeting-house, I think that I shall
be able to give not less than $ , and not more

than % , each year for four years, beginnmg

April I, 187 1.

Or I can make in one pa}'mcnt % •

Trusting in the Lord to help me, I hereby subscribe
the same as noted above.

Name, i^

B-esidcnct^ g

A NEW BEECIIER CHURCIL

The subscriptions were to be wholly volun-
tary and strictly confidential ; no one was to
know the amount of a man's subscription ex-
cept himself and the minister; nobody was
urged X.Q give anything at all ; all were simply
invited to give whatever sum they felt was
right and just, from ten cents upward, and no
questions asked, no criticisms made, no rc-
vcalments uttered. There was no possible
chance for glory, for even though a man gave
his whole fortune nobody would ever know
it. I do not know when anything has struck
me as being so Utopian, so absurdly romantic,
so ignorant, on its face, of human nature.
And so anybody would have thought. Parties
said Mr. Beecher had ** educated " his people,
and that each would give as he privately felt
able, and not bother about the glory. I
believed human nature to be a more potent
educator than any minister, and that the re-
sult would show it. But I was wrong. At
the end of a month or two, some two-thirds
of the circulars had wended back, one by one,
to the pastor, silently and secretly, through
the post-office, and then, without mentioning

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A NEW BEECHER CIIURCIL

the name of any giver or the amount of his
gift, Mr. Beecher announced from the pulpit
that all the money needed was pledged — the
certain TimowviX. being over 45,000 dollars, and
the possible amount over 53,000 dollars I
When the remainder of the circulars have
come in, it is confidently expected and believed
that they will add to these amounts a sum of
not less than 10,000 dollars. A great many
subscriptions from children and working men
consisted of cash enclosures rancrinof from a
ten cent currency stamp up to five, ten, and
fifteen dollars. As I said before, the plan of
levying the building tax, and the success of
the plan, are much more curious and surpris-
ing than the exceedingly curious edifice the
money is to create.

The reason the moneys are to be paid in
four annual instalments — for that is the plan
— is, partly to make the payments easy, but
chiefly because the church is to be substan-
tially built, and its several parts allowed time
to settle and season, each in its turn. For
instance, the substructures will be allowed a
good part of the first year to settle and com-

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pact themselves, after completion ; the walls
the second year, and so forth and so on.
There is to be no work done by contract, and
no unseasoned wood used. The materials
are to be sound and good ; and honest, com-
petent, conscientious workmen (Beecher says
there are such, the opinion of the w^orld to
the contrary notwithstandingr) hired at full
wages, by the day, to put them together.

The above statements are all true and
genuine, according to the oath I have already
made thereto, and which I am now about to
repeat before a notary, in legal form, with my
hand upon the Book. Consequently we are
going to have at least one sensible, but very,
very curious church in America.

I am aware that I had no business to tell
all these matters, but the reporter instinct was
strong upon me and I could not help it And
besides they were in everj'body's mouth in
EIniira, anyway.

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MY LATE SENATORIAL SECRE-
TARYSHIP,

I AM not a private secretary to a senator
any more, now. I held the berth two months
in security and in great cheerfulness of spirit,
but my bread began to return from over the
waters, then— that is to say, my works cams
back and revealed themselves. I judged it
best to resign. The way of it was this. My
employer sent for me one morning tolerably
early, and, as soon as I had finished inserting
some conundrums clandestinely into his last
great speech upon finance, I entered the pre-
sence. There was something portentous in hia
appearance. His cravat was untied, his hair
was in a state of disorder, and his countenance
bor§ ^boiit it the signs of a suppressed stormi

MY LATE SENATORIAL

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Me held a package of letters in his tense
grasp, and I knew that the dreaded Pacific
mail was in. He said :

" I thought you were worthy of confidence."

I said : " Yes, sir."

He said : " I gave you a letter from certain
of my constituents in the State of Nevada,
asking the establishment of a post-office at
Baldwin's Ranch, and told you to answer it,
as ingeniously as you could, with arguments
which should persuade them that there was
no real necessity for an office at that place."

I felt easier. " Oh, if that is all, sir, I did
do that"

" Yes, you did, I will read your answer,
for your own humiliation :

" ' Washington, Nov. 24.
" * Messrs. Smithy JoneSy and others.

" ' Gentlemen, — ^^Vhat the mischief do you suppose
you want with a post-office at Baldwin's Ranch? It
would not do you any good. If any letters came there,
you couldn't read them, you know ; and, besides, such
letters as ought to pass through, with money in them, for
other localities, would not be likely to get through, you
must perceive at once ; and that would make trouble for
ns all No, don't bother about a post-office in your
camp. I have your best interests at heart, and feel tliat

SECRETAR YSIIIP.

It would only be an ornamental folly. What you want is
a nice jail, you know — a nice, substantial jail and a free
school. These will be a lasting benefit to you. These
will make you really contented and happy. I will move
in the matter at once.

M « Very truly, etc.,

*' * Mark Twain,
« « For James W. N , U. S. Senator.'

" That is the way you answered that letter.
Those people say they will hang me, if I ever
enter that district again ; and I am perfectly
satisfied they will^ too."

" Well, sir, I did not know I was doing any
harm. I only wanted to convince them."

" Ah. Well, you did convince them, I
make no manner of doubt Now, here is
another specimen. I gave you a petition from
certain gentlemen of Nevada, praying that I
would get a bill through Congress incorpo-
rating the Methodist Episcopal Church of the
State of Nevada. I told you to say, in reply,
that the creation of such a law came more
properly within the province of the State
Legislature ; and to endeavour to show them
that, in the present feebleness of the religious
element in that new commonwealth, the expe-

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MY LATE SENATORIAL

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diency of incorporating the church was ques-
tionable. What did you write ?

" * Washington, Nov 14.
** * RiZ>./ohn Halifax and otJurs,

"'Gentlemen, — You will have to go to the State
Legislature about that speculation of yours — Congress
don't know anything about religion. But don't you hurry
to go there, either ; because this thing you propose to
do out in that new country isn't expedient — in fact, it is
ridiculous. Your religious people there are too feeble, in
intellect, in morality, in piety — in everything, pretty
much. You had better drop this — ^you can't make it
work. You can't issue stock on an incorporation like
that — or if you could, it would only keep you in trouble
all the time. The other denominations would abuse it,
and "bear" it, and "sell it short," and break it down.
They would do with it just as they would with one of
your silver mines out there — they would try to make al«
the world believe it was " wildcat" You ought not to
do anything that is calculated to bring a sacred thing
into disrepute. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves
—-that is what /think about it You close your petition
with the words : " And we will ever pray." I think you
had better — ^you need to do it

.***Veiy truly, etc.,

** * Mark Twain,
«< 'For James W. N ^ U. S. Senator.^

•* Tkat luminous epistle finishes me with

SECRETARYSHIP, 43

the religious element among my constituents.
But that my political murder might be made
sure, some evil instinct prompted me to hand
you this memorial from the grave company of
elders composing the Board of Aldermen of
the city of San Francisco, to try your hand
upon— a memorial praying that the city's riglit
to the water-lots upon the city front might be
established by law of Congress. I told you
this was a dangerous matter to move in. I
told you to write a non-committal letter to
the Aldermen — an ambiguous letter — a letter
that should avoid, as far as possible, all real
consideration and discussion of the water-lot
question. If there is any feeling left in you—
any shame— surely this letter you wrote, in
obedience to that order, ought to evoke it,
when Its words fall upon your ears :

"< Washington, Nov, a;.
" * TJie Hon. Board of Aldermen, etc,

" * Gentlemen,— George Washington, the revered
Father of his Country, is dead. His long and brilliant
career is closed, alas ! for ever. He was greatly respected
in this section of the country, and his untimely decease
cast a gloom over the whole community. He died on

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MY LATE SENA7VRTAL .

the 14th day of December, 1799. lie passed peacefully
away fioiu the scene of his honours and his great achievc-
nionts, the most lamented hero and the best beloved that
ever earth hath yielded unto Death. At such a time aa
this you speak of water-lots ! — what a lot was his I

" ' What is fame ? Fame is an accident. Sir Isaac
Newton discovered an apple falling to the ground — a
trivial discovery, truly, and one which a million men had
made before him — but his parents were influential, and
80 they tortured that small circumstance into something
wonilcrful, and, lo ! the simple world took up the shout,
and, in almost the twinkling of an eye, that man was
famous. Treasure these thoughts.

" ' Poesy, sweet poesy, who shall estimate what the
world owes to thee 1

•• ^^A^y lifiil a little lamb, its fleece was while as snow—
And everywhere tliat Mary went, the lamb was sure to (^o.**

" Jack and Gill went up the hill
To draw a pail of water ;
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
And Gill came tumbling after."

For simplicity, elegance of diction, and freedom from
immoral tendencies, I regard those two poems in the
light of gems. They are suited to all grades of intel-
ligence, to every sphere of life — to the field, to the
nursery, to the guild. Especially should no Board of
Aldermen be without them.

" * Venerable fossils 1 write again. Nothing improves
one so much as friendly correspondence. Write again —
and if there is anything in this memorial of yours that
refers to anytliing in particular, do not be backward

SECRETARYSHIP,

about explaining it. We shall always be happy to hear
you chirp.

** * Very truly, etc.,

" * Mark Tvvaiw,
" ' For James W. N , U. S. Senator.'

"That Is an atrocious, a ruinous epistle!
Distraction I "

" Well, sir, I am really sorry if there is any-
thing wrong about it — but — but — it appears
to me to dodge the water-lot question."

" Dodge the mischief ! Oh ! — but never
mind. As long as destruction must come
now, let it be complete. Let it be complete
— let this last of your performances, which
I am about to read, make a finality of
it. I am a ruined man. I fiad my mis
givings when I gave you the letter from
Humboldt, asking that the post route from
Indian Gulch to Shakspeare Gap and in-
termediate points, be changed partly to the
old Mormon trail. But I told you it was a
delicate question, and warned you to deal with
it defdy — to answer it dubiously, and leave
them a little in the dark. And your fatal
imbecility impelled you to make this dis-

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Jl/y LATE SENATORIAL

astrous reply. I should think you would

stop your ears, if you are not dead to all

shame :

" < Washington, Nov. 30.
** * Messrs. Perkins ^ Wagner ^ d ai.

** * Gentlemen, — It is a delicate question about this
Indian trail, but, handled with proper deftness and
dubiousness, I doubt not we shall succeed in some
measure or otherwise, because the place where the route
leaves tlie Lassen Meadows, over beyond where those
two Shawnee chiefs, Dilapidated- Vengeance and Biter-of
the-Clouds, were scalped last winter, this being the
favourite durection to some, but others preferring some-
thing else in consequence of things, the Mormon trail
leaving Mosb/s at three in the morning, and passing
through Jawbone Flat to Blucher, and then down by
Jug-IIandle, the road passing to the right of it, and
naturally leaving it on tlie right too, and Dawson's on the
left of th » trail where it passes to the left of said Daw-
son's, and onward thence to Tomahawk, thus making the
route cheaper, easier of access to all who can get at it,
and compassing all the desirable objects so considered
by others, and, therefore, conferring the most good upon
Ihe greatest number, and, consequently, I am encouraged
to hope we shall. However, I shall be ready, and happy,
to aftbrd you still further information upon the subject,
(rora time to time, as you may desire it and the Post
OSicQ Department be enabled to furnish it to rae.

" * Very truly, etc.,

" * Mark Twain,
** ' For James W. N , U . S. ^anatpr.

SECI^ETARVSJIIP.

" There— now, what do you tliink of that ?"
"Well, I don't know, sir. It— well, It
appears to me — to be dubious enouph."

*'Du~leave the house! I am a ruined
man. Those Humboldt savages never v/Ill
forgive me for tangling their brains up with
this inhuman letter. I have lost the respect
of the Methodist Church, the Board of Alder-
men "

" Well, I haven't anything to say about that,
because I may have missed it a litde in their
cases, but I was too many for the Baldwin's
Ranch people. General 1 "

" Leave the house ! Leave it for ever and
for ever, too ! "

I regarded that as a sort of covert intima-
tion that my services could be dispensed with,
and so I resigned. I never will be a private
secretary to a senator again. You can't please
that kind of people. They don't know an/^
thing. They can't appreciate a party's efforts.

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THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF
GEORGE FISHER, DECEASED.

This is history. It is not a wild extrava-
ganza, like "John Williamson Mackenzie's
Great Beef Contract," but is a plain state-
ment of facts and circumstances with which
the Congress of the United States has inte-
rested itself from time to time during the long
period of half a century.

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

THE CASE OF GEORGE FISHER. 49

verdict. Then we shall do nobody injustice,
and our consciences shall be clear.

On or about the ist day of September,
181 3, 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 pro-
perty, 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.

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.

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 cornfields, the widow Fisher s
new husband petitioned Congress for pay for
the property, and backed up the petition with
many depositions and affidavits which pur-

50 THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF

V' i

i) ;!

ported to prove that the troops, and not the
Indians, destroyed the property; that the
troops, for some inscrutable reason, delibe-
rately burned down " houses " (or cabins)
vahied at 6oo dollars, the same belonging to
a peaceable private citizen, and also destroyed
various other property belonging to the same
cilizcn. But Congress declined to believe
that the troops were such idiots (after over-
taking and scattering a band of Indi.ms
proved to have been found destroying Fii.hcr's
property) as to calmly continue the work of
destruction themselves and make a comji'.cte
job of what the Indians had only commenced.
So Congress denied tlie petition of th.c heirs
of George Fisher in 1832, and did not pay
them a cent.

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 generatic n of Fisher heirs then came
forward and put in a bill for damages. The
Second Auditor awarded them 8,873 dollars,

being half the damage su$tained by Flslu:r.

i -.

GEORGE FISHER, DECEASED. 51

The Auditor said the testimony showed tliat
at least half the destruction was done by tl'.c
Indians " dc/ore the troops started in pursuitl*
and of course the Government was not respon-
sible for that half.

2. That was in April, 1 84S. In December,
1843, the heirs of Gcoro^e Fisher, deceased,
came forward and pleaded for a " reviiiion "
of their bill of dam:\i;es. The revision was
made, but nothi tj^ new could be found in
their favour except an error of 100 doll.us
in the former calculation. However, in order
to keep up the S[)iriLs of the Fisher family,
the Auditor concluded to go back and allow
interest from the date of tlie first [.etition
(1832) to the date when the bill of dama^j^es
was awarded. This sent the Fishers home
happy with sixteen years' interest on 8,873
dollars — the same amounting to 8,997 dollars
94 cents. Total, i 7,870 dollars 94 cents.

3. For an entire year the suffering Fislier
family remained quiet — even satisfied, after
a fashion. Then they swooped down upon
Government with their wrongs once more.
ThiVt old patriot. Attorney-General ToJirey,

5f THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF

I 'IV

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fell

:t »

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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 dollars from date of destruc-
tion of the property (18 13) up to 1832 1
Result, 10,004 dollars 89 cents for the indigent
Fishers. So now we have : First, 8,873
dollars damages ; second, interest on it from
1832 to 1848, 8,997 dollars 94 cents; third;
interest on it dated back to 18 13, 10,004 dol-
lars 89 cents. Total, 27,875 dollars 83 cents !
What better investment for a great-grandchild
than to get the Indians to burn a cornfield for
him sixty or seventy years before his birth, and
plausibly lay it on lunatic United States troops?
4. Strange as it may seem, the Fishers let
Congress alone for five years — or, what is
perhaps more likely, failed to make them-
selves heard by Congress for that length of
time. But at last, in 1854, they got a hear-
ing. 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

GEORGE FISHER, DECEASED, 53

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 miuh already,

5. Therefore another interval of rest and
silence ensued — 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 succour 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 straightway
got an Act passed transferring the Fisher
matter from the dull Auditor to the inge-
nious Floyd. What did Floyd do } He
said "It was froved that the Indians de-
stroyed everything they cotild before the troops
entered in piii'suit** He considered, there-
fore, that what they destroyed must have

consisted of " the houses with all their con-

54 THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF

\\\-

tents, and tJie liquor** (the most trifling part
of the destruction, and set down at only
3,200 dollars all told), and that the Govern-
ment troops then drove them off and calmly
proceeded to destroy—

Two hundred and twenty acres of coi'n in
the field ^ thirty -five acres of ivheat, and nine
hundred and eighty-six head of live stock I
[What a singularly intelligent army we had
in those days, according to Mr. Floyd —
though not according to the Congress of 1832.]

So Mr. Floyd decided that the Govern-
ment was not responsible for that 3,200
dollars worth of rubbish which the Indians
destroyed, but was responsible for the pro-
perty destroyed by the troops — which pro-
perty consisted of (I quote from the printed
U. S. Senate document) —

1; ,!

Corn at Basse It's creek

Cattle ....

Stock hogs . , ,

Drove hogs . . ,

Wheat ....

Hides

Coro on the Alabama river

$3,000
5,000
1,050
1,204

350
4,000

3;5oo

|li%IQ4

GEORGE FiSlIERy DECEASED.

That sum, in his report, Mr. Floyd calls
the "/"/<// value of the property destroyed
by the troops." He allows that sum to the
standing Fishers, together with interest
FROM 1S13. From this new sum total the
amounts already paid to the Fishers were
deuiv .1, and then the cheerful remainder
(a fiaciion under yOr/y thousand dollars) was
handed to them, and again they retired to
Floric! in a condition of temporary tran-
quillity. Their ancestor's farm had now
yielded them, altogether, nearly sixty-seven
tJwiisand dollai's in cash.

6. Does the reader suppose that that was
the end of it ? Docs he suppose those diffi-
dent Fishers were satisfied ? Let the evidence
show. The F'ishers 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 first of
June, i860, and instructed Mr. Floyd to over-
haul those papers again, and pay that bill.
A Treasury clerk was ordered to go through
tliose papers and report to Mr. Floyd what

I''f

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$6 Tim FACTS m THE CASE OP

amount was still due the emaciated Fishers.
This clerk (I can produce him whenever he
is wanted) discovered what was apparently a
glaring and recent forgery in the papers,
whereby a v/itness's testimony as to the price
of corn in Florida in 1 8 1 3 was made to name
double the amount which that witness had
originally specified as the price I 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 Con-
gresSy nor has Congress ever yet had a hint of
a forgery existing among the Fisher papers.
Nevertheless, on the basis of the doubled
prices (and totally ignoring the clerk's asser-
tion that the figures were manifestly and un-
questionably a recent forgery), Mr. Floyd
remarks in his new report that " the testimony,
particularly in regard to the corn crops^ de-
mands 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

GEORGE FISHER, DECEASED, 57

the crop, but allows two dollars anct 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 18 1 3 corn was only wertb from i dollat
2 5 cents to I dollar 50 cents a bushel. I laving
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 destruc-
tion 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.

l[:.H

77/i? /:':fC/'5 /.V r//S CJSE OF

Floyd's figures up as follows (I copy again
from the printed U. S. Senate document) :

77U United Statu in account with the legal representatives
of George Fisher ^ deceased.

1 813. — To 550 head of cattle, at $10 , , $5,500 00

To 86 head of drove hogs .... 1,204 00

To 350 head of stock hogs . . . 1,75000

To 100 ACRES OF CORN ON BaSSETT's

CREEK 6,000 00

To Z barrels of whisky , e . . . 35000

7\> 2 barrels of brandy ..,,.. 200 00

To I barrel of mm 70 00

To dry goods and merchandise in store 1,100 00

To 35 acres of wheat 350 00

To 2000 hides 4,000 00

To furs and hats in store . . , , 600 00

To crockery ware in store ..... 100 00

To smiths' and carpctiten' tools , , 250 00

To houses burned and destroyed . . . 600 00

To /^ dozen bottles of wine .... 48 00
t8i4.— To 120 acres of corn on Alabama

river 9>5oo 00

To crops of peas, fodder, etc . . 3,250 00

Total ;...«.:. $34,952 00

To interest on $22,202, from July,
1813, to November, i860, 47 yeai-s
and 4 months ^3)053 68

To interest on $12,750, from Sep-
tember, 1814, to November, i860,
46 years and 2 monilis .... 35,317 50

Total

.$^33:323 J8

He puts everything in, this time. He does

GEORGE FISHER, DECEASED. 59

not even allow that the Indians destroyed
the crockery or drank the four dozen bottles
of (currant) wine. When it came to super-
natural 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 dollars
already paid to ^«eorge Fishers impkicabls
heirs, Mr. Floyd announced that the Govern-
ment was still indebted to them in the sum
of sixty-six thousand five hundred and ttifte-
teen dollars and eighty-five cents^ wlilch,"
Mr. Floyd complacently remarks, " will be
paid, accordingly, to the administrator of tlie
estate of George Fisher, deceased, or to his
attorney In fact."

' 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 Con-
gress did in 1861 was to rescind the resolu-
tion of June I, i860, under which Mr. Floyd
had been ciphering. Then Floyd (and
doubtless the heirs of Georore Fisher like-
vise) had to give up financial business for a

6o THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF

■;i:|

while and go Into the Confederate army and
serve their country.

Were the heirs of Georg^e 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 Governmer*- red-tape has failed to
keep consistent and intelligent track of it.

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, 2nd Session, and for S. Ex. Doc.
No. io6,4Tst Congress, 2nd Session, and
satisfy himself. The whole case is set forth
in the first volume of the Court of Claims
Reports.

It is my belief that as long as the con-
tinent of America holds together, the heirs
of George Fisher, deceased, will still make
pilgrimages to Washington from the swamps

' 1

GEORGE FISHER, DECEASED. 61

of Florida, to plead for just a litde 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
cornfield); and as long as they choose to
come, they will fnid 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.

THE NEW CRIME.

LEGISLATION NEEDED.

This country, during the last thirty or
forty years, has produced some of the most
remarkable cases of insanity of which there
is any mention in history. For instance,
there was the Baldwin case, in Ohio, twenty-
two years ago. Baldwin, from his boyhood
up, had been of a vindictive, malignant, quar-
relsome nature. He put a boy's eye out
once, and never was heard upon any occa-
sion to utter a regret for it. He did many
such things. But at last he did something
that was serious. He called at a house iust
after dark, one evening, knocked, and when
the occupant came to the door, shot him dead,
and then tried to escape but was captured.

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fXrt

THE NEW CRIME.

Two days before, he had wantonly insulted a
helpless cripple, and the man he afterward
took swift vengeance upon with an assassin
bullet had knocked him down. Such was
the Baldwin case. The trial was long and ex-
citing ; the community was fearfully wrought
up. Men said this spiteful, bad-hearted
villain had caused grief enough in his time,
and now he should satisfy the law. But
they were mistaken. Baldwin was insane
when he did the deed — they had not thought
of that By the arguments of counsel it was
shown that at half-past ten in the morning on
the day of the murder, Baldwin became in-
sane, and remained so for eleven hours and a
half exactly. This just covered the case
comfortably, and he war acquitted. Thus, if
an unthinking and excited community had
been listened to instead of the arguments of
counsel, a poor crazy creature would have
been held to a fearful responsibility for a
mere freak of madness. Baldwin went clear,
and although his relatives and friends were
naturally incensed against the community for
tlieir injurious suspicions and remarks, they

;i|.

THE NEW CRHTS.

said let it g;o for this time, and did not
prosecute. The Baldwins were very wealthy.
This same Baldwin had momentary fits of
insanity twice afterward, and on both occa-
sions killed people he had grudges against.
And on both these occasions the circum-
stances of the killing were so aggravated,
and the murders so seemingly heartless and
treacherous, that if Baldwin had not been in-
sane he would have been hanged without the
shiidow of a doubt. As it was, it required
all his political and family influence to get
him clear in one of the cases, and cost him
not less than 10,000 dollars to get clear in
the otiier. One of these men he had noto-
riously been threatening to kill for twelve
years. The poor creature happened, by the
merest piece of ill-fortune, to come along a
dark alley at the very moment that Bald-
win's insanity came upon him, and so he
was shot in the back with a gun loaded with
slugs.

Take the case of Lynch Ilackett, of Penn-
sylvania. Twice, in public, he attacked a
German butcher by the name of Bcmis Feld-

THE NEW CRIME,

«S

ner, with a cane, and both times FcKhv:r
wliipped him with his fibls. Ilackcttwas a
vain, wc.ilLl\y, violent ^^entleman, who held
his blood and family in hi<;h esteem, and be-
lieved that a reverent respect was due In;
great riches. I le brootled over the shame of
his chastisement for two weeks, and tlicn, in
a momentary fit of insanity, armed himself to
the teeth, rode into town, waited a couple of
hours until he saw Feldner comlnjr down the
street widi his wife on his arm, and then, as
the couple passed the doorway \\\ which he
had partially concealed himself, -■'\ drove a
knife into Feldncr's neck, killlnor him instaiuly.
The widow cau<;ht the limp form and eased it
to the earth. Both were drenched with blood.
I lackett jocosely remarked to her that as a
professional butchers recent wife she could
appreciate the artistic neatness of the job
that left her in a condition to marry again, in
case she wanted to. This remark, and another
which he made to a friend, that his position
in society made the killing of an obscure
citizen simply an "eccentricity" instead of a
crime, were shown to be evidences of insanity,

• i;

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TJIM NEW CRIME,

and so Hackett escaped punishment Ihe
jury were hardly inclined to accept these as
proofs, at first, inasmuch as the prisoner lad
never been insane before the murder, and
under the tranquillising effect of the butcher-
ing had immediately regained his right mind
— but when the defence came to show that a
third cousin of Hackett's wife's stepfather was
insane, and not only insane, but had a nose
the very counterpart of Mackett's, it was
plain that insanity was hereditary in the
family, and Hackett had come by it by legiti-
mate inheritance. Of course the jury then
acquitted him. But it was a merciful provi-
dence that Mrs. H.'s people had been afflicted
as shown, else Hackett would certainly have
been hanged.

However, it is not possible to recount all
the marvellous cases of insanity that have
come under the public notice in the last thirty
or forty years. There was the Durgin case
in New Jersey three years ago. The servant
girl, Bridget Durgin, at dead of night, in-
vaded her mistress's bedroom, and carved the
lady literally to pieces with a knife. Then

THE NEW CRIME.

she dragged the body to the middle of the
floor, and beat and banged it with chairs and
such things. Next she opened the feather
beds and strewed the contents around, satu-
rated everything with kerosene, and set fire
to the general wreck. She now took up the
young child of the murdered woman in her
blood-smeared hands, and walked off, through
the snow, with no shoes on, to a neighbour's
house a quarter of a mile off, and told a string
of wild, incoherent stories about some men
coming and setting fire to the house; and
then she cried piteously, and without seeming
to think there was anything suggestive about
the blood upon her hands, her clothing, and
the baby, volunteered the remark that she
was afraid those men had murdered her
mistress ! Afterward, by her own confession
and other testimony, it was proved that the
mistress had always been kind to the girl,
consequently there was no revenge in the
murder ; and it was also shown that the girl
took nothing away from the burning house,
not even her own shoes, and consequently
robbery was not the motive. Now the reader

THE NEW CRIME,

?',

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5ays, " Here comes that same old plea of in-
sanity again." But the reader has deceived
himself this time. No such plea was offered
in her defence. The judge sentenced her,
nobody persecuted the Governor wiih
petitions for her pardon, and she was
promptly hanged.

There was that youth in Pennsylvania,
whose curious confession was published a
year ago. It was simply a conglomeration
of incoherent drivel from beginning to end
— and so *vas his lengthy speech on the scaf-
fold afterward. For a whole year he was
haunted with a desire to disfigure a certain
young woman, so that no one would marry
her. He did not love her himself, and did
not want to marry her, but he did not want
anybody else to do it. He would not go any-
where with her, and yet was opposed to any-
body else's escorting her. Upon one occa-
sion he declined to go to a wedding with her,
and when she got other company, lay in wait
for the couple by the road, intending to make
them go back or kill the escort. After spend-
ing sleepless nights over his ruling desire for

THE NEW CRIME, ^

a full year, he at last attempted its execution
— that IS, attempted to disfigure the youn^y
woman. It was a success. It was perma-
nent In trying to shoot her cheek (as she
sat at the supper table with her parents and
brothers and sisters) in such a manner as to
mar its comeliness, one of his bullets wan-
dered a little out of the course, and she
dropped dead. To the very last moment of
his life he bewailed the ill luck that made
her move her face just at the critical moment
And so he died apparently about half per-
suaded that somehow it was chiefly her own
fault that she got killed. This idiot was
hanged. The plea of insanity was not
offered.

Insanity certainly is on the increase in the
world, and crime is dying out There are
no longer any murders — none worth mention-
ing, at any rate. Formerly, if you killed a
man, it was possible that you were insane —
but now if you (having friends and money)
kill a man it is evidence that you are a
lunatic.

In these days, too, if a person of good

[ft'!

TJ/£ NEW CRIMB,

family and high social standing steals anything,
they call it klepioviania^ and send him to the
lunatic asylum. If a person of high stand-
ing squanders his fortune in dissipation and
closes his career with strychnine or a bullet,
"Temporary Aberration'* is what was the
trouble with him.

Is not this insanit}' plea becoming rather
common ? Is it not so common that the
reader confidently expects to see it offered
in every criminal case that comes before the
courts ? And is it not so cheap, and so com-
mon, and often so trivial, that the reader
smiles in derision when the newspaper men-
tions it ? And is it not curious to note how
very often it wins acquittal for the prisoner ?
Lately it does not seem possible for a man
to £0 conduct himself, before killing another
man, as not to be manifestly insane. If he
talks about the stars he is insane. If he
appears nervous and uneasy an hour before
the killing he is insane. If he weeps over a
great grief, his friends shake their heads
and fear that he is "not right." If, an
hour after the murder he seems ill at ease.

THE NEW CRIME.

> ,

pre-occupied, and excited, he is unquestion-
ably insane.

Really, what we want now is not laws
against crime, but a law against insanity.
There is where the true evil lies.

% *.'

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!U.

LIONIZING MURDERERS.

I HAD heard so much about the celebrated

fortune-teller, Madame ^, that I went to

see her yesterday. She has a dark com-
plexion naturally, and this effect is heightened
by artificial aids which cost her nothing. She
wears curls — very black ones, and I had an
impression that she gave their rative attrac-
tivene .s a lift with rancid butter. She wears
a reddish check handkerchief cast loosely
around her neck, and /t was plain that hc^r
other one is slow gettir j back from the wash.
I presume she takes snuff; at any rate some-
thing resembling it had lodged among the
hairs sprouting from her upper lip. I know
she lUces garlic — I knew that as soon as she

> %*'

LIONIZING MURDERERS,

sighed She looked at me searchingly for
nearly a minute, with her black eyes, and
then said — -
\ " It is enough. Come I "

She started down a very dark and dismal
corridor, I stepping close after her. Presently
she stopped and said that as the way was
crooked and so dark, perhaps she had better
get a light. But it seemed ungallant to allow
a woman to put herself to so much trouble
for me, and so I said —
V "It is not worth while, madam. If you
will heave another sigh, I think I can follow
it."

So we got along all right. Arrived at her
official and mysterious den, she asked me to
tell her the date of my birth, the exact hour
of that occurrence, and the colour of my
grandmother's hair. I answered as accurately
as I could. Then she said —

" Young man, summon your fortitude — do
not tremble. I am about to reveal the past"

" Information concerning X^x'^ future would
be, in a general way, more "

** Silence I You have had much trouble

i .

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LIONIZING MURDERERS.

some joy, some gfood fortune, some bad.
Your great grandfather was hanged."

" That is a 1 "

" Silence I Hanged, sir. But it was not
his fault He could not help it."

** I am glad you do him justice."

** Ah — grieve, rather, that the jury dl<l.
He was hanged. His star crosses yours in
the fourth division, fifth sphere. Conse-
quently you will be hanged also."

"In view of this cheerful ^

** I mus^ have silence. Yours was not, in
the beginning, a criminal nature, but circum-
stances changed it At the age of nine you
stole sugar. At the age of fifteen you stole
money. At twenty you stole horses. At
twenty-five you committed arson. At thirty,
hardened in crime, you became an editor.
You are now a public lecturer. Worse things
are in store for you. You will be sent to
Congress. Next, to the penitentiary. Finally,
happiness will come again — all will be well —
you will be hanged."

I was now in tears. It seemed hard
enongh to go to Congress. But to be

If '

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LIONIZING MURDERERS,

hanged — this was too sad, too dreadful. The
woman seemed surprised at my grief. I told
her the thoughts that were in my mind.
Then she comforted me.

"Why, man/'* she said, "hold up your

* In this paragraph the fortune-teller details the exact
history of the Pike-Brown assassination case in New
Hampshire, from the succouring and saving of the
stranger Pike by the Prowns, to th(^ subsequent hanging
and cofTining of that treacherous miscreant. She adds
nothing, invents nothing, exaggerates nothing (see any
New England paper for November, 1S69). This Pike-
lirown case is selected merely as a type, to illustrate a
custom that i)revails, nc- in New Hampshire alone, but
in every State in the union, — I mean the sentimental
custom of visiting, petting, glorifying, and snuffling over
murderers like this Pike, from the day they enter the jail
under sentence of death until they swing from the
gallows. The following extract from Temple Bar (1866)
reveals the fact that this custom is not confined to the
United States: — "On December 31st, 1841, a man
named John Johnes, a shoemaker, murdered his sweet*
heart, Mnry Hallam, the daughter of a respectable
labourer, at Mansfield, in the couniy of Nottingham. He
•was executed on March 23rd,, 1842. He was a man of
unsteady habits, and gave way to violent fits of passion.
The girl declined his addresses, and he said if he did not
have her r,o one else should. After he had inflicted the
fist wound, which was not immediately fiUal, she begged
iw her life, but seeing him resolved, asked for time tp

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L10NIZi:rG MURDERERS,

YitsA—you have nothing to grieve about.
Listen. You will live in New Hampshire.
In your siia. p need and distress the Brown
family wil. succour you — such of them as
Pike the assassin left alive. They will be
benefactois to yon. When you shall have
grown fat upon their bounty, and j^re grate-
ful and happy, you will desire to make some
modest return for these things, and so you
will go to the house some night and brain
the whole family with an axe. You will rob
the dead bodies of your benefactors, and dis-

pray. He said that he would pray for both, and com-
pleted the crime. The wounds were inflicted by a sjioe-
maker's knife, and her throat was cut barbarously. After
this he dropped on his knees some time and prayed God
to have mercy on two unfortunate lovers. He made no
attempt to escape, and confessed the crime. After his
imprisonment he behaved in the most decorous manner ;
he won upon ihe good opinion of the gav:>l cliaplain, and
he was visited by the Bishop of Lincoln. It dees not
appear that he expressed ?vny contrition for the crime,
but seemed to pass away witi' timmphant certainty that
he was going to rejoin his victim in heaven. lit luat
visited by some pious and bmcvolmt ladies of Nottingham^
some of whom declared lie was a child of God^ if ri>er there
was one. One of t/ie ladies sent him a white camellia to
wear at his execution^*

LIONIZING MURDERERS,

burse your gains in riotous living among the
rowdies and courtezans of Boston. Then
you will be arrested, tried, condemned to be
hanged, thrown into prison. Now is your
happy day. You will be converted — you will
be converted just as soon as every effort to
compass pardon, commutation or reprieve has
failed — and then ! Why, then, every morn-
ing and every afternoon, the best and purest
young ladies of the village will assemble in
your cell and sing hymns. This will show
that assassination is respectable. Then you
will write a touching letter, in which you w ill
forgive all those recent Browns. This will
excite the public admiration. No public can
withstand magnanimity. Next, they will take
you to the scaffold, with great eclat, at the
head of an imposing procession composed of
clergymen, officials, citizens generally, and
young ladies walking pensively two and two,
and bearing bouquets and immortelles. You
will mount the scaffold, and while the great
concourse stand uncovered in your presence,
you will read your sappy little speech which
the minister has written for you. And then,

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LTONI'/JNG MURDERERS

ill the midst of a grand and impressive
silence, tluy will swing you into per

Paradise, my son. There will not be a dry

eye on the groun(

u wi

11 be

ILTO

Not a roiij^h there but will envy you. Not
a ronj.;h there but will resolve to cinulate you.

And

ill folh

you

procession wiii loiio^
to the tomb — will weep over your n^mains —
the young ladies will sing again the hymns
made dear by sweet associations connected
with the jail, and as a last tribute of affrction,
respect, and appreciation of your many ster-
ling qualities, they will walk two aiid two
around your bier and strew wreatlis of flinvcrs
on it. And lo, you are canonis(;d ! Think
of it, son — ingrate, assassin, robber of tht;
dead, drunke-n brawler among tliieves and
harlots in the slums of Boston one month, and
the pet of the pure and innocent daughters
of tlie land the next ! A bloody and hateful
devil — a bewept, bewailed and sainted martyr
— all in a month ! Fool ! — so noble a fortune
and )'et you sit here grieving ! "

*' No, madam," I said, " you do me wrong,
you do indeed. I am perfectly satisfied. I

dicl not know before that my ^^ ^,,,,1.
fatluT was han-ed, hut it is of no co,r,^.
qiK-nco. Ifc has probably ceased to botlu-r
about it by this tfme-and I have not com-
menced yet. I confess, madam, tliat I do
somrahin:; in the way of ech'tln.: and l.-cturln-r
but th^' other crimes you mention have
escaped my memory. Yet I must have com-
mitted them— you would not deceive an
orphan. IJut let the past be as it was, and
let the future be as it may-these are no-
thin- I jiave only cared for one tliinir i
have always ffdt that I should be lian-.-d
some (lay, and somehow the thouiyht has
annoyed me considerably— but \i you can
ouly assure me that I shall be han-cd in

New 1 lampshire "

" Not a shadow of a doubt I "
" Bless you, my benefactress !— excuse this
embrace— you have removed a -reat load
Trom my breast. To be han-.id in New
Hampshire is happiness — it" leaves an
honoured name behind a man, and introduces
him at once into ihe best New I lampshire
s»ocicfy in the otlier world."

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ZIONIZtNG MURDERERS.

I then took leave of the fortune-teller.
But seriously, is it well to glorify a murderous
villain on the scaffold, as Pike was glorified
in New Hampshire ? .s it well to turn the
penalty for a bloody crime into a reward ?
Is it just to do it ? Is it safe ?

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