I sot at the right hand of the Governor-General and I wanted to talk to him on the opium question and try to git him to give up the trade, but concluded that I wouldn’t tackle him at his own table. But I kep’ up a stiddy thinkin’.
That very mornin’ I read in the daily paper that two missionaries had arrived there the day before, and on the same steamer three hundred chests of opium.
Poor creeters! didn’t it seem mockin’ the name of religion to help convert the natives and on the same steamer send three hundred chests of the drug to ondo their work and make idiots and fiends of ’em.
It seemed to me some as if I should read in the Jonesville “Augur” or “Gimlet” that our govermunt had sent out three or four fat lambs to help the starvin’ poor and sent ’em in the care of thirty or forty tigers and wild cats.
No doubt the lambs would git there, but they would be inside the wild cats and tigers.
Such wicked and foolish and inconsistent laws if made by 170 women would make talk amongst the male sect, and I wouldn’t blame ’em a mite; I should jine with ’em and say, “Sure enough it is a proof that wimmen don’t know enough to vote and hain’t good enough; let ’em drop the political pole, retire into the background and study statesmanship and the Bible, specially the golden rule.” But to resoom.
Arvilly tried to turn the conversation on the “Twin Crimes” of America, but didn’t come right out and canvass him, for which I wuz thankful. They all paid lots of attention to Tommy, who had a great time, and I spoze Carabi did too.
We had fruits and vegetables at the table, all gathered from the Governor-General’s garden––fresh fruit and vegetables in February, good land! Pickin’ berries and pineapples while the Jonesvillians’ fruit wuz snowballs and icesuckles; jest think on’t!
Well, Robert Strong thought we had better proceed on to Canton the next day and we wuz all agreeable to it.
After we all went back to the tarven and I had laid down a spell and rested, I went out with Arvilly and Tommy for a little walk, Miss Meechim, and Dorothy, and Robert Strong havin’ gone over to Maceo, the old Portuguese town on the mainland. They wanted to see the place where Camoens wrote his great poem, “The Lusiad,” and where he writ them heart-breakin’ poems to Catarina. Poor creeters! they had to be separated. King John sent him off from Lisbon, wantin’ the girl himself, so I spoze. Catarina died soon of a broken heart, but Camoens lived on for thirty years in the body, and is livin’ now and will live on in the Real Life fer quite a spell.