“Can you tell me where to find Gen. Hawley?”
Says he, “You will probably find him in the ‘Buro of Installation.’”
“In a buro!” says I coldly. “Do you s’pose young man, that I am a goin’ to crawlin’ and creepin’ round into buro draws? Do you s’pose, at my age, and with my dignity I’m a goin’ to foller any man into a buro? Gropin’ round, tryin’ to find somebody in a buro draw.”
INTERVIEW WITH GEN. HAWLEY
His face looked red—he see I wasn’t to be imposed upon—and he pinted out the room where we should be apt to find him, he a goin’ most there with us; and anon, or about that time, I found myself in the presence of Gen. Hawley, a shakin’ hands with him and a introducin’ Josiah. He was lookin’ over a lot of papers, but he looked up dretful sort o’ pleasant, and in that tryin’ and almost curious time, I couldn’t help thinkin’ that Josiah was in the right on’t about his looks; for never, on a tower, or off on it, did I ever see a franker, nobler, honester, well meanin’er face than hisen. I never asked him whether he was enjoyin’ good health, or poor, but I says right out: “Joseph,” (I knew his name was Joseph, and I thought he would take it more friendly in me if I called him that, and it would look more familiar in me—as if my noble mission didn’t make me feel above him.) “Joseph,” says I, “I have come to advise you as a P. A. about what I have discovered as a P. I.”
He looked up at me from the awful pile of papers, sort o’ dreamy and wonderin’, and I come out plainer still, and says I, “Joseph, tell me; is it true that the Nation has licenced the Sentinal to git drunk, and not to keep no Sundays?” And says I, “Haint it the time for the Nation, if ever, for her to put her best foot forred, and if she has got any remnants of Puritan habits, and religion, and solid principles, to show ’em off? Haint it time to brush the dirt and dust off of Plymouth Rock, and let the world git a glimpse of the old original stun? Why,” says I, “if the Mayflower could float back again from the past, and them old Mayflowers should hear what this Nation is a doin’, they would say they was glad they was dead.”
INTERVIEW WITH GOV. HAWLEY
Joseph looked as if he felt what I said deeply. But he went on in a sort of apologisin’ way, about his wantin’ to treat our fureign guests with courtesy—and some of them was accustomed to beer and wine-drinkin’ to home, and wasn’t in the habit of havin’ Sundays, and so 4th and so 4th.
“But,” says I in tremblin’ tones: “when a mother is weepin’ over the ruin of what was once her son, and tracin’ back his first love of strong drink to this place of beauty and enchantment, it wont remove her agony nor hisen, to think it was done to please the German, Dutch, or Tunicks, or even Turkeys.” Says I, “If the Nation gives her lawful consent and lets the Sentinal drink all the beer and wine it wants to in 1876, in 1976 she will reap the seed she is a plantin’ now; and if you happen to see me then, Joseph, you tell me if I haint in the right on’t. And then, not havin’ no Sundays! I never in my hull life see anything look so shiftless,—when we haint been out of Sundays for 1800 years, to all flat out now and not have none,—it would look poor as poverty in us.”