[11]. Testimony of the manager of the Sun.
[12]. Cable error. For “thirteen times” read “one third.” This correction was made by Dr. Ament in his brief cablegram published February 20th, previously referred to.
[13]. For “thirteen times” read “one third.”--M. T.
[14]. In civilized countries, if a mob destroy property in a town, the damage is paid out of the town treasury, and no taxpayer suffers a disproportionate share of the burden; the mayor is not privileged to distribute the burden according to his private notions, sparing himself and his friends, and fleecing persons he holds a spite against--as in the Orient--and the citizen who is too poor to be a taxpayer pays no part of the fine at all.
[15]. In his Open Letter, Dr. Smith cites Dr. Ament’s letter of November 13th, which contains an account of Dr. Ament’s collecting tour; then Dr. Smith makes this comment: “Nothing is said of securing ‘thirteen times’ the amount of the losses.” Farther down, Dr. Smith quotes praises of Dr. Ament and his work (from a letter of the Rev. Dr. Sheffield), and adds this comment: “Dr. Sheffield is not accustomed to speak thus in praise of thieves, or extortioners, or braggarts.” The reference is to the “thirteen-times” extra tax.
[16]. The cablegram went on the day (February 18th) that Mr. George Lynch’s account of the looting was published. See “Exhibit B.” It seems a pity it did not inquire about the looting and get it denied.
THOMAS BRACKETT REED
He wore no shell. His ways were frank and open, and the road to his large sympathies was straight and unobstructed. His was a nature which invited affection--compelled it, in fact--and met it halfway. Hence he was “Tom” to the most of his friends, and to half of the nation. The abbreviating of such a man’s name is a patent of nobility, and is conferred from the heart. Mr. Reed had a very strong and decided character, and he may have had enemies; I do not know; if he had them--outside of politics--they did not know the man. He was transparently honest and honorable, there were no furtivenesses about him, and whoever came to know him trusted him and was not disappointed. He was wise, he was shrewd and alert, he was a clear and capable thinker, a logical reasoner, and a strong and convincing speaker. His manner was easy and engaging, his speeches sparkled with felicities of phrasing thrown off without apparent effort, and when he needed the happy help of humor he had a mine of it as deep and rich as Kimberly to draw from. His services to his country were great, and they were gratefully acknowledged.
I cannot remember back to a time when he was not “Tom” Reed to me, nor to a time when he would have been offended at being so addressed by me. I cannot remember back to a time when I could let him alone in an after-dinner speech if he was present, nor to a time when he did not take my extravagances concerning him and misstatements about him in good part, nor yet to a time when he did not pay them back with usury when his turn came. The last speech he made was at my birthday dinner at the end of November, when naturally I was his text; my last word to him was in a letter the next day; a day later I was illustrating a fantastic article on Art with his portrait among others--a portrait now to be laid reverently away among the jests that begin in humor and end in pathos. These things happened only eight days ago, and now he is gone from us, and the nation is speaking of him as one who was. It seems incredible, impossible. Such a man, such a friend, seems to us a permanent possession; his vanishing from our midst is unthinkable; as unthinkable as was the vanishing of the Campanile, that had stood for a thousand years, and was turned to dust in a moment.