And now is making nutmegs at
Moosehicmagunticook.
In his note, introductory of this poem, my boy, the editor of the Lily affirmed (which is strictly true) that I had named none but veritable localities; and ventured the belief that the composition would remind his readers of Goldsmith. Upon which his scorpion contemporary in the next village observed, that there was rather more smith than gold about the poem. Genius, my boy, is never appreciated until its possessor is dead; and even the useless praise it then obtains is chiefly due to the pleasure that is experienced in burying the poor wretch.
Up to the time when this poem appeared in print, I had succeeded in concealing from my father the nature of my incidental occupation; but now he must know all.
He did know all, my boy; and the result was, that he gave me ten dollars, and sent me to New York to look out for myself.
"It's the only thing that will save him," says he to my mother, "and I must either send him off, or expect to see him sink by degrees to editorship, and commence to wear disgraceful clothes."
I went to New York; I became private secretary and speech-scribe to an unscrupulous and, therefore, rising politician; and now—I am in Washington.
Thus, my boy, have I answered your desire for an outline of my personal history; and henceforth let me devote my attention to other and more important inhabitants of our distracted country. I had a certain postmastership in my eye when I first came hither; but war's alarms indicate that I may do better as an amateur hero.
Yours inconoclastically,
Orpheus C. Kerr.