Now, this can't be endured; and I have come to you for help. Either tell us what is the meaning of this terrible phrase, or else open your batteries on the malicious genius who pens those Chronicle papers, and—squelch him!
As yet,
"I am not mad—but soon shall be!"
if you don't answer.
Yours, in tribulation,
ALONZO TARBOX.
P. S.—Be sure and see that the printer spells my name rightly, and don't transmogrify it into "TREEBOX," as a beast of a Treasury Clerk did the other day. "There are chords—" you know.
A. T.