{"id":4174,"date":"2018-07-14T16:14:50","date_gmt":"2018-07-14T20:14:50","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/HatchetOnline\/?p=4174"},"modified":"2024-08-19T10:46:42","modified_gmt":"2024-08-19T14:46:42","slug":"news-and-views-that-wouldnt-fit-notes-from-the-compositors-bench-november-2007","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/news-and-views-that-wouldnt-fit-notes-from-the-compositors-bench-november-2007\/","title":{"rendered":"News and Views that Wouldn’t Fit: Notes from the Compositor’s Bench, November, 2007"},"content":{"rendered":"

First published in November\/December, 2007, Volume 4, Issue 4, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies<\/em>.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When Murder Came To Call
\n<\/i>Or<\/strong><\/span>
\nLiterary Landmines & How To Avoid Them\u2014<\/strong><\/span>
\nThe Confessions
\n<\/span>of
\n<\/span>Adelaide Buffinton Churchill<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Well, fair Reader, that most-favored season in the whole of New England has returned yet again: Autumn, she who brings along with that bright folial blanket, that gentle nip to the air, an urge to stand out in sunlight beneath sharply bright blue skies, to savor the rich colors. The season seldom changes of course\u2014and why should she, if it\u2019s not broke, don\u2019t fix it<\/i> still applied the last ye humble Compositor knew.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

There are though great differences \u2018twixt this and last\u2014as any perusal of preserved newsprint from the autumn of 1892 will prove.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

What a difference a year can make! As I make these jottings presently, some weeks have now passed away since the circus at New Bedford ceased, punctuated by a final blast of the ringmaster\u2019s whistle: Not Guilty<\/i>! said twelve good men and true. So within mere hours it began \u2013 the great exodus of one of the finest attractions the Commonwealth has seen in years. One wag expressed it best: the whole affair was a spectacle worthy of Barnum, and did him one better in the sense that at New Bedford there was little or no exotic animal waste to attend to.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Apart from a now-and-then rumble in the wake of Miss Lizzie Borden\u2019s acquittal, not much is said of her but for occasional public mention of an insignificant event which took place as she was escorted out of the Superior Court at New Bedford. It seems\u2014and I must warn you Reader that I did not see<\/i> this but read of it in the newspapers\u2014that as Miss Borden descended the steps and prepared to enter the carriage that would whisk her away, her attention was caught by a small child. The child, according to reports a small blonde-haired girl of perhaps eight years in age clad in a sky-blue dress and straw bonnet adorned with matching ribbon, had stood for several moments outside and passed the time licking a large lollipop. She called out \u201cOh, Miss Borden!\u201d Miss Lizzie turned to look in that direction and was greeted by the sight of this little girl with her tongue stuck fully out\u2014pink and red and glistening in the sunlight, yet stained with the varicolors of the confection. The child then raised what was according to reports a pert and pretty little nose to the heavens, turned about and walked away, contentedly licking at the candy she carried.<\/span><\/p>\n

That brief moment was the talk<\/i> for several days and even weeks afterward\u2014at least in certain circles. Of course there\u2019s still talk<\/i>, Reader. The only real difference \u2018twixt this year and last year is that last year the talk<\/i> was trumpeted almost daily on the front pages of near every newspaper from here to Timbuktu and places beyond.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Nowadays the talk<\/i> is more restrained it seems\u2014better modulated, as it were. The tongues still wag to be sure, but they do so \u2013 at least as it seems to ye humble Compositor\u2014in far less public<\/i> venues and are tinged with far less vitriol.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The most recent report of any real substance was that which told that the sisters Borden have recently acquired a rather lavish piece of property located at Number 7 French Street\u2014complete with nearly every convenience their former domicile lacked, or so says the most reliable of filthy rumor at any rate.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Ed Porter mentioned it to me in passing not long ago over a game of penny whist.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFancy frills and flushing fixtures are fine and dandy things, Porter my good feller,\u201d I said. \u201cBut for my own part I must tell you that since the hurly-burly at New Bedford is now concluded I couldn\u2019t be less<\/i> interested in the doings of Miss Lizzie Borden or her sister.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s \u2018Lisbeth\u2019 she goes by now, didn\u2019t you hear?\u201d His voice was a contemptuous hiss as he spoke, his eyes aglitter like those of a bedraggled and half-starved field weasel on scent of its prey.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh now you\u2019re just talking hogwash, Porter! Have you no shame? Who\u2019s your source on the name change anyway, Joe Howard? What would he know about such things, prancing about in a jack-dandy suit, muttering about flower-strewn fields, heifers in distress and the Father only knows what else, all while a woman sat on trial for her very life? You\u2019ll have to do much better than that, feller! Or did you get that little tidbit perhaps from Nellie (\u2018Mother Superior\u2019) McHenry\u2014\u2018Bless me, Father for I have sinned: impersonated a nun just so to induce a frightened Irish maidservant to spill her guts so I could take it all down and use it for whatever purpose later suited me best\u2019? Is that your source Porter? The name thing is nothing more than rumor, feller\u2014and you know that! The sad part is, I wouldn\u2019t be surprised if every dollar-a-week washerwoman in the whole of the city hasn\u2019t heard that by now and taken it as fact! It\u2019s disgraceful, Porter\u2014nearly as horrible as your cardplay!\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPorter, you don\u2019t<\/i> want to throw that card, feller; do so and I\u2019ll take every penny in your pocket. It\u2019s no wonder Seamus Feeney won\u2019t play cards with you!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Porter scowled at me, muttered some unkind remark about Seamus being a shady back-alley Irishman.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPorter, you and I both<\/i> know that the only person either<\/i> of us knows who gets some thrill from shady back-alley dealings is the feller sitting across the table from me!\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I laid my cards in the center of the table and grinned like the Cheshire cat. Porter stared at them, dumbfounded and spluttering. \u201cBut\u2026how did you\u2026?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cElementary, my good feller: you may be one of the finest scribblers Buffinton has in his shop over there\u2014but you are by far<\/i> one of the worst<\/i> card players I\u2019ve ever seen. It\u2019s no wonder Seamus Feeney won\u2019t play with you\u2014I\u2019m<\/i> embarrassed myself!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

As I scraped up the pocket-change, Porter said something about car fare to get himself home\u2014he did not live at all far, but for some unknown reason preferred conveyance other than his own feet to travel the relatively short distance.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I slid a pair of five-cent pieces in his direction. \u201cThere you are, Porter. Put those in the back of your shoe. It\u2019ll help to level your walk some on the way home. You\u2019d better get that heel fixed before it ruins your foot.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I did not see nor hear from friend Porter for perhaps ten days thereafter. He never crossed my mind again in fact, until I saw a small notice in the Daily Globe<\/i> which announced the imminent release of The Fall River Tragedy<\/i>, touted as the very first history of the Borden murders.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The notice was rather restrained as publication announcements sometimes go. It read very nearly like an announcement of birth: Mr. George R. H. Buffinton is pleased to announce\u2026<\/i>etc., etc., except that there was little if any mention of the proud parent, Mr. Edwin H. Porter.<\/span><\/p>\n

I telephoned The Daily Globe<\/i>, asked to speak with aforementioned proud parent, only to be told that he was in a meeting with Mr. Buffinton and was likely to be in conference<\/i> for at least the next while.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI see. No, it\u2019s nothing important. I\u2019ll try him a bit later, or at home.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Well, Porter was getting his backside chewed for some reason: In conference with Mr. Buffinton <\/i>seldom if ever meant anything else.<\/span><\/p>\n

I did speak to him later that evening, scheduling a celebratory supper at the Mellen House Restaurant for Tuesday the next. (I forgot to inquire about the infraction that put him in conference<\/i>.)<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>At the quarter past eleven upon that appointed Tuesday, I received a telephone call:<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHello?? Oh, hello Mrs. Churchill, how are you?\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, yes, I could perhaps come by a bit later, but\u2014I see. It\u2019s a very important matter you say? Well, yes, 2:00 this afternoon would work. No, I\u2019m not busy at all at the moment. I just have to go to the post office and pester Seamus Feeney about some matter, then I can\u2014yes, Seamus is a good feller and he does like to\u2026Yes, Mrs. Churchill. I know the sister too. Seamus tried to fix me up with her last year I think it was. But of course I have a fine and lovely girl already so\u2026Oh yes indeed. Alice Feeney is a pretty girl but I\u2014well yes of course not much when she\u2026 No, besottedness is most assuredly not an attractive trait in a woman, of course not, but she tries. She has a fine reputation as a singer, yes. No, I\u2019ve never heard her sing myself, but have heard from other folks that she\u2019s very good. Yes, Seamus does a fine job looking after her. He\u2019s very good about that sort of thing for anybody\u2014exceptionally thoughtful and considerate, yes. Mrs. Churchill? We\u2019ve had a lovely chat here the last few minutes, but if I\u2019m to see you at 2:00 I should really\u2014Oh no, that\u2019s quite alright. Yes, I\u2019ll see you a bit later this afternoon. Goodbye, Mrs. Churchill.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHello \u2013 who\u2019s on the line, please? Oh hello, Miss Fitcher\u2014have you been in a draft? You don\u2019t sound like yourself. Oh I see. Well, I\u2019m sorry to hear that. You\u2019d better see to that before it gets any worse. Could you ring the Daily Globe<\/i> for me please? Yes, thank you. Mr. Buffinton will do fine if he\u2019s not busy. I\u2019m actually trying to reach Ed Porter\u2014yes, the famous author. Could you ring\u2014? Thank you, Miss Fitcher.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHello? Oh, it\u2019s you Miss Fitcher. I thought\u2014Oh, he isn\u2019t there? Well, could you try him at\u2014? Yes, I\u2019ll wait, thank you Miss Fitcher.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPorter! How are you feller? Say, would you mind terribly if we made the supper plans for tomorrow instead of this evening? Something has come up here and \u2014No, feller I\u2019m fine. Thanks for asking though. It\u2019s just that I had an unexpected call awhile ago. I have to take care of something this afternoon and I\u2019m not at all sure yet how long I\u2019ll be. I\u2019m late as it is and I have to get going over to the post office before\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?!! Oh you\u2019re kidding! He did? Why, that\u2019s wonderful! Whitehead sure made a good choice there.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>\u201cOh now Porter\u2014don\u2019t talk that way! You know that young feller would do anything you asked him to without even a thought. Well, I know that\u2014and do you know why Seamus Feeney won\u2019t play cards with you? Because it\u2014Well, yes it\u2019s that partly of course, but every time the three of us have played cards, you\u2019ve lost! It bothers Seamus terribly. Because you can\u2019t play cards worth a half ton of soldier beans, Porter\u2014and that young feller, for some odd reason, knows how to play, and win. It hurts him, knowing that he gains by other folks losses.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I know that Ed, but that\u2019s the way he is. You\u2019re just jealous, and you know it. What\u2019s worse, you know as well as I do that he needs all the money he can get because of Alice\u2019s . . right.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cListen feller, I\u2019ve got to get going here. I\u2019ll see you for\u2014the Mellen House Hotel Restaurant at 5:30, right. I\u2019ll see you then. Goodbye, Ed.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

When I entered the post office downtown, John Whitehead was at the front counter. \u201cWell, hello Whitehead. Doing a bit of work today are we?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, a little more than usual\u2014but not terribly much! The mail\u2019s just come in, if that\u2019s what you\u2019re after. It was late today.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFancy that. I\u2019m late today myself. Thought I might see Seamus in here. I haven\u2019t seen him the last two weeks.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

John Whitehead chuckled. \u201cOh, he\u2019s here alright. In the back, stowing the empty mail sacks at the moment I think. Let me\u2014Seamus! Come out here a minute please. There\u2019s a gentleman wants a word with you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI hear he\u2019s got a promotion.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right. I actually had to do something,\u201d Whitehead replied. Whitehead explained that in the roughly seventeen months now passed since he\u2019d arrived green off the boat from Galway, Seamus Feeney had really grown into the job. \u201cI\u2019ve seen smart folks take to things quick mind you, but this young feller\u2014well, you know what he was like back in August last year.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI remember it well,\u201d I said, chuckling. \u201cI also remember you saying that if he\u2019d stay, you\u2019d gladly keep him another twenty years.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

John Whitehead nodded.<\/span><\/p>\n

At that moment, Seamus Feeney leaned \u2018round the doorway. \u201cSorry, sir; I was checking the scale. It\u2019s calibrated properly.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Seamus, there\u2019s more than John Whitehead here who be glad to know you\u2019ve discovered the secrets of calibration. Step up here feller. I understand congratulations are in order.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Seamus was attired as I\u2019d never seen him before, in dark slacks, blue shirt, and a head cover that resembled a yachtsman\u2019s cap, except that the one Seamus wore was of patent leather.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFeeney, you look awfully good in that outfit, feller.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Seamus beamed with pride, adjusting his posture to stand ramrod straight. I almost expected a salute. Failing that, I reached to shake his hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo how did Alice take the news, Seamus?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

John Whitehead laughed aloud and Seamus snickered. \u201cWe really should have been more careful<\/i>,\u201d Whitehead said. \u201cSeamus wanted to make a surprise of it. So we got hold of Alice, she was at work over on Third Street, and asked if she might come by for a bit\u2014I explained to the woman the reason and asked that she not tell Alice<\/i> the reason, but just send her over.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou finish the story, Seamus. I\u2019ll take care of Mrs. Gormley.\u201d Whitehead nodded to me and stepped a short way down the counter. Mrs. John Gormley apparently had the same notion as I, and had come in after the daily mail.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo what happened feller?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Mr. Whitehead told me before Alice got over here to make myself busy in the back, so she wouldn\u2019t see me when she got in here.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI went to the back then, started arranging the mail sacks, but keeping an ear open. We had agreed that when I heard Mr. Whitehead say \u2018I\u2019m sorry to have to tell you this Alice, but . . . \u2019 I was to count off three, then come out. When I came out, Mr. Whitehead said, \u2018Seamus has been promoted.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I nodded expectantly. \u201cAnd . . . ?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAlice was stunned! She stood for a few seconds, started to cry. That was before she fainted.\u201d Seamus grinned, apparently relishing the recollection.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGood Lord, Seamus! What happened next, feller?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, when she came again to herself Postmaster Whitehead and me got her on her feet again and\u2014you\u2019ve heard that Alice can sing?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes I have Seamus. Every overnight man they have down to the Central Police Station nearly can attest to Alice Feeney\u2019s musical talents,\u201d I said with a wink. \u201cThat sister of yours is a bona-fide<\/i> legend\u2014a regular Jenny Lind of County Galway, that girl.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh everybody knows that sir\u2014more than just the police. But it turns out Alice is a fine singer sober<\/i> as well. Postmaster Whitehead and me got her on her feet, she stood right over there by yon window, threw her head back and started to sing a song \u2013 for<\/i> me<\/i>!\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It went like this:<\/span><\/p>\n

O, Seamus has got a brand new job, harooo, harooo!
\n<\/i>With brand new cap and uniform, harooo, harooo!
\n<\/i>Dressed up for that brand new job,
\n<\/i>He looks better\u2019n \u2018most any a sailorman gob.
\n<\/i>Seamus has a brand new job and Alice so proud of him!\u201d<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

At that moment we were rejoined by Mr. John Whitehead. \u201cMr. Feeney, it\u2019s nearly time for you to get your dinner. You may do that and return here by three-quarters past one if you please.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Mr. Whitehead. By three-quarter past? Let me get my things.\u201d Seamus stepped into the back room.<\/span><\/p>\n

I glanced in Whitehead\u2019s direction. He met my eye, nodded and winked. \u201cSeamus was here this morning before I was. He<\/i> was waiting for me when I<\/i> came at half-past seven!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, like I said Whitehead\u2014I think you made a fine choice there, feller.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe keeps that business up, before too long I\u2019ll be working for him!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Seamus Feeney returned, carrying a light tunic, well-suited to the first breezes of autumn.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWould you like anything while I\u2019m out, Mr. Whitehead?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo thank you, Seamus. Just a nip from Alice\u2019s private stock if you please.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Mr. Whitehead. I\u2019ll pick it up on my way back,\u201d Seamus replied, snickering.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLet me buy you dinner, Seamus,\u201d I said after we left the post office. \u201cI still have a little while yet before an appointment over on Second Street. That will give you the chance to tell me about sister Alice\u2019s \u2018private stock.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Seamus was agreeable to that. \u201cSince your appointment is over on Second, what about going over to Whitehead\u2019s?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSounds good to me, Seamus,\u201d I said as we started off in that direction.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut there\u2019ll be none of this dinner on the cheap <\/i>business. Mr. Whitehead said you\u2019ve been hard at it since early morning. So you will <\/i>eat. Are we clear on that, feller?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re as bad as Alice on some things, you know that?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s like this here Seamus: you know and I know that if Alice knew I took you to dinner and didn\u2019t see you properly fed she\u2019d be over to the office straightaway, chasin\u2019 me \u2018round the desk, yelling and trying to kick me in the shins.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI have rather delicate shin-bones, young feller, and that sister of yours kicks like a blue-nosed mule.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be looking at me with wonder in your eyes, Seamus Feeney \u2013 it was you<\/i> the one told me that!\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I only said it because it\u2019s true, sir.\u201d Seamus snickered.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI suspected as much\u2014and that\u2019s all I care to know about the matter!\u201d I said as we came down and entered Number 32-34 Second Street, the eating establishment of Mr. James M. Whitehead.<\/span><\/p>\n

As things worked out, the delicate shin-bones did not suffer on account of Seamus Feeney that day. We had identical tastes in our dinners: sliced roasted beef, mashed potatoes, kernel corn, and baker\u2019s rolls with butter. Seamus declined anything more. \u201cI have to make that stop for Postmaster Whitehead\u2019s drink on the way back. I\u2019ll get something more then, I think.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAll right young feller. That\u2019ll do. Now speaking of that, what did John Whitehead mean about Alice\u2019s \u2018private stock\u2019 anyway?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Seamus snickered, finishing his forkful of food before answering. \u201cWell, you see sir, it went like this: after I got promoted to the new job, Postmaster Whitehead arranged for me to go for a two week expenses-paid training course up to Boston\u2014that\u2019s why I\u2019ve been a bit scarce until just recent.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI see. I wondered where you\u2019d got to. I asked him about you a time or two while you were gone but he just grinned, saying he\u2019d sent you out into the wide world to see a few things and do a little business.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Seamus nodded. \u201cYes, sir; it was a nice trip actually, although I wore my backside nearly away in that course. The good part I guess is that I know a lot more about the job now than I did when I started. I\u2019ve learned things over the past year of course as best I could, but the training up to Boston I had\u2014now I understand why<\/i> things are done the way they are. I only had just a little idea before\u2014even up to last month.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s wonderful Seamus. But I must tell you this, feller: the way you\u2019ve had with the people<\/i> the last year\u2014even green as you were \u2013 that\u2019s what sometimes makes the difference. You\u2019ve gone out of your way at times\u2014as I\u2019ve seen for myself\u2014to let them know that they matter<\/i>, and that you are interested<\/i> in helping them in any way that you can if it\u2019s possible. That, Seamus my good feller, is a fine trait for a human being\u2014but it\u2019s an essential<\/i> trait at times for a public servant.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what the feller said in the\u2014we had this two-hour lecture one day in postal operatives . . . etiquette<\/i> I think was the word used: \u2018As an employee of the post office, you are under direct supervision of the postmaster in your district. But to be truthful about it you don\u2019t work for him. Your duty is to the people, for they are the reason you are there. Serve them well gentlemen and you will earn your money as the gentleman should!\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI never thought of myself much as a gentleman<\/i> but . . . \u201d Seamus gazed down at his plate. When he looked up I noticed a faint rose hue had come to his cheeks.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, now see here, Seamus Feeney. There\u2019s more to being a \u2018gentleman\u2019 than having a fine house up on the Hill, old money, a flush toilet in your abode\u2014none of that is worth a tenth of an average-sized tinkers damn alongside a feller such as yourself, who though little he may have, he has no fear of work or earning his wages by hard labor and sweat. You my good feller are the finest example of the \u2018workingman\u2019s gentleman\u2019 that I\u2019ve seen in a very long time. Now wipe that blush off your face. You don\u2019t have one thing in the world to be embarrassed about.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSomething happened while you were away though, I thought.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes sir, I was getting to that; it will explain what Postmaster Whitehead was calling Alice\u2019s \u2018private stock.\u2019\u201d Seamus Feeney snickered, taking a bite of his baker\u2019s roll.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I got back from up to Boston, Alice said she had a surprise for me\u2014in honor of the new job, she said.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

She had gone to Mass at a different parish apparently \u2013 the Father there is an old home feller, born not but two towns over from where we lived in Ireland. He and Alice have something in common: they are both speakers of the Irish. Galway is An Ghaeltacht.\u201d<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDo you mean to say that Irish was the language most folks spoke in your portion of Galway, the place where you lived?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right. Now in our<\/i> house we used both Irish and English\u2014we had to just to get by in most things. But our grandmother \u2013 Granny would only speak Irish in her home.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2014her views of English (the language I mean) were nearly as hard set as they were toward English folks.<\/i> She was as I remember an old sweetheart, but did sometimes say some pretty unladylike things. I remember she said one time to me, \u2018Seamus me darlin\u2019 boy, I love ye as I do love life itself. But I am old, and surely not too long for this old world. I hope, me boy, that I may be graced to sit by my Father\u2019s side in Paradise. But if I should be doomed to suffer elsewhere, I can only hope that the road to Hell be bricked, and mortared with the bones of English tyrants.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFe fi fo fum<\/i> in spades, eh feller?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, sir; that\u2019s about the size of it,\u201d Seamus replied, laughing. \u201cAlice used to spend a fair bit of time with Granny, and somewhere along the way picked up a tongue for the Irish. I know it when I hear it, but can only get a few words actually out<\/i>, you understand?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI think I do, Seamus. I\u2019ve heard Irish spoken a time or two myself. It\u2019s not at all an easy thing. My tongue hurts just thinking about it!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut what Alice did while I was up to Boston, she said, was she went to see the Father, and they prayed together in the Irish \u2013 the \u2018Our Father.\u2019 That\u2019s the only bit of Irish I ever really learned<\/i> to say. Have you heard it before?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, now Seamus I\u2019m not sure if I have or not. I know the \u2018Our Father\u2019 as it\u2019s rendered in English, but that\u2019s about it. How does it go?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cEasiest way to do it I think is I\u2019ll say the line in the Irish then tell you what it means.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhenever you\u2019re ready Seamus, go ahead.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt runs like this, sir.\u201d Seamus then closed his eyes and began to recite:<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u00c1r nAthair at\u00e1 ar neamh, go naofar d\u2019ainm<\/i>: Our Father who art in heaven, may your name be hallowed. Go dtaga do r\u00edocht, go nd\u00e9antar do thoil ar an talamh mar a dh\u00e9antar ar neamh<\/i>: May your kingdom come, may your will be done on the earth as it is done in heaven. \u00e1r n-ar\u00e1n laeth\u00fail tabhair d\u00fainn inniu Agus maith d\u00fainn \u00e1r bhfiacha mar a mhaithimidne \u00e1r bhf\u00e9ichi\u00fanaithe f\u00e9in<\/i>: Our daily bread give to us today and forgive us our debts as we forgive our own debtors. Agus n\u00e1 lig sinn i gcath\u00fa ach saor sinn \u00f3 olc<\/i>. Amen: And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Amen.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me, sir.\u201d I nodded, and Seamus Feeney made the sign of the cross. \u201cThat\u2019s it, sir, the only piece of Irish I can really speak.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Seamus you did fine\u2014and I can tell you that it is<\/i> the \u2018Our Father\u2019 I\u2019ve heard before. I cannot speak it, but at least when I hear it again, I\u2019ll know what\u2019s being said. I thank you, feller.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThree times they said the Our Father in the Irish, and after the third,\u00a0Alice said her knees gave way. She started to pitch forward, but the Father held a hand to her shoulder: \u2018Now hush Alice, easy there. You must have no fear. Your place is with God, and you must only look to Him.\u2019 She prayed to the Divine Father for guidance and strength. \u2018I do not ask for nor seek perfection, Father. I ask only that I might find the strength somehow to be better than I am.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe next day, Alice went to see Dr. Handy. She wasn\u2019t sick or anything but just wanted a bit of advice you understand. She said the doctor advised her that it might be best to limit rather than cut out her . . . well, her besottedness; reduce it as much as she could.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c \u2018You may have one <\/i>amount of beverage per day. Try that first,\u2019 was his advice.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSeamus that\u2019s wonderful! How\u2019s she doing with it so far?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh she\u2019s doing really well sir. She can\u2019t do the single<\/i> portion yet, but has only twice that amount, which isn\u2019t that bad. Alice actually never has been a huge one for besotting herself in terms of amounts . . . two pints at the most usually. Her weight works against her on that apparently. The doctor advised her to eat also because . . . well, the food takes up room I guess so there\u2019s not so much for the other.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I nodded agreement. \u201cBut what did John Whitehead mean about Alice\u2019s \u2018private stock?\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, she has a new favorite drink. It\u2019s what she drinks most of the time now: bubbly water with cherry flavoring and a splash of chocolate fountain syrup!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHey now . . . that sounds pretty good.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, she likes it pretty good\u2014and has converted Postmaster Whitehead, to boot!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo she doesn\u2019t make regular visits to the Central Police lockup these days, huh?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, she does, sir; just it\u2019s now for a different reason, and she doesn\u2019t stay overnight. The other day she was telling me though how she was on her way home\u2014was walking along with a big cupful of the new concoction\u2014when she happened to spy Captain Doherty across the way. She said she smoothed herself up as best she could\u2014her dress I mean\u2014whistled out real loud and called out \u2018Harrroooooo, Captain Pat!\u2019<\/i> When he turned about, she smiled real big, hoisted her cup in his direction, winked, and then showed off one of her ankles right there on the street! Alice said the poor feller was so surprised he just stood there with his mouth open.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll make a note to ask him about that when I see him next,\u201d I said. Seamus snickered, agreeing that I should.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, my good feller I see that you\u2019ve cleaned up your plate. So being as my shin-bones are safe from assault, I suppose we\u2019d better get to it. What do you say?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes. I still have to make that stop for Postmaster Whitehead.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Seamus I thank you for your company. I\u2019ve really enjoyed this, and couldn\u2019t be happier for the both of you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI thank you too, sir. I\u2019ll be sure to give Alice your good wishes, too.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBy all means, Seamus, do that. Oh\u2014one last thing: would you consider joining Ed Porter and me for a card game this weekend?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh . . . I might do that,\u201d Seamus replied after a moment\u2019s thought. \u201cI\u2019ve never played cards with a famous author before.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019m hoping myself that you\u2019ll empty his pockets at least this one time, Seamus.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI might do that too,\u201d Seamus Feeney replied, snickering. \u201cI\u2019ve never emptied the pockets of a famous author during a card game yet neither.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThere you go feller\u2014that\u2019s the way to look at it! You might actually teach that feller something about winning<\/i> while you\u2019re at it \u2013 or at least how to lose gracefully.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSee, I don\u2019t mind playing cards with you sir\u2014on account of you win some, I win some, so it comes out near to even.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI know that, Seamus. I\u2019ve tried to explain that to Porter time and again but he\u2019s as stubborn as that blue-nosed mule your sister kicks like. If you\u2019ve no objection, ginger beer will be on hand. We can celebrate your promotion some more.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, if Mr. Porter makes his usual show, we just might need<\/i> that ginger beer!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNow see, Seamus\u2014that\u2019s why I like you: you\u2019re a good feller, and a smart <\/i>feller to boot! Now let\u2019s head off and raid sister Alice Feeney\u2019s \u2018private stock\u2019, shall we?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

With that, we departed the establishment of Mr. James M. Whitehead, restaurateur, and paid a visit to the druggist responsible for Alice Feeney\u2019s \u201cprivate stock.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A few minutes later, cherry-chocolate fizz in hand, I made my way back down Second, arriving at Number 90 with a few moments to spare. The concoction was a bit odd for my taste, which leans more toward Moxie, but I could see where it might grow on a person.<\/span><\/p>\n

I found myself looking in the general direction of the former domicile of Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Jackson Borden. Not much about the place had changed but it struck me there upon that autumn afternoon as looking rather forlorn and almost forgotten. The yard pear tree I noted was full-fruited, and I found myself almost wishing that Mr. John Vinnicum Morse, brother of the late Andrew Borden\u2019s first wife now many years deceased, might stroll by in search of a snack, for it seemed shameful that all the fruit should go to waste.<\/span><\/p>\n

I did not encroach or rob \u2013 indeed haven\u2019t stepped a foot near the place since that seemingly long ago day when I stopped to josh Charlie Sawyer about his taking up sentry duty on the side.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

You may think it odd of me, Reader, but I find it difficult to look upon that humble abode with anything but sadness \u2013 the place wherein, as it was said: \u201cupon the fourth day of August . . . an old man and woman . . . each without a known enemy in the world, in their own home, upon a frequented street in the most populous city in this County, under the light of day and in the midst of its activities, were, first one, then, after an interval of an hour, another, severally killed by unlawful human agency.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

If your old walls could talk, abode,
\n<\/i>Pray tell what might they say?
\n<\/i>Would they speak of days spent in happiness
\n<\/i>Or give some foul secret away?<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

I stepped up with a sigh toward the door of Number 90 Second, as the appointed time was near. As I reached to knock upon the door, it was opened by she whom I\u2019d seen only a short while before in the post office.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, hello, Mrs. Gormley. I didn\u2019t have a chance to speak to you earlier at the post office. How are you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVery well, thank you, sir,\u201d Mrs. Gormley replied, but added that she was a bit tuckered out even on this grand autumn day.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, now Mrs. Gormley, little ones will cause that for sure! Could you say if Mrs. Churchill is at home? I\u2019m to see her just about now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShe is at home, sir. If you\u2019ll wait a moment I\u2019ll see where she is. I\u2019m just on my way out again.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

In a moment, Mrs. Gormley returned. \u201cShe\u2019s inside there sir and is expecting you. Good day.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, Mrs. Gormley. A pleasant day to you,\u201d I said, holding the door open for her.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was but a few minutes later over a cup of tea that Mrs. Adelaide Buffinton Churchill delivered news which I must confess to this day still leaves me with a sense of utter mystification: \u201cI would like your advice on a literary matter.\u201d My heart thrills with a sense of gladness and relief that I was not caught in the act of swallowing tea when she said it, for I surely would either have choked to death or at the very least spit tea across the table and into her lap.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, now I . . . \u201d Words were hard to come by of asudden, much like hard footing might be in a mire of quicksand. I sipped a bit of tea hoping to buy a moment\u2019s consideration and at the same time ensure that my teacup would be as empty as possible should things . . . get out of hand, so to speak.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI appreciate your thinking of me Mrs. Churchill, I really do; but I\u2014why me?\u201d I will confess Reader, that even as I posed the question, I suspected that I did not really wish to know the answer.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, sir, I have heard that you\u2019re a gentleman of excellent repute, eminently qualified and . . . \u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Churchill,\u201d I said, raising my hand. \u201cLet me stop you right there and ask from whom<\/i> did you hear of my \u2018eminent qualifications\u2019?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh the word gets around, sir; that it does indeed.\u201d Mrs. Adelaide Buffinton Churchill giggled<\/i> as she spoke. Descriptive powers elude me here except to say that it was somewhere on the upper end betwixt the high-pitched, screeching giggle of a youngster whose feet are being tickled and that malevolent, ominous cackle reputed to punctuate gatherings of wart-nosed and wilesome witches. I must tell you it made my stomach shudder.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Churchill, I must tell you: if you were a fishmonger employed down by the docks and had that tidbit displayed under a sign bearing the name \u2018Fresh Whitefish\u2019 I might very well take one look at it and run screaming in the other direction.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Mrs. Adelaide Buffinton Churchill gazed at me a moment. It appeared she was trying to think of something.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Churchill,\u201d I said, pausing just long enough to drain the last from the teacup, \u201cfor what reason is it exactly that I\u2019m here today?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I have written a memoir, and I should appreciate your advice about it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Something still wasn\u2019t right. Edward Buffinton\u2019s daughter wrote a memoir, and wished my<\/i> advice? Why with her contacts, I would think she could easily find better advice than mine.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me a moment, sir.\u201d Mrs. Churchill stepped out, and within a moment returned with a fair-sized bundle of papers tied up with twine. These she laid upon the table in front of me.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The mud began to clear, so to speak, when I examined the bundle. The first page bore the somewhat lurid title When Murder Came to Call<\/i>: The Confessions of Adelaide Buffinton Churchill.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Churchill would\u2014\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, do call me \u2018Addie\u2019 sir. If Seabury Bowen can do that, you\u2019re certainly welcome to also.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAddie . . . \u201d Now here I must confess Reader, that use of Mrs. Adelaide Buffinton Churchill\u2019s familiar name did not under the circumstances leave me with a warm and comfortable feeling. \u201cThis memoir, would it have anything at all to do with\u2014the timing of it I mean to say\u2014the forthcoming publication of Mr. Porter\u2019s book?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Addie looked at me with one of those \u2018why, I\u2019m sure I don\u2019t know what on earth you\u2019re talking about, sir<\/i>\u2019 looks.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI read the Daily Globe<\/i> just as you do,\u201d I said. \u201cI saw Buffinton\u2019s write-up about the book, I would suppose the very same as you did.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI did go and see the esteemed publisher about it actually,\u201d she finally admitted. \u201cHe told me in a rather brusque tone that I should sit on my own nest and attend to my own pickles; he has enough<\/i> trouble on his hands with Mr. Porter.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I would agree with that assertion\u2014particularly in light of the injunction and whatnot. Not all of us are made to be Edwin Porters. If we were, Mr. George Buffinton would undoubtedly be enjoying nice, quiet surroundings in the Taunton hospital.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I began to examine the pages laid out in front of me. Her tactic, it appeared, was similar to one often employed by friend Porter, but yet also a statement of the prevailing philosophy in many quarters among talkers of the talk<\/i>: it is no use to keep private information which you can\u2019t show off.<\/i> Thus a noted writer expressed it not too many years ago.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Several moments passed, during which I found myself at turns stunned, perplexed, and horrified.<\/span><\/p>\n

Mrs. Churchill sat, watching intently for any sign.<\/span><\/p>\n

I looked up from the papers. \u201cWell, I don\u2019t quite know how to put this . . . Addie. Let me say though, first of all, that you\u2019ve got a fine beginning here as beginnings go.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Mrs. Adelaide Churchill smiled. I doubt she would have done so had she any idea what the next question put would be: \u201cBut why did you thief it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat makes you think I\u2019ve stolen anything, sir?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMrs\u2026Addie, there are not many folks who\u2019d admit it, but how many people do you suppose have never heard<\/i> of Mr. John Cleland and his infamies?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cInfamies, sir? Whatever do you mean? I\u2019m sure I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh come now, Mrs. Churchill! You know exactly<\/i> what I mean, and the pale hue to your cheeks at the moment tells me that.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She sat there, her face impassive. She\u2019d given herself away and knew it, but refused to acknowledge that fact.<\/span><\/p>\n

I picked up the page containing her prefatory remarks and began to read aloud:<\/span><\/p>\n

Hating, as I mortally do, all long unnecessary preface, I shall give you good quarter in this, and use no farther apology, than to prepare you for seeing the loose part of my life, wrote with the same liberty that I led it.<\/span><\/p>\n

Truth! stark, naked truth, is the word; and I will not so much as take the pains to bestow the strip of a gauze wrapper on it, but paint situations such as they actually rose to me in nature, careless of violating those laws of decency that were never made for such unreserved intimacies as ours; and you have too much sense, too much knowledge of the originals<\/i>, to snuff prudishly and out of character at the pictures<\/i> of them.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Churchill, the \u2018stark, naked truth\u2019 is that the passage you have down there as your own comes from one of the most infamous pieces of intimate <\/i>literature in modern history! Most folks know about it in the United States because the book has been banned<\/i> for more than 70 years. I know of the book by nature of my business, but how did you<\/i> come to know Miss Fanny Hill?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNow don\u2019t look at me with that \u2018whatever do you mean, sir? I\u2019m a proper New England lady\u2019<\/i> look. Mr. John Cleland has obviously knocked upon your parlor door for a chat\u2014however brief<\/i> it might have been. How would it look if some enterprising snark hunter\u2014the likes of that McHenry feller, for instance\u2014got wind of this and opened the Buffinton home and name to shame, revilement and ridicule? Never mind the \u2018turning over in his grave\u2019. If your father knew of this he\u2019d stand up and dance a schottische right out there in the Oak Grove grounds, as fine and pretty as you please!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo you think I ought to start that part again?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, now you may do as you please, to be truthful about it,\u201d I said. \u201cTelling the \u2018stark, naked truth\u2019 is a fine endeavor, commendable in every respect. But starting fresh\u2014well, let me see if I can give you an example:<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Reader,<\/span><\/p>\n

I shall not engage in any extended remarks here but rather drop you fully into my tale as soon and gently as I might. Truth<\/i>, stark and vicious, bloody and raw\u2014that is what I intend to tell.\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou might express yourself for a few more scant paragraphs, but then leave off, diving headlong into that which is your real purpose: the setting down of your thoughts and recollections of events of 4th<\/sup> August 1892.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Mrs. Adelaide Buffinton Churchill\u2019s cheeks forsook the pale dress they\u2019d worn only a moment or two before in favor of their normal hue. She muttered something about how thrilled she was that she had chosen my name at random<\/i> from the city directory.<\/span><\/p>\n

Her narrative ran in a rambling fashion for several pages, unremarkable but for the fact that it had little or nothing at all to do with events which transpired upon the 4th<\/sup> day of August 1892. The most remarkable thing about the manuscript up to that point was the fact that each page bore this sentence: \u201cI always wanted a pony, but Papa was disagreeable.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI . . . umm . . . \u201d I started to ask the meaning of that seemingly errant sentence, but thought better of it. My reward for that faltering start was another cup of tea.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Churchill, there\u2019s no comfortable way to say this. But I must tell you that as things stand presently, I don\u2019t believe I\u2019ll be able to help you much in this matter at this time. You\u2019ve caught me unaware partly, you see. Had I some clue at the start of the nature of our business this afternoon, I might have been better prepared. Among other things, I have over in the shop a full set of shorthand notes I took on the days I attended the trial\u2014two of those being days upon which you testified. Now I realize this may not be vital to the project, but it might well be helpful to both of us to have such information available, you understand.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Mrs. Churchill nodded, agreeable though somewhat deflated. \u201cYou\u2019ve thus far written frankly and without fear,\u201d I said. \u201cNow you must modify<\/i> before you print. Those are not, I must confess, my words, but represent sound advice imparted by one of the greatest writers of our age.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

We parted amiably a few moments later. Mrs. Churchill agreed to work a bit more at tightening and tidying, and I agreed to help her in whatever way I could with it. When next I did<\/i> return to Number 90 Second, I would be armed to the teeth with things to assist in the project\u2014and hopefully shoo away any ponies lurking nearby.<\/span><\/p>\n

We actually ended up having a fine party after all that weekend: \u2018Twas myself, the famed author Mr. Edwin Porter, Seamus Feeney, and Captain Pat Doherty of the police force. \u201cThe Marshal said I looked a bit too pale for his liking, so set me loose a wee earlier than intended. So naturally I had to come for at least a bit.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat crack on the head you took get alright did it?\u201d I inquired.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh it\u2019s fine now. But Mr. John Vinnicum Morse might have another answer for you if you asked him<\/i> that!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The table erupted all around in a flurry of laughter as we recalled the near riot during the policeman\u2019s picnic base ball tournament the past summer. \u201cI\u2019ll never understand that man\u2014how he could think I wouldn\u2019t know<\/i> it was him!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that young feller you work with up to these days, Captain Doherty? I haven\u2019t seen him much. I was going to invite him tonight but . . . \u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, you see it\u2019s like this: Harrington has decided he doesn\u2019t care much for our company; he went out and found himself a lovely girl. They\u2019re planning to marry in just a matter of weeks here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

It was near on to darkness when of a sudden Ed Porter, famous author of The Fall River Tragedy<\/i>, <\/i>let loose a blood-curdling howl: with a wink at myself and Pat Doherty, Seamus Feeney reached toward the center of the table and took the last of Porter\u2019s nickels.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThere, there feller . . . I\u2019ll take you home,\u201d Officer Doherty volunteered. \u201cI\u2019ve never taken a famous author to his home before\u2014much less an empty-pocketed famous author!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGentlemen\u2014a toast,\u201d I proposed, hoisting my bottle of ginger beer: \u201cTo the famous author and the workingman\u2019s gentleman\u2014may ye both live long and prosper!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Doug Walters takes a whimsical look at modern day from the perspective of a Victorian.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":15,"featured_media":5253,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[47],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4174","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-notes-from-the-compositors-bench"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4174","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/15"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4174"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4174\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5524,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4174\/revisions\/5524"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5253"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4174"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4174"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4174"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}