{"id":4496,"date":"2018-07-17T08:42:06","date_gmt":"2018-07-17T12:42:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/HatchetOnline\/?p=4496"},"modified":"2024-08-16T15:14:05","modified_gmt":"2024-08-16T19:14:05","slug":"news-and-views-that-wouldnt-fit-notes-from-the-compositors-bench-spring-2009","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/news-and-views-that-wouldnt-fit-notes-from-the-compositors-bench-spring-2009\/","title":{"rendered":"News and Views that Wouldn’t Fit: Notes from the Compositor’s Bench, Spring, 2009"},"content":{"rendered":"

First published in Spring, 2009, Volume 6, Issue 1, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies<\/em>.<\/span><\/p>\n


\nAn Ancestral Miscreant
\nor
\nNo Mules Left in Ireland<\/i><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Now I have mentioned a time or two, Reader, the beginnings of my acquaintance with young Seamus Feeney, but perhaps I ought say a bit more about it. If I were a literary<\/i> sort I might well say that a fine, soft day in the spring it was when I first encountered young Feeney. To say that is well and good, except that there isn\u2019t much truth in it\u2014not a scrap of truth now that you mention it. \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The plain fact is that the day I first became aware of Seamus Feeney the weather was neither fine nor soft, although it was at least springtime. The city of Fall River was very nearly that (at least the river<\/i> part of the business), owing to several days worth of hard, unremitting rains.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo help me, John, if I find out you\u2019re the dirty dog that\u2019s been praying for rain, I\u2019ll have to whip you right here.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Now I admit as greetings go it wasn\u2019t much, but it was the best I could muster as I hobbled through the doorway of the post office. The last thirty feet of my journey to the Bedford Street establishment was an ordeal reminiscent of Sherman\u2019s march from Savannah to Columbia for all the mud and sluicing puddles.<\/span><\/p>\n

Postmaster Whitehead roared with laughter as he saw me come through the door.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt pleases me no end, John Whitehead, that you find such merriment at the sight of a man near drowned,\u201d I said, feigning a hurt tone.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I might not be so merry if you didn\u2019t look so pitiful, feller,\u201d Whitehead said, chuckling. \u201cYou might have telephoned at least, rather than\u201d\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I thought of that feller, I did. Actually, had I known the streets were so bad as they are up this way I might have stayed at home.\u00a0 <\/span>If nothing else, the swim upstream did me good.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIs that a dead possum curled on your head there feller, or have you taken up Samaritan acts of animal rescue with the rains?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat, my good postmaster, is my hat<\/i>, a family heirloom<\/i> now passed from father to son over several generations, thank you very much.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow many generations ago was it the poor beast gave himself up?\u201d Whitehead inquired. \u201cFrom the looks of things, I should judge his a fresh end, as though struggling against the torrents he managed to claw his way up your back to the top of your head, taking a last labored breath as he collapsed into a soggy, bedraggled heap.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead punctuated his conclusion with an exaggerated, gasping cough, which dissolved into an even more pronounced slurring lisp as his body convulsed in a feigned tremor.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh that\u2019s good, John,\u201d I said, looking down my nose at him with a snort. \u201cDid you come up with that on your own or steal<\/i> it from that actor feller, Mr.\u00a0 <\/span>E. A. Sothern?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead winked at me and took a small bow, seeming rather pleased with himself.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTell me, my Lord Dundreary,\u201d I said, \u201cwould you by chance have any coffee<\/i> about this place of business? I could use some, if you please.\u201d As if on cue, the ancient heirloom began to slide from its perch, helped along by the weight of accumulated water. I reached up just in time to stop its forward progress.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead laughed at me, but nodded. \u201cI\u2019ve got a pair of scones wrapped up too if you\u2019d care for one,\u201d he said, adding that they might just still be warm.<\/span><\/p>\n

I nodded my thanks and after a minute or two, we were both enjoying scones and hot coffee.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDo you always drink coffee with a corpse<\/i> draped over your head?\u201d Whitehead inquired before taking a bite of his scone.<\/span><\/p>\n

I shook my head and removed the humble hat.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThis, my dear Whitehead, is an antique,\u201d I said. \u201cYou might not believe it, but it survives today as evidence of a young man\u2019s epiphany. Are you at all familiar with the Chiswick Charm School, Whitehead?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The postmaster shook his head after a moment. \u201cI know what\u2014Chiswick<\/i> is an ancient Saxon word. What the devil would a cheese farm<\/i> have to do with a charm school<\/i>?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe Chiswick Charm School<\/i>, my dear Whitehead, is a bygone relic once located up to Grafton County in New Hampshire, in the general area of Littleton. My father\u2019s ancestors have lived up to Grafton County since before New Hampshire was New Hampshire if I remember my timeline correctly. \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNow to answer your question, feller\u2014the Chiswick Charm School <\/i>existed for about 15 years. The charm school<\/i> was actually a reformatory of sorts, and as such was not especially charming,<\/i> nor really much of a school<\/i>, to be truthful about the matter.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2019Long about 1742, in February, as I recall, a small band of enterprising juvenile delinquents took into their fool heads one night a fine and dandy notion: Let\u2019s sneak out and see how many privies we can upend<\/i>. Their leader was a redheaded little squirt, name of Ebenezer Dickensen. Young Eb Dickensen, so the story goes was\u2014well, he was a fine-hearted lad, but cursed with a streak of rotten in him, you might say, not terribly different from any other boy of 12, then or now, I suppose. His cohorts were a pair of Wentworth boys, twins, aged 11.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe boys had a fine old time for awhile, but the third privy turned out to be their undoing. As luck would have it\u2014\u2018and poor<\/i> luck at that\u2019, young Dickensen recalled many years later\u2014the third privy was occupied by none other than the wife of the local sheriff, who started to howl and caterwaul the minute the privy started off-kilter. Over she went, in an instant. The Wentworth boys scattered one way, Ebenezer Dickensen the other way. The sheriff\u2019s wife, who was shaken up but unhurt, peeped her head up just in time to see all three boys by the light of the moon.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNow as you might suppose, more <\/i>than light came with the morn. By 9 a.m., all three boys were rounded up and hauled before the judge, before whom they were formally charged with assault and peace breaking.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018How do you plead to these charges?\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Guilty, sir,\u2019 the trio replied in unison.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Have you anything to say?\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThis time the three were silent.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe judge looked long and hard at each of them. \u2018Before I pronounce sentence, I have something to say. I want you boys to hear and hear me well: Sometimes in life, we must do things we do not especially care to. That is where I sit today. I myself was once your age and no more immune to the temptation of mischief than you are.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018But life is filled with lessons that must be learned, and your learning experiences begin today.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Having considered the evidence and taken your pleas into account, it is therefore the judgment of the court that you, Ebenezer Dickensen, shall be confined not less than 10, nor more than 30, days in the Chiswick School For Wayward Youths.\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe judge turned to the Wentworth twins, fixing them with a hard gaze. \u2018Young gentlemen, having considered the evidence and taken your pleas into account, it is therefore the judgment of the court that you shall serve not less than 8, nor more than 28, days in the Chiswick School For Wayward Youths.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018I want you two to know that the only<\/i> reason for the slight difference in your punishments is the slight difference in your ages. All things being equal, however, I do not doubt on the evidence that each of you bears an equal weight where guilt is concerned.\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>\u201cThe matter being concluded, Eb Dickensen and the Wentworth twins were thence escorted to Chiswick. Nothing but a few stones at the entry gate now survive, but it\u2019s fair to say, based on surviving accounts, that accommodations there were. . . somewhat less than ideal, so to speak.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFor the next month, the boys were \u2018schooled\u2019 at primarily two things: the hardness of life and the wages of even the most benign sin. Seventeen hours of daily work was their lot at Chiswick, tapping maple trees for sap, tending the buckets, the fires in the sugarhouse, that sort of thing.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat book learning they got came from the Bible for the most part, although they were also permitted to read passages from Poor Richard\u2019s Almanack<\/i>. The Wentworth boys, for the most part, read these things because they had<\/i> to. Ebenezer, however, was rather impressed with old Saunders\u2019 observations, finding true solace, guidance and amusement in Dr. Franklin\u2019s annual.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I picked up the hat which Whitehead had derided as a beastly corpse. \u201cThis here hat, my good feller, was made by Ebenezer Dickensen himself to mark his graduation<\/i> from the Chiswick Charm School in April, 1742. If you\u2019ve ever seen that illustration of Benjamin Franklin garbed in \u2018Western\u2019 attire, this hat was inspired by the very one he wore. Dickensen\u00a0 <\/span>himself wore it every winter for thirty-odd years, and gave it over to his son upon the first day of May, 1775. Within 24 hours, Eb Dickensen surrendered this life for the next, owing to a gunshot wound received some two weeks earlier courtesy a British Regular\u2019s musket ball.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019m glad to know that story, feller,\u201d Whitehead said. \u201cI think I can top it though. According to the family lore, one of my own ancestors was there the day old Wedderburn chewed on Dr. Franklin\u2019s backside before the Privy Council in January, 1774. He, too, was a student of old Saunders\u2019 scribblings, and apparently wrote that events in the cockpit would be eternally remembered as an instance \u2018when force shat mercilessly on the backs of reasonable men.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSay. . . speaking of your relations feller, I thought it was all set for one of them to fill that vacant clerk\u2019s position?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, as it happens, he came home from the examination at Boston terribly proud of himself. As I understood it, his scores were the second-lowest ever<\/i>, since they started giving the examinations.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, now that won\u2019t do at all,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIndeed not!\u201d Whitehead laughed. \u201cI\u2019ve got another young feller to come in though, tomorrow morning I believe it is. He\u2019s not long off the boat, mind you, but made a near-perfect rating at his examination. So, I\u2019ll give him a try. The gent I spoke to up to Boston about him was impressed, thought I would be, too.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead then proceeded to give me a rundown on this new feller: 23 years old, fresh off the boat from Galway, Ireland. Unmarried, but not averse, although an elder sister might hamper things a bit in that area. \u201cShe\u2019s already on a first name basis with certain members of the Boston Police Force, who, in all fairness, describe her as a lovely girl, but possessed of a slight tongue for whiskey, as they say.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTo answer the question in your eyes feller, it would appear not. What I hear is that they only see him<\/i> in connection with the sister, when he comes to collect her.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat, I think, will do for now,\u201d Whitehead said, looking somewhat sternly at me.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI\u2019m not sure if it\u2019s the rain lately or what, feller, but you\u2019re getting to be as much for this back fence nosey-body business as is Mr. Porter, and I must say, it looks better on him than on yourself.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIf you can hold onto your bloomers just awhile longer, you\u2019ll see with your own eyes all about young Mr. Feeney\u2014Seamus Feeney.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhitehead, forgive me, please. I lost my head for a moment.\u201d I knew all-too-well Mr. Edwin H. Porter\u2019s penchant for nosing about in other folks\u2019 affairs. He flapped his yap endlessly about one thing or another (which as often as not had little or nothing to do with himself) during our weekly card games.\u00a0 <\/span>Mr. George Buffinton set the trait down to Porter\u2019s fine reportorial skills. Those of us who suffered knew it for what it was: one large pain in the backside.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, John, I think it\u2019s time I got along home,\u201d I said. \u201cIt looks as though the tide has reversed itself, so the trip downstream will be a bit kinder at least.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThanks so much for the coffee and the scone\u2014and if the opportunity presents itself, tell the young feller I wish him the best of luck.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIf all goes well, you\u2019ll be able to tell him yourself in a few days,\u201d Whitehead said, chuckling.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMind you, keep that possum dry!\u201d he called after me as I stepped out the door to begin the homeward slog. The city clock struck 3 as I turned toward my Eight Rod Way domicile. It was the tenth day of May, 1892.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhitehead! Blast your hide, open the door please, feller. I got your message. Burn the evidence, wipe up the blood, do whatever you must, but open the blasted door!\u201d\u00a0 <\/span>It was 9:05 p.m. when I arrived at the Bedford Street post office. The door opened within a few seconds and there was John Whitehead looking none the worse for any wear.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019m glad to see you finally\u201d \u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJust a minute please, John, I said, raising my hand to stay him. \u201cI need a word with you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead nodded, stopped speaking and stood.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFirst off, John, you should be ashamed. Miss Fitcher got hold of me just a few minutes ago in the shop. Whatever you said upset her terribly\u2014something about whipping Seamus Feeney . . . \u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead nodded, started to speak, but I held him off.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJust a minute, please, John. I had a Western Union telegram from up north late last night. The short of it is I\u2019m leaving Fall River for good, going home to New Hampshire to take over the family businesses.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead looked at me, mouth agape.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s why I was at Fairhaven, Whitehead; I\u2019m selling the whole lot to Mr. Moses Delano. I\u2019ve got three weeks or so to wrap things up here. Bless his heart, he told me not to hurry on his account, but I don\u2019t want to impose on his kindnesses.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead asked if I meant the family situated in Grafton County.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, yes, John, but\u00a0 <\/span>. . . \u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCome in here with me, then. If I can talk some sense into his head, I\u2019ll introduce you to the feller who just might be the newest postmaster in Grafton County, New Hampshire.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cBless your soul, Feeney. You\u2019ve proven yourself to be a fine and good man in the years I\u2019ve known you,\u201d Whitehead remarked as we joined Seamus Feeney. \u201cAll I\u2019m asking you to do is be sensible<\/i>, Seamus, that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me a moment, but what\u2019s all this about?\u201d I inquired.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019ve decided to retire,\u201d John Whitehead said. \u201cMore than 20 years with the postal service is, it seems to me, time enough.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI agree completely, Whitehead, although I am sorry to see you go, feller.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead threw back his head and laughed heartily. \u201cWell, since you bring it up, that\u2019s part of the reason you\u2019re here. Young Seamus and I have been discussing a thing or three and it appears we\u2019re not in agreement.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSeamus, is this true?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Seamus Feeney nodded.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d I said, \u201clet\u2019s have the whole story, please. Whitehead, you have the floor.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, now you know as well as I do the way things go around here sometimes,\u201d Whitehead said. \u201cAs I said, I\u2019ll be retiring fairly soon here. It has almost always been my hope and intent that young Seamus here might succeed me as postmaster of Fall River. I conveyed that desire to the \u2018powers that be\u2019 who said \u2018Thanks ever so much, John, we\u2019ll surely take that into account.\u2019\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMeaning, I suppose that someone else was already being considered,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIndeed so. But that\u2019s not the worst of it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is<\/i> the worst of it, Whitehead?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re passing over Seamus in favor of Mr. Sullivan\u2014and I don\u2019t mean the mail carrier, but the other<\/i> one.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI see.\u201d There were two<\/i> Sullivan\u2019s then in the employ of the Fall River post office under the supervision of Postmaster John Whitehead. The other<\/i> (to whom Whitehead referred as the presumed heir apparent to the Postmaster\u2019s position) was primarily an assistant clerk, because as Whitehead expressed it, that was the one job that would put him under near-constant supervision during working hours.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat feller, I will surely tell you,\u201d Whitehead said with a sigh, \u201cis one of the relatively few things that I will not miss about this job\u2014not one bit.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut Mr. Whitehead . . .\u201d Seamus Feeney started to say, before Whitehead stopped him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018But Mr. Whitehead\u2019<\/i> nothing, Seamus; I like you and have since the day you walked in here in the springtime of 1892. But that\u2019s not the only reason. You\u2019ve earned<\/i> the high regard, every blessed bit of it. The fact is, Mr. Feeney, I wouldn\u2019t give a second thought to trusting you with anything at all, up to and including my life, I think. That clerk feller Sullivan, on the other hand\u2014well, the fact is that if he weren\u2019t so well-connected I\u2019d have put my boot in his backside and sent him out the door long<\/i> ago. You know as well as I do the reason why, Seamus.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI wouldn\u2019t trust Mr. Sullivan most days to carry the milk<\/i>, much less the mail,\u201d he said with a snort. \u201cYou deserve far better than you\u2019d ever get from Sullivan, and that\u2019s the truth.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Not to tell tales out of school, Reader, but a rumor had existed for quite some time regarding the clerk Sullivan\u2019s connections<\/i>. Although its circulation was generally confined to backroom tongue-waggers who sprouted up and began their whispered caterwaulings shortly following Miss Lizzie Borden\u2019s acquittal on three indictments of murder at New Bedford in June of 1893, the rumor was that the clerk Sullivan let it be known in higher circles that he had information which, if it were released, would virtually guarantee a retrial and conviction of Miss Borden for her part in the infamies of the 4th<\/sup> August 1892. Sullivan claimed to know enough not only to ensure a hanging, but also insinuated that certain ones in<\/i> these higher circles did not<\/i> wish the matter dredged up again at all.\u00a0 <\/span>My<\/i> informant was Porter, so I naturally considered the source in the fairest light possible, pocketed my winnings of 72 cents, and told him he was crazy as a loon.<\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead, however, paid no mind at all to that. His concerns centered on the fact\u2014and it was a fact<\/i>, supported by the police blotter\u2014that Sullivan was a notorious drunkard, and was absent from work at least once a week on that account.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead turned to me, handed over a few papers. \u201cThis is what nearly got Seamus whipped\u2014and may get him whipped yet.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I took the document from John Whitehead and looked it over. \u201cMother of God\u2014Seamus, do you know what this<\/i> is, what it means<\/i>?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The documents in question were nothing short of astounding, at least to me. The first was a letter to John Whitehead signed by Governor Charles Busiel of New Hampshire. The Governor thanked Whitehead in part \u201cfor supplying documentary information of Mr. Feeney\u2019s records with the postal authorities in Massachusetts and of your own personal experiences as his employer.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The second document was, in effect, a statement of terms and conditions applicable to the position of postmaster in a newly-created postal district situated in Grafton County, New Hampshire.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSeamus . . . let me ask you this, feller: Did Mr. Whitehead threaten to whip you over this here letter?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI did! He won\u2019t even read<\/i> it!\u201d Whitehead exclaimed.<\/span><\/p>\n

Seamus nodded.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBless your soul, Seamus,\u201d I said. \u201cUnder the circumstances, I\u2019d have to whip you, too.\u201d I couldn\u2019t help but laugh myself at that moment.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow would you like to be able to retire in about 17 years? This paper says you could if you wanted to.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I could do the same here I think, couldn\u2019t I?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I suppose you could at that, Seamus,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead grimaced loudly, remarked as how he had no idea where the snakes went when Saint Patrick drove them out of Ireland, but that he certainly knew where a certain mule<\/i> had gone to.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSeamus, think of it this way. This letter and certificate\u2014there\u2019s enough behind the both of them, you could have almost anything in the world you wanted\u2014for yourself or for Alice.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

At that, Seamus brightened. \u201cAlice would like that.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAlice would also like nothing better than to see you find yourself a nice marriageable girl, feller,\u201d I said. \u201cYou<\/i> could make colcannon for her. <\/i>Or Alice could show the girl how to make it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Seamus grinned, clearly relishing the thought.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, by the way, Seamus,\u201d I said. \u201cI spent a good part of the day over to Fairhaven. I\u2019m selling out, leaving Fall River for good. I\u2019m going up home to take over the family businesses.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Seamus looked at me as if torn. I could see that he wanted to express condolences on the one hand, but had other things on his mind as well.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBless your heart, Seamus, I appreciate it\u2014I knew exactly what was on your mind.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut . . . where is home<\/i>, sir? How will Alice and me know to find you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSeamus feller, if you take this postmaster\u2019s job, you\u2019ll find me easily enough, I guarantee that.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019s that, sir?\u201d Seamus looked genuinely perplexed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, primarily for two reasons if I remember correctly, feller: that new postal district\u2014home<\/i> for me is Grafton County, New Hampshire.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Seamus grinned at me.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen there\u2019s that other thing,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that, sir?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, if my memory is correct and things haven\u2019t changed too awful much, your new office is either next door to or two doors over from the newspaper and general store. You\u2019re looking at the new owner.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Whitehead? Would you mind calling Alice for me, please?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll call her if you take the job, Seamus,\u201d Whitehead replied.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell I need to break the news to her first, sir\u2014don\u2019t I?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a good thought,\u201d I said, laughing.<\/span><\/p>\n

Whitehead agreed, and in a moment was on the line with Miss Fitcher. \u201cGracious no, he\u2019s right here Emmaline\u2014they both are, as a matter of fact. Could you ring over on Third Street, please? Yes, that\u2019s it. If she\u2019s available, tell them to send Alice Feeney to the post office right away, please. Now don\u2019t you give it away . . . yes, I\u2019m hoping she won\u2019t faint this time either.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As I locked up for the last time at the doorway of my Eight Rod Way abode, I thought of the note written and mailed a few hours earlier:<\/span><\/p>\n

Dear Madame,<\/span><\/p>\n

My apologies for not being able to reach you; I sincerely regret that events have not permitted it. I\u2019m reminded as I write of an observation by the old Roman poet Seneca, who said that every new beginning comes from some other beginning\u2019s end. Having begun life anew at Fall River now many a year ago, I find that circumstances (as well as the heart\u2019s longing to a small degree) impel me to return not to the old life I left, but to one that is, I hope, as fresh and new as the morrow\u2019s sunrise over the White Mountains of my homeland.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

This place and these people are such that I shall always carry and remember them fondly \u2013 but particularly your own kindnesses and understanding through the years.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Mr. Moses H. Delano will take possession of the property in his own good time, I expect. If you wish to reach me in the interim you may contact him, although when I am more settled, I hope to contact you myself with news of such occurrences as might interest you.<\/span><\/p>\n

I must catch an afternoon train up to Boston and thence to Grafton County for a meeting tomorrow afternoon. With all good wishes to you dear Madame, I am<\/span><\/p>\n

Silas Oleander Dickensen<\/span><\/p>\n

(Your Humble Compositor)<\/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-4496","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\/4496","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=4496"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4496\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5254,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4496\/revisions\/5254"}],"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=4496"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4496"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4496"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}