I believe that if our forefathers had suspected that their
great-grandchildren would make such an infernal racket on the Fourth of
July they would have waited for a snow storm on the 16th of January
before signing their John Hancocks, because then it would be too cold
to explode firecrackers under your neighbor's eyebrows when he least
expects it.

We had a nice quiet time at home on the Fourth, John, with the
exception that little Oscar Maddy, who lives next door, presented me
with a Roman candle which joined me between the third button on my
waistcoat and the solar plexus.

I acknowledged the receipt by falling off the front step and barking my
shoulder.

You should always remember, John, that the Fourth is the day when your
patriotic voice should climb out of your thorax and make the welkin
ring, but it isn't really necessary to get up a row between a stick of
dynamite and a keg of giant powder to prove that you love the cause of
liberty.

You will find that some of our best citizens--men who love liberty with
an everlasting love--are hiding in the cellar with both hands over
their ears from July 3d to July 5th.

We had a nice quiet time at home on the Fourth, John, with the
exception that your second cousin, Randolph, tried to explode a toy
cannon and removed the apex of his thumb and about half of the
dining-room window.

It may be necessary to celebrate the birth of freedom by bursting forth
into noise, but my idea, John, is that Old Glory would like it much
better if we were more subdued and kept our children on the earth
instead of letting them go up in the air in small fragments.

We had a very quiet time at home, John, on the Fourth with the
exception of your distant relative, Uncle Joseph Carberry. Uncle Joe
annexed about six mint juleps and then went to sleep on the front porch
with five packs of firecrackers in his coat pocket.

Full of the spirt [Transcriber's note: spirit?] of liberty, your
interesting cousin, Randolph, set fire to your Uncle's pocket, and when
last seen your Uncle Joe was rushing over hill and dale in the general
direction of Hartford, Connecticut, with the firecrackers cheering him
on.

[Illustration: With the firecrackers cheering him on.]

Liberty, John, is the only real thing in this world for a nation, but
just why the glorious cause of freedom should be slapped in the face
with an imitation of the bombardment of Port Arthur is something which
I must have misconstrue