5 minits than they had seen in a political
rally in 5 years and he reeched for his boots and mother said what will
they think of you after you have sent word that you are too sick to
make a speach, to see you come rushing into the hall and go punching the
policemen and father had got on 1 boot and when she said that he began
to look kinder sick and said, thunder that is so. and then his headake
got wirse and he gave me a twenty five cent scrip and Keene and Cele and
Georgie ten cents each and he went to bed and so did we.

i wonder if his head aked really so he coodent make a speach or if he
was scart. i bet he was scart.

school commences monday. father hasent asked once about my diry, so i
aint going to wright enny more.

THIRTY YEARS (OR MORE) AFTER

On looking back over the pages of the "Diary" it appears to me that some
sort of an amende honorable is due to those citizens now living, and the
relatives and friends of those now dead, whose names have appeared in
the "Diary" and who have, so to speak, been handled without gloves. That
I have been neither mobbed, nor horsewhipped, nor sued, nor prosecuted,
but that I have enjoyed many a good laugh with--and have received many
pleasant words from--the victims, and their friends, is good evidence
that they, and their more fortunate brothers who have not been therein
mentioned, have taken the "Diary" in the very spirit in which it was
published, that of affectionate and amusing retrospect. And it is indeed
with affection that I recall those men, at that time in their prime.
That I could not then understand the reason why they did not fully enter
into and appreciate the spirit that prompted me and my boon companions
to transgress so many rules, laws, and statutes is not surprising. Boys
seldom can understand it. But, although I now fully appreciate it, I
often wonder at the spirit that prompted so many of those men in after
years to show me so many kindnesses, so much encouragement, and such
great forbearance.

So many inquiries have been made of me about that cornet, the
soul-filling ambition of my early years, that I feel that the
uncertainty in regard to that delightful instrument ought to be cleared
up. I never did save up enough money to buy a cornet. I haven't to this
day. But many years afterwards, when my ambition had been turned into
other and equally profitless channels, upon the death of a dear friend
his beautiful cornet was sent me. I have it now, a