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 givings as to its acceptance. I read it over several times and with each succeeding perusal it seemed to lose some of its biting sarcasm....

Early on Monday morning, after writing my communication, I went down to the residence of Mr. Cowles and deposited it in the receiving box, while nobody was looking, and hied myself away. The ensuing week was a very trying one for me. I was in constant torture lest my letter should not be printed, and at the same time suffering distressing pangs lest it should.

... on Saturday ... I took my place in the outer circle of the crowd, and when Mr. Cowles took up the package containing the Times I leaned against a window-sill and prepared myself for the worst—still undecided whether I wished the letter printed or not. ... a man standing near me ... placed the paper in my hands and I at once hurried out of the house.

Having escaped, I did not know which way to go... .Finally, I went behind the schoolhouse and with trembling hands opened the paper—and there was my letter, graphically portending the fall of the Democratic party!

I didn't stop to read it. My first consideration was to get away....

So I hurried up the hill toward home, but after I had reached a place of probable safety I could no longer repress my longing to see how my production looked and to know what it sounded like. I therefore seated myself in a corner of old man Martin's fence and read the letter through. This relieved me somewhat, and I proceeded on my way until I fell the victim of an overweening desire to read it again, when I sat on a rock by Sam Colwell's fence and gave it a second perusal! This satisfied me until I reached home, when I handed the paper over to my father. He at once saw the communication from the Cove, read it, pronounced it a good thing, and wondered "who in Sam Patch wrote it." He had me read it aloud, asking my opinion as to who its author could be. We suggested several wellknown men as the guilty parties, but finally gave it up as a riddle too difficult for us to solve.

This, my first effort in the field of newspaper writing, which accupied the leading place on the editorial page of the Blue Mountain Times, issued May 2, 1869, was a full column and was signed "RAM PANT," printed in capital letters....

Having broken the ice successfully, I continued to send letters to the Times for several months without being suspected of their authorship, which, by the way, occasioned much speculation even among the Republicans. . . . Having gained the necessary confidence to push forward, I soared into the realms of poetry, made incursions into the Bible, quoted from Shakespeare and did all sorts of foolish things, enjoying the experience immensely.... In some way it was discov-