I
remimber Andhrew Jackson as th' man that licked th' British at Noo
Orleans be throwin' cotton bales at thim, but Hogan remimbers him as a
man that cudden't spell an' had a wife who smoked a corncob pipe. I
remimber Abraham Lincoln f'r freein' th' slaves, but Hogan remimbers how
he used to cut loose yarns that made th' bartinder shake th' stove
harder thin it needed. I remimber Grant f'r what he done ar-round Shiloh
whin he was young, but Hogan remimbers him f'r what he done arr-ound New
York whin he was old.
"An' so it goes. Whin a lad with nawthin' else to do starts out to write
a bi-ography about a gr-reat man, he don't go to th' war departmint or
th' public library. No, sir, he begins to search th' bureau dhrawers,
old pigeon-holes, th' records iv th' polis coort, an' th' recollections
iv th' hired girl. He likes letters betther thin annything else. He
don't care much f'r th' kind beginning: 'Dear wife, I'm settin' in
front iv th' camp fire wearin' th' flannel chest protector ye made me,
an' dhreamin' iv ye,' but if he can find wan beginnin': 'Little Bright
Eyes: Th' old woman has gone to th' counthry,' he's th' happiest
bi-ographer ye cud see in a month's thravel.
"Hogan had wan iv thim books in here th' other day.
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