Life — September 15, 1898 — page 7: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

OTHING ts so grievous to the man of generous nature and patriotic instincts as the tmputation of low and mercenary motives in the discharge of disinterested motive. No man ts more mallgned and misunderstood than the Pension Agent; for the high and holy Motives that actuate him are not folly appreciated, as may be seen by him who reads my simple biography. Born with weak lungs and a chest sensitive to drafts and emotions, my health extled me in Canada from 1861 to 1805. My heart and soul were with my country tn those days, and despite the mental anguish I xuffered, the doc- tors sternly refused to let me pass the frontier. When {n the summer of 1865 my health was miraculously restored, Twent to Washington, and vowed to devote my time and talents to the men who had suffered for, and had been neglected by, an ungrateful republic. Through all these long years I have been the soblier's friend, the watchful guardian of the widow. 7 28 HE. clamor of men who forget the herole sacrifices of the days when 1 was abroad, who ceaselessly shout against the payment of pensions earned in those dark years, bas pained me and made me blush for my conntry- men; yet, {n spite of such anpatriotic conduct, I have marched unfiinchingly down the road to duty and dollars, Abused and misrepresented, stigma- tized as a mercenary raider on the pub- llc treasury, I never flinched; the gratt- tude of rugged, healthy veterans, the Joy of young and blushing widows, have been my reward. Thave kept the other wolves from the Patriot's door; I have saved his tender relict from untovely, unpatriotic toll; and Tcan say proudly, with my eye on the starry banner of my native land, all 1 got out of tt was my postage and stationery. oe . J HAVE never dabbied in pensions awarded for lost legs, arms, and accidents of that sort. I hate violence. My sympathies have gone out to the men who suffer the agonles of heart disease, the horrors of melancholia and malarta, the terrors of the tired fecting induced by military marches, and the maddening despair of garrison duty tn Northern forts. . My heart beats awifuy for those martyrs cursed with the ap- pearance of rugged health, whom doc- tors sneer at, and who go on suf. fering the anguish of broken lives, too proud to work, too honest to sandbag the insolent rich, waiting pathetically for pension day to come round. ‘The man torn and maimed tn battle 1 know not. 1 am against jingolsm, Such as he were tenderly cared for in army wagons, nursed back to health, thoughtfully donated a cork leg, a modest pension and a discharge; but who cared for the bashful hero who trod the Canadian. frontier, keep- ing ceaseless vigil on relentless foreign foes? Who wept for his wet feet? Who remembered him sleeping in tents on rheumatic grass, deny- ing himself batter and chops for days at a time, deprived of pajamas and the ordinary com- forts of a club? He and his sacrifices are forgotten by all but me. Thank heaven, {t has been my privilege to add 41,216 of him to the pension rou. THIS 18 PAPA, SHOWING— ND the men whom the food —common, canned groceries—of a thoughtless governinent drove to hospitals, raving and raging with dyspepsia, are they to be neglected? Does patriottsin consist only in being shotat? If these victims of Ignorant commissartes had not filled the hospitals, would not tmalingerers with sawed-off legs have filled them, unnerving the medical ataiT? What man, then, 1s boldly insolent enough to say “It beareth the name of Vanity Pair, because the town where ‘ths kept ts lighter thau vaulty."—Pigrim's Progress, comicbooks.com