Postoffice Divan, Laramie City, W. T.,
Oct. 1, 1883.
To the President of the United States:
Sir.--I beg leave at this time to officially tender my resignation as
postmaster at this place, and in due form to deliver the great seal and
the key to the front door of the office. The safe combination is set
on the numbers 36, 66 and 99, though I do not remember at this moment
which comes first, or how many times you revolve the knob, or which
direction you should turn it first in order to make it operate.
There is some mining stock in my private drawer in the safe, which I
have not yet removed. This stock you may have, if you desire it. It is
a luxury, but you may have it. I have decided to keep a horse instead
of this mining stock. The horse may not be so pretty, but it will cost
less to keep him.
You will find the postal cards that have not been used under the
distributing table, and the coal down in the cellar. If the stove draws
too hard, close the damper in the pipe and shut the general delivery
window.
Looking over my stormy and eventful administration as postmaster here,
I find abundant cause for thanksgiving. At the time I entered upon
the duties of my office the department was not yet on a paying basis.
It was not even self-sustaining. Since that time, with the active
cooperation of the chief executive and the heads of the department, I
have been able to make our postal system a paying one, and on top of
that I am now able to reduce the tariff on average-sized letters from
three cents to two. I might add that this is rather too too, but I will
not say anything that might seem undignified in an official resignation
which is to become a matter of history.
Through all the vicissitudes of a tempestuous term of office I have
safely passed. I am able to turn over the office today in a highly
improved condition and to present a purified and renovated institution
to my successor.
Acting under the advice of Gen. Hatton, a year ago, I removed the
feather bed with which my predecessor, Deacon Hayford, had bolstered
up his administration by stuffing the window, and substituted glass.
Finding nothing in the book of instructions to postmasters which made
the feather bed a part of my official duties, I filed it away in an
obscure place and burned it in effigy, also in the gloaming. This act
maddened my predecessor to such a degree that he then and there became
a candidate for justice of the peace on the Democratic ticket. The
Democratic party was able, however, with what aid it secured from the
Republicans, to plow the old man under to a great degree.
It was not long after I had taken my official oath before an era of
unexampled prosperity opened for the American people. The price of beef
rose to a remarkable altitude, and other vegetables commanded a good
figure and a ready market. We then began to make active preparations
for the introduction of the strawberry roan two-cent stamps and the
black-and-tan postal note. One reform has crowded upon the heels of
another, until the country is today upon the foam-crested wave of
permanent prosperity.
Mr. President, I cannot close this letter without thanking yourself
and the heads of departments at Washington for your active, cheery
and prompt cooperation in these matters. You can do as you see fit,
of course, about incorporating this idea into your Thanksgiving
proclamation, but rest assured it would not be ill-timed or
inopportune. It is not alone a credit to myself. It reflects credit
upon the administration also.
I need not say that I herewith transmit my resignation with great
sorrow and genuine regret. We have toiled on together month after
month, asking for no reward except the innate consciousness of
rectitude and the salary as fixed by law. Now we are to separate. Here
the roads seem to fork, as it were, and you and I, and the cabinet,
must leave each other at this point.
You will find the key under the door-mat, and you had better turn
the cat out at night when you close the office. If she does not go
readily, you can make it clearer to her mind by throwing the cancelling
stamp at her.
If Deacon Hayford does not pay up his box rent, you might as well
put his mail in the general delivery, and when Bob Head gets drunk
and insists on a letter from one of his wives every day in the week,
you can salute him through the box delivery with an old Queen Anne
tomahawk, which you will find near the Etruscan water pail. This will
not in any manner surprise either of these parties.
Tears are unavailing. I once more become a private citizen, clothed
only with the right to read such postal cards as may be addressed to me
personally, and to curse the inefficiency of the postoffice department.
I believe the voting class to be divided into two parties, viz.: Those
who are in the postal service, and those who are mad because they
cannot receive a registered letter every fifteen minutes of each day,
including Sunday.
Mr. President, as an official of this government I now retire. My term
of office would not expire until 1886. I must, therefore, beg pardon
for my eccentricity in resigning. It will be best, perhaps, to keep the
heart-breaking news from the ears of European powers until the dangers
of a financial panic are fully past. Then hurl it broadcast with a
sickening thud.