“I allow, suh, that we’ll tell the yawpers who run political conventions to get along without our votes, and we’ll elect men to the Legislatoor and to Congress, and mebbe a President, who’ll take their ideahs from the fahmas and wukahs of the Sooth and West, and who won’t go to Wall Street foh ohdahs; and we’ll give all the old questions a rest, and we’ll make it lonesome for the politicians who fight us, and we’ll kind o’ resolute that so long as this govuhment won’t let any State or any puhson go into the business of manufacturing money to supply the necessary wants of the people, it is likely that the govuhment itself ought to do it, and we’ll fix it so that no man who is willin’ to wuk as I am, and knows how to wuk as I do, and has land to plow as I have, will have to see his land lie fallow, and his boys loafin’ around, just bekase he kaint bowwow from nobody, even at ten per cent a yeah, one-fifth of the valoo of his land, to buy a few mules, and a plow or two, and some seed cohn.” “You will compel the government to go into the business of printing and loaning all the money that anybody wants, will you?” said the cashier. “Well, suh, I’m no bankah, and no lawyah, but I take it that it is the business of govuhment to provide all the money necessary foh the use of the people, and if the govuhment itself won’t do it, then let it untie the cohds it has put around States and people, and suffah them to do it foh theyselves.” “You would go back to the days of State banks and unlimited currency, Mr. Turpin, with a wild-cat bank at every crossroads, when the man who traveled never knew whether the bank bill he got in change, when purchasing his breakfast in Alabama, would buy him a supper in Tennessee,” said the cashier. “Well, suh, I remembah those days, and while they may not have been so agreeable foh those that traveled, they war a heap better foh folks as stayed at home. A wild-cat bank at the crossroads on White Creek, that would let me have $3,000 of its missuble money, which my neighbors would take in exchange foh mules, and the stohkeepah would take for goods, so that I could put in a crap on foh hundred akahs of the puttiest cotton land in Noth Alabama, would be a heap bettah foh me just now, suh, than a national bank with a plate-glass front, in Buhmingham, that won’t even look at the security I offah foh a loan. Good-day, suh.” And Mr. John Turpin, of White Creek, arose, and, with a heavy and sorrowful step, walked out of the Tenth National Bank of Birmingham, Alabama, and the rotund cashier smiled at the episode, and adjusted his gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and resumed his interrupted labors. Yet relief was in store for Mr. John Turpin, for on that very day the mail from New York to Washington carried the following communication:— OFFICES OF DAVID MORNING, } 39 Broadway, N. Y., Dec. 15, 1895.} _To the President of the United States_—