Even at that early age I was
passionately fond of children, and as I looked upon this cherub I
could almost find it in my heart to wish that the small, red wound
upon its breast--the work of my dear mother--had not been mortal. It had been my custom to throw the babes into the river which nature
had thoughtfully provided for the purpose, but that night I did not
dare to leave the oilery for fear of the constable. "After all," I
said to myself, "it cannot greatly matter if I put it into this
cauldron. My father will never know the bones from those of a puppy,
and the few deaths which may result from administering another kind of
oil for the incomparable _ol. can._ are not important in a population
which increases so rapidly." In short, I took the first step in crime
and brought myself untold sorrow by casting the babe into the
cauldron. The next day, somewhat to my surprise, my father, rubbing his hands
with satisfaction, informed me and my mother that he had obtained the
finest quality of oil that was ever seen; that the physicians to whom
he had shown samples had so pronounced it. He added that he had no
knowledge as to how the result was obtained; the dogs had been treated
in all respects as usual, and were of an ordinary breed. I deemed it
my duty to explain--which I did, though palsied would have been my
tongue if I could have foreseen the consequences. Bewailing their
previous ignorance of the advantages of combining their industries, my
parents at once took measures to repair the error. My mother removed
her studio to a wing of the factory building and my duties in
connection with the business ceased; I was no longer required to
dispose of the bodies of the small superfluous, and there was no need
of alluring dogs to their doom, for my father discarded them
altogether, though they still had an honorable place in the name of
the oil. So suddenly thrown into idleness, I might naturally have
been expected to become vicious and dissolute, but I did not. The
holy influence of my dear mother was ever about me to protect me from
the temptations which beset youth, and my father was a deacon in a
church. Alas, that through my fault these estimable persons should
have come to so bad an end! Finding a double profit in her business, my mother now devoted herself
to it with a new assiduity. She removed not only superfluous and
unwelcome babes to order, but went out into the highways and byways,
gathering in children of a larger growth, and even such adults as she
could entice to the oilery. My father, too, enamored of the superior
quality of oil produced, purveyed for his vats with diligence and
zeal. The conversion of their neighbors into dog-oil became, in
short, the one passion of their lives--an absorbing and overwhelming
greed took possession of their souls and served them in place of a
hope in Heaven--by which, also, they were inspired. So enterprising had they now become that a public meeting was held and
resolutions passed severely censuring them. It was intimated by the
chairman that any further raids upon the population would be met in a
spirit of hostility. My poor parents left the meeting broken-hearted,
desperate and, I believe, not altogether sane. Anyhow, I deemed it
prudent not to enter the oilery with them that night, but slept
outside in a stable. At about midnight some mysterious impulse caused me to rise and peer
through a window into the furnace-room, where I knew my father now
slept. The fires were burning as brightly as if the following day's
harvest had been expected to be abundant. One of the large cauldrons
was slowly "walloping" with a mysterious appearance of self-restraint,
as if it bided its time to put forth its full energy. My father was
not in bed; he had risen in his night clothes and was preparing a
noose in a strong cord. From the looks which he cast at the door of
my mother's bedroom I knew too well the purpose that he had in mind. Speechless and motionless with terror, I could do nothing in
prevention or warning. Suddenly the door of my mother's apartment was
opened, noiselessly, and the two confronted each other, both
apparently surprised. The lady, also, was in her night clothes, and
she held in her right hand the tool of her trade, a long,
narrow-bladed dagger. She, too, had been unable to deny herself the last profit which the
unfriendly action of the citizens and my absence had left her. For
one instant they looked into each other's blazing eyes and then sprang
together with indescribable fury. Round and round, the room they
struggled, the man cursing, the woman shrieking, both fighting like
demons--she to strike him with the dagger, he to strangle her with his
great bare hands. I know not how long I had the unhappiness to
observe this disagreeable instance of domestic infelicity, but at
last, after a more than usually vigorous struggle, the combatants
suddenly moved apart. My father's breast and my mother's weapon showed evidences of contact. For another instant they glared at each other in the most unamiable
way; then my poor, wounded father, feeling the hand of death upon him,
leaped forward, unmindful of resistance, grasped my dear mother in his
arms, dragged her to the side of the boiling cauldron, collected all
his failing energies, and sprang in with her! In a moment, both had
disappeared and were adding their oil to that of the committee of
citizens who had called the day before with an invitation to the
public meeting. Convinced that these unhappy events closed to me every avenue to an
honorable career in that town, I removed to the famous city of
Otumwee, where these memoirs are written with a heart full of remorse
for a heedless act entailing so dismal a commercial disaster. AN IMPERFECT CONFLAGRATION


Early one June morning in 1872 I murdered my father--an act which made
a deep impression on me at the time. This was before my marriage,
while I was living with my parents in Wisconsin. My father and I were
in the library of our home, dividing the proceeds of a burglary which
we had committed that night. These consisted of household goods
mostly, and the task of equitable division was difficult. We got on
very well with the napkins, towels and such things, and the silverware
was parted pretty nearly equally, but you can see for yourself that
when you try to divide a single music-box by two without a remainder
you will have trouble. It was that music-box which brought disaster
and disgrace upon our family. If we had left it my poor father might
now be alive. It was a most exquisite and beautiful piece of workmanship--inlaid
with costly woods and carven very curiously. It would not only play a
great variety of tunes, but would whistle like a quail, bark like a
dog, crow every morning at daylight whether it was wound up or not,
and break the Ten Commandments.