Merrimon’s supercilious take on things has aged pretty well. He is more than often annoyed, the prototypical angry white guy, you could say, with a puritanical streak. His best line may have come when he was bitching about the sorry lodgings one night: "The pillow" he snarled "was no larger than my fist." Augustus Summerfield Merriment he was not:
Madison County, Monday January 16th. 1854.
As is usual for this place, drunkenness is carried to an incredible extent.
A crowd of filthy whisky drinkers collects around a wagon and drink and curse and blackguard beyond description, women and men, and women sell themselves to prostitution of the basest character not infrequently for whisky.
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