Your Choice: Cleve and Steve!

To my fellow Bourbon Democrats and interested Mugwumps,

Greetings from backstage at Madison Square Garden in Manhattan! Built by Mr. Stanford White, this magnificent new building is modeled on Seville's Giralda. The Moorish touches on this massive edifice give the place a far-away feel, even as we are just blocks from home. The original Garden was a marvel, but my word, this new one is splendid! It will prove an excellent host for the French Martian Ball (Frances' favorite event of the year).

As a family, Frances, Ruth, and I have gathered here with many of our local supporters. We have been receiving updates about the electoral returns for hours. The results are in: we are returning to the White House!

I want to thank you, our most dedicated and loyal supporters, for your hard work during this campaign. Your generous donations; your tireless pedaling; your advocacy for sound economic policy; all these efforts (and more!) have carried the day. Your choice has been "Cleve and Steve," but our choice is YOU!

I also wish to thank President Harrison and Mr. Weaver for running the cleanest campaigns in modern memory. Politics is ordinarily a rough-and-tumble business, but it was much less so this year than most. I send my sincerest best wishes to my opponents, especially President Harrison, as he continues to mourn his beloved Caroline.

This shall be our last campaign correspondence to you. The task of governance is mighty, and I shall have my hands full. Nevertheless, I do request of you a final favor as the campaign concludes. As we head back to Washington, I ask that you do your part to help America band together. Whatever our differences of opinion, we must now unite in common cause. Our economic challenges are great: tariffs need repealing, monetary policy needs solidifying, and the Nicaragua Canal needs building. Still, if we come together as a people, we can tackle these problems with ingenuity and aplomb.

Here's to America's Golden Future!

Sincerely,
Grover Cleveland

On the Passing of Mrs. Harrison

To my fellow Bourbon Democrats and interested Mugwumps,

This morning, I received the sad news of the First Lady's death. She fought her illness valiantly, even while maintaining her office graciously. Our nation is less for losing her, but heaven is greater for gaining her. Our prayers are with President Harrison and his family upon their loss.

Per mutual agreement with the President and Mr. Weaver, the campaign for the White House ends today. The election shall take place as scheduled, but all forthcoming campaign events shall be cancelled. Frances and I have returned to New York, and Mr. Stevenson is en route to Illinois. I regret that we will be unable to meet with several of you. Frances was especially looking forward to seeing the Pacific by rocket, but rest assured, our California visit will be rescheduled.

Upon touching down back at Professor Campbell's Brooklyn factory, we were honorably greeted by some of New York's keenest minds. Mr. A.E. Beach led the group, shaking my hand and welcoming us all home. Mr. Beach (whom many of you know as the editor of the Scientific American) then guided us to our house on his ever-expanding Pneumatic Network of Underground Tubes. I haven't ridden the PNUT for an age, and I was pleased by his progress (though being below the surface slightly unnerved me). Still, Frances and I arrived safely home, where we embraced our dear Ruth and her nanny.

After our long campaign, I now sit and write to you from the cozy confines of my study. How sweet it is to have a cigar and kick up my feet beside my own fireplace. And yet how strange it is, too, when travel ends abruptly. I feel as though my body might still be afloat in the clouds! Still, the taste of Congolese brandy poured from a bone decanter brings me back down to earth.

This shall be my last letter to you until after the election. Once the votes have been tabulated, I will be in touch, regardless of the outcome. I simply ask that you prayerfully consider voting Democratic on Election Day. For now, though, let us all pray fervently for the sake of our President in this, his hour of deep need.

Sincerely,
Grover Cleveland

Dignity! Philanthropy! Syrup!

To my fellow Bourbon Democrats and interested Mugwumps,

Brattleboro, Vermont may seem an unlikely place for economic ingenuity. This little town teems with tiny shops, wooded paths, and splendid autumnal colors. Tucked amid rolling hills at the intersection of the West and Connecticut Rivers, the former Wantastiquet appears to invite relaxation over industry.

Alas, this beautiful little hamlet also has an abundance of functional widows. Like so many New England towns, most of the men have rushed west in search of fortune. In doing so, they have left behind scores of wives and children who must fend for themselves.

The biggest employer of adult women in Brattleboro is the Retreat (formerly the Vermont Asylum for the Insane). Funded by a memorial endowment bestowed after the death of Mrs. Anna Marsh, the Retreat takes a humane approach to mental illness, from melancholia to zombie-related disorders and beyond. Here, the mentally ill and undead are not locked away in decrepit conditions. Rather, they live in a nearly-collegiate environment, where they may rest, relax, and even garden.

This outdoor work has led, of all things, to a cooperative business named for the late patroness. The residents collect and bottle syrup from the local maple trees, then the staff members deliver the product to stores. Mrs. Marsh's Marvelous Maple Syrup now graces grocers' shelves across the Northeast. The proceeds expand the endowment of the Retreat, ensuring progressive treatment of both the mentally ill and the brain-famished for years to come.

Mr. Stevenson had never visited the Retreat. When Frances learned this, she insisted I bring him here during the campaign. I am not ashamed to tell you that the Gentleman from Illinois's 13th District openly wept upon touring the facility and hearing the residents' tales of humane treatment. During his Kentucky childhood, one of Mr. Stevenson's zombiefied cousins was institutionalized in a crude and oppressive frontier facility. He thrilled to know that others needn't suffer the same fate.

To all the advocates of dignity for God's most troubled children, let me assure you that you will have champions in our administration!

Sincerely,
Grover Cleveland

Benedict Nuding's Frothy Capuziner

To my fellow Bourbon Democrats and interested Mugwumps,

Allentown is a hearty place. The people here are built for the hard work that helium gasification demands. Here on South Seventh Street, I have met some of the stoutest men and toughest women in our nation. Not all who live here are German, but a great many have come from Bavaria and Prussia. Naturally, with so many Teutonic residents, this city is a veritable Valhalla of adult refreshment. The beer business is booming in the Lehigh Valley!

Frances and I have been lodging at the Germania Hotel and Brewery for a few nights, and we can hardly get enough of these grand accomodations! This fine establishment is run by Mr. Benedict Nuding, a recent emigre to Pennsylvania. He is an expert in the fickle field of hospitality. What a blessing to have a warm hearth, a tidy room, and an amber pint of house-made Capuziner Ale -- especially after so many weeks on the campaign trail! And since my recent subterranean nightmare, I am savoring every moment with Frances.

As you know, President Harrison has elected not to ride the campaign circuit this year. His concerns for his beloved wife Caroline are legitimate. I have just learned that her tuberculosis has become terminal. As she returns to Washington from the Adirondacks, Frances and I are praying for her and for the President. Mrs. Harrison was raised in a Presbyterian parsonage, as I was. Now, as she prepares to go to her final home, may peace be hers.

Whatever exhaustion I feel in these final months of the campaign, I know how truly blessed I am to have a warm room, a frothy beer, and Frances by my side. However ardently we might disagree with the President, let us all pray for him and for the First Lady in the days to come.

Sincerely,
Grover Cleveland

P.S. Though the state militia forbids it, I do wish I could visit the workers engaged in the Homestead Strike. Those noble souls have carried on, even in the face of starvation, murder, and Venutian strikebreakers. H.C. Frick will one day have to answer to Our Lord for the crimes he's committed against the poor people of Pennyslvania!

The Splendid Colors of Bluefield

To my fellow Bourbon Democrats and interested Mugwumps,

What a splendor has arisen in West Virginia! During my first term as president, Bluefield was hardly a blip on the map. Now, it has high-rising buildings to rival Manhattan. All this in but a few years!

The discovery of vast coal deposits has brought enormous changes to this region, including a plethora of immigrants from all corners. This town now teems with men from Germany, Italy, Belgian Manchuria, and more. Neither land nor sea nor air can keep men from this little parcel of Appalachia.

Of particular interest, however, is a burgeoning local middle class composed in large measure of the children of former slaves. Upon the passage of the 14th and 15th Amendments, a certain number of former slave holders warned that Africans would compose a permanent underclass in our nation. Yet here in Bluefield, such men have accomplished much, in spite of any supposed racial handicap. There are even efforts underway to establish a college in Bluefield specifically designed for the Colored Community. It would be an unprecedented innovation in our land!

With such sudden expansion, there have naturally been challenges. The local government has at times descended into corruption and violence. Let me be clear: graft and fisticuffs have no place in modern government. Our Mr. Stevenson has offered to personally return here after the campaign and whip Bluefield's City Hall into shape, regardless of the election's outcome.

The kaleidoscope that is Bluefield demonstrates the kind of inventive economy that can emerge when men are free to pursue their dreams. This wondrous menagerie emerged with little or no action on the part of Washington (and in spite of the local elected officials!). We have here living proof that if government restrains itself, then Bluefields might abound.

Sincerely,
Grover Cleveland