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THE STORY THE HOLLAR TOLD.
H
UMANITY is made of dust, and so am
I, good reader. We are close akin —
born of the same Old Mother Earth,
and hence should not pervert the good
qualities of each other, as we so often
do. I was first taken from a gold mine.
It may have been the Klondyke, for I
remember well that the weather was
very cold and there was much suffer
ing, such as freezing and starving to death. But
the men worked like heroes to release me from
my dark jail. They had come all the way from
the States for that purpose; and endured many
hardships on the way.
When found I was hailed with shouts of joy, and
many other expressions of hysterical delight. How
they did laugh, pat, and caress me! It was exhil
aration to them to gaze upon my yellow beauty.
Never did man look more fondly upon the woman he
loved.” But there were others not so fortunate in
finding me, and were very sad. as a consequence.
But in my prest form I first saw the light in
the United States Mint at New Orleans. I was
coined on a sunshiny day. Since then many of my
days have been very dark. But for all the sun’s
rays he did not shine any more brightly than I
and my brothers did on that day. But now I am
old and tarnished, and need burnishing up a bit,
for, alas! there’s many a stain upon my face, but
not of my making. No one seems to take any no
tice of that, however, because I pass for just the
same as I did when I was bright and new. After
quitting- the mint I began my travels thus:
It was pay-day in a big department store, and
I was used to help pay one of the young lady
clerks. She praised my bright prettiness in the
usual girl vernacular. I was “so cute, and too ut
terly sweet for anything.” Os course I felt pleased
and flattered, but wanted to laugh, for I was only
one of a lot of fellows who were just alike and
weighed in the balance the same. But, then, she
was such a pretty young lady that I was glad to
drink it all down as a sweet draught and special
compliment to my yellow face alone.
My Lady kept mq a long time; so long in fact,
that I thought I had found a permanent home, and
henceforth would shine for her especial benefit.
But, alas, for my hopes! Figuratively speaking,
my trunk was packed one day and f began my
travels in earnest.
My Lady was having a ball dress made in the
latest style. Just to look at the creation caused
my head to swim. The frills and furbelows, the
ribbons and laces, were in tangled profusion. My
Lady dropped her open purse upon a table, and to
save my life I could not help peeping. Then she
tried on the dress, and it was ravishingly beauti
ful. Her bare arras were plump and fair, with the
prettiest tint! And the neck of the dress was so
low that it was positively vulgar. It was so shock
ing to me that I almost blushed.
Many a time since then have I had cause to
blush for shame at the company I am forced to
keep.
When my Lady paid the dressmaker’s bill she
gave all the money in her purse, but me; yet she
lacked a dollar of the amount required. Taking
me in her hand she fondled me affectionately as
though loath to part with me. Feeling reassured
I smiled up at her. Surely she would not part
with one she had appeared to love so well. False
hope! Whoever saw a woman —especially if she
be young and beautiful —that did not love dress
more than money? I read her mind, too, little as
she thought, and this is what I read.
“It is all for Alvah. I want to look my best in
his eyes; perhaps he will love me then. Oh, I
would do anything to make him love me!
Silly goose! as if a man really worth caring for
would love a woman for her clothes instead of her
true self. But all women are silly when they come
to care for some particular man; and my Lady
The Golden Age for March 21, 190?.
&y Margaret Smith Graham.
was young and thoughtless, and I fain would make
excuses for her.
So with a final lingering caress from her pretty
white fingers, I was transferred to the money
drawer of the fashionable dressmaker, where I was
shut in in total darkness. This was some relief, for
my face was hidden, so they could not see me
blushing for very shame at thought of having
helped to pay for that shockingly immodest dress.
Well, I was not destined to remain long in my
dark retreat. A fine looking young man came in
to pay a. bill —his mother’s or sister’s, I dare say,
for I felt sure that he was not married. Sori was
brought out again and given as part change for
the large greenback bill that he produced. He was
handsomely dressed, nonchalant in manner, and ap
peared refined and cultured. I felt like congratu
lating myself on falling into the hands of such
respectable company, for we are sure to (be gauged
by our associates.
He dropped me into his pocket and walked out.
He swung a cane and carried himself with the
well bred air and ease of the society gentleman.
By and by, he entered a big house. I could not see
what manner of house it was because I was in his
pocket. But from the voices that I heard there
seemed to be only men there, and I was wonder
ing what kind of place it could be, when I heard
some one say to the 'handsome gentleman:
“What’ll you take?” and the handsome gentle
man replied:
“Old Rye.” I wondered what in the world that
meant. Then I heard glasses clinking, and a sound
like balls hitting together. They seemed to he
playing on a table and knocking the balls with
something they called cues. Then there were some
playing another game, and I heard such ejacula
tions as “high, low, Jack,” etc., which was all so
much Greek to me, for I had not yet become ac
quainted with any games. Then the man who had
asked the handsome gentleman “what he’d take,”
said:
“Here you are, Alvah,” and I knew by his
movements that Alvah had taken a glass from him
and drank something, smacking his lips as though
he enjoyed it. Whatever it was had a pungent,
burning odor that went straight up my nose and
lingered there, making me feel sick and giddy, for
I could smell it strongly.
Then Alvah took me from his pocket and threw
me upon the counter, and I made a preitty, ringing
noise—for I have a sweet voice, if I do say it my
self —and Alvah remarked:
“Pure gold!’’ and the other man said, “Yes.”
Then the other man gave Alvah change for me, and
I paid for the Old Rye, and was again transferred
to a money drawer. But not before I saw what
manner of house and company I was in. It was
a saloon and gambling den: although I had never
been in one before, 1 seemed to know that men who
frequent such places are generally wicked and im
moral. I was overwhelmed with dismay. I felt
that I was in the hands of the Philistines. I longed
to go out and kick myself roundly for being caught
in such company. That bawdy dress was nothing
in comparison to this. Their language was violent
and obscene. They spoke of women in away that
should have brought the blush of shame to the
cheek of the most hardened sinner. And nude pic
tures were hung around upon the walls. The men
drank, smoked and played their games, while they
punctuated their conversation with oaths. They
joked Alvah about a pretty clerk in a store. Did
they mean My Lady? Was this the Alvah that
she spoke of loving so? Was the fine dress made
to please this man? God forbid! I turned hot
and cold at the bare thought. Then Alvah made
some light rejoinder, calling My Lady’s name in
a disrespectful manner. I wished then it was pos
sible for me to go and warn her against him, but,
you see, it was not, to say nothing of being pre
sumptuous, and, then, girls are such geese! No
doubt she would have told me to mind my own
business, while loving and believing in Alvah the
more because she thought him maligned. I know
women; they are made that way.
And now I was brought forth with a handful of
silver to take part in a game. I tried to scream;
tried to slip through the man’s fingers, but there
were great silver dollars under and above me so
I could not move. Then we were laid upon a table
for a stake, they said. There we lay, 1 shining like
a small yellow sun. One of the men tapped my
face lightly and said:
“I prefer the yellow boys. The pure stuff, eh?
What would I not give for a million of these!”
“Would you give your soul?” Alvah asked.
“Almost,” replied the man.
Sometimes people call me the Root-Of-All-Evil.
I never could make any sense of it, for I was under
the impression that I was sent into the world to
alleviate sorrow and suffering, and bring comfort
to God’s “little children”; and for the ameliora
tion of mankind generally. I am sure that I 'have
no evil look about me. I think I am justified in
saying that I am comely. And I notice that peo
ple are very anxious to have me for a companion.
But now a light began to break upon me and I be
came aware for the first time that I could be loved
too well, and possibly be instrumental in sending
souls to torment. I was deeply grieved to learn
this, for I only want to do good. There is enough
sin and sorrow without my helping to make it. But,
then, I am only a tool in the hands of mankind,
and the disreputable uses in which they employ me
are legion, and lam powerless to prevent it. Very
often I find myself in compromising places, but,
good people, deal with me honestly and I will be a
friend to you that sticketh closer than a brother.
The game progressed rapidly, interspersed with
drinks of the same hateful stuff they called Old
Rye. I longed to sneeze, the smell was so disa
greeable, but it being beyond my power, I was
compelled to lie still and suffer. Very often they
would use those bad words, which I had at first
taken for some foreign language. Then I heard
some one say:
“We have won the game. The best two out of
three,” etc. He then raked us all in his hand and
stowed us in his pocket. How madly I wished there
might be a hole in the pocket, so I could fall out
and hide in some friendly crack and be forever
quit of evil mankind! But he gripped us like a
vice, and almost dying to scream with pain at his
rough grasp, I was forced along with the rest.
And the pocket, alas, was —whole. Then he and
Alvah went out together, but soon parted com
pany.
Ah, me! Ab, me! I who came into the world
pure and spotless, am now fully initiated in sin.
And those lucky enough to possess me make of me
a blessing or a curse. My face, too, is red with the
blood of Abel, for many bear the mark of Cain
upon their brows for love of me.
After this I traveled about in a Bohemian fash
ion, quite a good deal, and so found myself one de
plorable day in possession of a ticket agent at the
junction of the roads, Right and Wrong. A man
and woman came into the waiting room and called
for tickets. As the agent stamped, and handed the
tickets over to the man and women I read Perdi
tion plainly printed upon them. But they pro
nouneed it Paradise. The agent then gave me as
part change for the greenback bill tendered him in
payment.
(Concluded next week.)
“Old Hundred” has been variously ascribed io
Martin Luther. Dr. John Dowland and William
Franck. Dr. Lowell Mason wrote quite a treatise
on the eld tune in 1852, saying emphatically that
it was written by Guillaume (William) Franck
in 1543. But later musical historians and anti
quarians who have investigated more closely say
it was composed by Louis Bourgeois, born about
1500 and died about 1572—some say in massacre
of St. Bartholomew, in 1551-52. —The Musical Mil
lion.
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