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VOLUME 111.
SAM BROWN.
HR TKLLS OF TIIE HONUBBT WO
MAN IN THE WORLD.
A Sami Mountain FemaltN I’nllnei* Is so
(>rt that Men and Women are
not Drawn to Her, and Her Pets
All I>le of the Rickets,
O
Sally Dick! Yes, I remember distinctly
the first time I heard these two names
coupled, one to the other. Many Sallies
had I known, and many Dicks, but it is
the genuine truth when I state that this
was the first and last Sally Dick that ever
crossed my serpentine path. She is living
on Sand Mountain now, and she is likely
to live there for years to come. When
first I gazed upon her withered form, the
sun had already set, and the little stars
were glittering in the deep, blue vault of
heaven. Wad Glenn and I were making
our way to a neighbor’s house w'here we
were to join a healthy and happy party of
dancers. She rode a little donkey whose
tread was as soft and light as a kitten’s,
and whose ears indicated that he was a
thoroughbred. Her dress was home-made,
ditto her bonnet, ditto her shoes, and ditto
her stockings (if she had worn any). Her
complexion was a tallow saffron—ditto
her hair, what lay in unfrequent, tangled
patches upon her corrugated scalp. Her
small, yello-w-gray eyes twinkled and
rolled, about lively under crushed-like, al
mond-shaped brows; her nose was long,
with many quick curves—all downward
—until it came to a halt in close proximi
ty to her chin, what was ditto to her
smeller. Her mouth wore a sepulchural
aspect—comingto a blunt point at or near
the centre, there radiated from every part
of it innumerable skin-furrows, while her
neck was but a mournful ruin of its pris
tine, alabaster splendor.
Bally Dick and her little donkey passed
on by me. Upon the tablet of my memo
ry there was then made a life size picture
of that wonderful woman, what time and
eternity will not be able to blot out. Y’es,
indeed, that mental photo is still there,
and there it will remain forever, unless
sooner disposed of. (It is for sale—cash
price very low. Any one wishing to pur
chase will please leave his or her name
and address with Lem Gilreath, No. 2067
East Main street, Cartersville, Ga.)
As Wad and I moved on, he told me
that this woman was very beautiful when
she was young, but that the oldest inhabi
tants of Sand Mountain knew nothing of
that beauty except as it had been handed
down to them by their away-back fore
fathers. She married when she was quite
young, but her husband had been dead
more than forty-nine years. Since his
death she has lived in a little hut by her
self. No cats or dogs or hogs or chickens
or other animals lived with her, except
her donkey. She had often tried to keep
some pet, but the pet vrould be taken
with a violent spell of the rickets when
ever she came near it, and its death would
shortly follow. A nomadic picture puller
pulled her likeness once, but his machine
was broken and his health permanently
injured. He never smiled any more after,
he finished * the picture, but pined away
and at last died with the rickets. Sixteen
high-trotting cats pestered Sally a great
deal by going into her house when she
was out and eating her meal and potatoes.
She accidentally left the picture uncover
ed one day. The high-trotting tribe of
felines saw the picture. They died —with
the rickets.
I w T ould not have believed all these sto
ries, had I not seen her with my own
eyes. If I had seen her face to face in the
broad -open day time, my little red nose
would long since have been turned up to
the roots of the daisies. Providence had
more wu:>rk for me to do and kindly shield
ed me from such a fate; it did, certain.
Men come and go, like shadows flitting
across a granite mountain; revolutions
sw'eep over the earth like troubled visions
over the breast of sleeping sorrow; nations
rise and sink like bubbles on the
w aters; mountains rear their awful and
bald peaks to heaven, and then crumble
to the plain; monumental, marble piles
*are built by cunning artisans, and then
are slowly worn away by the gentlest of
zephyrs; but Sally Dick lived on. Time
has marked wrinkles en her brow', but he
cannot snap the thongs that bind her to
this mundane sphere.
I have often wondered how Epenetus
Dick wooed and won her. They say at
first sight she filled him with a strange,
wild fantasy. They were married. He
lived with her eighty-four years, and then
he coiled off this shuffling mortal.
Sally was and is the ugliest woman
that ever grew'on American soil. Even
as I write, I feel tired, she is so mortal
ugly. And w'hen I introspect the table of
my memory and see her picture there, I
get right sick, for, before my troubled eyes
there seem to float, as if in mockery,
swimming frogs, bony toads, tadpoles,
brown lizzards, poisonous reptiles, dead
rats, very thin cats, mangy dogs, and I
feel like‘bathing my head in the green
mantle of the standing pool; I do, cer
tain. Sam Brown.
PECK’i BAD BOY.
“Say, come in here now and give me
some information,” said the groceryman
to the bad boy, as he stood on the steps
behind a barrel of axe-helves, waitiug for
a boy to throw a wet snow-ball at him,
when he intended to push the barrel
over on the l>oy, “you ought to know
everything, because your pa takes the
papers and your ma belongs to the sew
ing society. I don’t read any papers and
depend entirely on what customers tell
me when they come in to trade. What
is this I hear about Bismark and the
Lasker resolutions, and congress, and
all that ?’’ aud the groceryman lit a clay
pipe and sat down on a basket of tur
nips.
“Bismark and Lasker,” said the boy,
as ho rolled an orange on a barrel head
to make it soft, “don’t you know any
thing about that? Well, you ought to
keep posted. There are lots of times
when hired girls come in here to trade
that you could make yourself solid with
them by informing them on the topics of
the day. You see, Bismark was one of
the star route robbers. It was their hab
it to wear big tin stars, and go out on the
plains to rob the mail carriers. Lasker
knew the robbers were going to rob the
mail one day, so he filled the matl sack
with dynamite, and when Bismark order
ed him to hold up his hands, he just
threw the mail sack to Bismark, and the
dynamite exploded, and blew him and
his band ail over the territory. Lasker
returned to Laramie and reported what
he had done and cougress voted him a
gold medal for expediting the mails.”
“You don’t say so,” said the grocery
man, “I ought to read more. I got an
idea from just glanciug at the headlines
in the papers, that Bismark started a
town somewhere out in Dakota and Las
ker tried to jump his claim. lam much
obliged to you for the information, and if
auybody comes in here and fires Bismark
and Lasker conundrums at me after this
I won’t have to pretend to be deaf and
change the subject. What is this tariff
business I hear customers talking about
every little while? Is this tariff running
for any office?”
“No, tariff has not been nominated for
anything yet, but expects to be,” and
the boy looked out of the oorner of his
•ye at the grocer to see if he was as big
a fool as he pretended. “Tariff is a re
publican when he is in republics* locali
ties, and a democrat when he is in a
democratic locality, and where the tbiug
is about even he straddles the fence tnd
hangs one leg on each side. Tariff wants
to be president, bnt don’t know which
party to take the nomination from. Pa
is for tariff, in some saloons where he is
working up liis chances for alderman,
and in some saloons he is opposed to tar
iff. It is queer how it works, but a boy
■ausn’t ask too many questions or he gets
fired out doors.”
“I am glad that I know about this tar
iff,” said the grocer, scratching a match
to relight his pipe. “That thing has
bothered me more than any one thing.
Somehow I got an idea it was a sort of
barnacle that attaches itself to goods that
are shipped from foreign countries, from
what I heard people say. One day I
found a peculiar formation ou the bot
tom of a basket of imported dates, and I
says to myself, ‘that it must be a tariff,”
but it was only some mud. But say,
what does the doctors sav about your pa?
Will he pull through ?
“Pa is better, thanks to careful nurs
ing. You see, pa began finding fault
with me again because I didn’t play
more jokes on him. I told him that peo
ple were getting an idea that I was mean
aspusley, because I had played jokes on
him, and I had quit. Pa said, ‘Never
mind what people say. lam your fath
er, and it pleases me to have you prac
tice ou me. I think if more men allow
ed the natural exuberace of youth to
have its fun at home, there would l)e less
deviltry done away from home. Now if
you don’t make your pa walk turkey iu
less than twenty-four hours, I’ll take you
across my kuee, you hear? The fun I
have at home is what braces me up for a
political campaign.’ Well, when pa
said that I felt that it was au uudutiful
sou that would go back on his parent,
and deprive him of the excitement his
nature demanded, so I went to work to
ttiiuk of Something to make pa remem
ber old times. That evening at the sup
per table, we got to talking of pina
meningitis, and pa said some of our best
citizens were having ft. He said it was
an aristocratic disease, and it was a com
pliment to a man’s standiug in society to
have it. I asked him what the first
symptoms were, and he said he under
stood it was a cold feeling along the
pines. The next morning I took about
two quarts of pounded ice, and filled the
two pistol pockets of pa’s pants with it,
and the tail pockets of his coat, and he
put ou his things and come down to
breakfast. He said the dining-room was
cold, and le rubbed his hands, and occa
•ionally looked sort of scared, but he sat
down to breakfast. He had not sat there
more than a minute before he told ma he
didn’t want any breakfast, and he Went
and lay down on the lounge. I told ma
what I had done, and she laffed, and
pretty soon pa began to call for ma.
Bee went to him and told him he looked
sick. Pa said he was. He said he had
got the aristocratic disease, and didn’t
cwre who knew it. He kept getting cold,
and finally concluded to send for a doc-
tor, and I went after him, but I didn’t
hurry back. Ma, she had a quiet talk
with pa on his condition, aud made him
believe he was over-worked, and made
him promise to let politics alone, and try
to lead a different life. Pa got better
before long, and sat up, aud when he
found his coat and pants all damp from
the ponnded ice, he said he guessed he
had sweat the disease entirely out of his
system, and he changed his clothes and
eat a late breakfast, but I guess he found
some ice in his pockets, for when I came
in he said, ‘You’r a nice boy, ain’t you,
to try and play freeze-out on your poor
old pa! Don’t let it occur again.’
Queer, ain’t it, that a man will yearn to
have jokes played on him, and order
them as you would groceries, and when
they come he has to get huffy. Well, I
must go spearing suckeis,” and the boy
went off, leaving the groceryman badly
mixed up on Bismarck and the tariff.
CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, DECEMBER 23, 1884.
KIT WARREN.
o
HE STANDS ON THE CURB STONE AND
DAZES ON MOVING HL'MAITY.
0
Hi* Remark* on the Different Characters
aa They Weiut The r Way Past Him.
The Brave Bailiff, the Conceited
Man, and othera are Deceribed
lam not exactly a mind-reader. At
least, I can’t read the average mind with
such accuracy as to insert all the words
and the punctuation where they precisely
belong. I can’t, like Asmodious, lift the
roof of the brain and eavesdrop its physi
cal gossip. But sometimes the leading
thoughts and purposes of the mind hang
out like the characters on a sign board
and are legible even to a hasty glance. To
try my skill at sketching a coup de oeil
of a few of these, as they drift along the
sidewalk, lam now seated on the marble
block in front of No. 42 Marietta street,
pencil in hand and scratch book on my
lap.
A man comes headling along as indus
triously as if the assembled world were
■Waiting his arrival, with breathless im
patience, just up the street. I can hardly
call him a man; he is only a sample—full
weight about ninety-five pounds, basket
and all, and a large majority of him is
overcoat. His hat runs up like a village
steeple, but the main disorder under
which he labors is a palpitation of the
feet. As he bends to his task, with an
anxious, earnest look, I discover that he is
a bailiff, burdened with the weight of
that oppressive and responsible sense of
duty which is now' driving him to fulmi
nate the thunders of a cost fi. fa.
Here comes a man who wears the pro
file of the jack of hearts, with radical
points of difference in the bust and feed.
He seems to have graduated and taken the
first honors at a strutting school. His
garments fit as well as if he had been
melted and poured in them; mud, soft
enough to bag a moonbeam, would not
yield to the touch more readily than that
downy vest, and the fly which dares to
set foot on those pants witliont first pull
ing off his shoes deserves to be condemned
for sacrilege. Look at him; he holds his
head as if in constant readiness to be
drenched, tries to keep straight until he
has become sway-backed and measures
each step like one who carefully calcu
lates the distance traveled. I read that
man’s tliougnts as he passes along—read
all of them —index, preface, introduction,
contents and appendix, and all are com
prised in three short words: “Behold the
man.”
“Extremes will meet,” as the parent
said when he saw his baby sucking its
own big toe, and right before me is a most
contrastable antithesis of the man I have
just finished. The upper part of his body
sways and tacks like a pendulum or a
ship, while the lower half, hitched to a
number twelve brogan, wags along with
out reference to anything in particular.
His eyes show they are in his head and
that’s about all they do show, and his
manner indicates that he is not pestered
about the affairs of this transient and fitful
existence. It is evident that he don’t
care whether Cleveland beats Hendricks
or McDaniel beats Randall, and no con
ceivable adjustment of the vexed and com
plicated tariff question can possibly cause
a single, solitary wave of trouble to roll
across his peaceful breast. His cares have
folded their tents, like the Arabs, and gone
off without leaving word when they will
be back. He is above medium size, and
there’s nothing peculiar about his apparel
except that he don’t seem to mind wheth
er it hangs on or falls off. As I am not
versed in hieroglyphics or dead languages
I can’t read that fellow’s thoughts and
must, therefore, content myself with hav
ing told what -he didn’t think.
Next comes a tall, stringy man, with an
intelligent eye and a dejected, long-metre
look. He walks with a slow, scanning,
poetical step, and musings drip with each
succeeding footfall. He is soon to illumi
nate the world with his literary chef
d’aeuvre. I think ki3 subject is “Noetical
Dynamics.”
Thera goes a poor, homeless outcast in
rags and wretchedness. Forlorn, friend
less, forsaken, a victim of the despotism
of the bar room and the gaming table, be
wanders aimlessly on, waiting only for
the opening earth and the descending clod.
Far away are mother and sisters whose
tears and whose prayers and whose affec
tions are tenderiy and forever his, and a
brother whose arm is long enough and
strong enough to give, and whose heart
yearns to lift him from the pit of degredu
tion. But death is sweeter than the re
proachful faces in the loved and once
happy home circle he has so signally dis
honored. With a heart that is full of
manly, generous, noble impulses; that
beats warmly for a world which turns
coldly to him; that has sympathy for the
suffering, forbearance for the wayward,
charity for those who err, and only kind
ness, and tenderness, and compassion for
all the creatures that avalk the earth —with
such a heart as this, yet pulsing its warm
bloocl, like refreshing sunlight among
mouldering ruins, he winders on, feeling
as if he were the last, lonesome guest who
lingers amid the desolation of a “banquet
hall deserted.”
Ah! here comes the Collossus of Rhodes
—another man with a big head. A suit of
clothes the size of his feelings would be
large enongh for a wagon cover—owing,
probably, to the size of the wagon. Put
him on oath and you may cover the value
of his property with a home-stead,
but the homestead would hardly
reach far enough to make a notice
able speck on the map of his wisdom. If
every man in the United States had the
opinion of himself, in proportion to his
merits, that this man has, and if each had
to swear to the value of his sense and pay
a tax of one cent on every thousand, the
government treasury would soon be so
fall that the clerks couldn’t get in the
house without climbing down the chim
noy. That gentleman is a republican pol
itician. He still confidently believes
Blaine will be president during the next
four years, and is just now musing upon
the sublime grandeur of bis prospective
mission as a minister to the Court of StJ
Cloud.
Two youngsters next. Each looks like
he had just fluttered out of a band box and
registered as a life member of the beau
moude. Bob flings himself on the respon
sibility of remarking, “Good morning,
Tobe;” to which Tobe replies, “That’s the
very observation I was going to have
made myself. You should have been at
the hop last night.” Yes, I intended to
go, but I took and stumped ray toe and
got drunk, and you just ought to have
seen the old captain when I came stum
bling in the house. He is always eloquent
on such occasions, but he did his level
dogondest last night. He took me in at
the beginning of the Bible and brought
me through the apoehrypha aud the births
and deaths and marriages, and carried me
out at the concordance. If it wasn’t for the
financial department I should want fath
ers abolished. What about the hop? - ’
“Oh, we had a roaring time, and I was the
belle of the evening; I was a perfect brides
maid.” “Miss Ellen was the star?” “Yes,
sir; you bet your sweet life she was, and
all the boys honeyed and hankered and
sighed for one glance of her eye-ball,and I
hitched on to her and we promenaded,
and I squoze her hand and she squeezed
back. I tell you what, that girl’s dead in
love with me; but I wouldn't marry her to
save her life.” “Why?” “Because her
foot’s too big. But I told her forty thou
sand lies about how pretty aud sweet she
was aud how much I loved her.” “Was
Miranda there?” “Yes,and she looked like
an angel that had just lit. Nature acted
with the prodigality of a spendthrift in
loading one little creature with such a
wealth and luxury of charms; but, old
fellow', you’ve got a formidable rival.”
“Formidable fiddlestick! Tom may court
on; avhen I get ready I can, in five min
utes’ time, pull her straighter than a ten
pound trout ever pulled a fishing-line. 1
could marry the whole family and not
half try, if I w'anted to. Say, Bob, let’s
moisten.” Exeunt ornnes, behind the
Screen of the* bar-room.
Here is a stout old gentleman from the
rural districts. He wears a neat, cheap
suit, and has an honest face. He is a man
who tells the truth, pays his debts, loves
his family and discharges his duty. He
has an easy conscience and his mind is at
present engaged in no weightier employ
ment than that of exercising his lips in
the pucker neeessary for raising the tune
in church next Sabbath.
There goes a frying-sized spring chicken
lassie, just a little to the cradle side of
sweet sixteen. She is as fresh and lovely
as anew blown rose. She has a kissable
lip, a hugable waist, and a squeezable
hand. She is going to a dry goods store
on Whitehall street, and she’ll make the
fur fly when she gets there. Her thoughts
are all mixed up and messed up. She is
thinking of poetry and bangs and velvets
and music, and w'hether the shoes shall be
round-toed or square-toed, and whether
they shall button or lace; and she’s think
ing of furs and plush and pretty boys, and
how she will show off and shine out at
the next german, and, I declare, I am not
able to untangle the skein of her reflec
tions. besides, the five minutes are gone
and I must step over to the office and
hand in my manuscript.
SNATCHED FROM THE GRiVE.
Mrs. Sarah E. Turner and her mother,
Mrs. £. E. Bryan, for nineteen years
resident of Humboldt, Term., make the
followiug statements as to the merits of
Swift’s Specific. Mrs. Turner's case is
well known in that community, She
says:
‘‘l was afflicted for two or three years
with Eczema and Erysipehis combined.
My whole system was broken down, my
strength and appetite gone, and I be
came as helpless as a child, being lifted
from place to place by my friends. I
was treated by the best physicians in the
community with lodide of Potash and
the other usual remedies for such cases.
I was given up to die by my friends.
My sufferings were beyond description,
and I bad lost all hope of recovery. Last
January I was induced to try Swift’s Spe
cific, having recived a phamphlet from
the company detailings its merits. The
first half dozen bottles had the effect to
bring back hope to my heart, and
the thought of being well again brought
joy and gladness to the househould,
I have taken altogether twenty-fcur
bottles. The sores have all healed up aud
disappeared; my strength has returned,
and I am able to do all kiuds of house
work. Swift’s Specific, I honestly be
lieve, snatched me from the grave, aud
I do not know how to be grateful enough
for my recovery.
Mrs. Sarah E. Turner.
I know that S. S. S. has saved my
daughter’s life. She was the most
wretched looking object that I ever saw
when she commenced taking it, being
perfectly helpless. I thank God that we
ever heard of it. It has saved my child.
Mrs. P. E. Bryan.
Humboldt, Tenn., Oct. 1. 1884.
Treatise on Blood and Skin Diseases
mailed free.
The Swift Specific Cos. ,
Atlanta, Ga.
808 BURDETTE.
o
HE DESCRIBES HOW HE WENT TO
SEE SCHUYLER COLFAX.
O
A not Very Pleasant Ride Through a
Dark and Miserable Rainy Night
in Order to See a Famous Man
and Give Tent to a Speech.
0
In the earlier days, when I drew my
lecture from its scabbard and swept like
a bosom of holocaust across the land, I
lectured one night in Macomb, Illinois.
As I passed through Bushnell, I was
told that I must drive up from Maoomb
that night after the lecture, because
Schuyler Colfax would through
Bushnell the following morning at five
o’clock; he would have an hour or two to
wait for a connecting train; the leading
citizens had arranged a little surprise
breakfast part}' for him, there would be
much to say, something to eat and noth
ing to drink, and I had been appointed
one of the speakers. Tin-re were no
trains, but the distance was only twelve
miles, and I could drive.
Drive? I would walk. In those
younger days to meet a great man were
greater than to be a Roman, and t Q
make a speech at a great man’s recep
tion—remember, brothorn, I was young
then. I was not a snarling, toothless old
cynic, with ashes of disappointment on
my head, and the cinder of envious
distrust in my eye, Bo I went willingly,
joyously, proudly.
1 believe to, to meet the same mau, I
would do it again.
I left Macomb at midnight. The
roads were not of the good, goody; they
were of the bad, baddy; they were prairie
roads. It had been raining on them
twenty-two years off an on, principally
on. The night was darker than a theo
logical controversy. It was raining like
a house afire. It seemed as though old
Aquarius had got mad, pulled her wide
open, threw her over, and ’was run
ning w'ild for the next deluge. It
thuudered haial enough to sour a man’s
temper. When it lightened, which w T as
nearly ull the tfme, you couldn’t see any
thing for the blinding glare. When it
was dark, which was most of the time,
you could reach out and feel the dark
ness like a fog bank. Splash, splash )
splash, splash went the horses through
the mud. Where they couldn’t wade
they could swim. By and by there was
a scrambling sound in the darkness.
The driver would have disappeared if he
had been apparent. As it was, without
missing anybody particularly, I felt that
I was alone. Presently a voice came up
from the darkness.
“Where are you?”
I recognized the voice of my driver. I
had not seen him since we left Macomb,
but he had been swearing all the way,
and his voice had become famaliar to me.
I said that I was right where I belonged,
on the seat in the buggy, and asked
where he was. He informed me that the
horses had stepped upon a fallen bridge,
under one of which there had been a
washout. The forward wheels were rest
ing upon the sunken bridge, while the
hind wheels were perched on the great
round earth, which is the planet we in
habit. This accounted for the peculiar
seusation I experienced of sitting on the
the roof of a house or the side of a moun
tain.
The driver futher told me that he had
fallen over the dash board and was sit
ting between the horses with the dasli
board with him but did not know what
to do with it. He concluded by asking
me if I was hurt.
I told him that at first I felt a little
piqued at not receiving an invitation to
the bridge opening; but since his expla
nation I forgave everything—cherished
no resentment. He then suggested that
I get out and walk across the bridge
while he held the horses, and I could see
if the other end was alright.
I replied with much feeling, that while
I could not do that, I would remain
where I was untill daylight, when I could
look across and tell him how it was.
Finally he led the horses across, and
we resumed our pleasant loitering along
the darkened way. At the merry hour
of 2:30 a. in. we reached the Bushnell.
I was mud to the eyes, I was wet to
the bone. My eyes burned for sleep. I
had smoked one hundred and fifty ci
gars on my way and was a little nerve
ous.
I crawled into bed just in time to bear
the porter say it was time to get up.
I sat up on the side of the bed, and be
ginning at my neck counted 300 distinct
and defiaite aches, and stopped at the
floating ribs discouraged. I arrayed my
self in my wet and muddy raiment, and
danced merrily on to the banquet hall.
I sat at the festive board with smiles on
my pale, false face, and murder in my
wicked heart. When the festive board
did not groan, I did. I was among good,
kind, loviug friends, but their word
of cheer fell upon an icy heart, for I
wanted to crawl under the table and go
to sleep. I loved and admired Mr. Col
fax with genuine affection. I meant all
the true and beautiful things I didn’t say
about him that morniug, and he will for
give me when he knows that I wanted to
hit him with a stove leg.
I went back to my hotel and went to
sleep leaning up against the wall of my
room, before I could get close enough to
the bed to fall upon it. I dreamed that I
was a man with one hundred heads, and
only one eye to sleep for all of them;
that I hadn’t been asleep in a hundred
years, aud had just crawled into a steam
boat boiler to catch a little nap, when
Schuyler Colfax, wearing a waiter’s white
jacket, with a napkin ou his arm. sat
down at the man-hole and read me Ben
ton’s “Thirty Years in the United States
Senate” clear through, while two men
hammered cold rivets iu the boiler to keep
me awake.
Somehow my meetings with great men
are always attended with certain features
of pomp and circumstances with which a
mau of my retiring habits would williug
ly dispense.
MY SERE AND 1 EL LOW DOG.
When I moved into the country, some
time ago, I came to the c inclusion that I
must have a dog to be happy. So I got
one—an old-gold dog with one ear and
no tail. He was a gift dog, and I never
stared him in the mouth when he had no
muzzle ou.
I had not owned him more than two
days before I began to understand
why the man who gave him to me
parted with him so freely. It was Be
cause he was such a mischevious dog.
He was the kind of a dog that you could
be fond of, stuffed, under a glass case.
When I got him he was shedding his
hair with the swiftness and prodigality of
a cheap tooth-brush, and every time he
saw me with a velvet ulster on, he would
make it a point to jump on me and cover
me with his awful moyonnaise hair.
Everythiug in the house that had plush
on it, from the chair-cushions to the
family photograph-album, had more or
less dog hair on it; iu fact, there was
hair enough lying around to cover four
dogs. in
He shed his hair so fast that I stopped
worrying iu the firm belief that he would
be entirely bald in a day or two. But
he never got bald. For every hair that fell
out four new ones seemed to come in to
keep up the aftermath.
He had many unpleasant habits.
Wheu I wauted to go anywhere alone he
would insist on following; aud wheu I
called him he would turn and run for
his life, under the impression that he
was going to be cuffed and beaten.
He had no virtue as a watch-dog. He
wouldn’t watch auytliiug that he could
eat, aud he would watch that long
enough to get a chance to steal it. He
had a great habit of burying his food in
my bed. He would carry all sorts of
bones up-stairs, and get under the
clothes with them, and leave them there.
Then, iu the middle of the night, I would
roll over aud get all those bones right
in the small of my back, and be madder
than ever I was since I slept with my
lesser brother, who ate crackers in bed.
Another unhappy trick of the dog’s
was to rush iuto my room iu the morn
ing, and jump on the bed, and com.
ineuco walking and running ou me. I
would frequently wake as from a night
mare, and find the dog walking on my
eyes. After yawning and wiping the
dog out of my eyes, I would hurl him ou
the floor with a dull, sickening thud,
and that would be the last of him until
breakfast-time.
I called him Arthur, after King Arthur
of the Table Round, because he was al
round the table.
The most difficult thing I ever under
took to do w T as to put Arthur out at night.
I could push him out through the door,
but be would always rush back before I
could close it, and be under the table
looking at me to see what I was going
to do next. The only w 7 ay I could get
him out was to carry him, close the door
after me, deposit him on the ground, and
climb through the window. Then Ar
thur would send up a howl, aud keep it
up until I was glad to let him iu for the
sake of peace.
It was very difficult to catch him wheu
he didn’t want to be caught. I have
fished for him with a meat-covered
pickerel-hook, aud chased him with a
scap-net in vain.
One day I set a large rat-trap for foxes
out iu the hennery and covered it with
straw. It was baited with mutton. Ar
thur smelled it in his rambles, and put
his nose down on it a little too hard; for,
before he knew it, the saw-edged semi
circles jumped off the floor, grabbed
him behind the ears, and asphyxiated
him on the spot.
He now sleeps beneath the ox-eyed
daises, where the muzzle, the brick, and
the small boy bloom not.
A New Scheme.
El t faula 4 Ala., Dec. 17.— 1n view of
the numerous petitions for the postmaster,
ship at this point, the Mail of to-morrow
will suggest that candidates for such offi
ces should be nominated by the people in
mass meeting, thus getting at the prefer
ences of the majority. It holds that peti
tion is not representative and is embar
rassing to the appointing power that
would seek to give the people what they
most desired. It maintains that only in
this way can a community’s wishes
be made known to the President, and rec
ommends the adoption of the method by
the country at large
If silence be golden dumb people ought
to grow rich.
The little god of Love is an arrow mind
ed fellow r .
. , fellow.
A sleepy man is a
NUMBER 34.
"BILL .NYE.
—-o— —-
JIH'dPALt FACE-GIKL KLOI’KS Will
A BAKE-BaCK HIDKK.
0
He Murriez ** Squaw who ia not Codt< r
fnt with the Mode* of Civilized
Life, but who Knew* How to
Spend her Time in the Wcit.
0
“Jim, you long-haired, backslidden
Caucasian nomad, why don't you any
something? Brace tip and tell us your
experience. Were you kidnapped when
you were a kid and run off into the wild
wickup of the forest, or how was it. that
you came to leave the Yankee reservation
aud eat the raw dog of the Sioux ?*’
We were all sitting around the roaring
fat-piue fire at the foot of the canon, and
above us the full moon was filling the
bottom of the black notch in the moun
tains where God began to engrave the
gulch that grew wider and deeper till it
reached the valley where we were.
Squaw Jim was tall, silent and grave.
He was as dignified as the king of clubs
and as reticent as tbe private cemetery
of a deaf and dumb asylum. He didn’t
move when Dutch Joe spoke to him, but
he noticed the remark, and after awhile
got up in tbe firelight, aud later on the
silent savage made the longest speech ef
his life.
“Boys, you call me Squaw Jim and
you call my girl a half-breed. I have no
other name than Squaw Jim with the
pale faced dude and the dyspeptic sky
pilot who tells me of his Ood. You call
me Squaw Jim because I’ve married a
squaw and insist on living with her. If
I had married Mist-of-the-Waterfall and
had lived in my tepee with her summers
and wintered at St. Louis with a wife
who belonged to a tall, peaked church,
aud who wore her war paint and her false
scalp-lock and her false heart into God’s
wigwam, I'd be all right probably.
They would have laughed about it a lit
tle among the boys, but it would have
been way no in tlie big stone lodges of
the white man’s city.
“I loved a pale-faced girl in Connecti
cut forty years ago. She said she did
me, but she met with a change of heart,
aud married a bare-back rider in a cir
cus. Then she ran away with the sword
swallower of the side show, and finally
broke her neck trying to walk the tight
rope. The jury said if the rope had
been as tight as she was it might have
saved her life.
“Since then I have been where the
sun aud the air and the soil were free.
It kind of smoothed me to wear mocca
sins and throw my biled shirt into tbe
Missouri. It took the fever jealousy and
disapointment out of my stall to sleep in
the great bosom of the unhoused night.
Soon I learned how to parley-vous iu the
Indian language and to wear the clothes
of the red man. I married the squaw
girl who saved me from the mountain
fever and my foes. She did not yearn
for the equestrian of the white man’s
circus. She didn’t know how to raise
XxYxZz to the nth power, but she was
a wife worthy of the president of the
United States. She was way off the
trail in matters of etiquette, but she
didn’t know what it was to envy and hate
the pale-faced squaw with the sealskin
sacque ann the torpid liver, and the
high-priced throne of grace and the aes
thetic Saviour. She never sighed to go
where they are filling up Connecticut’s
celestial exhibit with girls who get mys
teriously murdered and tho young men
who did it go out lecturing. You see I
keep posted.
“Boys, you kind of pity me, I reckon,
and say Squaw Jim might have been in
congress if he’d stayed with his people
and wore night shirts and pared his
claws, but you needn’t.
“My wife can’t knock the tar out of a
symphony on the piano, but she can mop
the dew off the grass with a burglar and
knock out a dude’s eye at sixty yards
rise.
“My wife is a little foggy on the win
ter style of salvation, and probably you’d
stall her on how to drape a silk velvet
overskirt so it wouldn’t hang one-sided,
but she has a crude idea of au every day,
all wool General Superintendent of the
Universe and Father-of-all-Humanity,
whether they live under a horse blanket
tepee or a Gothic mortgage. She might
look out of place before the cross with
her chilblains and her childlike confi
dence among the Tom cat sealskin
sacques of your camel’s hair Christianity,
but if the world was supplied with Cbiis
tians like my wife, purgatory would
make an assignment and the Salvation
army could go home ami hoe coin.
Sabe?”
Mris Nettie Carpenter, thejoung Amer
i;ni4 who has taken a prize at the
lean violini-' 4 “y . . r
Paris Conservatory, has joined concert lor
, an( j attractions with old Sims Reeves
and the two intended to make an extended
m nr of the English piovinces.
Ninety of the men who supported the
Morrison bill at the last session have
been returned to the next house, according
to the certificates in the office of the Clerk
of the House, as against 19 of the men who
opposed it. The percentage is 68 as to the
reveuue reformers, and 47£ as to the protec
tionist.
"VVattel you have for Christmas?
A perfume dealer, though an idiot, is
hound to be a man of scents.