Newspaper Page Text
VOL. II.
A LULLABY FROM THE WEST.
Hey, baby! Ho, baby! what’s all the row?
Closo up them peepers an’ go to sleep now!
Pappy’s here with him an’ no un ’ll hurt—
If there is, some galoot ’s got to eat dirt!
Jumpin’ Worso’n Jehosoj had hear how he eorralls! yells!
a herd that’s stampeded
Sounds like Apaohes a-huntin’ a muss—
Hey, baby! Ho, baby! dry up yer fuss!
Hey. baby! Ho, baby! look-out down there!
That’s yer Pap’s six-shooter—better take
care!
Baby’s too little to handle a gun;
When yer in trousers yer Pappy ’ll get one,
Learn ye to shoot it, too. Bully fer you !
Yer a true sou o’ West,through an’ through!
Look like a tenderfoot yet, but ye ain’t—
Hey, baby! Ho, baby! sleep like a saint!
Hey. baby! Ho, baby! Gosh! soo him do! screAV
Up his kid face worse ’n coyotes ’ll
Dry up that noise, er yer Tappy ’ll shoot.
Thinkin’ lie’s trapped by a band o’ PiutoJ
Mammy ’ll come in a minute! Now quit!
Panthers for yellin’ ain't in it a bit!
What! bev ye quit? put an end to yer fuss?
Hey, baby! Ho, baby! cute little cuss!
—Boy Farrell Green, in Puck.
ABIJAH BLAISOELL’S HEN.
it Was Not the Widow Who Cave Way.
“She’s the most remarkable hen in
the country. I know she doesn’t look
it. No, she’d never take a prize at the
cattle show. Bhe ain’t, so to speak,
pure blooded. Borne folks Avouldeven
call her mongrel, but I think it’s more
respectful to refer to her as a compos¬
ite. Why, she knows more than some
men aud most Avomen,” and Abijah
Avould gaZ9 admiringly at his solitary
fOAvl.
“You’d think she’d be lonesome,
would you? Well, hoAV about me? O,
no! Ave keep each other company. I
don’t want any better companion than
Belinda, aud she neA’er rinds a bit of
fault Avith me.
“Did I ever tell you Iioav it came
about that she was left here all alone?
You knoAv I used to keep hens. I had
those three houses full. They didn’t
do Avell,somehoAv,andone Avinter Avhen
grain was extra high and the hens
didn’t lay an egg, I got disgusted aud
A'OAved I’d sell off the Avhole lot of
them.
“Well, a hen man came along, and
he and I went out and caught the
hens, and an aAvful squaAvking and
dust they made, too. When the man
had paid me and gone off, I felt pretty
good.
“But just as I turned to go into the
house I heard a little noise, and there
came Belinda picking along as nice as
you*please. I was mad, and I told
her then and there that she needn’t
think she could get the best of me
that Avay, and just as soon as I’d eaten
up a mess of corned beef I’d just got,
I’d kill her and have a chicken pie.
“She looked up at me and craiked,
the Avay she lia". She gives tAvo or
three craikes like an ordinary hen,
and then her voice kind of breaks in
a long, pitiful wail. It sounded just
as if she said ‘0,0,0, don’t!’ if you’ll
believ'e me, I said out loud to her, ‘All
light, I Avon’t.
“Since then she’s had things about
her own Avay. I was going to tear
down the henhouses, but Belinda she
likes to use all of ’em, so I didn’t,
She ahvays lays in the first one. The
second one she has for a dining room
and living room, and she sleeps iu the
third one.
4 t Yes, it’s some trouble to take care
of them all, but as long as Belinda is
satisfied I don’t find any fault.
“Lay? You never saw a hen that
would‘lay as she does. Bhe hasn’t
mi 3 sed a day in six months.
“And it’s a funny thing, too. My
aunt Nancy came here on a visit aud
stayed a mouth. Now, she hates hens,
but slie likes eggs. Well, what do
you think? All the time she was here,
Belinda didn’t lay a single egg! But
she be<mn a"ain ‘tha very day aunt
Nancy went awav. Bhe knew what
aunt Nancy was just as well as I did,
aud she wanted to spite her.
“Wliy, I don’t know but I should
have got married before uoav if it
hadn’t been for Belinda, but I don’t
suppose she’d like to have any other
Avoman around. ”
Thus Avould Abijah Blaisdell run on
about his hen, as long ' as any ‘ one
would listen to him.
The widow Millett, Abijah’s next
door neighbor, talked a good deal
about the lieu, but in a different strain,
She addressed her remarks to herself
or to the hen, so no one was the
wiser. She hated hens in general,
and Belinda in particular.
“If you’d mind your oivn business
aud keep on your* own side of the
fence, I wouldn’t say a word, but I
THE TRIBUNE #
“Don’t Give Up tlio Sliip,”
BUCHANAN, GA., FBI DAY, JANUARY 27. 1809.
won’t have you in my flower beds.
Shoo! scat!” and she would shake her
skirts at the intruder, and with a
frown on her usually placid face,chgse
the hen off her premises.
“It isn’t alone that you are a hen,”
she would say again, as she sat at her
window and looked over across at
Abijah’s yard where Belinda could be
seen. ‘But it’s your being his hen,
aud making him the laughing stock ot
the neighborhood. He acts just as if
you were a person, aud he seems to
have forgotton my existence.
“To be sure, he never did take
much notice of me, but there was a
time when I thought—” here she
would break off aud blush a little;
“well, any Avay, I should think you’d
be ashamed to make a groAvn man act
so silly.”
As time went on her hatred of Be¬
linda increased. There seemed to be
an irresistible fascination for the bed
in Mrs. Millett’s garden, and nearly
every day found her scratching there.
“I never did see a hen that knew
anything,” the widow would say
wrathfully, “and I believe you know
the least of any of them.”
Bhe spoke to Abijah about keeping
his hen at home, and he fixed up the
fence with that object in vieA\-, but
fences Avere nothing to Belinda. She
was light of weight, and could fly over
anything constructed of laths.
One day the widow found the hen
busily digging a large hole iu the
midst of her pansy bed. Thereupon
in the heat of her anger she gave vent
to dire threats.
“If I find you over here scratching
again, you, Belinda Blaisdell, I shall
kill yon. Do you hear? You think I
Avouldn’t do it, hut I just would. I
have had to kill hens before uoav and
I think didn’t I’d like enjoy the killing job, but ^1 almost
you, you mean
old thing. Noav remember! I’m a
woman of my word and I shall keep
it, if I have to ebase you all the Avay
home to catch you.”
As she went into the house, she be¬
gan to repent of her threats. “I sup¬
pose I should hate to kill her,” she
soliloquized, “but I said I Avould.and,
yes, I will, if she scratches any more,
But I’ll keep a close Avatch of her and
keep her aAvay so that I Avon’t have to
do it. And I’ll get Abijah to build his
fence higher.”
After that Belinda was on Mrs. Mil¬
lett’s mind most of the time. She
Avas driven home many times a day,
and never got a chance to have a good
scratch.
But this thing could uot go on for-
ever. As cold weather came on,
and the frost had taken most of her
flowers, Mrs. Millett’s vigilance began
to relax, and one day Belinda came
over and found a nice sunny place in
a grassy banking, where she scratched
and dusted to her heart’s content for
half an hour before she was dis¬
covered.
There she lay her feathers full of
dirt and her eyes blinking sleepily,
when Mrs. Millett came along and saw
her.
The widow pounced upon her, but
Belinda was too quick for her. There¬
upon began a chase which only ended
iu the middle house, which Belenda
had always used for a dining room
and living room.
The next day there Avas news for
tho gossips. Abijah Blaisdell had lost
his hen.
“You see, I was aAvay from nome all
day,” he said, “and I didn t get home
till dark. But I d left feed enough for
Belinda’s dinner and supper, so I
didn’t Avorry about her. lAventoutaud
shut the door of the third house, be-
cause I supposed she d gone to bed,
but I didn’t look in, as I Avas m a
hurry to get to my supper, let
“Well, this morning I went to
her out, and she didn t come. I he
house was empty. The other two
houses Avere empty, too, but in the
second one there were some feathers.
Noav, Isupposeforsomereasonslie.took
a notion to sleep in the second house,
and as I didn t shut that, some vai-
mint got in aud caught her. It was a
fox most likely.
For a day or tAvo Abijah was lo\v
spirited, but he Avas of a philosophical
mind, and he decided to make the best
of it, so he began to tear doAvn the
henhouses, as there aa as no fui thei
use for them.
It was the fourth day after Belinda s
disappearance that Abijah went to do
some AvhiteAvashing for Mrs. Millett.
“You’d better stay to dinner, she
had said, “then you can work longer,
and Abijah had agreed,
The widow was up early that morn-
ing and had her dinner started be-
times. Only a few minutes before
Abijah came she removed the cover
of a kettle which was singing on the
stove and looked in anxiously.
“I expect you’d a-been as tough as
a biled owl if I hadn’t kept you so
long,” she said. “As it is, I guess
you’d better boil pretty steady till
noon.”
Abijah worked busily and cheer¬
fully, and as the savory smells from
the kitchen came to him, his spirits
rose aud he whistled his favorite
tunes.
When dinner was announced he
dropped his brush instantly aud came
without delay.
He enjoyed his dinner immensely,
and as he took a second helping of the
central dish he said, looking across at
the widow.
“I believe this is the best chicken
pie I ever ate.”
“I’m glad you like it,’’she answered,
and he noticed that she blushed at his
complimen t.
They say that the way to a man’s
heart is through his stomach. If this
is true, that’chicken pie must have
been the entering wedge in the case
of Abijah Blaisdell.
Be this as it may, he and the widow
were married last June.—Boston
Herald.
TRIUMPH OF HIS COOK.
Admitted to Hi* Young AVife Tliat They
Needed Careful Handling.
“The fact of the matter is,”hesaid,
“that you Avomen do not understand
the management of employes, You
do not knoAv hoAV to handle those avIio
are iu a someAvhat loAver social posi¬
tion and to Avhom you pay salaries.
You have no idea of discipline, which
is a fundamental feature of life aud in
which the social scale cuts no figure
Avbatever. ”
He had not been, married long, and
this Avas his first experience with trou¬
ble in the kitchen, and he naturally
thought he kneAV more about it than
his Avife.
“I have been handling men in one
Avay or another for some time,” he
went on, “and consequently it is to be
expected that I should knoAv a little
more about methods of enforcing re¬
spect and obedience than yon, who
are having your first experience in
running a small domestic establish¬
ment. You must be careful not to let
them run over v< u. Noav, Avhere is
this girl? I’d liktf to talk to her.”
“I’ll send her y'p to you,” said his
wife.
“Very well,” he replied, Avith calm
superiority, as he settled himself in
his easy chan , I Avill be easy Avith
her because j : alize that she lias not
been handled p >perly heretofore. But
before I get through there will be an
understanding him the
The girl came t< from
kitchen, upon being summoned by
his wife. He undertook to see that
the tone in which he spoke to her was
calm, but firm, She didn’t have
much to say i. ay way, and didn’t care
anything about the tone.
“I want to impress upon you,” he
said, “that so 1 mg as yon remain in
our employ tlu - e are certain rules
that must be obeyed, and that what
my wife says to you—” toward the
The girl was moving
door.
“Hold on!” he exclaimed. “Where
are you going?” she answered.
“T’ get me t’iugs,”
“I quits here and now.”
“But—but—you can’t quit now!”he
protested. can’t?” she demanded.
“Who says I
“But we have a few friends coming
to dinner tonight,” he persisted.
“Let ’em come,” she answered.
By this time he was out of his chair
and following her out into the hall.
He tried to tell her that she couldn’t
quit without notice, but she demon¬
strated that she could. Then he capi¬
tulated.
“My dear,” he said to his wife
later, “these girls cannot he treated
as reasoning beings. They don t
know anything but cooking and arith¬
metic, and nothing in the latter out¬
side of addition. I have added fifty
cents a week to your cook’s wages.”
And that was all she could ever get
out of him about that interview.—
Chicago Evening Post.
The Criminal’s Characteristic.
An English writer, who for fifteen
years or more has been a student of
criminal anthropology,says that large,
voluminous ears are the most marked
characteristic of the criminal.
Customs receipts of the United
States treasury- department now
amount to one-half the ordinary ex¬
penditure of the government.
TESTS FOR INSANITY.
Buie of Thumb Methods Which Very
Frequently Fall.
“Most people imagine,” said a local
nerve specialist to a New Orleans
Times-Democrat reporter, “that doc¬
tors have some infallible test by which
they can detect insanity immediately.
Of course that’s all nonsense. There
are many odd methods of diagnosing
such cases, however. In locomotor
ataxia the patient cannot Avalk with
his eyes shut.
i > In incident paresis there is diffi¬
culty in articulating particular letters,
and one famous scientist used to make
his patients say ‘national intelli¬
gencer.’ A man with an incipient case
of the .disease can’t pronounce these
Avords distinctly to save his soul. An¬
other very eminent practitioner em¬
ployed ‘truly rural’ for the same pur-
purpose. If you have paresis I Avould
advise you not to say ‘truly rural’—
at least not in company.
“The ‘knee-jerk’ testis Avell known
to physicians. To apply it the legs
are crossed aud a sharp LIoav struck
just beloAV the knee of the limb that
is swingiug loose. If tho subject is
all right there Avill be a prompt reflex
action; in other words his foot av i 11
fly up in spite of all efforts to keep it
quiet. If not, there is something
wrong. And that reminds me of a
tragic incident Avhich occurred in a
southern court not many years ago.
A man Avas being examined for insan-
ity, and one of the lawyers
made the experts the butt of
a great deal of ridicule. He
scoffed particularly at the knee-jerk
test and asked to have it applied to
himself. There was no reflex action
and the fact had a povverful effect on
the jury, especially as the laAvyer hap-
pened to he a man of brilliant attain-
ments. After the trial Avas over he
got to thinking about the matter, and
in dpite of liis skepticism concluded
to submit to a thorough private ex¬
amination. It was made and discov¬
ered undeniable signs of locomotor
ataxia, dooming him to a certain and
lingering death.
I.ast of tlie Boston Tea Tarty.
The last private house that tvas di¬
rectly connected Avith the episode of
the Boston tea party iu the great
struggle for liberty has been torn doAvn
to make room for a business block.
The old Bradlee house,for as such Avas
it known, has stood at the corner of
Tremouttnl Hollis streets for 127
years, and the land, which, Avhen the
building was built, Avas part of a pas¬
ture, is today Avorth $100,000.
The house Avas one of the most inter¬
esting historic landmarks in Boston.
In its Avide old kitchen the ringleaders
of the Boston tea party disguised
themselves as Indians on the evening
of Dec. 16, 1773, before going to the
Avharf Avhere the cargo of tea Avas
thrown into the Avatera of the harbor.
The old Bouth church and Faueuil
hall are the ouly tAvo buildings now
left that sheltered the patriots on that
eventful day.
Although built in 1771, the house
Avas strong enough to stand together
another 100 years, and it Avould
doubtless have been left ns a land¬
mark Avere it not for the city’s growth
around it. The laud comprised in its
site and the yard have risen so much
in value that a building productive of
proportionate revenue must be put
up to meet the increase in taxes. It
Avas OAvned by thejDoggett family, who
Avere descendants of Elizabeth Bradlee,
only daughter of Nathaniel Bradlee,
its builder, Avho married Noah
Doggett.—St. Louis Globe-Democrat.
Folk Fore-.
The research into popular beliefs is
an absorbing and not -a profitless
study. Scarcely a day passes that we
do not run across some piece of super¬
stition that dates, iu one form or an¬
other, from a far antiquity, Balt is
spilled at table, and we jest with our
neighbor over the prospect of a quar¬
rel, half believing in the sign, though
we may not know that the Romans did
the same. A dog howls at night, and
we recall the widespread belief that
the howling of a dog foretells death,
but forget that our early Aryan ances¬
tors assigned to the dog the office of
messenger from the world of spirits.
The every-day custom is as old as
humanity; the nursery jingle may be
traced back to an origin in the world’s
babyhood; the familiar fairy tale
which delights nineteenth century
children is found iu varying forms in
all countries, pointing to a common
origin in a remote age, embodying old
Aryan myths, aud giving us interest¬
ing information of the conceptions of
our ancestors regarding nature and
human life.—Lippincott’s.
NO. 0,
SNOW-SHOEING FOR CARIBOU.
Rood Speed Made Tlirouith floiiso Spruce
ami Tamarack Thicket*.
Snow-shoeing, as a hunter is re¬
quired to do it Avheu on the caribou
track, has the same relationship to
the “club snow-shoe run,” so called,
that “park riding” does to “punching
coavs. ” The men of the “bush” have
short and broad oval shoes, and they
must go up and down the steepest
imaginable places, and pass at good
speed and perfect silence through tho
most dense spruce and tamarack
thickets, for there the caribou leads.
The deep siioav covers up the small
evergreen bushes, but they resist it
someAvhat, leaving a soft spot, Avhich
the hunter is constantly falling into
Avith fatal noise. If he runs against a
tree, doAVU comes an avalanche of
snow, Avhich sounds like thunder in
the quiet.
I Avas brought to a perfectly fresh
track of three caribou by two guides,
and taking the trail, we found them
not alarmed, but traveling rapidly.
Bo “hot” Avas the trail that I removed
the stocking from my gun-breach,
We moved on with as much speed as
we could manage in silence, The
trees Avere cones of suoav, making the
forest deuse, like soft-Avood timber in
summer. We Avere led up hills,
through dense hemlock thickets, Avhere
the falling suoav nearly clogged the
action of my rifle aud filled the sights
with ice. I Avas forced to remove my
right mitten to keep them ice-clear
by warming Avith the bare hand. The
snow-shoeing Avas difficult aud fatign-
mg to the utmost,as mile after mile
we Avonnd along after those vagrant
caribou. We found a small pond
where they had paAved for water, and
it had not yet frozen after their drink,
Noav is the time Avhen the hunter
feels the thrill Avhich is the pleasure
of the sport.
Doavu the sides of the pond led the
trail, then twisting and turning, it en¬
tered the Avoods and Avonnd up a little
hill. Old man Larette fumbled the
snoAv with his bare hand, he lifted to-
Avard us some unfrozen spoor—good,
cheerful old soul, his eyes Avere those
of a panther. Noav we set our shoes
ever so carefully, pressing them doAvn
slowly, and shifting our weight cau¬
tiously lest the footing be false. The
tAvo hunters crouched in the snoAv,
pointing. I cocked my rifle; one
snow-shoe sunk slowly under me—
the suoav avus treacherous— and three
dark objects flitted like birds past the
only opening in the forest, seventy-
five yards ahead.
“Take the gun, Con,” I said, aud
my voice broke on the stillness
harshly; the game Avas up, the dis¬
appointment keen, The reaction of
disgust Avas equal to the suppressed
elation of the second before. “Go to
camp the nearest wav, Larette.”—
From “The White Forest,” by Fred¬
eric Bemiugton, iu Harper’s Maga¬
zine.
A Dog Stops a K mm wav,
A butcher boy in Chicago, four
years ago, taught a Great Dane pup
to sit oil the seat of the delivery
wagon, hold the reins in •HT3 - mouth
aud pull back on them if the horse
started while the boy was away.
It was a pretty trick, and has
been the pride of the butcher boy
even after he got a shop of his own
and had other boys to deliver for him.
A few days ago, as the Great Dane
was trotting beside the wagon, the
horse shied so violently as to throw
the driver from his seat. The horse
then ran away up the street, the reins
dragging oil ihe ground. The dog
was puzzled for ten seconds. He
looked at the boy scrambling to his
feet, half dazed. He looked at the
runaway horse tearing down the street.
He looked at the dangling lines and
he decided something was to be done.
Sprinting after the runaway he caught
him in a block, seized the reins,which
were luckily buckled, in his teeth, and
settled back, an animated, scratching,
bouncing anchor. The horse was not
so very badly seared,after all, aud the
dog was a big dog to carry on the bit.
The horse stopped presently, the
Great Dane grunting with joy of the
struggle, and the boy came up. All
which shows the value of early edu¬
cation.—New York Commercial Adver¬
tiser.
A Poor School.
Mrs. Stronginind—I am afraid that
women’s college I am sending my
daughter to doesn’t amount to much.
Friend —It’s a very famous institu¬
tion.
Mrs. Strongmind—So I had heard;
but iny daughter has been there three
years and she doesn’t look or talk QV
act like a man yet.