Democratic Sentinel, Volume 2, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 August 1878 — Grandfather Lickshingle on the Hot Weather. [ARTICLE]

Grandfather Lickshingle on the Hot Weather.

“This is very unpleasant weather,” said Grandfather Lickshingle, yesterday. “I am goin’ on 200 years old now, an’ I don’t remember ever seein’ nuthin’like it.” *> “It’s awful,” growled a member of the family; “if it doesn’t soon getcooler I do think we shall die.” “Cooler? die?” exclaimed grandfather, “ wh—wh—what d’ye mean, child? I wasn’t complainin’ about the heat,” he went on, buttoning up his dressing gown. “I was about to remark that I never see such confoundedly cool weather at this time of year. Why, only think, here’s it’s the middle of July, and the thermometer down to a hundred and ten in the shade,” and he shrugged his shoulders as if a lump of ice had slid down his back. “I wouldn’t be surprised, he continued, ‘ ‘ if the blamed mercury should git down to a hundred afore it stops, and freeze half of us to death, same as it did once out West.” “Out West?’ “Yes; in St. Louis.” “You must be mistaken, grandfather ; St. Louis is the hottest place in the world. People are dying there from the heat by dozens.” “ Oh, I know they are now; and I don t wonder at it—people have become so everlastin’ly delicate these days that they can t stand nothin’. Now, when I lived in St. Louis it was inhabited by a diflerent breed of cats. In them days the reg’lar temper’ture was from 250 to 300 in the shade.” Here the member got out of the room, unperceived by grandfather, who continued : “That made it kind of pleasant and healthy. But one summer, right in the middle of harvest, the thermometer fell down to a hundred an* five, an’ X never see such distress in all my life. People just literally froze to death. If your grandfather hadn’t been tougher than a pine knot-hole, I’m sure he wouldn’t be here now to tell it. But I had lots 6f heavy elothin’ and managed to worry through. There’s somethin’ in the air now that reminds mo of that desp’rit time, an’ I’m afraid history is to be repeated,” and he began blowing on his fingers’ ends, at the same time turning around to see what effect was being produced by the recital. Finding himself alone, he said : “All right; I can stand it if they can. I was only tollin’ the story that they might know a little of the history of their own country; but if they don’t want to hear it they needn’t. If they prefer to remain as ignorant as the beasts of the field, it ain’t my loss. For “y P ar t I’ll go down to the ice-house. It can’t be very much cooler there than it is here,” and picking up his cane and fan hewent. —Oil City Derrick.