Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 4, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 February 1884 — AFTER VICTOR HUGO. [ARTICLE]

AFTER VICTOR HUGO.

A I*og Fight *a Viewed from an Heroic Standpoint. CHATTER L What is a bulldog? It is a monster that transforms itself i into a machine. It is a battering ram. i It is the entrance of matter into liberty. It is a mad mass with the bounds of a tiger, the stealthiness of a mouse, the obstinacy of an ox, the unexpectedness of the surf, the rapidity of lightning, the deafness of the tomb. It weighs forty or fifty pounds, yet it rebounds like a child’s ball. Its attack is a wild whirl abruptly cut at right angles. The tempest ceases, the cyclone passes, the wind falls, the broken mast i's replaced, the leak is stopped, the fire dies out, but the bulldog never lets go. He has more tenacity than a Stockton (bill collector. ' He is Old Tenacity itself. CHAPTER 11. You can make a mastiff hear reason, (astound the bull, fascinate the boar, (frighten the tiger, soften the lion, but there is no way of christianizing the {bulldog. You cannot kill him. He is dead, and at the same time he lives. He lives with a sinister life bestowed upon him by Infinity. CHAPTER HL The dogs were let loose. Loose? They were let fast. There was a cloud of sawdust, a muffled roar, and Grip had Tug by the throat. Two dozen shouted “Bravo!” One of the canaille recklessly threw his hat into the air, and exclaimed: “Long live the republic!” He was seized upon and thrown down stairs. ‘ The unfortunate man had committed [two offenses. He had broken the peace of a dog fight, and had insulted the (Democrats. ; But still the dogs held on. Grip tugged at Tug. Tug gripped at Grip. IThe red blood dampened the sawdust and smoked aggressively. . I CHAPTER IV. “Do you believe in the devil, Chevalier ?” asked Mike McCarthy of Mike Mulrooney. ; “Yes. No. Sometimes.” : “In a tempest ?” • “No.” “In a dog fight?” “Yes; in moments like this.” “Then only the devil can save Tug!” Tug writhed in the cast-iron grip like a soul in despair. A soul! Strange thing! You would not have thought that a bulldog had one—a soul full of hatred, and that there was cunning in that smoking, bristling, steaming mass of dog flesh. ! Neither would let go. 1 Suddenly a noise was heard at the door. Two Commissioners of Police (entered with drawn clubs and cloves on their breath. The crowd fled terror-stricken before the majesty of the law. CHAPTER v. A pebble may stop a log; a tree branch may turn the avalanche, and jthe police can stop a dog fight. , The Pygmy had taken the Thunderbolt prisoner. McCarthy approached the first officer. “Sir, you have saved my dog’s life.” The old man resumed his impassable iattitude and did not reply.— Pen and Press.