Democratic Sentinel, Volume 13, Number 51, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 January 1890 — Page 6

DREAMING. BY C. LOWATEII. Purple mists upon the hills In tin distaucs quiver ; Koislesslv the bubbling rills Glide on to the river. In the breeze the maple trees Flannt their foliage gay; All the spectrum's fleeting tints, Silver shades and golden hints Give of distant Mav. Lazily I lie and dream Of the winter coming. Mingling fancies with the stream And the wild bees humming. Will it be so blest for me As the year now pasty Will it—ah me—will it fly Quickly, quickly, quickly by, Leaving woe at last? Summer brought me hopes so bright, Autumn sees them flying; Summer came with life and light, Now the light is dying. But I lie while moments fly, Breaming what 'twill be When the winter days are here, And onoe more the whits New Year Bids me enter free. Plum City, Wis.

OUR PLAN DIDN’T WORK

BY MOLLIE RICHARDS.

Mr. and Mrs. Jones were humble people, in moderate circumstances, and lived upon a small farm. They had but one child, a daughter, who was always called Sissy. Sissy was about my age, and I was about six years old, when “Father” Jones adopted me into his family. When I was about eight years of age a relative of Mr. Jones died. To attend the funeral was a big day’s journey for his slow horse. They did not like to leave us with the sole care of the place on the day of the funeral, yet they seemed to think of no way to prevent it. So, for that entire day we were left in charge of everything. They kept one horse, two cows, a pig or two, and a great deal of poultry. It was my work from the start, mine and Sissy’s, to do what we could for the cattle and poultry, and we quarreled not a little over the work. We shared alike sport as well as work, and were much together. Sometimes Sissy exercised authority over me, claiming her lights as lawful possessor. This her parents would not permit when they knew of it. The work assigned for us to do was to water the cows at noon, at night put them in their stable, feed the poultry, and, if they returned late, provide wood and coal and kindling. I can see yet how Mother Jones looked when she started. She was dressed in plain, old-fashioned garb, and her eyes had a peculiar, wistful expression. She cautioned us over and over not to turn things topsy-turvy, not to leave the house alone, or make fires, as none was needed. Mrs. Jones was a very careful housekeeper. Our dinner was spread on the kitchen table and neatly covered with a spotless linen cloth. After she had closed the kitchen door she passionately embraced both Sissy and I, as if she never expected to see us alive again. Then she slowly walked to the old square-top carriage and reluctantly climbed into it. Father Jones looked worried as he stepped in after her and drove slowly away. We had previously planned our sport and were very impatient, so we thought that they would never get started. Next to the yard was a small field; below this field was a large apple orchard, in which we were raising a calf. This calf was very tame. Sissy and I had made a pet of it, and had quarreled not a little in selecting a name. Finally, we decided on DaisyDingle, that each might have an individual claim upon the name. I had often told Sissy that I thought if we could get the chance we might ride upon Daisy-Dingle’s back. When we discovered that we were to have this Sunday to ourselves we at once decided that this would be a golden opportunity. We planned onr ride with many fears, lest it might be rainy, or perhaps we might be seen and have our doings reported. The weather proved to be all that we could desire. As soon as Mr. Jones drove off Sissy and I skipped up stairs, for it had been decided that Sissy must have a sidesaddle, and she had things in readiness to make one. First, she produced two of her mother’s dresses, which were slightly worn; then, with a big husk needle anil twine, we fashioned a saddle; the sleeves served for stirrups. Our nearest neighbors had gone to church and their house was closed, as was nearly every house in the neighborhood. The coast was clear. Daisy-Dingle being a pet, did not object to the saddle. I insisted that Sissy should have the first ride. She had no trouble getting on, but her weight, together with fixing her feet in the stirrups, scared Daisy-Dingle, who started at a full gallop before we were ready. Sissy, having no hold, fell off, her feet entangled in the stirrups. The saddle had been securely fastened to the calf’s back, and Sissy was dragged a considerable distance. I was badly scared. Sissy was stunned and semi-con-scious for a time, but with the exception of a few slight scratches, the worst in her face, she escaped uninjured. •The lower portion of the orchard was low and swampy; through this Sissy had been dragged. Her dress was a sight to behold. It being Sunday, she was permitted to wear one too fine for our occupation; besides being torn.it wa-t brown and green-stained from mud and grass. After the fright, finding Sissy not badly injured, and being plucky, she

urged me to take a ride. Beeng a boy, ] I thought I could mauage better, t j got on and met with the same success, only that I was not dragged when S fell off, for the saddle had been aban- j doned. Poor Daisv-Dingle did not know what to make of such treatment. She j became wild. We were now determined to have a j ride l>oth together. How to get her to stand still long enough for us to mount j upon her back was the question. As j we found it impossible to do this, we became enraged and took turns in beating and racing the poor calf many times around the orchard and over Mother Jones’ dresses. Finally Daisv-Dingle became exhausted. It was dinner time, and we were hungry. So we concluded that ii we stopped to eat, perhaps by the time we came back Daisy-Dingle might permit us to take a ride. Hastening to the house, we were hardly courageous enough to enter. We bad neglected to fasten doors or windows. Our appetites got the better of us, and we cautiously entered. Fortunately nothing had been disturbed. While eating we quarreled over a certain piece of pie. Pie and plate were broken and trampled upon the kitchen carpet. We were coming to a “fist fight,” when Sissy remembered that there was another pie of the kind in the cellar. She brought it, and we devoured the most of it in peace. While eating the pie we resolved upon a new plau. In our eagerness to try it we forgot our noon work, and again leaviag the house went to the orchard. Poor Daisy-Dingle! It was a rather warm day in July, and at noon the heat was oppressive for a poor worried calf. Our plan did not work. DaisyDingle would not stand, so we gave her more exercise until at last she was conquered. Just as Sissy had taken her place astride the calf’s back our neighbor, who had returned from church, and who had been watching us unobserved, came along, interfered, and we were obliged to abandon our sport. We were mortified and worried to think we had been discovered, and thus made liable to exposure as well as punishment. We ran into the barn to hide, each blaming the other for what had been done. Soon tiring of this, we looked about to see what next we could do unobserved. Mr. Jones made cider for vinegar. He kept barrels of it in his barn. There were three barrels that Sissy and I had often thought might still be fit to drink, but how to get some had always been a puzzle. We thought this an excellent opportunity for tasling it. The bungs were tight in each barrel, and we saw no possible way to get them out; but instead of spigots there were plugs that we thought might be easily knocked out. I gave one hard hit and the cider, or rather vinegar, came suddenly spurting over both of us in a stream, and we were thoroughly drenched. We had planned to drink with straws, but did not even taste it. for we made an effort to replace the plug. As it finally ceased flowing we concluded that we were successful in stopping it. We tried the second and third barrels with almost the same result. Next we hunted eggs. These we took to the kitchen, made a coal fire, filled the tea-kettle with eggs and water, put it over the fire, and closed the stove. "While waiting for the eggs to boil we remembered our work. As it was getting late we dropped everything, and, leaving the door wide open, proceeded to water cattle. In the midst of this Mr. and Mrs. Jones returned. They had been very anxious about us, and came back much earlier than was anticipated. When Mother Jones caught sight ol us she screamed, but when she reached the kitchen door and saw at one glance the hot stove and a hungry tramp feasting upon the remains ol our dinner, she gave one piercing shriek and fainted away, which sc scared the tramp that he fled. The kettle had boiled dry and was emitting a strange odor. The stove was hot enough to burst, and the carpet was irreparably spoiled. Mrs. Jones was sick all night from fright. The next morning Daisy-Dingle was found dead. Our neighbor came to tell of oui doings in the orchard, just at the moment. Mr. Jones discovered, by the smell of vinegar, what had happened to his barrels. Mrs. Jones about this time discovered the eggs and the ruined condition of the tea-kettle. She could not find the dress she had wished to wear that day, nor could she for a long time get over the loss of two, or the ruined condition of our clothes,besides everything else. They wisely concluded to never leave us alone again. Both were too indulgent to punish us severely, so we got off with a mild reprimand. They blamed themselves for not getting an older person to take charge of us. Years have passed. Both Ml and Mrs. Jones are dead. Sissy and I are married. From this we learned a good moral, and it serves us well in onr own family of little ones. It is this: Never leave children alone with the care of a house. A thrifty Ohio girl sold a batch of old love letters to ragman last week. She realized thirty cents, which, she declares, is a good deal more than they were worthy •

TALL FISHING STORIES.

AS TOLD AT A MEETING OF THE I)ENVEB FISH CLUB.

Saint Historical Facts train Sketch Books Describing Kxperienc-s in the Forest— Grappling for Salmon Trout on the Fly —Tackling a Gr'ziiy Bear.

GW that the season II of the year which is . I marked by long evenings has arrived, the Denver Fish Club, a very exclusive organi ization, has resumed its usual weeklv meetLast says f News, the Secretury was called to the platform to give the first experience. j T“Weil, gentlemen," • he began, “I am quite unprepared for the

occasion, and if you could have waited till the next meeting I would have prepared a story worth your hearing. However, I will do the best I car), and give you a simple little iucident which occurred last June. I was fishing in a stream near Ouray for mountain trout,

GRAPPLING FOR SALMON.

and had been there ten days, fishing every day. It was delightful weather, and I spent each day on the stream, taking my lunch with me from the ranch. At one turn in the stream there is a cliff about eighty feet high, and nt the bnse of the cliff is a deep pool. A smaller stream fell over this’ cliff into the pool, and cverv few minutes a dark object would come headlong over the cliff dashing with this smaller stream of water into the darkness of the pool. These were trout, nnd in a few seconds they would reappear above the surface of the pool nnd ascend in the air five or six feet and then fall back ngain, look a little tired and very much surprised and then sink below the surface to rest. I bad been fishing with bait, but could not get a bite and finally determined to chan.e my tactics. I made a small raft, nbont six feit square, and paddled it over to the foot of the fall, and as the trout came up out of the pool (after coming down the fall) with the rebound I caught as many as I wanted with my hands, some of them weighing as much as three pounds. ” “That was not sportsmanlike. What kin l of fishing would you call that?” asked the President indignantly. “Well, I should call it catching them on the fly,” And the story w T ent down on the minutes. “You can tell your story now, Frank,” suggested the President, as soon as order had been restored. Frank is one of the younger members, and his tale was as follows:

“Some years ago I was in British Columbia at a Chinook camp on one of the rivers there. The Chinooks are a tribe of Indians there who live bv hunting and fishing, and so plentiful is the supply of fish and game that they do not have to work very hard. They are clean Indians —for Indians—> nd I had a pleasant visit of several weeks among them. In the rivers there, when the salmon are running, it is really an indisputable fact that the water rises eight or ten feet in height to make room for the salmon to ascend the river, and when they are returning

TROUT ON THE FLY.

down stream after spnwn’ng they push a solid wall of w. ter m front of them. I know th s is true, because I have seen it myself. To catch these salmon, many of them weighing thirty to forty pounds, all one had to do was to throw a grapplinghook into the river anywhere and pull it in to shore with a salmon or two hooked. There was no need of any bait or anything else. It used to bo a nuisance Sometimes these fish were so (hick in the stream that

we could not use the canoe till nighttime, when the salmon woold be asleep and still. Two or three feet of water would running over them Ike over a dam. A»e had all the salmon we wanted to eat and more, too." “I have hear 3,” said the Vice President, “thatthe Chinooks eat the salmon raw.” r “That is not true,” said Frank; “ull oul salmon were boiled in the river.” “How could you boil them ia the river?” "Boil them? Why, the river was teeming (steaming) with them.” “Oh!” and the story was duly recorded. The President had fallen asleep, so the Secretary called on one of the oldest members to contribute something of an interesting nature. “I do not know, friends,” he began, 'that I have anything of an interesting nature to communicate,andyou know the rules of the club forbid our telling anything that is not true; 60 I am in rather a quandary what to tell you. Years ago I was up in Montana near a place now known as Three Forks, Gallatin County, and a powerful place it was f<v grizzlies, too, I can tell you. Why, I have seen as miny as thirty grizzlies in one afternoon, and big fellows, too, and they did not seem to be afraid of any one, either. Well, one day an old scout and I determined we would kill a few for the r skins, and to frighten them a little, an they were beginning to be a little too familiar op such short notice. We set out about 2 o’clock in the afternoon, and got three fine males in about two hours within a mile of our.prospective camp. We soon came across another fellow, the biggest we had yet seen, and got quite close to him in order to m ike sure work of him. We fired together at him, or rather intended to do so, but my rifle missed fire for some unaccountable reason, and the bullet from the scout’s rifle only wounded the grizzly in one of his fore paws. He was onto ns pretty quick, lon tell yon, and we made for trees in a hurry. I got up all right, but the scout missed his grasp and fell to the ground. Before he could get up the grizzly was onto him. and a terrific tussle ensued. The brute hugged and hugge 1 and bit fiercely, and the scout kept stabbing and slashing with his knife. I got an opportunity finally and fired, taking chances. Fortunately I shot the besr through the brain, and the scout was saved, and, do you know, he was not much hurt after all. I asked him how he like 1 the hugging, and, do you know, he actually said he did not mind it very much. He said he was used to something of the kind. I asked him how that was, and he replied that he had been married seventeen years in Utah, and had eight wives. "No; he was not afraid of grizzlies.

TACKLING THE GRIZZLY.

He afterward si id he preferred to tak« his chnnces with them than to go back tc Utah.”

It Will Ever Be Thus.

A citizen of Harlem who was approaching the railroad depot, followed by a dog, halted and picked up a stone and flung it at the canine with the exclamation : “Yon good-for-nothing cur, but I’d like to knock your head off!” Just then a man came down a side street followed by another dog, and halted to say: “I’ve got another just such cur here. He isn’t worth his weight in soap grease.” “I’ll poison mine this very night!” “And I’m going to throw* mine under the locomotive.” “Say,” said the second man, after a moment’s thought, “call your cur up here and let us get ’em to fighting.” “Good idea. Here, Jep—Jep—Jep! Come here, doggie!” The dog cautiously approached, and as the two animals began growling and walking around each other a sudden “Stubov!” brought a climax, and they began fighting. Both men laughed, but it wasn’t a minute before the first man, whose dog was underneath, kicked the dog on top. “Hold on, now. Give my dog a fair show!” shouted the other. “He’s the biggest!” “No, he aint! Don’t you kick my dog again!” “I’m a good mind to kick his owner !” “I’d like to see you try it ?” “I can do it!” “You’re a liar.” And with that they began whaling away at each other with the greatest vigor, ending after five ninutes in a draw. Meanwhile the dogs had quit and disappeared. “I allow no one to kick my dog,” gasped one, and he wiped at his bloody nose. “And no living man can call me a liar,” growled the other, as he held his black eye. “I’ll see you agaiu.” ’’And I’ll see you.” —New York Sun.

“Isn’t it lonely here, George ? Did you ever know anything so still V” “Oh, ves. Once.” “When was that?” “I hired a plumber once to do a day’s work for me, and he never move** from morning to night.”

OLD MRS. BLIVINS OF POKE.

BY KIL COURTLAND

Old Mrs. Blivins lav all alone Under a neat gray marble stone. Carved thereon was a broken rose, 1 And a sweet little angel with stubby nose. The gossips of Poke aU said, “Poor dear! She has passed the news for many a year; And such tales, too” (here they’d nod and' frown), “When you think of the very small size of the town.” Then they flew over field, they flew over brier. They passed the depot, they passed the spire,. They crossed the bridge and climbed the hill,. To be at the reading of Blivins* will. They met in the office of Lawyer Brown, One of the smartest men in the town ; Who cleared his throat and jerked his head. And then these very strange words he read : “The gossips of Poke, without fear or fright. Must visit my grave in the lone midnight; And when I’ve been gone a year and a day, Must bivouac there and have a soiree.

“MUST VISIT MY GRAVE IN THE LONE MIDNIGHT."

Then, if I’m feeling like having the blues, ’Twill cheer me to hear them all passing the news.” Old Mrs. Blivins’ grave wes green. The hour was twelve, the night was serene, The moonbeams danced in the April air, When the gossips of Poke, each bearing a chair,. To the rendezvous came. And down they all sat, To have ajdelightful neighborly chat. They talked the choice bits over and over, Sometimes stopping their breath to recover.. And then thoy’d sigh, and say: “Poor dear I Oh, how she’d enjoy this tale about Spear And this awful sad thing about Rosa Key; How she’d like it, along with muffins and tea.” And now and again they’d stop and they’d? squeal. “Dear good Mrs. Blivins, oh, how do you feel?” You’d have thought, with such a harvest to reap, They’d have let Mrs. Blivins eternally sleep. But no. As time flew and scandals gaive out, They pitched into the dead, though ’twas pain--ful, no doubt, As Miss Flipps told the partyand'then they.' began. (Flipps sat next the angel, and as her tongue ran She prodded his legs with her Japanese fan.) “She married first. Did you know it, Miss : Hodge ?

"HOPPED THE UGLIEST GOBLIN EVER WAS SEEN.”

A very low man, his name was Mick Dodge, And afterwards Blivins ; and Blivins, they say, Died at last in a very mysterious way. Now, all of a sudden a rumble was heard, The ground underneath them seemed to be stirred; A broad flash of light, a big cloud of smoke, And into the midst of the gossips of Poke, O’er the tall, the short, o’er the fat, the lean, Hopped the ugliest goblin ever was seen; His face was black, his eyes were red, And a horn curled over the top of his head. The gossips of Poke they screamed, they ran, And last came Flipps, with the Japanese fan; The imp laughed loud and clanked his chains, Then grabbed their sashes and trod on their, trains, And seemed to be having, the brimstony elf, A nice little circus, all planned by himself. They flew over field, they flew over brier. They passed the depot, they passed the spire, And when the clock in the church struck five, They reached their homes more dead than alive. And this is the end—you may think it’s a joke— Of the story of Old Mrs. Blivins of Poke. —Chicago Ledger.

Pretty Girls in Cages.

One of the pretty sights in the Treasury is fifteen or twenty handsome ladies in cages. Pretty women are not so scarce in the department that when they get hold of one they put her in a cage, but the ladies referred to occupy their littl* prisons in accordance with an old custom. The Comptroller of the Currency has decided to revive a system in vogue some years ago by putting a safeguard around the counters of money and isolating them in little iron cages. They are put in their prisons in the morning, large piles of notes are given them, and there they sit all day long counting the currency as fast as their fingers can move. The only communication the ladies have with any one outside of their cages is through a speaking tube connecting them w'ith the Chief of the Bureau. The ladies, nkturallv, don’t take to this arrangement very kindly.—Pittsburg Commercial’s Washington letter.

Why not pour the drink into the gutter? It is destined to the gutter at last. Why not pour it there at once, and not wait to strain it through a man, and spoil the strainer in the work?