Rensselaer Journal, Volume 11, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 October 1901 — SIWYONS [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

SIWYONS

A man with a tremendous imagination may almost see the railways abolishing the pass system—that is, he might do so if he were dreaming.

The proposed divorce canon of the Episcopalians has been knocked out; worse luck. Possibly if it hadn’t gone so far, it might have gone a good deal farther.

A German scientist has been calculating the length of the average wink. Any druggist in a prohibition state could have told him that the length of a wink was two Angers of whiskey.

So Henry Waterson wants the presidential nomination in 1904. If he gets it, he may be compelled to answer some disagreeable questions about those poker debts he welshed out of.

Two men are competing for the right to surrender for the murder of a Kentucky negro. Both Ared at him and only one bullet got home, and neither marksman is willing to admit that he missed.

To listen to the chorus of abuse that is going up against poor Buller for admitting that he had advised the surrender of Ladysmith, one would think that John Bull never surrendered, when, as a matter of fact, he has been doing little else for the past two years.

It is announced from Porto Rico that 40,000 school children there are singing our national songs in English. We hope they understand them, but when we regard the marvellous revelation of the ignorance of our own school children of the meaning of the songs they learn to sing by note, we have our doubts.

The’ve got a church in Ohio which is equipped with a Are alarm annunci ator, so that the minister may tell the congregation in which direction to run in case of a Are breaking out anywhere in town. The peop’e of the congregation will be wishing that they could run away from instead of towards the- Are some of these Ane days—in the next world.

The trust question is dying out. Evidences multiply that it will scarcely be a factor in the 1904 campaign. The people are realizing that few articles can be successfully “trusted” and that the price of those few has been reduced to a degree that no one would have considered possible a few years ago. Moreover, they have learned that any attempt by a trust to raise prices inevitably breeds competition that lowers them again, and that this can be repeated indefinitely. Moreover, the so called trusts which have excited the most opposition are those which have done the most for the country in the way of extending our foreign trade. The trust question will regulate itself.

A Tati* Of an Editor And a pij Which Carpe on Subscription

By Hayden Carruth.

We got him on subscription. Sooner or later we got everything on subscrip-tion-even money; not much cord wood, however, because it was a prairie country. Still a man named Parkinson once brought in some wood neatly sawed stove length. He did It under protest, however, ids subscription being back two years and we threatening to sue. So Parkinson brought in a cord, making unpleasant remarks as he unloaded it and scattering it around in a barbaric manner. That man Parkinson was an enemy of mankind. ‘ Tie Are was low the next morning at >reakfast time. Hilda tossed in four or five sticks of the Parkinson fuel. There followed a series of the most terriflc explosions. Perhaps I ought to mention the appearance of the eat in the dining room Arst. the cat would have reached us before the sound if her tail had not been so big that It impeded her progress through the doors. That cat was frightened and passed on through the parlor, but a front window and on across the landscape. Hilda came next, her front hair singed. Bang! bang! went the reports in the kitchen. A neighbor looked in and said our chimney was squirting Are and ashes —possibly lava. Something, too, he said, just went out the front window. My teeth were chattering, but I was bound to be calm and said, “Yes, the maid was popping corn In the kitchen.” Hilda denied it. “Aye tank,” she said, “de man dat talk loud and say he was no dog goned sucker, dat he plooged de gunpowders in de wood.” So it was indeed. What shall we say of a man who thus tries to blow up his editor? As for that inconsiderate cat, she never was seen in

zorback breed. A! tight is the word In transporting razorbacks. I’eek in there now, will you?” And he raised the lid a triAe. “Yes, Jim,” I said, “airtight is the word. I’ll have a glass pen made, with a top which screws on like a fruit jar.” “Now there you go again,” answered Jim. “That razorback don’t need any pen at all. That swine will just sleep under the office and pick up his living around town.” “But the pound master, Jim?” “The pound nothing! Double J’inted grayhounds Ared out a cannon couldn’t catch that swine.” He took the cover off the box, and the pig hopped out and lit on the ground. “Notice how thin he is,” continued Jim, admiringly. “Yes, I see,” 1 replied. “I’ll tie a string around his middle and Ay him for a Chinese kite.” “You could do it!” was Jim’s enthusiastic answer. Then he added: “You’ve got a prize in that there swine. There is some folks around here that think they’ve got razorbacks, but they ain’t pure bred. They may be part razorback, but there Is other blood In them. This one is a full blooded Alabama razorback and the only one in the territory. He’s registered. 1 disremember .his number, but he’s in the books of the American Razorback Swine association. Don’t be afraid to make a test ease of him with the pound master.” And Jim drove away. The creature stood there in a dehant attitude looking at me. I approached, saying, “Good piggy.” With a snort he Aopped around on Ids forward legs and disappeared down the street In a

those parts again. I have always had a theory that she moved on in an absolutely straight line, which, owing to the curvature of the earth, finally threw her off into space, and she became a miniature comet. Her tail was right for comet purposes anyhow. Simmons came on subscription also, but willingly. Jim Simmons of Pelican Lake was not the man to torpedo a Journalist. I remember how nervous he was when he came into the office and how he fidgeted about. “Did yon ever live in the south?” he finally blurted out. 1 told Idm “No.” He seemed somewhat relieved. “Do you—do you know anything about swine?” he went .on. “Swine have four feet,” I answered—“one on each corner. They root and squeal and eventually become pork.” “Yes, yes,” returned Jim, “but do you know about the different breeds?” “No.” He seemed further relieved. Would you—would you,”, he went on cautiously, “know a Durham swine from a Cleveland Bay swine?” “No.” He drew a deep breath, and most of his anxiety was gone. “Did you ever hear of the razorback breed of swine?” he said firmly. “Never.” 1 answered. Jim slapped his leg and smiled. Then he leaned closer and said:

“Young man, I’ve got something for you on subscription— something that you don't get every day, not by a long shot! Out in that there box in my wagon I’ve got for you’a genuine—Alabama—razor—back— swine!” 1 rose up and took Jim Simmons’ hand solemnly. Then he said I was to come out to the wagon and see the swine. “It’s a warm day. Why didn’t you bring him in a crate instead of a box, Jim?" I asked. "Ah, you see, you don’t know the ra-

cloud of dust. “He’s as fast as the cat,” I mused, “but not so graceful.” I went into the office and wrote a glowing item about the razorback. I referred to him as “a pleasing pachyderm” and spoke proudly of the purity of his breed. “Thanks to’tlie generosity of the genial Jim Simmons, one of nature’s noblemen,” I wrote, “ye editor is now the possessor of the only pure bred razorback in the territory. If any of our readers hear a whizzing sound passing their doors, they may know it is our porker going by. What are you going to do about It, Mr. Pound Master?” I even ran in a little anecdotical Item elsewhere, telling how Jim, when he lived in Arkansas and worked for an uncle named Green, who kept a store, used to sign receipts thus: “Green, per Simmons.” There was no truth in It, but I knew it would please Jim.

Mark ye the spite, the cruelty of human nature! I was happy. I knew nothing about swine. I had believed all that Jim said. I really thought that in that pig I had something rare and valuable. But when the paper appeared the townspeople came in. many tbal called themselves my friends and told me the truth —that the razorback is a degenerate scrub unworthy serious attention; that he furnished but one tiling for human use. and that is bristles, and not many of them, they being mostly worn off by the rapidity of his flight through the air. Some of them said, too, that there was no such tiling as the American Razorback Swine association. For weeks I inquired after Jim from his neighbors. They said he seemed to be going to the other town altogether nowadays. We named the pig Simmons in grateful remembrance. .Shall I ever forget the trouble that Simmons caused me? He lived under

| the office, as Jim had said he would. Mentally Simmons was bright, but he i was a moral burden. Often when I , was writing, perhaps on the “Stability of Opr City’s Growth,” Simmons would begin to scratch his back on the Aoor joists and shake the whole building. He pled galleys of type In this way. Again, he would come around in front and poke his head in the door and , snort at me dehantly and ungratefully. He had no means of knowing what I I was writing, and 1 thought it unkind I and malicious of him. Sometimes it . seemed as if he hated and despised me. i On other occasions it appeared as if !he would In u his poor, dumb way call nie—brother! Once I went as a member of a committee to the station to help welcome an eastern capitalist who was coming with a view of investing mon|ey in the place. Simmons followed close ftehlnd, like a dog, and peered around my legs at the visitor and grunted scornfully, ns who should say: | “Ha, old money bags! What are you?” “You—er—hogs seem familiar,” observed the man. The rest of the committee turned their backs on me. “It’s the editor’s,” explained the leader. “Don’t mind either of ’em.”

It was worth the price of admission to see Simmons root. Your ordinary hog roots disconnectedly, with a push in this direction and In that, a down thrust and an uplift, with pauses as he sniffs and explores for possible food. Otherwise Simmons. He would insert his snout in the ground and then walk straight ahead, piowing a long furrow, throwing the soil to either side as the bow of a steamboat throws the water. He was not looking for food—simply taking a constitutional. But he could root in one spot if tlie occasion demanded. The Baptist church stood on four blocks of wood, after the manner of the country. I think Simmons was a Methodist—anyhow he was strongly opposed to the Baptists. He kept at their foundation until one block toppled over and that corner of the building went down a foot, the diagonally opposite corner going up the same distance, during evening service, of course. The congregation slid down In the lowest corner like the pieces in a backgammon board. I heard Simmons’ back scrape on the Aoor as he came whisking home. Then there followed a long series of satisAed grunts. He had Axed those Baptists at last. When we gave the eastern capitalist a reception in Bagley’s hall, Simmons planted himself four square in the middle of the street In front and squealed like 10,000 unolled wheelbarrows. He had a reversible voice. When he expelled the air, it produced a nerve destroying shrilling. When he Inhaled it, you heard a raucous rattle, blood curdling and fearsome. The moneyed man didn’t stay. Simmons chased the train half way to the next station, speaking his mind freely. Ha had Axed the capitalist.

The bills which 1 had to pay for damage done by Simmons were something disquieting. It got so that if any man in town needed a dollar he would come to me and say Simmons had done something, and I would give him the money. One day a man came In with a bill for an entire patch of potatoes uprooted by Simmons. I was out of funds. The man said he must have something and that quick. He was angry and abusive. I told him the only thing I could give him was a load of wood. He took it. It happened to be the Parkinson wood. This made more trouble. It was becoming a serious problem what I should do with Simmons.

Two days before the Fourth of July Major Grigsby, a local nuisance, came Into the office. The major was always some sort of an agent—book, apple tree, patent wash boiler or what not. “Sah,” said the major, “as you have announced in your valuable papah, we are to have a grand celebration of the glorious Fourth in this town. I have been honored with an app’intment on the committee on sports and pastimes of the pop-u-laee. We have arranged for a boss trot, sah, a baseball game, Bah, a greased pole, sah, and other amusements, sah, such as It is believed will appeal to the common people, sah, the bull-work of the nation, sah. We lack but one thing, my dear sah, a greased pig. I have been delegated the committee on greased pig.” He hesitated. I arose, and there were tears in my eyes. “Major.” 1 said, grasping his hand, “take Simmons!” i “You do me proud, sah,” answered the major with feeling. “Thank you, sah. We will take Simmons!” At 11 o’clock on the glorious day Sjimmons, well greased, was brought out to the race track where the exercises were being held. It being feared that no one would chase him for himself alone, a dollar bill, generously contributed by Mayor Southwick, was tied to his tail. When he was released, a dozen ambitious citizens started in pursuit, the major among the others. Around and around rushed Simmons, the crowd close behind, but never quite coming up to him. Suddenly, with a defiant squeal, he started across the prairie straight for the west. The crowd followed, the major leading. Soon they grew dim ifi the distance. Then gradually the pursuers could be seen dropping out and returning. This kept up till they were all back except the major. With the aid of good fieldglasses he could be seen tearing on 20 feet behind Simmons till they sank below the horizon. It rast a pall over the rest of the day, everybody fearing that they might come back. But they did not, nor was either ever heard of again. It has never seemed possible that they could have joined the cat In interstellar space, but I always think of them as still running on, on. Simmons a little ahead, waving the SI bill.

The number of languages spoken in the known world is 2.523, of which 587 belong to Europe, 390 to Asia, 376 to Africa and 1,164 to America.

THE ARRIVAL OF THE PIG.