Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 6, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 October 1885 — The Cyclone. [ARTICLE]

The Cyclone.

The cyclone is, properly speaking, a "Western institution. But of late years it has spread to almost all parts of the globe, and seems to flourish in any climate. In its character it is distinctively American, but it has the knack of at once adapting itself to its surroundings and making itself at home wherever it may happen to be, The cyclone is a concern which can be described in no better way that we know of than by simply saying that it is a wad of wind, electricity, dust and devilment It is a thing of life and business, and when it has a job on hand it goes at it as if it meant to earn its wages. It is thorough in its methods, far-reaching in its efforts, and most complete in the fulfillment of its contracts. You never see an able-bodied cyclone dallying on the roadside or fooling around with its hands in its pockets waiting for a rich relative to die and leave it a fortune. If a cyclone has the contract for wiping out a town it never sits down on a stump waiting for a town to fall down 6r burn up, nor does it sashay up to a weak building and sort of gently pull it to pieces and lay the boards out carefully. The one we saw didn’t. The cyclone came sailing along at the rate of a thousand miles a minute, and acted just as though it had started out on a business venture without any inclination to monkey. As it came in sight of our town it shook off its coat, spat on its hands, snatched a long breath and grabbed hold of things in a very familiar manner, just as if it knew what it came to do. It wasn’t long with us, it didn’t have time to tarry, and did its best to make things lively on its way through. It didn’t purposely slight anything—it never does. With one hand it scattered a brick house and with the other peeled a chicken. It cut across lots and stole down back alleys, picking up everything it found and scatering them to the four winds of heaven. It darted down into the wells to sample the water, and raided the cellars to see what was there. In about two minutes its work was completed, and without pretending to offer an apology it lit out for other parts. As we before remarked, the cyclone is quite thorough in its work. A man in going over a town recently vacated by one would need to use a microscope to find anything it had left untouched. Nothing is too small for its notice—nothing is to large for it too tackle. It is surprising to see how readily and impartially a full-grown, doublegeared cyclone can go through a town and never leave a hair where it was before. We said we had not associated with the cyclone much, and we haven’t. We have never yearned to become intimately acquainted with it, nor to take it to our bosom as a boon companion and personal friend. Like the mule and the Indian, it is too freakish, and in some of its playful moods is liable to twist one into ten thousand shapes. For a regular associate we don’t know but we would' prefer the mule. He is perhaps a little less dangerous, though a great deal more uncertain. We don’t just admire the cyclone’s system of business, but so long as it lets us alone we are not going to tackle it. It requires a brave man to stand up in front of a healthy, able-bodied cyclone and look it in the eye calmly and remonstrate with its teeth. That is something we won’t do, and if one ever comes along and expresses a desire to pocket our little collection of worldly posessions we will accede to its request with as good grape as we can command at the time.— Pittsburg (Kas.) Democrat.