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The Warner sun. (Warner, Brown Co., Dakota [S.D.]) 1885-1???, August 24, 1888, Image 5

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn2001063565/1888-08-24/ed-1/seq-5/

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> THE moon moors.
***** I \ t#rMt '“X Ob,,rv*xu>m, b, m
raveler in Barbarjr
h.lr *f t * Dtion ot »»« United State.
i^d”fh b T dirMUd ,0 »««»«/ to-
E ■SUlf.fm. 01 M ° rOCeO “ “ ay **
•terestlng to give BonMJ of the obaer .
wtion. o! a traveler who spent the
in that country. The history
«* the world does not give us a people
who so strikingly exhibit the advance
went and retrogradatlon of nations as
thl* stately race-stately still in their
poverty, and in their fallen greatness,
wrapping their flowing robes about
them, and relating to each other the
Arabian Nights’ tales of their past. In
•ontrast to the glorious days of their
occupation of Spain, in alabaster pal- ;
*"**• with tinkling fountains and
blooming gardens, their lives now in
.*#• towns of Barbery seem indeed
poor. Here, too, in the past they have
hoflt splendid palaces, but these are
*Mt decaying, the city walls are
broken, gardens neglected and fount
ains dry.
The Moorish population of every
city in Barbary has largely decreased
within the last two centuries, and
there is now more than enough room
to shelter them in the houses built by
their ancestors. In consequence one
*®es no new buildings or buildera
Ihe outer walls of these anoient
houses, built of light stone and un
stained by rough weather, are still
white, and at a distance there is no
g more beautiful sight than a Moorish
city glittering white in the sunlight,
spiked by the minarets of the mosques,
which alone are kept in good repair,
and surrounded by groves of tropica!
vegetation. But enter these cities and
yon will find
STERP A TO NARROW STREETS,
Dirty courtyards and interiors so dark
v|! and mean that von hesitate to enter.
Although the streets are crowded with
the tnrbaned Moors, there is little
noise, and the foreigner, accustomed
to the sounds of horse-oar bells, and
the shriekings of steam whistles, is
struck with the silence. These thou
sand of slippered feet make no noise
upon the stones, and the sound of
wheels is seldom heard in the streets
(hat are too narrow to admit more
than the panniered donkey. These ani
mals are highly valued by them, and
the price of a good mule is double that
PI; of a horse, except, of course, horses of
the finest breed used for the Sultan and
sberifs, these being the only aristoo-,
raey the Moors possess. A knowledge
t of the absolute and unjust rule of the
Bnitan well explains the people’s in
v, difference to gain or advancement. I
once saw the harvest of a Moor uo
gathered; the grass and grain rotting
in the field. Upon asking him why he
had not cut his harvest he replied:
••Ob, what’s the useP It would only
be for the Sultan." Upon inquiry we
found that this is true; a man dares not
beoome lioh, or upon some pretext his
jgfc wealth goes into the treasury of the
Sultan. Sometimes a Moor, who is
inspected of having money hidden
away, is accused of some crime, no
matter how petty, taken to prison and
maae to star there until he has paid a
ransom for liberty which takes all, or
nearly all, his possess ion a Jow» am
even olteoer imprisoned for the same
reason, because not even a cruel and
grasping Sultan can prevent a Jew
from trying to make money. The
Moors, on the contrary,less avaricious,
soon grow apathetic and indifferent to
A MONET THEY DARE NOT SPEND
In publio display. Thus, in the interior
and in the ootskirts of the town, if tLo
k. harvest yields more abundantly than
nswal the Moor leaps only what he ab
solntoly needs and leaves the rest to
decay. Under such a government ihe
WB cultivation of a country becomes hope
less, and only the reigJ of an in tell i
§(js gent and good Sultan, like some of
those who ruled in Spain, who is wise
enough to see the error of such a sys
tem, c»n ever enrich Morocco, and
make that fertile land blossom and
yield as did the Spanish lands of old.
The rise, however, of a wise and good
Sultan is something th at the future
i« seldom found in modern times. Shut
into themselves, desiring to hold no
intercourse with other nations, having
l no knowledge of letters, except a few
I verses of the Koran, being occupied
I t only with their prayers and tbe.r re-
II Hgion. they are to-day the most nar-
L row and ignorant as well as the han^
Jr .nmest and most d gnihed or raoes.
the verses of the Koran, and the
IT nr avers wbioh they say five times a
HI Ef are not altogether intelligible to
H them, for modern Arabic, or Arabic as
""Zl- bv the Moors, differs very much
“ . l Catholic saving over Latin pray
of which he understands hardly a
‘ Moors »re very fatalistic to
! . j * belief' toe expression, "It is
1 t* ”is constantly in their months.
Tiiis'belief 1* a very comfortable one,
i B vtd relieves the Individual ot a re-
L
V- " ■ " 7 ■ . • ■■ • -
had intended horses to eat arusbed
oats, they would have grown already
crashed.
ADMIXTURE WITH THE NKORO RACI
renders the brain of the modern Mooi
still more dulL Negroes from the in
terior are owned as slaves, and il
sometimes happens that a Moor mar-1
ries his slave. Indeed, it is said that!
the present reigning Saltan, who has j
shown such an obstinate spirit to oar I
representatives in Tangier; has remote j
black blood in his veins, one of hie
ancestors, Mulay Ismael, having been I
the son of a slave. The positions ol
women among the Moors does not
differ greatly from that in all Moham
medan countries, and therefore need
not be touched upon. One custom,
however, is a curious one, that of fat
tening the bride for her wedding. The
young girl is made to sit in a half
darkened room, wearing anklets so
heavy that she can move with difficulty.
She is then crammed with pellets of
wheat flour and made to drink enor
mous quantities of water,so that before
the bridegroom sees her she shall be
bloated to the desirable degree. The
Moorish men, themselves so lean and,
straight and tall, are great admirers
of adipose tissue in women, fat being
to them an essential element of beauty.
"A good load for a camel’’ is one of
their compliments, and everything is
done to conduce this state. The women
seated always upon soft enshions and
crammed with sweetmeats, soon grow
enormously fat Lack of exercise in
creases the size of their anklets to such
a degree that enlargement of the
ankles becomes a disease.
In diet the Moorish men are very
abstemious; they consider much eating
vulgar. They have, however, one na
tional and universal dish,like beans to j
Boston or rice to the Sontb. It is
called by them kuskaoo, and is made 1
of finest part of the wheat flour, rolled 1
into small pellets the size of grains and 1
and left to dry in the snn, For table j
use it is steamed over a pot of boiling :
sheep or goat meat, which is flavored
with onion and aniseseed, and after
ward surrounds this dish of meat to
the table. Kuaktoo or kuskusu gar
nishes every stew; indeed, no dish is j
complete without it, and its consump
tion is universal. I first ate it under
tbe impression that I was eating grains
of steamed barley, but soon after
learned my mistake,—A Voyager, in
New York Commercial Advertiser.
Taking Rooms.
A gentleman who has been passing a
few days at a seaside hotel delivered :
himself at his club the other evening of
a lively sketch of the way in which i
women engage rooms at such a place.
"I sat in the office of the Mermaid
Honse the other day,” he said, "while
a great stoat dowager had a struggle
with the clerk. To begin with she in
quired the prioe of every room and
was especially curious about those that
were taken. She was cross that the
clerk wouldn’t tell her what everybody
paid and whether he had made special
bargains with anybody. Then she
wanted a history of all the guests,
their social and financial standing,
with any personal peculiarities tho
clerk might have observed. Then she
began a long banter about a suite I am
confident she never for a instant had
any idea of taking, her policy being to
tire the clerk out on this so that when
she proposed a compromise on the
rooms she really meant to take he
would be glad to give in and get the
thing settled at the prioc of whatever
concession. She asked how long the
carpets had been up; how far her win
dows were from the kiteken, the laun
dry and the stable, whether a rebate
would be allowed if her daughters went
to Mount Desert for a week, and
whether she mast pay extra if she
brought a friend to dine with her. All
these and a thousand questions more
were patiently answered by that un
lucky wretch of a clerk, and she had
really reduced him to a condition of
such complete exhaustion before she
even mentioned the suite she had from
the first decided upon, that he practi
cally let her make her own terms,
while he promised anything she chose
to ask.”— frovuionc* Journal.
A Commercial Treaty.
Your dog-loving readers may be in
tereoted in the following instance of
sagacity.j| "Bob" is a fine 2*
year-old mastiff with head and face of
massive strength, heightened by great
mildness of expression. One day he
was seen carrying a ben, very gently,
in bis mouth, to the kennel Placing
her in one comer, he stood sentry
while »h« laid an egg. which he at
once devoured. From that day tho two
have been fast friends,the hen refusing
to lay any where but in "Bob’s” ken
nel. and getting her reward in the
dainty morsels from his platterf There
mast have been a bit of canine reason
ing here. "Bob’* must have found
eggs to his liking, that they were laid
by bens, and that he could best secure
a supply by having a hen to himself.—
’ Well, this is amusing. Some Mexi-
I ' „ _ j M f.i ,mi .
j she will b« elected, and thin result
1 nitrations '*
I /*<ir a #f't \ N&w York tribune*
A BABY’S GRIEVANCE.
He Object* to a Cow Footer Mother.
Tommy Cate, aged 1, having suffer
ed as long as he can s tand it, writes to
ns, ia order that his grievances, being
known to the public, they may imme
diately be cured.
I object, he say a in tbe first place,to
being forced to adopt Farmer Jones’
brindle oow for a foster mother,
I object, also, to the existence of a
like relationship between myself and
the condensed milk factory or the corn
starch mill.
1 object to having my stomach stuffed
as a remedy for a mosquito bite on my
little toe or a nasty pin in my back.
1 object to personating a churn. I
prefer to take my batter after the
cbnrning process is completed.
I object to being kissed by all the
women, old and young, who come near
me. I prefer to wait a few years, or
at least until I shall be old enough to
make my own selection a
I object to having people ask about
my age. It is an impertinence.. Be
sides grown people sometimes remem
ber, and of ages they are especially
apt in keeping a record.
I object to having to go hungry until
company is served. For my part, I
don’t see what people went company
for. Company is a nuisance. Mamma
and papa have said so hundreds of
times in my hearing.
I object to being obliged to go about
with my neck and arms bare. When
it is hot and the £!?« and mosquitoes
bother me awfully, and when the air is
chilly I feel as though I were freezing
to death.
I object, when I go to ride in my
perambulator, to having myself left
alone in the sun while my maid sports
with that long-legged chap with the
yellow mustache and ready-made cloth
ing.
I object to being sent to bed when I
am not sleepr, and to having a nasty
rubber tubo stuck into my mouth every
time I turn over in the night.
I object to having strangers make
faces at me. They give me an awfnl
start sometimes when they think they
are amusing me.
I object to boing spoken to by people
with whom lam not acquainted. Why
don’t they wait for an introduction?
I object to being the only child in
the family. It’s awfully lonesome not
to have any brothers or sisters. I wish
I bad been born when it was fashion-
able to have large families.
I object to being called Tom, just be
cause my papa was called Tom when
he was a boy. Because his papa gave
him a name he didn’t like was no
reason for giving me a name I detest.
I should think a boy ought to be
allowed to choose his own name.
I object to wearing dresses and hav
ing my hair curled. Half tho folks
think I’m a girl
I object to being bossed by women.
A man onght to be his own master.
I’m just sick of petticoat government.
I object to being taught baby talk.
What good does it do me? After I
have become proficient in it I have to
go to work and unlearn it and learn
grown folks’ language. Why don’t
they teach me that in the first place?
I object to having folks boro me with
their silly stories which I have heard
so many times that they are veritable
chestnuts.
I object to having people hnmbug
me all the time. They tell me what I
should do and what I should not do. I
notice that they are not given to
taking their own medicine What
dances they are not to know that I
learn more from what I see than from
what they tell me.
There’s lots of other things to which
1 object but this will do for a starter.—
Boston I’ramcript.
The Flight of Time.
/■ Time has two wings and files away.
One wing Is night, one wing Is day,
We scarcely note Its rapid flight,
Bewildered be the radiant light
Upon Its wings of golds'' bars,
And the illuminating stars
, —George W. Bungay.
Twombly.
One of Cornelius Vanderbilt's sisters
married McK. Twombly at a time when
that gentleman, who comes originally
from Boston, and who conducted an
extensive business in shirt collars
there, was in a very bad financial con
dition from a recent failure. That is
all past and gone now, however, and
j at present tbe finances of Mr. Twom
bly are naturally in an exceedingly
prosperous condition. Mr. Twombly
went down to Bay Shore, L. L, two or
throe summers ago, and at the local
hotel there registered himself In this
simple and straightforward way:
Twombly.
Some fellow came along a short time
afterwardc. and, being struck either
with the oddness of the name or enter
taining suspicions that anyone who de»
i scribed himself in this fashion mast be
considerable of a man in some country
J or other, wrote underneath the query;
j What Twombly? The walking .ency
clopedia was in the neighborhood, as
he always is. and chancing to walk up
to the hotel desk, read tho questiou on
tbe register and immediately furnished
that desired information in this fashion;
Vanderbilt Tworab'y. of course. The
interesting catechism stands on the ho
tel register now. and the few people
who have heard the story always go
L* .L CiV&Y fJtfl vtA/yos (a tfvrjjl (T|fh VftCOfil
—! ■ —' — —■ —■ —j
Ho Beat Them AIL
The brilliant young journalist who
gave np an honored position on the
Juniper Cove Wild Flower and became
a reporter oo a city daily, did not prove
to be a sueoees. When he left the
Cove his friends predicted that he
would win "golden opinions.” They
knew that he would soon mount to the
“top of the tripod.” whatever that may
mean, and that at no distant day he
would be recognized as one of the
greatest journalists of the country.
He went to work with fall confidence
in himself. He was sont out to inves
tigate the letting of a street-cleaning j
contract, but as he felt himself to be
above such dirty work, he disregarded <
the assignment, and, as he expressed
it, tamed aside to pluck tbe wild flow
ers of thought that sprang uj> by the
roadside.
“Jackson,” said the city editor,
"how do you like daily newspaper
workP”
"I am delighted with it, for in such
noble work my pen has long sought
opportunity of addressing thousands of
plastic readers—plastic, for can we not
mould them into higher and diviner
shape?"
"Yes, that’s very well but what
great thought do you intend to convey
in this saloon puff?"
"That is not intended as a brilliant
idea,” Jaekson replied. “It is a piece
of—well you might almost say, vulgar
information, but yon know that it is
sometimes necessary to give the news.
That which you have designated as a
puff is a dean beat”
"Or dead beat rather," the city
editor suggested.
“Oh, no; far from it I call it a dean
beat becacse I was the only reporter
in town who knew of tbe open
ing of that saloon. Search all the pa
pers to-morrow, and I warrant yon
that you cannot find a line regarding
it”
“All right; that’s one beat Now,
let me see,” tbe city editor continued,
as he began to look through a pile of
manuscript “if you have any others.
Ah, I see here that Hank J. Doyie has
been awarded tbe responsible position
of section boss on the Air Line rail
way.”
:< Yes, sir, and no other reporter in
town is likely to stumble upon that
‘ information. I forgot to insert—and
I wish you would do so—that he is to
receive a salary of fifty dollars per
month.”
“Yea, I’ll do so, for your suggestion
is bright and timely. I would like to
ask a favor of you,” the city editor
continued. “I would like, when 1
think it necessary, to make some
trifling alterations in your copy, such
as making a more pronounced dot
over an i, or drawing, with a bolder
stroke, a line across at”
Mr. Jaekson. after a moment's re
flection. replied: “While I object to
the making of anr obange in the con
struction of my sentences, I will con
sent to the alterations yon suggest”
"Oh, I thank you,” the city editor
exolaimed. Let me see now what else
you have. Oh, yon say that Dan Pec.k
les has taken a permanent position in
Zip’s barber shop. How did you get
that item?”
"By the merest accident; and do yon
know that tbe best items are found by
accident? This ‘nose for news' idea
is simply the peculiar and innate fac
ulty of stumbling upon something;”
"Are you sure that this information
is authentic?” '7
"Surely.”
“And there is do necessity of my
sending out another reporter to get
additional information?”
"None whatever, I assure you.”
"Oh, I thank yon for relieving me
of such a world of worry. Now, let
me see. Your nett copy mast be in
exactly upon tbe time which I shall
specify."
"All right,” replied Jackson, glanc
ing at his watch, "name the time.”
"Let me see. It is nine five, now.”
j; "Yes, sir.”
"Well, hsve your next batch of
copy in just sixteen years from this
time. Good-bye until then.”—Arkan
saw Traveler.
She Got Her Reward.
Potts had just returned from an ex
tended trip abroad and was making
his first call upon a young lady friend.
"My gracious. Miss Jennie, how you
have changed! Why, yon are a mere
shadow of yonr former sell Aren’t
you well?”
"Well no. Mr. Potts. You see, short
ly after your departure I joined -.us
cooking school and there we are ob
liged to sample everything that we
make. lam now a hopeless dyspep
tic.”
"How horrible! Really, I pity yon
from the bottom of my heart”
“You are very kind: Mr. Potts, but
I feel positive that 1 shall reap my re
ward, ” and here the young lady blush
ed painfully.
"Reward? Really Ido not cotnpre
"Then with a graceful flutter of
clinging drappery. she crossed to
his side, gave him a ’tis-leap-year ex
pression, laid her left ear over bis chest
protootor and gently murmured:
"Willie, dear, I can make biscuit
each as your mother used to make.”
With a wild cry of joy he took the
trembling form in his great, strong
arms, and their happiness was so in
*7 ih y. .*** cot with *
A UNIVERSAL EVIL,
Th» Habit oi Which CtniNa
Vast JDnal of Trouble.
Some one has given the wise coun
sel that, In times of pressing emergency,
when there is but a minute in which
to sot, one-third of that time should be
devoted to thought. Certainly harm
is frequently do#?' by roshing into no
tion without reflection; at the same
time, an opposite evil of equal, if cot
greater magnitude, results from delay
ing the action which ha* already com
mended itself to the judgmeut. A
large majority of the unfilled duties of
the world is caused by the practice of
delay. Good intentions are abundant;
the ability and the will to carry them
out are not wanting; but the habit of
prompt action has never been acquired.
Persons with this deficiency are
wreoked in an emergency. Let the
bouse be on fire or a sudden danger
threaten iftern, and. instead of con
centrating their mind upon the requir
ed decision for a portion of the time
afforded, they spend the whole in wav
ering considerations until the oppor-
tunity for notion is gone, and the
threatened evil that might have been
averted overwhelms them. How many
lives have been lost in fire or in water
or by other accident, bow much prop
erty has been destroyed, how many
calamities have overtaken men simply
for the want of this habit of quiok
thinking and speedy action!
In ail business, this lack is most dis
astroua Each day brings new prob
lems to solve, new decisions to make,
new duties to perform. Each one of
these demands a certain amount of
careful thought, but it also demands a
final conclusion and prompt aotion. He
who does not learn how to apportion
these to the hourly necessities cannot
hope to succeed in his business, be
what it may. If, he does not promptly
deoide auu promptly act, time decides
for him; the offer is withdrawn; the
opportunity is gone, tho chance has
slipped away, and the dilatory man
stands bereft of the power he might
have gained.
Not only in cases where decision is
called for, but in all the plaiu duties
of lifeb is this habit of prompt aotion
imperative. Many persons mean to |
do the things which their consciences
demand, who yet fail simply from de
lay. Certainly they will return that
borrowed money, they will attend to
those unsettled bills, they wdl perform
this or that neglected duty, but not
just now. This is pat ofl from time to
time, trouble in caused by the unjust
delay, other duties crowd in, and they
carry a load of unMftlled obligations,
continually increasing unC 1 life itself
seems one huge burden which they can
hardly bear. It is not strange then
that conscience, thus continually re
pulsed, should oease her warnings and
that suoh people should sink first in to
feebleness and then into guilt A re
cent writer well said: “Life is short
considering bow much there is to be
done in it, how much there is to be put
into it, how much there is to be won
from it; its work requires dispatch—
the prompt thought, the decisive will,
the instant deed. The winged houra,
the approaching end, rebuke our
dawdling and punish our sloth.”
This habit of delay is fatal to all
social well-being and happiness. In
our relatious with others nothing is
more needful than to do quickly that
whioh we are able to do for their com
fort and pleasure. Much of this con
sists of little things, of which indeed
the greater part of life is made up. A
letter is to be answered, a call to be
! returned, a friendly word of greeting,
or congratulation, or warning to be
uttered, a temporary distress to be re
lieved, a noble charity to be aided,
some oheering news to be communi
cated These things are constantly
occurring to our minds, and we mean
to do them, but not quite yet. We
wait a little while, and meantime the
spirit that would have animated them
dies away,and either they are not done
at all, or, coming so late, they fall flat
and unheeded. It is when the iu.rt is
warm with affection that the tokens of
love are moss precious, when enthus
iasm burns the deeds it inspires are
most serviceable. “A good deed done
quickly is twice done; a seasonable
service is doubled in value.” Surely,
if it be our power to communicate
happiness in any form, to wipe away
the tears of distress, to allay the cor
roding fear, to comfort, to help, to
guide, to encourage, to inspire any
one, the more speedily we sot about it
the more good we shall da The nmo
tions of love, compassion and sympa
thy soon dies out of the breast of one
who withholds or delays their natural
expression, or they turn into useless
and sickly sentimentality, while in the
heart of him who hastens to embody
them in bis life and aotion* they will
become living fountains of joy to him
self and good to others
When we are animated by evil
thoughts or unkind desires, when we
are prompted to revenge a wrong, to
reproach a failing, to say bitter words,
or to do cruel deed* then is the time
, for delay. Then may we well wait,
and sufliir these baneful feelings to
, cool and better ones to ><ce their
place. But if there is anv righteous
, deed to be done, any injustice to estab
lish, any kindness to express, any love
to manifest, any joy to diffuse. let us
i *-tea to g-vejt fortn *nd voice,
* -Mi * & * £
waste nor space to pause In the M***
ed work of doing good-
A Thousand Years Ago.
An old author gives this sketch ol
matters at that time: It the year 800
after Christ what was the state of Lu
ropeP The Goths, Visigoths, the Van
dals, the Franks, the Huns, the Nor- p
mana the Turks and ether barbarian
hordes, bad invaded and overthrown
the Roman Empire and had establish
ed various kingdom* upon its ruins.
These hordes of savages had destroy
ed not only all the works of civilisation
bnt civilization itself. Ignorant as
they were of everything that distin
guishes and elevates human nature, jgj
they broke uo the schools, abolished
arts and manufactures, ruined the
monuments. prevertod commerce and
reduoed the conquered nations to
their own condition, inaugurating in
the most complete manner the reign of
the brute force and mental darkness, t
At the time we begin our specific ex- i
animation we find in the so-called -
Christian nations there existed no
scienoe worthy of the name and no
schools whatever. Reading, writing
and ciphering were separate and
distinct trades. The masses,
the nobility, the poor and the
rich were wholly unacquaint
ed with the mysteries of the
alphabet and the pen. A few men,
known as clerks, who generally be
longed to tbo priesthood, monopolized ,1
them as a social olaas of artists. They
taught tbeir business only to their |
seminaries and apprentices; and be
yond themselves and their pupil* no
one knew how to read and write, nor
was it expected of the generality any
more then It would be nowad*Y».fljpfc|
everybody should be a shoemaker or a
lawyer.
Kings did not even know bow to :
sign their names, so that when thayfli
wanted to subscribe to a written con
tract, treaty or law which some clerk
had drawn up far them, they would ■
smear tbeir right hand with ink and
slap it down upon the parchment, say
ing, **witness my hnnd.” At a laser
date some genius devised the substitute
for the seal, which was impressed in
stead of the hand, but oftener beside |
the hand. Every gentleman had a
seal with & peculiar device thereon.
Hence the words now in use, “Witness
my hand and seal,” affixed to modern
deeds, serve at least the purpose of re
minding us of tho ignorance of the-
Middle Ages. —Secular Review,
A Candid Editor.
We have received visits from several
of our leading politicians to inquire
why the Kicker doesn’t take a dehtded
political stand 5 n favor of one party
or the other. It ts a question easily
answered. We are not publishing a
newspaper for fun. Oar convictions
all run to publishing a dictionary or an
almanac, thus leaving us neutral in
politics.
If the Kicker files the democrat*
flag and hustles for Cleveland and
Thurman it mnst have some solid as
surance that after election the editor
will receive a calL A call with a
salary of about $3,000 Hitched to U
would just about fit our shape, jjg’ij
ticket and blows for its success it mnst
have something in writing to fall back
on after election. We think we could
fall back on a postoffice of the second
class and not fracture our anatomy.
We cat up all night last night wait
ing for a committee of prohibitionists
to come along and get down to facts,
but the bridge* were down and they
didn’t come. We don’t say that it all g
depends on the Kicker which party
rules for the next four years, but wo
do solemnly affirm that the editor will
keep clear of tho whole mob ami pub
unless some pretty solid promises are
held out to arouse his slumbering con
victions. Wo are not for sale, but we
do hanker for office. —Arizona Kicker,
If the birds be silent expect thua-
If the cattle run around and colls ct |
together in the meadows, expect than
oxidizes ammonia air and forms
nitric acid, which affects milk, thns ac- g
| counting for the souring of mOk by
men it thunders in the morning itf
fcmrley. ■■
s Thunder in the fctll iiulio&tes & i&ilcL

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