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THE DODGE CITY TIMES.
8CBSCEIPT10X: 2 00 pfr Tr, U Adnac. NICHOLAS B. KLAlNE, - Edito. SOMETIMES." Sometime? not often when the days are lonjr. Andiroidenllotherlenlnir fit IN of grain, Likocadtneenf some balMnnrottcn song. Tat ro sw ecis a memory across my biaia. 1 bear tbe landrail far among tbe grass. The drowy murmur in tho scented limes; I wato the radiant Imitirllies that pass. Ami I am Mid and sick at heart sometimes sometimes. fcoroetimes. when royal Winter holds his swa). When every tloud is swept from azure skies. And froztn pool nnd lighted hearth are iray W ilh laughing lips and jit moio laughing eves From far-off days an eiho wanders ly. That makes a discord in the Christmas cbltues. A moment in tbe danec or tall: I sigh. , And "e"m half lonely in the crowd some times Smietimes. Not often, nor for Ion. O frien 1, my friend. We wruuot lent our life that wo might weep: The Cnwer-crowned May of earth hath soon an end: hould our fair Spring a longer ojourn kep' Conesali tovsoon tho time of fadtnjr kaves. (.ome on tbe cold short days. We must arise And go our way, ami gamer homo our (heaves. Though some far faint regret may cloud our tcs r-omuimes. Sometimes I see n light atmot dl Ine Inniettingt'jcsof two that now are one. Impatient of tho tears that rise to mine, 1 turn awa to seek some work undone. Tht re dawns a look upon midim stranger face: 1 think, llow like, and it how far less fair!' And look, and look nsraln. and set k to trace A moment more your fancied likeness there Nraetimcs. O sal, sweit thoughts! o foolish, rain re grits! As wise it were, whit time Juno roes blow. To we p bvauo tho llr-t blue lolet We found in spring has faded l"ng ago. Olove, my love, if yet by sing of bird, Hy rtowcrscnnt bf somo sad p et's rhymes. My heart, that f tin would bo at peace, is stirred. Am I to blame that stitl I slzh sometimes? ometimesf And sometimes know a ping of Jealous pain, Thst, while 1 walk all lonely, other eyes May baplv smile to yours that smile a rain, lieneath the sun ant stars of bouthem skies. Tbe past is p tt : but is it sin. If yet i.wno inialmcontcnt would seek to dwell. Who will not gricv e, J et cannot quite forget. Still send a thought to ou, and wish vou well (sometimes? Umitl F. Story, In Time. II1KK0SYMUS POP ASP THE BABT "Now 'Onymus I'oi" said the mother of that gentle boy, "you jes take keer o' (lis chile while I'm gone ter de hangin'. An' don't jou leave dis house on no account; not if de skies fall an1 de earth opens ter swaller ycr." Hieronymus grunted gloomily. He thought it a burning shame that he should not go to the hanging; but net er had his mother been willing that he should have the least pleasure in life. It was either to tend the baby, or mix the cow's food, or to card wool, or cut w ood, or to pick a chicken, or wash up the floor, or to draw water, or to sprinkle down the clothes always something. When everything else failed, she had a way, that seemed to her son simply demoniac, of setting him at the alphabet. To bo sure, she did not know tli letters herself, but her teaching was none the less vigor ous. "What's dat. 'Onjmus?" she would say, pointing nt random with her snuff brush to a letter. "Q" with a sniff. " Is j on slio' f in a hollow voice. Woe be unto young Pop if he fal tered, and said it might be a Z. Moth er Pop kept a rod ready, nnd used it as if she was born for nothing else. Nat urally be soon learned to stick brazen ly to his first guess. I'm unfortunate ly he could not remember from one day to another what he had said; and his mother learned, after a time, to distin guish the forms of the letters, and to know that a curly letter called S on Tuesday could not possibly be a square shaped E on Thursday . Her faith once shattered, 'Onymus had to suffer in the usual uay. The lad had been taught at spasmodic intervals by his sister bavannah com monly called Sissy who went to school, put on airs, and was always clean. Therefore Hieronymus hated her. Mother Top herself was a little in awe of her accomplished (laughter, and would ask her no questions, even when most in doubt as to which was which of the letters G and C. " A pretty thing!" she would mutter to herself, "if I must be a-Iearnin' things from my own chile, dat wtu de mos colicky baby I ever had, an' cos me unheerd-of miseries in de time of her tcetliin'." It seemed to Hieronymus that the climax of his impositions had come, when he was forced to stay at homo and mind the baby, while his mother and the rest of them trotted off, gay as larks, to sec a man hanged. It was a hot afternoon, and the un willing rurse suffered. The baby wouldn't go to fleep. He put it on the bed a feather-bed and why it didn't drop off to sleep, as a proper baby should, was more than the tired soul of Hicronjmus could tell. He did every thing to soothe Tiddlekins. (The in fant had not been named as yet, and by way of aflcction they addressed it as Tiddlekins.) He even went so far as to wave the Hies .ivv.iy irom it with a mulberry branch for the sp ice of tiveor ten iiumues. iui as it still zrcueu ami tossed, he let it severely alone, and the (lies settled on the little black thing as if it had been a licorice stick. After awhile Tiddlekins jrrew ag gressive, and began to yell. Hierony mus, who hid almost found consolation in the contemplation of a bloody picture pasted on the wall, cut from the weekly paper of a w icked city, was deprived et.cn of this solace. He picked up "de mNerbul little screech-owl," as he called it in his wrath. He trotted it. He sang to it the soothing ditty of Tain't never irwine to rain no mo; frun shines down on rich and po'." But all was ain. Finally, in despair, he undressed Tiddlekins. He had heard his mother say, " Oren and ofen when a chile is a-scrcamin' its bretl away, 'tain't nothin' ails it 'cep'n pins." Iiut there were no pins. Plenty of strings and hard knots; but not a pin to account for the antics of the unhappy Tiddlekins. How it did scream! It lay on the stifflt -braced knees of Hieronymus, and J nickered up its face so tightly that it ooked as if it had come fresh from a wrinkle mold. There were no tears, but sharp regular yells, and rollings of its head, anda distracting monotony in its performances. " Dis here chilo looks s if it's got de measles," muttered Hi, gazing on the squirming atom with calm eyes of de spair. Then, running his fingers over the neck and breast of the small Tid dlekins, he cried, with the air of one who makes a discovery. "It's got dc heat! DaCs what ails Tiddlekins!" There was really a little breaking out on the child's body that might account for his restlessness and squalls. And it was such a hot day! Perspiration streamed down Hi's back, while his head was dry. There was not a quiver in tho tree leaves, and the silver-poplars showed only their leaden side. The sunflowers were dropping their big heads; the flies seemed to stick to the window-panes, and were too languid to crawl. Hieronymus had in him the materi als of which philosophers are made. He said to himself, "'Tain't nothin' but heat flat's de matter wid dis baby; so uf cose he ought ter be cooled off." But how to cool him off that was the great question. Hi knitted his dark brows and thought intently. It happened that the cbiefest treasure of the Pop estate was a deep old well that in the hottest days yielded water as refreshing as iced champagne. The neighbors all made a convenience of the Pop well. And half way down its long cool hollow hung, pretty much all the time, milk cans, butter pats, fresh meats all things that needed to be kept cool in summer days. He looked at the hot, squirming, wretched, black baby on his lap; then he looked at the well; and, simple, straightforward lad that he was, he put this and that together. "If I was ter hang Tiddlekins down dewell," he reflected, "'twouldn't be mo' dan three jumps of a flea befo' he's as cool as Christmas." With this quick-w ittcd youth to think was to act. Before many minutes he had stuffed poor little Tiddlekins into the well bucket, though it must be men tioned to bis credit that he tied the baby securely in with his own suspenders. Warmed up with his exertions, con tent in this good riddance of such bad rubbish as Tiddlekins." Hieronymus re posed himself on the feather bed, and dropped oft into a sweet slumber. From this lie was aroused by the voice of a small boy. "Hello, Hi! I say. Hi Pop! w bar is yer?" "Here I is!" cried Hi, starting up. "What you want?" Little Jim Rogers stood in the door way. "To7er's dog," he said, in great excitement, " and daddy's bull pup is gwine ter have a light dis evenin. Come on quick, if yer wants ter see de fun." Un iumned Hi. and the two bovs were off like a Hash. Xot one thought to lukucansin the well ducket. In due time the Pop family rot home, and Mother Pop, fanning herself, was indulging in the moral reflections suit able to the occasion, when she checked herself suddenly, exclaiming, "But, land o' Jerusalem! whar's 'thymus an' de baby?" "I witnessed Hieronymus," said the elegant Sivannah, "as I wandered from school. He was with a multitude of boys, who cheered, without a sign of disap;rration, two canine beasts that tore each other in deadly feud." "Yer don't mean ter say. Sissy, dat 'Onymus Pop is gone ter a dog-light?" ""Such are my me-ming," said Sissy, with dignity. " Den Khar's de baby?" For answer, a long low wail smote upon their ears, as Savannah would have said. " Fan me!" cried Mother Pop."l)at's Tiddlekins' voice." " Ne cr min' about fannin' mammy." cried Weekly, Savannah's twin, a youth of fifteen, who could read, and was much addicted to gory tales of thunder and blood; "let's tin' de baby. PVaps he's been murdered by dat ruffian Iii, an' dat' s his ghos' dat we hears a-callin'." A search was instituted under the bed. in the bed, in the wash-tub and the soup-kettle; behind the vv ood-pile, and in the pea vines; up the chimney, and in the ash-hopper; but all in vain. No Tiddlekins appeared, though still they heard him cry. "Shade of Ole Hickory!" cried the father Pop, " whar, whar is dat chile?" Then, with a sudden lighting of the eye, " Unchain de dog," said he; "he'll smell him out." There was a superannuated blood hound pertaining to the Pop menage that they kept tied up all day under a delusion that he was tierce. They un chained this wild animal, and with many kicks endeavored to goad his nos trils to their duty. It happened that a piece of fresh pork hung in the w ell. and Lord Percy so was the dog called was hungry. So he hurried with vivacity towaru the fresh pork. "Dc well!" shrieked Mother Pop, tumbling down all in a heap, and look ing somehow like Turner's "Sl.ne Ship," as one stumpy leg protrudd from the wreck of red flannel and ruffled petticoats. " What shall we do?" said Sissy, with a helpless squeak. " Why, git him out," said Mr. Pop, who was the practical one of the family. He began to draw up the well bucket, aided by Weekly, who whispered, dark ly, " Dar'll be anudder hangin' in town befo' long, ami Hi wont miss dat AanjtV." Soon appeared a little woolly head, then half a black body, the rest of him being securely wedged in the well bucket. He looked like a jack-in-the-box. But he was cool, Tiddlekins was, no doubt of that. Mother Pop revived at sight of her offspring, still living, and feebly sucking his thumb. " Ef we had a whisky bath ter put him in!" she cried. Into the house flew Father Pop. seized the quart cup, and was over to the white house on the hill in the wink of a cat's eye. "He stammered forth bis piteous tale," said" Savannah, telling the story the next dav to her school-mates; "and Jodge Chambers himself tilled bis cup with the best ol Bourbon, and iitss Cla ra came over to see us resnsirate the infant." Mother Pop had Tiddlekins wrapped in hot flannel when he got back; and with a never-to-be-sufficiently admired economy Sir. Ppp moistened a rasr with "the best of Bourbon," and said to his wife. "Jes rub him awhile, Cvn thy;an' see if dat won't bring him roun" As she rubbed, he absent-mindedly raised the quart cup to his lips, and with three deep and grateful gulps tho w hU kv bath went to refresh the inner mau of Tiddlekins' papa. Then who so Talorous and so affec tionate a he? Dire were his threats, against Hieronymus, deep his lamenta tions over his child. "ily jk' little laramic!" he sobbed. " Work away, Cynthy. Dat chilo mus be saved, even if I" should hare ter go over ter de Judge's fur anudiler quart o' whisky. Nuthin' shill bo spared to save that preciousest kid o' my old age." Miss Clara did not encourage his self sacrificing proposal; but for all that, it was not long before Tiddlekins grew warm and lively, and winked at his: father so that good old man declared as ho lay on his bark, placidly suck ing a pig's tail. Savannah had roasted it in tho ashes, and it had been cut -from tho piece of pork that had shared the well with Tiddlekins. The pork belonged to a neighbor, by-tht-way; but at such a time the Pop family felt that they might dispense with tho vain and useless ceremony of asking for it. The excitement was over, tho baby asleep. Miss Clar.i goue. and tho sun well on its way to China, when a small figure was seen hovering diffidently about the gate. It had a limp air of dejection, and seemed to feel some del icacy about coming further. "The miscreant is got back," re marked Savannah. "Hieronymus," calls Mrs. Pop, "you mav thank yo' heavenly stars tl.it jou ain't a murderer dis summer dty " "A-waitin ter bo hung nex' wild-grape-time," finished Weekly, pleas antly. Mr. Pop said nothing. But he reached down from the imntel-slielf a long thin something, shaped like a snake, and quivered it in the air. Then he walked out to Hi, and taking him by the left car, led him to tho woodpile. And here But I draw a veil. Harper Magazine for June. John Bright and American Poets. The purity of John Bright's English has often been a surprise to critical hearers, who knew that he had en joyed in early life but limited advan tages of education. Even Mr. Glad stone, with his University training and the literary pursuits of a long life, has not the command of such a pure and sinewy English style as that which marks the speeches of the Lancashire manufacturer, who never went to col lege or wrote a book. In an interview w ith an American friend recently, Mr. Bright referred to a habit which ex plains the origin of his good English style. He has always read, carefully, the best authors, and especially tho poets. For many years he has road a poem every night before retiring. Ho added a remark complimentary to our American poets. Of late years, he said, his evening readings have been confined chiefly to American poets, among whom Longfellow, Br ant, Whittier and Lowell were foremost. English poets are too obscure and in volved to be enjoyed, or to sen e as models. Poetry, he thought, like all speech, should be intelligible, and leavo no reader in doubt of its meaning. In tliis respect Americans are much su perior to their English rivals. youth' tompamon. Is the backwoods of Presnue Islu County, Wisconsin, is a town, that has iust elected its first Justice of tho "eace. Like the rest of the resident', he is a rough lumberman. The first case brought before him was that of an assault committed by a notorious brawler. The Justice had no dilliculty in pronouncing him guilty, but how to punish him was a harder question, for he had no money with which to pay a fine, and there was no jiil in which to imprison him. After mature thought tlinmacinratesaid: "The complainant's got to pay me two dollars costs. I sentence the prisoner to be whipped, and, as a peace officer I'm going to do the punishing myself.1' Then he rolled up his sleeves and thrashed the culprit. A coktemi-oeaby prists a poem called " Gather Kipe Fruit. O Death." And that would be best. It is so now that the small boy gathers the fruits before they are ripe, and Oh Death gathers the small boy." m