THE DODGE CITY TIMES.
8CBSCEIPT10X: 2 00 pfr Tr, U Adnac.
NICHOLAS B. KLAlNE, - Edito.
Sometime? not often when the days are
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
fcoroetimes. when royal Winter holds his
When every tloud is swept from azure
And froztn pool nnd lighted hearth are iray
W ilh laughing lips and jit moio laughing
From far-off days an eiho wanders ly.
That makes a discord in the Christmas
A moment in tbe danec or tall: I sigh. ,
And "e"m half lonely in the crowd some
Not often, nor for Ion. O frien 1, my friend.
We wruuot lent our life that wo might
The Cnwer-crowned May of earth hath soon
hould our fair Spring a longer ojourn
Conesali tovsoon tho time of fadtnjr kaves.
(.ome on tbe cold short days. We must
And go our way, ami gamer homo our
Though some far faint regret may cloud our
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
And look, and look nsraln. and set k to trace
A moment more your fancied likeness
O sal, sweit thoughts! o foolish, rain re
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
Am I to blame that stitl I slzh sometimes?
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
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
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
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
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
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
Iiut there were no pins. Plenty of
strings and hard knots; but not a pin to
account for the antics of the unhappy
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
" 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
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
"Hello, Hi! I say. Hi Pop! w bar is
"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
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'
"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,
" Den Khar's de baby?"
For answer, a long low wail smote
upon their ears, as Savannah would
" Fan me!" cried Mother Pop."l)at's
" 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 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
"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
" 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
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
" 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
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
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
"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
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'
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."
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