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The mirror. (Stillwater, Minn.) 1894-1925, January 04, 1906, Image 4

Image and text provided by Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn90060762/1906-01-04/ed-1/seq-4/

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OCCASIONALLY memories of
the past revolve themselves
iu the mind of man, loom
ing up in transcendent hues;
«nd in memory he lives over again
the experiences of the past. This
may be conceded as the reason for
me narrating my experiences in
the Northwest. A coterie of con
genial souls were gathered at
Max’s place, at Billings, Montana,
one evening in January, wheD in
sauntered a tall, well-built individ
ual, with flowing beard and long,
curly hair. He wore a buckskin
suit, high-topped boots, a beaver
cap, and in his right hand he car
ried a pair of beaver-lined gloves.
Me was a typical hunter and trap
per of the Northwest wilds. He
glanced around the barroom and
noting all eyes turned on him, he
said: “Wail, boys, have some
thing.”
After drinking the health of our
happily-met acquaintance, we en
couraged him to talk. “I live
*way up in the B’ar Paw Moun
tains, ’way up whar the air am pure,
’whar the mind of man am not
contaminated with the visez o’ the
■wurld, whar wild game am plenti
ful; an’ near whar dwells the
sweetest creature that the sun
e’er shone upon.” Some one in
terjected: “Who’s she?”
“Her name is Juniata; but we
• suns up thar’bouts calls ’er, ‘The
Child of the Prairie.’ ”
It is not necessary to recount
JBob’s glowing description of his
' |*hieck-’o-the woods.” Suffice it to
ieay that a few days later Bob and
2 arrived at his place. Bob’s
as he called it, was forty
tniles due south of Fort Assinni
t>oia, and located on a prominent
point.
One winter’s evening Bob and I
■were seated on a rustic bench just
outside the cabin door. He sat
there gazing off across the dis
tance and talking. Far below, and
wending its way eastward, we
could trace Peoples Creek; beyond
this creek we could see Milk
Creek. While far to the north
t;he long, low, gray buildings at
-Fort Assinniboia loomed up. It
-was a fine view; and many an eve
ning, during the following two
years, I sat there gazing at the
scenic surroundings depicted by
nature in her robes of Winter,
Spring, Bummer and Autumn.
But now I had spied, in the dis
tance, a ranch.
“Who lives over there Bob?”
J. asked, pointing toward the ranch.
“Over yonder, sonny? Why
'that’s nigh unto twelve miles
from hyar. It’s on Milk Creek.
"That’s whar Juniata’s folks live.
She lives with a Frenchman,
named Pierre Grosventre, and his
wife, who is a halfbreed. Some
says as how she were stolen by
the Indians when a babe; but be
that as it may, Groventre and his
wife pay little attention to Juni
ata. She comes and goes jes as
«he pleases; that’s why we calls
’er ‘The Child of the Prairie.’”
Bob kept up a running fire of
*mall talk, while I sat meditating
—thinking of Juniata. I was
brought back to mundane affairs
by Bob saying: “Well, sonny,
it’s turnin’ in time. Some one of
these fine mornings you’ll see the
little gal. Pr’aps she reckons I’ve
bin gon’ a long time, but she’ll
see the light in our cabin window
vjand soon she’ll be over to see us.”
'Several days had passed and
Juniata hadn’t appeared. I was
anxious to see her, for Bob’s talk
had aroused in me that slumber
ing curiosity so peculiar in man
kind. But they were busy days,
for we had unpacking to do, look
s' ing after the ponies, and arrang
r '' : " ‘ **" *** A 'f' •
B Story of the Blest.
ing things generally; for this was
to be our headquarters for the
next two years.
About ten days had passed when
I decided to take my rifle and go
get a bear. “Guess I’ll go out
and get some bear meat, Bob,”
said I.
“All right,” he replied. “But
be oareful that a b’ar don’t get
you; lots of ’em in these hyar
mountains. If you stick out over
night be sure to keep up a camp
fire. Remember that!”
About noon I arrived at a peak,
which gave me a view of the Mis
souri, where it curves up near the
mountains. Altho I had seen
many bear tracks, yet no bears.
But now, two or three miles from
where I stood, I could see a herd
of deer peacefully grazing. “Ah!”
murmured I, “I’ll just bag a couple
of them.”
So I started toward the herd;
when about a quarter of a mile
from them I noticed a commotion in
the herd, and soon the herd began
moving in the opposite direction.
At the same time I noted a mov
ing object some distance to the
right of the herd and moving in
the same direction. “A prowling
wolf,” thought I, as I followed the
herd, hoping to “bring down” a
deer.
How long I tramped or how far
I knew not. The air and chase
were stimulating, and soon it be
came dark; too late to retrace my
way to camp, so building a camp
fire I prepared to spend the night
in the open. A nearby spring
eupplied me with water, from my
hunting ooat I drew forth biscuits
and bacon, and soon was eating
my supper. Heaping enough
wood on the fire to last through
the night, I then stretched out and
was soon asleep.
It was about midnight, a low
growl awakened me from my
pleasant dreams. On the opposite
side of the campfire, and near
where my rifle lay, stood two
wolves. A thousand thoughts
whirled through my mind. I
reached for my bowie knife, then
remembered that it lay on a rock
near the spring. How to defend
myself was the question ? Seizing
a flaming firebrand I sprang to my
feet, holding it aloft. The wolves
retreated a few feet and I quiokly
seized my rifle and took deliber
ate aim at the nearest wolf.
“Oh, mister! Don’t shoot!
Them’s my pets!”
The voice was directly behind
me, and coming so unexpectedly,
scared me. The rifle fell from my
hands. I wheeled around expect
ing—l knew not what. On the
opposite side of the oampfire,
where I had been lying, stood two
more wolves; and between them,
with a hand on the baok of each
wolf, stood—a girl. I could scarce
believe my eyes. There stood a
girl—about fifteen years of age;
her ivory teeth shining between
her ruby lips. Her eyes were
gleaming with merriment. Her
raven hair hung loosely down her
shoulders. She wore a beaver cap,
a pair of moocasins, a boy’s suit
of buckskin, with buckskin leg
gings. The fire cast a radiance
over the scene. I stood motion
less—spellbound. The child broke
the silenoe, saying:
“These are my pets; they won’t
hurt you. But say, mister, I did
sure give you a great skeer, didn’t
I?”
Then she broke into a loud
laugh, which appeared to me as
the ringing laugh of a maniac.
“Who are you, and what are
you doing here?” I asked.
“My name is Juniata,” she
replied. “They oall me ‘The Child
of the Prairie.’ ” Then she disap
peared, followed by her pets.
No more sleep for me that night.
I sat by the campfire and medi
tated on the strange action and
disappearance of the child. The
sun rose clear and bright on the
following morning; I wended my
way back to camp, there I related
the incident to Bob, who said:
“Well, sonny, that’s not the last
you’ll see of Juniata; but treat
her good my boy. She’ll repay
you if you do.” E. D.
Muldoon on Grass
Widows.
Iver since I waz naturalized me
main indivors hov been to kape
up wid the late fads, an’ incydint
ly sprinkle wholesome flathery
amoongst the fair six. Contro
versially spakin’, both av thim hov
sprained me family relations wid
considerable elastissyty. You see,
Katie belaves me august shivalry
an’ swate disposition are afficted
wid ayvil eyebawls; nivertheliss,
’tiz mesilf that’s highly ifficacious
in the rindition av fictitious com
plimints.
Yis, an’ the mimory av wan law
soot has timpered all me coquitry
wid soofishint artifice to rinder it
void, so in case av altercations I
can aisily vindycate mesilf fer
ninst the binch. Profissional con
tact has made me slippery as an
ale in all kinds av ticknycal
manoovers, may it plaze the saints.
Like manny other iccintric
spoorts that provoke mirth, it has
been condimed be amychoors an’
black-bawled be faymale suffrage
coompaynies. Their motive is
obviously silfish, fer the simple
raison that wan is always the
defindint in braich av promise
soots an’ the other suffers, accoord
in’ to her lawyers fay. I will not
disgust me frinds wid a recital av
poopyism, but devote mesilf ix
clusively to the grass widdy quis
tion.
The term grass widdy is a mod
ern appillation which fits a mod
ern foorm av degineraoy. The
rale difiinition av this wor-rd has
been the soobject av much discus
sion in literary ciroles. Yis, while
in transit it lift a doubt in the
minds av our bist min, the binyfit
av which I now give me raders.
A grass widdy is a carioature av
a rale leddy, who, be an act av
choice, (an’ not provydince) has
sivered the tie that binds fer the
sake av colliotin’ alimoony. They
are highly sinsytive oraythers, an’
can faint, swoon, an’ joomp tin
fate at the same time over the
same mouse on the same day.
What do yez think av that fer
flixybility? I hov always said all
the roober wazn’t confined in the
nick.
I wance kissed wan av thim un
der the mistletoe an’ the nixt day
I waz charged wid inoculatin’
germs av tio douloureaux durin’
the suspinsion av social convin
tionalities. Av coorse, it waz a
lugubrious predickymint fer a
family man, so I paid me fine iD
priferinoe av ixposin’ mesilf to
win the case. To use a plagia
rized ixprission, where ignorance
waz bliss it wud hov been folly to
lit Katie find out.
’Tiz a well known fact that a
man’s wife can create more havoc
an’ disturb more pace than the
combined ifforts av nine goats an’
twinty-five min; ispicially whin
she has suspicious presintymints.
Blayche blonds, on the contrary,
don’t scare a man to dith, but what
is more tantylizin’ they take him
fer a merry andrew priparatoory
to swearin’ out a warrant fer his
chick. Fer a case av inhuman
oroolty it shure takes the frosted
cake.
Whin I waz a young tarrier me
main passion was( the writtin’ av
sooblime poitrv, an’ about the
same time I conthracted a strong
mania fer a grass widdy in whose
hanar I composed a beautiful lyric.
Its peculiar arrangemint, howiver,
caused her to think I waz a dool
personallity, in conseguince me
proposal waz rejicted.
B’gorry, I even squirted twinty
cints worth av me noo perfumed
hairile in the invilope as a noble
incouragemint. I prezoom the
otter av lilacs had a chazy smill
which saled me doom. The fol
lowin’ tinder lines contained me
luv:
i’ve got widdies ok the bkaik.
Payple say I am looney, because I am spooney
Wld widdies both young an’ old.
Me wife says ’tlz shameliss, an’ yet I am blameliss,
Because I’m baldheaded I’m bold.
Each day In the park I go out fer a lark
Wid Minnies an’ Jennies an’ Katies,
Whin a fair wan I spy, thin I flip flop me eye,
Fer action makes all av me dates.
Ii’IKVOY.
I’ve got widdies on the brain—
They are drlvln’ me insane.
There are long wans an’ short wans,
An’ lame wans an’ fat wans,
’Tls worse than a circus parade.
Fer wld old wans an’ young wans,
An’ good wans an’ boom wans,
They’ll soon lay me out in the shade.
To annywan contimplatin’ the
writtin’ av poitry on a large scale,
I wud advise thim to use soap an'
postoffice coffee as soobjects, they
are liss revingeful. E. E. H.
Bismarck’s Happy
Hours.
At a festival in 1895 Bismarck was
hailed as a happy man by one of
the speakers. The answer of
Bismarck telling when he felt hap
py, is characteristic. He said:
“When I count the sparingly few
minutes of real enjoyment, they
will not add up twenty-four hours.
“In politics I never had the rest
needed to feel happy; it was an
eternal battling and wrestling, and
when fortune was at hand, the
care to retain and make use of it
was also to be thought of. But
in my private life I have exper
ienced moments of joy.
“I recall the one real moment of
happiness in my ohildhood, when,
as a boy, I shot my first rabbit.
Later as forester I remember with
joyful feeling the meadows and
the growing forest cultivating
under my care; I have also been
happy in my house with my wife
and child.”
The first rabbit, the meadows
and the oulture of his forest have

brought to this great man no more
than twenty-four hours of true
happiness. Poor, great man!
Translated from the German by
1268.
“Did the jury find the prisoner
guilty?” inquired a man concern
ing a burglar.
“No, sir,” responded the polioe
man. “They didn’t find him at
all. He got away.”—Ex.
At last after a courtship extend
ing over two years and ten months
and seventeen days, he proposed
and she handed him the answer.
“Darling,” he gurgled, “you
are worth your weight in gold.”
“Then I must be very valuable,”
she replied, “for it has been an
awful long wait.”—Detroit Trib
une.
HoW the /\ncier\ts MoVed Storxe.
An unfinished obelisk found in
a quarry at Syene showed how the
ancients separated these immense
monoliths from the native rock.
A groove marking the boundary of
the stone contained a number of
holes into which wooden wedges
were firmly driven. The groove
was then filled with water, and the
swelled wedges cracked the granite
the whole length of the groove.
The detached block was then
pushed forward upon rollers made
from palm trees to a large timber
raft on the edge of the Nile, where
it remained until the next inunda
tion floated the raft to the oity
. , * i
where the obelisk was to be set up.
Thousands of hands then pushed
it on rollers up an inclined plane to
the frflot jf the temple, where it
was to stand. The pedestal had
previously been placed in position,
and a firm causeway of sand cov
ered with planks led to the top of
it. Then by means of rollers,
levers and ropes made out of date
palms, the obelisk was gradually
hoisted into an upright position.
In no case has an obelisk been
found to be out of the true per
pendicular.—Ex.
Plain Filiers-With-
I out Varnish.
It is tough to go without a steak
as long as we have to; but then it
is tough when we get it, too.
••••
Scientists have discovered sev
eral new kinds of mosquitoes, but
have found no need for any of
them.
••••
Japan’s “Protectorate” for Corea
will be exercised firmly, but with
the greatest politeness.
••••
Ambition never took the place
of industry. Ambition is merely
the spyglass that lets you see the
point to which you must olimb.
••••
It was proven in the Taggart
divorce case that most army offi
cers are not drunkards —merely
sot in their ways, is all.
••••
Since Prinoe Louis’ visit to this
country, New York’s 400 has been
cut down to 79, the other 321 per
sons now are in the “has been”
class.
••••
I have noticed that all of the
really sensible persons in the world
agree with me in all matters of
importance.
••••
The sultan has a sure relief for
ennui. Whenever he gets bored
he can always depend upon the
powers to give him another naval
demonstration.
••••
Prince Louis has the correct
view of the horse show according
to the American idea. He says
of the New York horse show: “It
is wonderful! Such beautiful
women, and such magnificent
gowns.” \
••••
The king of Spain has been re
ported engaged to several differ
ent persons, all of them selected
for him. One of them, Prinoess
Ena of Battenberg, was probably
selected in the good old way we
used to decide who was “it” when
we were kids: Ena, mena, mona,
mi.
••••
It was a Boston clergyman who,
in describing frenzied finance,
said it was “That centralized fury
or money madness that drives
every trace of public spirit from
the soul.” Thomas Lawson puts
it in a little different language,
but they agree on the main point.
••••
One of the greatest compliments
ever paid to the realism of a play
was that paid by a woman in the
balcony of a New York theatre
recently, when “Oliver Twist” was
being produoed. When it oame
to the act where Bill Sykes strikes
Nancy, the woman oried out ex
citedly: “Now stop that!”
••••
There is a noted flutist, Miss
DeForest Anderson, who has made
a vow to which she rigidly adheres,
never to kiss anybody—man, wom
an or child. The reason she gives
for this is that the practice of kiss
ing “inflicts great injury upon the
sensitive muscles of the mouth.”
Think of the sacrifice she is mak
ing just for the sake of a little
music. D. W. K.

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