San Andreas independent., 1857-02-21

y IA.
printing office was no place for love-mak
ing, and | have since experienced tn,
; truth OF the observation; being now per
fectly convinced that the flower of love ca,
never bloom in the midsto types, cases anc
printing ink
1t was my fortune once to soiourn for /,
few days in the village of Di.
rectly opposite the the Office was pretty
white cottage with rosebush clamberino
around the easement, and / was not long in
making the discovery that the aforesaid
cottage with the rose-shaded window con-
tanned fair inmate, flower whose bean
ty outshone the roses that clustered around
the window. She was the belle of the
village Her name was Mary DO
etc Mary. | have passion for the name
Of Mary
1t was beautiful summer morning.
and had raised the window to admit the
breeze from the fower-decked fields, and,
1t was not long before perceived the cot
tage window was .also hoisted, and that
smaot ,,. ,t.'o N"rv was sitting busily en-
gagged with her needle Fwo.A,sssas saisss g. az
tie that morning. My eyes constantly
wandered towards the cottage window
where little Mary sat, and all sorts of
strange fantastic notions whirled through
my fancy, lightened my brain, and [ be-
gan to think [ felt light touch of what
the poet calls love, sliding in at the cor
ner of my heart.
A few days passed away and chance
made me acquainted with Mary. O.. she
was a sweet creature she had a form that
would have shamed the famous Venus de
Medici-a cheek that out-fushed the rich
est peach, and lip that would have tempt
ed bee from its hive on frosty morning.
| thought as [ gazed on her in mute ad-
miration, that [ had never looked on one
so exquisitely beautiful. She seemed the
embodiment of everything lovely and be-
witching. Well time passed on, and one
day Mary expressed desire to visit the
printing office. "Good," thought l, what
chance III have kiss, there-yes,
there, in the very midstof the implements
of mine art why shouldn't |? Love in
a printing ofice-oh There was some
thing original in that, and | resolved to
try it at all hazards.
Well, Mary came to the Office, and | ex-
planned to her the use of various imple-
ments of the black art-the press and
roller, the ink and the stands and the
boxes Of the A. B. C's / took an oppor-
tunity to snatch her pretty little white
hand; she drew it back, knocking stick
ful of matter into Cpl"
81 must have kiss for that my pretty
ono" said |, and at it | went | man
aged to twist my arm around her waist,
and in struggling to free herself she upset
a galley of editorial, long article on the
Oregon Question.
Nothing daunted, I made at her again.
This time | was more successful, for | OBJ
tanned kiss. BY ST. Paul, it was
sweet one, and that little witch bore it like
martyr-she never screamed once; but
as [ raised my lips from hers, she lifted
her delicate little hand, and gave me b-x
on my cars that made me see more stars
than was ever viewed by Herschell through
his big telescope. Somewhat nettled, and
my cheek smarted with pain, again
seized her waist, and said:
"Well, if you don't like it, just take
back the kiss"
She made a desperate struggle, and as
she jerked herself from my arms, her foot
struck the lyepot, and over it went. An
other galley of editorial was sprinkled over
the floor, and in her efforts to reach the
door her foot slipped, and she fell, and in
her efforts to sustain herself, her hand
her lilly white hand that-the same little
hand came in contact with my ears-oh,
horrible.!-was stuck up the elbow in the
ink. Shades of franklin She slowly
drew it from the keg, dripping with ink,
and asked me what use [ made of that
tar? / began to be seriously alarmed, and
apologised in the best manner | could, and
to my surprise, she seemed to be more
pleased than angry-but there was lurk-
ing devil in her eye, that told me there
was mischief afoat. As [ stood surveying
the black covering of her hand, scarcely
able to suppress laugh at its strange met
amorphosis, she quickly raised it on high,
and brought it down kerslap upon my
cheek. Before [ could recover from sur
prise, the same little hand had again de-
scended, and left its inky imprint on my
cheek
"Why, Mary" I exclaimed, "what are
you about 2"
" [ think you told me you rolled ink on
the face of the form," she replied with
loud laugh, and again her hand lit upon
me-taking me broad slap in the mid
die of my countenance, most wonderfully
bedaubing my eyes. With light step
andmery pealof laughter, skipped through
the door. She turned back when beyond
my reach, and her rogueish face peering
through the doorway, shouted:
~ say Charley, what kind of roller