The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1867-02-22
MISCELLANEOUS.
IN A BIN.
BY c. SITACKELFORD,

One night, coming out of the theatre,
l saw a man vigilently watching the
"gutter-rats," trough" and workmen
pushing and crowding out of the gallery
exit. He was thin, haggard, whis-
kered fellow, with wild glare in his
eyes, hair uncombed, and liberal
sprinkling of shavings over his wrin-
kled clothes. Leaning against lamp
post, the crowd, as it surged heavily by,
jostled him from his position, and |
saw, from his empty coat sleeve, that
his left arm was gone. There was some.
thing peculiar about the man, perhaps
the painful eagerness of look and man.
ner he exhibited, that caused me to
lounge against the building and await
results. The crowd dispersed, and the
man and 1 were left together.
"Wcre you looking for any one?"
inquired, stepping into the light. His
wild eyes scanned my person from hat
to boots.
eyes," he answered.
"a friend?"
Gan old acquaintance" and he turned
away from me.
"Stop minute" said seeing his an
noyance. ~ am called queer fellow,
and you must excuse me if / ask you If
you void like good warm supper ?"
81 am hungry" he answered energet-
ically, and moistening his lips with his
tongue.
"And thirsty!"
every"
"You shall have something to eat and
drink, upon one condition."
"Well ?"
"That you tell me how you lost your
arm"
care you a detective, mister?" he
suspiciOusly demanded.
"NO."
"Then I'll go with you, thank you,"
and he began to brush the shavings from
his clothes, and to clumsily smooth the
unkempt hair.
There was a restaurant close by, where
ordered substantial meal for my
guest. That finished, and with pitch
er of something warm within his reach,
he told the following story, beginning
in a moralizing strain, and stopping at
times to fill his glass from the pitcher,
or to walk the little compartment with
nervous step that seemed to ease his
heart a little. l did not interrupt him
to question or comment on his story,
told in deep base voice, with broad
accent that made the interview strange
ly musical. His narrative, pruned of
many inaccuracies of expression, began
as follows:
"If, as l have somewhere read, land
l have read a little,) a mans life is made
up of accidents, then the history of my
life would, think, prove the truth of
that assertion, for | am scarcely out of
one trouble, great or small, before an
other treads on its heels and trips me
up. | am poor man, always have been
one, if poverty has any blessings, any
salve for the ragged wounds it gives to
the ragged men and women, l know
little or nothing of them.
81 have seen women string beads (;
black and white and red and blue beads
held on q needle for a second, then
pushed downwards to make room for
more. That is the way the thread of
my life has been strung with troubles,
and there's been very little Of the pure
white among that kind of beads. It's
been tawny white and sooty white, and
jet black, and bruised green, and blue,
but little that was pure and unsoiled
no beads of amber, pearl, or gold.
"pm not complaining; for years OF
trouble have ruined that miserable way
of relief. After thirty years OF conflict
with the world, am like a blind man
in fight everybody hits me when l
don't see 'em; accidents and incidents
bruise body and soul, and ] can not see
whittier they come or whence they go.
What's the use of such Il fellow as am:
He's no use to any one---not even him
self. ,
"You wanted to know how | lost my
arm. Shouldn't you think that was
pretty bad misfortune? count that as
one of the dingy white beads of my lile'
for, though lost my arm, ! saved my
life, and cling to life rs if it were full
of happiness. This may seem unreason'
able, yet it's natural.
"If it had Mt been for England and
Chicago, / don't think my left sleeve
would be empty. There's ariddle you
can't guess. No one can guess 1t who
doesn't know my whole life; and I'm