Bozeman avant courier. [volume] (Bozeman, Mont.) 1872-1882, 1872-12-12
yoil dissoIute ink-slInger-y ilnbecile o.

yoils 3dissoIute ink-slIilger-you inibecileolt
a I1quill-driyer, you:
.s0h. bury Bartholomew out in the woods,
4 III q beautiful hole IN the ground
Il Whcretl,e bnmbie-bees buzz and the Woodpeck-
q ers sing.
Anafhe straddie hngs tumble around;
So that IN winter whea the snow aid slush
Have covered his last little bed
H His brother Arte.nns can 90 out with Jane
And yisItth- place withl,is sled
III teach you to talk abIstt ra5ldle-bugs
l1linstrucl yousaI,ollt sIush !. I'll erli2htei,
singing Weodpeekers! What tlo you know
about james and Arfenus, yon wretched
hlecai.eer, you despieable butcher of the
4 English aneaiaga2 Z Go ent With a sled !! I'll
carry yau out ina hearse before am done
with yaal, votl deplorable luaaticp
Al the end Of every phrase the visitor gave
the editors head fresh knock against the
table When the exercise was ended Mr..
Brimmer explained and applogizcd in the
hlmblest manner, promising at the same
time TO give his assailant chance to pummel
OFT.
The treachery Of the man nlurnuret
the poet. is DIR adtul. Didn't he desire me
to throy glamour Of poetry over comm on
place details? Rnt for tliatssI should never
have thought of al.uding 10 woodpeckers
land bugs and other children of nafarc. The
/ man objects to the remarks about the sled
4 Can't The idiot know that 1T was necessary
to havea royne for bed 2 Can lie suppose
that could write EottrY without rhymes ?
! The laall is q lina,ic-! He ought not be at
i largcr
Hardly had the Indignant and energetic
/ parent of Bartholomew departed when a
inan with red hair and tefecious glare in
his eyes entered, carrying club and accom-
panied by savage looking dog.
II want to see the editor" he shouted.
A ghastly pallor o'erspread Brinmer's
| face. and nc said:
The editor Is not in.''
Well, when will he ba in?',
! Net Tor week, amont1, a year-foreyer!
He will never come in any more,' screamed
/ Bria.mer; he has gone 10 South America
! with the iittention4of remaining there during
! tile balance oi his lie. He has departed he
has lied. Il you want to see him you had
/ better l0ileW hinls to the Equator. He will
/ be glad TO see you. | advise you lis friend
70 take tile next boat ard start at once.''
:. That is unfortunate = said the man with
she golden locks; :. called Tor the purpose
Of battefing him ap-a lot with this club.'
He will be sorry said Brimner. sarcas
fieally. .'He will regret missing you. /
will write to him and mention that yoa
Iaropped III. =
anne as aaaen. & said the man.
Il came 70 break the head ot tile nlall who
wrote that obituary poetry about my wife.
If you don't tell me Who perpetrated the fol-
lowing I'll break. yours for you' Where's
/ the man who wrote fhis2 Pay attention!
MRS. McFadden has goneirom this life;
| She has left all its SORROWS and cares,
She caught the rheumatism in both of her legs
" lille s.rubblng the cellars and stars.
They put mus ard pla- ters upon her ia vain,
They bathed her with whisky and rum;
But Thursday her spirit departed, ahaleft
| Her body entirely numb,
s.The slave who held The late Mrs. MeFad-
den UP to the scorn of an ,nsympathetic
world in that shocking manner,a said the
editor, is named Remington OFT. He
boards in Blank street. fourth door from the
corner. | would advise you to call on him
aud ayenge Mrs. McFadden's wrongs with
Ejudicions internixturc OF club and dog
bites"
Ihe poet Determined to leave fore any
further criticisms We're made upon his per-
i
and crept softly toward the back staircase.
Arriving at the landing, he suddenly en-
collntered Brinmer, who was moving off in
the same direction. Tie editor had hardly
time enough to utter profane ejaculation
and 10 lift his hand to strike the poet when
an old lady ma poke-Donnet and silver spec
facies suddenly emerged from the stairway
and pinned the editor to the wall with the
ferale of lier umbrella. After glilding her
teeth al him foI Ii moment she ffoored him
with her weapon. and seating herself upon
his prasirate form slleextractedta copy OF the
Morning Glory from ner lag, and pointing
10 IA certain sfailza in the obituary column,
asked Oh 70 read it aloud. He did So. 1t
ran in this EIsiion:
Little a Asxander's dead,
J.n him IN me conn:
Don't have rs good chance
Fer fsuierai oIt.n.
Rash hi BODY right around
fo ffe cemetery;
Drop aim in the sepulehre
WITH mis- Uncle Jerry.''
Al the end Of every line the indignant con
qnefor punched tie fallen Brimmer's ribs
With her umbrella.
bile she pounded the editor the poet
groned his way down stairs, six steps at ],
iiine. aud emerged from The trbiit door with
remarkable sueiaenness. His iouJnaIStic
career ended upon that day. When BriHi-
ner's employees dragged away AieSander's |
graudpat enl, and carried I,er stru CLING ard
screaming down To tie street, iieeditor sent
for 4 carriage aud was taken home 10 bed. /
rom whence he arose II week later With an
earnest determination never to p rinil ano, h
er ll,.e of obituary ppstry to cnter lie eol-
umls ef the Moyasiag Glory.
LgGAL AiTHoRITY.-st / a party, not long /
ago. where luestioi., were asked and flcsii- |
d coal dealer asked HIsal legal authority was
IhtsfaN9rite will lis ira IL. One answered I
Coke. Right said the coal desIer. /
Anpthrr suggested : Blackstone. ..tiood. /
To-. said tie qilesfi~ner. iiieil little hard