The herald and mail. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1873-188?, 1874-08-07
The Last Chicago Fire Sufferer.

We met on a corner. I took note of
him while he was yet half block away,
and knew that he was either Chicago
fire sufferer, Milwaukee book agent,
or one of the old guard. He said he
was Chicago fire sufferer. He leaned
up against lamp post and looked very
solemn as he said it, and he coughed a
sad cough, and held up his game leg
for me to see.
told him I didn't care about the
Chicago fire nor about his suferings.
The Chicago fire was too old, and the
game had wornsdown thin. I had been
visited by a dozen lame women, score
of blind men, numerous widows, acres
of orphans, and few old maids, all of
whom lost their all in the great fire,
and wanted from five dollars to a mil
lion of dollars each.
Yes, he knew that irresponsible peo-
pie had made handle of the great fire
to solicit charity. He had heard of
two or three instances himself, and it
made him feel sad all along down his
spine to think that nature permitted
the same sun to shine upon the real and
the bogus sufferers. And he acknowl-
edged that it was pretty late in the day
woe, but -. He paused, coughed
lonesome cough, placed his hands
across his stomach, and added
"I am the last-positively the last
Chicago fire sufferer. I am on my way
to the grave, and there are none to
come after me-"
He saw that hesitated, and he show
ed me his relics-a whole satchel full.
oh
of Music. melted types from the news
the hotels and various other things.
Some of 'em handn't hardly cooled off
yet, but he was ready for me.
81 won't go for to try to deceive you,
sir" he said 81 BOUGHT 'em of chap
who was hard up, and he might have
deceived me-"
He said 1 might abuse him, but he
shouldn't care. They were the last
relics of the great fire, aud he was the
last sufferer, and they were travelling to
the tomb together. His wife and nine
were under the sod, his home |
a smoking ruin, and he was only wait
ing to be called. I called him. I
called him gilt-edged names and kicked |
at his satchel in scorn, but he coughed |
his melancholy cough, and said that |
when the sods were heavily on his breast |
and 1 had time to reflect he felt sure |
that my thoughts would do him justice. |
1t wasn't his fault he didn't like to go
around and sell relics he didn't start |
the fire. And then he was the last suf-
ferer when he was rid of those relics
the last relics on the market-then the
country would have rest.
made him take of his hat and swear
a solemn oath that he meant to quit the
suffering business, and then 1 bought
him out. threw the old bricks around,
kicked the satchel over a fence, and I
warned him that it would be death to
break his vow. He increased the sad
ness of his cough as he counted over
the money, and he limped away like
candidate for sheriff defeated at the
ballot-box. I believed him and I was
happy, but at dusk I met him again.
He had that same satchel. those same
relics, and that same cough, and he was
holding to door-post and telling an
Did lady that all he wanted on this
earth was to get rid of his few remain
ng mementoes, find corner to die in,
md have some one know that he was
he last genuine Chicago fire sufferer,
md that all others were base limitations.
Detroit Free Press.