The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1874-06-26

Enoch ''uuder the palm" aud constituting
this to mean that if he wasn't dead he was
palming himself off on the simple maidens
OF South Africa Tor single man, which
was infinitely worse, .hcy married Philip
out of spite. The oldest boy, John Philip.
(being OF convivial turu), the boys called
him johnny Philip the bowl" he kicked
against it little-said ,he didn't like the
Ray family very much-but was brought
over and finally allowed, in the classic an
guage Of the West, that he would Stand
the Rays"
so these were wed, and merrily rang the
Merrily rang the bells, and they were wed. %
But the hearts Of those twelve doubly
married wives didn't beat menily any
more. Suppose Enoch should pop in some
day holding a flush OF diamonds, how could
they ever forgive themselves for throwing
him off? This was the shadow alwavs lin
gering at the door.
Letus hurry to the denouement. Fnocb
did come, as the reader might know. He
didn't bring any diamonds, or much else
for he pawned them, together with his
watch, to pay his fare home He was a
broken man-dead broke All, how viyidly
the picture rises in ones mind of Euoch's
return-how he learned the story of Philip
Rays marriage with the numerous Mrs.
Ardens, and how one night lie stole up to
the house and looked in upon their happi-
ness through the window. If Tennyson's
Enoch was overwhelmed with grief and
despair when contemplating one wife mar
ried to his rival, what must have been the
feelings of this poor Nor mon in Ueholdiug
dozen similarly ctTcumstanced.
There they were, every wife he ever had
one making tea for Philip, another pre-
pairing his toast, another airing his dress
ing-gown, while all were vieing with each
other in doing some kindly office Cor their
lord and master. He recognized among
the children some of his own with whom
he was best acquainted before he left, but
the younger ones all bore an unmistakable
likeness to Philip, who sat in Enoch's own
easy chair and in Enoch's own slippers be
fore the fire, reading his evening paper.
What did this poor brollen-heaIted wan
deIer do? Did ne steal back TO his lodg-
ings, repressing the agony of his heart,
beating it in upon his weary brain, as
though 'twere the burden of a song" not
t. ell 'eu, never to let EN- know? Didhe
cuange his name and do chores around the
tavern for his board until he died, blessing
his wives, Philip and the whole lot with
his last breath?
Not much he didn't. He wasn't that
sort of an Enoch. He just gave a whoop
and jumped in among them like a Rocky
Mountain wild cat.
you Phil Ray, you git -
Before he knew what he was about,
Enoch had him by his collar and the slack
of his pants, which was all the ''slack" he
would take of Philip anyhow, and slung
him into the street. Then followed Philips
boots, duster, hair-dye, meerschaum pipe,
''bitters," night-shirt, gum-shoes, and
other articles that came readily to hand.
"You now, Susan Maria, Mary Jane,
Sal, and the rest of you, dance around and
git me some supper. Thought I was dead.
did ye? I'll show you who runs this rancho.
The old mans back ag'in -
He made it lively for several days 'fset-
tin things to rights" as he called it.
Philip disappeared and hasn't been seen
since. 1t is supposed that he has gone to |
the diamond fields to see how it is himself |
Harmony has been restored in that Ar /
den family, notwithstanding the mixed re-
semblance among the children on their !
fathers side. But Tennyson couldn't have /
constructed his poem on the Salt Lake /
model