The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1877-06-21
A Panorama of the War.



know it was saw. The city is in a
state of siege. The gentleman in
the foreground, feeling over his
head for the ground, is a private
gentleman in a Cossack regiment.
He is not feeling very well. He is
i'll. A moment ago he met a fifteen
inch shell, and was too busy to get
out of the way. His stomach, lungs
and swallowing thing went on with
the shell and he will never smile
and never enjoy a square meal
again. His comrades wish to send
for the doctor. He declines. He
says he does not need him. He is
right. He can die without him.
The doctor will weep when ae
learns the Cossack is dead. He
will bend over his lifeless form, and
then he will weigh it and put it
in an item, to the last ounce, as a
tumor he removed from a gentle
man in Scott county. Truly, in the
midst of life we are in debt.
The gentleman 10 gunny bag
trousers and a long pipe is a Turk.
He is the friend of the American
journalist who uses HIM to make
puns of. He will not last much
longer, at the rate the American
journalist is using him up. This is
all that anybody knows about the
Turk or Turkey. Move the PIANO
rama on.
This is Russian General. See
the wide landscape stretching away
in the dim distance. Let her
stretch-it doesn't cost us anything.
You cannot see the Russian Gener-
al for his name, but he is there all
the same. You can smell his
breath. He eats tallow candles.
This makes him light-hearted. His
name comes in by the big rock on
the left, follows the course of the
brook in the valley,
winds slowly up the mountain side,
and disappears in the direction of
1t is nine miles long,
without the titles. When his moth
er used to call him up to breakfast,
she started at 9 P. NJ, took long
breath and talked it off till morning
This is telegraph Office. The
bright looking young man at the
table is a Western Union operator
The little brass and steel thing
away on the table is the in
strument. The operator lie worry
easily distinguished from the in
strument. He can not talk so fast
as the instrument, but he can sleep
a great deal more. He is going to
sleep now. The man leaning over
counter is a heartless citizen, who
has the cheek to ask the operator to
send a dispatch for him. The op.
orator takes the Message, but he
does not send it. He hasn't time.
He loses nine games of checkers
while the citizen is wondering why
he doesn't get any reply to his dis
patch. Then the citizen starts out
to walk to the place and see the
man. He finds him, and, soon after
they meet, the dispatch comes
along. The citizen remembers and
recognizes it. He is affected to
tears. The operator finds him, and
charges him 40 cents for sending
the message, As cents for the wear
and tear of the instrument, 80 cents
for the strain on nervous system,
60 cents for collecting rate on mes
sage, 65 cents on general princi
plies. He learns afterward that the
citizen yet has some money left, and
he is going back in the morning to
borrow it from him.
This is Constant O'Nople. He is
the leader of the muscle-men. All
the O'Noples are muscular men.
Constant O'Nople isn't afraid of
st. Petersburg. He isn't even
afraid of BID burg. The sound
of the bucksheesh is heard in the
distance.
This is a Christian martyr of
Roumania. He leans up against
the awning post, and remarks that
there isn't any use of Roumaniang
around there any longer. He is a
book-agent. He has been kicked
down three pair of stairs, chased
through an alley, bit by two dogs,
been hit by a poker, slapped with
a boot-jack, had a lump raised on
him with a barrcl-stave, been
punched into a cistern, got lost
twice in strange streets, been ar
rested four times on charges of va
grancy and on general suspicion,
been chased out of town once as
swindler, whipped by a drayman,
robbed of his watch, lost his hat,
been called $4,000 different kinds
Of names, and sold two books, one
of which the man took and never
paid HIM for, and on the other he
made a gross profit of So cents. He
is not rich, is this book-agent. But
he is good. Be kind to the book
agent. You may publish a book of
your own you win want sold some
day.
The isles of Greece. "The isles
Of Greece, where burning Sappho
loved and sung" The isles of
Greece were probably kerosene
isles. The isles where Sappho
burned were undou btedly the same
kind. Started the kitchen fire with