The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1877-08-17
The Man Who Wasn't Happy.

he thought he had, and meant to have it.
For the first twenty-five or twenty
eight years after his birth he had no
time to be happy, but had to employ
himself getting whipped through school
and making money enough to live on.
When he was whipped up six feet high,
and rich enough to be happy, he set
about trying to be so. Many men have
not enough money to be comfortable at
twenty-eight, but for that matter they
never do get enough to be comfortable
Now, st. Simon, by that smartness
which this great and glorious country
adores, had got enough, and he set out
to enjoy himself while he was young,
knowing that if he tarried till siXty-six,
like the patriarch Jacob did, and then
cut such capers, he wouldn't get put in
the Scriptures as an example Besides,
he felt strongly inclined to run while
there was some bounce in him, though
1t 1OOuld have been nice to grab for
money till he could be pointed out and
distinguished on his travels thus: "Do
you see that skinny, destitute-looking
old post in a seedy coat, with his trow-
sers out at the knees That's old st.
Simon Smith, worth three hundred
thousand to copper, sir!" But, while
his whiskers were still red, and his in
terest in the prevailing style of ties
lively, he quit traffic and began travel.
First, of course, he did the United States,
squeezed out New York, sat in the ooze
of Florida and ate oranges, watched the
Gulf break on Southern shores, looked
at the Yosemite Valley and thought it
considerable of a hollow, sailed out of
the Golden Gate and came home Vid the
Isthmus, skirting two oceans. Then he
took in Mexico, picked up opals and
some knowledge of the AZtecs. Then
he sailed to South America and plunged
into the glories of past world and the
chaos of a present one. Taking with
him little monkey, to remind him of
this fea-cy country, st. Simon Smith
next went to Europe and saw all the
sights there; thence to Africa, thence
to Asia, coming home across the Pa
cific.
But when he got home, he wasn't
happy. He could no longer enjoy quar-
reling on election day, and had accu-
mulated so much spleen he could not
vent it all on the President, who hap
pened to be in office.
Some of his friends suggested he bet
ter get married-for the man really was
growing wretched and unsettled; and a
wife is such soothing company; she is
also the only person a man can safely
throw his bootjack at without being IL
able for assault and battery. st. Simon
smiled at this droIl view of the subject;
he looked at it from a sentimental
standpoint himself. In his own parlor
in the hotel where he lived, he some
times stretched back in an easy-chair
and thought about her. He had an
idea the Lord was doing a particular
job for st. Simon Smith, and would by
and-by set her down before him, all ex-
quisite, accomplished, lovely and over
whelming-just what his wife ought to
be. Not that he told this-oh, no! But
when marriage was suggested to him as
the duty Of a citizen, and the best way
of taking care of himself, he would pic
ture his little pictures in cigar smoke
and think his secluded thoughts about
the future Mrs. Smith. Now, maya
zine tales would tell how he got en-
slaved by some fashionable girl, and
only escaped being haltered and bridled
and galloped over ever after, by finding
just in time his true better-half in her
sister Cinderella, or in her "sweet"
country cousin, more natural than na-
ture, more learned than an age, and
warranted to remain exactly sixteen
years old all the rest of her life.
But st. Simon, so far from being in
the magazines, turned up his nose at
life on paper, and wouldn't have been a
country editor for all the prize squashes
and wedding-cake in the world. When
he went counting, he courted her for
he had rare luck in finding just the
woman he wanted; exquisite, accom-
plished, lovely, overwhelming, and
willing to become Mrs. St. Simon
Smith.
Well, he was pretty comfortable, but
he wasn't real happy. That is, he had
capacities for enjoyment himself which
somehow were not gratified. Mrs. st.
Simon was an angel, and got the loan
of their children right out of heaven, to
be held on call. 1t was Smiths own
fault with such fistfulls of blessings
that he wasn't happy, and he knew it,
and looked at the fact eoolly like phil
osopher.
'Jock," said he, addressing the mon-
key, that profound though speechless
ancestor of his, which respect had in
duced him to bring from South Amer
lea, "things are a great bore in this
world. You better be glad you aren't
further along, for think men find more
perplexity than monkeys"
AS GuI6W d large Dlu6 ClOuu OF smoke
in the air-St. Simon, 1 mean, not Jock
for Jock, after looking up with a mel
anchoiy eye, began to search on bis
arm for his old enemy of his native land
the flea.
"Well, nobody is really happy" said
st. Simon. Farmers aren't; if crops
are good, markets are bad; merchants
and lawyers and doctors, preachers,
mechanics, politicians and tramps, are
all miserable for one cause or another,
and as for women, the Lord knows they
can't be happy, amiable as they are, for
as soon as they get a dress done the
style changes, and they have to rip it
up and piece it together some other
way. And the people who want to be
angels seem as miserable as the rest,
for in tight place their faith fails
them, and they aren't sure of their
wings at last. I'd really like to see one
happy person Dye mind the story of
the King, Jock, who could only be cured
by the shirt of thoroughly contented
man? COurtiers searched the kingdom
and found the man, but he hadn't any
shirt Jock, was the race better off
when we were all monkeys? ?u
Jock was absorbed in the race, but it
was race of different kind. With
dropping jaws and eager fingers he fol-
lowed his prey along his arm, catching
1t at last with triumphant cry and
putting it in his mouth.
Bah v' said st. Simon Smith, "bet-
Ter be man after all, aud hunt some