San Marcos free press. [volume] (San Marcos, Tex.) 1877-1892, 1878-03-09

the Monitor paying fines for him to keen
him out Of the chain-gang; and from Fort
Scott he swung aroung, about the mid.
die of December, to Topeka.
"Just glided in to pay my respects"
he remarked, "and to tell you I'm off
for the sunny South. like you Kansas
fellows ever so much, but want to see
the magnolias."
That was all he said. An hour later.
happening to look from my window, l
saw him moving briskly down the street,
which was also the State road, and
waving his hand to me, he disappeared.
He came back again, with the grass
and the birds, the following spring. He
had been to Galveston, he explained,
and had worked his way north through
Arkansas and the Indian Territory.
Somehow the trip seemed to, have dis
appointed him. He talked gloomily
about it, when l could get him to talk
about it at all, and the very thought of
it appeared to cloud his spirits like the
haunting OF some miserable dream.
Perhaps the trouble was deeper than my
shallow vision discerned; perhaps it
came from within, and not from with
out at all. Sometimes I thought so;
but knowing him rs I did, the absurdity
of the thing would creep in to upset
such notions. And finally, when he
came to me one night, with the old ia
miliar quizzical expression in his coun-
tenance, and told me he, wanted to talk
to me about writing an obituary for him
when he should die, 1 fell sure that he
was recovering himself and would soon
touch his natural poise again. 'afIo,
81 hopeyou appreciate the honor l
confer upon you" said he, 8" in select
ing you to give my final send-off. It's
because 1 like your style; and I want
you to tell just the Pare-footed facts
about me- othing extenuate, nor aught
set down in MALICE Don't speak of
me as a brilliant, but cratic fellow,
for that will simply mean that I was an
awful liar. Don't say, of me, He had
his faults, as who of us has not be-
cause that is merely polite way of tell
ing that the deceased was drunken
sot. And if | die of the jim as l
probably shall, don't say it was apo
plexy, or paralysis, but call it jim-jams,
plain and simple; III feel better about
it if you do. I suppose there are few
good things you can say of me. Say 'em
as kindly as possible, please. And chuck
in little SHAKESPEARE if you can think
of something to suit. Of course you
can't say any thing about where I've
gone; we can't any of us figure much
on that, you know every thing's SO
mixed and uncertain over there. Gene
sis closes, you recollect, with coffin"
Having thus bespoken my services,
and indicated his preferences as to how
the delicate task should be performed,
he retired, humming to himself the
breezy chorus of an old drinking song;
and 1 thought but little, and that only
in a ludicrous vein, of his singular re-
quest, until, some days afterward, they
came and told me he was missing. No
body knew when, or how, or why, he
had departed. Evidently, he had stolen
off in the night, not wishing to speak of
his plans, if he had any, for we learned
On inquiry that he had even omitted to
settle with his too indulgent landlady.
But in his composing-stick, lying upon
MS case, he had left a line of type,
which spelled these words: "Gone West,
% grow up with the country"
I never saw him any more, and never
heard from him until 1 CHANGED one day
lpon fugitive notice of his death. He
vas discovered, the paper said, frozen
tiff and stark, in the February snow and
ce of Minnesota prairie. Very oddly,
was young lady who found him
ONE accidental Isabel, perhaps-and
hey took him into the nearest town on
wood-sled, the Coroner and few 9TH
RS, and then, suppose, they dug a hole
or him in the numb earth and put him
way. ....i .''e.'
Alas, you poor, queer, dead-and-gone
rodigal, where be your gibes now? Was
fate, or utyour own folly, that beck
ned you to an end so pitifully desolate?
Did you meet death as you had con-
ronted life, with that unflinching eye
nd that placid, masterful smile? And
id they find, | wonder, in some whim-
ical recess of your ragged garments, q