The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1878-07-13

SpOHSeS III CHURCH. ne gang plank
was run out, the ladies, laden with band
boxes and bird-cages, ran down and
flung their arms round other ladies and
wept and laughed, and asked if kilt
skirts had gone out yet. British gen
tlemen blawsted'' the eyes of the Wig
liant Custom House officials, and Amer
lean gentlemen cursed their souls. APP
parently taking advantage of the gen
eral confusion, red-headed, crooked
eyed party watched his chance, slipped
along the gang-plank with box under
his arm, jumped Off at the very verge
of the wharf. and attempted to sneak
along the outskirts of the crowd away
from the landing. But the lynx-eyes
of the officers were on him in an in
slant.
''Halt, there, my man. called one.
"By George, that's the fellow who
tried to run some cologne through last
summer. But he's got box full this
time"
They caught him in spite of his awk-
wardly evident efforts to get clear.
"Let us see what you have in that
box?''
"Say, mister, there amt nothing
there as is desirable. No cologne this
time, | pledge you my word" pleaded
Owens.
Come. come" said the officers,
"put that box down here. The soon
er yon submit to an examination the
better"
The people gathered around to learn
the cause of the dispute.
Please don't open it," duplicated
Owens, laying the box down gently
and backing away, "please don't. I'll
swear it amt cologne
The crowd grew denser. Owens
looked at the officers as they prepared
to open the box, and, the attention of
all being attracted to that operation,
the wicked man slipped away upper
ceived, boarded an uptown car, bribed
the driver with an extra ticket to put
his horses to their utmost speed, and
has not been seen since.
The officers unlocked the cover,
slipped the blade of jack-knife through
the brittle wax, and threw the box
open. Something jumped out. The
officers jumped away. A deadly pallor
had come over their faces. Whatever
jumped out, it was mad. 1t spat, as it
were, and spat, and spat, and spat.
Whew!! Cologne? 0 no! Owens was
quite right: it wasn't cologne. The
creature was not only mad, but it was
frightened and confused. 1t caromed
off the stampeding mems legs. 1t shot
under the skirts of retreating ladies.
And it spat, and spat, and spat. Co.
logne? Merciful powers! The bounc-
ing animal might have been mistaken
for a pretty but excited little cat. The
Custom-House officers slid down the
piling into the sea. The air was laden,
was heavy, was solid with perfume.
But it wasn't cologne. Policemen, in
a kind of temporary insanity, dubbed
themselves as they fled. Women had
no time to faint, but cut and ran any
where, anywhere out of that dock. And
the odor grew denser, and settled down
like an invisible pail over the wharf
Men would try to swear, then choke,
and run for life. Baggage-wagon
drivers whipped out into larger
usefulness of fresh air, dropping trails
of trunks and valises from their bound
ing vehicles. The steamers matches
were hastily fastened down, vessels in
the vicinity ran up their flags union
down as a signal of the awful distress,
and the sympathetic shipping along
the city front hoisted their colors at
half-mast for the evident but unex-
planned calamity, only faint odor of
which had yet been waited to them.
Nobody tried to catch the escaping an
imal, even the boldest dogs running
from it bowling, Considering the me
date and immediate results of the I'M
paralleled panic, considering the finan-
cial loss caused by the necessary burial of
many hundreds of dollars worth of
stylish garments, male and female,
considering the shock to the sensitive
feelings of the Custom-House officers,
$500 is certainly small reward for the
apprehension of the desperate and cold
blooded contrabandisto, g Stickeen
Paddy Owens, who deliberately chic
reformed and caused to be turned loose
on crowded San Francisco wharf an
unusually lively specimen of the Mephit-
rs americana, sometimes alluded to as
the polecat, and known in the vulgar as
the great North American skunk. San
Francisco Chronicle.