Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1881-02-02
NO. IL

ry,jam, and damson plums, and dough-
nuts, and cheese, and mince-pies, and
cream from a Durham which is fed,
not on dry hay lying about lie poor
housekeeper's stale bread, but on hay
cut from the close, fragrant NOW with
hayknife
Our Hawk Hill potatoes beat your
tnixed-up foreign dishes all to pieces
says a hop-dealer near Melvine.
That is true. | don't like puffed-up
cooking answers a dealer in fancy
produce opposite.
More people are killed by baking
powder than by gunpowder,' remarks
the second engineer.
'Mebbe they be, ventures the poor
traveller.
Il would as soon eat plum-bob as
a plum-pudding, myself declares Mel
vine.
You would not fear one made by
our hostess, saws Mrs. Melvine.
When she's in luck says Melvine.
No luck about it; it's all skill, AYERS
the Cedarfalls man. Being in the hab-
it of pounding his opinion into others
as if it We're wedge and he a mall, he
continues: Good judgment makes OPP
portunity luck Whatever you leave
To luck is sure to go wrong Those
who put in the wheat will have the
money
Wheat is a good crop when it hits.
| have some, but it's pooty lean year
with me, too [ hain't done lick of
work this year to any profit. If it
hadn't been for the bean harvest, my
cake would be in the fire. sayssa man
from down Fem Woods way.
You want to sell wheat right spang
on the minute harvest is DONE says
the hop q, aler
Pm clear provoked l didn't sell ourn
then they'd "a gin me some money for
it them says he from Fem Woods.
They say prices are picking up
says the second engineer.
'Mebbe they be, says the poor trav
eller.
You can't believe the putrid and
rotten lips of rumor,' says young fel-
low who has been to hear Bob Inger-
soil
Il can't if | hain't mind to- re-
spends the poor traveller. thinking
himself appealed to
The second engineer, having joy
Gus nature, and feeling gladdened by
the fine aroma of the landlady's coffee.
now rolls laughing eye on his taci-
turn and rather sad companion, who
answers with, You never had any
trouble
We'll, no; l never had any trouble.
My father died when | left college, and
thought that was hard, but after
while | got over it. Then failed in
business, and l thought that hard, but
| got over it. Then my son died, all
the child | had,-and / thought that
hard. but got over it,
Sir. you have taught me lesson
returns the other. Il remember an eX-
quisite romance of my youth the re-
mainder of life is dull enough, and l
am always remembering that
When supper is ended. the poor trav-
eller's head, which at the beginning re-
sembled he planet Jupiter with its
thin streaks of hair, has become both
remarkably bald and astonishingly
frowsy. He says he feels pretty chirk,
and, as he is thoroughly warmed, falls,
in the bar-room, into the delicious
browse enjoyed only by hard-working
people in their moments of rest. He
is walking under the shell like crab-ap-
pie blossoms under the small white
flowers and small green leaves of the
mountain-ash, under the unfolding
hanging leaves of horse chestnuts and
the ragged tufts and floating tassels of
butter nuts, in vision of spring, until
q luil in the talk occurs which arouses
him, when he exclaims, what! are you
all asleep here? Then Pm off to bed !
The others play cards One sings an
inspiring campaign song beginning
Wen vote for Tinker and Tiggs,
For Bulger and tor Wright;
Well cast no votes for Timothy Higgs
Wen beat him out of sight.
The Fords, the Melvines, and the en-
ginaers spend the evening in the sitting
room, where the second engineer looks
at the landady's photograph-albnm.
wondering how it Is that relations are
invariably such dreadful-looking in
dividuals.
Quaint old furniture and pictured
washbowls and pitchers are in the bed
rooms. The landlady is rich in queer,
ancient crockery and glassware of odd,
fine shapes. She keeps bundles of GIN
ger, slippery erm, anise and caraway-
seeds in squat, antique creampots. tea
pots, and sugar-bowls. Some ofthese
are richly lowered in dark, melting
blues, some are sprigged in cherry color,
some bronzed and gilt-rimmed, and
some bear little landscapes and village
scenes now changed and forgotten.
Perfect sleep comes with the profound
stiffness and darkness Of the tavern's
night No yelping ours disturb the
dark the stock hereabout is to valua-
bic to permit them. The travellers
sleep well Notwithstanding that Ann
Smalhoof forgets to lock the doors
Robbers are unknwn here, though there
il legend among these Presbyterans
that Baptist once stole sheep from
one ofthem. The kitchen-clock strikes
ten in dead silence
Go by. says Jeronimy go to thy
cold bed and warm thee.
MARY DEAN.