Morning journal and courier., 1881-08-03
UNMUZZLED.

It is true, William, an umbrella is used to keep the rain from you, but the rain is much more apt to keep the umbrella from you.- HGaokeye.
 Hazel Kirke was performed at Carson night before last, and so affected the audi ence that it was necessary to mop the floor of the theatre between the acts.- Varytnid
 City Enterprise.
 In some of our best medical colleges it is seriously debated whether or no it would be best to discard ether as an anBsthetic and substitute college commencements in it's place. The only objection to the latter is that it is too powerful an opiate.-Bosto7a
 Transcript
 Little Phil, bright 5-year old, is afraid of thunder During the recent 'ees hot spell his his rain One day when she said it. Phil thus addressed her ''Oh, mamma, I will tell you why it don't rain. When I say my prayers l des say, Please don't pay any 'tention to what mama says, cos am 'fraid of thunder" '" Mt and WSs6om.
 Shelley tells an amusing story of the infu- ence that language ''hard to be understood" exercises on the vulgar mind. Walking near Covent Garden he accidentally jostled an Irish navvy, who, being in a quarrelsome mood, seemed inclined to attack the poet. A crowd of ragged sympathizers began to gather when Shelley, calmly facing them, de- liberately pronounced: 'tI have put my hand into the hamper, I have looked on the sacred barley, I have eaten out of the drum, have drunk and am well pleased, have said 'Konx ompax,' and it is finished" The effect was magical; the astonished Irishman fell back; his friends began to question him, ''What barley ?" Where's the hamper ?" "What have you been drinking ?' and Shelley walked away unmolested.-LOndon Globe.
 Address of a Big Chief when invited to take 8 walk stWhsn the white father starts the music we waltz to it. We have been asked to irrigate the country here and hoe corn like the white man. Our hearts are heavy, and we cannot promote the string bean We will do what is right, but we cannot work. The Indian cannot hunt the potato bug when the deer and antelope are ripe. He cannot dig post-hoies in the hot sun when the chase calls upon him to go forth into the forest. Here, where we have roamed through the tall grass and hunted the deer and buffalo, the psleface asks us to dig irrigation ditches and plough the green earth with rebelllous mule Here, where our war cry has been answered back by the giant hills, we are told to whack bulls and join the church. They come to us and tell us to go to school and
 wear pants. They ask us to learn the Ian guage and go to Congress. They send men to us who want us to learn to spell and wear suspenders. We cannot do this. We are used to the ways of our people. Our customs are as old as the universe. We scratch our
 backs against the mountain pine as my peo- pie did thousand years ago. We cannot change. We can leave our land, but we can not change our socks every spring and do as the white man does. We can go away from our homes and live in a strange land. but we cannot wear open-back shirts and lead in prayer. Warriors, we will go to the land our white father has given We will take our squaws and our yellow dogs, our wigwams and our feas. We will go to our new home beyond the river now, and when the aut tumn comes we will take bridal tour back to this country. We will construct holocaust, whatever that is, and spatter the intellectual faculties of the ranches all over the country. This is all am done. I have made my re- marks. have twittered my twit. "-L01'a- .,,s,0 (I.fat Room, eyn,1n