The river press. [volume] (Fort Benton, Mont.) 1880-current, 1882-04-12

lasos, a high rolling old Greek, 9 descend
ant Of Areas and Clymene, the daughter of
Minyas. When Attic was born the old mar
made a great kick. He was anxious for a
male heir, and when his wife gave birth to
a daughter things were pretty warm On the
street where he lived. No such racket as
this for me- said Iasos, i don't propose to
put in the balance of my life buying sealskin
jackets and six: buttoned gloves for this girl
So he put the little girl on the top of a
mountain, where a bear sucked her, and she
was found by some hunters, who reared her,
and she followed the chase tor a living.
Finally the uld man discovered that the beau
tiful huntress was his daughter, and took her
home. When he wished her to marry she
consented on condition that her suitors
should run a race with her-a kind of weight
forage handicup-on the following terms
They were to run without arms, and she was
to carry o dart in her hand. Her lovers were
to start first, and whoever arrived a. the goal
before her would be made her husband /; but
all whom she overlook were to be killed by
the dart. AS Attic had lots Of speed and
was dead game, pretty soon all the tony boys
in Arcadia were soon lying out on the race
track with a stick through their livers but
one fellow-I guess likely he was a ringer
finally beat her. His name was Meilanton,
and he was q regular masher. Venus just
went lunny about him. and had given him
fhroo n np1ao from tho oo rSop nf HaornrfinG
So when Meilanton started in the race with
Atalanta he just whooped himself until he
reached the quarter-pole, and then he drop
ped one of the apples. Atalanta stopped to
got along lead. He played the same game
at the half and three -qnarter-poles, and then
scooted down the home-stretch at his best
ticks. Atalanta gave him a good race, but
he beat her by half a length in 2:2455, and
then she married him. That's q correct sum
mary Of the race, sonny, and you can bet on
it" and the horse reporter smiled affably.
"No doubt you are right" said the poet,
''and / must say | am surprised atthe knowl-
edge displayed by one whose hair is SO short.
Do you think it will be possible to print my
poem 2"
81 guess likely" was the reply, 'just read
it to US till we see how it goes"
The poet 1shed a piece from his pocket,
and read as follows:
There's a bit of broken blue in the sky
A web Of grey DER the purple lake
CLEAN of silver along the strand
Where the long waves break.
A dove swoops down from the upper air
Snowy pinion and scarlet feet;
There's a breath Of spring in the orchard-aisles,
Balmy and sweet.
This is Atalanta that comes this way
Bare white ankle and ripe red mouth,
Blown on the budding April winds
Up from the South.
"Atalanta was a pretty corky kind Of girl
wasn't she p said the horse reporter.
The poet shifted the air in a disdainful
manner, and did not reply.
"Oh don't balk or try to kick over the
traces" said the equine journalist. "lt
would be hard to throw q stone down the
street and not hit mar who could write
slush like that. Our So a week bard could
do it with one hand tied behind him.
II should like to see hun try" said the
poet.
Turning to q young man who sat at q
desk near by, the horse reporter requested
him to Initiate That stuff" The young man
wrote a few minutes and submitted the fol-
lowing
There's a soggy crust on the custard pie
The pie that our Myrtle tried to make;
A streak of yellow across the top
OF the tough sponge cake.
A girl swoops up from the kitchen hot
Large red elbows and larger feet;
She's the girl whose custard pies and cake
People can eat.
This is our Myrtle that comes this way
Sealskin cap and cartwheel hat;
She's a daisy to put on style,
Don't forget that.
"You see, don't you you," said the horse
reporter ssthat he can do it. But that's all
right. Well print your poem because it is
really q pretty good one"
"Good day, sir" said the poet.
EAU %revoir," was the response-and the
horse reporter again bent his powerful mind
to the task Of proving that Maud s. would
go faster without toe-weights.
-p+4mA+
A Missouri paper tells of a farmer who
owed Walt Perkins twenty-five dollars and
had owed him for years. One day he met
Walt and said 'Don't be uneasy, Walt, |