San Marcos free press. [volume] (San Marcos, Tex.) 1877-1892, 1883-03-29
The New First Reader.
LESSON l.

LESSON 1.
It is night. A policeman awakes
with sudden start and moves around
the corner, having secret fear at his
heart that he had slept through all
that night, and all next day and far
into tomorrow night. 1t is night in
great city. The poker and faro
rooms are in full blast, 10000 loafers
are holding down street corners, and
here and there an intoxicated alder
man can be seen making his way to
policy shop or a gathering of the
pavement ring. Under the cover of
darkness, first manufactured over
5000 years ago, the hotel-beat low
ers his buds from the fourth story win
dow; all who have dead-head tickets
start for the opera house; hundreds
of young men set out to spark; re-
porters fondly look forward to fires,
robberies and murders, and church
choirs meet to rhearse and wrangle
and lay up clubs for each other.
IT'S night in the country. The
stock has been fed, the squeal of the
pig is hushed, and the tired horse
munches at his corn and wonders
why his master throws in so many
cobs without kernel on them. The
watch dog sits at the gate, perfectly
willing to chew up any of the neigh
bors for a cent, and within the farm
house all is serene, or would be if
John Henry could find the grease
for his boots, and Mary Ann could
find her dime novel, the old man dis
coverth hiding place of the bootjack,
the mother solve the mystery of now
some of her neighbors managed to get
a dress costing two shillings per yard
while she had nothing but calico.
IT'S night on the ocean. The
proud steamer sails CALAMITY on and
on, the captain snoring in his berth,
the mates playing euchre, the look
out asleep, and everything in readi-
ness to swear, in case of collision, that
it was all the other vessels fault.
Nothing is heard but the steady beat
of the propeller, the groans of the
emigrants, and the voices of man and
women declaring that anybody who
plans an ocean voyage for pleasure
ought to be shot to death with cod
fish balls. The sportive gambols away
his hard earnings, the whale rolls
over for another nap, and the bust
ness-like shark follows in the wake,
topick up any opportunity which may
tumble overheard.
IT'S night on the prairie. The red
men gather about the campfire to
count the scalps they have taken
within the last week, and to grum ole
at the government for not furnishing
them port wine and repeating rifles.
The white hunter and trapper curls
himself up to wonder where he can
find old bones for breakfast, and to
realize what fool he has made of
himself, and the gaunt wolf shout
uGIS Ills oUOludClt Stllu OCUo oiV ILL oCNISh
of something worth living for.
Night grows apace. In the city
the weary wife takes her place in the
hall with clubin hand. In the coun-
try the old folks fall into bed aweary
with the work of the day, and the
young people spark and chew pop
corn. On the ocean the sea-sikers
continue to grow worse, and the
songs of the mermaids fall flat. On
the prairie the Indians finally decide
to make war in the spring, the hunt
er falls asleep to dream of eating his
boots for dinner, and the wolf meets
a wildcat and offers to toss up to
see which shall eat the other.
Blessed be night. But for it the
burglars and gas companies would
fill our poorhouses, and the afternoon
papers would have no morning jour-
mails to steal from.