, 1884-05-24
An Oddly.

OBJ erved on the streets several day.
this week a peculiar looking per
sonage moving aimlessly about as
though time hung heavily on his
hands and he did not know exactly
what to do with himself. Short in
stature, with a swinging gait, sharp,
rowing eyes, clean cut features, q
grayish beard and mustaches, as Il
sprinkled with chalk, and latter.
demalion as regards raiment, his
oddity Of appearance combined with
his independence OF manner is such
as generally attracts at least the mo-
mentary notice Of the POSser-by.
This is Hazlett, the "Pilgrim," the
roaming print, who is known in
every printing office from San Diago
to Victoria and from Denver to San
Francisco. His age Is problematical,
but he has grown hoary wandering
from one point to another. He set
type in the Northwest years and
years ago, and looks tough enough
to live to set type over the same
course years and years hence. He
has been a wanderer up and down
the face Of the earth. He has
tramped across the continent several
times. He has measured the dis
tance on foot between every town on
the coast, a day here and a day
there. He can name almost every
journalist in the land, and generally
speaking is treated with leniency
among the craft. He will be here to-
day, and a year hence bob up as Sc
renely as though he had only been out
for a lunch. His face is as expression
less as the sphynx. He never smiles
and seldom asks a question. When
at work he is a correct, steady print
er, but on account Of his unreliable
habits, which may be more in the
suspicion against the man than the
actual facts, he finds it hard to get
more than a few days work in a
place. He might continue steady If
he had regular employment; but for
the past decade that experiment has
never been tried. He is a victim to
an appetite that has carried away
many better man, and it is evident
that the refrain Of his future, as it
has been in the past, will be tramp,
tramp, tramp. His life has been one
continual round Of change If not Of
pleasure. One winter he will be met
with wading through the SHOWS and
shivering in the Arctic blasts of the
far north, the next loliing through
orange groves and vine-clad hills Of
southern California. He has no
home, no friends, no kindred, at
least on this side of the mountains.
He spars a meal Of victuals to-day
not knowing where the next is COM
ing from. His career has been in a
measure eventful, and the mOnotony
of his rowing is frequently broken
by hair breadth escapes, not to men,
ton little difficulties in which he
becomes involved wherein a star
attached to the left breast of
an officious individual becomes
mixed up, and interrupts the even
tenor Of his peculiar way. His
existence Is aimless, all ambition
smothered long ago, without a ray
of hope for the future to brighten
his pathway. He never seems
down-hearted, though it would be
impossible to judge Of his inner
thoughts on account Of his habitual
taciturnity and stoicism. Perhaps
he has undergone more prIvatiOn
and hardship. than any man in the
country. OF course no one is to
blamO:for this state of affairs but
himself, and for that reason he has lit
tie sympathy from the members Of
the craft. He was at one time ar
rested on suspicion of being Black
Bart, the wizard highwayman OF
California we have known him to
have several narrow escapes from
frightful deaths and but a short
time ago he was examined at Walla
Walla on the charge Of insanity.
His adventures up and down the
coast would fill volume. The Pill
grim is a queer case. He never has
any particular aim in view, and is
never going to any given point.
Just drifting backwards and for
wards, kno wing not where he may
secure the next bed and caring less.
Yet for all Of his eccentricities, odd
tiles and quiddities there is nothing
criminal in "Pilgrim." We have
known him for years, and never
knew him to commit even the most
trivial crime. He is never quarrel
some, and as far as our observation
goes is as honest as the day is long.
In the Office, when himself, he is
quiet, willing, industrious, and true
as steel. II he would keep steady
he would be a valuable man in a
print shop, but that ''if'' stands out
like an unsurmountable barrier.
He leaves here to go on, on, on,
without an object, nor without an
aim. And so will drift about until
at last he stands upon the shores Of
the great unknown, cut down pre-
maturely among strangers, far from
the home of his childhood, with
here and there an old typo who may
express a regret over a wasted and
mispent life that might have under
proper combinations and conditions
been a pleasure to himself and joy
to those about him.