Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1884-01-10
Patience as Played by a CLERK.

Patience, as Played by Ulerx.
A lady, stepping into gentlemen :
furnishing store on Broad street last
week. asked the clerk to show her some
ties
What style do you want9' politely
asked the clerk.
"Oh, | don't know answered the
lady; ''show me something nice. .
Glow do you like these?" asked the
clerk, showing her some hundred differ.
ent patterns of flat searfs.
Il don't see anything that suits, ="
answered the lady, after giving the
clerk about an hours work to straighten
the ties she had looked over.
The clerk showed the customer
twenty-one boxes of long, narrow ties,
which did not strike her favorably.
What have you in the way of
bows?" asked the lady.
The obliging clerk, with the patience
worthy of job, pulled out thirty-two
dozen of bows. Running through those
at the rate of sixty miles an hour, the
lady sweetly said:
Nothing there like
Madame, then, said the clerk,
"here is the latest thing in gents neck
wear, showing her about gross of
loud and stylish puff-scarfs.
NO" said the lady, "my husband
does not like anything loud; he likes a
nice, neat figure. What else have
you?'
The clerk, still emulating the exam
pie of Job, showed the customer a
dozen different shapes, and after looking
these over she innocently asked:
us that all you haye?'
Eyes, ma am, said the clerk, losing
faith in job
The lady turned to go. when she
espied tie in the showcase that the
clerk nd failed to show her and which
had neat dot about the size of trade
dollar.
Here young man" she snapped,
That is just what want. l will take
that J."
"How much is t2 asked, after
the clerk Ind wrapped it up.
Zone dollar and twenry-one cents, s"
answered the clerk bl'u g..
"What! One dollar ami twenty-one
centsr repeated the d.; "vliy used
to get very nice oncs for twenty-five
cents ! CUES I VIII at M, husband
get his own tic
Exit lady, follow ,a earty Lord
bless her!' FRI
A Notable Character.
An esteemed contemporary, the
Shasta (Cal.) Courier. announces the
death not long since Of Mr.. John r.
Ridge, for some time editorof the Mary
vile Democrat and author of 'the most
glorious poem ever written in California
that on Mount Shasta. 1t is evil
dent that Mr.. Ridge did not receive that
attention and appreciation during life
to which his ability as editor and poet
entitled him. He died in Grass Valley,
and we suspect that nothing save the
grass marks his grave.
There were some facts in the career
of Mr. Ridge that must have prevented
his becoming the ornament TO society
and the light in literary circles which
several California writers have become.
He was, in the first place an Indian,
the son of Maj. Ridge, once Chief of the
memories is seeing a dcputation Of the
Ross party in the nation visit his home
and deliberately murder his father,
while he (the future pOeD was conceal
ed in the weeds hard by. John Ross
then became Chief of the Cherokees,
and the boy swore vengeance on his
fathers murderers. As soon rs he be-
came a man, therefore, he went on a
still hunt, aud in the course of time sue
cceded in killing thirty-two opposition
Indians Young Ridge was then driven
out of the region and fled to California,
where he began his editorial and literary
career.
Most men would have been satisfied
with the vengeance he had worked. but
not so with Ridge. While publishing
his paper he heard one night that 4
party of Ross Cherokees were at a town
200 miles distant, and that one Of them
had boasted of participating in themur-
der of his father. He Immediately
mounted and started for the place, bent
on further vengeance. But when he
arrived the Cherokees had left and
could not be heard from anywhere. Sc
he returned to his scissors, and paste
pot and poetry. But he was never en-
tirely happy. He would sometimes
sit, " his eulogist says, upon a point of
rocks in the high Sierras for hours, gaz-
inc down upon the valleys, the huge
pines, and the tumbling canyons, drink
ING in and enjoying the beauties of M
ture, so absorbed in thought as to hard
ly move a hand or foot; yet arouse the
Indian within him, and he was man Of
steel" His Indian name was yellow
Bird
There are, we venture to say, few
such men in the literary line Of bust
ness. Perhaps it is fortunate. If there
were many editors whose vengeance
would not be satisfied with killing thirty
two enemies the mortality in this coun-
try would be much greater than it is.
But California cannot afford to let the
Yellow Birds memory perish. Neither
can Joaquin Miller, nor Bret Harte.
History Repeats Itself,
Down at the Kimball House last Sun