The Arkansaw traveler., 1884-11-29
MEETING A GREAT MAN.
Brooklyn EaRle.l


 Bob Burdette tells how in the days be- fore he became "Snarling toothless old cynic, with ashes of disappointment on my head and the cinder of envious dis trust in my eye" and when he still had an interest in great men, he once drove twelve miles after a lecture to make a speech at reception of Schuyler Colfax. He says:
 lett Macomb at midnight. The roads were not of the good, goody they were of the bad, badly; they were prairie roads. It had been raining on them twenty-two years, of and on, principally on. The night was darker than a theological con- troversy. It was raining like a house a6re. It seemed as though old Aquarius had got mad, pulled her wide open, threw her clean over, and was running wild for the next deluge. It thundered hard enough to sour mans temper. When 1t lightnened, which was nearly all the time, you couldn't see anything for the binding glare. When it was dark, which was most of the time, you could reach out and feel the darkness like fog bank Splash, splash, splash went the horses through the mud. Where they couldn't wade they could swim. By and by there was scrambling sound in the darkness. The driver would have disappeared if he had been apparent. AS it was, without missing anybody particularly, felt that was alone. Presently voice came up from the darkness
 "Where are you"
 recognized the voice of my driver. had not seen him since we left Macomb i; he had been swearing all the way, and his voice had grown familiar to me. said that was right where ! belonged, on the seat in the buggy, and asked where he was. He informed me that the horses had stepped upon fallen bridge, under our end of which there had been a washout The forward wheels were rest ing on the sunken bridge, while the hind ones were perched on the great round earth, which is the planet we inhabit. This accounted for the peculiar sensation experienced of sitting on the roof of house or the side of a mountain.
 The driver furtbef told me that he had fallen over the dashboard and was now sitting down between the horses had the dashboard with him. but he did not know what to do with 1t. He con- cluded by asking me if l was hurt.
 l told him that at first felt little piqued at not receiving an invitation to the bridge opening. but since his ex- planation forgave him everything cherished DO feelings of resentment. He then suggested that get out and walk across the bridge while he held the horses, and l could see if the other end was all right.
 replied, with much feeling, that while could not do that, would remain where was until daylight, when could look across and tell him how it was.
 Finally he led the horses safely across, and we resumed our pleasant loiteriug along the darkened way. At the merry hour of 2:3o a. m., we reached Bushnell
 was mud to the eyes. was wet to the bone. My eyes burned for sleep. 1 had smoked I5o cigars on the way, and was little nervous.
 l crawled into bed just in time to hear the porter say it was time to get up.
 sat up on the edge ot the bed, and beginning at my neck counted nearly 300 distinct and definite aches, and stopped at the floating ribs discouraged ] arrayed myself in my wet and muddy raiment and danced merrily of to the banquet hall. sat at the festive board with smiles on my pale, false face, and murder in my wicked heart. When the festive board did not groan did. was among good, kind, loving friends, but their words of cheer fell upon my icy heart, for l wanted to crawl under the table and go to sleep. loved and ad- mired MT. Colfax with genuine affection. l meant all the true and beautiful things l said about him that morning, and he will forgive me when he knows that 1 wanted to hit him with stove leg.
 l went back to the hotel and went to sleep leaning up against the wall of my room, before l could get close enough to the bed to fall upon it. dreamed that l was a man with 200 heads and only one eye to sleep for all of them {; that l hadn't been asleep in a hundred years, and had just crawled into steam boat boiler to catch little nap, when Schuyler Colfax, wearing a walters white jacket, with a napkin on his arm, sat down at the manhole and read me Benton's Thirty Years in the United States Sen ate" clear through, while two men hammered cold rivets in the boiler to keep me awake.
 Somehow my meetings with great men are always attended with certain features ofpomp and circumstance with which a man of my retiring habits would willingly dispense. am not grown proud and naughty. would even to-day unbend to shake hands with the president, but l would hardly drive twelve miles in the mud and rain now, even to sit up all night with the Press club.
 Nerve of an Elephant Hunter.
 IAmArscan H;aYH