The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1885-09-10


High in the zenith CLEANED the
golden orb of day with a braxen stare
that palsied energy and kept the pores
busy. II was hot From the posted
north came no bracing zephyr rich with
the fragrance OF heath and meadow to
fan the brow dripping with the symbol
of Adams curse. The hy-besmitten
cattle had waded into the frog pond,
and stood knee deep in green water
lashing their steaming sides with heavy
tails in despairing languor, lazily chew
ing their cuds in abject hopelessness.
1t was devilish warm day. The earth
was as parched and dry as the throat
of a tramp at sunrise, and the only
cloud visible was foggy mist OF dust
that overhung and crept slowly along
behind a solitary horseman, who was
gradually passing from view with about
as much celebrity as bad luck leaving
poor mans family. The heat was OPP
pressive. The man on horseback was
in his shirt sleeves and only wore one
suspender and billygoat beard of sad
dish bleached appearance. There was
nothing dudesque in the MEN of tn Q
man, though there was one point of
resemblance not glaringly apparent to
the casual observer He had been
half-witted from birth, but having
served term in the legislature the
misfortune had ceased to attract atten-
ton. His manner was simple and very
sweaty. for the day was sultry. The
steed he bestrode arched not its neck
with the proud impotence of the
charger who scents the battle from
afar off, but the sway in its back made
ample amends for lack of contour
further forward. 1t was bulky of limb,
thick in wind, unfortunate in vision,
and far from hasty in disposition. 1t
was a horse that any woman could drive
in safety, if she had strength to apply
the whip with sufficient vigor to keep
the animal awake and In motion. In
short, it was horse of great reliabii-
ty and most exasperating deliberation
of movement. The man himself was
very full breasted in the back, and had
but little of the fashion plate look
about him. His face was scanned with
wrinkles and also seemed wrinkled.
Perhaps it was. he wore straw hat
and blue cotton pantaloons tucked
tightly into boots of cowhide that
needed halt-soling; but he was himself
shoemaker by trade and it mattered
not. His eyes were smaller than
peaches and larger than cherries. OF
course we mean common-siZed market
cherries of the wormy order, ox-hearts
being ruled out of this deal They were
of no particular color, and yet were
far from white, though he was white
man himself or passed for one among
people not overly particular about such
matters. His hair was long and bushy,
and would have tioated III the breeze,
but for one thing. There wasn't any
breeze. 1t is more than probable that
he had ears of some description, but if
he had them with him they were not
discernible to person of limited vision,
on account of being concealed some
where beneath his massive ringlets.
Some folks would have said, under his
hair, but ringlets seem to jingle nicer,
and we go right smart on the jingle
of everything except money. 1t
was day of exceeding great
warmth, and our hero-for such
he may as we'll be considered, unless
somebody holder and better-looking
should turn up and claim the position
found plenty of employment for his
hands in hopping his honest brow with
q handkerchief of silken pattern and
cotton texture. 1t was a large ban
dana that had been used for about ev-
erything that handkerchief could be
used for, except strangling baby and
straining milk, from carrying eggs to
market and bringing home groceries, tc
tying colt and holding up sore leg.
But who is the bold buccaneer, and
whittier goes he on day of such fiery
fervidness, at such reckless indiffer-
ence of speed that the day after to-
morrow is chasing him? He is old Bill
Jarvis, the mail-carrier. taking his own
time to get to the settlement, in spite
of the fact that Aunt Polly Barkins is
burning with impotence to get hold of
letter from her old man, containing
two dollars in greasy money and
recipe for drying squash that will give
it the taste of pumpkin and keep ten
years without turning Chicago
Ledger.
The Capture Of John Brown.