The Dawson journal., 1885-11-26

In pressing his suit with the
''star-eyed Egyptian,sweet sorcer-
ess Of the Nile," who was a mulat-
to, the father of our distinguished
fellow-citizen, Colonel Susan B.
Anthony, threw away the sceptre
of the world. The grass-widower,
Napoleon's second courtship, was
his first step on the road 70 Wa
terloo and st. Helena.
All such risks and discombob-
erations you have saved me by
railroading me through to marri-
age without love and courtship;
bat [ guess. if the yellow back
scriptures are true, you have cut
me- out of lots of fun.
Married. To be married! Well,
hardly. What is married but mis-
mated, too often married? Ma
ture plays many high old quips
and quirks, and kicks up her ven-
cradle heels gin countless can-cau
pirouettes and whirligigs. She
stutfs President with a peanut
pedlar's soul and makes hero's
heart throb beneath the ragged
waistcoat of a scavenger She
drapes galvanized oyster wenches,
or worse, in the rich laces and
brocades of Senator's, Governors
ad Cabinet ministers wives, and
en- closes the spirit of saint or a
martyr in the dingy tatters of a
chair-woman or a beggar. She
wraps courage, gratitude and affec-
tion in the hide of a dog, and
swaddles baseness and brutality IN
broadcIoth and fine linen. She
permits two-legged' donkeys to
bay in all our Legislative halls
and dine at our Delmonico' s,while
their superiors in every worthy
quality and qualification MUNICH
coarse straw in thousand un-
chinked country stables. She
builds quadrupedal men and bipe-
dal swine. But all her oddest,
maddest freaks are tame and ra-
tional compared with the wild
whimsies Of love and marriage.
Look where you will, what
world of tangles and misftsl Ea-
giles mate with moles, and swans
with hedgehogs. Tom Thumbs
pine for she Goliahs. Sons of
Anak wed human humming-birds.
Mighty Drained heroes and states
men rave over insane little butter
flies, puny wax dolls, taffy-faced
pigmies, and women who would
grace court ally themselves with
counter-hoppers, numekulls and
boobies, and queens take refuge
in the arms of cooks and coach
men.
Who ever heard Of half dozen
Presidents wives? While Andrew
jackson ran the White House like
an Emperor, the old wife, for
whom he murdered Dickinson,
smoked her cob pipe in the back
woods of Tennessee. Where are,
and where have been, all the Mr..
Hemanses, Mr.. Ristoris, Mr.. Har-
riet Beecher Stoves, and Mr.. Jen-
ME Junes?
Every fellow gets the wrong
woman, and no woman gets the
right fellow. To love is to be &C.
statically miserable. To court is
to vibrate between the orthodox
and the japanese hell-from
hell of fire to a hell Of ice. To
marry is to plunge headlong into
both at once, and to take the
chances Of looking forever like
one-half of a Carolina chariot
team, which usually consists of
blind jack and mooly cow, or
scrub calf ana knock kneed jen-
net. Marriages have been liken-
ed to the qies on a dinning room
wiudow--all on the outside are
butting their heads against the
glass to get in, and all OF the in
side butting their heads against it
to get out;and, go which way they
will, there is always a pane ahead
of them. In view Of all the
the only wonder is that
any flies are foolish enough to
want to get in,
LET me write the ballads of
said q wise man, "and |
care not who makes its laws"
This IS true, and it may ais, be said