Morning journal and courier., 1885-07-27
Summer Acquafntances.


 The many queer and eccentric individual s ! who live right in our midst are, perhaps met and unearthed, as it were, more during the summer season than at any other time Those who seek the shade of our rural suburban districts or the cooling breez es and combing waves of neighboring shore resorts, are sure to make the acquaintance of some singular characters. Thus it was that we met ''Uncle Lote" Uncle Lote is an indi- vidual who, though famous as "queer genius" for miles around the vicinity in which he resides, is practically much se- cluded individual during a great part of the year and like the woodchuck (and almost as sly) he sees more of 'city folks" during the summer. On the top of high mound, the foot of which is enclrcled with one of those clear, white, sandy beaches, where the waves from old ocean expend their forces in curling foam and thump themselves down if glad of resting place, and about quarter of a mile from the flag station at South Lyme stands modern built seaside cottage. It is conspicuous for its pretty ap- pearance, highly enjoyed for its comfortable and roomy quarters and loved for pleasant associations that it brings to mind. Lots of mosquitoes around here, are there not Uncle2'' "Never knew a mosquito (slap) on this pint (slap) in my life. They don't come here (slap)" Uncle Lote is short of stature, has a round shining head with a small amount of grayish black hair, rath- CT narrow face with stubby beard and pair of small hazel eyes, bright a ferret's, and which have 8 twinkle in them that says as much as ''Lets see you fool old uucle." A mixed flannel shirt, an airy pair of brown overalls, a felt hat, one slipper and shoe complete his costume. To know the many peculiarities of Uncle Lote his acquaintance should be made. He is not lacking in con- versation, and the Hardest" part of the English language flows from his lips like wa ter from a spout. On his knees Uncle Lote ploughs through field like a moving ma chine, laying the grass on either side of him with long sweeps of his scythe. He prefers this manner of moving whenever he wants to get 'lawn cut" and when one of his toes bothers him, it is a convenient way. ''I'm going to cut the d-d toe off as soon as I can find time and good chisel and ham msr. Don't nothing hurt me. I'm only sev- enty years. old and I expect to be a hundred. tell you Pm tough tougher than the rats along this shore" "Do you mean to say that you have rats on this sandy shorei" "Lord, yes, thousands 'em." Uncle Lote is a good judge of St. Croix, yet there are rats at the shore, there is no doubt. winter, and many long day and night he dreams over his fiddle, while the rats come out and dance in the light of the moon. Uncle make anything dance when once he gets his fingers to his fiddle strings. Many time when hard at work with hiss head hung low over the instrument, it seems as though he was talking to it, perhaps urging it to give account of itself, for it was washed in from the and picked up by him many years ago. It is doubtless fine instrument, or at least it is capable of send ing forth irresistible tone when he gets his fingers upon it. Anyone going ashore in the middle of the night along the beach in this vicinity need not be startled at meeting singular-iooking individual with fiddle under his arm, but may know that it is good old Uncle. Lote, who has been doing his share towards making life happier for the many summer acquaintances and friends that he annually meets