The Dawson journal., 1886-04-22
A PlNY WOODS ROMANCE.
HOW Joe Won and Lost a Bride
A True incident.

there stood in the spring of
1854 moss covered cot
tage built of native pines. The
huge cracks between the poles
gave ample play to the wintry
winds as we'll as to the soft breezes
OF early summer. It's dirt and
stick chimney, as if ashamed of
it's association, leaned from the
house in silent. dignity, and gave
to passers by the idea that it had
become unfastened from its moor
inags, and was ready to topple
from its foundation on the slight
est provocation. The yard sur
rounding was overgrown with the
rank vegetation incident to a
Southern climate, narrow path
only leading from the door to
what we shall, by courtesy, call
the fence Gate there was none,
it long since having gone the way
OF all gates on which lovers swing
at eventidA and whisper sweetly
of the days to como.
The mistress of this lovely
home was a widow, on whose
shoulders the cares of many years
had evidently borne heavily, and
whose wrinkled visage would
seem to speak of "days of auld
lang syne." She was scarcely
able to creep in and out of the
house in the discharge of necessa-
~ duties, and only her tongue
that "unrrly member" that age
never affects and decay never at
tacks-was fresh and buoyant and
able to wag as was its wont in days
of yore.
This widow had a daughter, and
it is about her that the romance
Of our story circles. She also was
a widow, and nothing lses than
a poets pen could adequately de-
scribe her charms. Lean, lank
and bony, she carried the marks
of time on her frosted brow, and
the weak apologies for dimples
that Elayed at "hide and seek"
among the crows feet that sur
rounded her eyes indicated her
near approach to, if not actual ar
rival, at the "sere and yellow leaf. !"
Like her respected mother, her
tongue had not yet lost its cum
ming, and its incessant wagging
as she reprimanded, for at least
the thousandth time each day, the
nine "offshoots from the parent
stem" that grew around her knee,
was as "music's dulcet tone" to
her enraptured neighbors. The
widows could talk
In the early spring Of 'S4, when
nature was just robing herself for
the summers festival, there came
a character we'll known as "crazy
Joe" to most of the citizens of
that section. Joe had one misfor-
tune. Although he never drank
a drop of Intoxicating liquors he
was always drunk. He was born
drunk; for forty-six years has
wandered aimlessly from place to
place drunk, and we doubt not
that when his summons comes to
Join the innumerable caravan"
whose numbers throng the halls
of death, he will answer drunk.
Only q draught from the amethyst
cup that the gods Of mythology
quaffed their potations from can
ever sober Joe. Upon his arrival
Joe naturally first sought resting
ing place. and his good genius
turned his weary steps in the di-
rection of the little suburban cot
tage. It took only a few minutes
for an agreement to be reached
and Joe was installed as the
twelfth member around the frugal
board. AS the days wore on their
acquaintance grew apace, and it
was soon evident to all that Jo-
seph was in love, deeply, desper-
ately, madly in love. The young
er widow was the theme of all his
conversations, and the subject of
all his dreams. Night and day, at
home and abroad Joe would only
think and talk of his love. Such
devotion as his could not go unre-
warded, and the coy glances and
sweet smiles that he was favored
with. showed him that his love