Lancaster daily intelligencer. [volume] (Lancaster, Pa.) 1864-1928, 1890-02-22

nv TREND oid not reaiise &nas ne was
about when he asked the future lieuten-
ant governor OF the state Of California TO |
that dinner But when he sat down to
my board and when they tried to eat
my bread, he Borrowed in secret and gave
me some good and forcible advice after
ward relative to culinary and domestic
matters. In these matters he was a very
particular man. During his stay he in.
auguratcd . reign OF neatness, and fct
me one Of terror and discomfort. He
put his whole mind on cooking. and GOV.
cred the stove with dishes. lie was an
animated bill Of fare. lie secured all
the tinware brightly.
But the man didn't enjoy eating his
elaborately prepared meals 80 much NJ
did. lie worked too hard getting them
up. He exhausted too much OF his force
in planning, worrying and cooking. He
worked his mind in too many channels
at once. He lacked rcpose. There's
where had the best OF him. was re-
poseful, and II you please 10 to term II,
lazy. He is dead--I am alive. There's
the result Of different mental conditions.
II Is noon. l have no clock 10 tell the
hours, but we acquire faculty OF feel
Ing when noon arrives. The rain has
ceased temporarily, but Il will soon re-
commence, for which I am glad, as II
will prevent work on the claim during
the afternoon. Having eaten dinner,
finishing with n piece Of mince pie, 1t
occurs to me that this is good time TO
write home. It's hard work writing
home. 1put Il of for weeks and months.
1t lays load on my mind receive at
times letters from people complaining Of
my neglect. know ought TO write,
but what is there TO write? Nothing but
the same old story, "Hope soon 10 do
we'll" have written in this strain for
the last six years, until am tired and
sick OF It. II is OF no use telling any
more about the country. All that has
been told. II my people knew how
much suffered In this endeavor to be
dutiful, perhaps they would not insist on
my writing more thnn the line, II am
still alive; yours truly"
The ink In my cabin Is thick, the pen
bad one, apd my mind seems In this
epistolary effort thicker and ruster than
| ink or pen. Dear - and then big
blot, and then n long pause and the pat
ter Of the rain and the roar Of tho river.
| write about page and n half, feeling
as il every stroke Of the pen were encum-
bered with n ball and chain. ] accom-
! plish half dozen more blots, and fin
ish in n wretched state OF mind and In a
| prickly heat. II is n barren, pithless,
sapless effort. will go out and get
breath Of fresh air and rain. Il is 4
| o'clock. Still il rains. The heavens arc
dark, and already the first shades Of the
winters night are coming on. ! revisit
| my haul Of lumber from the river. IL is
! gone. The river has not reached the,
spot where placed it. It is the work Of
those thieving Cinnamon on Chambers
bar, half mile above. There is no use
| in going after them. My lumber is de-
| posted and hidden amid the piles they
have today dragged out of the river.
Ispend about an hour getting in fuel.
| have n woodward on the hillside yonder.
Nature has kindly felled and seasoned
! there few scrub oaks for my use.
| drag down few branches. The land
here Is free--very free. No fences, no
boundary lines, no gates, no proprietors.
It's a pretty fiat when the sun shines. A
dark background of mountain, in front
river, with its curving and varied out
line of tule and bank up and down
stream, and close about the oaks are 30
scattered as TO give one the impression
| of a park and an old mansion hidden
somewhere In the background. What a
luxury would be this spot to thousands
In crowded cities who haven't even the
range Of n back yard nor the shadow Of
| tree! Yet am discontented and would
get away to these crowded cities The
early darkness has come. l light NY
candle. My candelabra is Of glass-dark
olive green---a bottle. did use big
potato with a hole therein scooped. But
the esthetic nature requires constant
change and adopted bottle. spread
the evening repast. sit down alone.
From the window see lights glimmer-
ing In the few other neighboring cabins.
take refuge in the effort to repair
my best and only pair of broadcloth
| pantaloons. ! brought these with me
from the States. They show decided
signs Of wear. am putting in patch.
1t Is a job ! take hold of at intervals.
There is about it mystery and com
plication can't fathom. can't get the
patch to At, or rather to set. There il
more in the tailor's art than imagined
Every time put them on find n differ
ence and seeming division Of action and
sentiment between the new cloth have
sewcd inside and the old cloth outside
They won't hold together. Tho stitches
rip apart, and everything goes by the
run. seem to fail in making the new
cloth accommodate itself to the varying
proportions of this part of the garment
And so the dreary night wears on. Rain.
rain, rain; roar, roar, roar Is this
living? PRENTICE MuLFoRp.