The Dalles times-mountaineer. [volume] (The Dalles, Or.) 1882-1904, 1890-01-04
Joaquin Miller as a Journalist.

Mr.. Cincinnatus Heine Miller formerly
lived at Canyon City, and was elected
county judge OF Grant in 1864. Although
practicing law, his mind always took lit
erary turn, n,and he contributed series of ar
tees to the MOUNTAINEER in 1865, entitled
Canyon City Pickles." which for broad
wit has rarely been surpassed. In 1859
he edited a small sem-occasional pubIi-
cation called the Canyon City Journal. 1t
was printed on Novelty press, and r. H.
c. Conner, a former employe of the Noun
TAINEER, was publisher. 1t was the pio-
neer newspaper of the interior of eastern
Oregon, and every issue was scanDed with
the greatest anxiety for news from the
mines. The racy writings of Judge Miller
were always eagerly read, and very many
of them found their way into the press of
the state. This being the advent of the
New Year, we thought his soliloquy on
January /, 1869, worthy of reproduction,
and here it is:
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-NINE.
"New Years eve! Another pearl, the
Pcrsians say, has dropped from the horn
OF Time into the ocean of Eternity. An
other wrinkle on the horn of Time, say
we; end at the thought of horn we seize
the hour glass and turn it up till we see
the sugar in the bottom.
otis the hour for ref1ection-with
spoon in it. Let us contemplate the sit
uation. Two hundred miles from a col
lege, steamboat or circus! But we are
also remote from the perils of the plague,
earthquakes and the Grecian bend. If
we have had some marriages we have also
had some divorces, so that bachelors
chances are the same. II we have had
some deaths, there has also been a de-
mand for soothing syrup and peppermint;
city and The Dalles, how can we help it
at this season of the year?
The horn OF plenty is poured upon US,
the editor is lovely, and all is well All
The year our Jail has been tenantless, and
no man has been tried in the high court
for crime. There is not a Bourbon
among US, and temperance is the rule.
There is not a pauper in the county, and
our paper is going at par. Lawyers are
retiring in disgust, and doctors complain
of a chrome state OF good health. And
we know more than we did before No
vember. Wonderful how fast we learn
We know who will be the next president,
and we know which side of California to
bet on now. Again we look at the sugar
in the 'our glass and say, be thankful.
"Memory rushes past the old year and
turns down the corridors of time. We
see plains, sagebrush and alkali. Beyond,
a lonely and white-haIred man, standing,
like milestone on the road 10 eternity.
Behind him still, a buXom lass, with face
as red as a Weebfoot apple, a waterfall,
sweet pug nose, and an ankle like a-oh
krickery! we must quit or give up the
ghost. And still beyond, school, birch,
mud pies, humble peg, and stolen ap-
pies; while far back, dim in the distance,
measles, mumps, catnip tea and paregoric
are blended in indistinctness, while sitting
on our mothers knee, and merry memory
refuses TO 90 farther. Again we shake
our sugar!
"Let us be thankful. Let US be just.
Let US not put wiggie-tails in our milk,
nor dogs claws In our sausage; let US tell
the truth when we can't help it, and not
drink dog gnats in our lager, so that when
the hand that writes this is still and the
eyes that read this are glazed and looking
up at the grass roots ON yonder hill, we
may have our happy New Year in the
better land, where all together we will
smile on the troubles of to-day as we do
now oyer those of the days ere gold had
an attraction and birch had lost its ter
rors.
"The cock from his lofty perch calls
midnight, and lo6S is but a date in his
tory. The merchant will write '6S for
time, when in a study, and ye miner will
so date his epistles to his Florence Ma
lida, and she will read and wonder on
what day New Years comes at Canyon.
"WelcOme, New Year. Very tenderly
do we greet you as u newborn babe that
comes TO us across the great plains of
eternity. Very tenderly do we greet, and
ask that you give US hope in our hearts,
lOYe on our lips, sugar in our-cotfee. and
spondulicks in our stockings. Selah"