The Pioche weekly record. [volume] (Pioche, Nev.) 1877-1900, 1890-09-06
COMMUNICATION.
PIocHE, New, Sept. !, 1890.
Editor RECORD,

OF the RECORD are ever at the service o
the suffering and oppressed ones of this
earth, have ventured to intrude OF
your valuable space by making few
simple remarks on an unnecessary evi
that exists, and seems to thrive in the
midst of the highly respectable and
civilized community of which you and
l are members.
| | refer to the would be musicians Of
this town, to the guitar fiends, to the
harmonica iugglers, and last, but not
least, to the male mocking birds of our
noble burg.
You may not believe me Mr.. Editor.
but nevertheless, it is an undisputed fact
that l hardly ever INDUCED in any thing
stronger than Dixie wine prior to my adj.
vent in Phoebe. But look at me now;
you can see with half an eye that ! am a
wreck both mentally and physically.
And why
Simply because the unearthly and ex-
cruciatingly horrible noises that eminate
from the asinine threats, the consump.
tive banjos. and the fly blown organs of
the midnight serenaders or hand grena-
ders of this town make it utterly limpos-
sible to procure any sleep unless by the
aid Of the most powerful anasthetics.
My last months account at the drug
store for chloroform, opium, morphine,
etc., amounted to exactly ten dollars.
No doubt the amount seems fabulous,
but if you are in any way skeptical re.
garding the figures, all you need do to be
thoroughly convinced of their accuracy
is simply to step across the street to Mr..
Shiers' and his ledger will tell the tale
great deal more graphically than l can in
my present semi.comatose condition.
Music may be dirt cheap in Phoebe,
but all the same it costs money to buy
chloroform and !do not permit that i'm
mortal fact to slide from your memory.
Still l sometimes Aatter myself with the
consoling thought that l have the dead
wood on the combination, as l have
found by experience that it is a great
deal easier to stomach choloroform than
to listen all night long to rotten music
accompanied by still ranker singing
I once heard person compare music
to whisky. He said they were the same
in one respect, namely, that both were
always good, only that occasionally you
might run across some that would be q
little superior to the rest. The individ.
ual may have been sincere enough in his
own way, but think that he never was
FIVE miles away from home. l could
solumnly swear that he never graced
Phoebe with his knightly presence. Any
way his smile was unjust to the barley
juice, because the last mentioned com.
modify, even in its worst form, always
possesses some little merit, while bad
music has not one redeeming trait in its
whole dreary composition. Nothing
follows in its wake but unnatural death
and the most damnable torture.
They say that being talked to death il
pretty rocky road to get over. Ever
the other day Kemmler kicked because
the authorities gave him free pass ovel
the electric route. But the unfortunate
and trebly dying victim that has to tax
the guitenorsoprano trail for it has m.
entire and eternal sympathy.
just think of the antemortem suffering
of the poor wretch that is being sung t.
death. Picture to yourself the condens
ed agony and frenzied contortions pro
duced by the incessant jar on his sensi
tive nerve and delirions brain, and you
will have conjured up an internal visio
worthy of Dante himself, and then (pre
sumably to add insult to torturel in tn
intervals between their blood curdlin
stanzas and murderous solos. you ca
hear them, at almost any hour of tn
night, applaud each Others demonics
efforts by prolonged coyote yells an
horse laughter.
Now suppose you have probably il
ferred from my anti-harmonic TRAD
that am thorough music hater. Blu
you are sadly crippled under the hat
you think so even for a moment. l ca
jump gracefully from my virtuous couc
the coolest night in winter to listen to
song, or to hear piece of music we
rendered ON any instrument. and furthe
more l admire musical talent OF ever
description and nave always encourage
it, but you see a fellow has to draw IL
line somewhere, and hope that the il
human monsters, who, by their noctu
nal prosecutions are throwing childre