The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1890-04-09
BISHOP WHITAKER IN NEVADA.
Breezy "Reminiscences of the Distinguish
ed Prelate by an Old Friend.

Breezy "Reminiscences of the tinguish-
ed Prelate by an Old Friend.
There, look at that, will you?" cried
Col. Amos Tompkins of Virginia City
in the office of the Palace last week,
indicating dispatch in the Examiner
telling how a man had shot at Bishop
Whitaker. The Colonel was elated
with triumph.
You see, it says" he continued,
leading the way to the bar, automati-
cally, ''that the fellow is temperance
man and wanted to do up the Bishop
because he doesn't stand in with high
and-dry. When temperance is indulg-
ed in too long and permanently it hard
ems mems hearts, destroys their better
feelings, and too frequently leads
them into crime. What'l you have?"
"Do you know the Bishop, Colonel?"
"Do 1? What? Do | know the
Bishop? Why shouldn't 1? Hewa at
the head of the Episcopal end of the
theological line over in our State for
ever so many years. and everybody
who has lived in Nevada knows him
and respects him, too, sir. He worked
two shifts every twenty-four hours
and would preach at the drop of the
hat, night or day. The only thing any
of us have got against him is that Ire
left us.
"Bishop.' says l. I never 60 to
church myself, but Whitaker and l
We're the warmest kind of friends
Bishop says to him on G street one
day, don't leave us. All the long ex-
perience you've had OF the civilization
of Nevada the nickel-chip layout of
Pennsylvania won't suit your tastes at
all. Stay where you are and be a high
roller among the high-rollers
but 90 he would, and now they've
taken to shooting at him. shouldn't
wonder if that would settle things and
the Bishop'd skip back to Nevada. No
Comstocker can stand a place like
Philadelphia very long. We amt used
to the rough ways of the frontier. No
body" pursued the Colonel, draining
his second glass in luxurious comfort,
nobody ever took a shot at the Bishop
over there. The worst that ever hap
pened to him was to be kicked"
''Kicked"
Yes sir; kicked. 1t was done in
Virginia City and saw it with my
own ewes. 1t was a winter morning
and the Bishop was climbing up Taylor
street in the narrow path in the snow
that the miners had trodden on their
way to work. The Bishops a very lit
tie man, you know, but two ladies who
were behind him could get past him.
He was deep in thought and did not
hear them. They were holding their
skirts high to keep them out of the
snow. The lady ahead of the other
got kind O. mad at last and cried out:
Plague take you. Whiffett, get out O.
the way and let ladies 90 by, can't
you?' and with that she let fly a kick
that lifted the Bishop clean out of the
path into the deep snow.
We'll, sir, you never saw a man SC
amazed as the Bishop was, and, as for
the lady, it's only justice to say that
when she saw who it was she'd kicked
she blushed and apologized, and any
true lady would under the circum-
stances.
"Ah," said the Colonel, wagging his
head and smiling down into his glass,
''we all loved the Bishop, and the boys
at Candelaria were particularly fond
of him. He was over there preaching
one Sunday, and after morning service
took a stroll to the outskirts of the
town with couple of ladies of the con
gregation. Prospect shafts We're a;
thick as gopher holes there, and the
boys were all at work. Sunday made
no difference to them. Half of one O.
the holes beloged to Mike Brannon
an old friend of mine, a perfect giant
and as simple-minded as baby. He
was as bald as Mount Davidson, anC
some of the fellows had told him tha
if he'd rub his head with kerosene oi
and onions, and cut the crown out o
his hat so that the sun could shine OF
his skull, his hair would grow again
That was Il joke you know" eX
planned the Colonel, ''but Mike took i
all in. and when the Bishop and the
ladies came up to where he was there
stood Mike, tugging and grunting
away at the windlass hoisting rock, and
the hot summer sun blazing down or
his shining crown.
The Bishop, one of the best-heart-
ed men that ever breathed, was horri-
| fed.
"Good heavens, man, says he, why
don't you get a proper hat? You will
be injured
How'll Oh be injured?' growled
Mike, straining at the windlass. the
sweat pouring off him.
Your brain will be injured
"Brains, is it? Brains?' and Mike
put two-horse power on the windlass
and landed the bucket. Sure, an il
Oh had any brains dye think I'd be
| here ?n'-jSa71 francisco Examiner.