Mower County transcript., 1890-01-29

ting " all night, all to pieces. But II
isn't luxury; and 1t isn't comfort. Il
costs like It, and must say it's worth the
price, but 1t isn't comfort. It's merely q
protection against greater dis.
comfort. In times Of siege and
famine, men have paid twenty dol
lars for rat and have eaten it greedily.
But that wasn't because rats were even
then considered luxuries; it was because
1t was rat or nothing. When the un.
grateful man got back to porterhouse
steak again he let the cats have the
rats. You may talk about ''luxurious
palaces Of princely comfort"-as the
man with pass is apt to debut
maintain that sleeping in one not very
large room, with thirty-hve people,
thlrty-t1ve snores, thirty-flve breaths
and seventy secondhand boots and
shoes, is not luxury; and whatever tho
man with the pass may say, don't be-
lleve that Kings and Princes who live
In real palaces sleep forty in bedroom,
boots, breath, feet and all. True, have
never been abroad, and can't say how
Kings may live, but believe they have
more room and fewer bed-fellows than
| that.
''Well them" asked the Ass, when I
grumbled thus far-1 don't mean half
the savage things say when growl-
"why don't you ride on the freight
trains?"
l DO, whenever the company will let
mo. They're not so tiresome. You can
move about in the big caboose. Some
times the conductor invites you up into
the ''dome"-what q nice, breezy out
look it is. wonder the conductor and
rear brakeman don't turn artist and
poet, and 60 out and teach and amuse
the people. And once in awhile the
brakeman will take you by the hand
and take you for promenade over the
tops OF the swaying cars. I've tried it.
It's like walking on the back of snake.
never walked on the back Of snake,
but that is just like it.
You get more of variety in such
walk than you would think. This Is a
White Line car we're on now, and this
next one an old Wabash box car, eight
inches lower; Jump down." your heart
jumps into your mouth as you Jump, but
you're alive; all these are foreign cars of
different makes and differing heights,
and they rock and roll and lope along
with mongrel gait, like a horse
that trots in front and PAGES be-
hind; this long car Is cotton
car; this high monster is a Car for
shipping carriages in or something of
that sort; right next it is an old squatty
box car, with batten roof; it looks two
miles down; you jump, but your heart
flies clear out OF the top of your head
and you don't get it back again on the
trip. Then you walk over car of lum-
Der; that's nice; it has an easy, smooth
ing, comforting motion, and the pleasant
smell of the pine and hemlock and cedar
is tranquilizing; then you scramble into
a Car of coal; and then, you climb over
Red Line car; it's an empty" and as
you walk over the top your guide hears
the voices of the merry tramps holding
high wassail within. His face darkens,
he goes back to the ore car and return
ing lies down to hurl two
dollars worth of highly-protected
raw material into the hilarity.
''I'll fix you laddy-bucks next stop!' he
roars and the merriment ceases; changed
alas, to remarks not suited for publica-
ton. Then you get down on an
empty fiat. This is jolly. A lands
man isn't afraid on this. 1t looks
80 low, and long and broad, and humps
itself along with such good-natured, easy
roughness, that it's perfect nursery. I
once said that canal boat was the ideal
vehicle of travel. Now begin to think
that lounge and an easy chair on a
flat-car, with may be low railing
around the car, SO that you couldn't pos
sibly fall off, knocks the canal-boat out.
If were president of a railroad I'd fix
a flat-car up. that way and travel on it.
But much railway president knows
about railway travel. When he travels
he takes ship and goes to Europe.
But here, we've got up to the engine,
and we can't 60 any further without spe-
cial permission. And this is the water
tank, and here we stop, and you and
will get into safe place, up on top of
the high carriage car, and see our brake
men, who is the soul of hospitality,
make it pleasant for his chronic ene-
mics, the tramps. in Brook.
lyn Eagle.