Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-02-22

The dark clouds lift, the sun deluges the
valley with warm golden food. The
sky is blue as the sea, and foaming clouds
roll lazily over the great DOME The
traveller, equipped in rubbers, umbrella
and snow-shoes, begins to feel as lonesome
as straw hat in snow-storm, and the
man whose economy prompted him to
wear an oyercoat over red flannel shirt,
with a digni6ed expanse of eelluloid cuff
and collar peeping forth, wipes the dewy
perspiration from his fevered eyebrow and
glares with envy at the man who had
''peeled off" his coat.
A station is reached late in the after
noon, when the warm sun slants in at the
windows, and we see our young lady flying
along the planks like a real estate agent
in pursuit of a sale. She speeds away, a
long blue coat stirring breeze, an UNI
brella poking innocent people promiscu-
ously in eyes and vital organs, and her
arms clutching the air like rotary-plow
attacking snow-bank.
AT the window of the ticket-office an
apparition presents itself that causes peo-
pie to halt in their promenade and pom
der. 1t is a pair of No. brogans, and
rooted in them firmly are two poles that
rival an Oriental sunset in color; skirt of
brown merino, with black bands like the
rings of Saturn, and shots of grease and
pancake batter making charming polka
dot panels, struggles to reach down to the
tops of the shoes. A market basket and a
broche shawl are visible, but the head and
shoulders are engulp pied in the window.
The whistle of an approaching train
causes this being to move, and a black
straw hat emerges, over which feathers
wave like a warriors plumes. The fogs of
many winters have woed away every YES
tige of curl, and the huge purple flowers
nod and bob over face that unwittingly
divulges its capacity for the national plant
of the Emerald Isle She smiles-a smile
of triumph, it is; she has had the last
word, and as the agent sinks faint and
white on convenient cracker box, anx-
ious friends spring to his assistance.
Whethersthey succeed in tanning to life
the suffering spark of vitality, we shall
not know.
1t is here that family boards the train
"a family consisting of a mother, two
sturdy, red-cheeked lads, dark-eyed little
girl, and a towsle-headed baby, the ac-
cent and complexion of the entire family
plainly telling that their nativity is the
land Of macaroni, tomales and mandolins.
They take up the entire end of the car
with their goods and calamities, and their
chatter, together with an odor of garlic
that can be sliced with knife, is not con-
ducive to the happiness of their more
clearly low-travelers. Carpet-sacks
that are bursting open like poppy-pod,
disclose linen OF murky darkness, coffee
pots, bread-box, satchels and grip-sacks
of antedeluvian origin, rags, sacks and
bottles, all in jumbled mass, make up
| their baggage.
Satisfied? Why, yes, and glad they're
living. The young greasy baby insists on
performing some feats of ground and lofty
tumbling, and after lunching on dough-
nuts and cookies the floor of the car looks
like pit in stock board. She hangs on
the shoulder rest of your seat and drops
raisins and various articles down the back
| OF your neck and pomades your best switch
with moistened peppermint candy. When
you turn around, with murder in your
heart, to mutilate the offender, how can
your courage but fail when the big soft
brown eyes smile mp at you from the
grimy little face and in baby jargon she
offers to divide the dirty and sweaty hand
full of sweets.
In a seat at one side is lady of gentle
birth, who is plainly tired of the day. The
happy family lose their novelty, and in
vain she tries to bury herself in the book:
her officious companion has tossed into hei
| lap at parting. The dainty fingers futtel
the leaves over and over, then they toy
with the contents of box of choice con
fections until, with tired sigh, she lean:
against the window, the long dark lashe:
meet the soft pink cheek, and in the Ian.
guage of the poet, and the newspaper re-
porters of earlier dates, she is "in the arm:
of Morpheus"
The little faded-out, nervous woman
envies the old gent with the face as broad
and smooth as benediction, who sleeps SC
comfortable over the way, and whose peal
ing snores fairly shatter the veneering or
the ceiling of the car.
Our twelve hours are drawing to clost
there is one more change, most de
cided one The air has freshened, every
thing appears bright and fresh; even the
train hands are fresh, and the boutenaire:
of dainty flowers they struggle under
whisper not only thatspring is side-trackec
very near Spring poets take notice., bu
each floral tribute conveys a whole buckle
full of sentiment from some maiden with
azure orbs to the knight of the wheel
Winding around the edge of old Monterey
Bay, the surf dashes in mad fury under the
soft light of the moon, and sharp shriel
of the whistle tears the stiffness at the
terminus of the road. All alone in STATE
we sit in the lonely coach. There is nj
one left to criticise.
ANNETTE REYNOLDS LoHRY.