St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1891-12-10

the wrong at all hazards.
! One dav Bimbe sat in his office
and man entered-a man over SIX
feet high and framed like buffalo
bull-a man clad in wolf-skin, with
| bowie-knife and pistols in his glrdle.
| us the editor here?' asked the
man.
Il am the editor" said Bimble-
The stranger smiled until his brown
face was corrugated like the bark of
hemlock tree. Then he pulled a
copy of the Scalpers' Bluff Bulletin
from his pocket and spread it open
I've come to see bout this yere
article on Cutter Wopper," he re-
sumed Il s'pose you writ it -
Bimble acknowledged the author
ship.
"Waal-now that amt exactly the
| shoot, old boss I'm Cutter Wopper
I'm the very coon. This yere thing
NAV hurt me. l want We to write d
in yer next paper, that We was entire
ly mistaken about Gutter Wopper.
Can We do it ?"
"Really, sir" said Bimble, some
what puzzled, Il Cannot
Hold on" interrupted the cyclop,
extending a hand that was like the
paw of a grizzly bear, 'we won't
have no words about it. l shall be
here next week and if we write the
honest thing, and print it, [ won't
take no offence. But if ye'd rather
back that yere article up with some
thin O. this Sort" patting the weap-
ons at his waist, "I'm yer man, and
it'll be all right. I'm in town every
week-and I'll call ag'in Goodbye,
SIR
Gutter Wopper departed, and Euri-
pides Bimble reflected. 1t was bit
ter pill, but discretion told him to
take it. He made further inquiries
concerning Mr.. Wopper, and discov-
cred that he had not before learned
half of that mans bold and reckless
wickedness He would as lief shoot
or knife man as to eat.
In the end Bimble sat down and
wrote as his instinct of self-preserva-
ton dictated. He was sorry he had
Mr.. Cutter Wopper. In what he
had written in his previous issue he
had been misled by the calumnia ting
reports of others; but he was now
obliged to state that, from author
ity which ought to be reliable, he
had learned that his i'll impressions
of Mr. Wopper had been false, and
that he had inadvertently done the
gentleman great injustice.
On the following week Mr.. Wopper
ordered two hundred copies Of the
paper for circulation in the Wild Bot
tom district; and month later he
was elected to the legislature.
Bimble made up his mind that he
was not cut out for political leader
in such a country, and he resolved
to confne himself to matters of gen
eral interest, and to cultivate if pos
sible a literary taste in the COM
munity of Scalpers' Bluff. Here, at
least, he should be at home. Here
he could WELD his critics pen with
out fear of such interlopers as Cutter
Wopper.
For time everything went quite
smoothly, though the patrons began
to complain that the paper was
growing tame and watery. One day
Bimble received, by mail, an original
poem for publication. 1t was en-
titled, Lines to my Sally" and was
the most execrable thing he had ever
seen in manuscript-abo minable both
in composition and in sentiment, and
as innocent of all knowledge of Eng
lish grammar as the wall of a wolf.
1t was signed Grizzly"
A brilliant idea possessed Bimble.
In his next issue he published series
of "Notices to Correspondents, in
which he alluded to Lines to My
Sally" by "Grizzly," as one of the
most brilliant and pathetic produc-
tons he had ever read. 1t was
literary Jewel from the mine of genius.
He was sorry he had not room for it
transcend in touching pathoes these
lines:
ION a rock sot Sal, 1ookin' gud enuf ter etc :.
Amt she trump, and a bower throw'd in ~
But he must forbear. If the poem
was ever to be published it must not
be mutilated by present extracts.
Bimble smiled when he had written
the article, and he smiled again when
he read it in proof. He regarded it
as excessively funny, and he had no
doubt but that his readers would do
the same.
A few days thereafter Bimble sat
again in his sanctum when the outer
door was opened, and a man entered,
who might have been a ghost of the
giant Blunderbore, if he had not been
too substantial for specter He
was tall and gaunt, dressed in cata-
mount skins, and when he spoke his
voice sounded like the rumbing of
falling rocks.
"Where's the editor?' he asked.
Bimble nodded and said he was
the man.
Good" rumbled the stranger
I'm glad I've lit on yer. 1t does me
good to see yer"
Bimble thanked him.
81 hammered danwn an, thou OH