The Russellville Democrat., 1891-07-02


The stranger was. And therefkas the
store asked him
What do you follow. sirfH respect
fully inquired the tradesman
a occasionally write for che stage.
sir. =
.'OhlT returned the tradesman In b
confused manner
HE means, said an honest villager,
with desire to help the puzzled trades
handbills for the stage drivers~
believe that story Is new, although
perhaps it is not of an uproariously
mirthfnl character; but one hears sto-
ries at the store that are old enough,
goodness knows-stories which, no doubt,
diverted Methuselah in the sunny days
Of his giddy and thonghtless boyhood.
Sometimes | 90 a-visiting to farm
house, on which occasion the parlor is
opened. The windows have been close
shut ever since the last visitor was there,
and there is a dingy smell that strug-
gle as calmly as possible with, until /
am led to the banquet of steaming hot
biscuit and custard pie. Ii they would
only let me sit in the dear old fashioned
kitchen or on the door stone--if they
lnew how dismaliy the new black fur
niture looked; but never mind, am not
a reformer. No, / should rather think
not.
Gloomy enough, this living ON farm,
you perhaps say, in which case you<are
wrong. can't exactly say that pant
to be an agriculturist, but | do know
that in the main it is an independent,
calmly happy sort of life. | can see how
the prosperous farmer can go joyously
a-field with the rise of the sun, and how
his heart may swell with pride over
bounteous harvests and sleek oxen. And
it must be rather jolly for him on winter
evenings TO sit before the bright kitchen
fire and watch his rosy boys and girls
as they study out the chaEades in the
weekly paper, and gradually find out
why my first is something that grows in
a garden. and my second is a fish.
On the green hillside over yonder there
is quivering of snowy drapery, and
bright hair is flashing in the morning
sunlight. 1t is recess, and the Seminary
girls are running in the tall grass.
Looking at these girls reminds me that
|, too, was once young and where are
the friends of my youth? have found
one of EN-, certainly. | saw him ride in
the circus the other day on bareback
horse, and even now his name stares at
me from yonder board fence in green
and blue and red aud yellow letters.
Dashington, the youth with whom /
used TO read the able orations of Cicero,
and who, IA declaimer on exhibition
days, used to wipe the rest of us boys
pretty handsomely out-well, Dashing-
ton is identified with the halibut and cod
interest-drives a fish cart in fact from
a certain town on TIE coast back into
the interior. Hnbertson, the utterly
stupid boy--the luIkhead who never had
his lesson--he's about the ablest lawyer
sister state can boast. Mills is news
paper man, and is just now editing
Major General down South.
Singlinson, the sweet-voiced boy,
whose face was always washed and who
was real good, and who was never rude
he is in the penitentiary for putting
his uEcle's autograph to financial docu-
ment. Hawkins. the clergymans son,
is an actor, and Williamson, the good
little boy who divided his bread and
butter with the beggar-man, is failing
merchant and makes money by it. Tom
Stink, who used to smoke short-sixes
and get acquainted with the little circus
boys, is popularity supposed to be the
proprietor of cheap gambling estab-
lishment in Boston, where the uncertain
prop is nightly tossed. Be sure, the
Army is represented by many of the
friends Of my youth, the most of whom
have given a good account of them
selves But Chalmerson hasn't done
much.
No, Chalmerson is rather of a failure.
he plays ON the guitar and sings love
songs. Not that he is bad man. A
kinder hearted creature never lived, and
they say he hasn't yet got over crying
for his little curly haired sister who died
ever SO long ago. But he knows nothing
about business, politics, the world, and
those things. He is dull at trade,-in-
deed, it is a common remark that ''every-
body cheats Chalmerson He came to
the party the other evening, and brought
his guitar. They wouldn't have him for
a tenor in the opera, certainly, for he is
shaky in his upper notes; but if his sim
pie melodies didn't gush straight from
the heart, why were my trained eyes
wet9 And although some of the girls
giggied, and some of the men seemed to
pity him, could not help fancying that
poor Chalmerson was nearer heaven than
any of US all!