Omaha daily bee., 1895-12-29
BILL, THE LokIL EDITOR.

Bill wus allu2 fond NV children nd birds
nd flowers Amt 1t kind O. curious how
metimes we find a great big, awkward man
who loves sech things? Bill had the biggest
! feet in the township, but I'll bet my wallet
| that he never trod on a violet in all his life.
| Bill never took no slack from emmy man that
| wus sober but the children made him play
with em and he'd set for hours a-watchin
the yallerhammer buildin' her nest in the
old cottonwood.
Now, / amt defendin Bill; I'm Jest tellin
the truth about him. Nothink kin say one
way or tother is goin' to make amy differ
once now Bills dead nd buried, nd the
folks is dscussin' him nd wond'rin whether
his immortal soul is all right Sometimes
hev worried bout Bill but | don't worry
bout him no more Nv course Bill has his
faults-I never liked that drlnkn' business
NV hs'n, yet | allow that Bill got more good
out'n likl<er, and likker got more good out'n
Bill than | ever see before or sence. 1t
warn't when the likker wus in Bill that Bill
wus his best but when he hsd been onto
one uf his bats nd drunk himself sick nd
wuz comm out of the other end of the bat,
then Bill wuz one NV the meekest nd proper
est critters you ever seen. An potry.
Some NV the most beautiful potry ever read
wuz writ by Bill when he wuz recoverin'
himself out'n one NV them bats. Seemed
like it kind of exauted an purified Bits
nachur to git drunk an git over it. Bill cud
drink more likker nd be sorrier for it than
any other man in seven states. There never
wuz a more penitent feller than he wnz when
he was soberin' The trubble with Bill
seemed to be that his conscience didn't come
on watch quite of'n enutf.
It'll be ten years come next spring sence
Bill showed up here. l don't know whar he
come from; seemed like he didn't talk about
his past. l alters suspicioned that he had
seen trouble-maybe sorrer. l recollect that
one time he got telegraph-Mr. Wins told
me bout it afterward-and when he read it
he put his hands up to his face nd groaned
like. That day he got full of likker md he
KEEP full of likker for week. but when he
come round all right he wrote pome for the
paper, nd the name OF the pome was
Mary" but whether Mary was his sister or
his wife or an old sweetheart of his'n
never knew. But it looked from the pome
like she was dead nd that he loved her.
Bill wuz the best lokil the paper ever
he'd. He didn't hustle around much, but he
had a kind er pleasin' wa NV dishin' things
up. He cud be mighty comical when he set
out to be, but his holt was serious pieces.
Nobody could beat Bill writin' obituaries
When old Nose Holbrook was dyin the
minister sez to him: "Mr. Holbrook, you
seem to be sorry that your passin' away to a
better land?"
Wall no, not exactly that" sez Nose,
'but to be frank with YOU hev jes one re-
gret in connection with this affair.""
whats that?" asked the minister.
81 can't help feein' sorry" seq Nose,
that I amt goin' to hev the pleasure uf
readin' what Bill Newton sez about me in the
paper. l know it'll be sumthin' uncommon
fine; loant him 81 year ago last fall.
The Higginses lost a darned good friend
when Bill died. Bill wrote a poem bout
their old dog TowZe, when he wuz run over
by Watkins hay wagon seven years ago.
I'll bet that poem is in every scrap book in
the country. You couldn't read that pome
wifi prViD'-w6V
brought a dew out on the desert uf Sary.
Old Tim Hubbard, the meanest man in the
state, borrored paper to read the pome, and
he wuz so fected by 1t that he never bor-
rored anuther paper as long as he lived. |
don't more'n half reckon, though. that the
Higgnses appreciated what Bill had done |
for 'em. / never heerd uf their givin' any
think moren basket uf greenin' apples, and |
Bill wrote a piece bout the apples mex day |
But Bill wuz at his best when he wrote |
ones that died, mean. Seemed like Bill had |
a way of his own Of sayin' things that wuZ |
beautiful md tender; he said he loved the |
children they wuz so innocent, and l reckon
yes, | know he did, for the PONIES he writ |
about em showed he did.
When our little Alice died l started out |
for Mr., Miller he wuz the undertaken. The
night wuz powerful dark, nd it wuz all the |
darker to me becuz seemed like all the light
he'd gone out in my life. Down near the |
road, for he wuz in likker.
"Hello, Mr.. Baker!" sez he "Whar be you
gon' this time o'nght?"
BILL" sez I, I'm goin' on the saddest err
rand Nv my life"
"What dye mean?" sez he, comm up to
me as straight as he cud
why, Bill" sez |, "oUr little girl-my lit
lie girl-Allie, you know-she's dead"
! hoarsed up so l couldn't say much more.
And BIZ dint say nothing at all; he Jest
nlrI IL. ~ n
and seemed like in that grasp his heart
spoke many words of comfort to mine. And
mex day he had a piece in the paper about
our little girl: we cut IT. out and put 1t in
the big bible In the front room Sometimes
when we got to fussin Martha goes md gets
that bit Of paper nd reads 1t to me; then us
TWO kind OF cry to ourselves, md we make 1t
up between us for the dead childs sake.
Well you can see how 1t wuz that so many
Df us like Bill; he had soothed our hearts
there's nothn' like sympathy, after all. Bill's
potry he'd heart in 1t; II didn't surprise you
or scare you; it jest got down in under your
vest, md before you knew 1t you wuz all
Nhoked up. ] know all about your fashion,
able potry and your famous poets-Marha
took Godey's for a year. Folks that live in |
he city can't write potry-not the real, gsn-
line article. To write potry. as / figure it,
The heart must have somethin to feed on;
you can't get that somsthin' whar there amt
.rees md grass nd birds md flowers. Bill
Owed these things, and he fed his heart on
EN-, and that's why his potry wuz 80 much
better than anybody else's
! amt worryn much about Bill now; ]
AXE 1t that everything is for the best. When
hey told me that Bill died felt that his end
,ughter have come some ther way-he wuz
90 good a man for that. But maybe after
Ill 1t wuz ordered for the best. Jist imagn
Bill a-standin' for Judgment; jist imagin' that
Door, sorrowful, shlverln' critter waitn' for
his turn to come. Pictur', If you can, how
ull NV penitence hs is, nd how full of potry
md gentlsness nd misery. The Lord amt
l-goin to be too hard on that poor wretch.
)f course we cant comprehend divine mercy;
We only know that 1t is full Of compasslon-a
infinitely tenderer an sweeter
han ours. And the more | think ont the
more reckon that Bill will plead to win that
mercy; for like as not, the little ones-my
Allie with the Test-will run to him when
hey see him in his trubble, and will hold his
remblln' hands md twne their arms about