Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1897-10-15
MY PET THE PARROT.
HOW he RELATED THE STRANGE
STORY OF HIS LIFE.

Two Hundred Years Old and veritable
Imp of Satan Master of Thirteen Ian
guages and More Than Twenty Dialects
and a Wise Old Cove.
Just how l came into possession of that
parrot / decline to state. Far into the
night sat alone with pipe and glass pom
dering various methods to rid myself Of
my unwelcome guest, who sat near me
with head on one side, surveying me with
what seemed an evil and triumphant leer,
a veritabie feathered monster a spectre as
ominous as the raven on the bust of Pallas
above the poets chamber door.
And as we sat there in this uncongenial
fellowship the bird began talking to me,
discussing of it's past life.
II nm 200 years old mostly" it re-
marked, with kind of caokling laugh
"I've been nearly all over the earth and
speak 10 languages, with more than 30
dialects. I'm very wise old cove, and l
know verythng that's on. was born,
sahib, in tamarind tree in Pujah, India,
and at very early age l acquired all the
esoteric mysteries of theosophy as the ex-
perimenting subject of a genuine mshat-
ma. On all the transcendental problems
of the soul l am away up in G. For ex-
ample, sahib, can tell you exactly what
you were in your previous states of exist
ence Back in the silurian age you were
pachyderm, with club feet. During the
flood you were sea serpent, with an alb
normal tendency to discover yourself to
Noah at inopportune times. Later you
became sacred ass in Egypt and as such
lived to ripe old age, but died of over
feeding and became u Roman campaign
orator. Then you were burned fora hereto
in Spain and hanged for Il cutpurse in Eng
land. l can remember well when you
were Wanda, tho kings fool And now
you arc-but we'll let that pass. We were
fated from the first to meet. You would
hardly recognize me in this disguise of a
parrot rs ono of satan's ablest lieutenants,
but such am And nothing can ever
part us now.
"Out upon you, lying tiend!" l cried in
a rage
"Por Dios, senor!" the parrot returned
savagely, lapsing into Spanish. "You
may yet feel ouchilla in your back, mi
amigo, if you don't guard your tongue.
When was still young, became the prop
erty of a Spanish bandit, and there was
death for hard word Santissima Maria,
what life that was, senior! We hid in the
arroyos and cut down the Moors as they
passed How many-quien sabeS Thou
sands maybe Que disohosa soy Gilberto
gave me to his little Josefa that night
when she found him with blade in his
own back, and it was l that told her who
had done the deed. Gilberto himself did
not know, for the blow had come from be-
hind So told her it was her rival, the
pretty Bonita, and that very night she
killed Bonita and herself too. And if
lied-well, corajo, it is all the same in a
hundred years Then the fat monk, Fran
cisco, took me, he who drank him self of
Amontillado por el amor de buenos Dios,
as he said piously. l overturned the light
on him one night and he was SO full Of
alcohol that he blew up
"Your mission on earth is murder,
them" queried flercely.
"V'la, mon amiP' cachinnated the de-
mon. Have it as You will. flew to
France. Sacre bleu! Zere es more excite
ments zere, monsieur. Ze kingdom ees
lettering. ! presents myself to re mag
nifque poet, Jean Petard. Bien! He will
preach to me 20 doctrine of re proletaire
He will read me re thrilling poems Of leeber-
tee Mon Dieu, how he rave! How he
shake hees feest toward 20 Tuileries when
no one see and say, 'Vive la republiquep
Ha! ha! ! laugh as sink of heem. He
was so beeg so fat SO poetical All, lie
renomme, 10 puissant ct lie moult honora-
BILE cheyalier de la bourgeoisie Fla ha!
Today re Bastille falls. Ze canaille are in
20 streets; zey shout, zey swear. Hola
From &c window of Jean Petard scream:
: Vive le roi Vive 10 rolf Ma fol Ze
curses on Jean Petard ley sink eet
heem. 'Vive 10 rolf cry. Hola ley
climb re stair, zey break re door, zey rend
ze magnifique Jean to pieces in zair fren-
zyl Obi hol hol Hal ha! hal"
Bird of infamy," exclaimed, "your
fate should be no better than Jean Pc
tard's!"
"Hoot, mon!" returned the parrot, with
a ohuokle. II dinna mind your threats.
Bide o vice. Ye haena kenned a.. A
fleeing royalist bore me to bonny Scot
land, and gle me to Flora McNIull, the
bonniest lassie in a the highlands. Donald
Brock, an honest and mettle lad, was
bouman of the McMulls over the burn
side, and he was nigh dafty wi love for
the lass. Mony the night he gleg skirl o
his pipes was blown sweet across the
heather, and the lass blushed as she heark-
ened to his love music. Then came the
rising Of the elan McMurtrie against the
McMulls and much drinking of brose and
much polishing Of playmores. Aye, 1T was
a dour time, mon when for ma mair than
an Ill Cliff puir laddie might CANT his
last on rickle of cauld stanes. One night
as the wind gowled in the trees and the
at the door, and Donald Brock talgled in,
a slockened and blae and looking sair
harried and uncanny. "Dod, friends, he
cried, they re after me-the MoMnrtries
and am eye weary from running in
the bracken. Ye maun ken that Duncan
MoMurtrie has been shot, and the gyt
fools put the dirdum on me. Hide me,
lassie, or I'll be haggled like tod And
he fell painting by the peat blaze
Aye, that will hide ye, ladder re-
piled Flora McMull, with an unco pale
face and flashing eye. And 70 shall have
and parritch and siller to flee
to the lowlands. She opened wee mite
Of door under the stair. In with ye
lnddie, said she. Bide there quiet bittie
and birstle. Quick Dinna ye hear the
hounds comingP Then she closed the door
and cast kirtle before 1t sac 1t might nae
be seen. And she was name too soon, for |
the MoMurtries came storming in from |
the wild night, looking over savage and
ready for olour. 'Wheesht' said Roy
Is Donald Brock herep' 'Ye
see foe yourself, returned the lass. Twill
be q sair dunt for him II he be, said the
phiel, for when the dawn coomes 70 may
zee him from your window girning in a
towr Then they searched the house from |