Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1910-06-07
TOLD ON AN OCEAN LINER.
Yarns Charles Battel loomis Heard
at Sea.

a
in the way of anecdotes and stories,
writes Chas Battell Loomis to the New
York Sun, but if your memory is
treacherous what are you to do? | al
ways envy the people who once they
have heard a story have 1t on tap in
perpetuity. For me l can generally
remember only the point, while the
leading up to it goes by the board.
Here is a story told me by an Irish
lady returning home after a lecture
tour in America and it is 700 years old.
1t is so simple that l think I have re-
tanned it's essence.
There were once three monks who
decided that "the world was too much
with them," and in order to find true
solitude they all went to live in little
island off the west coast of Ireland.
The island was beautiful, the solitude
peaceful and they dwelt together in
silence and amity.
At the end of the first year one Of
the monks, unable to restrain his
tongue, said: rs not this the true
life?"
Another happy year went by and
then the second monk replied: 1T is
indeed the true life"
After another quiet year the third
monk turned away from his brothers
and said: Unless you two cease chat
tering I will go back to the mainland"
The lady who told me this as we sat
gazing at the waves vouched for its
having been in manuscript form for at
least 700 years.
How many times it has been twisted
and changed since then! l have
heard it told not of spiritual monks
but of beer drinking Germans, but
there the action was almost too brisk,
for only an hour elapsed between the
remarks.
The same Irish lady told me a true
anecdote about that witty Englishman
Bishop Wilberforce, who was said to
be all things to all men and who was
called "Soapy Sam" by those who were
not friendly to him.
One day at dinner his niece said to
him, Uncle, why is it that you are
called 'Soapy Sam'?"
He arched his eyebrows and replied,
suppose it is because l get into hot
water so often but always come out
with clean hands"
But there was one yarn spinner on
shipboard that l to my sorrow did not
appreciate at his true worth until the
last day of the trip.
He was short and stout with a some
what Bryanesque cast of features and
a flow of language that his constant
malapropisms did not check. When a
word came to his lips he let it out with
great good nature, regardless of its
pronunciation or it's form.
He was absolutely without guile and
the story he told those in the smoking
room he told in good faith. l should
like to meet the joker who told it to
him; and l wish l had met my friend
sooner. l am sure that there were
more tales than the one in that round
head.
The yarn he told through the smoke
concerned that musical soul Mayor
Schmitz of San Francisco and his very
dear friend Abraham Ruef, the man
with the anything but rueful disposi-
ton. We had been talking about the
ships run and from that to this story
teller needs no steps.
was an easy step. Your true story
Il heard said he, squaring his
shoulders and sitting back, "a good one
on Mayor SchmitZ and Abe Ruef of
San Francisco. l come from Portland
myself. One day the pair decided to go
on a pleasure trip, hunting and fishing.
A friend l met on the cars coming
from Chicago to New York told me this.
$50 they started out with all the
proper saturnalia. They were going
for big game, little game. any kind Of
game and they didn't care whether
the law was on or off. The same way
with fishing. They had all the proper
equipages and they were going to
get fish, whether it was June or De-
cember or any month at all.
We'll, one of the game wardens got
wind of it and he didn't do a thing at
all Oh. no!
What did he do but put on a dis
guise, and then he sits down and with
all due informality he invites Messrs.
SchmitZ and Ruef to be his guests
while in the Little Big Horn reserva-
ton.
We'll, they were delighted. They
thought he was one of those English
younger sons with more money than
brains that have large estates in CAL
ifornia, I'm told, and they accepted the
ubiquity you bet.
We'll, of course, that's just what the
game warden wants. He knows whore
the big game and the little game end
any kind of game is and where the fish
bite best and he went into his hunt
ing lodge where he could laugh by
have; for it was illegal to shoot any
thing but rabbits and prairie dogs in
that particular month and he thought
of the elegant fines those malefactors
would have to pay.
He met them with a trap, my friend
said (wicked friendD, and they were
delighted with him from the drop Of
the hat. He had a fine red British
beard and a bushy red wig and his face
was naturally red and he told them
some lies about being an eXpatriate
Englishman who had been cut off from
his inheritance as n younger son but
had struck it rich in Nevada and had
bought this big estate.
They never tumbled to its being a
national park my friend said, on ac-
count of their being city men on their
first hunt.
Mayor SchmitZ had his riddle along
and when night came and the moon
rose they sat out under the alameda