Year: 1869

Cheyenne.


A correspondent sends the Kanka-
kee (Ill.) Gazette the following lively
sketch:


Everybody in Kankakee knows
Mollie. To those of our readers who
are so unfortunately circumstanced as
to be compelled to live away from
Kankakee, we will say that Mollie
had no other name. She never had
father, nor mother, nor brother or
sister, that anybody ever knew of.


She never had home outside the
county jail. She was brought here
In 1861, from New York. She never
knew what school was; she never
heard a sermon; she never was inside
of church; she never heard of
Sunday School: she never heard
kind word spoken; she never was So
Der a moment when she could get
whisky, and she could always get
whisky when she could get out of jail;
and she was always out of Jail when
she made so much disturbance that
the jailer could not keep her in; and
she was always In Jail when she made
so much disturbance out that she
could not be endured. She was Re-
publican by profession, and a Demo-
crat by instinct.


She swore the most terrific oaths
with greater volubility of tongue than
could be done by any person who
lived outside of Chicago. She talked
the vilest, and sang the worst songs,
she was filthy as the lowest, aud slept
out doors more nights, and in doors
fewer nights than any other being
who ever l. eu.a When it rained the
fastest and froze the deepest, Mollie
would get the drunkest, and was then
the happiest. She would have been
an excellent subject for the late Social
Science Convention to have operated
the social evil out of her, for she had
a great deal of it. The police feared
the Common Council made ungallant
remarks when they audited bills
marked Diet for Mollie In county
jail" and these bills they audited at
every meeting; and the jailor was
known on several occasions to make
use of downright profane language
when he saw the police and the ire
pressible Mollie marching, arm In
arm. up to the Jail door. What she
lived for nobody knew. That she
would not die, everybody knew.


80 wicked. though young, so mouldering
away,


Like the dog in the story 'each dog has its


day.


That death, in its ravages, was passing
supposing 10 doubt he had killed her be-
fore"


But he had not, and Mollie still
lives, wonderful instance of the per-
verseness Of woman refusing to do
that which everybody thought she
ought to do-die.


Mollie was not the only wicked per-
son in this city. There was Jim" )"
an aboriginal Momence, of whom but
little is known here; but unless ma
ture lied in Jim's face. head and gen.
eral makeup, he was worse, wick
eder and lower than Mollie. He
made the acquaintance OF Mollie In
Jail, while confined on charge of
stealing nine drinks of whisky from
an Alderman in Momence. That they
courted, is true: whether they loved
or not is not known. She begged to
be released from Jail, and promised to
marry and emigrate to Cheyenne. The
Common Council voted Mollie a new
dress, and the happy couple sixty
dollars to pay their fare on their mat
rimonial trip.


They repaired to the Office of the
Police Court. The Police Magistrate
has an original way of doing things.
They said they wished to be married.
The Magistrate, with uplifted hand,
said:


Jim, you dc agree to take Mollie,
and live with her, and go to Cheyenne
with her, and stay with her regardless
of law and consequencesY Yes"


Mollie, you do agree to take Jim,
and live with him, and go to Chey-
enne with him, and stay with him,
irregardless of law and consequences"
f" Yes"


Then / give you these two rail-
road tickets, and order you to stay
there until the vigilance committee
doth hang you both. Amen"


And Jim and Mollie took their de-
parture.