Chandler Daily Publicist. (Chandler, Okla. Terr.), Vol. 3, No. 223, Ed. 1 Friday, December 16, 1904 Page: 4 of 4
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The Cathedral at Burgos
When answered were the martyr's pray-
ers and sighs—
When the rude Goth was touched by
throes divine
And moved by Christian grace to build
a shrine.
Toward the bending heaven he raised
his eyes.
Hoping to see some temple In the skies.
Lo, there a shadowy North inspires de-
sign ,
The granite bowlder, nnd the broken line
Of gorge and cliff and arrowy pine arise!
So built the Goth, a distant sire of mine;
And yesterday, within this temple fair.
The strong, sweet savor of the mountain
pine.
Descend upon me. as before the shlrne
I knelt—and knew my Thor and Odin
there!
—S. R. Elliott In Llppincott's.
a
a
a
a
a
a
a
a
— o. n. in bi^iuinuu a.
s***"*”
gyfl-P''-
As we came down the Held of wav-
ing oats on Lavender bill, Chloe was
talking quite heroically of life.
Her hair had been blown a little In-
to admired disorder by the bluff wind
on the heath, her cheeks were flushed
with health and beauty, and she wa3
mistress and queen of herself an!
her domain.
For me, my eyes went from her
bright and significant face across tne
gray-green oats in which we walked
bieast-high, and back again In serene
contentment. What did It matter that
she was prepared to give battle to
the monster—Man? Let him perish.
"I can't really understand a sensi-
ble man like you taking up a position
like that,” said she.
I had taken no position, except the
one by her side, but I defended my-
self weakly.
"Well, you see, we Inherit these pre-
posesslons and prejudices from our
savage ancestors, I suppose."
"That’s just it,” said Chloe, eagerly.
"You admit It, then,? Savage! Of
course, they were savages. You’ve
given away your case.”
I never really had any case; but I
didn't say bo. “I suppose I have,” I
said, ruefully.
“You know It,” said Miss 3ohun,
firmly. "It is quite absurd to pretend
that women are one whit Inferior to
man, except, of course,” she added
quickly, "in regard to physical
strength."
“And even then there were the Ami-
tons,” I suggested.
She cast a glance at me. "Yes, there
were the Amazons," she said, “which
shows—"
"And the women do all the hard
work among the aboriginals,” I went
on.
She gave me another glance. “And
that again shows—” she began with
less confidence.
"Do you know,” I said, stopping in
midfield to observe her critically, "I
believe that If you only practiced a lit-
tle you would be more than a match
for a man."
She looked away across the corn.
"Do—do you think so?” she said, hesi-
tatingly; and added, after a pause, ”1
—I don’t think I’m so—I’m not what
you’d call muscular.”
“Well, perhaps not,” I assented, ex
aming her appraisingly; “but sinewy,
say."
"How absurd!” said Chloe, quite
snappishly, as she walked on. I fol-
lowed. The deep, spreading shallows
of the bushes at the end of the field
enveloped us.
"Another stile,” said I, cheerfully.
“Dear me, that’s the fourth!" said
Chloe, resignedly. “I do wish they’d
makes gates between the fields.”
"A stile's more picturesque,” said I.
“Very possibly,” said Miss Bohun,
Indifferently. "It’s certainly not as
convenient
"Ah," said I, smiling, "there's one
thing, at any rate, in which men are
superior. They can negotiate a stile.”
"Indeed!” said Chloe, loftily. "I
should have thought the feat was not
impossible for a woman.” I pursed up
my lips. “Any woman can get over
stiles," she said, warmly, Beeing my
skpetlclsm.
“O, I've no doubt,” I said, politely.
“It’s nonsense your saying that
when I can see you don’t believe it,”
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Queen of herself and her domain,
said Miss Bohun. "You're simply
pleased to be sarcastic all along.”
I shrugged my shoulders. She
marched coldly and confidently toward
the stile.
It took off a high ground, which, 1
suppose, accounted fur the absence of
a step. But there were two crossbars
to assist the climber. I thought
Chloe’s face fell as she noted it.
“Let me give you a hand," I said.
"Nonsense!” she replied. "I don't
want any assistance. It’s quite easy."
She put the hand which was not en-
cumbered by the sunshade on the top
bar and placed one neat foot on the
lowest. Then she hesitated.
"Perhaps I’d better take the sun-
shade," I suggested.
She did not answer at once; then.
"If you wish it,” Bhe replied nonchal-
“But I don't ride a horse this way,”
said Chloe, miserably.
antly, "though it's of no consequence.”
I took the sunshade and waited.
Chloc's two feet were no11' <»u the low-
est bar. She peered over. The stile
let down beyond in a big drop into a
kind of hollow or ditch.
“O!” said she. "I didn't—” I was
still waiting.
”1 wish you’d go on and not stare
In that atrocious way,” said she, with
asperity.
I begged pardon, vaulted the stile
with one hand, and strolled on. Pres-
ently I looked back. Miss Bohun was
seated astride the top bar, clinging
with both hands to it. Her face was
deeply flushed.
"Do go on!” she called out, vehem-
ently. I went on, leisurely.
But, somehow, I could not make up
my mind to walk briskly. She did not
join me, so I flung myself upon the
grass and pulled out a cigarette.
Then I heard my name called in a
distressful voice. I stood up and
looked round. Miss Bohun was still
astride the top bar, and she was pinker
than ever.
Please come—don't be so unkind!”
she cried, with tears In her voice. I
hurried back like the wind.
"Or, just give me your hand!” pant-
ed Chloe, nervously, lifting one from
the bar. “I can’t—it’s such a long
drop. I can't get my—”
Wait a bit,” said I, considering.
"You're half-way over now. You've
only got to lift that foot off the bar
and—"
"I shall go over. I know I shall go
over,” she said, pathetically.
"No, you won't,” said I. "It only re-
quires confidence. Imagine you’re on
a .horse and—”
But I don't ride a horse this way.'
said Chloe, miserably.
No," said I, "but men do; and
women are just as good as—’’
"It’s cruel of you—it’s beastly, when
I'm in such peril!” sobbed Miss Bohun.
"Now, just lift that foot,” I enjoined.
Chloe's weight lay limp on my shoul-
der. .
"I can’t get it free. It’s stuck,” she
said, pitifully. I moved closer, still
with my burden on my shoulder, and
loosened the dainty foot.
"Now,” I said. She lifted it ginger-
ly. “Don't mind about your ankles,” I
said.
"O, but am I—?” Her foot went
back. “Shut your eyes, please," she
entreated. I shut my eyes. The next
Instant the weight on me was doubled,
and two arms went strangllngly about
my neck.
As I have explained, the foothold
descended into a hollow. I went
down precipitately on my head. I saw-
several cornfields and two or three
stiles; also more than one Chloe. But
1 seemed content to be there. Miss
Bohun extricated herself quickly.
“O, are you hurt? O, how dreadful
of me!” she said. "O, please, do
speak!”
"I liked It,” I said, "and I’m only
hurt in one place.”
“V -you frightened n»” she raid.
T with a serious little laugh. "I'm so
sorry. Is It your head.”
I shook it, and sat up. “No; luckily
I was born thick-headed."
"Your—your knee?” she inquired
again, hesitatingly.
"Certainly not my knee," I replied.
"Then—” Chloe turned away. She
| might have asked further questions,
but she didn't. She was busy smooth-
ing her skirt.
”1 can't think why they make such
horrible things,” said she.
"O, but any woman can get over a
stile." I told her. She made no re-
ply, but turned right away.
"Please," I called, “won’t you help
me up?”
Miss Bohun turned back reluctantly,
t made a face of pain.
"It’s your ankle?” she said, with
sudden anxiety. I winced and took
her hand, and then I was on my ”9et,
with that hand in mine.
"No, it's here,” I said in a lower
voice, laying that hand on my Ip-art.
“It was here long ago.” I drew her to
me.
"Do you always do that to people
you help over stiles?” asked Chloe, be-
tween a smile and a sob.—Sketch.
CURED OF BAD HABIT.
Professor No Longer Expounds While
In Rocking Chair.
Dr. Abbott of the English depart-
ment at Columbia university used to
rock back and forth in his swinging
desk chair as he talked to his audi-
tors. but he has been cured of that
habit,” said one who attended his
classes last year. “It was this way,”
said he:
“One member of his class on compo-
sition handed in, as his weekly
theme, an exposition on ‘disagreeable
sounds.’ In its applicaion his was a
vivid description of a man addicted to
this rocking habit who once, while
addressing an audience, found himself
In a chair that squeaked. The distress
of the audience was so cleverly pic-
tured in the theme that the doctor
singled It out to read to the class.
"Singularly enough the doctor was,
while reading, rocking back and forth
In a chair the metal parts of which
badly needed oil. He had not proceed-
ed far in the reading, however, when
it dawned upon him that he himself
was the subject of the writer and that
he was at that moment very aptly
guilty of causing the kind of-distress
complained of in the writing.
“His comments on the theme were
delivered while standing, and now he
never rocks while speaking to a
class.”—New York Times.
Long Names of Persons and Places.
“In my travels,” said the sailor, “I
have come across some mighty long
names—in fact, regular jawbreakers.
“A friend of mine, worked on an es-
tate in Madras that was named Arade-
maravasadeloovaradooyon. That word
has thirteen syllables. The estate next
to Arademara (as they used to cal!
the place for short) was named Kami-
nagadeyathooroosoomokanoogonagr i a.
Kaminaga has sixteen syllables.
"A lady friend of mine was once as-
sistant cook for a family whose house
on the Isle of Mull was called Drim-
taidhoriekhilliechattan. Another lady
friend that I met in London was born
in the Welsh village of Lanvairpwil-
gwyngyll.
"Them is all names of places. Ain’t
they jawbreakers? I know some peo-
ple's names that are jawbreakers, too.
As fine a Spaniard as I ever drank
with was old Lon Nepomuceno de
Burionagonatorecagogeazcoecha of Ma-
drid—Louisville Courier-Journal.
Would Have Lost It, Anyway.
Col. Robert A. Pinkerton was talk-
ing about old times in Chicago. “I
used to know a man there who was
an ardent gambler,” he said. "He lost
his week's wages regularly in Dinner
Pail’ Hankins’ game.
“One Saturday evening the man
started home, via the gambling house,
as usual. A spasm of reform had
struck Chicago, and the place had
been pulled. The man tried to enter
the door, but failed. He walked out
into .the street and gazed up inquir-
ingly at the closed windows.
“Then he walked back to the door,
tried it again, but it would not open,
so he drew his pay envelope from his
pocket, shoved it under the door, and
walked calmly down the street.”—
New York Times.
Policeman's Laugh Stops Show.
One Kansas City policeman cannot
go to the theaters because he laughs
so long and loud at every joke that
he stops the performance. He was put
on a beat where his duty took him in-
side a theater for a few minutes ev-
ery evening, and he asked to be
changed, because he said the theater
people wouldn't let him stay inside,
even when he bought a ticket.
Before he was married he took his
sweetheart to a show once, but at the
end of the second act the manager
touched him on the back and said he
would have to get out. He had all the
actors laughing.
"But I paid "to see this show,” pro-
tested the policeman. “If you put me
out I shall insist on your giving my
money back.”
“We'll be glad to do that, all right,”
said the manager.
And they did.—Kansas City Journal.
Self-Sacrifice.
My Uncle Jim he’s jes' about
The smartest man on eartti.
He knows jes' where the muskrats live
An' what their skins is worth;
He knows Jes' when to plant yer oats
And when to out yer hay.
And w-iu-n to out yer
in' what the Russians
To hold the Japs at bay.
hay.
ought to do
He's alius goln’ 'round about
As busy as kin be.
A-glvin’ all the folks he knows
This information free.
An" people kind o' laughs to see
His luck grow wuss an’
i grow wuss an wuss.
"on see tiiui’s what a feller
Fur bein' generous.
gets
—Washington Star.
WAS TOO STRENUOUS.
Threatened to Ruin the Only Piano In
Faraway Nome.
One of the characters in Nome
Alaska, was Dick Dawson, who had a
saloon, dance hall and gambling hell
combined, and had brought his out-
fit, Including an automatic piano, down
from Dawson City over an almost im-
passable route.
One day when things were rather
quiet in the place, Oscar, the chief and
only musician on the staff, got to work
with the automatic piano and pumped
at the pedals in ambitious style.
He had ground out a lot of old-
fashioned home and mother songs,
when suddenly, without the least
warning, he struck into the "Ride of
the Valkyries.”
When the crashing opening chords
first sounded, Dawson, who was stand-
ing at the end of the bar, started and
looked around, to see what was the
matter. Then the music took on a
lighter tone, and as a delightful thrill-
ing run sounded out in the treble he
settled back to enjoy it.
Again came a clash and thump,
thump, thump, as the bass chords got
to work again. Dawson started over
toward the piano on the run.
“Don't bother yourself, Dick,” said a
bystander. "That's all right, that mu-
sic. That’s’Wagner."
“Who the -’s Wagner?” was the
answer. "I’ll kill that Oscar for let-
ting him spoil the piano!”—New York
Sun.
How He Meant to Reform.
When Dick Wintersmith was Con-
gressman at Washington,” said Phil
Thompson, "it hapened that a friend
of ours fell ill. His name was John
Wires.
"He drank considerably, John did,
and that last night of his life he had
spilt whisky all over his beard.
"He wanted it dark in the room;
so when the nurse went out he reach-
ed for the caudle and attempted to
extinguish it.
“His long beard, full of alcohol,
caught fire ir stantly and burned him
up.
"There was a great deal of grief
among us and consternation.
“ ‘This ought to be a lesson to us.’
decided Dick, ‘to stop drinking a
while.’
“ 'So it ought,’ assented Joe Black-
burn. ‘What are you going to do
about it, for instance?’
“‘Me?’ said Dick. ‘Well, it’s come to
this pass with me that I have firmly
resolved never to blow out another
candle.’ ”—New York Times.
Take Your Pillow Along.
Many people when away from home
find it difficult to sleep well in a
strange bed, and arise in the morning
with a sense of having passed a de-
cidedly unsatisfactory night. Vice-
President Knowlton of the Raymond &
Whitcpmb company, who ought to
know, says the trouble is all in the
pillow. It’s the pillow first, last and
always. He has slept in many lands
and under all imaginable conditions,
and years ago came to the conclusion
that with one’s own pillow at hand it
mattered little about the bed. On an
extended tour he always takes his pil-
low with him, stowing it carefully at
the bottom of the trunk for future
reference. “If 1 could start life over
again," he says, "I would learn to
sleep without a pillow (the only proper
way), but the art must be acquired
during childhood. The next best thing
is your own pillow wherever possible.
Try it and be convinced.”
Good Explanation.
The Rev. James T. Dougherty, rec-
tor of St. Mary’s church at Canandai-
gua, tells this story of his recent visit
to the St. Louis exposition: "In one
of the buildings I met a voluble Irish-
man in charge of an exhibition of Irish
relics. My attention was especially
called to the stump of a tree in which
was imbedded so firmly as to be irre-
movable, the points of a fine set of
deer antlers. 1 was interested. ‘How-
do you suppose the deer had come to
get his horns so firmly fastened?’ I
asked.
“ 'Surey I don’t know, your river-
ence,’ was the reply, ’but I think he
must have been “buttin’ in.” ’ ’’—New
York Times.
Knew How Freshman Felt.
The inauguration of Dr. Luther to
the presidency of Trinity college, Hart-
ford, which took place recently, sug-
gested an incident of a rainy day
some years ago. A freshman was walk-
ing along in front of Northam hall,
when the strap that held his books
suddenly parted and they were scat-
tered over the wet pavement He was
just about to punctuate his thoughts
with a few well-chosen words, when
he heard some one just behind him.
Catching himself, he glanced over his
shoulder and saw Prof. Luther, who
smilingly said: "Say it; go on and
say it—I never can, you know.”—New
York Times.
Knew What Was Proper.
Dr. William H. Tolman, Director
of the American Institute of Social
Service, tells a story of a "fresh air”
youngster who was received at the
country house of a friend of his for a
two weeks’ stay. "He was from the
slums,” said the narrator, "and sup-
posed to be ignorant of the comforts
of life, let alone the amenities. At the
dinner table the first day they handed
him for dessert a triangle of apple pie,
fresh, hot and delicious. The New-
Yorker inspected it and remarked:
’Apple pie and no cheese. Hell.’ ”—
New York Times.
The Azure.
'Tls only in the depths of blue
Man tines Ills clearest dreams fulfilled,
froi
ery
sillied.
Whole careful sorrows pass from view.
And every heart - cry's hushed
and
So would I wing my Joyous flight
To azure lealms whet-
Seas of the Bahamas
lure lies,
Blit-
zes!
—Ralph E. Fassett in New Orleans
— r.t. *
ere raptur
But not to yonder mystic height
1 11 -id my in aven In your eyes!
i Sf. “
T Imes -1 l-;ir c ctu t.
Very wonderful are the sights that
can be seen through the bottom of a
bucket if the bottom is of glass and
the sightser is looking over the side
of a boat into the waters of the Ba-
hamas. An observer writes: “To
describe the coloring of the waters of
the Bahamas would be to throw dis-
credit upon the writer. Nor could the
indigoes, ultramarines, vivid emer-
alds, with intervals of amethyst hue,
according to depth and floor, be done
justice to save by an experience paint-
er. What, then, can be written of
sights revealed through the bucket?
Even in this little garden patch grow
purple fans and yellow feathers in
clusters, gently waving to the ground
swell of crystal water, intermingled
with lace coral, brain coral and finger
coral; corals not as we usually see
them, dried and bleached, but living
specimens clothed by nature in soft
velvet, with other life of great variety
creeping and swimming among them
—long-spined sea urchins, sea cucum-
bers, huge gnarled star-fish and fishes
than which no butterfly was ever
more>gorgeously arrayed; fishes blue,
green, yellow, red and rainbow tinted,
with elongated fins wafted hither and
thither in harmony with their sur-
roundings in the submarine kaleido-
scope.
"Let us ‘up buckets’ and set sail east-
ward among the islands of coral. For
here all is coral, and not all nice coral
either; coraj which you cannot even
sit down on, and upon which a fall
would be harrowing to contemplate;
coral which tears the shoes off your
feet in two days and rasps your boat
to splinters in trying to land; treach-
erous, cruel and unbeautiful coral is
what appears above the surface, raised
in peaks and islands, intersected by
caves of great dimensions, supported
upon stalactite pillars and carpeted
with the old red cave dust. High
palms and fir trees adorn many
islands, others are bare; but all the
great beauty lies beneath the sea.
There are no tarpon here. Most of
the fishes of the west coast of Florida
are either absent or beautified out of
recognition.
"Suddenly a flock of flying fish wiU
take the air and, contrary to all we are
told by our naturalists, will change
direction, right, left or upward, with a
true flight, like a pack of sandpipers.
The great blue bee will test the fish-
erman’s tackle to the extreme, while
good sport is ever at hand with the
evil-jawed baracouta. The terror of
the sea appears- to be a great serpent-
like eel, called the moray. To quote
local authority, woe betide the man
who even permits the moray to sight
him. No use to run; equally futile to
climb the mast; nothing will daunt
the moray whose ire has once been
roused. He juBt drops that man into
the sea and tears him to shreds.”
Pussy and the Bulldogs
“It happen one day when you gone
off for whole week. I work in kitch-
en at window. I see one white silk
puss cat come creepy, creepy in the
yard. I no see his collar, his neck so
fluff, but I hear one little bell go tin-
kle, tinkle, tinkle. Pret-soon a missy
come round the corner all creepy,
creepy, too, with chopbone in her
hand, and she call so soft, ‘Come, puss-
cat, puss-cat, puss-cat.’ But puss-cat
he no care for dead chop when he can
catchy grasshoppers.
“Then quick before I think, whoop!
scat! the dogs go scooty ’cross the
grass, and puss-cat he all stick out and
spit, and then he shin up tree like
hell. And Brindle-Boy, he rush at
missy all mad, and grab her skirts and
stockings, and pull-tug, pull-tug, and
growl and bite like he eat her all up.”
"The beast!” exclaimed Barry.
"What did you do?”
The little Japanese man crew him-
self up with pride till he almost reach-
ed his master’s shoulder. ‘I grab big
broom and rush to save.”
"What did she do?” Barry persisted.
kicking angrily at the chair. "Did she
scream bloody murder?"
The little man’s pompous bravery
seemed to suddenly wither away.
“What she do? She just put back her
head and laugh all teeth and cry out.
'Isn’t he just too sweet for anything?’
all silly like that, and as I lift up
broom to club that dog’s head she
throw him lamb chop quick, and ne
stop bitey her feet, and she sit right
down on grass and cry, cry, all whitey.
And Brindle Boy, when he finish that
cnop he come lick her hands so nice,
and missy she kind of tuck up her cry
and run home. But white silk puss-
cat he no come down out of that tree
for two days, and bulldogs they go
round so sad and cough up white fluff
fur all time."
“Did they eat her cat?” Barry in-
quired as a matter of natural polite-
ness. He hated cats.
The Japanese man resumed his
fatuous smile. “They try hard," he
acknowledged. "They bitey deep and
often, but they no hurt white silk
puss-cat, he live so far inside.”—Elea-
nor A. Hallowell in Lippincott’s.
Perjury in the Courts
An interesting contribution to the
proof of the prevalence of perjury in
court proceedings is furnished by a
recent story of the restitution of $550
to a street railway company of this
city by the priest of a Polish church
in Manhattan, acting on behalf of a
woman who confessed to him that she
had obtained it as her share of a ver-
dict in her suit for damages against
the company by false testimony.
According to the story she testified
falsely by the advice of her lawyer,
who told her that if she presented
nothing but the truth In court she
could recover nothing. So she per-
jured herself. Of course the priest
could not be bound to reveal her iden-
tity and he did not, holding that he
had done his full duty to both the
woman and the company in securing
the restitution of the money fraudu-
lently obtained.
The story exemplifies the difficulties
so often met with by the railroad com-
panies in answers to the frequent
damage suits, and justifies, as far as
it goes, their complaints of the way
in which many of them are worked
up; a complaint that is often made by
many lawyers, who say that perjuri-
ous testimony is increasingly encoun-
tered in the trial of cases and particu-
larly those in which the foreign ele-
ment is concerned.
This state of things is encouraged
by the success which, as in the case
cited, is secured by perjured testi-
mony in the suits brought, but not by
that alone. It receives its chief en-
couragement from the immunity from
prosecution and punishment given to
perjurers and suborners of perjury
through the neglect of the authorities
to follow up the evidence and the
clews that would often lead to the con-
viction of the guilty. This prevalence
of perjury is, indeed, a matter of such
consequence to the community—even
more harmful, perhaps, than murder—
that it deserves the most vigorous and
rigorous attention of those who have
the power to effect a general reforma-
tion in it.—Brooklyn Citizen.
Future State of Man
Philosophic dalliance with the prob-
lem of a future state may be more
congenial to Dives than to Lazarus, if
there is nothing beyond this life, what
spectacle is the state of Lazarus in
the slums of New York! What a spec-
tacle is the life of the unfortunate
generally! What a spectacle is his-
tory! Schopenhauer said, not that this
was the worst of all conceivable, but
that it was the worst of all possible
world, and could not bear another
grain of evil. There has been and is
a terribly large proportion of the hu-
man race which might think that the
pessimist told the truth.
"Immortality” is inconceivable. We
must discard the term. The question
is whether our hopes and responsibil-
ities extend beyond this world and life.
Conscience says that they do. Con-
science tells us that this world, its
awards and its judgments are not all,
but that as we do well or ill in this
life, it will be well or ill for us in
the sum of things. What question ca
be more practical Even taking it on
the lowest ground, what would our so-
cial state be if vice and wickedness
had only to bilk human law? Would
not self-sacrifice be folly and martyr-
dom insanity?
That physical science has nothing to
say to this matter is true. But is phys-
ical science our only sure source of
knowledge? Are our mortal instincts
less trustworthy than our physical
sense? As I have already said, I af-
firm nothing; but I call attention to
the apparent fact that there is in man
something of which the materialist
still owes us an account. All may be,
and in a sense no doubt is, the out-
come of physical evolution. That
does not seem to me to close the in-
quiry.—New York Sun.
Lament of Uncle Hiram
We’ve bin n durned brave nashun,
We've fit a lot of wars.
An’ jes’ because we’re lucky
Then in the war with Moxicy
of 1
Our old eagle he still soars
And ’ll keep on soarin’ grandly
'I'lll some nashun w’at kin shoot
WiU put us out of blzness quick.
And swipe a lot of loot.
Most all of us c’ud shoot-
The man who c’udn’t hit the mark
Was called a darned galoot.
Jut w’en we laid our fambly fight
An’ lots of blood was shed
To kill a man it tuk about
Three hundred pound of lead.
W at’s the use of our manuvrin’?
W at s the use of guns an’ drill?
W on the shootin' of the nashun
1h so rank it makes you ill?
Wen the hull doggon’d caboodle—
'Cept some fellers on the teams—
C’udn't hit a great big barn door
Even in their wildest dreams.
Since then wc-’rc growin’ wusser
" ain.
An’ in that war with Spall
W’en climbin’ up that Joo-an hill,
We mist a mess
of pain;
c’ud hev’ shot
Fur if the dagoes c ud hev
Wed bin put on the bum
An' Mr. Sbafter by himself
W'ud had to sull fur horn
V'en wo fit fur Independince,
Ev'ry man cud shoot a gun
ixY the pickin' off the redcoats
-gage sites *
An' the plcl
Was a most amazin'
n’ w'ei
An' w'en wc fit in
W’en rifles was the
'e dubbled up tl
And some went
the redcoats
fun.
W’nt’s the use of ammunlshun?
wind-g
ig-r
em-
ell use pick forks
Wat’s the use of _ _
Vat’s the use of long-range rifles?
Wat’s the use of ’em—fur fights?
game.
the British troops
hon
me real tame.
We might Just as
Er a lot of good big <
Then per’aps w ed lick the enmj
Like the British lickt the Boi
cars
Ain’t I rite?
—Uncle Wlrara.
\.
_ \L
\
s
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French, Mrs. W. H. Chandler Daily Publicist. (Chandler, Okla. Terr.), Vol. 3, No. 223, Ed. 1 Friday, December 16, 1904, newspaper, December 16, 1904; Chandler, Oklahoma Territory. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc912852/m1/4/: accessed March 18, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.