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The Commoner.
NOVEMBER 15, 1912
13
4M $mU
Another "Nntnre Story"
Several months ago this depart
ment had a story from W. H. Van
Horn concerning a fish hawk's nest
and a snake. Another friend of this
department, W. P. Cable, was re
minded of another "nature story,"
and he is gladly given permission to
tell it in his own words:
Idaho City, Ida. To the Archi
tect: Reading Mr. VanHorn's ac
count of his adventure with the fish
hawk and the snake reminded me
of an experience on a possum and
coon hunt. ' Some might write it
"opossum" and "racoon," but a Ken
tuckian doesn't know what those
words mean. At the time of this ad
venture I was a small boy, and my
father had passed the half-century
milepost or rather yearpost. But
although no longer young ho-liked
occasionally to have a time hunting
with the boys. Of course The Archi
tect understands that tho possum and
the coon are hunted only at night.
On this particular occasion it- was
only father and myself. It being a
moonlight night we departed from
the usual practice and carried no
torch. We had met with no success
and were beginning to beat towards
home when we heard the dogs bay.
We hurried to them and found them
scratching at a hollow log. That
meant either a possum or a rabbit,
for no Uoon dog that has gone
through the grammor department of
coon hunting will chase a rabbit. We
should have inferred that it was a
possum if "the- entrance had been
larger, but in this instance it was
so small that we concluded the dogs
had disgraced themselves by tree
ing a cottontail. Determined not to
go home without a trophy of the
chase father cut a long, slim pole,
and telling me to guard a knot hole
at the further end of the log he
thrust in the pole and poked. Know
ing that a rabbit will not bit I thrust
my hands into the knot hole and
zip! my finger was nipped by a set
of mighty sharp teeth. I yelled and
jerked out my hands and they were
followed by a baby possum. Al
though a baby it knew enough to
feign death, as soon as the dogs
grabbed for it. Father drove the
dogs away and picked up the little
animal. "Wow!" he shouted; "I
picked it" up by the wrong end!"
That ho was correct in his surmise
was evidenced by a bleeding finger.
Father lived many years after that,
but I believe that was his last pos
sum hunt. Some forty-fivje years
have elapsed since that time and
"We hunt no more for the possum
and the coon on the meadow, the
hill and the shore," and the father
who hunted with me then has gone
to where, I trust, his enjoyment is
much more perfect than hunting the
possum and coon. But down to the
time when I shall bo called to follow
him and cross the dark river to the
other shore, every time I think of
father's shout, "Wow, I got hold of
the wrong end!" I'll lean back and
enjoy a hearty laugh. '
a diminutive pair of knickerbockers
for tho Smallest Boy. She dug tho
coat out just a few days ago and
here'B tho long lost letter:
Santa Ana, Cal., Feb. 20. To The
Architect: I do not claim eligibility
to the class of "gray hairs and easy
chairs," but when you speak of
"reminiscent moods," I beg to plead
guilty. Our winter evenings in Cali
fornia are just as long as they arc
east of the Rockies, but not so win
terish, as even now we have green
oats headed out. We spend our
evenings here in gathering around
tho landlady's cottage organ and
singing such old time songs as "The
Model Church," "When You and I
Were Young, Maggie," and various
other hymns, sacred, sentimental.
patriotic and plantation. We have
various stringed instruments and
we indulge in old-time games
and old-time refreshments. The fact
that we do not have a foot or two of
snow on the ground does not detract
one iota from "the pleasure of the
chase." Sometimes we go to some
neighbor's house and actually pull
off some such stunt as you folks did
on that pile of railroad iron down on
the Mexican border. Honestly, friend
Maupin, when I read your account of
that grand old "break down" it sent
a thrill through me. Why, talk of
reminiscent moods! I actually
imagined I could see you folks cut
ting the "figger eight," with "the
lady in the lead," and "down tho
center and cast off six," etc., etc.
And yet this vision was all tho re
sult of merely reading your account
of your impromptu daiuo. I enjoy
many leisure hours reading history
and Tho Commoner and various
newspapers, and by no means my
least enjoyment the reading of
"Whether Common or Not."
adornment than a mustache, and
then changes his system by starting
to grow a full beard, ho is subject
to many annoyances other than tho
almost intolerable itching that ac
companies tho first two weeks of tho
effort.
"vvnais mo mattor, oui man
can't you raiso tho price of a shavo?"
That's one of thorn, and of course
you aro oxpocted to laugh at the
Joko if you aro the one growing tho
whiskers.
"Como out from bohind that brush
pile and let mo seo who you are!"
joyously shouts another friend who
imagines that he has sprung a now
ono, and who is deeply hurt if a
laugh does not follow tho witty Bally.
"I'd raiso a full beard, too, if I
had a face like yours!" shouts a
smooth-faced friend. Then you
smother a desire to commit homicide
and smile feebly. But you have to
smile, just tho same.
"Ila, trying to disguise yourself
so tho police won't nab you, oh!"
shrieks tho witty gentleman whose
o 111 co is just across the hall. Then
he doubles up with laughter, after
which ho goes cackling on his way,
fondly hugging tho delusion that he
has embarrassed you,
Tho only solace in tho wholo mat
ter is that about two-thirds of theno
wits could shavo themselves with a
bar of soap, and arc merely Jealous
of your ability to grow a beard that
can bo neatly trimmod down to a
"Van Dyko" or parted in tho middle
like a pair of Nottingham curtains
And then, Just about tho time thai
beard begins to show some disposi
tion to respond to kindly training,
you aro invited out to some swoll
social function that demands a
"boiled shirt" and a clawhammer
coat. You hoBltato for a time, de
bating whether to accept tho invita
tion and rcmovo the whiskers, or
send regrets and cling to them.
Finally, In about nine cases out of
ten, you grab at the excuse and hiko
for a barber shop.
Old Adage Verified
George F. Baor now denies that ho
ever gave uttornnco to that famous
"divine right" Bcntimont. Hut that's
all right. Maybe ho did not say it,
but actions spoak louder than words.
Extra Special Club Offers
A Mislaid Letter
The" following letter was received
more than seven months ago, but was
mislaid. The facts aro, much as you
may doubt them, tho letter worked
through a hole In a coat pocket and
got down into the lining. The coat,
having served The Architect's pur
pose, was cast aside. The thrifty
Xittlo Woman rescued it and laid it
away against the time when it might
bo utilized in making carpet rags or
An Explanation. Not an Apology
Now comes a young friend of this
department who registers a protest.
His name is George Merrill, he lives
at Goble, Oregon, and he is only
eighty-six years of age. It is very
easy to see by the tone of his letter
that he Is old only in the matter of
years, and years count for but little
if one's heart remains young. Mr.
Merrill protests against Tho Archi
tect referring to his children as
"kids" or, "kiddies." I deny ever
referring to them as "kids," but I
insist that the term "kiddies" is sanc
tioned by centuries of usage as a
term of affection and endearment.
As "bairnies" is to the Scot, so "kid
dies" is to the Briton. It is neither
slang nor "baby talk," as friend Mer
rill asserts, begging his pardon for
the contradiction. "In your depart
ment of The Commoner," writes
Friend Merrill, "you seem to have
got the idea into your head that you
are an old man." Wrong again! I'm
as young as any of tho kiddies, for I
take no account of passing years.
They only mark time, not life. Why,
Friend Merrill .is only thirty-six years
older than I am, and he is still a
young man. I am not old, nor will
I permit myself to grow old. I'll
admit a growing disinclination to cut
plgeonwings and run races, or to
actively engage in baseball and other
athletic sports, but not because I am
growing old. Far bo it from so! It
is merely because I get more enjoy
ment out of watching others doing it.
Tho Penalty
When a man who has approached
the half-century mark in age with
out ever wearing any other facial
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