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About The Sunday Oregonian. (Portland, Ore.) 1881-current | View Entire Issue (Nov. 18, 1906)
I i : : : : : : : : ' i SS ",lr" ' ' iiu " t00PXE1GHT xsoe, BY THE NEW YORK HERALD COMPANY.! i u irmny ourtng chlclcans, tcnaerl IL, lambs and other ilva stock had been carried oft by the wild beat-ts of the Kentucky riiountains that 1 the negro inhabitants rose aa one 1 nian and passed a vote of ven geance. A fund of thirty dollars was raised to outfit the Big Game Hunt ing Club, witli instructions to kill every thing In sight that showed teeth or flour ished a tail. Several bears were reported in the gulches of the neighboring moun tain and Red Bud Jim, president of the Hunting Club, was ordered to bpare neither the living nor the dead. Owing to disappointment in getting his hunting clothes and delay In finishing up a brew of moonshine whiskey. Red Bud Jim gave notice of a week's postponement for the hunt. This was his ostensible reason. But facts .pointed to a circus; U had come to Sarsaparllla Centre for a two night show, and the country expected to turn out In a body. That night an event occurred which ipaxalyzod the Hunt Club. Soma wild cats or bears from the moun tains entered the menagerie Just before daylight and bit the nook of the giraffe, stampeded the elephants, whlon destroyed most of the saloons In town, and nearly ruined tie show. That was too much for the citizens. Red Bud Jim was ordered to mountains at once and kill bear for a week. A big crowd assemhlpri rioon to see the hunters off. Rfirl Rn iimi carried an old army rifle with a bayonet. Budd Taylor. had a double barrel shotgun' (owner unknown). Deacon Todd said hi would not "Jlne" the party, but he'd have his doss ready, and if Hie "bar" came that way his Kentucky rifle, with its patched bullet, would kill the critter at tha first hot. . MIbs Lucy Ann, as usual,' was in for sport. She carried the whiskey for the crowd. Shs wore polka dot stockings and a smile a yard wide. Her mother. Relink Bluegrass, was In the height of Kentucky fashion In an old automobile, coat and a pair of opera aglsses, "jess to see it da bsast 1 dead when he's shot' All rode mules except Red Bud Jim, who was mounted on a swayback cavalry horse hat naa Served In the Cuban war. They made a picturesque appearance as they pranced out of town and galloped away over the pike toward the mountains. It Should be explained that they did not forget tha dogs. No man, woman or child in Kentucky travels a mile without a dog. One was an English "p'imer dog." It had been a gamester In Its day, but was de moralised by the petting of Miss Lucy and her friends, who fed It on hand cooked meat and canned fruit and made It wear a big blue ribbon day and night, which is enough to ruin any dog. Then there were fierce bloodhounds, ready for prey. . Tha party had not proceeded more than: half a mile before they- discovered the freak of the show, a big jackrabbit, some what gifted with human soeech. Just enough to speak a few words in a squeaky, squeally way, a sort of a cross between a cat and a parrot. The show Deonle de clared they could understand the freak. It certainly was the most remarkable rabbit aver seen in that part of the world or in any other. The dogs paid no attention to the creature, while tha pointer had his nose In tha direction of tha old woman's rams bag, which was filled fat with pork sandwiches. To give all the particulars or that jour ney through the mountains would take up too much space. Everybody had been pitched oft a horse or mule once or twice In trying to follow the supposed bear trails In the mountains, but all were "game," and on the cluh rode through the grand forest. Suddenly the pointer dog, with the big blue ribbon around its neck, started off, with the bloodhounds trying to get free from their leashes, held by the old woman, Belinda. It was a spirited, ride, the mules loping over logs and rocky creeks, with tha swayback army nag cantering alonj? Ilka a rabbit, and tha big dogs close on the scent, filling the woods with trielr cries. The hunters were stumbling over some loose rock at the foot of a cliff, where bear tracks led into some holes near the ground under projecting ledges. That lit tie pointer dog with the big blue bow on its neck ran for the game, and sure enough out came a frisky young bear snorting and sniffing with tha blue ribbon disappearing through the trees like a shot. The second-hand "bloodhounds sought shelter under the mules. Lucy leaned up against Red Bud Jim, who was at her side, and would have fainted dead away but for the unearthly yell of her mother with the bloodhounds. One of the big dogs, smell ing the grease that had dripped on her shoe from the fat pork sandwiches, began licking at it. The old woman thought it was a bear biting her. Her yells fright ened everything within gunshot. Tha bear On the Decline By Albert E. Hunt. HAS letter writing become a lost art? The query is suggested by a re cent editorial In a local newspa- I I per, lamenting the decline of epis- tolary correspondence. Doing so. it also raised a peculiar phase of the question which is worth considering. "Probably few men In this age write let ters unless they have to," it said, "but where are the women? They are, or should be. the letter writers." This provoked a Brooklyn woman to re tort with an emphasis unusual for that pastoral city of refuge. She demanded to know why women should be the letter writers? Have they more time? Have they more opportunity? Have they type writers? Have they nothing to do at home? Is It not as much effort for them to put their thoughts on paper as it Is for the men? Vt'im mucn more to mat. ai feet. Vow. there Is matter for melancholy m that reply. Instead of corroborating the editorialist and enlarging upon the talents of women as letter writers, which for the greater glory of her sex she should have i both are more or less intellectually en done, the Brooklyn woman evades the Is- dowed. for tha commonplace letter does sue. More than that, by the Intemperance! and what might be termed the Jerklness of her epistle she unmistakably upsets his argument. Which, perhaps, was her pur pose after all. But let us take up the two parts of tha proposition in order. Undeniably it Is trua that few men write latter nowadavs. ex cept, perhaps, the very young men. By letters In this connection Is meant not those formal and brief business documeatjjthero should be system and arrangement 7 IF I? gave two or three ci grunts and wad dled off at dog-trot up the valley. At the same time the steeds bolted, and never stopped until they reached the open coun try. It was a great sight when the Sarsapa rllla Hunt Club of Kentucky found Itself lined up alongside the bushes fencing in Deacon Todd's wheat field. Courage had returned. The dogs looked savage and growled ferociously. The little pointer dog with the blue ribbon on its neck braced up and yelped as if giving defiance to a whole menagerie of bears. . Just then some otfher dogs were seen bobbing over the hill ftom Deacon Todd's noose, and about the same instant the pointer dog got ecent of what was thought to ibe big game, and ran spinning down Che meadow fence toward a clump of wal nut trees far away on the other side of the farm. Then it was that the club members showed the mettle that was in them. It was like a scene wltih the Rough Riders. The mules laid (back their ears and sped Mray witlj their hind legs cutting geomet rical figures in the air. The big swayback war horse seemed to smell a battle afar, and he, too, threw 'himself Into contor tions of Joy. In about half a minute the Sarsa-parilla Hunt dub was tumbling head first and feet up in parabolical curves to ward the centre of the earth, but, unfortu-j nately for tihem, they landed on hard! grouud near some rocks. The horse and j of Letter Writing and the which go by the name and which pass through the medium of a second party namely, the unsympathetic typewriter. The term anDlies to those intimate ef fusions which your true letter writer comes to with Joyous anticipation, or cuurae, he must know the person he Is addressing. He must be assured of understanding and appreciation. Chesterfield, himself one of the best of letter writers, said that a let ter shows the person to whom it is writ ten as well as tha person by whom it Is written. Granting, then, that the writer knows how his letter will be received, he goes to his purpose with pleasure and enthusi asm. , He rolls his sleeves above his el bows, he . chooses a pen that will not splash, he sprawls over his desk and he writes with a fine freedom of soul, pour ing himself into his pages, yet with enough self consciousness to pause occasionally for a pet phrase or to polish off his pe riods. Which is. Indeed, a proper trioute to the receiver. Let us. for tha sake of Illustration, sup pose he Is writing a love letter to tha lady of Tils heart. We assume, of course, tnai not enter into the present argument. That! being tha case, what a glorious messenger, what an exquisite go-between and tale bearer is the letter! Rousseau, prince of sentimentalists, said that to write a good love letter ona ought to 'begin without knowing what he means to say and to end without knowing what he has said. But that will not do. Neces sarily, thought comes as ona writes, but KlU HGJ,ir the mules are prdbably running yet. The little iblue ribbon dog, once a glori ous English "ip!nter," poised his nose to ward a lone tree and wouldn't budge an inch. But the 'bloodhounds set up a series of mournful howls, and to a spectator half a mile away it semed as if all of Kentucky was on a fox hunt, with a few bears and wildcats thrown in. Budd Taylor was the first on his feet and began calling tthe roll. "Here I Is." shouted Belinda Bluegrass, hoarsely. "I'se here, too," chirruped Miss Lucy, with a strawlberry smile on each ltp. "Jess put my name down In big capital letters, for I'se har too," said Red Bud Jim, taking fresh squints at his rifle, as he sharpened the bayonet on a boulder. " 'Xamine my 'natomy and see if any bones is broke," said Miss Lucy. Red Bud Jim pinched her all over, and said she was as sound as a ripe water melon. Budd Taylor said he was all right, and Miss Lucy's mother, who was eating pork sandwiches and licking the pork fat off the opera glasses, said "I'se in da best ob health, dls mawnin. tank youse. Hope you'se all well an' 'provin'." "But how is dis hunt goln" on wldout the hosses?" added the old woman. "Don't you lose no sleep on dat ac count," said Miss Lucy. Dese brave men haint worryln' about hosses. Dey's all hosses demselves, and the day will prove It, or I ain't no ya'.ler gal." "D&t's dead right. Miss Lucy," said No one Is more captiously critical of let ters than the beloved, although often they themselves are not aware of the fact. The lover always has something to say to his lady, even though he has already said It to' her every day tor the last year. Therefore, It becomes a question of saying it well, and therein lies the advantage of the letter. It is only in books and on the stage that the lover Is eloquent and im passioned to the point of romantic beauty. In life he cuts a rather foolish figure. If he only knew It. There la always some untoward circumstance to detract from the charm. Sometimes It Is a wagon which chooses to pass at the wrong mo ment; sometimes It Is a cold In the head, sometimes mosquitoes. There are a thou sand and one drawbacks. Besides, the hardest words In the Eng lish language to say are. "I love you." And the deeper the love, perhaps, the harder the expression. Ask your average man in what terms he proposed to his wife and vou will be surprised to And how few used that simple phrase, but this is not an in fallible test, since most of them have for gotten. In a letter the case is vastly different. With a nimble pen. reserve and reluctance depart. Then I love you Decomes 'too Sara and primitive. A whole lexicon of other words may be employed to express that thought, but dressing it up with liter ary embroideries sentences which would sound absurd If spoken, but which read most poetically In the throbbing silences of milady's boudoir. Flowers of rhetoric are avoided by the writer of good taste in such an epistle. PrrjfrH"" of f"cy iends an appearance of o Budd Taylor, "we're agoln' to turn dls hunt into a glorious fiasco ob success 'fore de day Is ober." At this very instant a Whole meadowful of hysterics broke on the ear. Miss Lucy's mother had her eyas fixed on something near a tree and was laughing like a maniac. But she had reason for hilarity, for there at the foot of a tall sassafras, sitting on his haunch, sat the talking Jack rabbit from the show, making a noise like a squeaking cider mill, and apparently trying to say something. Then the pointer dog started off again, with the Hunt Club on foot following him. After a lively dash across field they came to a halt near some black walnut trees, and there stood the pointer dog. Immovable, with Its nose Axed on prey. "Hit's big game, shore," screamed Luoy Arm's mother. "She dat big mouff ob yours," screamed Miss Lucy. "You'll skeer de bar again." Perspiration stood on the forehead of Budd Taylor, Who said "de news Is too good to be true. Jess han' me dat flower pot ob licker, an" I'll pre pare for de work ob de hour." Then all hands took a drink, and before they had finished about a gallon of the strongest Kentucky Moonshine was inside them. Later Budd Taylor wanted to take the nozzle off of the flowerpot and pour the liquor Into them as they lay half intoxi cated on the green sward. But now the bloodhounds began to gt busy, and the pointer advanced to the Art of Writing affectation and makes the whole thing sound unreal. Yet there are verbal em bellishments which. If adroitly applied, certainly carry a charm, a subtle aroma which lifts the heart message above the mediocre. And this is well, because love, though common. Is never commonplace. In this connection it is hardly worth while discussing the mere technicalities of the art. A misspelled word may destroy a passion If the lady is of a literary bent. Only the other day a woman obtained a divorce because her husband spelled "enough" "a nuff." but that was before the new system came in. We are talking. however, of those who have been to schcol. All that is needed. In short, for good letter writing of the amatory kind Is fer vor, naturalness and grace. Then every body may become an adept In the art if he has a mind to. The trouble Is, to mis appropriate Lamb's phrase, so few have the mind. Possibly that is the reason why men do not write love letters any more. They are so busy "moiling in the gold mills" that they have lost the trick of the softer graces. It Is doubtful if many women are won In these times by letter writing.. But what of the women, as the editorial ist says? In spite of the Brooklyn per son matron or maid? undoubtedly they are the letter writers of to-day. But they write,- for tha most part, to one another. The woman who Indites a love letter in the full, rich sense of tha term Is rare. There are good reasons for this. Women are not permitted an equal degree of frankness with men. For tnem t pour Jthemselves out with the sama ardor and very foot of the tree, lifted his nose ana pointed straight for a limb about twenty feet from the ground. Miss Lucy said it must be big game. Her old mother said it was a ghost she could tell by its shadder. But Red Bud Jim thoug-ht he saw a bear, while Budd Taylor thought it was only a catamount, yet mora dangerous than a bear. Red Bud Jim fired first, both barrels sim ultaneously. He fell In a heap, and when he came to his senses said the gun kicked worse than a mule. Budd Taylor picked up courage and moved forward, gun in hand, with bayonet pointed directly in the direction of the game. As he was about to shoot. Miss Lucy went into hysterics. The dogs howled and tried to break from their leashes, and then the talking rabbit from the show stuck his head out from behind a big dock leaf and squawked out something like this: A Jav blnl sot on de top of a limb; He winked at m. and I wlnkrd at him; I picked up a rock and apllt bla abin. And aald, ''Now, Jay bird, wink ai'in." This broke the spell and brought every member of the Sarsaparllla Hunt Club to his senses, and for the first time Miss Lucy revealed the whereabouts of the game. Sure enough It was a Jaybird on a visit to Kentucky from Jonesborough. Union county. III. Tot feeling very well that morning, the Jaybird had taken a before breakfast constitutional, and by chance was meditating on the mutability of affairs Love Letters copiousness would be unbecoming and In congruous. They are the beloved, not the lovers. Men love; women love to De loved. Every woman Instinctively recognizes this distinction. That Is why so few o them write letters that are satisfying to the unthinking lover. Is a complete re versal of the case. They can make love better by speech or by silence than by writing. Whereas men wax eloquent with ink, women grow timid and restrained. And when they do write love letters these are generally stilted and wordy, even i though the warmest feeling may glow be- tween the lines. True, there are exceptions to this, but KV.rtc.-n ,ra on 1 v for a. blessed few. What can be more delicious than a woman's letter that rings true in every word ana thought and suggestion? It Is the flower of life, the consummation of all poesy, a glimpse of infinity. It is the lark sing ing at' Heaven's gate. And, being so, who shall presume to frame rules, and regulations for its mak ing? Every man will write his letters in his own nature-given fashion, and so will ever "-" , "J- V . factory, lJJm them Therefore the whole argument, though pleasing, is futile. Those who care to do so will write love letters whether they know the trick or not. and for the rest, as Christopher Sly said, "let Oie world elide!" Dr. Marcus Fltsherbert, a negro phy sician, who in early life was a shoemaker. Is recognized as New England's leading specialist In electro-therapeutics. n Deacon Todd's farm, when tne nolsa of the Hunt (Tub attracted its attention. Thus it was that the bird had witnessed the runaway when the war horse and mules threw their riders and galloped away Into the forests. Then everybody collapsed, and some time next day they were over their spree and assembled in the rooms of the club, where Bud Taylor was to make his report of the great bear hunt. In substance, he said: "We found seventeen b'ars In a tree, keepln" watch ober a lot oh young cubs playin' In de sun at de mouff of a cave on de groun' below. Den we saw a lot more b'ars on all de odder -trees yarahouts, mak ln' altogether somethln' like two hundred b'ars, wid at least forty cubs, each one as bUr as a spring shoat. "Howsomebber, we weren't skeered and Jess turn the dogs loose on de-m cubs. Dat made ebery b'ar Jump to de rescue. Now, as de rocks projected ober de place where de cubs was playin" under de ledge, de b'ars hit da sharp pints ob dem rocka, and more'n haf ob dem b'ars was killed right dar on de spot. Meanwhile de dogs pulled de cubs out an' piled dem up like cord wood bettween de trees. We counted de carcasses ob de cubs free times, an foun' only one missln'. We counted de b'ars all dat nigvht, and dan contracted wid Deacon Todd to hah dem skinned, dressed and packed in barrels for winter eatln' by de club." The applause and hoorah that followed this statement Fhook the building to Its centre, and the gallery noons were beard to crack sveral times distinctly. Ths meeting would have closed with unani mous approval but for an impertinent question asked by (Budd Taylor's rival for the hand of Miss Luoy. "I wan' ter ax Jess one question ob d honor'ble genleman speakin' from de cneer. "Wat came ob all dat whJskey in dat waterin' pot dat Lucy Ann's mudder I carried?" Here the assembly broke into an uproar stones, umbrellas, hats and canes began' to fly about the room, and the meeting finally closed in great disorder, with no one to ask what became of the rest Of the boar. The club was reorganized, nowever, a month later, and the man that stole the swayback horse and the mules was sum marily dealt with. This restored confi dence in the club, and now the squawk of chickens Is heard in Kentucky roosts every love-jniglu in the week. COLOR OF THE BRIDE'S GOWN. T is interesting to note that the cholc of white for wedding dr.-sies is com paratively a modern fashion Th Roman brides wore yellow, and In the most Eastern countries pink is the bridal color. During the Middle Ages the Renais- Jance Drmes wore crimson, and most of Plantagenet and Tudor queens wer. married In this vivid hue. It was Mary Stuart who first changed the color of bridal garments. At her mar riage with Francis II. of France, In 1633 which took place not before the altar, but before the great doors of Notre Dame she was gowned in white brocade, with a trail of pale blue Persian velvet six yards in length. This Innovation caused quit a stir In tha fashionable world at that time.