The Colfax Chronicle

MONTGOMERY, LA., June 13, '77.

Editor CHRONICLE:

Can't stand off any longer; bound to "come in." I wish to call more attention, especially on that parson's coat. Now, sir, whose business is it if that minister wishes to put a whole alpaca factory in one coat? It is his say so about such matters. Then, maybe he wants the mantle of charity thrown over him for some little misgiving he may have had. Then, again, when he gets down in a Baptist neighborhood, he can draw in just under that coat like a land terrapin in his shell; in common parlance-dry up. No more about the coat.

The rain! the rain! We have had a good one, and the farmers are all glad.

Mac's scrape with the bovine species is nothing. We had a scene that eclipses Dan Rice's "Bran New Show." and best of all, only two parties were engaged in the little fete, namely: a mustang pony and one of the town boys. He described such a pretty circle; but earth's attraction brought him down, lighting principally upon his right eye, cutting a nice little Turkish ensign, and the side of his face looking like the map of Texas with a rotten potato smashed on it. When he sat up in the road his ears looked like (as only his ears can look) two banana peelings hanging out of a spittoon. He was slow in getting off what he did say; but finally it arose above the din of falling fishing poles, frying pans, canteens of snake bite extract, etc.., but it was to the point, and the mischievous mustang did get a little round lecture, if he had only stayed to listen; but he did not stay, he was off like hot shot, and succeeded in running over only two persons before he got out of town.

Watermelons and peaches will soon be in. Then Brodie's cordial and gin slings will be in vogue.

Pompey Holmes, who is fleeing from justice at Natchitoches, is hardly out in the country, and we think he will be safely in hand, as he is being pursued by parties from here.

Fishing season is being enjoyed by the youngsters, and it is said they have one fisherman in their crowd so fat that when he gets on his back he can't get up again, and reminds one of a gosling.

Snakes are plentiful, you know, and of course there is a never-failing remedy.

With tears of regret I bid you adieu.

O. B. JOFUL.

When a Connecticut peddler stops a funeral procession up there and tries to sell the occupants of the carriages mourning goods, the people call it business.