have seen a native workman with his shoulder
blade in his arm-pit, his face cut to ribbons, and with pieces of
casting sticking to his back through the carrying away of a crane, cavil
against the idea of being taken into the township where the doctor was,
lest his old woman, unused to a town life, should find the surroundings
uncongenial. This in a broken, muttered whisper, twelve hours after the
accident had happened, during which time every new arrival had been
called upon to witness the peculiar nature of his injuries.

Much has been said about the terrible wickedness of the lower-class
native, his gambling, his immorality, his almost fanatical desire to
murder everyone he sees; and for complete and detailed lists of crimes
and monstrosities appeal to any newcomer, who will be delighted to hold
forth on the subject; but when one has lived with them and worked with
them under varying conditions, and has suffered in some degree what they
suffer, one hesitates to condemn them offhand.

Blackguards they are--but manly, humorous blackguards. Immoral, one must
confess them to be, according to our lights, but even in England "Custom
from time immemorial" is held as law.

The vast majority will steal raw hide gear as a cat steals fish, but
will not touch your money, much as in a community of young men property
is common to all with the same exception. They will lie if scared, or
rather will substitute for the truth something they think you would like
to hear, and they will do as little work as you will let them.

But, have a bad case of sickness in the house and ask a man to go out at
midnight with the carriage to get the doctor, or to go on horseback on
his own horse twenty miles for medicine, and he goes as quietly and
pleasantly as though he were going about the most commonplace work. He
expects no tip, no extra wage, nor is he lauded as a hero. He may have
come down, horse and all, in the dark, but is happy if he has not
smashed the bottle of medicine, and he resumes his work on return, just
as if he hadn't been up all night riding at a hard canter over broken
ground full of holes and snags.

No, he is by no means an ideal worker, neither is he half so bad as he's
painted, and I'd rather meet him in the next world than lots of men who
boss him in this.

MY FRIEND THE AXEMAN.

MY FRIEND THE AXEMAN.

Eighty square leagues of dense forest. One is inclined to feel a trifle
small and overcome when this fr