|FRIDAY was a large day in the office of this paper. A delegation,
consisting of Ed. Walsh and J. J. Clarke, train dispatchers of this
division of the Union Pacific road, waited on the editor hereof with
two tokens of their esteem. One, consisting of a bird that had been
taxidermed at Wyoming station by the agent, Mr. Gulliher, the great
corn-canner of the west, aided by another man who has, up to this date,
evaded the authorities. As soon as he is captured, his name will be
given to the public. The bird is mainly constructed on the duck plan,
with web feet and spike tail. The material gave out, however, and the
artist was obliged to complete the bird by putting an eagle's head on
him. This gives the winged king of birds a low, squatty and plebian cast
of countenance, and bothers the naturalist in determining its class and
in diagnosing the case. With the piercing, keen eye of the eagle, and
the huge Roman nose peculiar to that bird, coupled with the pose of the
duck, we have a magnificent combination in the way of an ornithological
specimen. Science would be tickled to death to wrestle with this
feathered anomaly.
The eagle looks as though he would like to soar first-rate if it were
not for circumstances over which he has no control, while the other
portions of his person would suggest that he would be glad to paddle
around an hour or two in the yielding-mud. We have placed this singular
circumstance where he can look down upon us in a reproachful way, while
we write abstruse articles upon the contiguity of the hence.
The same committee also presented a bottle of what purported to be
ginger ale. It was wrapped up in a newspaper, and the cork was held in
place by a piece of copper wire. As we do not drink anything whatever
now, we presented it to the composing room, and told the boys to sail in
and have a grand debauch.
Generosity is always rewarded, sooner or later. The office boy took it
into the composing room and partially opened it. Then it opened itself,
with a loud report that shook the dome of _The Boomerang_ office, and pied
a long article on yellow fever in Texas. Almost immediately after it
opened itself, it escaped into space. At least it filled the space box
of one of the cases full.
There was only about a spoonful left in the bottle, and no one felt
as though he wanted to rob the rest, so it stands there yet. If Mr.
Gulliher could put up his goods in such shape as to avoid this high
degree of effervescence, he would succeed; but in canning corn and
bottling beer, he has so far put too much vigor into the goods, and when
you open them, they escape almost immediately.
While we are grateful for the kind and thoughtful spirit shown, we
regret that we were unable to test the merits of the beverage without
collecting it from the sky, where it now is.
It looks to us as though some day Mr. Gulliher, while engaged in canning
and bottling some of his gaseous goods, would be lifted over into the
middle of the holidays, and we warn him against being too reckless, or
he will certainly meander through the atmosphere sometime, and the place
that knew him once will know him no more forever.
About two o'clock the following special was received:
[Special to the Boomerang.]
"[D. H. acct. charity.]
"Wyoming, October 27.
"Dear Bill Nye:
"We made the run from Laramie to Wyoming in one hour. Gulliher says, do
not open that bottle; it might go off. He sent you the wrong bottle
by mistake. It is a preparation for annihilating tramps, and produces
instant dissolution. We, after careful inquiry and rigid investigation,
find that the bird is filled with dynamite, nitroglycerine, etc.--in
fact is an 'infernal machine,' and is set to go off at 3:30 this P.M."