Another
fellow, picking a mouthful off a codfish, remarked that you couldn't
always tell about these confounded ministers. Frank Cooper, the editor of
the _Banner_, though he looked pained when he saw the name "Old Bourbon"
on the jug, and noticed the immense size of the jug remarked that it was
the best way not to condemn a man till the returns were all in. The
reverened gentleman was interrupted in his preparation of his sermon by a
neighboring lady who just dropped in to tell the news, and when she sighed
and told him that his jug of whisky which he had ordered from Neillsville,
was in the express office, he could hardly believe his ears. He had
always, to the best of his knowledge and belief, tried to lead a
different life, and this was too much--too much bourbon. Scratching out
the last line that he had written, which was something about something
biting like an anaconda, and stinging like a ready reckoner, he put on his
coat and started down town, resolved to face the multitude, conscious of
his innocence. He approached the express office a little nervous. The
crowd filled the street, and as he passed a raftsman with red breeches on,
said he wouldn't have such a nose as that on him for a hundred dollars.
"He is full now," said another, as the Reverend gentleman put his hand on
an awning post to steady himself in the trying emergency.
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