From The Deadwood Bugle

f A few notes from that organ.) Day before yesterday we donned our frock coats and yellow gloves and dropped in at the office of the Chronicle to play a game of classic poker with the genial editor of that journal. There were four of us. The Chronicle man, Hank Judson, an eastern drummer and myself. The game had progressed fairly well until we reached a stage where a jack pot would be necessary. No one hollered for quite a while until the drummer at last called. He held three aces and a pair of kings. The Chronicle man held four queens and a king while I held a pair of aces and three tens. By a coincidence, Hank Judson happened to be coroner and he held - an inquest over the drummer. We are sorry to be compelled to relate this littJe experience of ours but law and order demands it. When an eastern travelling man strikes these parts he usually thinks that the forms and customs of the effete country, which he inhabits, will do here. This one I think found out that they are no go. He had no more than laid down his hand before he had three holes in him, through which the afternoon sun was merrily shining. The New York clubs may have their own style of game, but we are not used to it. We have many things yet to learn. We do not put ourselves up as perfect, and we acknowledge we once hung a man for a horse thief who was in reality a Methodist minister, new in these parts. But when it comes to the classical game of poker, we are on top of the dump and always correct. We have never as yet allowed a fellow, who used four decks of cards, to get away until he has added to his weight by about three ounces. We hope we will not be compelled again to make a man from the rising sun pass in his checks and then move quietly and without ostentation into the vestibule and through the portals of the eternal henee. We, as the editor of this journal, desire to express our opinions wit regard to certain things. Now tha Thanksgiving is a thing of the pas and as New Year's Day is en route our subscribers ought to begin think ing about what they are going to swear off. We do not wish them to infer that they ought to swear oí subscribing for this paper, as such is not the case. Among othe things, we think that long leggec Hank Jimson from up the gulch hac better break himself of the habit o: coming into our editorial room anc eating our tobáceo and chewing the whiskers off our quill pens. O course he can do as he pleases abou it, but if he is caught in our sanctum again there will be a little Smith ani Weston surprise party awaiting him in which he will be a silent guest especially toward the end. We wish our friends to enjoy themselves, but when they idly stroll into our office and squirt tobáceo juice over our costly appointments, something will drop. It is not our aim to be personal, nor do anything which in after years we shall be sorry for, but when we invest $3.50 in an upholstered arm chair, we do not do so intending it to be used as a cuspidor. If anything of the kind ever happens again, that rooster Jitnson, that unfettered horse-thief Jimson, will be asked to deliver a little farewell speech while standing on top of a barrel, under trie spreading branches of a chestnut tree, or any other kind of tree that is handy. As he is nearing the end of his discourse the aforesaid barrel will be carefully taken from under him and he will be rapidly jerked into the sulphurous regions of an indistinct future.