Argosy, Vol. 1 (December 9, 1882) — page 174: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE SANTY CLAUS TO MY WILL. BY ROGERS PRESCOTT. Being the recital of how a horse became a constant nightmare to a well meaning friend of 2 volunteer officer on sick leave—An expensive and last Christmas gift which probably saved an American soldier’s life. A LL my intimate friends know that I did not go to war with Spain during the last summer. It is for my mere acquaintances that I am thus forced into print to explain my haggard looks and my outspoken opposition towards the government or the present administration, or whatever officials had the say about our going to war over Cuba. ~ The war, or, rather, the results of the war are my first causes S for com- plaint. If it hadn’t been for that scrap with the Dons I would be just one thousand and fifteen dollars richer than I am today, I would weigh one hun- dred and seventy instead of one hundred and forty pounds, and 1 would be beginning to shop for Christmas presents, instead of thinking seriously of going to Turkey, where there is no such pretty myth as Santa Claus, to spend the holidays, and discover, 1f possible, some clever hatr dye among the Mus- sulmen with which to restore the locks about my whitening temples to their original shade of brown. Two things rasp on my unstrung “nerves worse than anything else; the first name of the patron saint of children, “ Santy,” and the sight of a horse. If 1 ever see or hear of that bay horse with a nicked off ear, who answers to the name of “ Santy,” I am going to do desperate murder, and the coro- ner’s jury will acquit me as my readers will when they hear the plain, un- varnished tale which ts appended to this preamble. It all came to pass in this wise: When “the gaunt figure of war o’er- shadowed this fair country of ours,” as the political orators have been saying this fall, my chum had a bad attack of the war fever. He was a private in one of the regiments which did not go and resigned to accept a commission in a fighting corps whose services to their States and country extend a little outside the confines of Creedmoor and Peekskill. Well, Harrison Davis camped around in half a dozen places and drilled and drilled, and finally became captain. Then he went down to Florida, and for a change his regiment went into camp again. That is the nearest that my chum ever was to war. About the middle of September he commenced to look badly, and the surgeon advised him to apply for a leave of absence and go up home to get a little change of air. Harry did as his superior ordered him (the surgeon held the rank of major), and came back to New York, looking a little worse than I do at the present moment. We all knew what it meant when we-saw the boy. By “ * T mean his GONG OOO UN ceo