SNAGS’ CORNERS.
The officials of a Michigan railroad that was being extended were waited upon the other day by a person from the pine woods and sand hills who announced himself as Mr. Snags, and who wanted to know if it could be possible that the proposed line was not to come any nearer than three miles to the hamlet named in his honour.
“Is Snags’ Corners a place of much importance?” asked the President.
“Is it? Well, I should say it was! We made over a ton of maple sugar there last spring!”
“Does business flourish there?”
“Flourish! Why, business is on the gallop there every minute in the whole twenty-four hours. We had three false alarms of fire there in one week. How’s that for a town which is to be left three miles off your railroad?”
Being asked to give the names of the business houses, he scratched his head for awhile, and then replied—
“Well, there’s me, to start on. I run a big store, own eight yokes of oxen, and shall soon have a dam and a sawmill. Then there’s a blacksmith shop, a post-office, a doctor, and last week over a dozen patent-right men passed through there. In one brief year we’ve increased from a squatter and two dogs to our present standing, and we’ll have a lawyer there before long.”
“I’m afraid we won’t be able to come any nearer the Corners than the present survey,” finally remarked the President.
“You won’t! It can’t be possible that you mean to skip a growing place like Snags’ Corners!”