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10 tos sotrmm warn*, stm 1, 1 m. Sotnq $ii[clq. THI KINO OP THE PU>N. paol h. stm. Tbe anoril la re-ebeatbed In Itl scabbard, The rifle bangs safe on tbe wall; No longer we qaall at tbe hungry Hot rush of tbe ravenous ball— The war-cloud has burled Its last lightning, Its last awful thunders are still, While tbe Demon of Conflict In Hades Ides fettered In force as In will: Above tbe broad Helds that be ravaged, Wbat monarch rules blissfully now? Ob l crown blm with bays tbat an bloodless— Tbe King, tbe brave King of the Plow I II. A King I aye I what Ruler more potent Has ever swayed earth by his nod ? A monarch I aye, more than a monarch— A homely, but bountiful Ood I He stands where In earth's sure protection Tbe seed-grains are scattered and sown, To uprlseln serene resurrection When Spring her soft trumpet bath blown I A monarch I yea, more than a monarch. Though toll-drops are thick on his brow; OI crown him with corn-leal and wheat-leaf— Tbe King, tbe strong King of tbePlowI III. Through the shadow and shine of past ages, (While tyrants were blinded with blood) He reared the puro ensign of Ceres By meadow, and mountain, and Hood- Ami the long, leafy gold of his harvests The earth-sprites and air-sprites had spun, drew rhythmic when swept by tbe breezes, Crew royal, when kissed by the sun; Before tbe stern charm of his patience Wbat rock-rooted forces must bow I Come I crown blm with corn-leaf and wheat-leaf— The King, the bold King of the Plow I IV. Through valleys of balm-drooping myrtles. By banks of Arcadian streams, Where tbe wind-songs are set to tbe mystic Mild murmur of passionless dreams j On the storm-haunted uplands of Thule, By Ice-girdled flords and Hoes, Alike speeds the spell of lilsgodhood, Tbe bloom of Ills heritage glows; A monarch I yea, more than a monarch— All climes to his prowess must'bow; Come! crown blm with bavs tbat are stalnless- The King, the brave King of the Plow. V. Par, far In earth's uttermost future, As boundless of splendor as scope, I seethe fair Angel—Fruition, Outspeed Ills high heralds of Hope; The roses of Joy rain around blm, Tbe lilies of sweetness and calm, For tbe sword has been changed to tbe plowshare, Tbe lion lies down with the lunb 1 01 angel majestic! We know thee, Though ratted and transfigured art thou— ThU lord qf life's grand romummalton Wiu once the swarf King of the Plow! —Home and Farm. Written specially for the Southern World.1 A CELEBRATED CANE. 8. M. A. C. "O yea Jedge, the new Cote'onse is line an no mistake. I hearn the bell full three miles from town, as I was acomin In this mornin, an what the pnper calls the ’orchis tortoorool effect of them red brick walls on white stone cornder poses, puts me plum in mind er this yere big red an white streaked peplment candy, the boys totes round ter the parties er Chris-raus. An the cupelo is fur all the worl like a bee hive on top on a pigeon house, an that aircornderstone with the buildin commitees names all cut on hit is so much like er grave-yard, hit makes me kinder sorry ter think they aint under hit. Hits fine—an hit orter be—seein, hit cost er hundred thousan dollars we didn’t have, ef we had er had hit, the spendin wouldn’t a bln nigh so easy, fer you know they’d er wanted er chance fer grabbin, though I rccken mabe the county can,afford it; but I'll be John Browned, ef it don’t 'pear ter me a squar shame ter spen a hundred thou san dollars ter house the niggers an loafers, an sich a lot of twenty-five cents magis trates, as right now sets on the bench of our county cote. No ’fense ter you Jedge. You know yourbissiness like erbook, but takeout you an one mo man, an they’re a lot of the Billy—be derndeat fools this side er Duck river. John House is bin er sendin round the big talk he made up in Congries ’bout “Civil Service Reform,,’ but in my ’pinion he’d a sight better acome home an sot in ter prechin reform er this here eitcivil service of oum, I call ’em that becase the whole kit an bllin of ’em is 'nough to make a perlite man sick. They’ve jest got the sense of a woodtick ter crawl on an itiek wherever they kin get blood, but as fer gettin jestice from ’em, er even law, the Lord help the feller what tries it. I bleve in honest men every whar outen jail—inside they wouldn’t fit over well ye know—but it alnt half so much our fun’ral who the Gov'ment 'pints Collector of New York er Gineral Post-office, as what sort er men ha* ter manege our every-day matters, roads, taxes, warrant-try in and sich. A magistrate orter be the best man in the deestric, an we did uster have ’em that way, but yere lately the o*le set’s gin it up, an now the biggest jackass without ears, is shore to git 'lected every pop. Yes sir-r-ee-e in the cool. The thing works just that way shore as youre a foot high, an there's a passel acomin in here frum my deestrict ter day that’ll prove every word I’ve been er sayin, an mo besides. Yer see at the Jinewary term, Squar Wel don resigned, said he was gittin too ole ter have to ride them fifteen miles every first Monday, an he'd hilt the offls so long, nigh twenty years, he thought twus some other fellers time ter take up the trouble an no profit on county business. Well sir, that sot the hive aswarmin, can didates popped up like frog-stools in a May rain and by 'lection day I realy believe thar was but fo men in the deestric—the ole Squar, Jones the squar that hilt on, Jack Weems the constable, an me—but what wasn't runnin. I aint got but jest’nough sense ter know I aint fitten ter ’tend ter no body* business but my own, an hardly that, but that little wus a sight mor'n the most of 'em had. Three what lived insighterme, wus each one shore they’d git it, fer one had kept over two barrels er hard cider, an treeted every body that come er-long; one had ercraper goober-peas an toted his saddle-bags full regler; an tothcrone gin out that he wus gwine ter sell sweet tater seed in the spring fifty cents a bushel lower ’n they could be bought anywhars else, and twould er made a dog laugh ter a hearn ’m o’ mornings, when I’d go out ter feed, a hollerin acrost the liel’s: “Good mornin Mr. Atkins, hows yer health terday,” or "Good mornin brother Atkins, how’s sister Atkins newrolgy?" er may be, “I'm gwine ter town neighbor At kins, what kin my waggin fetch out fer ye.” an let one begin, tothers would come in as lowd an pert as chicken roosters er Chris- museve. Never mind who I voted fer, you bet your boots it warnt none er them three, but I might a done it ef I’d a knowed Jack Weems’es game. Yer see, he wus fust one they all tried ter git fer ’em an the young vilyun jest fer his fun promused the last one of ’em his vote and influence, ef they’d keep it quiet, so ns not ter hurt his poplar- ity nn promise ter vote thcirselves, fer Billy Shepherd. Ye see, says Jack. He’s got no chance agin you an oughtn’t ter have none; but Bill’s a good feller, an ter save his feel- ins I’d like for him ter git one vote, an as you cant vote fer yerself, why he’s the safest man ter throw it away on, for he wont git no more you may be sartin, an the fambly think I giv that an it woont make no row ’tween me nn Mis Betsey; you know she’s my June sweetnin. Well sir, this thing worked like a fresh greased cart-wheel, an when the poll wus read out, picked geese never cackled inor, nor felt worst than that ’lection crowd; Fer Lias Brown had ten votes; Hard Cider,, thirteen; Goober-Pea, five; Sweet Taters, ’leven, and Billy Shep herd, seventy-five. The rest warn’t named, for ye see thar was nobody ter vote fer ’em, an I reckon them fellers would a-tar-an feathered Jack only they hated ter let on how clean he’d sold 'em out. That’s how of all the onfitten one’s; the onfittenest was 'lected. Than no harm in Bill. He kin work er farm by main strength an awkardness, an is honest as fur as he knows how ter be, but he's one er these here natural idjiuts that cant see ter the eend of his nose, an as fer larnin the Third Reeder’s Greek ter 'im; an as fer the “status of Tennessee" that Bquer Weldon passed on ter 'im, he’d a knowed no mo about ’em an a hog does of hollidy, ef Jack Weems hadn’t a read him some on ’em when he'd be up thar courtin Bets, an he’s such a slow listnener at even then, be didn’t lam fast enough ter spileAbe-hide; The fust trial before- 'em he run away an couldn’t be found, the next one, he set fer Bundy,-so hit missed fire too; but the third one he sthek, an I'm er Hessian ef he didn’t give us law that was a caution, a fa’ar sin ter Crockett. You know we’ve got a law that means, when you get it outen the tanglp er .whereas an hereinbefore* that a manshall.be. fined fifty cents for every cuss-word he says in the presence of a mag istrate, leflin in court,. an Bill had gathered from Jac^s reading of it,' that the thing was finable no matter whar it was done, ef only he heard it, an it made him feel like terbaker had"gbtte‘ 'up ’to twenty dollars a hundred, for, though our folks ain’t no worse’n their nabors, they use a heap er cuss talk to the squar inch; fact is they’re ’bliged to 4 fer mules need it, jest as much as they do salt mi woodn’t be healthy, nerdo half work The preachers have got to understan it so well, they’ve stopped all their foolishness er week-day preachin an never stir out ex cept a Sundy, an Jim Wylie’s got twomules that would make a preacher swear even to plow ’em in smooth land. He named ’em “The Devil an Tom Walker," an when he sot in ter breakin up his terbaker patch, a piece er stumpy second year’s ground, they kep him so hard at cussin that’is oldest boy done nothin but run back’ards an for’ards a fetch in water ter keep ’is pap from splittin ’is thote. Well Bill Shepherd don’t live no great ways off—a mile er such matter—an that day he was out er hog huntin an came ter the fence jest as tbe a’ar wus bluest, an Jim a rip-tarin round like all them devils that come outen the swine had got a bolt er him an Bill he stood thar an listened, an count ed, counted on an listened, tell he felt like he wus a made man. It hurt ’im mightly that he had ter stop at fifty nine ’cause he can’t count no further. I’ve heard ’iin go fifty-ten, fifty-’leben, fifty-twelve many a time at school; but he thought that wus a right smart chance, and streaked it home ter ask Bets how much that many half dol lars would be. Then he sot her down ter drawin out the warrant, fer lie’s too stingy ter buy blanks, and hit was er warrant shore ’nough. Hit soured Jack Weems good on his ’lection-errin when he had ter serve hit, an here’s the copy my boys made ter laugh over: March the fith 1800 an 80. In the state Tennessee. Toe eny ofeur in this Kounty, perticler Mr. Jack Weems: Dear Sim—You air kumanded toe take theboddieof Mr. J. Wylie fur swaring be fore a jus tess of pece and bring him before me toe pa’ his fine fur the same. William Shepherd. The twelf day of March ef not er Sunday. He swore SO oaths. Now Bets, ses’e when twus done fixed up “You must make out my ’count ergin ’em for fear I fergits some on it. Write fust, 1 plane — d— .60 1 — d— yo — — soul to — . . 1.50 1 double — every — hair on ye . 1.00 1 go Ye blue Devils ... .60 1 — yon, keep your — leg from over that — trace . . .1.50 Bets busted out a cryin, “O pappy se s she, I can’t write no sich awful langwidge. I know they’ll turn me outen the church fer it, and mammy’]] whip me too.” "Shet up yo racket," ses Bill sorter riled. “D’ye spose I do-know wlieets right, and a squar too—but ter savo paper you may finish it, an fifty-nine other oaths, like you done the warrant.” Says she, “that’ll make the count wrong. I have done put down ever so many.” “Shet up ye blamed fool,” ses Bill, "Didn’t ye hear me say he cussed a heap mor’n them meny,thnt I didn’t count,” So Bets put it down, and writ under hit the twenty-nine dollars an fifty cents, though she’d sense enough ter know as’er pappy didn’t, twas mighty funny arithmetic. When Jack sarved the warrant nex day, Jim fusv took it fer u joke an laughed tell he stumbled over backwards an rolled half way down the hill, but when he come ter understan twus butinces, he out cussed a campmeeting, Jim’s no slouch at it,anyway an flings eround er heap or onnesessary langwidge, but I don’t think the reec’ cordin angel orter take any ’count or what he said that day fer the feller’d a busted ’is biler ef he hadn’t er let off steam. Arter he cooled down a bit, he ups and goes ter Squar Weldon ’ with the whole story, an ater he’d liken ter laughed hisself inter a fit over hit, he tole Jim ter lay low an keep dark, he’d see ’im through the trial—an shore ’nough, when the day come he wus thar to act for Jim, an hit salivated Jack Weems wusser’n anything that ever hap pened ter ’im, fer though he hangs ’round Beta Shepherd case he can hug an kiss her all he’s er mind ter, he’s been a lovin' the grouii' Sophy Weldon walks on four year er mo, but daresnt tell her so on 'count er the ole gentleman; an he knowd ater this, the ole man wouldn’t 'count 'im no better’n a Shepherd; an I tell ye the fust ole Weldon of all would come outen ’is grave ef he knowd of hie stock a mixin’ an marry in' with sich as them. Ef the ole Squar could er stayed, he'd a squinched the rumpus right thar; but jes as co’te was openin 'is nephew John, come er tarin up, 'is eyes like dogwood blossoms, an ’ishorsersweatin’, an yellin' out, “Go home Uncle Peter, go home—ride fast er you’re ruined. The devil's ter pay an no pitch hot an mighty fur ter water.” An we all made sho the house wus afire er somebody dead, •rat least the sheriff thar with a writ er hocus pocus, but come ter find out, twus so oncommin warm that day the bees had sot in ter swarmin’, an the wimmin folks could'n manage 'em, an John wouldn’t, but come ater ’is uncle like life depended on it Of course the Squar never stopped ter ax what wus the matter, an Jim looked purty blank when he galopd off with sech er straight coat-tail, but I aidged up ter 'im an tole ’im ter let the trial go on anyway. Thar wus sich a many of us gethered in ter see the fun, we’d inshore he had faar play; an when that warrant an acount wus projuced an read, you could er hearn the laugh we raised half er crost tbe county; an when Bill Shepherd undertook ter ewar hietelf ter both uv ’em, we jes laid down an squealed like stuck pigs. Jack tried ter stop the idjiut, read out the law, an showd him whar he was mistooken, but twernt no go. Them $29.50 an costs had got inter Bill’s head beyant any man’s beat- in’ out, an he gin jedgiuent fer ’em quicker an you could say Jack Robeson. “Hole on thar,” says Jim, “1 disputes that air account, hit don’t fit right at the eend—besides, I said, black devils, blue devils is somp’n I knows nothin er about, an you’ve done charged me with the same thing twict over, a writin' down ye dams an double dams an fifty-nine other oathses besides, an I heard lawyer Quarles tell the jury in er murder case las fall, that twus what he called er le gal maxum, ef you found out er man ’ad lied in one pint you mus’ count he’d lied in all.” Bill got red in the face ns any turkey gob bler. "I’ll mash yo mouth ef you call me er liar,” ses 'e er crawlin’ outen his coat an Jim clinched ’im ter settle it right then an thar, but Jack Weems commanded the peace an entered the jedgiuent to stop the skrim- mage, while some mo uv us hilt um apart ontwell they pretty well cooled off. Then ses Jim, “Air. Weems, it seems ter me that taint zactly faar fer Squar Shepherd ter be plaintive, jedge, jury, an curseputin attor ney all his ownself, an I wants you now ter tell me how I mus’ go 'bout gittin me er re peal ter a higher cote?” "Easy enough,” ses Jack, “Jes make yo affydavy that you don’t bleeve you kin git jestice in this cote, by reason of personal bias, an move the whole thing befo some other magistrate—Jones, er Cowper either’ll do,” see Jim. “I’ll do that thing with as good er will as ever I et er w&termillion.” But befo the repeal come ter trial, Bill’s ole brindle dog hed got ter worry in’Jim’s bobtail bull, and made ’im break inter the Widder Beasley’s salute patch und skeered ’ermost ter death, an she sued him fer dam ages, an he went an shot the dog; an Bill sued 'im too; an Bill’s boy in er waggin met Jim’s in er curt, an wouldn’t give road ’cor din ter law, an the cart keeled over an that wus a damage case fer Jim; an ter sorter top off things, his ole sow an pigs run er foul er twenty new goslins that Bets Shepherd wus accountin' on ter raise her weddin’ feather bed; an they wus just a squar meal fer ’em, an by Jacks befo tbe thing wus all sot, thar wus sich a cross-firin' all along the line—ca- pies, replevys, saershori, supeny an so on, it kep three constables es lively as hopper- grosses a totin ’em ’round where they be longed. Squar Jones has got mo sense'n twenty ov Bill Shepherds; but he aint got the bockboue uv er dish-rag, an when all them thar mixed up cases wus brung on ’em atonct, he jest wilted right down an never opened his lips tell he wus ready ter give jedgment. Twus the liveliest time everseed in our precinct. Bill wus thar fer hisself, Squer Weldon for Jim, an ole Squar Cowper with the fust cleen shirt he wus ever knowd ter have on, but you see his ole ’ooman had been dead jes three weeks, an when he piped up “I come yere fer Miss Beasley," Jack Weems ses, “It does look like it—but ye can’t git'er without the license,” an sot us all ter roarin', but he didn't laugh none too hearty when Nath Sanders called out, "An Jack’s here for Bets an the goslins. Open cote now all the lawyers is come in;” but the rest of us made it up I tell ye. Don’t ax use ’bout that trial though. A dozen reecordin’ angels couldn’t er kep the straight on It. I gin it up at the start, an put in my time a laugbin at Bill Shepherd. He’s deacon, an couldn’t swar his dog wus any account, an he wouldn’t Bwar he wus no account, fer that would give his damages clean away, an the feller he depended on ter prove he wus er possum dog, had one er Job's biles, an writ ter Squar Jon es, “Igot yure supeny two the trile, I wood a come ef I cood a rode." So Bill didn’t know hardly what ter do. Jim swore that nis bull would’nt hardly bite grass if he wusn’t aggrefretted ter it, but wus a caution when you raised his dan-