Newspaper Page Text
(BUu’vhm (ianb.
Z 1. A. WHEN,
A BIS ST
Has Heated fora short time at
DR. EDMUNDS’ GALLERY,
ELBERTON. GA.
WHERE he ilsprepaierl to execute every class
of work in his line to the satisfac
tion of all who bestow their patronage Confi
dent of his ability to please, he cordially invites
a test, of his skill, with the guarantee that if he
does not pass a critical inspection it need not be
taken. mch24.tf.
MAKES A SPECIALTY OF
Copying & Enlarging Old Pictures
BOOTS t< SHOES.
rnilE UNDERSIGNED RESPECTFULLY AN
-1 nounoos to the people .if Elberton and
surrounding country that he lias opened a first
class
Boot and Shoe
SHOP 3N ELBURTON
\VlK>rc he is prepared to make any style of Boot
or Shoe desired, at short notice and with prompt
ness.
REPAI3IIG NEATLY EXECUTED.
The patronage of the public is respectfully
solicited.
a..2'J-tf . W. GAKItIICIIT.
H. K. GASRDMER,
ELBRLITON, GA.,
iiY gogls siesuss.
il AUi)W ARE, CROCKERY,
BOOTS, SHOES, HATS
Nolions,
LiSHT CARRIASES & SiifiSlES.
U
- .
A:—— ' _ . ....
J. F. A F i/I)
AII ill Al! B jjJ AN I’ FACT" U
RI.“8 SI 2?TO %, ti S3® it 64 24.
WITH GOOD WORiOi ICN !
LOWIiST PRICKS!
CLOSE PERSONAL ATTENTION TO j
BUSINESS. and AN EXPERIENCE |
OF 27 YEARS,
, He hnvvea hv'hoheM Thu fair dealing to compete i
any other manut-ictory.
Ssxd Baggies, warranted, - $125 to $l6O
R Sl' A [KING AND IIL Af! KS MITIIING.
Work done in this line in the very best style.
The Host Karness
TERMS CASH.
M > 2 2 - ! v
THE ELBERTON
AIR-LINE HOUSE
IS NOW OPENED BY
G. W. BRISTOL & WIFE,
ON the corner of the Public Square, opposite
tlie Globe Hotel. Terms iva.onable. In
connection with the House is a
GOOD STABLE,
Attended by good hostlers. sojA-ti
S\ IN VOBI.ETT,
vmmhi mason,
ELBERTON, GA.
Will contract for work in STONE and BRICK
anywhere in Elbert county [jelG Um
PLANTERS’ WAREHOUSE! 1
llffi 6 CIJIB,
W AREIIO3 r SE iHSS C'<5J?S55 SSSOT
MERCIi AVI'S,
Building Lately Occupied by Mr. J. I>
James as a Livery Stasle.
ttj ILL give their personal attention to the
\\ Weighing and Storage of COTTON. l’at
lonnge respectfully solicited. Set>B—Cm j
.5. S. B.4RSETT,
ATTOII XEY AT I, A W ,
ELBSaTOSS, GA.
JOSEPH Si. WOillEI.
A T T O 11 N II Y A T L AW,
ELBSaTGH, GA.
\\7l[,L PRACTICE IN THE NORTHERN &
♦ V Western Circuits. oc 12,tf
CENTRAL HOTEL
JIRS. W. J 1 TIIOJIAS,
PROPRIE'i RRSS,
A. UGUSTA GA
15A V i EI.S V E 8,5. E. A.
J). E. MOSLLY, . . . Proprietor
Terms Reasonable. Special care given to Stock
’Ttlasita PAPER MILLS.
JAMES ORMOND, Proprietor.
For Specimen of NEWSPAPER, see this issue ot
this paper.
THE GAZETTE.
New Series.
KIDNAPPING A ROBBER,
The postoffice at Orbru-ille, a small
western town in the United States, was
a very important place. The worthy
postmaster kept a country store, where
he dispensed merchandise of every de
scription.
The district was comnaratively new,
and formed one of th so prairie villages
that sprang into existence miles away
from the other towns, and are a sort of
nucleus or trading post for a large ex
tent of country. Saturday was always
the principal trading day ; and Mr. Har
mon, the postmaster, and his assistants
were always overwhelmed with business
on that day.
But on the particular Saturday after
noon of which v. e wish to speak, trade
had slackened earlier than usual, and
the proprietor and his men were enjoy- 1
ing a breathing time, and chatting with
several rough looking fellows who had
gathered about the stove, many of them |
being strangers, for a stranger attracted :
but little notice *in that community of
new comers.
j “Here comes Charlie Gilbert, the very
: man I want to sets!" remarked Harm on,
as a horseman dashed up to the store
and dismounted.
• He was a tall, broad shouldered young
Hercules; and the large bay horse ho
rode looked well adapted to carrying
such a weight, and exhibited due equine
pride in serving his young muster.
Both horse and rider were well known
ad respected through jut the entire
settlement. Leaving his well reined
animal unhitched, Gilbert entered the
store.
“You are just tile pers >n I wanted to
see, •Charley ! ’ said Mr. Harmon.
“Singular,” said Gilbert “£ should
think you would rather not see mo as ,
you kn ow the object ol‘ mv call. Peo
pie are not generally so welcome when
they come for money. ’
“Well, lain anxious to get lid of the
amount I owe you. Fact, is, there have
been bn glars about and they tried to
break into my store last night, but were
frightened away; sol prefer you would
hold this money against mure successful ;
attempts of the land.”
And Mr. Harmon proceeded to count
out a large roll of notes.jwhich Gnbc.it
placed carefully in his goqkefc.. ;
“N<itv,VTTarlt-y,” said neighbor Hill,
one of the party seated around the
stove, “yon had hotter keep a lookout,
cause someone might stop you to !
night before yon coma back from Cran
ton.”
The allusion to Crayton brought a ■
slight blush to Charley's cheek, for it
was well known that bo was on his m-u
--al Saturday evening visit to a certain
young school mistress, who dwelt in the
neighboring settle merit.
“How do you know I am going to
Clanton?” asked Charley.
“Well I only suppose so, cause I have
heard said you do go that, wav about
this time o the week and Hill winked
to the crowd, who laughed ; and Char
ley Gilbert not desiring to discuss the
subject any further, left the store, and
mounting old Hero, was soon out of j
sight,
“Mighty fine chap, that Gilbert is,”
resume and Hill to his fellow loungers;
“been in the army and won his way, an’
now he has got his allotment of land
and will soon have one of the finest farms
in'the country."
The short autumn day came to a c.ose
and it was long after dark ere Gilbert
reached his destination, an 1 received
his usual hearty welcome from Sarah
Denton.
Saturday nights were the bright spots ;
in her dull life as a schoolmistress, and
were sure to biing her Charley. Old
Hero had carried his master over the
road so often, that he knew just what
was required of him, and needed no urg
ing.
It was late when Charley took his
leave of his sweetheart.
“Now, do be careful,” were her last
words, “for you know there might be
danger on the road, so many robberies
have been committed lately.”
“Never fear, Sarah ; Okl Hero will
take me home safely.”
And with a good bye kiss, he mount
ed and rode away.
The night was dark—no light except
the stars that sparkled crisply from the !
clear sky But, had it been ever so
dark, it would have made no difference
to Charley. His thoughts were on the
sweet girl he had jur.t left, and paying
no attention to his horse, he rode slow
lv along, intent upon the plans of the
future.
“The money I have received to-day
will enable me to complete my home;
then Sarah will be my wife, and we shall
live on the farm such a happy life,” he
mused.
A. long, dark patch of forest loomed
abend, on the prairie land through
w hich the road ran. and not until he had
entered its dark shadows, did he arouse
from his blissful reverie.
“What if I should be attacked ?” he
thought, I have nothing to defend
me, and enough money to make it a
good haul for such gentry. Humbug!
Ido not believe that there is any dan \
ger- —”
“Halt!”
And two dark forms sprang into the
road, and seized his bridle; and the
steely glitter of pistols leveled at him,
within a few feet of his breast, startled
him.
Like a Hash, his good right arm struck
the weapon from the hand of the rob
her, and fell heavily upon the shoulder
ESTAAJBX.IST-TP'.ID 1859.
ELBERTON GEORGIA, $QV s ll 3. 1375.
of the fellow ; and then with a sudden
jerk of the powerful arm he was hauled
over the saddlebow, while old Hero, in
response to a dig of the spur, sprang
the other robbet oft’ bis feet, and causing
his bullet to spread wide of its intended
victim.
On through the gloomy woods, and
oiff again upon the open prairie, dashed
the horse with his double burden, while
the robber struggle:! like a child in the
powerful grasp of his captor. A closing
of the fingers over his neck soon reduc
ed him to quiet; and held in this man
ner he rode an unwilling captive, and at
last the lights of Orbeville appeared,
and soon they were in the village.’ At a
word from the master. Hero stepped in
front of the postoffice, from the window
of which a cheery* light shone, denoting
tii it the assistants were busily engag
-led replacing ihe goods that had be n
taken from their places during the day’s
traffic.
‘•Hilion !" cried Gilbert.
A head appeared at the front door,
and a voice answered “Hilloa! Who’s
| there?”
“It’s me, John, an 11 have got some
thing nice here ; come and help me in
with it,” answered Charley.
‘ It's Gilbert,” said John, .addressing
his fellow clerk. “What’s that you've
got Charley l a sad He of venison ■■ ask
! ed John, as he approached.
“Better than that, it's a live deer.
1 Ceme and lift him down, but hold him
fast,” said Gilbert.
The astonished shopman gathered
about, and Charley fold t hem of his ad
venture. Soon the robber was released
from his unpleasant position on the sad
die and taken into the store, vvnere his
captor followed.
11.-re he was safely bound.
“I thiftk I have seen this fellow be i
fore,” remarked John, as he took a stir
vey of the captive. “He is the stranger
that was sittin * at the stove here
when Mr. Harm on paid your money,
Charley.”
‘•Let’s s>arch him, and see what sort
of plunder lie has about him,” suggested
one of the shopmen.
The prisoner's pockets revealed a small
flask of liquor, a pack of card’s, some
little money, and a savage-looking dirk
knife.
“J.'.ijloa, what’s thi: ?”* oxelaifru ft -Orb
belt, picking up a piece of paper that
fell on the floor, and opening it read :
“One t! i tus md dollars reward f< >r the
capture of one W illiam Larkin, the sup
pox e l leader of a gang of robbers and
horse-steal srs. He i-; a short, sli.n m; n,
uncut five feet ■ ix inches in height, dark
hair, h avy black eyebrows, and mons
tache, and,peculiar looking, small black
eyes "
“Answers the description to a TANARUS,”
broke in John.
“Aha William Larkin, or Curly Bill !
I've heard of him. Charley, you're in
luck ! Tliis fellow is a prize!” added one
of the assistants.
•• Yds ; this placard is from the sheriff
of Hr Joe, and is 'dated only a week
ago.” said Charley, after finishing the
reading.
‘ Gentlemen,” said the robber, “you
have got the oiigituil Curly Bill, and
when you deliver me up, you will get
that reward. lam in your power ; but
these strings are bound around my
wrists unmercifully tight,” with a
grim nice of pain. “Can’t you afford to
make ’em easier ?”
“Yes, jet them out a little, Jones,”
said John, addressing his fellow as
sist uit. “Make them safe, but not too
tight, and I will watch the bird mean
while.
With a sudden jerk of prodigious
strength, Curly Bill got his bonds free,
dashe 1 his fist into the face of John,
and sprang to the door, which had not
been locked.
So sudden was his movement, that
ere the vest of the group could compre
hend the scene, he was clear of the store
and as Gilbert reached the door, he saw
the robber spring on o’d Hero's back,
and dashed away.
Pursuit was not to be thought of;
but Gilbert placed his fingers to bis
mouth, and gave a shrill whistle ; heal
ing which, old Hero, despite tile urging
of his rider, wheeled Suddenly, and at
the same wild gallop, staited back to
liis master.
8 eing this. Curly Bill tried to throw
himself from the saddle ; but, in so do
ing, his foot caught in the stirrup, and
he was dragged helplessly over the hard
road. Fortunately for the poor victim
of his mishap, the distance was rot
great, or the ie, suit might have been far
more serious.
How < iftcn is it that the merest tri
fling accident contributes to the ends of
justice. Villains may successfully carry
on their work for years, and in fancied
senility forget the fate that must event j
ually overtake them—a slip, an accident 1
and tiie law claims her uwu.
Gilbert hastened to secure his horse,
and the insensible form of Curly Bill
was again carried into the store, where '
an examination revealed a broken head
and a fractured leg, which would detain
their prisoner as effectually as shackle
and chain.
In a few days the sheriff came up from
St. Joseph, and took charge of the
maimed man, and through his confession
many of his gang of desperadoes were '
taken or killed and the country freed of
their presence.
Charley Gilbert received his well
earned reward, and the money enabled
him to complete his house handsomely
and stock th farm, over which Sarah
Gilbert presides as mistress.
A MISER’S DEN.
[San Francisco Sunday Ledger.]
Now and then one picks up an old
book and reads about some noted mi
:-;er, whose excess of meanness has
made him historical. San Francisco
can boast of a miser beside whom all
others are insignificant. Last night a
Ledger reporter went with a special offi
cer to see the most horrible.specimen of
a man that lives on the globe to-day.—
“You must not be startled at what you
See,” said the officer as they turned up
Jackson street. The two wended their
way through the Chinamen, qnd soon
turned into an alley near Dupont street.
“This is the most horrible hole that ev
er existed in God’s creation,” remarked
the officer again, an 1 they turned into
another alley running up from the first.
The place was very narrow, and the
budding leaned over at the top for a bet
ter acquaintance—it seemed a sort of
architectural sociability. The place was
literally lined with brothels and opium
dens.
J The lowest class of Chinese pro -ti
tivtes inhabited the rockeries, and their
fat faces peered from the windows, while
they showered a torrent of vile obsceni
tyjaxpon the officer and his companion.
Tie stench of opium came up from tne
dops, and tne stir of the miserable lair
offviee and filthiness was thick with a
thousand disgusting odors. The alley
narrowed at the end, while the fumes of
ofpmoke grew thicker and the. women
viler. Lamps, made of wicks floating in
a bowl of grease, threw a struggling, La
zy light over the scene of absolute
wretchedness.
Now and then a poor, emaciated Chi
raauan glided like a ghost from one of
bk<ficLns and slid oil in the haze. Men
an.l v. omen staggered from one t u trance
to another, and through the chinks of
the sidew ,’k ami gratings, half closed
with rubbish, could be seen half naked
wretches lying about low tables, stupe
fied with i liir b.>di.-s i ..!
ing-The poisonous vapors of the cellars,
and their minds floating away in para
“itifcis way," said the officer, and he
s leaped clown into,a black hole which
looted like a place to throw refuse. —
■ AST'AT' ’■ AT
candle end.- The place was a filthy, dir
ty Cellar, about ten feet square, and in
numerable rats were darting over the.
floor, which ap; eared to be ground and
old boards. The walls dripped with
moisture, and the dump vapors were
nearly stifling.
“Is this the place?”
“No.”
“Where then ?”
“In the next cellar below."
The officer lifted some boards in a
corner, and a rush of still fouler air
came up like the exhalations of a dissect
ing sink.
The officer began to go down the lad
der, and asked the reporter to follow. It
seemed like going down into a grave in
feat-, and with death. It was not the prop
er thing for the reporter to hesitate,
however much he wished to, and so he
followed the officer down into the hole.
Here the candle barely burned, and the
officer lighting another, handed it to his
companion. The upper cellar seemed
like a front parlor compared to this. A
sickening stench, more fetid than the
opium dens, and more loathsome than
the brothels, pervaded the place like a
misty substance. The reporter placed
a handkerchief to Ins month and breath
ed through it. The walls were trickling
with moisture, and the floor was slippery
with slime. In a corner was the object
of the officer’s visit.
“What do you think of that ?”
The officer put his candle down to
ward the spot, and its rays fell upon tiie
face of the old man—so old that there"
was no means of telling how long ho
must have been born. K - lay upon
some loose boards, with a piece of dirty
blanket thrown over him. The skin of
his face was drawn tight to his skull, and
a few straggling white h tirs fell back
from his scalp. His body, wherever
seen from under the blanket, was cover
ed with loathsome sores, at which the
rats nibbled, as they crawled over him.
Now and then he moved his limbs, and
the horrible feusters fell off for a mo
ment and returned immediately. When
the light feh upon liis face he opened
his eyes for an instant and closed them
again. His hands 7 tre those of a skel
ton, and the rats were gnawing at liis
fingers, yet he seemed not to notice it.
The time seemed to have passed for him
to feel pain. His teeth were all gone,
and his cheeks almost met in liis mouth.
A bowl of foul water was near his head,
which ho Lad been using to quench his
thirst.
“What does he eat ?”
“lliits,” said the officer, and poking the
debris with a stick, he showed the re
porter the.bones which he had picked
clean and thrown aside.
“You said that he was a miser, Ibe
lieve 1”
“Yes ; lie has $10,003 in the bank.
Let’s go.”
When the alley above was reached, the
air, which half an hour before was so
horrible to breathe, now seemed deli
cious in its freshness.
A Denver boy pulled the bung out of
a beer barrel and stuck in his thumb,
the barrel rolled over anil and broke the
thumb so badly that it had to be ampn
fated ; and the father of the boy sues
the owner of the barrel for five thousand
dollars. ,
Vol. I Y.-Xo. 27.
THE VENGEANCE OP A FSENOH FA
THER,
A sad drama was reported here the
other day, and it is one which will con
vey a useful lesson to many a young
man. In the quarter of the Schools
there lived a watchmaker, well-known to
every one, familiarly known as Pere Mar
ambot. He was very fond of talking
about his inventions to the students who
would listen to him. and claimed to have
invented a watch movement that would
make a sensation in the world. Ho was
very industrious and economical, and
told every one that ho was laying - up
money to serve as a dowry for his daugh
ter for whom he had a strong affection.
Being motherless, Jeanne Mamin hot was
very much neglected, and when about
sixteen site entered into one of the larg
est dry goods establishments of the
quarter. There she fell in love with a
young clerk named Henri Robert, and j
intimate relations soon sprang up be
tween them. About a year afterward a
cousin came to J M ira.n hot to tell him
that Jeanne had a lover, and the father
deelaiv and that it was impossible. Never
theless he resolved to watch his duugh
ter, and soon found that the statement
was true. When he charged his dung!:
tei with this misdemeanor, she confessed
the fact, and furthermore stated that hex
condition was such that it could not
much longer be concealed. Jeanne gave
the name of her lover, and M Marambot
went to see him. Henri Robert made
many excuses when asked to marry the
girl, and, in order to gain time for re
flection, told the father that their con
vernation was attracting attention, and
that lie would meet him the next even
ing at the cafe. M. Marambot went
home, an and at the stated hour found Hen
ri Robert at the cafe, with several friends
and in presence of a number of people.
Going to the young man directly, the fa
ther said that no words of introduction
were necessary—the object of his visit
was known—-and he must have an an
swer at once. “Again I ask yon.” said
M. Marambot, “will yon marry my datigh
ter that yon have seduced and ruined ?"
“No," replied Robert, with an air of
bravado, “fori ajp not at till sure of be
ing her first lover.” Hardly had lie said
, thG. before the person p*fesant cried W
together, “Do! olil Sham!! ’ and othex
tilings of that sort. M. Marambot drew
a knife and plunged it to the lrilt in t la
young man's breast, and then gave him
self up to the police. Henri Robert is
not yet dead, lmf the doctors luve no
iiope of saving his life. It must be eon
fessed that if a man ever has the i ight!
to take the law mto his own hand, it is
in such shocking cases as this.
[Paris Cot N. A. Times.
MARY'S LITTLE LAMB.
•A writer in the Springfield Republican
has had a pleasant interview with the
the real Alary who had the little lamb,
and who related to him the incidents on
which the immortal poem was based
Tim lamb was c, twin, thrust out of the
pen by its unnatural mother. Mary took
it home and nursed it until well, and it
naturally grew into a great pet. One
morning when it was to go to the pas
ture as usual it co.dd not be found, and
when Mary went singing on her way to
school it followed her; at the the school
house door she picked it up and manag
ed to carry it secretly to her desk, where
she covered ii up with her shawl. But
when called out to her spelling class the
iamb got up too. and came pattering af
ter her, which made the children laugh
to see the lamb at school. It happened
on that morning that a young man nam
ed John Bo..iston, the son of ari ling
master in Boston, who was fitting him
self fur Harvard, was at the school, and
a few days after produced three verses of
the poem. How it ever came to be pub
1 idie-d Mary did now know, fur the young
' man died soon ofter, ignorant of ilie im
j mortality of his v-.- sea. But the lamb
j lived and ha l five lambkins before it
: met its death by an angry cow. Aside
1 from its memory there yet man ns of it
I the residue of a child’s stocking, .which
jis gradually unraveling to furnish mo
men toes for the many friends ox’ Mary
and her little lamb. ■
This is t’ne way the Christian at Work
wants to put lazy Christians to work :
One half the professed Christians
amount to nothing. They go to church.
They pay pew rents. They have a kind
of regard for all religions institutions.
But as to any firm grip of the truth, any
enthusiastic service for Christ, any
cheerful self-denial, any over mastering
pi’ayer, any capacity to strike hard I
blows for God, they are a failure. One I
of two tilings these half and-half pro
fessors ought to do—either withdraw
their names from the church roil, or else
go so near the lire as to get warm. Do
you know that your present position is
an absurdity ? You profess to be living
for God and heaven, but all the world
knows you are lying. Wake up! Do
something before you are dead. Either
help pull the Lord’s chariot, or get out
of the way.
Unreasonable Grief. —The husband
and wife had arranged that when one
was drunk the other should work, thus
keeping on every other day. But once
•John kept drunk for three days, and
came home in distress. “And what are
you crying about ? iffikert his helpmate.
“Oh, I feel so unhappy,” cried John.
“Unhappy! and you’ve been drunk while
I’ve working ever since before yester
day. Do you expect to be an angel !"
; [Liverpool Mercury.
For The Ga • “m.
A HOG THAT CAN TALK.
Having stayed with a good friend ono
night lie invited mo next morning to see
his stock of liogs, and having procured a
few small ears of corn v.e set. out, nnd
after calling sometime, an old lank-sided
sow and a few dried-looking pigs crept
tip as though afraid to inti ude tlx: msclvcs
into our presence. He threw out the
corn and said, “I aim to futten that sow
next fall, for I do not like the stock.
This was too much for the s:,w to stand;
! so she raised her long bony nose and
| said: “You ought to like us very well
for we never cost you anything at ail
scarcely—what we eat we get for our
selves.”
Master.—l feed you as well as J am
i able, and it looks like the more £ l'e< and
you the worse you look.
Sow.—Yon never feed ns at all; but
sometimes you throw us a handful of
rat-eaten coin just to keep ns gentle,
and that, is tail we get for months.
M.—You ought to look better for you
are of the old Berkshire and Kentucky
stock, and I try to feed and take as good
care of you as my corn will allow.
B.—Your corn! you never make any
corn—if is all guano, forever, and your
corn is in the grass from the time it is up
till frost, and it looks like sorghum cane
all the time, and you moke none.
M.—l have kept you alive till now any
how.
8 No yon have not. I have to root
my nose almost off to be able to live at
all—and just look at my pigs—they are
scarcely able to creep about after me!
M.—Well you wont come up when I
call you.
B.—No wonder, for when there is no
company with you, you call us up and
count tis, and then ■curse us and call
Tiger and set him on us—just look what
a scar on my neck that Tiger bit last
week when you called us and sot him
alter us.
M.—You are not a "thrifty stock, and
in my opinion you, pigs and all, are
lousy.
B.—Your are very much mistaken
there : for a louse knows more than to get
on us—we are too poor—a louse can
not live on dry hones. Lousy indeed!
a louse would do as good business try
ing to feast oh a dry cowhide, or an
! Egyptian mummy.
i M.—l generally kill moat enough to
do me, and that is as much as the most
of my neighbors can say.
B.—You mean you kill bone enough
to do you—l tell you again that, you kill
no meat at all. If you had kept up
your fa toning hogs one. month longer last
winter t! e last one v.ouhl have polished!
M.—What can bo the reason uLiny
cattle looking so?
B.—They get nothing to' eat, only
what little they can get in tluft, Mid pas
ture—and it is as dry at) a jiowelermiU. 4
... ~M- -I think Bnse'niffe got, the hollow
B.—l don’t—-there is a bigger place
about her that is hollow than her horn—
the whole cow is just,as hollow as an
! empty bee gum.
j M.—l gave her a great many unbends
last winter.
8. You are mistaken; -for Ia k< and
her last March if she ever saw a nubend,
and she asked me if I was talking
Latin, and it made her so nad with me
that she tried to jump at me—and she
fell onS way and in trying to dodge, I
fell the other way.
M. —It seems that, my chickens aro
dwindling away.
B.—Do you think they too have the
hollow horn? I will venture the asser
; lion that if you will throw a handful of
com towards them, they will run and
squall as if they saw a hawk —being en
tirely nnaqnainted with that kind of
grain. The old rooster is so weak that
lie never tries to crow but three times a
week. I saw him try to crow the other
day, and he was so weak that he fell
| backwards, and did not finish his crow.
M.—Well, as you are such a good
judge of all my stock, perhaps you can
tell me how to farm.
8. Ido not pretend to be a farmer,
though I do break up a great deal of
ground.
M.—l see your object to guano ; now
it guano !.> the cause, till me why it was
, that before the war, stock looked as
badly or worse than they do now.
8. That is very easily done. Before
the war you planted and raised cotton
to buy more negroes to make more cot
ton to buy more negroes to make more
I cotton to buy more negroes, on to the
end of the negro chapter. Now, you
use. more guano to make jriore cot;on,
to buy more guano to make more cotton,
an * the end of the guano chapter will
come some of these days.
M.—Which do you think has been the
more injurious to us as a people, the. ne
gro or guano?
B.—The negro; for he staid longer
with you than guano has had time to
stay yet. And it is a great deal mor<
unhealthy to come in contact with th
negro than with guano; for he smell
so much worse.
M.—l like your argument well; b
; still there are several things you hai
| not told me.
B.—Well, make enough corn to and
yon, and feed ail your stock plentifulh
raise your own meat, and do not bn
meat that is pressed as flat as a plank 1
extract the grease. Use some guano
nut use it with care and judgment, an
do not overcrop yourself, for guano i
just as good for grass end weeds as for
cotton. Plant what you can tend well,
keep good fences, sow more small grain,
and attend well to your corn and peas,
not forgetting your garden, potato pate
and turnip patch—work diligently am.
systematically, and all will be well.
So saying the sow started off and w .
walked back. And, for my life, I coal
not but think that the sow had the lies
of the argument. Visitor.
The London Advertiser savs that a
Sarnia man bet $lO that he could ride
the fly wheel of a saw-mill. His widow
remarked as she paid the bet, “William
was a kind husband, but he did not
kno..' a great deal about flv whe.-l* "
