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W Office in the Court House
GENERAL DIRECTORY.
Superior. Court meets 3d Monday iu
May and 2d Monday in October.
Hon. James R. Brown. Judge.
George F. Gober, Solicitor General.
COUNTY COUBT.
Hon. Thomas F. Greer, Judge.
Moultrie M. Sessions,County Solicitor.
Meets 3d Monday in each month.
Court of Ordinary meets first Monday
in each month.
TOWN COUNCIL.
J. P. Perry, lutendent.
M. McKinney, r. H. Tabor, \ n
J. Hunnicutt, J.R. Johnson, J ' jom -
W. H. Foster, Town Marshal.
COUNTY OFFICERS.
J. C. Aden, Ordinary,
T. W. Craigo, Clerk Superior Cou*'t,
H. M. Bramlett, Sheriff,
J. H. Sharp, Tax Receiver,
G. W. Gates, Tax Collector,
■3a*. M. West, Surveyor,
G. W. Rice, Coroner,
W. F. Hill, School C< mmisaioner.
The County Board of education meet*
at Ellijay the Ist Tuesday in January,
April, July nnd October.
RFLIGIOCB SERVICES.
Methodist Ep : scopal Church, South.—
Every 4th f-undny and Saturday before,
b/ Rov. C. M. Ledbetter.
Baptist Church—Every 2nd Saturday
and Sunday, bv Rev. N. L Osborn.
Methodist Episcopal Church—Ever.
Ist Saturday and Sunday, by Rev. K
H. Robb.
FRATBaNAti RECORD,
Oak Bowery Lodge, No 81, F. A. M,,
meets first Friday in each month.
W. A. Cox, W. M.
I. B. Greer, S. \V.
W. F. Hipp, J. W.
It. Z. Roberts, Tret*.
T. W. Craigo, Sec.
IV. AV. Roberts, Tyler.
T. B. Kirby, S. D.
H. M. Bramlett, J. D.
J. W. HENLEY.
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
JASPER, GEORGIA.
(Vi 1 practice in tire Superior Court of the Bins
Riilfie Circuit. Prompt attention to a 1 busi
ue a intrusted to bis care.
U. M. Sessions. E. W. Colkmin
SESSIONS & COLEMAN,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
ELLIJAY, GA.
Will praotice in Blue Ridge Circuit, County
Court Justice Contact Gilmer County. Legal
buaineea solicited. •‘Pfomptneaa” ia our motto.
DR. J. S. TANKERSLEY.
Physician aad Surgeon,
Tend-rg his professional services io the citi
sens of Etlijay, Gilmer and surrounding conn
lies. Alt calls promptly attend ‘d to. Office
upstairs over the firm of Cobb & Son.
ftl FE WALDO THORNTON, O.D.S.
DENTIST,
Calhoun, Ga.
Will visit Ellijay and Morgnnton at
both the Spring and Fall term of the
Superior Court—and oftaner by special
contract, when sufficient work is guar
anteed to justify me in making the visit.
Address as above. Tmav2l-1
DR. W. L. HARPER,
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON,
ELLIJAY, GEORGIA,
Oder, liis professional services to the eili
z<-ns of Gilm-r and adjacent counties. All
calis prom ly filled, diy or night. Office up
stairs in Centra' Hotel, over store room.
4-2'2-ly '
Young men
Who wiah a Thorough preparation foi
Business will find superior advantages at
MOORE’S BUSINESS UNIVERSITY
ATLANTA, GA.
Tiro largest and best Practical Business Schoo:
in the South. can enter at any
time. for circulars.
t-the
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Paints
READY FOR USE.
W The Best Palsat Made.
Guaranteed to contain no water,
benzine, barytes, chemicals, rubber,
asbestos, rosin, gloss oil, or other
similar adulteration*.
A full guarantea on every package
and directions for use, so that any
one not a practical painter can uaa it.
Handsome sample cards, showing
88 beautiful shade*, mailed free on
application. If not kapt by your
daaler, writ# to u*
Bt cartful to ask lor “ THE LAWRENCt PAINTS.”
and d* eat Uk* any ether said I* b* “ss food at
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W. W. LAWRENCE 1 CO.,
riTTMTROH, TA,
For what has grown of life a
A shadow passing o'er the sun,
Then gone, and life again has come,
We meet and part, and then forget;
And life holds blessings for us yet,
—Hester Freeman, in the Current,
BIAR’S BACKSLIDING.
Biar Gillett—Tobiah, by baptism—
drove down the muddy road and stop
ped at Stephen Pinney’s front gate. It
was a Sunday afternoon in early spring.
The first thaw had set in; the sun shone
down warmly, and the roofs of the
houses and barns and the few dirty drifts
of snow in the fence-cornets appeared
dazzlingly bright beneath it. The wheels
of Biar's two-seated buggy dripped with
mud, and the tall red horse was well
spattered.
Stephen Pinney’s place was severely
neat in all particulars. The square house
was wingless; the yard was undecorated
save for au evergreen bush set with geo
metrical precision on each side of the
brick walk, and an elliptical flower-bed
whose bareness was atoned for by the
large pink sea shells which bordered it;
the green paper shades in the front win
dows were rolled up as nearly as possible
to the same point, and gave a glimpse of
chair-backs set close against the wall.
The door opened before Biar could
alight, and a girl came out. She wore
a red-and-black checked shawl over a
black alpaca dress, and she cams down
the walk with a stiffness which indicated
a consciousness of being dressed up.
Her thin, freckled face wore a pleased
look.
‘‘Good-afternoon, Louise,” said Biar.
“Good-afternoon, Bia-,” the girl re
sponded, “I was all ready, and I thought
there wasn’t no need of your getting out
and coming in.”
File climbed into the buggy unassisted,
and sat down on the front seat beside the
long-legged, light-haired,serious-visaged
young man.
The mud splashed up on them as they
started away. But Biar was “keeping
company” with Louise Pinney, and it had
not entered their heads to omit their
usual Sunday afternoon drive because the
going was bad. Neither were they dis
turbed by their lack of a single buggy.
The two-seated one was all that Biar pos
sessed, except a lumber-wagon, and they
would not have stopped at that if it had
been a condition of their going.
“Mis’ Baldwin’s got a visitor,” Louise
said, ns they came in sight of a long, yel
low-painted house. “She’s got her cousin
from over in Dodsonville; Mandy Saw
yer’s her name. Her folks are away from
home, and she’s staying to Mis’Baldwin’s
while they’re gone. I was down to Mis’
Baldwin’s yesterday, and she introduced
me. She’s a real lively acting girl.”
“Is that her?” said Biar.
He was gazing admirably at a young
giri who was standing at the Baldwins’
, front gate. She was fifteen at the most,
but she was tall and plump, and there
was a marked pretention to style and
gayety in her blue, silk-trimmed dress,
her white beads and the ribbon on top of
her head. She had red cheeks, sharp
blue eyes and a profusion of light curls,
which fell about her round face in the
manner of an old-fashioned china doll.
“How d’ you do, Miss Pinney?” she
called out.
Bair was staring at her broadly, and
she gave him a pert little nod.
He turned to look back at
her as they drove on, and she returned
his gaze boldly, shaking back her curls
jauntily and swinging herself on the
gate.
“She’s pretty good-looking,” said
Biar; but that was a feeble expression of
the admiration with which Miss Mandy
Sawyer’s blooming charms had overpow
ered him.
Biar generally dropped in at Stephen
- innev’s two or three evenings a week;
it wa? a necessary part of keeping com
pany.
That week he did not come. Louisa
put on her black alpaca every evening,
and took it off at 7:30. Biar never came
later than 7:30, and there was no need of
keeping it on after that time, and wear
ing it out. She did not know why he
did not come: but she had full trust in
him, and his non-appearance did not
rouse her suspicions. But Lyman Baker
came in toward the end of the week with
a piece of news.
Lyman Baker had been mildly atten
tive to Louise before Biar Gillett’s suc
cession. He had not admired her par
ticularly—he flattered himself that he
knew a good-looking girl when he saw
one; but he had established an enviable
reputation as a lady’s man, and to keep
it untarnished it was necessary that there
should be no girl in the neighborhood
who had not “gone with” him. He had
bestowed his preference on Tilly Dilling
ham of late; but he was leaving Tilly
severely alone at present because she had
had “other company” when he had in
vited her to the last sociable. He was a
short, bony young man, with small dark
eyes and a prominent tooth. He had
clerked for a month or so in a shoe-store
in the nearest town, and this metropoli
tan experience showed itself in his.spot
ted cravat and his celluloid cuff-buttons.
“There’s a smashing girl down to
Baldwin’s,” was Lyman's opening re
mark. It was a term which had been
frequently employed at the shoestore.
Stephen Pinney, his wife and the
“hired girl” were in the sitting-room.
If it had been Biar they would have re
tired to the back part of the house, be
cause Biar was “steady company,” and
steady company was never infringed upon
by the family in general.
“I met her and Biar Gillett out walk
ing just now,” Lyman pursued. “They
say they’re, going together.”
Louise looked at him. Her thin cheeks
grew hot and colorless. Stephen Pinney
and his wife and the hired girl looked at
her anxiously,” and the former addressed
a remark to Lyman Baker concerning the
working out of taxes on the road. He
himself was road-master, and he didn’t
calculate to have any shirking this
season.
Louise sat silent, smoothing down her
black alpaca—Lyman had come before
half-past seven—and saying nothing.
But when he finally got up to go, she
rose also.
* wfr
Hr>' i 1 " ■
' ■
-t 1 'li. l.m I.
Louise did not give up all hope. Sun
day afternoon she put on her black al
paca and her red and-black shawl, and
stood watching for him in the front win- I
dow. She could not believe that he
would not come: and when she 1
saw the two-seated buggy coming
down the road, with Biar’s lanky form on
the front seat, the dull weight nt her
heart lifted,and left her in a joyful glow, I
j The mud was dried to-day; the wheels
of Biar’s buggy were black and shiny;!
Thar himself had an unusual air of smart- j
ness, and wore anew hat—a wide- 1
brimmed felt. But lie drove straight by
j without turning his head.
Lyman Baker came in the next even- |
ing, and again three days afterward. On i
that occasion Mr. and Mrs. Pinney and |
the hired girl went out into the kitchen; 1
it looked as though Lyman was going to
be steady company.
The young man sat in a large rocking
chair with figured calico cushions and a
crocheted “tidy.” Louise had been sit
ting at the table, with its stamped oil
cloth cover and its red-wicked kerosene
lamp, with a small pasteboard box before
her, whose contents she had been sober
ly fingering over. It held all that Biar
had ever given her; a plaid silk hand
kerchief, a small tin-type of himself, and
a red cornelian bracelet, phe put the
cover on the box and dropped it into her
lap when the visitor entered.
She knew quite well now that Biar
had deserted her; that he was drawn ;
away and held fast by the superior
charms of another girl, and that he was
“going with” her steadily; that there
was no hope of regaining him. She had
settled down into a hopelessness which
was worse than the first sharp pang; and
her despair had developed a quiet pas
sivity. She was not troubled by Lyman !
Baker's visits: she had not the jealousy
for her trampled hopes nor the solf
i assertion necessary for rebelling against
him, even in thought. She accepted
him as a part of her misfortune,
i Lyman broke the long opening silence
j by a remark concerning the. weather,
j He said they had had a middling fair
| spell. He followed it up, after another
| pause, with a piece of information.
“They say that Biar Gillett and that
girl to Baldwin’s—what's her name!
“Mandy Sawyer,” said Louise, raising
her eyes in quick apprehension.
“They say they’re going to be married.
They say Biar's been over to the Centre
and got a license, and they’re going to
be married next Sunday night after meet
ing.”
“You don’t say sol” said the girl. But
she felt no astonishment. The sudden
ness of the consummation was a fit ele
ment in the crude young courtship; and
she felt it vaguely. Her hands were un
steady, and she rubbed them up and
down the little pasteboard box. Then
she put it on the table and shoved it away,
without anger. It did not seem to be
long to her now.
Lyman Baker looked at her undisturb
edly. He knew that she and Biar Gillett
had been keeping company, but he had
no suspicion that she could have given
Biar Gillett more than a passing thought,
in the face of his own superior attrac
tions.
A sudden idea occurred to him—an
idea which was encouraged by recollec
tions of Tilly Dillingham and the last so
ciable. He moved about briskly on his
calico cushion, staring at Lousie. The
idea, considered in the abstract, pleased
him; his small, dark face reddened ex
citedly, and his mouth drew back in 0
smile over the prominent tooth.
“I guess Biar Gillett don’t suspicion
but what you’re worrying some about
him and that girl to Baldwin’s,” he said.
He was thinking that perhaps Tilly
Dillingham flattered herself that he was
worrying about her.
“It’d be a pretty good one on him if
you sh’d—if you was to—” he rubbed
up his hair, and cleared his throat. ‘ ‘S’pos
ing/run over to the Center and get a
license, and you and me was to get mar
ried next Sunday night after meeting,
same ashim? Igu ss he’d be consider
able surprised.” It was Tilly Dilling
ham’s figure, however, which he pic
tured vividly to himself.
Louise stared at him.
“I s’pose it’d be pretty sudden,” the
young man pursued; he was emboldened
by her evident amazement and awe, and
he spoke patronizingly. ‘ ‘But I’d jest as
lief do it as not.” He was moved to
admiration of his own magnanimity.
“I’d jest as lief as not,” he repeated.
Ilis listener heard him dumbly. Her
mind was confused; but it was not with
speculations concerning her own part in
the burlesque. Her chief sensation as
regarded herself was a quiet conviction
that nothing would make much differ
ence to her. She looked across nt this
sudden suitor, in unresisting silence.
“I’ll speak to your folks,’’said Lyman.
He went into the kitchen, and Louise
heard his voice for a brief space.
“Wal, I’ll go over to the Center to
morrow, said Lyman, coming back into
I the sitting room and shutting the kitchen
I door after him. “And I’ll come around
| for you Sunday night and take you to
1 meeting. I s'pose everybody ’ll think it’s
; pretty sudden; but I’m willing, if so
i you be, I s’pose you be? Your pa and
mah’ain’tno objections.”
“Wall” said Louise, drearily.
There did not seem to be anything
more to say on the subject, and Lyman
! took up his hat. He was feeling highly
complacent: he had thought no further
than of Tilly Dillingham’s astonished
chagrin.
There was an unusual attendance at
“meeting” Sunday evening.
There had never been a church in the
small community. The two Sunday ser
vices and the Friday evening prayer
meeting were held in the school-house.
To-night, the rough wooden seats,
scratched and notched, and carved with
initials were full; for everybody had
heard that Biar Gillett and the girl at
Buldwin’a were going to bo married at
the close of the service.
Lyman Baker and Louise Pinney sat
together on a front bench. The voung
man wss flushed and fidgety; the girls* ■
motionless. She kept her hands clasped
together under her red-and-black shawl, j
and the looked shriukingly toward the |
W* amp irs fact coMvmmkb.
r GA.. THURSDAY, JUNE 3, 1886.
door; Biar Gillett and Mandy Sawyer
bad not yet arrived.
The minister, a mild old man with dim
eyes and a feeble voice, held the lamp
over his Bible while he read the text.
He had preached for half a century, buf
feted about from post to post and taking
his bufferings meekly. Now he had
found a comparative calm in the little,
sparsely attended, unorganized church;
he had settled into a pleasant peaceful
ness.
The door opened, and Biar Gillett
walked in, alone. His face took on a
darker tinge as he met the eyes of the
congregation turned upon him iu a frank
stare. _ He sat down in the nearest seat,
fingering the rim of Lis hat.
Louise Pinney gave a gasp. Her face
grew white, and sue pressed her hands
tightly together under her shawl to stop
her trembling. He was alone; she was
not with him; she had not come. That
was all she was conscious of. She sat
staring across at him; sho saw nothing
else, and the words of the preacher were
a vague murmur in her ears.
Tlie discourse wandered on to its end.
The last hymn was given out and sung
through. Lyman Baker prevented the
benediction by striding up the room,
mounting the platform and slapping a
folded paper down on the table. He was
red and excited id hK was keeping an
eye on Tilly Dii i
“If you’ll jest uojpNK favor to ex
amine that Vith an off
hand air which he had acquired at the
shoe-store. “Its a license,” he added,in
Explanation to the gaping assembly, “and
the name o’ the lady—"
But Louiso had stood up, clinging
tremblingly to a desk.
“I can’t—l can’t!" she cried, faintly.
The blood rushed back to her white face,
and she sank down weakly on her seat.
There was an excited hum, and then
the formality of the meeting melted
away. It became si social gathering—
sympathetic, inquiring and judicial.
A knot of women promptly surrounded
Louise. They had unmediately compre
hended the entire case, and they were
ready to discuss and advise.
Lyman Baker stood open-mouthed.
“I wouldn’t urge her, I.yman,” said
one of the women, [rutting into words
the popular conclusion. “I guess Louise
hadn’t really made up her mind. I
wouldn’t do nothing more about it jest
now.”
Somebody brought the tin dipper with
some water to Louise; but she did not
take it. She got up and went to tho
door, and Biar Gillett, after a moment of
hesitation, followed her out.
The meeting dispotsed by lingcringde
grees, Lymnn Baker with the rest. He
was looked upon, strangely enough, as
something of a lion, and he was compos
edly aware of it. He went home with
Tilly Dillingham’s elder sister, as a first
step in a gradual and dignified return to
Tilly Dillingham herself.
Louise Pinney looked *up into Biar's
face as they walked along.
“Ain’t you going.to marry her?” she
saiiL
“Wal, no,” Biar responded; “I was
calculating to. I s’pose you heard we
was going to be married to-night?”
“Yes,” said the girl.
“Wal, we was calculating to be. But
her folks come home, and come over to
Mis’ Baldwin’s after her, and they didn’t
favor it; they thought she was purty
middling young. . They took her home
with ’em. I ain’t expecting to s4s her
again,” he added, with some faint con
ception of the tumult in the girl’s heart.
“Oh, Biar!” she said. Sho wiped the
happy tears off her freckled face.— Emma
A. Oppcr.
How a Beaver Escaped.
Some time since a farmer residing in
the Chehalera section found a pond made
by beavers away up on the head waters
of a little stream on a plateau of the
mountains. He determined to cut away
the beavers’ dam, drain the pond and
catch the beavers. A veteran fisherman
from this city was invited to participate
in the expected fun. The stream from
the pond was small, and fell a distance
of fifty feet over a series of cascades, so
it was not supposed that any trout could
have ever reached the pond. The dam
was cut, and as the water poured out
and down the steep mountain side it was
seen that there were plenty of trout going
down with it. A sort of screen was
made of twigs and placed in the gap for
the water to run through, and in a short
time 150 fine trout were captured.
When the pond was drained
the subterranean entrance to the
beavers’ nest was found. Then
mattock and shovel were brought into
play, .and an attempt was made to follow
the tunnel made by the beavers into the
sidehill till they should be found. After
proceeding some distance a beaver made
a desperate effort to escape between the
feet of the men who were digging, but a
kick or two sent it back into its den.
There appearing no prospect of reaching
the end of the tunnel it was determined
to set a trap in it to catch the beaver as
it came out, and the digging party ad
journed. On going after the beaver in
the morning it was found that the saga
cious and industrious animal had run out
a branch from the main tunnel during
the night, and in company with his
whole family had departed for a more se
cure retreat. When a man starts in to
dig out a beaver he needs to remember
liat the animal is considerably on the dig
himself. —Portland Oregonian.
The “King Beet.”
A Washington letter to the Chicago
Inter-Ocean says: I heard s good story
about Floyd King, the member of Con
gress from Louisiana, the other day.
Last year the Agricultural Department
introduced anew kind of beet which
was labeled “The King Beet” because it
was believed to be the monarch of that
branch of the vegetable kingdom. Con
gressman King was quite gratified at the
selection of this name and at once saw a
way to turn it to political profit. He
went through the House of Representa
tives and traded off all his other seeds
and documents for seeds of the King
Be et ancl sent a package to every farmer
in his district. They all “caught on,"
and now live under the impression that
t heir Congressman is the patroa saint of
beets.
A citizen of Burlington, lowa, has np.
pended to his will a bequest of 9100 to
the newspaper man who will write,at his
death, the neatest and best obituarv no
tice, hit wife t j constitute the committee
of award. _
COWBOY PREACHER.
THR METHODS OF LAMPASAS
JAKE, OF NEW MEXICO.
How he Was Converted to Religion—
Compelling Men to Repent
. by Main Strength—One -
of His Sermons.
A Farmington (New Mexico) letter to
the New York Sun says:
“Lampasas Jake, th# cowboy revival
ist, who has had such wonderful success
among the people of this section, is a tall,
loose-jointed fellow, with a full beard
covering sunken cheeks, a big mouth, a
high forehead, and a voice that might be
heard a mile if the wind was right. His
mode of operations is as singular ns his
whole appearance Is odd and grotesque.
Without education, having an imperfect
knowledge of the Bible, and holding to
a great many views which would hardly !
be approved by theologians, he is never
theless in dead earnest, and he exercises
a power over the men of the plains which
is something remarkable. He is entirely
ignorant of the existence of other revival
ists, has never seen or heard of Moody
or Jones, and was never in a regular
church iu his life.
How Lampasas Jake came to take up
the Gospel work is, perhaps, best de
scribed in his own words: “I never had
no education, gentlemen, but fifteen years
ago I heard a man preach in Santa Fe on
the plaza. At first I thought I’d just
bust up the meeting, but after a little I
made up my mind to listen. The gos
peller put it down straight, and when he
got through he distributed some little
Bibles to the crowd. I never had no use
for a Bible, but I took it and carried it
about with me for years, never opening
it. One day last winter when I was off
on the range and didn’t have nothing to
do I just pulled out the book. Although
I never was much at reading I just began
to spell her out, and the first thing I
knew I was getting the hang of it. It
took hold of me powerful. I read again
and again. One n:gh‘. as I was sleeping !
I had a dream. 1 luought I was out on
the range in my blankets with n cold
rain beating on me. Everything was
still. Pretty soon a feller in white leaned
over mo and I opened my eyes.
“ ‘This is a dog’s life you are leading,’
he says, ‘and it’s a dog’s death that you
and the boys are going to die. Will you
come out of it, or will you keep on?’ 1
was scared, but I says:
“ ‘Come up where?’ ”
“ ‘Up out of this here sin and wicked
ness,’ says lie. ‘Every man has a call
once. This is yours.’
“I rose up, and was about to say some- 1
thing further to the stranger when I
noticed there want nobody there, and \
then cussing myself for dreaming, I went :
to sleep again. Tho next dny, and for a
month after that, I kept thinking about!
the call. -That was a mighty strange
thing,’ says Ito myself. ‘Somebody lias
got Lamp ism Jake on the string. There’s
sperrits after me. I got a little shaky,
but after a while I remembered that I
once had a mother—l had about forgot
ten it—-and I says to myself, ‘lf anybody's
bothering themselves about me I know
who it is. That call meant busincis. If
it wan’t my mother, it was somebody that
she sent.’
“One night early last spring I had an
other dream. I thought I was in liell. A
big devil opened the lid and wanted to
know if I wanted to see anybody in par- !
ticular. I said: ‘Yes; Texas Billings
and Reddy Jones.’ He took a lariat and
gave it a whizz, and a moment later he
hauled them up. Just as they came out
they began to abuse mo for not telling
them what I had heard and seen, and
Reddy reached for his gun, and groanc 1
when he found he didn’t have it. The
next morning I was in a terrible frame of
mind, and after trying to think of every
thing else and failing, I sank On the
ground and cried out to the Lord to for
give me. I howled for more’n an hour
before it came to me, but it did com",
and I began to preach right there. I got
the boys together, and I gave it to them.
First they laughed. Then they got mad.
Then I licked two of them. Then I got
them down on their knees and I made
every one of them howl just as I had.
I’ve been preaching almost a year, but I
never had a better meeting than that
same. I brought the whole camp in,
and the boys have stuck to it ever since,
and so have I. That range is one of the
quietest and best in the Territory now,
and not a man has been shot there since
I took hold.”
r Jake preaches nothing but repentance
and salvation. He lives olf the country,
he says. ‘He takes Up no collections nncl
he asks few favors. He goes well armed
and never lays aside his weapons, even
when preaching. He has fights frequent
ly, and he sometimes brings men to re
pentance by main strength. Wherever
he finds three or four cowboys, gamblers,
rustlers, Or adventurers, he begins his
services.
“I’m going to speak to you fellers
about your everlasting souls,” he will
say, “and while I am at it I want you to
keep quiet. This is a free country and
every man has got a right to have his
say. I'm going to have mine now.”
If anybody mani'ests a disposition to
deny this right Jake becomes militant at
once, and as he has the reputation of be
ing one of the quickest men in the Ter
ritory he usually carries bis point.
Going into one of the hardest of the
numerous hard saloons in this place the
other night Jake mounted a chair and
commanded silence. The games and the
drinking came to an end and about twen
ty men, young and old, looked up. One
fellow undertook to edge out, but Jake
stopped him.
“-Vo you don't, mister,” he said, point
ing his finger at him. “No you don't.
When you get to hell you’ll have chances
enough to come a sneak on somebody,
but you can’t do it here.” Then, straight
ening himself up, he yelled in a voice
that made things creak:
“How many of you’s ready to die now
with your boots on? Where’d you be to
breakfast? Don’t any of you drunken,
swearing, fighting b'a*ph’eming, gam
bling, thieving, tin horn, ceiUiu paint ex
terminating galoots look at me ugly, be
cause I know ye. I've beeu through the
drive. You are all in your sins. You
know a fat, well-fed, woll-carcd-for,
thoroughly branded steer when you see
one, and you can tell whose it is and
where it belongs There's a man that
owns it. Thsr?'s a place for it to go.
There's a law to protect it. ifuttbe Mav
erirk—who’s is that! You're all Maver
icks and worse. Tke Maverick has no
brand on him. He goes hollering about
until aomebody takes him in ana clap*
the branding-'iron on him. But you
whelps, you’ve got the devil’s brand on
you. You’ve got his lsriat about you.
He lets you have rope now, but he’ll haul
you in when he wants firewood.
“Just you get down on your knees
here now and yell. That’s right; all of
you down. Won't do it. eh? Well, you
will get down. That’s right. Now you
yell. Cry out for help like a Texas
steer in snow. That ain’t a marker!
More on’t! More on ’t! That’s some
| thing like! There’s the devil's drive and
I the Lord’s drive. There’s the devil's trail
| and the Lord's trail. There’s the range
i of hell, where the grass is brimstone and
i the water is tire, and the range of heaven,
where the grass is knee high and sweet
; with posies, and the water is as clear as
| the sky. There's the Lord for the boss,
with His everlasting arms reaching out
j for all us poor Mavcracks, for the hungry
and thirsty, for the beef critter thet’s
only a shudder, for the wee lamb and the
crippled old buck. But you’ve got to
bloat. There’s the devil with his yoke
and lariat, with his fork and his spit,
with his cruel laugh, and his legion of
hellions anxious to come a sneak on you.
Which is it, you miserable sinners? Is it
devils or angels?
“Keep down there, every one of you,
till I get through. I know what you’ll
say when you get out of here. You’ll
say Jake is teched. You dassent say it
now. You’ll say that the good Lord
don’t care for us. You dassent say it
now. But, bless the Lord, there is a
way for you to put on righteousness.
You can get yourself in condition. You
can make your hides slick. Thero is the
grass of salvation that is green all the
year round. You can eat of it, and you’ll
make flesh from the word go. You con
refuse it, and you’ll grow poor and mis
erable tdl your old hidei will flap on
your bones like a bed quilt on a ridge
pole.”
When Jake passed out the drinking
and gambling were resumed, but with
less boisterousness. lie has followers,
and he promises to stay by the boys until
they all come into the fold.
Orange Culture in Floridn.
Tho orange groves in Florida, says an
exchange, were few and far between
fifty-five years ago, and they wero not at
that early dny a source of profit to their
owners. Some of the trees were very
nged. Mr.. Bowden, at Mandarin, owned
one in 1835 which was said to be seventy
five years old. That year 7,000 oranges
were picked from it. Another tree in
St. Augustine was supposed to be a hun
dred years old. But these trees were
killed to the ground by the great freeze
jof 1835. Mrs. Hall, on the St. John’s,
j not far from Jacksonville, nt that time
had seventy-two treason three fourth*of
an acre, iu scattering form. The year
. before her crop had sold for $3,000.
They were killed root and branch by tho
! great frost. After this frost for a few
years nil orange culture was abandoned,
"but in 1838, ’3O and ’4O a wide-spread
orange “craze” broke out all along tho
lower St. John’s, and many groves
were set out. A Mr. Robertson,
near Mandarin, put distanced his neigh
bors and imported his trees, and with
them he also imported the scale insect.
This small creature soon made itself at
home spread from point to point until it
completely killed the orange fever. Mr.
Robertson tried all manner of experi
ments to rid himself of the pest, and
■ finally killed his trees by the application
of aqua fortis. Most of the groves started
at this time were given up to the insect
and abandoned in disgust. One of these
abandoned groves was purchased in 1856
! by Colonel Hart, who enme an invalid to
1 Florida to die, though he has not yet ac
| complished the object. In 185(1 a visitor
i described the Hart grove as being deso
late enough in appearance. It was un
fenced, had long been deserted to the in
sect and looked as if it had been burned
through by fire. The trees however,
weic fine old stumps, just putting out a
few sprouts, and it is to-day the most
noted of the St. John’s river groves,
j From that day to the present there lias
i never been a frost sufficiently severe to
! kill full-grown trees or to have any ap-
I preciable effect upon the insect.
A Dnde’s Mishap.
He was tall, slender and elegant. He
stood posing on the platform as the train
approached, a cane of the pipe-stem va
riety in his kid-gloved hand. Very pic
turesque and altogether lovely he
looked as he pushea forward his patent
leather shoe und approached the car
platform. Bang went the car gate shut;
snap went the cane half in two as it was
caught in the flying gate. But the nice
young man did not notice the distressing
accident, and, with the wreck of his
stick still under his arm, he sauntered in
approved form half Way down the aisle.
There were some vacant seats at the fur
ther end of the car, but the young man
put his eye on a couple of bright-eyed
girls forward, and he came to a stand
still, immediately before them. Never
was the “mash" act undertaken in mors
elaborate style. He twirls his mustache
with his left hand, and, with a little
flourish of liis right, sets the cane behind
h:m. He will lean on it, and his coun
tenance is most complacent as he thinks
of the taking attitude he plans. Alas,
for the hopes of human kind! The cane
isn't what he thinks it is. Down, down,
down he gors, his shoulder followiug
th 2 cane point. Smash! crash! a nice
young man lies sprawling at full length
in the car. Young women giggle, and
the'r giggling isn't masked. A long
tailed coat, tightly buttoned, is split up
the back; a shiny beaver hat lies a dozen
feet away, crumpled and dented. It is
altogether a sael sight—but still the
young women giggle. The young man
gets up, he discovers the hat, he up
braids the brake man, nnd darts out of
the car at the very next station. “I’ll
report you to Colonel Huin,” yells the
broken-up exquisite to the brakeman as
the train rolls on. “I’ll report you to
Colonel Hain and have you discharged.
— j \eu> York Times.
The Japanese cats’-eyes, which urs
now fnshionub!o ornaments, are the pol
ished hinge, or thick knob at the hinge, j
of the pearl oyster.
The title “Executive Munsion” was in- '
troduoed iu 1873. The proper designa
tion is “the President's house.”
OIE DOLLAR Per Annum, la as
the MILKM A ID AND the banker.
A milkmaid, with a r*rv pretty fee*,
Who lived at Acton,
Had a black cow, th* ugliest ia the place—
A crooked-bach’d one;
A beast as dangerous, too, a* (h* wa* fright
ful,
Vicious and spiteful;
And so confirmed a truant that s' l - bounded
Over the hedges daily, and got pounded.
•Twns all in vain to tie her with a tether.
For then both cord and cow eloped together
Arm’d with an oaken bough (what folly 1
It should have been of birch, or thorn, or
holly),
Fatty one day was driving home the beast
Which had, as usual, slipp'd it’s anchor,
When on the road she met a certain banker,
Who stopped to give his eyes a feast
By gazing on her features, crimson’d high >
By a long cow chase in July.
“Are you from Acton, pretty lass?’ he criei;
“Yes,” with a curtasy, she replied.
“Why, then you know the laundress, Sail is
Whirl r
“She is my cousin, air, and next-door neigh
bor,”
“That’s lucky; I’ve a message for the girl
Which needs despatch, and you may save
my labor.
Give her this kiss, my dear, and say I sent it;
But mind you owe me one—l’ve only lent it.”
“She shall know," cried the girl, as she
brandished her bough,
“Of the loving intentions you bore me; i
But as to the kiss, if there's haste, you’ll al
low
That you'd better run forward and give it
my cow;
For she, at the rate she is scampering now,
Will reach Acton some minutes before me.
PITH AND POINT. !
The lines that tailors hang clothes on
—Mascu-lines.
A young girl who has had both afflic
tions, snys that a broken pocketbook is
worse than a broken heart. —Philadelphia
Uerald.
Judging from the great number of
strikers, it would seem that somebody
supposes the iron to be hot. —Philadelphia
Ledger.
Pen, ink, and paper and brains arc tho
only things requisite to literary success;
and almost anybody can get the pen,ink,
and paper. —Somerville Journal.
“Why does a mustard plaster heat a kiss?” i
Said little Johnny Toddle to his sister,
“Because you seo a kiss is simply bliss,
While mustard plasters, don't you know,
are blister.”
—Dansville Breeze.
Yes, it is true that pepper is used in
some eastern countries as a circulating
medium, but you are in error in thinking
the place where it is made is called the
pepper-mint.— Tid-Bits.
One by one the old landmarks are
passing away. Manistee, Mich., has an
orchestra that does not contain a bald
headed mnn. It is composed of young
women. —Chicago Ledger.
THE DRAWBACKS OF LIFE.
There is no kitchen girl, however able, >j
Outbreaks the crockery ware;
There is no butter placed upon the table
But has its lock of hair.
—Boston Courier.
In reply to the New England lecturer
who asks, “What does a man owe his
neighbors?” we oan say only that it de
pends on whether his wife is one of those
women who are always running over to
the next house to borrow a cun of sugar,
or an egg, or a wad of lard. —Chicago
News.
She gave me in April a copy of Gibbon; ,
In August, a trifle of gay-colored ribbon
Slipped out from her hair, with a sweet
scented flower
That bloomed at her bosom, the toy of an
hour.
And even so late as the fifth of September
▲ blush and a kiss, if I rightly remember.
But O, the finale! when hopelessly smitten,
I asked her to marry, she gave me the mit
ten!
A Ban Francisco family recently en
gaged a young girl from the East who
advertised that she had been “four years
in her last place." The family subse
quently learned that she would have re
mained longer than four years in her last
Slace if the governor had not pardoned
er when he did.
what is IT?
What is soul food? is a question j
Asked by weighty sages
Whose apparatus for digestion
Beef each day assuages
It is in the most of cases
Country editors’ diet;
And, at many times and places,
Poets also try it
-Tid-Bits.
WORDS OF WISDOM.
Too much importance is seL-impor
tance.
You may cheat others now, but your
self also in the long run.
What man is deficient of in sense he
naturally makes up in mulishness.
Nature is frank, and will aljow no
man to abuse himself without giving him
a hint of it.
To do one work well, or to be careful
in doing it, are as much different as
working hard is from being idle.
In writing a? well as speaking, one
great secret of effective eloquence is to
say what is proper and stop when you
have done.— Colion.
Too many young men believe. that
“the world owes every man a living,”
and that it requires no effort on man's
part to make the collection.
Much of the world is prejudiced
against facts, because facts stick to the
text and don't go out of the way to concoct
a palatable medium for the world’s own
genteel taste and wise opinions.
No matter how low down man may
get, there is not more than one in every
one hundred of them but will prove true
to a small trust if his pride be strength
ened by your seeming faith in him.
If we must know the right in order to
do it, it is equally needful that we do it
in order to know it. The habit of prompt
and unquestioning obedience to what
ever appeals to us ai a duty puts us into
the very best condition for learning more
and higher truths.
To be flattered is grateful, even when
we know that our praises are not be
lieved by those who pronounce them;
for they’prove at least our power, and
show that our favor is valued, since it
is purchased 'f- the meanness of false
hood.
NO. 12.