Newspaper Page Text
WALTER S. COLEMAN. Editor and Proprietor.
VOL XII.
ELLIJAY COURIER.
PUBLISHED EYEBY
—it—
WALTER S. COLEMAN.
~~ GEWERAL DIRECTORY.
Superior Court meets 3d Monday in
May and 2nd Monday in October.
COUNTT OFFICERS.
J. C. Allen, Ordinary.
T. W. Craigo, Clerk Superior Court.
M. L. Cox, Sheriff.
•T. R. Kinciad, Tax Collector.
Locke Langley, Tax Receiver.
.Tas. M. West, Surveyor.
G. W. Rice, Coroner.
Court of Ordinary meets Ist Monday
in each month.
TOWN COUNCIL.
E. W. Coleman, Intendant.
L. B. Greer,
J.' ? cSSfjr. \ Commissioners.
T. J. Long, J
W. H, Foster, Marshal.
IiELIGIOUS SERVICES.
Methodist Episcopal Church South—
Every 3d Sunday aud Saturday before.
G. W. Griner.
Baptist Church—Every 2nd and 4t
Sunday, by Rev. E. B. Shope.
Methoilist Episcopal Church—Every
Ist Saturday and Sunday, by Rev. T. G.
Chase.
FRATERNAL RECORD.
Oak Bowery Lodge, No. 81, F. A, M.,
meets Ist Friday iu each month.
L. B. Greer, W. M.
T. 11. Tabor, S. W.
J. W. Hipp, J. W.
R. Z. Roberts, Treasurer.
I). Garicn.S ecretary.
W. S. Coleman, S. D.
W. C. Allen, J. D.
S. Garrcii, Tyler.
R. T. PICKENS,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
ELLIJAY, GEORGIA.
Will practice in all the conrts of Gil
mer and adjoining counties. Estates
and interest in land a specialty. Prompt
attention given to all collections.
. 10-21-85
DR. J. R. JOHNSON,
Physician and Surgeon
ELLIJAY, GEORGIA.
Tenders his professional services to the
people of Gilmer and surrounding coun
ties and asks the support of his friends as
heretofore. All calls promptly filled.
E. W. COLEMAN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
ELLIJAY, GA.
Will practice in B n-; Ridge Circuit., Conntj
Court Justice Court or tijimer Conntj. Legal
business solicited. ■Tronjptiisia" is our molio.
DB. J. S. TANKERSLEY.
Physician and Snrgeon,
Tend'ra his professional services to the citi
sens of Ellijay, Gilmer and surrounding conn
ties. Ail calls promptly attend 'd to. Office
rpstairs over the firm of Cobb A Son.
IFE WALDO THORNTON, D.D.S.
dentist,
Calhoun, Ga.
HI visit Ellijay and Morganton at
both the Spring and Fall term of the
Superior Court-—and oftener by special
contract, whon sufficient work is guar
anteed to justify me in making the visit.
Address aa above. Tmav2l-li
WHITE PATH SPRINGS!
—THE—
Favorite and Popular Resort oj
NORTH GEORGIA!
Is situated C miles north of Ellijay on
the Marietta & North Georgia Railroad.
Accommodations complete, facilities for
ease and comfort unexcelled, and the
magnificent Mineral Springs is its chief
attraction. For other particular* on
board, etc., address,
Mrs. W. F. Robertson,
Ellijay, Ga.
$25,000.00
IN GOLD!
Bill, BE PAID FOR
ARBUCKLES’ COFFEE WRAPPERS,
1 Premium, • - $1,000.00
2 Premiums, • $500.00 each
0 Premiums, • $250.00 “
25 Premiums, - SIOO.OO “
100 Premiums, - $50.00 11
200 Premiums, - $20.00 11
1,000 Premiums, - SIO.OO *•
Per full particulars and directions see Circu
lnr in every pound of ArbuckTiES* Coffee.
FOB GOOD
JOB PRINTING
-GO TO THB- ‘
ELIIJAY COURIER.
THE ELLIJAY COURIER,
THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN.
IVrper than all sens' of seeing
Lies the source of ss-ret being,
And the soul with t ruth agreeing
Learns to live in thoughts and deels
For tile life is more than raiment,
And the earth is pledged for payment
Unto man for all his needs.
Life is more than what man fancies
Not a game of idle chances.
But it steadily advanees
Up the rujged heights of time.
Till each complex web of trouble.
Every good hope’s brokon bubble
Hath a meaning most sublime.
More of practice, less profession;
More of firmness, less concession;
More of freedom, loss oppression—
In the Church and State;
More of life and less of fashion,
That will make us goo 1 Aud groat.
When true hearts, divinely- gifted,
• From the dross of error sifted.
On their crosses are uplifted,
Shall the world most clearly see
That earth’s greatest time of trial
Calls for holj’ self-denial;
Calls on men to do and be.
But, forever and forever,
Let it be the soul’s endeavor,
Love from hatred to dissever;
And in whatso’er wo do,
Won by truth's eternal beauty
From our highest sens? of duty,
Evermore be firm and true.
— F. A. Hinckley.
LIB.
The first time I ever saw Elizabeth
Dill, she was hanging to the boot of a
stage coach in the Hocky Mountains, 1
was climbing up a narrow, rocky pass,
and the coach was coming down. As it
passed me, I caught the sight of a pale
faced. scrawny little figure, in a dirty
calico dress, holding the straps of the
boot behind. Her tangled yellow hair
was flying out in the breeze, and her bare
feet just escaped the rocks in the road.
I sat down on a rock, and watched the
clumsy coach until it went rolling and
swaying around a curve in the pass. Here
the girl dropped lightly to the. ground,
and came toward me, kicking up the
dust as she quickly advanced.
A hundred yards or more ahead of me
there stood a rough log cabin, to the
door of which, before the girl reached
me, there came a slatternly woman, with
a dirty baby in her arms, and called, in a
sharp, rasping voice: “Lib! You Lib
Dill! Whav on airtli are ye?’,
The child was within ten feet of me
when the woman called. In reply she
cried out, in an injured and irritated
tone: “Here I be!”
“What ye been doin’? Oh, I know,
hangm’ on to the stage, like tho tom
boy ye air! Want another lickin’, eh?”
“I don’t keer fer yer lickin’s!” cried
the child, tossing her unkenipt hair de
fiantly, while a frown came over her thin
face.
“Well, you better care, miss!” cried
the woman angrily.
The girl stood directly in front of me
now, fearless and unbashed. With one
swift, angry movement of her right hand,
she stripped her thin white arm of the
loose calico sleeve that covered it, and
held it out before me.
“Look there, and there, and there!”
she cried, pointing her finger at three
long, discolored marks on the upper part
of her arm. “Do you think I keer fer
any of her lie-kin’s after that ?” she asked,
with an expression pitiful to see in the
face of a girl of fourteen years.
“What ye doin’, Lib Dill?” screamed
the woman, “I see ye, an’ ye’d better
look out!”
“I said I was going to show them
marks to everybody I could, long as they
was there,” said Lib to me. “She give
’em to me fer breakin’ an old cracked
teacup. It ain’t fair fer her to lick me
like that for an old cup, is it, mister:”
There came a wistful expression to the
child’s far-c, a wistful and pathetic
quaver in her thin voice, as she pointed
with her bare arm toward the stage
coach, which had appeared again on a
distant part of the pass.
“ Do you know, mister, that if I could
only do it, I’d hang on to that old coach
some time till it had carried me clean
away from here?”
“And leave your parents?” I asked.
“Parrents!” she sneered. “Them aint
my parrents; wouldn’t own ’em if they
was. She ain’t no kin at all, an’ her man's
only some forty-fifth cousin or other of
my dead-an’-gonc mother; hut they’re
much kin as I want ’em to be.”
The words were uttered with scorn,
and on Lib’s face was a malignant look
that no young girl’s face should wear.
Unmindful of the woman’s command
to “Come right straight here!” Lib sat
down on a rock near me, rested her chin
in one of her thin hands, and asked;
“Where you from?”
“From New England,” I said.
“Purty country, ain’t it?”
“Very pretty indeed, at this time of
the year.” It was then October. “Have
you ever been East?” I asked.
“Me!” Lib laughed that unpleasant
laugh again. She stood on a bowlder,
and pointed far away to the west, to
where a long line of mountain peaks rose
dark and unbroken in the distance.
“Mister,” she said, “I ain’t never been
beyond them mountings in all the days
of my life. Crystal City lays at the foot
o’ that range, an’ I was born there. That
stage coach goin’ down this pass ’ll be
further east by noon than I ever was.
From this rock I can sec further north an’
south than I ever was. Me been East?
Better ask if I ain’t been ter college too!”
“I don’t suppose you have a school
here,” I said, as gently as I could.
“Mister, I’m the only boy or girl of
school age or size in ten mile o’ here.
Have you any children, mister?”
“I have three,” I said.
“Got a little girl, mebbe?”
“Yes,” I said, “a little girl,” thankful
that she was not ns this child was.
“Mebbe she’s "bout my size, mister?”
“She is,” I said.
“Will, now, mister," said Lib. slowly
and deliberately, “how would you like
fer her to he like me? How would you
like fer her to be licked fer nothin',
like I am
I shuddered at tin- mere suggestion of
sueli dread contingencies. Lilt went on.
“You wouldn't like It, hey? I reckon
not. Vi 'ell, Ido hope that little girl of
J’ourn'll never be like I am, nor what i'in
Italy to bo when 1 grow up,”
•a map of nrsr life—its flfctvatioks asp its vast conckhss:'
ELLIJAY. GA.. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 2i. 1881.
The pathos and hopelessness in her
voice brought tears to my eyes.
“And, mister. do ye know I'd wslk,
I’d era tel. away from this place this day
if it wasn’t for—fer.”—
Her ragged sleeve went up to her eyes,
her head, held high in defiance until
now, dropped low; her voice faltered ;is
she wont on;
“If it wasn't for Laty.” '’ ’ ' '
“And who is Laty
“The baby that that there woman held
in her arms when she come to the door.
Her baby, it is. He's the cunnin'est lit
tle thing! an’ he loves me, he does. He
pujs his arm round my neck an’ says so,
plain as anything. Don’t you want to
see him? He ain’t a bit afraid of
strangers, and he likes men folks. She
thinks a sight of Laty, she does; so does
Laty’s pa.”
The woman here came out to the
cabin, with the adored Laty in her arms.
Lib and I went forward to meet them.
The woman's face was harsh and forbid
ding.
“What’s she ben tellin’ you, mister?”
she asked. “A pack of lies, I’ll be
bound. The truth ain’t iu her; no, it
ain’t. Norv you git up to the cabin,miss,
an’ mind Laty. I’m goin’ to tell ycr pa
on ye, an’ you’ll see what you'll git
then.”
“My paw!” cried Lib. “Jack Lane
ain’t my pap, an’ you know’ it.”
“Sass-box!” was all the answ’er the
woman vouchsafed to this outburst from
Lib.
I stayed three weeks in Jack Lane’s
cabin, for it was the only habitation
within two miles of the place, and in
those three weeks I saw enough to con
vince me that Poor Lib had not told “a
pack of lies” in describing her sufferings.
Her life with the Lanes was a hard one.
They were maliciously and wilfully cruol
to her. More than once did I intercede
to save her from the cruelty of Jack and
’Mandy Lane.
Her devotion to baby Lathan did not
win from his parents any corresponding
kindness for Lib, his willing slave. I
often met her carrying the heavy baby
around in her weak arms on the moun
tain trails.
■When the time came for me to go
away, Lib follow’cd me far down the
dusty road, unmindful of ’Mandy’s shrilly
uttered commands to “come right
straight back 1”
“You had better not go too far, Lib,”
I said, when we had walked about half
a mile; “ ’Mandy will be so severe with
you.”
“Oh, well, w'hat if she is?” asked Lib,
wearily; but her voice had none of its
old defiant ring, and her bright eyes
were red and downcast.
“I should be sorry to have you suffer
on my account,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t mind it, hut I reckon I’ll
go back now; Laty might need me. I
jest thought I’d like to go a piece with
you. I been thinkin’ ’bout that little
girl o’ yourn to-day, an’ I thought I’d
kind ’o like to send her somethin’. I’ve
got it in this little box. It ain’t much
of anything, but mebbe she’ll like it,
coinin’ so fer like.”
Lib held out a small, flat pasteboard
box. In it wak a bunch of pressed
mountain flowers, tied together with a
hit of faded green ribbon—Lib’s one
treasured bit of feminine finery.
“Well, good-by, mister!” she said.
] “Y’ou’ve took more notice of. me than
j most folks takes, an’ I won't fergit ye;
j an’ I’ll try to remember some o’ the
things you’ve said ’bout me bein’ patient
an’ good, an.’ all that., They’D do to tell
Laty some day. I reckon I’m ’bout as
good as I’ll ever he. This ain’t much of
a place fer folks to grow decent in. If
anything should ever happen to Laty I’d
run away from here.”
My heart ached for the forlorn little
creature, as I watched her climbing the
mountains in her rags, while I held in my
hand the one poor possession she valued
most.
My business took me to a small mining
camp, five miles distant, where I was to
remain for a month. It was the first of
December before I could set a day for my
departure. I intended starting on the
third. On the afternoon of the second,
signs of a storm were seen in the low
hanging clouds that hid thesnow covered
mountain peaks. The snow lay smooth
and white on all the mountain sides, and
it was feared that another fall would
make the mountain roads impassably
I watched with dismay that gathering
storm on the afternoon of the third. By
three o’clock it was snowing fast; the
short day was nearly done; it was grow
ing dark in the narrow gulch; the wind
moaned up and down the long, black
canyons; the stunted pines bent low; the
mountain seemed frowning down on the
helpless little mining camp, and thesnow
| fed faster and faster,
j I sat by the window of the office in
the littie mountain hotel and watched
tho daylight disappear. By four o’clock
it was gone and the storm had increased.
‘ ‘lt’s darker’n a stack o’ black -eats, an’
the wind’s blowiu’ a regular cyclone,”
said the landlord, at nine o'cjpck.
At ten o’clock he and I sat alone by
the office stove. The wind had gone
down a little, and it had stopped snow
ing. I was waiting to hear the conclu
sion of a “yarn” the garrulous landlord
was telling me.
“An’ sir,” he was saying, “if you’ll
b’leeve me, that thar ole cattymoinit list
natchelly riz up an’—great Scotland! did
ye hear that?”
He jumped to his feet and stood still,
in a listening attitude.
“What is it!” I asked, eagerly. “I did
not —”
“Sh-sh-sh!” he held his red and cal
loused hand up as a sign of silence, anil
tip-toed gently toward the door. Sharp
and clear rose a prolonged cry as of one
in pain.
“Somebody’s in trouble!” cried the
landlord, as lie hurriedly thrust a lighted
candle into his lantern, threw on his great
coat of buffalo skins and started for the
door.
I followed him, puliingon n.y overcoat
and mittens as I went. We had taken
hut a few steps from the door when the
cry was repeated. I could not tell from
whence it came, but my companion’s
sense of hearing was more acute and bet
ter trained than mine.
“It's from the Bed Mountain trail,” he
said, “mi’ the person thut'a doin’ the
yellin’ is git tin’ mighty weak.”
Very weak, indeed, was the person
whose pitiful cry we hid heard. We
found her half-buried iu a great drift of
snow far up the mountain side. As we
licnt over her the ray* of the lantern fell
in rot* tli* thin, pale face of Elizabeth
Dill—thinner than ever, and jailer freon
the suffering she had endured that
night.
She had fallen proatratr and was too
much exhausted to rise. A ragged old
cloak was wrapped around her and a thin
shawl hail fallen from her tangled yellow
hair. A lantern lay by her side, hut its
light was out.
She conld not speak until we had car
ried her down to the little hotel and
chafed her chilled form for a long time.
Her first words were, “Jock lame—’Man
dy ! Git n doctor an’ go for them. Let
me lie. Go to them an’ to Laty. He’s
all alone. Poor little feltor! Poor Jack!
Poor ’Mandy ?”
A dozen men were soon fighting their
way through the drifts to the Lane cabin,
five miles distant. It midnight lie
fore Lib could tell story;
and then it was told and tears.
“It was only nlit!li after dark,” she
said. “We were all si tin’ in the front
room. Laty was in my lap an’, some way
or other I let the little fellow fall. Of
course Jack an’ ’Mandy was mad. I
don’t blame ’em; an’ I didn’t mind it
much when Jack whipped me with the
ramrod of his gun. I'd ought to ’ave
been kecrful. ’Mandy was so mad she
driv me out into the shed-room. You
know’how that is, mister,” Lib said, turn
ing to me.
“It runs back right up the mountain,
an’ there’s a cave off .the end of it where
.Jack keeps his taters an’ turnips in the
winter. It was real snug in the cave,
an’ old Tobe, Jack’s dog, was in there.
I snuggled up to him, an’ cried ’cause I’d
hurt Laty.
“Purty soon the front door opened a
little an’ Laty came toddlin’ into the
shed-room. I could see Jack an’ ’Mandy
playin’ checkers by the fire, an’ they
didn’t notice Laty. I slipped out an’
ketclied the little fellow up in my arms.
‘You poor little feller,’ I says, ‘Lib
didn't go to hurt you; Lib loves you
better ’n anything clse'on earth!’
“Then he coo-coocd in his cuunin’
little way, an’ laid his wet little cheeks
on mine in n-svay that like to ’ave broke
my heart. I was standin’ in the cave
door, holdin’ him so, when there come
an awful roar. I savv Jack an’ ’Mandy
jump up, scared like, ail’ I stepped back
into the cave with Lntv an’ then”—
Here Lib quite broke down, nnd cried
for a long time before she said:
“Well, the next minute everything
was pitch dark. Jack nor ’.Mandy, nor
the cabin nor nothin’ was to be seen.
There was the awfullest roarin’an’ crash
in’ ever I liccrd. Me an’ Laty an’ Tobe
all cuddled up in a corner of the cave,
scared out of our seven senses.
“After awhile I crawled to the cave
door. The snow an, wind was blowin’
in. The cabin was gone; there wasn’t a
sign of it. Then I kn> wed thcre’d been
a snow-slide.
“I yelled an’ yup/d- h.-- 'Mandy an*
Jack, hut there wahPt nad.-Axi at firel.
By-and-l>y I heeril someone cryin'.
Jack’s lantern was' in the cave. He’d
jest been in there, coverin’ tip the things
with old rags an’ straw, an’ we always
kept matches on a shelf in there. I got
the lantern an’ lighted it; then I covered
Lntv all up good with the rags an’ straw,
an’ made Tobe lay down by him.
“Then I started out, an’ I found
’Mandy wedged in ’mong some rocks
’bout a hundred yards down the moun
tain. She was cryin’ an’ goin’ on awful,
lioor woman 1 The way she tuk on ’bout
,aty was awful. She couldn’t stand, an’ •
I couldn't get her up to the cave.
“’Mandy,’says I, at 1:.. ‘l’m goin’
down to Crystal Camp for help.’
“ ‘You can't,’ says she, awful feeble
like.
“‘I kin,’ says I, ‘an’ I’m goin’, too.
An’ now, ’Mandy,’ says I, ‘you jest brace
up till I git hack; you jest think o’ Laty.
You’re his ma an’ he needs you; think
o’ that. An’, ’Mandy,’ sajs I, ‘if I don’t
git back, an’ you git out o’ here all right,
you remember that Lib Dill ain’t, no hard
feelin’s agin you nor Jack; an’ if Ido git
back, an’ you don’t git out o’ here, you
remember to your la-t breath that Lib
Dill will he a mother to your baby.’
“Then I brought straw an’ rags an’
covered her up the best I could. She lay
still, cryin’ an’ goin’ on fit to break one’s
heart. I bent over her an’ said: ‘Good
liy, ’Mandy; I’m goin’.’
“She never said a word, but she flung
her one free arm round my neck an’
kissed me, an’ that made it all right
’tween me an’ ’Mandy Lane. Livin’ or
dead, I ain’t nothin’agin her.
“I went hack to the cave, and made
Tobe lay down by Laty. ‘Don’t you
move,’ says I to the dog, and he won’t.
They’ll find him an’ Laty all covered up
under straw an’ rags behind a tater box
in a corner of the cave where Laty can’t
get out, I ain’t worried none ’bout him,
but, O Jack! O ’Mandy!
“Yes,” said Lib, wearily, a little lat
ter, “I did have an awful pull to git
here; but I knowed cv’ry foot of the wi>y.
It was lucky I snatched my old cloak
and shawl when ’Mandy drove me out,
or I’d froze.”
Before noon the next day Silas Ray,
the landlord, came down from the moun
tain carrying baby Laty tenderly in his
strong arms. The child was asleep with
the tears on his pretty face. Lib reached
up her arms for the baby. Silas laid him
gently down by her side and said: “I
reckon you’ve as good a right to him as
anybody now. They’re bringin’ his fa
ther an’ mother down —dead.”
My interest in the brave girl and her
forlorn charge led me to take- them with
me when I left Crystal Camp, and I
finally turned them over to some wealthy
friends of mine in tlie East, who were
both willing and able to provide for
them.
This was ten years ago. A few days
since I received a letter from Lib Dill,
who is now a school teacher in anew
town of one of our Western States, in
which she says that Laty has grown to
lie a bright and goial hoy, and that she
hopes to make a good man of him yet.
She also alludes to a certain young
farmer, between whom and herself there
appears to have sprung up a mutual in
terest. which lias led to plans which, if
carried out, will result in her having a
home of her own. “We are all—l,aty
and the farmer and I - '—she says, “very
happy in planning for the future that
promises so fair.” J. A, Harbour, in
Youth'e Companion.
A San Francisco concern is making
pressed brick out of coal ashes and
cinders. These bricks have stood the
severest toils for strength, and are made
without baking nnd burning.
BrnO.ET OF FUN.
HUMOROUS SKETCHES from
VARIOUS SOURCES.
An Inf’allthtc Sign Feeding Tramps- i
No Occasion to be AfYald—A
Rail Standing—PracOslnj
Economy, Etc., Etc.
“ That peddler must have very good
bananas," remarked Merritt. “I guess:
I’ll go over and get some.”
“ What makes you think they are
good?” asked Cobwigger.
“Because,” returned Merritt, '‘l see
the policeman samples them every time
ho passes.— Judge.
Feeding Tramps.
“I don’t believe in feeding tramps at
the door,” said Mrs. Criinsonbcak. “You
feed them once and they arc sure to conic
back. ”
“Well, I don’t know,” replied Mrs.
Yeast; “I always give them bread when
they come to my door, and I can’t say
that I ever knew a tramp to come the
second time.”
“Oh, well, Mrs. Y’cast, you make your
own bread, do you not?”
This was all that was said, and yet
Mrs. Yeast went down the street like a
straw hat on a windy day.— Statesman.
No Occasion to lie Afraid.
“Why don’t you propose to her, Joe?”
“Well, I’m half afraid.”
“She loves you, don’t she?”
“Oh, awfully."
“You agree with her father in politics?”
“Yes,”
“And with her mother in religion?”
“Yes.”
“And with her brother as to who is the
best pitcher?”
“Yes.”
“Then blow me if lean sec what you’re
afraid of— Harper's Bazar.
A Bad Standing.
“Do you know any hing about the
defendent’s character,” asked thecouusel
of a colored witness.
“I reckon he got one, boss.”
“You don’t understand me. Do you
know anything about his standing with
the peoplo utnong whom he movss.”
“His stun’in’, salt?”
“Worry bad, sail.”
“Bad!”
“Yessali. Yoh see he hob a wooden
leg an’ imtirnlly takes ter settin’ down.”
— Merchant- Traveler.
Practising Economy.
Omaha Girl—“My dear, now that wo
arc engaged, we should begin to take
practical views of life.
“Accepted Lover—“So I have been
thinking.”
“I feel very much like having some Ice
cream, but first I want you to tell me
frankly how much money you have in
your pocket.”
‘‘Just twenty-five cents, and no more
coming until pay day.”
“It’s so nice to begin figuring on ex-!
ponses of living; seems as if we were *
married. Have you only twenty'fivc
cents left, dear?”
“That’s all.”
“Well, we will get along with two
plates to-night, and you save the other
five cents for a nest egg, you know.”
Omaha World.
A Foiul Father.
An over-indulgent and recklessly ex
trvagant fattier was lately heard to say
to liis Bon, a tender youth of twenty-five,
six feet three in height :
“Now, Bub, if you’ll lick in like the
smart youngster you kin be when ycr a
min’ to, nil’ hoe them five acres o’ taters,
an’ hill-up that ten acre lot o’ corn, an’
weed out that acre o’ oniona, an’ grub
out that hack lot, an’ cut yer ma her win
ter’s stove wood, an’ split a thousand
rails, an’ weed the turnip patch, and do
a few other little chores, I’m blamed if I
won’t give you fifty cents to go to tho
circus with 1 Yes, I will! An’if you’ll
hoe down the jimson weeds in that ten
acre lot o’ seed corn I’ll throw in ten
cents extry that you kin lay out in
leinmy-nade an’ peanTits! Blamed if I
don’t bleeve in payrcntslcttin’ their chil
dren have some enjiyinent in this world.”
l'id-Bits.
Stic Was Ready to Lend.
Borrowing Neighbor—“ Have you a
drawing of lea to lend me this morning,
Mrs. Greene?”
Mrs. Greene—“lndeed I have not, Mrs.
Maloney.”
Mrs. Maloney—“Then have you a cup
ful of sugar against next Saturday night,
sure?”
Mrs. Greene—“ Not a drop of sugar
have I in me house, Mrs. Maloney.”
Mrs. Maloney—“And could you spare
the children two or three slices of bread
till me old man gets his pay?”
Mrs. Greene—“We haven’t so much as
a crust of bread in the house, ashamed am
I to say it.” •
Mrs. Maloney—“Then in heaven’s
blessed name, what have you at all at
all?”
Mrs. Greene—“Weve a house full of
measles and mumps and scarlet fever
and plenty to spare. Whic-h will you
have?”
The borrowing neiglilior quietly sub
sided.— Chicago National.
A Stem Winder.
Stiggins was passing a watchmaker’s
establishment, and looking into the win
dow he noticed a very pretty girl at the
counter.
“Ha!”he soliloquized, “I’ll go in and
take a look at her under some pretext or
other.”
He entered, and was waited on by the
young lady’s father.
“What can I do for you?”
“I want to get a key for my watch,”
he stammered, feasting his eyes on the
young lady.
“U-t me see your watch,” said the
watchmaker.
As if in a dream he took out his watch.
Tlie watchmaker examined it, and said
with surprise:
“Why, your watch is a stein-winder.”
Stiggins don’t remember how he got
out, but he does remember thut the young
lady smiled audibly at his diaeonititure.
— Jewelers' Weekly,
Driving Homo tlie f'rn< kers.
It was uu amusing sight, a few weeks
lines, to ms ons of thoM stiff, upright,
imitation English coachmen sitting on
hi box in front of a grocery store, whip
well poised, rein* properly grs*|ie<l in
white gloved hands, gaze .lireetisl
straight forward between the cars of the
well groomed horses.
Anon out comes a clerk from the store
with a well fiillcd pajicr hug, ojiens the
carriage door, places tin- hag within up
on tlm scat, amt recloses the door with a
slam.
Scarce had lie turned away when the
coachman started off his team witli a
stately trot, nor halted till he arrived at
the mansion of a wealthy resident in an
aristocratic quarter, before which ho
halted and solemnly waited.
In a few minutes a maid servant rushed
out.
“Why, what is the matter JoIi?
Where are the ladies?”
“Eh? Ilinside, I suppose. Carn’tyou
hopen the door?”
“Open the door! Why, there no one
in the carriage. Where did you drive
from?”
“Bless my ’art! no one there? Why,
I just drove from the grocery store ami
’card the coach door shut when they got
in.”
“Got in! Why, they did not get in,
and you have given a ling of soda
crackers a ride home and left the ladies
behind.”
Such was the case, and the solemn
John went hack at a brisker pace, resol v
ing to trust to eyes rather than eats for
the future. —Boston Bulletin.
How Stonewall Jackson Fell.
After night fell, Stonewall Jackson
rode out with his stuff to reconnoitre in
front of the line lie imd gained, it was
his idea to stretch completely around the
rear of Hooker and cut him oil' from the
river.
The night was dark and Jackson soon
came upon the Union lines. Their in
fantry drove him back, and as lie re
turned in the darkness his own soldiers
began firing at their commander, of
course mistaking his party for the enemy.
Jackson was shot in the hand and wrist,
and in the upper arm at the same time.
His horse turned, and the General lost
his hold of the bridle rein; his cap was
brushed front his head by the branches;
he reeled anil was caught in the arms of
an officer. After a moment lie was as
sisted to dismount, his wound was ex
amined, and a litter was brought. Just
then the Union artillery opened again
and a murderous fire came down upon
the party through the woods and the
darkness. One of the litter hearers
stumbled and fell, ami the others were
frightened; they laid the litter on the
ground, the furious storm of shot and
shell sweeping over them like hail.
Jackson attempted to rise, hut his
aid-de-camp held him down till
the tempest of fire was lulled.
Then the woupded GftUfilflJ was luilpejl
to rise and walked a few steps in the
forest; but he became faint and was laid
again in his litter. Once lie rolled to
the ground when an assistant was shot,
and the Utter fell. Just then General
Fender, one of his subordinates passed.
He stopped anil said ;
“I hope you are not seriously hurt,
General. I fear I shall have to retire my
troops they are so much broken.”
Hut Jackson looked up at once and ex
claimed :
“You must hold your ground, General
Pender, you must hold your ground,
sir!”
This was the last, order lie ever gnve.
He was borne some distance to the near
est house and examined by the surgeon,
and after midnight his left arm was am
putated at the shoulder.
When Lee was told that his most
trusted Lieutenant had been wounded,
he was greatly distressed, for the rela
tions between them were almost tender.
“Jackson has lost his left, arm,” said
Lee, “but I have io t my right arm.”— St.
Nicholas.
Pigeon-Toed Men and Women.
According to tho New York corre
spondent of the Albany Argus, nine men
out of every ten are pigeon-toed. 1 have
made the same remark before, but I was
the other day impressed anew with its
truth. Something prompted me to keep
tally of a few pedestrians on idv mental
abacus. I was walking up Broadway,
and quite a bustle and rush of people
contributed to the success of my observa
tion. Out of the first twelve of whom I
took notice seven toed out at varying
angles from forty-five degrees to about
five. Two toed out witli the right foot
alone. Two more kept their pedals ad
vancing on parallel lines, and
one person was flatly and unequivocally
“pigeon-toed.” 1 took no further obser
vation at the time, feeling that the test
lmd been a fair, average one, and that
it would be safe to lay down'the axiom
that nine men out of every ten, as I said,
are pigeon-toed, menning in a qualified
sense that the nine turn their feet at any
other angle than the right one. I have
spoken of men all along, as no one ought
to suppose that I would be so ungallant
ns to scrutinize the attitudes of feminine
shoe leather for the ungenerous purpose
of publishing the results to the public.
But I have reliable information on which
to affirm that ladies do not walk correctly
in respect to toeing-out any more than
xnen, and moreover, that in childhood
this fault might easily be corrected. To
a person giving due attention to the mat
ter, the result will soon be jiereeived in a
better carriage and more elasticity and
freedom in step.
A Soldier’s Great Endurance.
C. B. Tower, tlie private in Company
K, of the old Pennsylvania “Buoktails,”
who lias just been granted a medal l>y
President Cleveland, must have been a
man of wonderfully vigorous constitution.
The special acts for which tlie medal was
granted were for continuing in the battle
of the Wilderaess after being wounded:
for participation in tlie battles of Spottsyl
vauia, North Anna River and Bethesdn
Church while suffering from his wound,
and for escaping from the Confederates
while being transported from Libby
prison to Andcrsonville by jumping from
a train and making his way across the
mountains into West Virginia and thence
back to his command. —Nne York Com
mercial.
Northern California has a character
nicknamed “.Strychnine Jack,” through
his capacity for taking that drug, of
which he consumes a sjioonfiil at a dose.
If he cuts bis flesh aud let* a dog lick
tbe wound tbe anlaaldies,
•Urn Per Abbihb. la Mtuni,
NO. 27.
TO-MORROW'S FORTUNES.
II v <treams, like ship* that w*t teas*. ,
And becalmed In sunnier < llntes.
No more returned, are lost to me.
Faint oeWs of tbinehopeful times;
Ami I hsve learned, with doubt nppmnd—
There are no Isrds In next year's mat.
Tlio sent is sowed in balmy spring.
The summer's sun hi vivify,
W it-li his worm Ititas rqiemug
To golden harvest by and by.
Hot caught by drought, like all the real—
Tlien> are no birds in next year’s neat.
The stock I bought at eighty-nine
Broke down at once to twenty-eight;
Pome squatters jumped my silver mine.
My own convention smashed my slate;
No more in futures I’ll invest—
There are no birds in nexbyMtr s nest.
— Burdette, i lirooMyn Bugle.
PITH ANl[ POINT.
Where’s the impropriety in railing a
Boston boy a regular Hub-bub?— Soeietg
Journal.
The base-lmll player is the only em
ploye whose right to’strike is acknowl
edged and even approved by tftoac ha
works for. —Merchant Traveler.
There is a gentleman living on Staten
Island so infatuated with the view (bathe
gels from his house that he walks up the
hill every day backward. —The Kpoeh.
Turn, pilgrim, turn; thy cares forego
Ami drink thy fill of mirth;
Mnn wants but. little here belpw.
He only wants the earth.
Washington Hatchet.
After running a lawn-mower for an
hour, this morning, he remarked that if
ever he had said anything derogatory or
unkind of the snow-shovel, lie would
most willingly take it back. —Springfield
Bepuhlicun.
“Mb,” said Bertie, “should I say
‘pants,’ or ‘trousers?’ ” “Trousers, my
dear,” said the mother. “Well, then,"
said Bertie, “I think Bridget had better
give Fidosomc water; ho trousers awful
ly.”— Tid-Biis.
After the clouds, the lilne,
After the drought, the dew;
And after you’ve taken your summer vaca
tion
The bills will shower on you.
-Burdette.
The Iceman smiles as he counts the gains
Derived from the trade of summer,
And as he walks the streets disdains
The greeting of the plumber.
But the plumber will iwss the iceman by
Anil lie himself the hero,
When the storm cloud floats intho winter sky,
And the mercury’s down to zero.
—Boston Courier.
“Let's go now, Amy," said Mildred to
the high school girl wlten the game was
only half over. “No,” rctilied Amy; “I
want to go the whole hog." _ “Amy
dear,” protested Mildred, “that, is repre
lidWtible slang. You sliouM say, •traverse
the unabbreviated swine,’ "—Pittehurg
Chronicle.
There is a good deal of food for con
templation in tlie remark attributed to a
Pacific Const Chinaman. He was taken
to sco one of the booming new towns,
where all the outlying country wan laid
out in city lots, and he took it all in.
When he returned home he whs asked
what lie thought of it, and he answered:
“Too niuchce liy and by." —Hartford
Courant.
O merchant in thine hour of e e e,
If on this paiior you should c c o,
And look for something to an p p p,
Your yearning for greenback v v v,
Take our advice and be y y y,
Go straightway out and advert ii I.
You’ll find the project of some u u u,
Neglect can offer no x q q q q,
Be wise at once, prolong your and a a a
A silent business soon and k k k k.
North Carolina Mines.
Despite the talk about diamond fields
in Kentucky, hut few gems of any sort
lmvo been found in the limits of the Uni
ted States. The most celebrated diamond
beds are in India, Brazil and South Afri
ca, although single stones have occasion
ally been picked up in Virginia and
North Carolina. Mexico furnishes many
perns,particularly opals,but North Amer
ica, wnile rich in gold nnd silver,appears
to he poor in precious stones. North
Carolina has furnished some interesting
stones,particularly the hiddenite, ngrass
green gem, allied in chemical character
to the topaz, hut of a color previously
unknown. Itoccurain Alexander Coun
ty, in the foot bills east of tho Blue
Ridge, and was nqmed for its discoverer,
Hidden.
In the same region in McDowell Coun
ty, where there arc gold mines, are also
found in great variety stones of more or
less value. The mining is carried on
chiefly for gold by the hydraulic sluicing
system, in which the mountain streams
are employed to wnshdown the hillsides.
The earth is sluiced down for gold, and
all the stones which remain in the aluicea
arc carefully examined. A correspondent
from the mines states that valuable rich
specimens arc often found, and aa much
as the value of $4,000 in opals, topazes
and other fine atones has been found in
i one day, and on one occasion a diamond
worth SI,OOO was taken out. There are
other localities in that region that are,
without doubt,equally rich.— The Trades
man.
—- .
A .Horn From a Human Head.
An interesting addition has just been
made to the museum of the Hospital
Saint Louis, in Paris, in the shape of a j
strdng and solid horn, which has been
surgically removed from the head of *
woman residing at Hyeres, in the Riviera
This appendage grew from the scalp, w js
tweuty-one centimeters (eight inch®)
long and in appearance and consistency
resembling the horn of a goat. This
deformity is rare, but not so much m as
is generally imagined. Cloquet, I the
eminent anatomist, records a case and
Bemarquay has collected fifty-nine ftses.
—DuUin Medical Journal.
Rennnciation of tbe World.
An attorney told me the othpi day
that a iaily (who does not care, bawever,
to iiave her name made public) came to
his office recently and deeded over to
her husband property to the value of
$20,000, aud he was given power of
attorney for $30,000 more. The lady
signified Hint ahe had concluded to join
the Salvation army, und so had re
nounced the world entirely dnd given up
nil care of money matters, in older that
site might devote herself absolutely to
the eonesrna of tbe Lord.— (K,
Pmetr Preee,