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About The News and farmer. (Louisville, Ga.) 1875-1967 | View Entire Issue (April 13, 1876)
VO L. \ THE NEWS & FARMER BY ROBERTS & BOYD. W Fnllislied every Thursday Morning . : /5V 1L L GTOII G 1 A. PB’KiCE of subscription. IN ADVANCE. e opy one year $2 00 six months 1.00 •< “ tlnee niontha.-.--. 00 Ko. a Club of FIVE or more we will make a reduction of 25 pci - cent AD/LKPISINU RATES Transient .'iduerlisein'ints, One dollar p squa o (ten lines oi this type or ono inch) foi the lirat. insertion and 75 cents lor earn tniheer duent insertion A liberal deduction made 0.1 Advertisements ruiiimit* over one month. i.ocal notices will be chained Filteen cents per lino each insertiou. {-AT* All bills tor advertising duo at any time Alter :he first in ertion and will be presented kl the pleasure of the Pruprietois, except by special arrangement LEGAL A )VERTISIN( Ordinary’s Citations lor Letters of Administra tion, Guardianship Ac..---* ------00 Application tor dicin'n troin adru’n ti 00 iiumt'.'ica l notice 3 00 Application tor uisui'u rom guard n i> (JO Aup I* ation for leave to sell land ♦> 00 Notice to Debtors and Creditors 4 00 <uies oi L <nd,/>r square ol ten lints 5 00 ot personal per sqr , ten bheritf's —Each levy ot tenUnes l 5 00 Muilp age sales u)ten lines or less 500 i ux Collector s bales, persqr., |_3 mourns Id 0u Vtcrk's —Foreclosure of mortgage and teller monthly ’ per square 4 00 stri v no ices thirty da; a 5 0U Textual railroad. ON and after SUNDAY the 20th June, th Pa*'eug<r trains -n the Ueoigia C ntral Karlroa i, its brunches and will Ull MB oHoa.3* I r.enve 9;15 a ni , Amve m Augusta LOO p m j Arrive in ilacou 0:45 j> ■ Leave dae.oh tor ('olu nbu..----- j Leav* Macon for Eufaula 9:10 r m Leave Macon for Atlanta 9:1.5 m m j ' Arrive at ‘’olninbus 1:45 a rn ' Arrive at Eu Inula 6:17 p m | An ire at A-lauta 5:0*2 a m ; Lo*ve Atlanta 10:4o p m j Live Kufaula &22 a m j Leave C'oiuinbus 1:30 p m J Arrive at Macon from Atlanta d.40 p m j rrive at Macon from Eutaula s:l.qp tll > Ar.ivf at Macon from Columbus (1:55 p n , Lea - Macon ?:IH) a nil Arrive at Augusta 4:00 p m j Arrive at .Savannah 5:25 p m | Connect daily at Gord-m with Fassengei Trains to and f om Savannah and Augusta. iicofessiotwl (Carts. J_i. JL* G AMBi.Jt., f) li ATTORNEI AT LAW. jtLouunuTlc, (Ga. January G 1 y j, U. Gaia. J. *i. 1/uiliiii CAIN & POLHILL. \ T 'l' UIiNEVS A T LA W JLOUISVILL, GA. Mit}-5, IS7I. 1 >y dejeTeTparsons DET'TIS r Kouisville* Ga. WiM lo in Loueville tha thirl week in encli ; month i'iT' 1 >r.l*r- left at thi Central Hotel promptly ► attended to. lh 24 ly. f*-A F DURHAM? M- D. Physician and .... Ga. SITUOEBBFUI.I.Y boats Diseases of the I.nngs anil Throat, diseases of the Eve, Nose an 1 Ear, ami all forms of I'ropsev ; dis eases of iho He n t Kidneve, Bladder and (stric ture, secret diseases, long standing Ulcers.— Removes lleoioi rhnidal Tumors witimut pain Makes a speciality oI diseases peculiar to l'e males. Medicines sent to any point on the Knilrnad. All enriespeudenee coulidemial. Fcby 15, I4 ly - HOTJuS. k CENTRAL HOTEL. LOUISVILLE , GA. A, M. Kirkland, Proprietress. Per Day. Lanier House, Mulberry Street, MACON GEORGIA B Bfißo Proprietor Free Craribas fr.raaoil Cos ibe Depot . fM r 2* [Original.] DEATH. “Dust thou art, lo duat returnest Was not sjiok- li of the -oul.” Death is the common lot of man : He lives with the warm blood Tinging his brawny cheek to day, Wit h the high hopes of manhood Mantling his brow with stern resolve ; And in his eye, a noble purpose reigns— Reigns as a rightful heir to energy of mind, —— lo health of body and of brain. To-inorrow all his vaunted strength And all his rosy hopes will flee, And all his stern resolves will pass away Beyond the limit of earth’s circumfer ence. Perhaps they reach beyond the evanes cent air That circumscribes nis transitory stay in this delusive sphere? Then all is well. But, ah ! If he lived as lives A hope in a bright bird’s breast, Who pines i'ortne freedom of the woods, The music of the pearly brook, or re- lease From a gilded prison home and nothing more; Not like tne bird when the silver bowl Is broken, and the golden chain is •snapped, Who finds repose in oblivion, utter and eternal. Ah, no; he just begins to live forever Or else forevermore to die. Death is the common lot of man— Not man alone, but of the flower That blooms about his feet, and makes The air lie breathes supremely soft and sweet — And of ail the forms of life that fill In dense profusion all this earth, Or float in atom shapes, in oceans deep expanse, All, all must stoop to the stern decree, "Dust tuou art and unto dust shaft thou return.” But of all the mighty throng of beings animate, The hosts of boasts, and birds, and fish, Of things that creep, or crawl, or swim, or fly, Upon the.land, or sea, or in the air; tlrehiiige of his G od, < —• W ith the seal of deity on his brow ; Alone lives after death. The damp of the dreaded charnel house May decompose the parts, and worms M ay feed on human flesh and blood, But the soul can never die. . it is the vital part that lives Through end.ess ages blest, or in eter nal misery. * SUNSET. Upward do I journey slowly, As Uia shadows lengthen fast, To a land of sunlight holy, Where no evening sha lows are cast; Noontide glory la that land shall always last. See the sun in splendor, shining, On the hills of the west; Grandly thus tiie day declining, Things a night of peaceful rest; While earth’s weary, Long to find its slumber blest. Life's high western hills are shading, Solemnly the path I go ; Sunset glory too is fading, Soon Tlf miss the gol ieu glow ; Sunset shadows, Soon will leave my path below. And with joy unmanned with sorrow Do I hail life’s eventide; Herald of a bright to morrow. Over on tiie other side ; Through the darkness Gladly will my spirit glide. Some 1 love are over yonder, Basking in a fadeless ray, And my feet would gladly wander With them in their new-found day; Since they left me, Lone to me lias been life’s way. Night comes on; and not regretting That tiie day is almost done, Calmly I await the setting Of the distant sinking sun, Glad in spirit That the race is nearly run. [original.] MORAL COURAGE. Among the many things that are in their tendency deteriorating, is a want of moral courage and moral standing, in order to give a moral tone to socie ty, and to build up its broken down bulwarks —its battered walls, and to bring out into bold relief its defaced landmarks. By landmarks oe mean a stand, —a position—a corner post, if you please, that through all inclem ency aud vicissitude is ever the same, and when you go to look for it, you may find it deep-set, unswerved to the right or left. We need men who will stand up against wrong, and who are fearless to defend the right. Every one a linits that disorganization of society and demoralization of public sentimeut are, to a great extent, wide-spread evils; every one admits that lie does not know who to trust, and that there is not that high regard for truth that should be an unfailing emblem of an honest and an upright people. Tins is a terrible idea to become ex THE NEWS AND FARMER. LOUISVILLE. JEFFERSON COUNTY. GA., APRIL 13, 1370. tant, and more fearful the picture, if it be absolutely true. When a country — when a people cease to be honest and to observe the golden rule, “Do unto others as you would that others should do unto you,” why religion itself, and its object, (being the chief incentive to honesty) must be at a low ebb. We are told, too that the law is to hiatus for it. The law may court evils and abominations and bring them to the surface, just as a diseased body— vegetable—or a animal will germinate and support a fungous growth; but there are incipient causes that lie deep er. Pluck the mote out of thine own eye, Cry down, have the moral Courage to denounce error, to wage war on a ,y in novation of h .nesty and uprightness, wherever it may exist, and siand up as a monumental landmark that cannot be shaken from a firm position. Let every one determine to do this, uncompromisingly, wiiether it injures his popularity or not, and it will not be long before the clouds will roll back tueir dark banners, and the sun light will stream in' on a prosperous people, like a glad thought illuminates the sanctuary of a stricken heart. A GAME OF DR AW. One of the River War Incidents— Possessing Certain Interesting Features. They were sitting around the table in a Fifteenth Ward faro bank that is temporarily closed through some mis understanding with the police, and hav ing got tired of short cards, they fell to telling stories. “You may have heard this one,” said a square jaweu, firm-taced, gray-whis kered man, “for it was printed briefly at the time ; but I was there.” “in tile latter part of '67 I made a trip down the river. There came on board at Cairo a young paymaster who was on his way to pay a brigade of troops somewhere in the neighborhood of Vicksburg. It was very quiet on the boat, and ou the first nignt be ow Cairo tbe paymaster spent a good deal of ins time after supper walking up and down the saloon. There was also walking up and down the saloon a trim, square shouldered man, who seemed to be suf fering from the same tedionsness ; and wheu they had met a few times, the eteangev.-imile i a Uttiel at the <*fciymas ter, and said : •Dull.’ ‘D n dull,’ answered the paymas ter. 'Suppose we have a little game of draw,' said the stranger. •Good idea,’ said tne paymaster, and they sat down and went at it. •Rota of them were playing merely to pass time, at least the paymaster was, and the other man seemed to be. They had it one way and the other for an hour or two, playing about $5 for a top bet, and neither of tvein winning or losing much, but still getting more and more interested. Finally each seemed t get a Lig hand, and they begau bet ting heavy in tbe most natural sort of a way. The tire had been smouldering, you see, and it broke out apparently without their knowing it. 'Neither of them seemed disposed to lay down, anil they kept on raising and raising till they were making bets of two, tiiree, and five hundred dollars, and they got the pot up to about sev en thousand dollars. Then the stran ger rested his eye on the paymaster for a moment, and made an estimate of the amount of pluck and tiie probable size of Ins pile, and the result of his obser vations seemed to be a belief that he could bluif or freeze him out, for ho threw his hand down on tiie table, and leaned over and pulled a bowie knife out ol his boot, and drove the point of it through the cards into the table.— Then lie took a big wallet out of his breast pocket and counted out twenty one five hundred dollar uote3. lie saw the paymaster’s last bet of five hundred and then hauled a revolver olf his hip, pushed the other twenty bills in the pot, ami said: ‘I raise you ten thousand dollars.’ •The paymaster looked at Sue gam-: bier about two seconds. Then he beck- 1 oned to uis colored toy, a bright young fellow who liad taken the thingm from tne start, aud would have given his mas ter the wink if he had ever happened to look in Uis direction, winch he hadn’t. But he brightened up when he heard the word, and he walked straight olf to the paymaster’s state-room. He disap peared a moment, aud then showed up agaiu, backing through the door, drag ging a trunk alter him ; aud he came down the saloon rolling that trunk along on its end, just as handy as if he had smashed baggage on a through line all lus life. Tne paymaster took a key from his vest pocket, threw up the lid of the trunk, and took olf a sheet of sole leather that seemed to serve as a sort of hinder l'or tiie two bundles of bills underneath. He took two big packages out of tiie end, and laid them up on one side of th3 table. Then he began taking >ut the other bundles aud stacking tiiein upon the table in tront of him. lie kept taking out aud stacking up till he had built a triangle-shaped pile, like two pairs of stairs meeting at tne top and all filled in solid under neath. “Then he threw his hand down on the table, and pulled a bowie-knife out of his boot and spiked it down through the cards, and while tiie candle was still shivering he handed the two bun dies into the middle of the table, and said: ‘I see your $ 10,000’ —here braced hira |. seif back against the pile and began shoving it up the table, talking all the time—‘and I raise you a hundred and seventy-five thousand!’ and then (he did it so quick that I couldn’t see when it was done) he had a pistol off each hip, and was resting an elbow about half way up on each side of the green back stairs, both shooters covering the gambler, and holding them very steady and straight, too. ‘Now, tne gambler was an older man and of much more espe.iejaie than the paymaster, and uniter aoj; ordinary cir cumstances he eoulct have handled him ten to one, and lie knew it, and had no thought of laying down even then, and he seemed to revolve the thing in his mind for about a quarter of a minute, and when he had settled what to do he i looked up ready to act, but one glance at the paymaster made him change his J mind ; for he could see shining through his face all the aeeum dated unqsedj grit of years, and a man with half an’ eye could see that he meant busiuess. ‘The gambler realized that fact. He ■ pulled his knife out of the table, stuck I his pistol into his pocket, and walked 1 on down the saloon whistling “Rosa Lee,” just as soft and pleasant as i hough he was going for a cigar after dinner. Then the paymaster hooted ids knife and slung hts shooters and packed his trunk, putting in along with the rest the thirteen thousand odd of the gambler’s money; and lie didn’t take any more draw that trip.” “And 1 am told that ho was so much impressed by the revelation to himself of ins own backbone and nerve that he made up his mind there was something better for him to do than wasting his time in gambling, and lie hasn’t handled a card since.” YANKEE* TRADING. A certain farmer, who in the course of a year purchased a hundred dollars worth of goods, (and always paid for them,) called at the store of a village merchant, his regular place of-trading, with two dozen brooms, which lie offered lor sale. Tiie merchant (who, by the way, is fond of a good bargain) examined his stock, and said : \\ cli, Cyrus, 1 will give you a shil ling apiece tor these brooms. Cyrus appeared astonished at the ■‘ >r “ ' 1 y-.a-l ■ ■ 4 . . . Oh, no, John, I oan*|gin.t6 take that for’em, no-how, ! nt I'll let you have ’em for twenty cents- apiece, and not a cent less.” Cyrus, you are crazy, fej lied John. Why, see here, showing him a line lot ’of brooms, here is an article a great deal better than yours, (which was not true,) that I am retailing at twelve and a halt’ cents apiece, (which was not true, by seven and a ha4£-cents ) 1 don’t care for that, Answered Cy rus ; your brooms are cheap enough, but you can t have mine tor less than twenty cents* no how, and pretending to be mote than halt angry shouldered his brooms and started for the door. The merchant, getting a little ner vous over the probable loss of a good customer, and fearing he might go to some other store and never return’, said: See here, Cyrus, hold on a while, if I give you twenty cents for your brooms, 1 suppose you will not object to take the price of thchi in goods. No, I don’t care if 1 do, replied Cy rus. Well, then, said tne merchant, as you ate an old customer, I will allow you twenty cents apiece for this lot. Let me see—twenty times twenty-four makes just four inindreTand eighty— yes, four dollars and Eighty cents. What kind of goods will you have, Cyrus? Well, now John, I reckon it don’t make any diirereuce to you what kind of goods I take, does it? Ob no, not at all, said tiie merchant. Well, then, as it don’t make any dif ference to you, I’ll tali3 tiie amount in them brooms of yearn, at twelve and a half cents apiece $ Let me see, four dollars and-eighty ■cents will get .thirty-eight brooms, *nl five cents over. It don’t make’much difference, John, about the live cents, but as you : are a right mever feller, I believe I j believe 1 will take tha change in tor backer. IVIIO ARE THE CREOLES? Before I came to New Orleans, says a correspondent, I thought a Creole was a halt-bee l of soauj race—Cuban, or Spanish, or French—l didn’t exact ly know which. I think .the Northern people have the same hit.ion, and will be grateful if I eomict them before they come down here |aud show their ignorance, as I did A creole is a na tive of Louisiana. Any one who is born here is a Creole, just as any ore who was born in Indhna is a lL>o3ier and in Ohio h Buckeye. They don’t have dark, pensive and romantic hair; they don’t sit on verjindas with their ! fingers against Aheit cheek, and a j shapely arm, bare to the elb nv, rest ! ing on the balustrade; aud they don’t ■ look olf into tiie gardens of bananas and drooping palms, witli alligators crawling over the wak. It is a base misrepresentation, this idea; but I was sorry to have my rimance shattered when I found it out. A Dubuque editor in-allowed a pen | the other day. l’erliajis lie intends pre paring editorial matter for his “inside.” A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. Weddings are as thick in this vicin ity just now as blackbirds in a mul berry marsh. This time it is two couples from the classic and mystic shades of the Badger State, not more than a hundred miles from Sinsinawa Mound. They had heard of the hos pitality of our clerlfe, our lawyers, our squires, and the people of Dubuque in I general, and concluded that the envi j runs of the Key City was just the place I wherein to weld the fetters that 'find a life. Arriving in Danleith, ti boardeiL.the ferry-boat, and {ptaouiV themselves under the protecting wing of Captain Yates, soon stood upon the levee that has cost the city so much time, money, and condemnation. The horse cars took them to a hotel, where they were assigned to the parlor while a messenger was dispatched for ’Squire Griswold. Upon arrival the squire took in the situation at a glance, and after satisfying himself that all was legal and correct, performed the mar riage ceremony in duplicate. The grooms were brothers and the brides were sisters, young and hand some. After they were married, the clerk of the hotel was requested to show them suitable rooms, which he did, putting John and his wife in one, and James and his wife in the other, which was immediately over John’s room on the next floor. The grooms left their newly made wives in their respective rooms, and sauntered abroad to look over the city. During their wanderings they fell in with several of their neighbors, and congratulatory drinks were the eonse queuce of the meeting under the cir cumstances. The hilarious greetings continued late in the evening, when John and James thought it was time to retire. John was asked by the clerk if he should be shown to his room, but John said he could find it,, as it was in the northeast comer of the building. James tarried a while lear the warm stove, in witch was a cherjy lire burn ing, and for two hours was thinking, pe;haps, of by-gone times, recalling the old scenes and summoning half forgotten faces out of the mists of the past. He, too, soon retired, an i with the same assurance to the clerk that ua could easily hud his room, as he re membered it was in the northwest cor ner of TANARUS,“.! building. —* aha t*, Tri'. Pifrp - -r{- t ~ the two happy couple'v jttTßhey slept in loves dreams. The Mj§sing dawned, and with it the fact that'-the lovers had mistaken rooms. John had uncon sciously retired in James room and with James’ wife, while James had done the same in John’s room. Here was a dilemma, which bashfulness had caused. What was to be done? The girls were perplexed and abashed, but the mis takes were irreparable. Altera consul tation over the wreck of their connu bial bliss they coaelu led to forgive and forget, and avoi i dark rooms in the future. HO IV THE IViDO WCA UGH TII IM. A gentleman of an autobiographical turn relates how he was instructed in the custom of taking toll, by a spright ly widow during a moonlight sleigh ride vvitii a merry party. He says : ‘The lovely wido w L—sat in the same sleigh, under the same bulfalo robe with me.’ ‘Oil, oh, —don’t, don’t l’ she exclaim ed. as we came to tiie first bridge, at the same tune catching me by the arm and turning her veiled face toward me, while Uerlitlle eyes twinkled through the moonlight. ‘Don’t what?’ I asked. Tm not doing anything.’ ‘Well, but I thought you were going to take toll,' replied tiie widow. ‘Toll?’ I rejoined. ‘What is that?’ ‘Well, I declare!’ cried the widow, her clear laugh ringing out above the music of the bells, ‘you pretend you do not know what toll is?’ ‘lndeed, 1 don’t, then,’ I said, laugh ing ; ‘explain, if you please.’ •You never heard, then,’ said the wi dow, ino3t provokingly, ‘you never heard that when we are on a sleigh-ride the gentlemen always —that is some times—when they cross a bridge claim a kiss and call it toll. But 1 never pay it.’ 1 said that I never heard of it before; but when we came to tiie next bridge I claimed the toll, and the widow’s strug gles to Bold the veil over her face were not enough to tear it. At last the veil was removed, her round rosy face was turned directly toward mine, and in the clear light of a lrosty moon tiie toll was taken, l'or tiie first time in my experi ence. Soon we came to a long bridge with severa. arches; the widow said it was of no U3e to resist a man who would have his own way, so she paid the toll without a murmur." ‘But, you won't take toll for every arch, will you?' she sai 1 so archly, that 1 could not fail to exact all my dues ; and that was the beginning of my court ship.’ A correspondent of the Ploughman describes how he made a turf cutter: “1 took a hard-woo.l plank about the length of a plough beam, an! then morticed a hole the size of a coulter, had an iron plate upon top an i bottom, sc a3 to keep the cutter in place, put ting it well back. I then made handles like plough liaudles, then hitched the horse to .t, cutting it into squares of about one foot; then I had but little trouble in turning ,t with a grab-hook." A BEAUTIFUL INCIDENT. A young man recently rail away from the galleys of Toulouse. He was strong and vigorous, and soon made his way across the country and escaped puisuit. lie arrived next morning before a cot tage \n an open fiel!. and stopped to get something to eat, and get refuge while he reposed a little. But he found the inmates of the cottage in the greatest distress. Four little children sat tren ding in the corner ; their mother sat weeping and tearing, her hair, and their Father was walking thp floor in, agony. VTlie Galley-slave asked what Was th,*' matter, and the father replied that they were that morning to be turned out of doors, because they could not pay their rent. “You see me driven to-despair." said the father, “my wife and my children without food or shelter and' I without means to provide for them.” The convict listeued to the tale with tears of sympathy and said, “I wili give you the means. I have e leaped- from the galleys. Whosoever brings back an es caped prisoner receives a reward of fifty' francs. How much does the rent amount to?” “Forty francs,” said the father. “Well,” said the other, “put a cord around uiy body. I will follow you to the city, where they will recognize me, and you will get fifty francs for bring ing me back.” “No, never!” exclaimed the aston ished listener. “My cliil -ren should starve a thousand times before I would do such a base thing.” The generous min insisted, an 1 de clared at last that he would give him self up if the father would consent to take him. After a long struggle the latter yielded, and taking his preserver by the arm, lie led him to the city and to the mayor's office. Everybody vras surprised to see that a little manlike the father had been able to capture such a strong young fel low; but the proof was before them. The fifty francs were paid and the prisoner sent back to the galleys. But after lie was gone, the father asked a private interview with the mayor, to whom he told the whole story. The mayor was so much affected that he not only added fifty francs to the father's purse, but wrote immediately t<# the ministers of justiu*, bogging the noble jjonutf releasee 'The ininix fpußtirt-Vlpi-o trie K '-7Tr, and -.\nW' mg n was a comparatively small offence which had condemned the young man to the galleys, and that he had already served out half his term, ordered his re lease. ESSAY ON TIIE ONION. In onion is strength, and a garden without it lacks flavor. The onion in its satin wrappings is among the most beautiful of vegetables ; it can almost be said to have a soul. You take off coat after coat, and the onion is still there; and. when the last one is re moved, who dare say that the onion it self is destroyed, though you can weep over its departed spirit? / doubt not that all men and wc men kve the onion ; but a few confess their love. Good New Englanders are as shy of owning it a3 they are of talking about religion. Some people have days on which they eat onions—tiie act is in tiie nature of a religious ceremony, an Eleusinian mysiery ; not a breath of it must get abroad. On that day they see no com pany, they deny tiie kiss of greeting io the dearest friend, llappy is said to be the family who eat onions together. Look at Italy; all eat of tiie common vegetable. The social atmosphere of that delicious land is laden with it. In the churches all are alike ; there is one faith, one small. Tiie entrance of Victor Emanuel into Borne is only the pompous proclamation of a unity which gallic lias already accomplished, a id yet we. who boast of our democracy, eat onions in secret. ROUND TO GET A SUBSCRIBER ANY WAY He w w once out on a jaunt in tiie township of White Oak, Ingham county, sticking to every farmer untill lie got his name and money, and it so happen ed that lie came to a house where death had called a tew hours before. The farmer’s wife was laid ou‘, and the hus bandman and his uliildre i were griev ing over her loss when tlu* editor knock ed at the door. “What’s up?" inquire l tho editor, as he saw tiie farmer’s solemn countenance before him. "My wife is deal,*- replied the farm er. Istliat so? “muse 1 the editor, a lit tle disappointed. “Did she die easy?" Dropped off like a lamb.” “Did she suv anything?” “Not a word—just went right to sleep like.’ “I didn’t know,” continued tiie editor a sad look on his face, “but what she might have requested you to subscribe fertile Candida which you know is the best paper in the county. If you want it, I’ll take your name right in, and under the circumstances l won't charge a cent for the obituary notice.” Tha farmer hung off for a while but before the editor went away he had two additional dollars in his pocket, and had written out an obituary notice for publication iu tho next issue, which the bereaved husband pronounced "a mighty smart piece.” i—l 4IV —' Subscribe now. ! HO IT UE GOT RID OF THE AL LIGATORS. Lying in, taking on wool one trip between Rod river, and Bayou Sara. I addressed an old darkey standing ou tne bank. "Uncle, I suppose you have plenty of alligators around here?” -Marsa, we used to hab a mighty smart heap of dern out in do swamps and bayous, but dey dun all cleaned j out, 1 tell you !” i “Why,, ho-.v is that, Unclef” >*-• Ijt 1 ‘(e ycftl see, MsnAy. I was wid i Mr. iuiifvum’s soger boys, and I learnt i a heapt ’bout deni tings. Wus wid do | boys wliar dare was mighty hard I scratc’ien, 1 tell you. Laraed all ’bout Idem tarpeedses, frown shells, etc. I\Y iiau I corn3 balk homo I had plenty lof powder and sonic dem tings what | you pull wid a string to lire do cannon ! wid. Dam alligators had been playin’ d-c debil wiiou I come back—dim tnied olf nearly all ob my pigs. One day I ■sees one of dem pigs layin by do bayou wid his logs broken and nearly a!i of his bref gone. So I kills him and cleans him out; den I gets one ob dem cans what dey puts up tomaties 'in and filled him up wid powder and matches; den 1 fastens him uptight and puts a hole in do top an 1 puts one dem tings in what dey touches de can non off wid ; den I tie3 my string to it jes as if 1 was gwine to tire de camion ; den I puts him in tie pig and sews him up an-i totes him down by de water Den I gets back ’tno-ig de cane, wid de end ob do string in my hand to wait. Presently, by and b3', I seed one of dem ugly black heads swimming to ward de pig. Yah, hah, yah, 1 could not belli lading, just .to tink what dat feller was gwine to coteli. I‘urtc soon he made a dive for dat pig, and swal lowed him right olf and started. Deu I pulls do string, yah, yah, } r ah, hi, hi, hi, lie. Marsa, I dcelnr to goodness if dat alligator wasn’t Mowed into free million pieces, .and apiece of dat same pig struck me on the head and nearly knocked me down, Dar hasn’t bsan one of dem ’gators seen ’bout har sense. ’Spect dey found out that one ob de Linkum sogers libbed around dese parts.” • IIE DID IT FIRST' too sheep’ wV> lived in a field. One was black and one was white. In tne same Add lived a horse an l cow. Now the black sheep was not at all good. But where lie chose to go, the white sheep would go; and what he did the white sheep would do. Sotheyd'd what they ought not. And when the white sheep was asked why he did what he ought not, he would say, ‘‘The black did it,first.’ One day. a boy went through tiie field, and did not shut the gate. The black sheep saw it. and ran out of the field with great glee, The-white sheep saw it too, and they both-went some way. But soon they met a large dog, who khey that they ought not to be out in th : roa l. He ran at them, and bit them, and tore some wool off their backs. They wore glad to run back to the field ; and the white seeep was quite ill with fright all the restoj the day. •Rut why did you go? said the oi l cow. ‘The black seeop went,' said the white one. ‘He did it first.’ Whell tiie gate was shut; but one day tiie black sheep found a way out of the field throuh a hole in the fence. He crept through Use gap ; and, of course the white sheep crept through as wall. They got out o:i the moor, and thought it fine fa i to b; there, with no one in sight. Soon the black sheep, who was first, came to the edge of a deep pit. Ho, gave a great jump, an ' leaped m. The white sheep did not stop to think. He gave a great jump, and leaped in too. Down, down down he 101 lto a heap of sharp stones. Both he and the black sheep were much hurt. Tqay could not get out. and were force 1 to lie there in great pain- By and by some men came by, nndaw the sheep in the pit. The meu goftWem, o-.ft, and R*nt for som ? one to see what could be done for them. The horse an 1 cow’ in great relief, cam® and stoo ' by tiie side of the white sheep as lie lay o.i tiie grass. They were fond or him in spite of all his faults. “Oil, why 1” cried tho cow, with tears iu her eyes (and the bell that was hung run id her shook and rang as she leane 1 over him) —“why did you leave the Hell with the black sheep?' “He di i it ti: st,' said the white one iu a faint voice. “Toon why di 1 you jump down that steep place? Could you not sea that it was a pit? “I di 1 not see it. lie did it first." said "the white sheep. Then, with a groan, he asked, “How is the black sheep? Is he here too? And what does the man think who comes to see us? “1 grieve to say,’’ said the cow, “that he thought you were both far too much hurt to live. The poor black sheep lias just died, an 1 1 fear that you must die too." “lie did it first,,” said the white sheep. And with those words he died. —Author of “Hick and I.” How much pain have those evils •cost us which never happened? AV'nit, then, til. trials come. NO. 49,
