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8 AN INCIDENT AT THE BATTLE OF SHARPSBURG, MARYLAND In my last war story, "Tlge Anderson’s ‘ Brigade at Sharpsburg.” I mentioned bursting a cap at the heart of a color . bearer, and afterwards finding him wounded on the field. He told me he was the color bearer of the First Minnesota "regiment. Through The Atlanta Journal (and everybody reads The Journal) I have learned his name and residence, and on the 39th anniversary of the battle of Sharpsburg. September 17th. I wrote him ’• long and friendly letter, to which he re plied in a most interesting way. which f I think will be equally interesting to the many readers of that valuable paper. The Atlanta Journal, and which I will give in full: -STILLWATER. Minn.. Sept. 28. I*l. “Mr W. H. Andrews. Sugar Valley. Ga.: -Dear Friend Johnnie—Your kind and Interesting letter of the 17th instant, the 39th anniversary of our first and last meeting on the bloody battlefield of An tietam. Sharpsburg. Md.. has been re ceived. and to say I was surprised and 'pleased would be stating it mildly. In ifact I was more than pleased to hear from the boy in gray that I laughed at •for dodging a shell that was in search of him- -Why. Johnnie, it became second nature to us all to dodge those vicious iron burn able bees that had a very disagreeable way of disturbing our quietness. I was also 'very much interested in your account of the part your brigade took in that day s work. It was a terrible day for both sides. I have often wondered what ever became of the pleasant, manly sergeant with whom I chatted so freely on that occa sion. and who I felt sure was a true sol dier. hence my surprise and extreme ■ pleasure in receiving your letter. I am also glad that vou are still among the living, and that the little brown-eyed ’best girl did not go back on you for a stay at home, but preferred the boy in gray in Tige’ Anderson's fighting brig ade.' I am also glad your gun missed fire when you was so anxious to down me. for I am confident by what you write I must have been your especial object for the First Minnesota was on the extreme right of our line at that time, while yours was on the extreme left of your line. "Now will you kindly tell me just where it was that your gun snapped? Was it before you changed your position further t« your left while yet in the field and before you tumbled over the fence, or after? It must have been before, be cause while we were at the fence on the edge of the woods most of the boys on my right were down behind the fence, but •those on the left were up and attending strictly to business. I was standing up resting the flagstaff on the fence in front of me. Directly in front of me only a few Johnnies were visible in the corn field, but they were sending their compli ments to us rather more freely than was desirable to we'uns. Sergeant Bloomer sent me a three-column clipping from the Stillwater Daily Gazette in which is a more thrilling account of his awful fate on that bloody field, which I will copy from. It says: The First Minnesota regiment was in the thick of the fight during the entire day and was located at the extreme right. Sam Bloomer was the color bearer of the regiment and early in the forenoon, about 9 o'clock, while he was resting the flag staff on a fence in front of him and the boys were lying down so the bullets and shells from the enemy’s guns could get by without hindrance or delay, a minle ball struck his right leg just below the knee cap, passing straight through. At the place of egress the bullet left a ghastly wound. Sam says that's the na ture of a minte ball, that's the way they are built. Just about this time our line was broken, at least driven back about half a mile, leaving its faithful color bearer to his fate. Sam crawled to the foot of a big oak tree, organizing himself with the tree between him and the rebel fire, but as our men fell back and the rebels occupied the place he found a change of base desirable, and went over to the enemy, so to speak. At least he crept painfully and slowly around the tree to avoid the fire from his friends, which came pouring in thick and deadly. The rattling sound of musketry and the crash of artillery were in his ears. The shells hurled over his head with long. Wild screams, while the smoke rolled slowly through the leaves. Bullets whistled in the branches and nipped at the trees. Limbs from the tree, some of goodly size, and many leaves came sail ing down, while a mighty song of clashes and cracks went sweeping through the woods. One shell coming from the Vnlon side buried itself In the tree. In the meantime Sam had ripped away his cloth ing. bandaged his wound the best he could and kept it bathed with water from his canteen. As the blood flowed profuse ly he bound his leg above the knee with ■ the strap from his blanket to prevent a fatal loss of blood. Several days there after when the injured leg was amputated that strap was out of sight, enveloped In the swollen flesh on either side. “Not far from noon.” says Sam. “a rebei soldier, who I long afterward learned was W. H. Andrews, first ser geant of Company M. First regiment "Georgia regulars, came up, his regiment not being engaged, and learning my con dition and of the fact that I was between two fires he and some of his comrades ,piled cordwood around me to protect me frrm the shots. I have no doubt more than WO bullets struck that barricade of wood during that day. Early in the even ing Stonewall Jackson came riding by. He halted a moment, spoke kindly to me. asked to what regiment I belonged and ordered the men who had charge of a lot of Union prisoners to supply our wants and make us as comfortable as possible. A captain in a North Carolina regiment came up a little later, stopped and chat ted with me. gave me a drink from his canteen, spoke kindly and encouragingly and rode away. Previous to this, however, a rebel of- MACHINERY. SPECIAL—Just received, car load of Keystone Com Hunkers and Shredders which we are offerlc* at special prices; also have on hand full end complete line of Engine*. Hollers and Saw Mills, both portable and stationary, and •11 else* For the next flfteen days we will make special prices on all roods. Call and get our prices, or write for catalog, quotations, etc. MALSBY * COMPANY. 41 South Forsyth Bt . Atlanta. Oa. TELEGRAPHY taught thoroughly and quickly: positions se cured. Catalog free Oenrg'a Te’eyraph «eh«w»l. Seno’a. Oa b. W 10 OATS' TRIATNENT FREE. !7 . » .Ha’ 9 made Dropsy sad its coa- Z pl sc aucns a specialty for twenty T years with the most wondtrfnj X _■» A snccees. Have cured many thou- Ak.and cues. M. B. S. UXXT3 SCS3, •* Bex T Atlanta, On, --•allivas. Cricbtse The Cotsjp.-ts BosUsas loans, Iota! Cort. IX 4 “Actual Bust nose from start to Salah " Moot thorough Bbnrthaad Dep t ia America. 40u0graduates. Ou free Mention Semi-Weekly Journal. POSITIONS! prepaid. Cheap board. Send lor lA)-p Catalogue. < / / • aaacriCAL S' J"/ 7 * < <n » ■*» (zzZ/yj g BUSINESS Nashville. St- Louis, Atlanta. Montgvmery, Little Rock. Ft. Worth, Galvesto*. A Shreveport, indorsed by business men from Ma tae to Cal- Over LOOU students past year. Author 4 text-books bock <«>:□£ sales on same $25 tosso per day. Xo Vacation. Enter any time. Boekteeping, short hand, etc., taught by mail. Address Dept. B B fleer appeared whose conduct and conver sation were quite unlike that of General Jackson and the North Carolina captain. He reviled me with bitter words, called me a “nigger thief.” etc. I had a revolver and a short sword under my rubber blan ket on which I lay. and in my rage I at tempted to get at the revolver, intending to shoot the fellow, but he had his eyes on me and immediately shouted: “Disarm that man." The soldiers, of course obeyed, although with a show of reluctance, and all I could do was to protest and also vol unteer the remark in a most indignant tone that in my opinion nothing but a d—n dirty coward would insult and rob a wounded prisoner. I hated to part with the sword as it was a present to me from Captain Louis Miller. It is a long time since this happened and time softens our animosities, and I don't know that I would harm him if I should meet him now. but for many years after the affair I believe I would have shot him on sight if he had been in church. Sam lay there on the ground until the evening of the ISth. which was Thursday, when the rebels carried him a short dis tance to a little barn surrounded by straw stacks, where he lay another night like a warrior taking his rest with his mar tial cloak around him. Martial cloak sounds a little more like the chivalric days when officers wore such garments, but as a cold fact Sam's martial cloak consisted of a badly crumpled rubber blanket. He was not alone, for there were more than 100 other prisoners in the hands of the rebels, whom it was their intention to parole, but didn’t for several reasons. Didn't have time anyway, as they had urgent business south of the Potomac. Next morning, the 19th. Sam and three others of the wounded were conveyed in en ambulance to the Hofman barn. Sam was obliged to sleep on the ground an other night, however, as there were hun dreds of others awaiting treatment by the surgeon. Next day. Sunday. Dr. Pugsley amputated the injured leg. In describing this Sam indignantly remarked that he didn't attend chureh that day. It is nec essary in order to preserve the chain of this somewhat complex narrative to go back to the day of the great battle. At the time Sergeant Andrews, of the Georgia regulars visited Sam in his bivouac at the foot of the friendly oak he was not aware that he was protecting and caring for the very man he had coolly and deliberately essayed to kill a few hours before. In a communication to Sergeant Bloomer Ser geant Andrews says: Read the newspa per clippings and note the date of this letter, September 17th. Just thirty-nine years ago today we met at Sharpsburg, Md., one of the bloodiest battles of the civil war. You gave us a warm recep tion for an early morning call. You should have been neighborly and let us get in position—at least allowed us to get over the fence in a dignified way. When we tumbled over that fence we had not had anything to eat in nearly three days, so you see we were hungry and mad, too. My first shot was aimed at a color bear er's breast, but my gun snapped. I have always believed that you were the man. but will leave that for you to decide. "How bad I wanted to see the colors fall, and how small I felt when my gun missed fire. But fate favored you and I thank God it was not my bullet that struck you.” We were fighting for what each one of us believed to be right. At the same time the north dubbed us, rebels and traitors "If you had been in my shoes would you have turned your gun on your own fire side and those you held dear? NO, you were too brave a man for that; you would have fought for home and kindred. So Cut Schools and Pensions One-Half. BY REV. SAM P. JONCS. CARTERSVILLE, Ga., Oct. 16. 1901. The august assembly known as the Georgia legislature will soon convene to make and unmake and amend laws for the good people of Georgia. If the voice of the people Is heard and the wall of the taxpayer is listened to there will be some laws amended or abolished on appropriations. I see that Governor Candler in his forthcoming message will make some recommendations on pensions. I know there is a sentimental tide that gushes and fumes about the old sol dier and all that sort of thing, but there is a great deal of difference be tween gush and sentiment and walk ing up to the tax collector’s in No vember and December in each year and planking down some hard cash that you need mighty bad for some other things. I expect if the truth was known some of the members of the Georgia legislature pay poll tax and that is about all they do pay. What does that sort of a fellow care about appropriations? I believe the whole membership of the legislature ought to be "jacked up." as the boys say. by their home constituency and taught a few lessons before their as semblage in Atlanta. Cut down on school appropriations, gentlemen, one half; cut down the pension roll one half. You need not be afraid. The rank and file of the people of Georgia will stand by you. A crowd that gushes makes a heap of noise, but the taxpayers haven’t begun to kick much until about now. The thing has gone far enough. Os course every public school teacher, every county commissioner and the state school commissioner will paw sand and dirt over the moon if you begin to cut down the public school appropriation. There will be a wall from Dan to Beersheba on the old sol dier business, but go it, gentlemen! No time for pills and powders; sur gery is the thing now. Get out your knives and go to work. I am very much In hopes the legisla ture will pass an anti-saloon bill also. We won’t need the taxes or revenues which the state gets from saloons If you will cut down appropriations, and it Is a calamity to debauch the fathers and older brothers of a family in or der to get money to educate the kids. Better to have the older ones sober and the younger ones more Ignorant. I am In hopes also that the legisla ture will enact a law which will give a salary to solicitors general. That perquisite business has debauched many courthouses and stained the rep utation, to say the least of it, of more than one solicitor and judge. A judge who plays the gap boy and turns in the cows for his solicitor general to milk is a disgrace to the whole busi ness and will bring courts of justice into contempt. One of the superior court judges told me from hta own lips that he fined gamblers Instead of Im prisoning them because the officers of the court had to live off of the fines and forfeitures of his covrt. He didn’t seem to understand that he was con veying the Idea to me that his court was a little grist mill, just run for the toll. I want the legislature to pass an act that will enable the members to pass a saloon without going in. A whisky soaked legislator ain't fit to make laws for a dog kennel. I hope the legislature will also reach some conclusion on the Atlanta depot, if Oom Hall departs this life before they adjourn. Let the legislature, when It assembles, deter mine what ought to be done along these lines and do it. They may not be elected again, but they have already had all the honor (?) there is in it. And 1 am sure tnere is no money in it, un less they trade and traffic, and that outlaws a fellow with himself, wheth- THE SEMI-WEEKLY JOURNAL, ATLANTA, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 24, 1901. you see I have no apologies to make, but under the same conditions would do so again." ' _ Near the same place a short time after the scene changes. One ot the boys in blue was reeling against a large oak. wounded in the knee with his clothes rip ped up. bathing his wound from his can teen. On his knee, in front of him, was one of the boys in gray, holding an earnest conversation with him. All enmity was over. We were no longer enemies, but civilized American soldiers, who believed in extending a helping hand to an enemy in distress. At that moment, however, the shells from the Federal guns were burst ing around our heads like firecrackers. I have thought of you many times and wished I had done more for you, but I have never been able to make out just what that would have been. The southern cross went down In defeat, but not in dis honor. We put up the best fight the world ever witnessed. With nothing but honor left, we still had one consolation. We gave you boys hell while it lasted. But times have changed, and the south with it. Today we are a reunited people; no north, east, south or west, but one com posed of many. The south is now as loyal to the Union as the boys who wore the blue. . I would like so much to see you and grasp the strong right hand that held the Stars and Stripes steady and erect on that bloody field 39 years ago. Continuing Sergeant Bloomer writes: Mv friend Andrews, I quite agree with you and think that the people of the south are todav as loyal to the old flag as any people can possibly b£. They have de monstrated that fact by their action in the Spanish-American war. And God knows, and we know, that braver and better sol diers than the boys that wore the graj in 1861-65 were never born. And such a thing as war and strife will never again be known among our people. Nothing in this world would please me more than to meet and grasp yours and that noble cap tain's hand in the deepest and most sin cere friendship. I will send you a shadow of myself tak en about ten years ago to put in your Yankee picture gallery. So you can see what a specimen you would have spoiled had your gun gone off when you were so ven' anxious to bring me down with those colors. Would be pleased to receive your shadow and to hear from you again; also to know how the world, or the people in it, used you since you came over that fence to see me. Hungry, mad and with blood in your eyes on that memorable 17th day of Sep tember, 1862, 39 years ago, T am yours tru ly, SAMUEL BLOOMER,, Ex-Color Sergt. Ist Minn. Regt. I take off my hat to Sergeant Bloomer. He is both generous and brave. How he must have suffered during those four days and nights. Nothing less than the horrors of the damned. The famous Un ion general. W. T. Sherman, in his defini tion of war said: “War is hell!” Our new president says: “The time has now come when we all can admire the heroic deeds performed by the American soldiers during the civil war, whether he wore the blue or the gray.” W. H. ANDREWS. Sugar Valley, Ga. CASTORIA.. Bears the Kind YooJlavrMw Bought Signature of er the public ever finds it out or not. I heartily commend and compliment our county in the management of her negro rapist a few days ago. Judge Fite is one of the best judges Georgia has ever had. He is clear-headed and has the nerve. He notified the popu lace at the beginning of the trial the other day if a pistol was found on any man in his court room he would fine him S3CO or send him to jail. He gave the boys to understand there was to be no monkeying. Before the negro was brought to jail he was in one sense the property of the mob, but when he was put Into the hands of the court then he was the property of the court. If the mob finds the negro and lynches him on the spot, that is their job. but when he comes into the hands of the officers of the law. then he is their game and it is right for them to take care of their game. It is a distressing, heart-sickening sight for a lady to have to go into court and testify, but better that by far and have the law take its course, than that the maddening furies of a mob should rush over courts and sheriffs and lynch the victim. Let the rapist know it is death to him. either by the mob that hunts him down and lynches him on the spot, or if the officers of court get hold of him it is a speedy trial and a speedy execution. The wretch does not deserve to live an hour beyond the smallest limit of time the court can act upon. The devil and his angels can take care of a fiend like that better than this world can, and the sooner the devil gets him the better It will be for society. The negroes of our town and community behaved loyally. Many of them were outspoken in threats and condemna tion. The negroes of Bartow county no more uphold a rapist than the white people condone his act. My neighbor, Mrs. Felton, is giving The Journal some interesting articles these days. She surely wields a ready pen, but she has as warm a heart as her pen Is trenchant. She Is my old preceptress. I love and honor her as gray hairs adorn her brow. Yours truly, SAM P. JONES. P. S.—The scarlet fever cases in my home are now convalescent. I begin my work with a tour of ten days’ lec ture engagements, beginning tonight in Atlanta. The 7th of November Brother Stuart and myself begin meet ings In Mobile, Alabama. S. P. J. Nonsensical Beliefs. Westminster Review. Half a century ago omens were still gener ally believed in. So, too, were charms. I had a cousin who seriously undertook to charm away warts, and was believed to have suc ceeded. She was supposed to have inherited the secret from her father, a Wesleyan min ister. My uncle, a farmer, and by no means a credulous man, when about to visit London for the first time, and feeling some trepida tion. consulted a doctor, who. I believe, is still living, the last surviving school-fellow of the famous George Borrow. The doctor handed him a small vial of quicksilver, as certain, if kept in the pocket, to avert all harm. Doubt less the doctor laughed in his sleeve, for doc tors were then getting incredulous, and I remember it being commonly said of another practitioner that he believed neither in God nor devil. Nearly twenty years later, when a cousin who, born a Wesleyan, had turned Quaker and came up to London to the annual gathering of that body, he showed me, with a smile, the Identical vial of mercury. His mother, good soul, had borrowed it from her brother so that her son might likewise benefit by it. REBELS ARE ROUTED. KINGSTON. Jamaica. Oct. 21.—Letters received from Panama say the Colombian rebels lost heavily in a battle near there last Tuesday. The rebels are concentrat ing in a camp in the neighborhood and both sides are preparing for a clash, which it is expected will probably deter mine the fate of the revolution. A Visit to Mr. Benson, the Author, At His Suburban Home in West End Building a hen house Is rather an odd occupation for a writer of books, yet that was what Mr. B. K. Benson, author of the successful story of the civil war, "Who Goes There?” was found busily do ing a few afternoons ago when sought for an interview concerning his new book, “A Friend with the Countersign,” which has ' ■ ■■ ■ ; ... k. / z '• '•< ■ .V Z', *** •***- v < & Bhmi W? "T iw ■? ' '• -jfe- -J S •'• yugSP***' ‘. •• a,? Wk * M . z> IF MR. B. K. BENSON. just been brought out. It is difficult to imagine any one writing of war and strife in the peaceful, quiet surroundings of Mr. Benson’s home in West End. It is on the edge of the suburb with only one or two other residences near it, and the house Is completely hid den from the street by trees and foliage. There is the most delightful old-fashioned flower garden In front of the pretty cot tage home, with dozens of rambling rose bushes and evergreen hedges. It is at the very’ back of the cottage that the author’s den Is situated, shut off from any noise save the prattle and laughter of children playing in the yard, its windows looking out on a miniature apple orchard. It is an ideal place for isolation from the world —a place in which to give oneself up en tirely to the powers of imagination, and this Mr. Benson seems to have done to a remarkable extent. In reading his books, the second of which is a sequel to the first, one marvels at the truth and fact crowded into them. They seem, and es pecially “A Friend with the Countersign,” detailed even beyond necessity and one is astonished at the remarkable memory of a man which can recall every turn of a road and seemingly every branch and twig along the roadside. • However, when questioned as to the truth of these details In “A Friend with the Countersign,” Mr. Benson laughed. "There Is really very little fact in it,” he said. "The positions of the armies and their movements are,' of course, true to history, but the expedition which Jones Berwick, the hero, undertakes and the details of his various experiences are all fiction, every bit. "I have made no attempt,” he continued, “to write gracefully. There have been many objections to the short sentences used so much through the book, but the shorter the better for me, because I wish ed to make it clear and appear real. I have frequently rewritten a sentence a dozen times in order to find a simpler word. If the book Impresses the critics as all fact it Is possibly the result of a capacity of putting myself In the place of the char acters. I suffer with them and rejoice with them. “That next to the last chapter,” con tinued Mr. Benson, turning to that indi cated as he spoke—“the one in which Jones Berwick thinks he is about to die and writes seemingly for the last time to Lydia—l would not write that again for a thousand dollars. For the time being the suffering was as Intense to me as it would have been in reality. I could only write a little at a time and had to go out and get my mind off of it.” "Speaking of the title of the book, Mr. Benson mentioned the fact that the for mer story, "Who Goes There?” took its name from the question asked by a pick et on duty, and “A Friend With tne Countersign” is the reply. “ ‘Jones Berwick.’ ” he continued, still referring to the title, "Is a friend be cause so far as one man can take two sides he is supposed to do so. On ac count of his former association with the Confederates he will not shoot them. “When he finds himself In their ranks as a scout of the Union army, he will not shoot the Yankees. Though Berwick’s or der from General Meade was not strictly a countersign, it was in the nature of a perpetual countersign, and bears out the title.. "The story, I think, is a good example of the compound plot; on the one hand, the development of Ahe hero’s uninten tional efforts to CBcfepe justice in the courtmartial to which In romantic and A SCIENTIFIC BREAKFAST. Rightly selected food will cure more than half the diseases. Try a scientific and healthy breakfast: Fruit of some kind, preferably cooked; a dish of Grape- Nuts, with cream, two soft-boiled eggs. Put two eggs in a tin pint cup of boiling water, cover and set off for nine minutes. Whites will then be the consistency o's cream and most easily digested. One slice of bread with butter; cup of Postum Ce real Food Coffee. On that breakfast you can work like a horse and be perfectly nourished until noon. Your nevous troubles, heart palpita tion, stomach and bowel troubles, kidney complaints and various other disorders will gradually disappear and firm solid health will set In. Why? You have probably' been living on poorly selected food, that Is food that does not contain the required elements the body needs. That sort of food, and coffee, is the direct or indirect cause of more than half the ills the human body acquires. Grape-Nuts is a perfectly cooked food and both that and the Postum Food Cof fee contain fine microscopic particles of phosphate of potash obtained in a natural way from the grains of the field and by scientific food experts incorporated into i food and drink. That element joins with the albumen In food to make gray' mat ter, which Is the filling of the brain cells and the nerve centers all over the human body. A man or woman thus fed is scientific ally fed and rapidly grows in vigor and vitality, and becomes capable of conduct ing successfully the affairs of life. To produce a perfect body and a money mak ing brain, the body’ must have the right kind of food and the expert food specialist knows how to make It. That Is Grape- Nuts and Postum Cereal Food Coffee, produced at the pure food factories of the Postum Cereal Co., Ltd., at Battle , Creek, Mich. human justice he is foredoomed for the part he took in the former book; in the second place, the development of the Mexican plot through the efforts of Scran ton and Scherzer. “There is much more invention in the second book than in the first,” Mr. Ben son continued. “Though there is little fact In the details of the story, it is really truth, accepting truth In its broad sense. It Is romantic truth because It is all pos sible under the circumstances described. "The part of the plot referring to ad vances made by Napoleon 111 to the Con federacy with offers of aid, on condition that it recognizes the Mexican empire which he had established, Is all fiction, of course, but It seems a very probable thing for him to do after, as is histori cally' known, he sought the aid of the United States and was refused. "The warp of the story is fact and the woof is fiction or vice versa. Which is the wars and which the woof, any way? I confess I don’t know.” But the question had to go unanswered to the amusement of Mr. Benson. "If there Is any realism in the book,” he went on, "It comes from a power to assume the feelings of another.” As "Who Goes There?” and the sequel are written to an extent from both north ern and southern view-points, there has been much speculation as to the side with which the writer ‘ himself fought during the war. It has been generally assumed that he was a Union soldier and Grand Army men have been especially enthusi astic in their praise of the books. Though Mr. Benson’s partisanship is known of course to all of his personal friends, he has so far kept the secret well guarded from the public. When questioned on the subject, he said: “I don’t mind confessing now for pub lication that I am a Confederate veteran, and fought during the war with McGow an’s South Carolina brigade. Os course it was the hardest thing in the world for me to make a mental metamorphosis of my nature and view the matter from the northern standpoint w’hile my' sympathies are southern, but I forced myself to it.” The fact that the author of these two stories of the southern war was a Con federate will be a matter of some surprise and greater Interest to the readers of the books, no one of whom will fail to at test to the broad view and successful handling of this subject of never falling interest. Though Mr. Benson denies that the sto ries are true in detail, together they' form an excellent commentary on the civil war, and are in addition most interesting ro mances. Review of Mr. Benson’s Latest Novel. "A Friend With the Countersign,” .by B. K. Benson; the Macmillan company, publishers. “A Friend with the Countersign” is a sequel to “Who Goes There?” by the same author and like the former book is a story of the civil w’ar. If a person wishes a book simply and solely for the romance and pleasing qual ities this isn’t the one for him. This nar rative of the civil war contains too much action and vigor to suit him. It is a story into which all of the excitement, trials and horrors of war are infused, with no attempt to paint them other than they really were, and yet It has plenty of plot to interest and a bit of romance interwo ven. For a graphic, vivid picture of those times it has few rivals in fiction. The author has a wonderful ability to present things as actually’ happening. The quick, abrupt style effected by short, pithy sentences lends action and reality to the story. At times there is so much detail that it becomes wearying, but to wards the middle and last of the story the Interest is held captive and.one loses sight of minor defects. The story takes un expected turns which increases the Inter est of the reader; the writer develops the plot gradually and with an artistic touch that forbids any foregone conclusions as to the final outcome and there adds a charm to the story. The story continues the experiences of Jones Berwick where they left off in “Who Goes There?” and some of the same characters are introduced, with the addition of several new ones necessary to the new plot. There is but dttle reference made to Berwick’s mental condition which played such an important part in the for mer story. The book is one which shows careful planning, fine analysis, and an excellent knowledge of the historical facts with which the story is concerned. It belongs rather to serious literature, because it has more value than a mere romance. With the former book, it forms a valuable comment on the civil war written with a breadth of thought that is possibly with out precedent from the pen of one who had an actual part in the strife. ■I-1 »»»♦■»<■> UK »■»<■♦*■»♦<■■»♦♦+ ♦ WHY THE ELEPHANT ♦ FEARS THE MOUSE. ♦ ♦ ♦ •F By Raymond Fuller Ayera. + + 4. (Copyright, 1901, by’ R. H. Russell.) 4- i I >■»♦♦♦ 111 1 > 11 > >•♦♦♦♦♦♦ Years and years ago, when the animals owned the whole world, the elephant was the king of beasts. Being so much larger than any of the other animals, he was easily master of them all, and ruled with an iron hand, or, rather, trunk. So old was he and wise that he was known throughout the land as Grandfather Jum bo. His only rival was Mr. Lion, and even he did not care to make old Grandfather Jumbo angry. Whenever, by chance, they' quarreled,, Mr. Lion had to fly for his Olbl”«xx Ou?kenW m .r Rye, Pal»U- fiIMSRSL." ble in th® 77* / r k* ghoßfc rULI degree. • , /Il t Q UARTS Mpaajk Express Prepaid Send for complete price list, just out. Seven to Nine Years ' One qt - Old< 000 d h - Glendale Springs Distilling Co Crow McßrayerV * * * Whiskey. 31 w. nitchelist., Atlanta. Oa ?tr!ctiv'pur? N(J <OO(Ja Bent c.O.D. Cash must be sent 7119 hand-made sour mash. with each order. ravonie. 7to 9 Years Old. $2.65 THIRD NATIONAL BANK. life, and this mortified him greatly, as he considered himself far above the other animals, and accordingly dreaded their ridicule. One day as Mr. Lion was taking an af ternoon nap on his front porch, Mr. Mouse came skipping by. This little fellow was a well-known miscblefmaker and continual ly getting into trouble through his prac tical jokes. He stopped at once, and, mak ing sure that Mr. Lion was sound asleep, decided to have some fun with him. He climbed cautiously upon the slum berer’s shoulders and quietly pulled »his whiskers. Mr. Lion sprang up with an angry roar, but Mr. Mouse quickly leaped to the back of the chair and lay quite unseen. Mr. Lion, seeing no one about, resumed his seat and soon fell into a doze, only to be rudely reawakened by a sharp tug at *his mustache. This happen ed several times. Finally, Mr. Lion, too angry to sleep, only pretended to doze, and out of the, corner of his eye saw Mr. Mouse climb upon his shoulder. Then, with a quick grab, he caught the little joker in his huge paw. Mr. Mouse found himself held up by the tail, and there was Mr. Lion wide awake, licking his chops, showing his long, white teeth, and growl ing so terribly that the little prisoner was almost frightened to death. “Oh, please, Mr. Lion, let me go. I was only driving away the mosquitoes!” he cried. “I have always made it a rule to eat any one who interfered with my mosqui toes,” replied the lion. Mr. Mouse begged and prayed and squealed, but all in vain, and he was just about to disappear down Mr. Lion’s throat when he had an idea. “Just one minute, Mr. Lion,” he cried, as the huge red jaws yawned before him; “if you will only let me go I will tell you how to become the King of Beasts.” Mr. Lion only grinned, and the sight of his long teeth made Mr. Mouse shiver with fear. "Let me go,” continued he, “and I will find Grandfather Jumbo at once, wait un til he is asleep and creep into his ear. Then I can make him do anything I wish.” This interested Mr. Lion greatly, but he did not let Mr. Mouse go. “He will pull you out and squash you,” he de murred. “But he can’t pull me out, for his trunk is too large, and I can bite him if he refuses to do as I say,” insisted Mr. Mouse. So, finally, after much argument and ex planation on the part of the mouse, Mr. Lion let him go. Mr. Mous'e lost no time in getting to Grandfather Jumbo's house, but it was such a long way that it began to grow dark before he finished his journey. Then, for a while he had a terrible time, fall ing over stones and stubbing his toes in the dark. After awhile the moon arose, and then he could get along better. At last he came to where Grandfather Jumbo and his wife were sleeping, under a big palm tree, for the weather was very warm. They looked so large as they lay there in the shadows that Mr. Mouse felt his courage all leave him with a rush; his heart thumbed so loudly that he was afraid it would awaken the sleeping ele phants, but he held his ground. After a time, as neither of the sleepers moved, he pulled himself together and carefully crept toward Grandfather Jum bo. The elephant’s head was so extreme ly high that one ear was entirely out of Mr. Mouse’s reach, while the other was pressed close to the ground. Mr. Mouse trembled and shook, but started to climb up Grandfather Jumbo’s trunk. Suddenly he heard a great explo sion, and found himself lying on his back on t..e grass several feet away. Grandfather Jumbo had sneezed. Mr. Mouse lay quiet for some time, rubbing himself tenderly, for he had been badly bruised. Then he sat up. He heard a loud rumbling like distant thunder. Grandfather Jumbo was snoring. Mr. Mouse shook his fist at him. and run ning quickly up his trunk crawled into his great ear. Mr. Mouse reached his goal just In time, for his little feet had tickled Grandfather Jumbo’s delicate neck, and an immense trunk came whisking through the air, just missing Mr. Mouse’s coat tails. Now, however, he felt safe and shouted in a loud voice: “Get up, you old Lazybones. Get up before I kill you.” Grandfather Jumbo sprang to his feet in a great hurry and snorting fircely looked all around, but could see no one. Then, thinking he had been dreaming, he heard the same voice say: “Surrender! Surrender, you old five legs, before I eat you alive.” Grand father Jumbo began to be frightened, for he could not find where the -olce came from, although It sounded to be right be side him. “Who are you?”he cried. "Show your self, so I can break every bone in your body.” “I am Old Man Bltem-Bltem,” replied the voice. “I have twenty-seven thousand and three teeth and I intend to use them all on your head in a minute.” Grandfather Jumbo charged all about in the woods looking for old man Bltem- Bltem, but not finding any one, came back to his wife, who had been awakened by t,he noise. She acted just like the cook does when she Is angry and you have tracked up the clean kitchen floor with your dirty boots. She told Grandfather jumbo he should be ashamed of himself awaketaing people at this time of the night and disturbing all the neighbors. Grand father Jumbo kept getting more and more frightened. Mr. Mouse continued to do ter rible things and nothing the poor elephant could do seemed to be of any use. “Where arJkou?” he asked, and the voice replied: “Here in your left ear, and I am going to begin biting you in a minute unless you surrender.” Grandfather Jumbo tried to get his trunk in his left ear, but the end was too large. Then he tried to poke Mr. Mouse out with a little stick, but he only suc ceeded In hurting his ear. At last he felt a terrible pain in his head. Mr. Mouse had begun to bite. The pain was so severe that Grandfather Jumbo went almost crazy. He began to beg that terrible old man Bltem- Bitetn to come out of his ear and leave hint in peace. "Not until you surrender,” replied Mr. Mouse. "Tixwt I will never do t ” answered Qrand- OFFER EXTRAORDINARY We prepay express charges anywhere in Georgia on all goods from $1.75 a gallon provided order Is for two vaUonc or all shipped to ofle address. 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That was more than Grandfather Jumbo could stand, and he promised to do anything old man Bltem-Bitem said. “Go down to Mr. Lion’s house,” com manded Mr. Mouse, "and hurry along, too,) or I will give you another bite.” So, Grandfather Jumbo started off at a great rate and soon reached the place where Mr. Lion lived. • "Knock on the door.” ordered Mr. Mouse, and Grandfather Jumbo did. Mr. Lion came out half asleep with, his nightcap on his head. "What do you want at this time of • night,” when he saw who It was. “Can’t' you be satisfied at chasing me around in i the day time without coming-here to dis- 1 turb my sleep like this?” “I have come to surrender,” answered' Grandfather Jumbo. '' "Kneel down," commanded Mr. Mouse, who was still in his ear. Grandfather Jum- 1 bo hesitated for a moment, for he was | very proud. Mr, Mouse gave him a? little [ bite just to remind him how things stood, and Grandfather Jumbo fell on his knees ‘ in a great hurry before Mr. Lion and] surrendered. ’ • “You can be king of beasts,” he said I to Mr. Lion. “You can be anything you want to if you will only take this terrl- i ble Old Man Bltem-Bitem out of my ear.” ’ “Shut your eyes,” commanded Mr. I Mouse, “and don’t you dare to open them i until I give y’ou permission.” Grandfather | Jumbo closed his eyes and Mr. Mouse ( jumped quickly out of his ear and climbed j upon Mr. Lion's shoulder. , * | “Now open your eyes," he cried. Then I Grandfather Jumbo opened his eyes and ( saw Mr. Mouse sitting upon Mr. Lion’s i shoulder, throwing kisses at him. He took • one good look at the little animal that; had made him surrender, and, jumping up, ran off as fast as he could go, so that | Old Man Bltem-Bitem could not get into* his ear again. Ever since that day the lion has been ] the king of beasts, and to this day the; elephants are terribly afraid of mice and will stand upon their hind feet and call' for Mr. Lion whenever they see one about, j Negro Shoots Woman to Death. COLUMBUS, Miss.. Oct. 21.—Perry < Beckwith, a desperate negro, shot and* killed Instantly Malinda Williams, also' colored, yesterday. He was captured about two miles from town, where he had attempted to hide himself in a treetop. «e'• 11 4 FULL $0.15 QUARTS W= EXPRESS PREPAID. the celebrated Mountain Dell . iskey is distilled upon the | -fashioned plan, over slow , n fires. Insuring a liquor of ■ • quality. Our entire prod 1s sold direct to the con ter, who thus gets an un ilpulated old whiskey of ran teed purity. Your Money Back If < Not Pleased. We will send by express, prepaid, four fun quarts of 8-year-old rye. for JS.IS. and if you are not In every way satisfied, return at our expense, and your money will bs r e t u n d ed. 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