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PUBLISHED EVERY THURBDA'
BELLTON, &A.
BY JOHN BLATS.
Tumi—sl.ol* per inium 50 eenU for lii
monlhi; 25 cents forlhree months.
Parti** away from Bellton ata requested
to send their names with such amounts of
money •> they ean pare, 'tern 2ce. to $1
Little Breeches.
“Yes, they used to have queer times
around here,” said the ancient citizen,
as he stirred himself around on the up
turned soap box, while the proprietor
shook down the ashes in the stove.
The reporter perehed himself on the
end of a flour barrel and patiently awaited
the outpouring of language that he
knew was sure to follow.
“Yes,” said the ancient citizen. “My
father cam* here before the trilobites
were done drying. He saw some rough
times, the old man.”
“Rightwhere the Court-house stands,”
continued the ancient citizen, “was the
old block-house; and here were gathered
a mixed crowd of refugees just after the
Pigeon-Roost massacre. Old man Booth
had his log tavern just outside, and at it
was always a motley gathering of back
woodsmen.”
“Among these,” and the ancient citi
zeen twisted his quid across his tongue a
turn or two, “was a character who made
fun of old Booth and said he was a
coward. Booth hated him cordially for
the insinuation, yet could never prove
the contrary, and the old trapper made
up his mind to test his courage. The
plan was successful.
“My father and two friends owned a
cabin just the other side of Booth's,
and one of these, a small man, had S6OO,
coin, in a sack, when Bill tried his ex
periment on Booth.
“They had retired for the night and
laid their buckskin pants on the floor at
the bedside. Have you ever seen any
genuine buckskin ?” was suddenly asked
the reporter by the aucisnt citizen,
“I have.”
“Where?”
“On the buck.”
“Well, then yon know it fits skin
tight, and that’s just the way these
breeches did.
“About midnight Bill stole up between
the block-house and cabins and raised
the war-whoop. My Gee, what a stir
there was. ‘ An attack from the Indians
had been momentarily expected, and the
whole garrison sprang to arms. Women
crept with their children into the safest
corners of the fort, while the men pre
pared for the expected skirmish. In the
little cluster of cabins outside of the
block-house the coming savages were
awaited with dread. The frightful
whoops continued, chilling the blood
of all.
“My father’s friends hastily struggled
on with their breeches, and the small
one got on my father's and had room
enough in them at the top to get in a
bag of coin. My father pulled at the
vacant pair of pants, but it was like put
ting his legs into coat sleeves. ‘Hold on,
there!’ he cried, as his friends were
hastily leaving, ‘you have got my
breeches !’
“ ‘Hold on, h—l,’ answered his friend,
‘this is no time to change breeches,’
and disapjienred in the darkness.
“My father had no mind to be left, so
he ran, naked as he was, in pursuit of
his friend. The nettles were as high as
your head, and before he had gone ten
feet he was fuller than a New Year 's pin
cushion, but that horrid yell kept him
going, and he didn't stop until shelter
was reached.
“Bill showed us how old Booth was a
coward, but he did not loaf around there
the next day. The settlers wanted to
see him, but he didn't want to see them,
so he skipped.
“But my father was always called
‘Little Breeches’ from that day on,
though he never got too big for his
breeches, as some people I know,” and
the ancient citizen smiled contemptuous
ly as a young man in a sealskin cap
came into the grocery and asked for a
“‘dahk cigah,’ if you please.”
The minutes were tlren amended, and,
as amended, approved.— Madison (Ind.)
Star.
An Author’s Labors.
Dr. Prime's little granddaughter got
into his lap, and after taking the pen out
of his hand, asked him, demurely;
“Grandpa, how long have you l>een
writing in this way? Ever since I was a
little dot, you have been writing, writing,
every time I come; did you always write
just so?”
Then her grandfather told her how
long he had been writing for other peo
ple’s pleasure and profit.
“ The first piece that I ever wrote for
the New York Observer was printed in
that paper April 7, 1838. From that
time to this, about forty-three years,
with a brief interval, I have been writing
every week, and almost every day, for
the Observer. It is curious to see how
much one writes in such steady work.
Suppose a minister writes sixty pages
every week in making his sermons (less
than ten pages a day, and he can easily
write ten pages in an hour or two) he will
write 3,000 pages in a year, or 30,000
pages in ten years, or 120,000 in forty.
I have written on an average more than
five columns each week for forty years,
or 10,000 colums in all; at least 100 vol
umes of 400 pages each.” — Cincinnati
Commercial.
A Funny Fact.
Sol Smith Russell tells the following
storv of his experience as an entertainer:
At a small Ohio town, where he had
given his performance the previous
night, he met at the depot the following
morning an elderly granger, who, while
he peacefully munched a huge quid of
tobacco, intentlv eyed the humorist and
finally said: “feay, mister hen’t you the
fellow wot gin the show up to Smoot’s
Hull last night?” “Yes,” replied Russell,
“I did gi- r e an entertainment at Smoot’s
Hall last night.” “Wall. I thought you
was the chap. I wanted to tell you ’bout
a boy of mine; yon ought to have him;
he’s just the fellow for your showphe s
the daindest fool I ever see."
The North Georgian.
VOL. IV.
MY HI SBANB.
Who took me from my childhood’s home,
To love me for myselt alone,
And for my sacrifice atone?
My busband.
Who grumbled at the pnor beefsteak,
And hade me better coffee make,
And told me greater care to take?
- My husband.
Who swore because the baby cried,
And to the spare-room quickly hied,
While I to quiet, vainly tried?
My husband.
Who tore the buttons off his shirt,
And said 7 could those ills avert,
If 1 was more on the alert?
My husband.
Who hade me arise, the fire to make,
While he another nap should take,
Although I’d been all night awake?
My husband.
Who, when I ask for half a crown,
Knits up his brows into a frown.
And asks mo where the other's gone?
My husband.
And when I see my mother, dear,
Who tries my lonely lot to cheer.
Who says she’s dreadfully, dreadfully queer?
My husband.
Who stays out till late at night,
And then comes home so very light
That I nearly die of fright?
My husband.
Who breaks the china, slams the door,
Leaves all his clothes upon the floor.
And swears it's all a dreadful bore?
My husband.
And who do 1. for his dear sake,
Os everv sacrifice partake,
lx«t I, his confidence should shake?
My husband.
Ellis. in the Toledo Blade.
JEAN GLENDOWER.
“Dear Lady Elizabeth, will you not
redeem your promise now, and tell me
why that grand old castle we visited
yesterday is left to be the abode of owls
and bats, while its master wanders in
foreign lands'? Look—from your east
window here the setting sun is just kiss
ing the old tower and tall chimneys
‘good-night.’ It is just the hour for a
story; please, Lady Morton, tell me
about it.”
Ashadow crossed the face of my beauti
ful old friend, and her dark eyes looked
sadly across the beautiful English
landscape, the fertile valleys and grand
old trees, to far in the distance, where
the silver river marked the bounds of
De Clifton Manor.
“I will tell you the story, Leda, but it
will bring a flush to your Spanish cheek,
for one of your countrywomen, dear, was
the cause of that beautiful homo’s Ire
coming desolate, and its master a broken
hearted wanderer. Come, sit hero by
me, little one, and do not interrupt me,
while I turnback the leaves of my life
and read to you from the brighest and
saddest among them.
““Thirty years ago, Clifton Grange wa«
tTie finest place in Somersetshire, and
though not, strictly speaking, the hand
somest, preserved its prominence on the
score of antiquity; plebeian feet had
seldom trod its wide halls and grand old
rooms. You saw yesterday what the
house is—a massive pile of Byzantine
architecture, with deep, pointed porches,
where pillars, once crowned with statues,
stand close around the outside, and
where fragments of a stately figure are
here and there remaining. The high
old mouldering walls of rugged sculpture
are gray and grisly now, with exposure
to wind and rain, but the old tower so
high above them was then, as now,
covered with the deep or ange-russet
lichen which- gleams so lovely in the
sunset. Behind the castle were the
garden and fruit walls, where the bloomy
l>each and purple grape ripened in rich
profusion, and where may be seen here
ami there among the nectarine the ves
tiges of an old cloister arch or wall re
maining. A wide terrace runs around
the west front of the house, which was a
favorite walk of the inmates at all sea
sons, for of all the views around the old
home this commanded the finest. Ah!
my dear,” continued Lady Elizabeth,
laying her little, soft, withered hand,
with the frill of rich old lace around it,
on my bend, “we were a merry party at
the old Grange that month! 11 was early
winter, and Lord de Clifton, just returned
from his travels, was the pleasantest host
in England. There were two beautiful
women with us—women whose delicate
feature portrayed the fairest types of
their nationality. Lalla Darst, with her
wonderful dower of Moorish beauty—the
full, voluptuous form and rich, red color
ing of her Spanish face—and Jean Glen
dower, with eyes like the blue-bells of
her own bonnie Scotland, and hair
tinged the sunlight that gildedits moun
tains. There were various guests beside;
guests assembled in honor of the young
Scotch beauty who was soon to wear the
diadem of a viscountess; for Jean and
Norman de Clifton had been bethrothed
some months, and were to be married in
a few short weeks.
“Never did I see two people more
completely fettered by the ‘silver chains
of love,’ he seemed to live only in
her presence, while she—my beautiful,
gentle Jean!—returned it with a passion
as pure as the Dowerdale blood ip her
veins; her blue eyes grew almost black
when he addressed her. and the lovely
face was touching in its sensitiveness
when he entered her presence.
“Wo had been at the castle three
weeks; and our visit was drawing
to a close; three weeks spent in every
species of pleasure and amusement that
j the grand old place afforded. How
I happy wc were then—how happy we
, were!” repeated the old lady. “All
■ full of hope: I first saw Sir Howard
■ that month. ”
She always called the now white
> haired husband of her youth “Sir How
ard” never anything more familiar or
affectionate—and yet I never saw warm
er, or more devoted, wifely love thau
she showered on Sir Howard Morton.
“But I am telling of Jean—Jean,
BELLTON, BANKS COUNTY. GA., FEBRUARY 24, 1881.
whom I loved as a sister, and whose hap
piness was as dear to me as my own.
One evening—it was the 14th day of
December—-I shall never forget it—l
entered the drawing-room somewhat
later than usual, and found them all
assembled; every one seemed gay and
careless as usual, but when I looked at
Jean—so fair and lovely in her blue vel
vet dress and Scottish agates—how she
loved everything belonging to her coun
try!—l felt that something was wrong.
I could not tell what it was, but soon
found there was a cloud between her
and Norman. Miss Darst- was at the
piano, and the beautiful strains of her
music floated throush the room. She
sat in the full glow of the fire-light, her
rich olive dress, strewn over with golden
leaves, falling in heavy folds around her;
her purplish black hair was wound like a
caronel around the shapely head, while
the blood-red rubies on her throat and
arms, and the smouldering fire in her
dark eyes, reminded me of Tintoret’s
beautiful picture, ‘the Temptation,’ this
hidden tire and the reflected light of the
ruby armlet being the only hint given of
the character of the real temptress, who
is otherwise represented as an angel of
light.
“Lord de Clifton, his handsome Saxon
face aglow with pleasure, was bending
over Miss Darst, apparently absorbed in
her music;, it was his passion, and here
tofore he and Jean, night after night,
had listened to it standing in the deep
embrasure of the Doric window, almost
screened irom view by tlie Heavy crimson
curtains. Now, Capt. Dalton sat by
Jean’s side; and, though the blue eyes
had lost much of their luminous light,
and the mobile mouth was a trifle
prouder, still no one who loved her less
than I did would notice any change;
pride spoke in every quiet glance, and
her sovereignty was exercised not only
over other liearts, but over her own emo
tions. Only once I feared she would be
tray herself to tlie careless admirers
around her—as Miss Darst finished the
last stanza of her song:
“ ‘ln love, If love be love, if love be ours,
Faith and un faith can ne’er lie equal powers.’
“Jean and I, in answer to a summons
from old Ladv de Clifton, crossed near
the piano to soca new book ot engravings;
Lalla Durst’s eyes shone like stars as she
finished and glanced up at Lord de Clif
ton, whose blonde head almost touched
hers.
“‘Doesit remind you of the Alham
bra'?’ she whispered in her broken, musi
cal English.
“Jean heard the words, and I saw a
look of anguish on her face such as few
women ever know. It was gone in a mo
ment, though, and no one noticed. Not
once during that—to me—long evening
did Norman de Clifton approach his
affianced bride; though Capt. Dalton,,
whom if-o all believed to bo engaged to
■ Lalla Darst. hovered around her most of
the evening—lns dark, intelligent eyes
wearing a look of trouble almost as great
as Jeau’s.
“It was over at last; the good-nights
were spoken, and all had gone off to their
rooms save Jean and myself; wo lingered
in the drawing-room, beside the bed of
glowing coals, for our usual talk-—prom
ising, as tlie domestics had all retired, to
extinguish the centre wax-lights before
we left, and not to trust them to the
drowsy old porter, who slumbered in his
chair bv the hall door.
“ My darling knelt on the warm velvet
rug as soon as we were alone, and threw
her arms around me in her unhappi
ness.
“ ‘Oh, Elizabeth, she knew him in
Castile—and he never told mo! They
loved each other before I ever saw him
—she told me this evening of the hoppy
hours spent in the Alhambra, and how
they learned to love each other. Her
father took her away, and they never
met until Norman and I were betrothed.’
She shivered as she spoke, ‘Shall I keep
them apart? Oh, Bess, help me in my
trouble!’ wringing her little white hands
piteously.
“ I took her in my arms and held her
close.
“ ‘Hush, Jean!’ I said, in harsher tones
thau I over before heard addressed to
her. ‘I do not believo ono word of it;
Lord de Clifton is a man of honor, and
loves you—you only. The story this
woman has told you is the coinage of her
own brain. It is the diadem she covets
—not Norman de Clifton’s heart.’
“ ‘Elizalieth, haven't you seen how he
has treated me? He has not been near
me this evening.’
“ ‘I know it, love; I have seen it al).
She had poisoned his mind, too. It will
all be right to-morrow, little one.’
“ ‘Bess,’ looking at me with startled,
eager eyes, ‘if I thought he loved her, I
would die! Do you understand? I would
die!’
“ ‘Come, Jean, let us go to our rooms.
I will not talk to you any more to-night.
You are not reasonable. To-morrow you
will be happy again.’
“I threw my arms around her and we
walked slowly through the wide, dimly
lighted hall, past the sleeping porter—
not yet retired—and on to the second
hall; as we approached the library door
we heard the subdued sound of a voice,
and as we passed it heard Lalla Darst
distinctly say, in low, gentle tones—
“ ‘No, Honor de Clifton, no! I cannot
give you the love you ask ! The fair
haired Scotch senora loves you well, and
you must be true to your vows to her.’
“With a smothered, gasping cry Jean
started from my side and ran swiftly and
noislessly up the stairs and down the
long corridor to her room. Before I
reached it she had locked the door, and
a low moan was my only answer when I
pleaded for admittance. At last I left
her to herself—but no sleep came to my
eyes that night.
“Leda, my child, I never saw my
sweet friend afterward ! When morning
came her door was open, and she had
disappeared as entirely and as noiselessly
as though wafted away to the heaven
she was pure enough to e*ter. Lord da
Clifton was almost frenztod. The eastle
was searched, the park, and even the
silent river; but if it knew the secret, it
has kept it well.
“ ‘On, Lady Elizabeth, what could
have made her leave me?’ said the un
happy man. ‘I loved her better than
life itself!’
“‘You should know that, Norman de
Clifton, better thau any other,’ I an
swered tartly. ‘Jean heard your words
—at least the answer you received to
them—iu the library last night as well
as I.’
“Tn tlie library—l do not understand;
I was not in the' library at all, yester
day.'
‘ ‘ I told him what we had heal’d—and
with a stony, mystified look in his eyes.
Ixird de Clifton sank at my feet in a
swoon.
“ The next day lie left his home, and
began his fruitless search for his lost
loro.
“ ‘I will find her if she is on the earth!’
were his parting words. ‘Great heavens!
To think a woman can be such a fiend,
and wear a shape so fair! Sho was in
that room alone last night; and she told
me my darling loved Capt. Dalton—had
confessed the truth to her, and for a few
horn’s I believed her. Farewell, Lady
Elizabeth! I will bring Jean back, if she
is on the earth!' and he was gone.
“ He first went to her highland home,
but she had not been there, and he has
never heard of her since. His mothei
died soon after, and the domestics de
serting the old home, it has become al
most a ruin.”
“ And Lalla Darst?” I asked. “ What
of her?”
“ She married a wealthy man and lives
in London. I met her once after I was
married. Capt. Dalton shot himself
when she deserted him.”
‘‘See, dear lady! The last beam of
the setting sun is lighting up the western
facade of the old building; how lovely it
is!”
“Yes, my child; audits master is a
broken-hearted wanderer—old before his
prime because of a woman’s treachery
and crime.”
We were both unusually quiet, that
evening, and during my stay at Morton
Manor I never saw the old castle across
the fields and woods, and gently flowing
river, without tlikiking of beautiful Jeon
Glendowsr.
Ger*ra! Houston, Ilia Pony and His
Razor.
If was on his departure for Mexico
“to revel”—as he had said—“iu the halls
of the Montezumas,” that he again met
with Maj. Rector, a generous and genial
man known as the original of the “The
Fine Arkansas Gentleman." In company
with Maj. Arnold Harris, also well known
in New Orleans, who was then perhaps
a Deputy Marshal, they journeyed to
Southwestern Arkansas, to which point
their route was the same. Gen. Sain
Houston rode an Indian pony very dis
proportionate to his own tall .stature.
This was a source of considerable annoy
ance to him. He had become t horoughly
disgusted with Indian life, was intem
perate and ill-tempered. His constant
theme of discussion was-the unworthy
appearance he would present in a foreign
country, mounted on an nnimal so igno
ble, with a frequent appeal to Arnold
Harris to swap his largo bay mare for his
Indian pony. These proposition were
discussed for several days with all the
energy and eloquence of the general, one
of wliose favorite exclamations was:
“This d—d bobtailed pony is a dis
grace. He is continually fighting the
flics and has no moans of protecting
himself, and his kicks and contortions
render him ridiculous. I shall be the
laughter of all Mexico. I wish a steed
appropriate to my own stature. I require
a steed with his natural weapon, a flow
ing tail, that he may defend himself
•gainst his 'enemies as his master has
done. Harris you must swap!”
As the result of persistent expostula
tion, aided by a liberal arrangement of
“boot,” effected and guaranteed by Maj.
Rector, the general acquired the broom
tailed mare, and recovered his dignity
and good humor.
When they came to part, Maj. Rector
said he was sorry for him. He knew his
worth and felt for his misfortune. He
had got so low, said the major, that he
couldn’t stay with the Indians. He was
desperate and intemperate, and was go
ing among the Mexicans, so that would
bo the last he would ever see of poor
Sam Houston.
They dismounted to take a last drink of
whisky together. “General,” said Elias,
“you said you liked that razor of mine
when you shaved. You are going where
it may not be convenient to buy one, and
I can get another when I get back; sup
pose you take it along?” So he took
the razor out of his saddlebags and pre
sented it.
Gen. Houston opened the razor, strap
ped it on his hand, looked at its edge,
and as he shut it carefully up, and re
placing it in the case, said : “Maj. Rec
tor, this is apparently a gift of little
value, but it is an inestimable testimonial
of the friendship that has lasted mauy
years and proved steady under the blasts
of calumny and injustice. Good by.
God bless you. When next you see this
razor it shall be a shaving the President
of a Republic.
The last words Maj. Rector remembered
distinctly. They were impressed upon
his memory by the battle of San Jacinto,
the recognition of Texan independence
and the election of Gen. Sam Houston
to the Executive Chair.— yew Orleans
Picayune.
-i uhtsician gives directions how to
see the blood circulate. His method is
not as simple ns the old way of calling a
prize-fighter a liar.
Double Consciousness.
The disappearance of tha Rev. John
Marslond, of Windham County, Connecti
cut, and his explanation when he was
found at Binghamton, N. Y., 400 miles
away from his residence, that all that
had'hoppened in the interval was a blank
to him, brings up the mooted question
whether there is or is not snch a disease
as double consciousness. Many skeptics
aver that such a condition of mind is
impossible, but several physicians of
this city and Paris declare that the diag
nosis of this mental disorder is well de
fined.
Dr. William A. Hammond, of New
York city, being asked his opinion on
the subject said:
“No doubt that amnesia, or double
consciousness, exists in both a chronic
and acute form. It is something more
than absent mindediiess or temporary
insanity. I have classified it as a mild
form of epilepsy. Many cases have come
under my notice. Among them was
that of a patient in a large mercantile
establishment, who left his office at 11
o’clock to get a signature to a paper
from a gentleman whose place of busi
ness was distant only a few minutes’ walk.
Ho had not returned at 8 o’clock, and, as
was subsequently ascertained, visited the
office aud obtained the signature, and
left, apparently in good health, at 11:30.
He did not appear at his own office till
nearly 5 o'clock. The last thing he recol
lected was passing St. Paul’s church, at
the corner of Broadway and Vesey street.
It was subsequently found he had gone
to Brooklyn, visited a newspaper office
there, and purchased a newspaper. He
then returned to New York, got into an
omnibus at Fulton ferry, left it at the
corner of Twenty-third street, entered
the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and while there
recovered recollection.”
“An even more interesting case oc
curred in the autumn of 1875. A patient,
who was a manufacturer, left his office
at Ba. m. to buy some bulbs. He re
mained away eight days, and no trace
wns obtained of him during that
time. Subsequently it was ascertained
that he had been to theaters, and hotels,
where ho slept, and stores where he made
purchases, and that he mode a journey of
100 miles from New York. Losing his
ticket he was put off nt away station,
and, returning to Now York, passed the
night at a hotel, and on the eighth day,
at about 10 o’clock, made his appearance'
at his office. He had no recollection of
what occurred, though he acted coher
ently and bad drank nothing intoxicating
except a glass of ale, which he hail with
some oysters in a restaurant on Sixth
avenue.”
Dr. Hammond's daughter has com
pleted a novel entitled “Mr. Perkin's
Daughter,” which has been accepted by
G. P. Putnam’s Sons. The plot turns
upon the idea of a double consciousness.
The heroine, while in the “second state,”
engages herself to be married, aud when
sho recovers her normal condition has
forgotten al) about that. The publishers
have induced Dr. Hammond to write a
preface, which certifies that this pheno
menon of double consciousness is recog
nized by the medical profession.—.Win
neapolis Tribune.
An L'ngallant Translator.
Iu a review of Professor Blackie’s
translation of Faust the Saturday Ilc
view says:
“Will it be believed that the closing
words—
Das Lnlie chreibliche
flier ist es cetnau ;
Das Ewlg-Weibllche
Zelht tins hhmn—
Are presented by him to the English
reader thus:
Beauty immortal
The rapt spirit nail?,
Where the eternally
Female prevails.
Os course translation is baffled here; but
only total want of sympathy could ena
ble'a scholar of Professor Blackie's abil
ity to turn out such a carricatiu’e, even
byway of incidental illustration. Bay
ard Taylor’s—
The Indescribable,
Here it is done;
The Woman-Soul leadeth us
Upward and on I
Is at least in the right direction toward
the movement and spirit of the original.
And it is just the finer spirit and move
ment that, even where ho is in sympathy
with his author, Professor Blackie does
not always preserve. ”
Discovery of a Letter Written by Adaiu
to Eve.
In Josh Billings’ “Cook Book and
Picktorial Receipts,” the following in
teresting letter is found;
Edonia, December, Year Two.
Deab Eve—l have been on the rampage now
ono month, prospecting for our new home, and
and have aeon some ranches that will do pretty
well, but none of them just the ticket. The
old garden in a hard place to beat, but we have
lost that, and are turned out now to root hog
or die. Wo will fight it out now, on thia line,
if it take* al! summer. Eating that apple was
a great blunder, but, my dear girl, let bvgonen
be bygones; there is hope for ns yet. Juntas
soon as I strike a good claim I will come back
to you. Watch over Cain closely; he is a brick.
The weather is raw aud cold; I feel that lam
too thinly clad. No more now from your
loving Adam.
P. B.—Has Cain cut another tooth vet?
Compliment Exchanged.
Says the Cleveland Herald: “They
tell of a very ‘cultured’ divine in
Boston, who, instead of saying, ‘The col
lection will now be taken up,’ impres
sively remarks: ‘The accumulation of
money will now ensue.’ Perhaps there
is such a man, but he is a poor creature
compared with the Cleveland shepherd
of souls who says, ‘The deacons will now
sail around, and the congregation will
enthuse aud pass in its chips.”— Boaton
Transcript. _• __
“ Oh, Miss Dashwood, ma says she’s
so sorry to keep you waiting. I know it
isn’t true, though, because she said
‘Bother!’ when she saw you driven uj
the avenue.”
Puawnrap Thvmday at
BELLTON, GEORGIA,
BATBB Os. SUBSCRIPTION.
One year (52 numbers), $1.00; six months
numbers). 50 cents; three months (1$
numbers), 25 cents.
Office m the Smith building, east of the
depot.
ftO. 8.
ENTERTAINING PARAGRAPHS
■A— ■ ■
Some man are never sweet on their
wives except at a masquerade ball.
A bthmbij of wheat, weighing sixty
two pounds, contained 550,000 kernels.
A Boston paper charges certain actors
with “fulminating trite faculties.” No
arrests were made.
It is estimated that a freight train now
enters New York every fifteen minutes,
each train averaging 35 cars. *
Boston servant girls always ask for
poor molasses at the grocery, because it
takes longer for it to run.
Ths world is filling up with educated
fools—mankind read too much and learn
too little.— Josh Billings.
A man troubled with sleeplessness can
core himself by pretending to do duty as
a night watchman.— New Orleans Pica
yune.
ALa Crosse, Wis., minister prayed
tor those “who were smitten with ill
ness, and those who have gone a-fishing,
and also those too lazy to dress for
church.” >
An old couple in Maine have been
married seventy-live years. What a shud
der this item will create when it gets to
circulating in the Indiana papers!— N. Y.
Commercial.
The obstinancy, observes a London
journalist, with which old smokers cling
to life is really marvelous; they seem
altogether to ignore the fact that tobacco
is a»deadly poison.
Lavater was a good observer when he
wrote: “Mistrust the man who finds
everything good, the man who finds
everything evil, and still more, the man
who is indifferent to everything.”
An epitaph on a recently out tomb
stone reads:
“ Here lies Samantha Harriet Jones,
Whose maidan name was Sickles,
Most p'.teoua were her dying groans.
The cause of death was—pickles.”
—New Y&k Commercial Advert leer.
■When a Buffalo street cor conductor
was told by a lawyer that he had fallen
heir to a legacy of SIOO,OOO, the man
simply asked the loan of five cents to buy
a cigar with. He wanted to find out if
the lawyer was lying to him.
A person who had an important case
in court sent two very handsome and ex
pensive flagons to tlie Judge. He or
dered them to be filled with costly wine
and sent back to the donor. The Judge
was a pagan, however, and didn’t know
any better. Such foolish stories can’t be
told of the courts of nowadays.
Slavery is still a recognized institu
tion of Arabia, and an active trade in
blacks is carried on in some of the larger
towns? Arab custom enfranchises a slave
at the end of seven years’ faithful ser
vices, and on leaving his master presents
him with one or more camels and an out
fit. The manumitted negroes marryand
have an even chance in life with their
former owners. There is no prejudice
against a negro in Arabia.
“Eye peeping” is the new game. Two
holes are made in a screen. The per
formers stand behind it and place their
eyes in the holes, while the persons in
front guess to whom the eyes belong.—
New York Herald. They have the
same game, modified somewhat, out
West. “Eye openers” are drank, a fight
ensues, in which gouging prevails and
then the person who sweeps up the floor
guesses to whom the gouged eyes be
long.
Russell Sage is said to be the very
model of frugality and domestic econ
omy. His household concerns are con
ducted with systematic attention. He
weighs out the sugar, tea, coffee, aud
spices, and measures the liquids required
by his housekeeper and exacts a rigid ac
count from that usual pet ticoated ty
rant. After this the old man drives down
town and sets to work to checkmate Jay
Gould on Western Union or to get awaj
with any stray New York Central Mr.
Vanderbilt may not be able to carry
off.
T»ru- .. ■
The Hat Wouldn’t Stand It.
Billy Manning, the lamented minstrel,
bad an inexhaustible fund of natural wit.
He was up and down in life, sometimes
worth thousands, and again flat broke.
These reverses did not affect his spirits
in the least; indeed, his poverty inspired
in him many a happy thought. It was a
habit of Manning, when hearing of the
death of an acquaintance, to take off his
hat, and, bowing very reverently, re
mark:
“God rest his soul.”
On one occasion several of his friends
entered into a conspiracy to report to
him the death of some person he knew.
One friend would approach him and say,
“Well, Billy, George Jones is dead at
last. ”
Manning would take off his hat and
say: “God rest his soul.”
Presently another friend would coma
along, and, according to arrangement,
ask him if he had heard of the death of
Smith.
After the usual expression of surprise
and sorrow, off would come Manning's
hat, and he would make the tearful ob
servation, “God rest his soul.”
In this way he heard of the death of a
dozen old friends within an hour. Man
ning was then playing in hard luck, and
his hat was of straw and badly out of re
pair. Just as he had uncovered to ask
rest for the soul of his twelfth departed
friend, the depth and breadth of the
“racket” dawned upon him. Standing
there, holding his miserable straw hat by
the brim, and increasing, if anything,
the look of sorrow upon his face, he
said:
“Now let this end right here. I don’t
want to hear of the death of another per
son. This hat won’t stand it. ”
Ladies* should rjipiember that the
sweetest lips are social* chapped.