Newspaper Page Text
L - CeiiECTlOn'
J. H. & W. B. SEALS.
ATLANTA, GA„ SATURDAY, JUNE 1, 1878.
rp-rTiT>TV/rcj J S 3 ERR ANNUM )
1 7 IN ADVANCE, f
NO. 151 I
Ah ! little they know of true happiness, they whom
satiety fills.
Who. flung on the rieh breast of luxury, eat of the
rankness that kills.
Ah ! little they know of the blessedness toil-pur
chased slumber enjoys
AV ho, stretched on the hard rock of indolence,taste
of the sleep that destroys;
Nothing to hope for, or labor for; nothing to sigh
lor, or g., m;
Nothing to light in its vividness, lightning-like
bosom and brain;
Nothing to break life's monotony, rippling it o'er
w itli ijs breuth:
Nothing but dulnesss and lethargy, weaiiness sor
row, and death!
But blessed that child of humanity, happiest man
among men,
Who, win, hummer or eliisel or pencil, with rudder
or ploughshare or pen,
Laboreth ever and ever with hope through tiie
morning ot life,
Winning home and its darling divinities,—Jove- !
worshipped children and wife,
Hound the hammer ot industry, quick the sham
chisel rings,
And the heart oi the toiler lias throbbings that stir
not the bosom of kings,—
He the true ruler and conqueror, he the true king
of bis race,
Who nerveth his arm for life's combat anu looks
tiie strong world in the face.
Penis Florence Mac-Caktuv.
On the Prairies;
-OR;—
H0W0LD1UCKSKM
101 YD 1I1S WIPE.
Joe Liille Antelope and Mote
BT GEOliGE,
I never told you how I first met my wife, did
I ?’ said Old Buckskin, as we gathered aronnd
the evening camp-fire.
This was the signal fnr a storv, and we all as
sf I •• - ’ f ' -
to listtD. “Old Buckskin” was the leader oi
our party. He was a l nnter and guide of forty
years experience, and an inveterate yarn-spin
ner.
‘I was not aware that yon were ever married,
Buckskin,’ remarked one of the group, by way
of inviting him to proceed.
•Wal, I reckon I was,’ returned the hunter, as
he pulverized a haDdful of “dog-leg,” and pour
ed it into the bowl of his pipe. ‘I had a wife
that any man might be proud of, and I’ve a
mind to tell yon how I first ran afoul of her. It’s
a reg’lar romance, in a rough sort of a way, and
at the time it happened I was jist the right age
to ’preesbate anything that had a seasonin’ of
romance about it.’
Old Buckskin lit his pipe, and puffed away
for some moments in silence. Then, drawing
up his knees and clasping his hands around
them, he began; *"•
‘I was livin’ with the old folks down in Texas.
I warn’t a day more’n nineteen year old, but 1
was one of yer stout, strappin’ fellows that nev
er knowed what sickness was, and could stand
any hardship short of hangin’. I recollect as
how I didn’t have a hankerin’ arter anything in
p’tickler, ’cept huntin’. I had an all-fired good
gun that I’d won at a shootin’-match thar in the
nayborhood, and I was eternally usin’ it on sicb
game as squirrels, fow’ls, and sometimes deer.
I bad a spankin’ good hoss, too—not a Mexican
mustang, but a big, coal-black animal, that dad
had bought of a Frenchman and give to me.
Thar was Arab blood in his veins, and if ever a
vouDgster was pround of anythin’ I was proud
of that hoss.
‘When I was nineteen year old or thereabouts,
1 tuck my hoss and gun and went ont to have a
regular time of it. I’d been sweatin’ to take a
loBg trip across the prairies and mountains lur
some time, but dad and marn had alius talked
me out of it, tell in’ me thar was too many dan
gers fur a bey of my age to buck agin.’ Thar's
no denyin’ that I iras powerful young, and
powerful green, but when I finally made up my
mind, I struck a bee-line for the mountains. It
was jist the sort of a life fur me, and I liked it
in spite of its risks, and what delicate people
call its hardships. It was my first experience,
and I hadn't the judgment of a yearlin' colt,
but I tuck things as they come and got through
by main strength and awk’rdnsss
‘I’d been absent from bum nigh onto four
weeks, I reckon, when I started to retnrn. On
the way hack I captured an antelope—as tlno a
young buck as you'd wan’t to see—and I thought
as how I’d take it hum alive. Don t know what
the nation I wanted to do that fur, but I was a
boy, with a boy’s notions. I camped that night
nnder a big live oak tree that stood all alone on
the prairie. If my memory sarves me right it
was the only tree in sight, ’cept two or three
stunted palms away off to the south’ard. I tied
the antelope to a stout bush at the foot of the
oak, and turned the hoss loose. I alius turned
my Arab loose, ’case he was well trained and
never offered to go astray. It was one of the
brightest moonlight nights I ever seed. Yer
pale-faced city people, that never git ont here
on the plains whar they kin stretch their
cramped limbs, don’t know what bright moon
light nights is.
‘I'd skeercely got to sleep when I was aroused
by the most infernal howls I ever heerd. The
sound warn’t new to me; I knowed what it
meant; I rubbed my eyes and looked aronnd.
In ever’ direction I could see black objects
skulkin’ about on the prairie, and I knowed
they was wolves. I reckon there was about a
hundred of ’em. It struck me as how they’d
been attracted to the spot by the antelope, whose
fat, tender carcass made thar hungry mouths
water. The poor critter was cowerin’ down on
the ground, trembling like a leaf, and I made
up my mind to defend him. 1 got ont of my
blanket, picked up my gun, and climbed the
ftree. I know’d it was the safest place fur me,
“ J iJraced M}’ Rifle agin j\fy Shoulder and blazed away at Him.’
besides givin’ me a chance to open ont on the
varmits in the right way. I crawled out on one
of the lowest limbs, and laid flat down on my
L’. r hiiSt-_, Jp.lh.at _t>o ution I watched *F. -o olvpja
a-bowlin’ as if they had pains in their stom-
micks, and growlin’ a little braver every minnit.
Nearder and nearder they come, and at last the
leader got so clus' that he settled hisself on his
haunches to spring upon the antelope. I didn’t
keer to see him carry out his plan, so I braced
my rifle agin’ my shoulder, tuck steady aim,
and jist as the varmint rose in the air I blazed
away at him.
‘lie keeled over, deader’n a door-nail, and the
rest scampered away. Fur a little while all was
still, and not a wolf was to be seen :but I know’d
it wouldn’t last loDg, so I rammed another load
into my gun in the twinklin' of a toad’s eye.—
I’d no more’n finished the job when the howlin’
commenced ag’in, and the ’tarnal gluttons be
gun to hold another camp-meetin’ on the prem
ises. This time the antelope got so awful sheer
ed that he begun to tug at his rope, and try to
get away. I was kinder feard he’d succeed, for
it warn’t sich a powerful stout rope, but I laid
still and held my gun ready to do more work.—
The wolves come so near they begun to devour
the carcass of the one I’d killed ; then I fired
among ’em. They didn’t scatter this time, but
pounced onto the last victim, and eat him up in
a jiffy. While they was doin’ that the antelope
was bleatin’ mighty pitiful, and strugglin’ to get
loose. All to onc’t the rope snapped, and the
poor critter findin’ hisself free, shot away like a
streak of greased lightnin.’ The wolves seed
him go, and the hull pack of ’em dashed away
in hot persoot. In a few seconds the antelope
and wolves war out of sight, and the noise died
away in the distance.
‘I got down out oi the tree. I felt sorry fur
the antelope ; I kDOw’d it was all up with him,
but I couldn’t help him now. My hoss was
nowhar to be seen. He had tuck fright, and
made hisself remarkably skeerce, but I bad no
fear ’bout bis goin’ fur. I give one sharp whis
tle, and it warn’t a minnit till the Arab came
galopin’ up.
‘ Wal, I didn’t keer to be cheated out of my
sleep, so I prepared to snooze the rest of the
night. I didn’t look fur another visit from the
wolves, but I had no mind to let ’em ketch
me nappin’, and this is the way I guarded agin’
it. Every Texan carries a long, stout lariat
coiled up at his saddle-bow. I hadn't tuck the
saddle off my boss, so I walked up to him,
uncoiled the lariat, put the noose over my ankle,
and tightened it thar before I laid down to
sleep. The other end being attached to the
Arab, he couldn’t move without wakin’ me, so
thar was no danger of his goin’ astray ag’in if
he happened to get skeered. He had a right
smart of license, but he couldn’t go beyond his
tether without twitchin’ my ankle and rousin’
me from my slumbers. It warn’t jist the peart-
est trick a manever did, but I w r as greener’n
hammered elm in them days. I could do the
same thing now without axident, but I was a
growin' boy then, and a growin’ boy is apt to
sleep as sound as a brick. YVal, arter attackin'
myself to the hoss in this manner, I rolled over
in my blanket and was soon in the land of
dreams.
How long I snoozed I had no means of tellin, I
was 'roused by .feelin’ suthin’ give my leg
an awful jerk that e’enamost plucked it out of
its socket. I was lifted up and thumped agin’
the ground in a way that warn’t gentle, and then
I felt as somebody hd picked me up by the heels,
and war tryin’ to bang my brains ont on the
hard earth. That warn’t all: it didn’t take me
a great while to find out that I was bein’ drag
ged at a fearful rate! I heard an awful barkin’
and howlin’ and screechin’ as if all the wolves
in the univarso war on the rampage. All of a
suddent the truth flashed onto me. I seed what
was the matter. The wolves arter makin’ short
work of the antelope, had come back to look for
more vittles. The Arab had got skeered, aDd
stampeded without the least warnin’, and now
he was galloping across the prairie with the
speed of the wind, dragging me arter him. The
! lasso was drawed tight a:. undmy ankle, and
; thar warn t no hope of it pr< a sin*, ’cause why
! it f wa « powerful stout. ^ ^ 1ear the clatter
j Su£ t” could n’t” see nothin ihamiet ’w&s
: over my eyes. ’
‘This yur blanket was sui- tb n" like a Mexi-
! can’s serape; it had a hole in*>the center which I
J put my head through when I laid dowrn to sleep.
In course, bein’ dragged along the ground
feet foremost, pulled the blanket up over my
head, so that I was in total darkness. But it
was blessed lucky fur me that it did, fur it sav
ed my head some mighty hard knocks, and I
verily b’lieve if it hadn’t been fur that thar
blanket that night, I wouldn’t be hyur to tell
you the story.’
‘Taiu’t no use talking,’ the way that hoss trav
eled across that prairie was a caution to wild
cats. I couldn’t holler to him to done any
good, fur the blanket muifled my voice, and the
wolves made a noise that would have drowmed
it anyway. I tell yer, boys, I warn’t in jist the
pleasantest situation a bright-minded pusson
could think of. The hoss was goin’ his mighti
est, and thar warn’t no use ,‘m me grabbin’ at
the grass and w'eeds as they ,‘lew by. Oh I went,
bouncin’, bumpin’, skiminiD along, tearin’ my
clothes to shreds, and peelin’every speck of the
hide from my back and legs. Millions of stars
flashed before my eyes every time my head was
dashed agin’ the ’arth, and it got to occurrin’ so
often, that the stars finally became stationary.
Thar was no help fnr it. I thought I was doom
ed ; and I reckon I come ‘bout as nigh|sayin‘ my
prayers that night as I ever did in my life. It
was an awful expern nc. The hoss kept gallop-
in, and the wolves kept follerin* and howlin.’
I didn't think ‘bout bein’ afeard of the wolves;
nothin* was farder from my mind than that, I‘d
‘a been powerful glad to slip that noose from
my ankle, and run the risk of bein' chawed up
by the varmints.
They war all around me by this time. I could
hear ‘em snappin* at me as I went tumblin'
along. One of ‘em laid hold of my blanket, and
got away with a piece of it. They was ap
parently keepin* pace with the Arab—so was I!
I'll bet a plug of Jeezns River tobacker that
the trail could have been followed a month ar-
terward, whar my carcass plowed up the sile.
I thought every minnit ’nd be my last; I thought
every jerk would tear me iu two. I know’d it
couldn’t last long, A man jnust have a consti-
tion like a mule’s to live thfrough it. And the
hoss would never stop, wLi’i them pesky var
mints kept up thar clamor at his heels.
‘ Arter a while, I heerd the crack of a rifle,
ring ont clear and sharp above the din ; and a
sudden yelp from one of the pursuers told the
result. I was followed quick by a pistol-shot—
then another—and thar seemed to be a panic
among the wolves. I could tell that they was
scattered in every direction. At the same time,
I heerd the hoof-strokes of a gallopin’ hoss—an
other beside my Arab. The sound was off to
one side of me, and was comin, nearder and
nearder. Bewildered and crazy as I was, I
warn’t slow to guess what it meant. Thar war
help at hand.
‘I reckon I fainted then. It was the first and
last time in my life, but I calculate a stronger
man than me wonld ’a give in, under the cir
cumstances. I was scratched and bruised, and
bleedin’ like a stuck b’ar. Yes, kumrids, I make
no bones in tellin’ yer that I actually fainted!
‘ When my senses come back to me, I found
that I was layin’ perfectly still. My head was
restin’ on a soft arm ; a voice as low and sweet
as the murmurin’ breeze was speakin’ Words of
pity ; and as I opened my eyts, the very first
thing that I seed, was a fair young face, as party
as an angel’s bendin’ over me. For a minnit I
thought I was in another world, and this raily
an angel kneelin’ beside me ; bnt when the long,
waverin’ howl of a distant wolf was borne to my
ear, a cold shudder went through my achin’
frame, and I knowd I was still on ’arth. The
moon was still shinin’ bright. A little ways
from whar I laid I seed a hoss quietly croppin’
the grass. It warn’t my hoss, but a snow-white
critter with a woman’s saddle on his back.
‘I stared at the gal that was hoverin’ over me
She didn’t ’pear to be mor'n (ighteen years old
SCl«W n oi iL .i. . r
bright, and bine as the summer sky. She wore
a sort of fancy huntin' dress, all beaded and
braided, and a little sassy cap with a white
plume in it. In one little hand she held a flask
of branny which she’d half emptied into my
guzzle.
‘ I reckon I can set up now,’ sez I sorter bash
ful like, as I riz to a setin’ posture.
She stood up tnen, and stepped back in a
timid way, lookin' lovelier than ever.
‘ Who are you ?’ I axed.
‘ My name is Ruth Martin,’ sez she.
‘I looked all around, and then put my hand
to my head to make sure that I warn't stark,
staring mad.’
‘ l'ou’re a mighty purty gal,' I blurted out;
what the duce are yer doin’ ’way out here on
the plains? Did yer save my life?’
‘ I seed her blush like a rose in the Moon
light. Then she sez to me, sez she:
• My home is in San Antonio. I left home
two days ago with a party of ladies an if gentel-
men, to take part in a grand bnffier-kunt. I
became seperated from them, and got dost on
the wide prairies. I am still lost. I’ve not
been able to find my way, but I’ve not suffered
except in mind. To-night I was ’wakened by the
wolves. Your animal passed close to me, and
I seed that he was draggiD’ a human bein’. I
mounted my steed and give chase. With my
rille and pistols, I put the wolves to flight.
Then I put my animal to his best speed and j
managed to cut the cruel lasso.’
‘ That was the gal’s story, and she told it in \
her neatest language. I s’pose I was in love ;
with her from that minit. We had a long talk, |
and I was happy in spite of my bruises. In ’
fact, I warn’t troubled so much about aches !
and pains, as I was about the tumble state of
my duds, which was tore e’enamost off my body.
‘ Day was breakin’ in the east, and though
the wolves hung around the premises and barked
at us they didn’t offer to pitch into ns. When ;
daylight come, they all skulked off, and disap
peared.
‘Arter a spell, my Arab come back ; I knowed
he would, as soon as his skeer was over ; and
when I give him a lectur’ fur his conduct, he
rally seemed ashamed of hisself. Ruth Martin,
the gal that saved my life, axed me with tears
in her blue eyes, if 1 would help her to find her
way back to San Antonio? Wal I did.
‘ Kumrids,’ couluded Old Buckskin, as he
knocked the ashes from his pipe, ‘ them’s the
circumstances under which I first met the gal
that arterwards become my wife.’
compare the gentle ripple of the lake with tbo
rapid running of the mighty river, as attempt to
judge of Mrs. Sigourney and Mrs. Hemans by
the same rules of criticism. Besides, we would
have our writers known by their own names,
and not set ourselves to the task of weaving for
them a chaplet of the leaves which have dropped
from other’s garlands.
Our country, however, is now fully awakened,
and our literary aspirants have learned that the
true aim of their ambition must be to acquire
distinction as national writers. The field which
lies before them is an immense one. For the
painter of society who seeks to “catch the man
ners living as they rise,” there never could be>
finer studies than are to be found at home.
The eccentric backwoods-man, the haughty
Southerner, the Quaker-like descendant of Wil
liam Penn, the acute New Englander, and the
thousand queer phases which character as
sumes in our Atlantic coast cities, might fur
nish a lifetime of employment to a satirist. The
student of political economy, and the philoso
phy of man can have nofbetter opportunity than
is afforded by our free institutions and the con
sequent freedom of opinion which prevails.
And for him, who, turning from mankind, de
votes himself to the contemplation of the works
of God, we could ask no nobler themes than
our own magnificent country can afford. The
towering mountain, the untrodden wilderness
the broad prairie spreading like a sea of verl
dure, the forest, with its “dim monastic aisles ”
the expansive {lake, the { silvery waterfall, the
astonishing cataract, all are there ia matchless
beauty, to till the eye and the imagination
The poet and the novelist need look no farth-
er than his native soil to find subjects by which
to immortalize themselves. Let them go abroad
for study—let them enlarge their minds by com
munion with their fellows in every clime let
tnem ponder over the time-worn institutions of
other lai dand gaze upon the crumbling ruins
of a by-gone age, but let them then return to
pay the debt they owe their native land Let *
their hopes of individual fame be interwoven
with her glory, then even thelanrel would seem ‘
worthless if it grew on any other soil. * 1
Much is now doing for the cause of Iiteratnre '
but much yet remains to be done. Our vouDg !
American Authorship.
WHAT IT WAS, AND WHAT IT IS.
J How it irks the ear of a patriot when the
j name3, however honored, of the gifted in an-
j other land are applied to our own writers. Who
j has not felt indignant at hearing Miss Sedg-
I wick styled the Edgeworth of our country?
j Whether her hand portrays the sw T eet Hope
j Leslie, the stately Grace Campbell, the noble
j Magawasea, or the excellent Aunt Deborah, she
| is alike feminine, natural and American. Why
! then should we bestow on her the mantle which
| has fallen from the shoulders lot another 1 She
j is no copyist of another’s skill ; she has now a
I name for herself—she is one of our national
glories—our Sedgwick. Nor would we bestow
on Mrs. Sigourney the name borne by one whom
we alike lament. I mean Felicia Hemans. Few
people are aware of the absurdity they commit
when they attempt to class together the poetry
of two individuals. Toetry is so closely con
nected with feeliDgs and affections that unless
we could find two persons who thought and fait
and acted precisely alike, we could never find
them writing similar poetry. We might as well
needs intellectual laborers. Our sons must be
i educated in such a manner that if suddenly
| summonei to serve their country they must be
j ready. A mere military education was once
| sufficient for this purpose; but we fight now
j with other weapons than the sword and musket.
The cool head, the collected judgment, the warm
patriotism, the unswerving integrity of the
statesman are the noblest arms which one can
wield for his native land. It is not alone as a
poet, a philosopher, or a satirist that a man may
acquire distinction; every member that occupies
the floor in our houses of Congress is an object
of attention both to his fellow-citizens and’ to
the assembled thousands of Europe. The old
world is calmly looking on to behold the re
sult of our experiment of self-government, and
surely it behooves us to make every effort for
its success.
‘ Let me make the sovys of a nation and I care
not w'ho makes the laics,’ said one who had care
fully examined the secret spring of human ac
tions. The laws of a country may be the best
ever planned, yet public opinion will sometimes
rule in spite of them, and is it not then im
portant that public opinion should be properly
directed ? The same impulses which are
wrought upon for purposes of evil by dema
gogues might be wrought upon for good by bet
ter men. The annoying influence of newspa
pers will afford some criterion by which to judge
of the powers which a national literature would
exercise over a nation so generally educated as
our own.
If ever we hope to see the day when truth
shall prevail over party spirit, and the people
shall in all cases abide by * principles not men,’
it must be brought about by the generat diffu
sion of knowledge, and the establishment or a
national, a patriotic literature. But that time
can never come unless our authors are enabled
to devote themselves to mental rather than
manual labor. Our philosophic students of
human nature must not be obliged to steal a few
brief moments from an arduous business as a
toilsome profession for such pursuits. Our gif
ted poets must not longer be compelled to turn
their eyes from the book of nature while they
pore over a dull ledger or waste their tine pow
ers on the columns of a daily paper. The labors
of tfle intellect, pleasant though they be, are
sufficiently severe without adding the never-end
ing tasks of busiuess. The lamp of life while
fed only with the students’ midnight oil will
waste quite soon enough without consuming its
pure light over the dull details of a working-day
world. A light is going forth from the awak
ened mind of the nation, that may indeed carry
healing on its beams ; and it should be the pray
er of every good citizen that it may not cease to
emanate, til) every rising intellect in the repub
lic is touched, and warmed, and directed by tho
illumination. .
Let him join in thus improving himself by
contact—by collision by sympathy. His pleas
ures, though of a different and healthy charac
ter, will not be less in the final addition. His
heart may grow kinder and more expansive as
his mind is opened and presented to new and
invigorating influences ; while he may feel al
most certain of a success of which he may well
be proud, that shall crowm his exertions in the
service of his country’s Literature. Let Ameri
can genius, then, resolve to dedicate its off
spring to eternal virtue, and it will spring to
strong and lasting life. American Y'onth will
thus be fulfilling high duty, in this connection
and thus too will they do the best that can be done
to establish, in this particular, a national liter
ature, to which we may point with pride and
satisfaction . American Youth must make him-
se lf_ttnd in so doing, he is in the best way
making American learning and American Lit
erature— in so doing, be is making the
greatness of his country.