Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 111.
SAM BROWN.
he is still out of the race
FOR CORONER.
Sadness Comes Over Him and Wraps
Him Like 4)i ßlanket His Future
is Cheerless.
My frame is shrunk, aud my soul is
s ad. Every high aud holy ambition that
formerly spurred me on to lofty resolve
and praiseworthy action, is defunct, is
goue, is dead. Yes, ’tis only when sweet
slumber steals across my haggard mind
that my brain feels no more the iron pres
sure. At times the veil of sorrow is lifted oft'
of my spirit,when in my dreams I behold
visions of hope and beauty; or, when in
happy reverie, I am borne back to long
past days, to the hours and joys of my
pt.rtivo boyhood—when the merry green
nnd the valley and the verdant hills of
old Smith Carolina flutter by my daz- (
zled vision. During these rare moments
when niv s.,nl is steeped in slumber, I
am sometimes awakened by the braving
of my Beck, or the barking of Pup. j
Tlien it is that a tear shirts up in my i
withered eye and trickles over my hag- j
gavd visage. This has a slight tenden
cy to convince me that all hope is not j
entirely dead. list it is hard to believe; ;
it is, certain.
Why do these portentous clouds lower |
over my horizon, will be asked by some
sympathizing and simple reader. Kind
hit-ml, Hid you ever have your feelings
wrought up to the highest notch—your |
whole being, us it were, c*h>oirifled with j
excruciating joy—every nerve and smew
drawn as tight as a fiddle string, then all |
on a sudden, have the entire superstruc-
ture, weatherboarding and all, to tumble :
to the ground? That’s me; it is, certain. ■
An enthusiastic c mstituenev had nomi- !
*
anted me for coroner of Bartow countv, 1
aud I wanted to be coroner powerful bad. i
1 lead oft' in the beginning of the cam
paign with a stirring, riuging letter, j
Mv most intimate friends were agreeably
surprised—they had no idea that I could
write such a letter. Every body was go- t
mg to vote for mo—my opponents would
have been lost in a cloud of dust. My J
old woman sat down on me; she did, cer
tain. She, that burst the bauds that
bonded me to single cussedness —she, i
that I loved more than a hogshead full i
of blackberry wine, tore open my sack of !
hope, ripped asunder my trouaeiloons of j
pleasure and left me high and dry on a
knoll of helpless, hopeless, cheerless, i
despondency. Aud right there am I sit
ting now.
All along through youth and young
manhood and middle age, I had thought ;
thut, wlion dead, f would live again in
the eternity of Fame. But my old wo- j
man,in five minutes,measured my glory’s
life, and laid it low. When death comes j
upon me, Nothing will bo left but an an
regarded blot. i
How il**ep that tiding In my heart.
Moat deep whi*n least confessed,
Mom nad when not a tear will start
To purge it from my hreaat, —
A doubting wish—a dread —a pain—
A heavy darkness weighing down
Hope’s wings, when upward niosi they strain —
ObliviouV shadow—fortune's frown —
Tbit tear, when Jiis my clay is not,
My hope, myself, will tie forgot.
Despairingly yours,
Sam Brown, j
RUMOR DA ISA'S GABBLE.
Editor Dana is beginning to loan heav
ily in tho direction of itnsCrupiilousness,
and hardly a day ponses that he fails to
out-do his man Butler ns a practical dem
agogue. Horne of his recent editorials
wo a op common sense. His j
niu-st essay .is an attempt to prejudice j
the minds of his readers against Govern
or Cleveland because the latter, in the
exercise of his sworn duties as high sher
iff, was e<impelled to hang two criminals,
it Is true that the 8a . is largely support
ed by men whose prejudices are suppos
ed to ho always uppermost, but he must
be an ignorant man indeed who would
fail to perceive the absurdity oi Editor
Dana’s silly gabble.
The editorial to which wo allude is en
titled “The Hangman's Ofiice,” and, as
au essay, it is quite Worthy of the con
ception of Butler’s chief fugleman. Af
ter describing the duties of executioners
employed by kings and tyrants, uud tho
hatred in which they are held by tbe
people, Editor Dana has tho gall to com
pare them to the officers selected by the
American people to execute the laws.
“The public execution in every age, j
and among every people lias been the !
subject of universal popular hatred,”
the Ban, and every execration has
been heaped upon him. Hansom is vir
tually a prisoner inside his own house- j
hold. Calc raft required the protection
of the police, and it has been questioned
whether lie died a natural death. It re
mains to be seen in this country whether
the American people, in the person of
Grover Cleveland, will elevate a common
hangman to the highest ofiice in then
gift.”
Passing over the execrable English of
the foregoing, we do not hesitate to saj
that the man who wrote it lacks both
self-respect and honesty; and we should
be sorry to know that there is a wretch,
even in the slums of New York, so igno
rant as to be influenced by it. .Rightly
interpreted; it is au attack on American
ustitutioaa. It ia au insult to every in-
teUigent reader of the Sun. The Amer
ican people are not tyrants and their
! law’s are not tyrannical. There is no
| more honorable office than that of high
j and there is no community in the
' States in which the occupant of
that office is held in fear or execration.
On the contrary, the office is so impel -
i tkc man who holds it must pos
j sess the confidence, the respect aud the
esteem of his fellow- citizens,
i Grover Cleveland performed the du
ties of his office while sheriff as fearleaslv
j as he has performed them since as may
or of Buffalo and governor of the great
state of New York. It was a part of hm
i duty as sheriff to hang the criminals, and
lie hanged them. The editor of the New
} ork >S 'ten is the first to discover that
there is any office under the American
system to hold which is to lose the re
! spect and confidence of the people,
i Many criminals have been hanged in
! this country', but Editor Dan is the
first to tell ns that the officers who exe
cuted the law are hated and feared by
their fellow-citizens—by the very people
who put them in office. If a sheriff is
to be ineligible to the highest office, why
not the judge? "Why not the members '
of the legislature who pass the laws?
Under all the circumstances, we can j
come to but one conclusion. Editor Da
na is losing his grip on the substance of.'
things. His once strong mind has be
come flabby—and this is the natural re
sult of Butlerism.—Constitution.
“A Single Fact Is Worth a Ship-Load of Ar- *
gnment.
Mr. W. P. Lathrop, of South Easton, j
Mass., under date of January 7, 1881,
says: “My father had for years an eat
ing cancer on his under lip, which had
been gradually growing worse until it ,
eaten away liis under lip down to his
gums, and was feeding itself on the in-,
side of his cheek, and the surgeons said
that n horrible ueath was soon to come,
we gave him nine bottles of Swift Spe
cific and lie has been entirely cured. It
lias created great excitement in this sec
tion.’’
Twisted Hones.
Mr. J. R. Stewart, of Macon, Ga., a
well known and trustworthy gentleman,
makes the following statement: “My
son, who.was between three and four
years old, was all drawn up with rheuma
tism. His bones w ere twisted, and he
was all doubled out of shape. He suf
fered intense pain, had lost his appetite,
w T as cross and fretful. He was reduced
to a mere skeleton, and had to be car
ried about on a pillow. As these cases
of rheumatism, where the boues were
twisted and the joints were all crooked,
had for years baffled the skill of the
most eminent physicians, I determined
to use Swift Specitic, ns I had seen testi
monials from men whom I knew to be
trustworthy, similar eases it had cured.
I used two large size bottles of S. S. S.
according to directions, with the most
satisfactory results. My son commenced
improving with the first dose of the medi
cine. His sufferings diminished daily
and his appetite increased; he became
cheerful and in good spirits. Gradually
ho regained use of liis limbs, the twisted
bones and joints straightened out and in
less than two months lie was entirely
cured, and could walk and get about as
any child of his age.
Beware of imitations of Swift’s Spe
cific, gotten up by unprincipled parties
to deceive the public; some of these
frauds bear the lie on their faces pur
porting to be vegetable remedies,
when they ore really nothing but
strong aolutions of mercury and potash.
Treatise o;i Blood and Skin Diseases
mailed free.
The Swift Specific Cos., Drawer 3,
Atlanta, Ga., 159 W. 23d Street, New
York, and 1205 Chestnut Street, Phila
delphia.
NaiHl to the front of a factory in Wii-
Hamsburgh is a large spread of canvas,
on which is printed:
•‘Tim Sells will rinsr out.
In tower and Fteeple,
For Benjamin Butler, the man
Fur the people.”
On the evening of the stli of Novem
ber a cock-eyed man, whose campaign
fund has been exhausted, will enter the
saloon across the street, and murmur
softly:
Sweet tiells, ye Jangled out of tune
In steeple and in tower;
Ye rang out Bonny lien too soon—
Waited—a whiskey sour!
A young lady was keeping company '
with a man named Drake, and one even- j
ing the young people were compaing j
notes on their favorite flowers. When j
this miss was asked what flower she liked
best, she replied quickly, “Mandrake. *
“Of course, certainly; w T e knew that,'
greeted the answer. She wondered
what they were laughing at.
A little four-year old girl was present-:
ed with a pencil by a gentleman who
wears a large moustache, but no whis
kers; and being asked afterwards who
gave the pencil to her replied: “Why,
don’t you know—that nice-looking man
that has whisker on his top lip,
“Letters from Hell,” a book written
by a Danish bishop, is being translated
into English at London. If a bishop
can’t steer clear of that place, what show
1 have ordinary sinners.''
CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 4. 1884.
THE TATTLER'S
RAMBLING TALK FOR THE BEN
EFIT OF OUR READERS
OM Aunt Fanny—Hard Times—Fool
ish Farmers—A Happy Home—
A New Mail Route
Last week I visited my “old black
mammy”—the old negro woman who
nursed my father before me aud loved
me when 1 was a baby. It was pleasing
and flattering to me to witness hei joy
at my coming. She is so old that no one
can remember her age. She is little and
wrinkled and gray, yet she is the merri
est little being I know* When I went
into her cabin she put tier arms around
me and fairly danced for joy. Sue called
me tier baby—said I was handsome and
smart (.she is getting blind). I love old
“Aunt Fanny” better than any negro in
the world. She would give her life for
her’ ‘graiidson , ’ns she evils mo. She would
give me a home in her cabin as long as
siio lives, and her bread would be will
ingly divided with me if she hud only a
crust. I have spent many happy hours
around her cabin tire listening to her
songs and stories. She is now tottering
along on the verge of life’s other side
aud it may be T will not find her there
when Tgo again. May she have a hap
py death, and may the good angels bear
her to a better land than this.
* *
*
We are face to face with Hard Times.
1 have recently been all over our county
ancl I know whereof I speak. The cot
ton crop is shorter than it was last year,
and corn is very light. It is easy enough
in a newspaper article to put the bright
lide ou everything and speak only of the
good and pleasant things we meet with,
but it is better sometimes to be frank
and honest and present both sides of the
picture. Money matters are closer than
f have ever known them. The cotton
crop is about all gathered and the people
are not half through paying their debts.
Next year will witness a “close shave”
for the people to make ends meet. I
speak of these things that we may be
prepared before hand to meet them.
There will be no money to spend for fire
crackers and Roman candles and dolls
and candy and Christmas trees and fine
wedding presents and oyster suppers and
billiards and whisky. We will have to
be satisfied with the absolute necessities
of life. It will take the closest economy
to carry us through.
'■¥ *
I wish the farmers of our county would
learn a little common sense. They are
enemies to themselves, and do each
other more harm than any one else does
for them. In the spring and summer
they will come to town and boast of their
crops. They gather up in clumps on
the street corners or at some favorite
“loafing” place and tell about wheat that
will average 25 bushels per acre, or corn
that will yield 100 bushels per acre.
They make it convenient to tell these
monstrous fabrications in the presence
of the village editor, aud he m turn fills
his local col urns with crop items that
would put the best Mississippi bottom to
blush. These statements are copied iu
t) the large dailies and go the rounds of
the press. Asa matter of course they
come under th notice of the money
kings who fix the prices on the products
of the country. This gives them a pre
text to cry over production and a glutted
market, and by the time the crop is
ready to be sold prices are ruinously low.
About the time the bulk of the crop
passes from the hands of the producer
and is safely lodged in the clutches of
the speculators there is a rise in the
market. It is discovered that the crop
is short, and the money kings coin
their thousands out of the sweat of the
farmer. If farmers would work more
and talk less and tell the truth when they
do talk it would be better for them.
A liitle friend of mine in the west i
sends me the following as a specimen of ;
the marriage ceremony of Arkansas, j
Her presentation is so graphic and life j
like that I conclude she must have heard '
and seen the ceremony performed. Read
it: i
Will you take this gat you hold by the arm ;
To be your wife, and do her no harm,
Love, honor, cherish and obey,
And make her rise at the bieak of day?
Milk the cows, and have breakfast doue,
Aim call you up by the lisiug sun
H ive the table bountifully spread
With slewed venison and corn bread?
Answer: I will.
Will you take this man y >u hold by the wrist
To follow him roving in every twist
Who will huut the bear uud chase the <: on,
Sleep in the woods or the nearest saloon.
Will you milk the rows and feed old “Rock,’’
Take i cuasius; and sometimes n knock.
Will you keep the hash always hot
Sick or well, walk or trot—
Answer: I will.
j Come blushing bride and gallant groom
And jump high over the skin of the coou.
* *
*
I I know of no man in Bartow' county
who is better situated for enjoying life,
or tvho is more thoroughly contented in
every particular than Jim Crawford, of
Casaville. He is a hard-working, intelli
gent, successful young farmer; has a
good farm, well stocked; anew house,
arranged for comfort and convenience; a
beautiful young wife, endowed with all
the charms and accomplishments to make
a home happy, aud a sweet boy baby,
just beginning to prattle and walk. I
spent a night with turn last week, and
enjoyed myself more than I can tell. He
has just finished his house and moved
in. Everything looks bright aud invit
ing. The young husband aud wife are
warm hearted and hospitable and I felt
that my visit was appreciated aud thut I
I was entirely welcome* As Jim came
iu from the field and was welcomed by
the smiles of his little housekeeper, and
the exuberant joy of his baby boy, I re
membered the words of Byron: “’Tis
sweet to know there is an eye that will
mark our coming, and look the brighter
when we come.” I am sure they are
happy, and they deserve to be. After
supper was over we gathered around a
glowing fire and spent the long evening
hours in talking of old times when Jim
and I were desk mates and class mates
at tiro old Ad.at s\ Hie academy. We
were intimate then and know each
other’s secrets, and it was pleasant after
ten years to recall the scenes and inci
dents of our boyhood:
“Ti n fliining day* win a all was lew
Anil life was bright- as nrniter A\v“ *
My dear ole comrade is still tie same
—bright, cheerful and intelligent, but
more settled and, if possible, happier
than when a boy. I wish him and his
beautiful wife the most unbounded suc
cess. He has chosen farming as n pro
fession, and is making some money.
There is not a better worker in Bartow
cou ty and if he goes on like lie has
started out he will some day be indepen
dently wealthy.
The friendship of these school friends
is worth more to me than money.
■ * *
sfc
Jim Crawford tells me of a freak of his
dog that is worth repeating: About six
weeks ago he visited his fatlier-in-law iu
Gordon county. When he went to leave
the old gentleman presented him with a
dog, which he brought home. The dis
tance ivas about 25 miles. The dog re
mained with him very quietly for a week
and then disappeared. He remained
away for a week and then returned.
Having occasion to visit his fatlicr-in-law
again, Mr. Crawford learned that the dog
had been there and spent exactly a week
aud then disappeared. So it seems that
the dog alternates between the two
places spending a week at each place. It
is necessary for him to swim several j
creeks and a river in going the distance,
yet lie goes it in a very few hours. One
evening last week about niue o’clock he
shook himself at Mr. Crawford’s door
after a week’s absenee. Mrs. Crawford
opened the door and old “Track” walked
deliberately up to the fire and stretched
out his neck as if to say, “See what I have
brought.” Around his neck was tied a
little snuff box which was taken off and
opened. Much to their surprise and
pleasure it contained a letter from the
old folks at home. Mrs. Crawford has
written a letter to be carried buck when
old Track starts on his return trip. Here
after he will run a weekly mail between
Cassville and Oostauaula.
WOMAY. tV I IK, LADY.
Young man, nnd you too, old man, for
that matter, wait a minute.
Permit a pilgrim from away back to
give you a few pointers.
O ;ce iu awhile at dauobs, pieaes, ap
ple cuts, celebrations, weddings,
and .social gatherings- generally you
speak of the young lady who
honors von with her company as
your Doxey. You say “Hold on till I
find my Doxey.” Or, “where is my
Doxey?” Now, before you use the term
again look n to a dictionary that has the
word and its definition and it is possible
that you may not be so free with big
works in the future.
When you are married and start ofT on
a wedding trip do not reveal your inborn
selfishness at a hotel by simply register
ing your own name, or the polite clerk
behind the counter may fire your wife
into the street as a bad character, for
whom that particular hotel has no ac
commodations. Once iu awhile a man
who is going to seed does this, but it is
not a handsome way to serve your wife.
If the woman with you at a hotel is
your wife, register as man and wife. If
she is not your wife, but a woman who
travels with you to keep towels iu order
or if she is another man’s wife whose
real husband does not know where she
is, then register as “Johnny Green and
Lady.” This will ensure the “lady”
callers at all hours when you are out on
business or the depot to see if any one
you do uot wish to see came in on the
miduight train.
In establishments where wedding cer
tificates are not displayed there are no
women, but all are ladies, and when one
of them goes out on a trip with a gentle
man it is proper to register her at a ho
tel as a lady. Or, it you are ashamed of
your wife, leave her at home or register
her as your “lady,” then, when the clerk
of the hotel or any one else sees her he
will know' w'hat sort of conversation will
interest her. Don’t forget it. The man
w'ho is too ignorant of good manners, or
too ashamed of his wife to let her b e
known as such, should never have one,
and he is doubly an ass who subjects his
wife to suspicion. The only excuse a
man has who registers himself and
“lady,” instead of “wife,” is that before
marriage he traveled with women and
got so iu tin- habit iff registering so as to
let the landlord know that his companion
was taney, that when married he forgets
what is due to a wife.
Men often misuse not only women, but
the word woman. The husband who
speaks of his wife as his “woman” is a
hog. The man who goes out with his
wife aud registers her as his “lady” is
abusive, though he may not know it
The mau who gees out with several wo
men should not say that he is w ith a lot of
women, but that he accompanies ladies.
This includes his wife and all others in
the company. It is proper to say good
morning, good evening, or good night,
“ladies,” but it would be boorish to say
goodnight, “women.” Treat your wife
as your wife, with love, respect, and
m mly attention. Treat all women rs
ladies, as refined lovable women, as by
so doing you prove yourself 'o be the
possessor of gentlemanly qualities.
And above all, if you arc not a i .mini
loafer, never smoke tobacco iu a car,
steamer, hotel, or any place where a wo
man or women are assembled. If you
indulge in the habit iu the face of your
own wife aud children, remember that
tobacco smoke is offensive to the majori
ty of ladies, ai dto many men, and that
to smoke even at the risk of making
yourself obnoxious to even one person,
is to prove that you are not a gentleman,
but a hog, intent only ou your own
pleasure.—U. 8. Democrat.
TO if 31BS II IIO3IF.
tie Sees the Signal of Another Revolution With- j
iu Tea Years.
W. M. Hairston, of Halt county,
writes thus to the Hartwell Sun of a vis
it to General Toombs:
The most honored and entertaining
° t
liberty we enjoyed was a call on Geor- .
gia’s renowned and pre-eminent states
man, Hon. Robert Toombs. This dis
tinguished and remarkable man occupies
a superlative position in the history of
our country, and will be pointed to as a !
marble shaft with profound pride by un- ;
born generations. He stands a full bead
and shoulders above all the men of his ;
day in this or any other state in the :
American union.
Upon approaching the domicile of this
malapert defender of constitutional rights
the charm of admiration at once elevates I
the mind in beholding the loviug splen
dor with which all the external attach
ments are adjusted. We found the great
pacificator cheerful, and his compilation 1
affable. We say pacificator for the fact j
that he did as much to avert the great
catastrophe that befell our country as
any man known to us. We inquired of
Mr. Toombs whom lie considered the ;
most successful confederate general in
the late wav. His reply was, “Joe John
ston, if he had been let alone.” The i
general continuing said: “Mr. Da\is was
continually moving him from one place !
to another. He hated General
Johnston extremely.” Mr. Toombs is a
great admirer of Johnston. Of Air. Da- j
vis General Toombs said: “He is con
tumacious and imcompatible, and a man
of diminutive information.” We next
asked his opinion of the political outlook.
He thought the prospect for Mr. Cleve
land quite favorable. But said there j
was so much political infidelity the re- j
suit was hard to estimate. We next
asked if the sad dilemma in which the
late war placed our country and the
clouds of sectionalism would be removed
without a revolution. He said: “I think
not. I told the people before the war
that revolution would come iu ten years
aid so it did. The political elements
are so corrupt that I prognosticate
another revolution iu the e -urse of ten
years.” The air iu which the grand old
veteran spoke demonstrated to our satis
faction that he saw something in the fu
ture that pictured something horrible to
him, and we believe it was with pr. found
regret that he gazed upon it. We be
! lieve that General Toombs would lie
pleased to see the flag of peace and com
j mon brotherhood cover tin's broad land
from Alaska’s ice-bound shores to Mex
ico’s tropical clime. We have an exalted
; opinion of many of the great men of
| Georgia, but among them all General
| Toombs is the Ajax in mind, and a man
! of true nobility of character with all his
j powers after a long and eventful public
| service. He has retired without a spot
j or stain upon his escutcheon.
Egyptian travelers have a seen-Nile
look.
The bald headed man is always u out on
the fly.”
A candidate always runs best when he j
has a walk over.
An advertisement in the paper i3 worth :
two on the fence.
Mr. A. A. Towle, who has been con- i
nected with the Boston Globe for a num
ber of years, lias been advanced to the
position of managing editor. Young
fowls generally commence to roost high
er as cold weather approaches. “Foul”
base ball hits are left for other papers.
This is the dine that the man in the
country joins a political battery, and
marches all over the town every night
with a flaming torchon his shoulder. He
does not care who is elected, and doesn’t
! take the slightest interest in the campaign;
j but lie cannot let such a glorious opportu
| nity pass to have good lively exercise, and
; work off the superfluous flesh he has
‘ amassed sitting on a high stool all day.
MODFRN Chi KTMIIP.
A Lit, a caue,
A nobby beau;
A narrow lam,
A whisper low .
A smile, a bow,
A little flirt;
Au ardent vow
f uat’s cheap us dirt.
A hand to squeeze,
A gill to kiss
tile at cue's ease,
Must needs be bliss.
A ling to date,
A honeymoon,
To tlnd too late
It was too soon.
PU k SUKMAIUvv ON FU£ SITIiTIOS.
Let the old ship go into the dry-dock.
In the four years to come let us undo the
work of the men who for four times four
years have persistently spoiled and mis
u'cd lioi. Wi: mi cedher to them when she
came safe into port from her meat voyage,
of glory. She was sound in every timber.
The scars of battle were but dint s upon
her iron sheathing and scratches upon her
sturdy masts. The stains upon her deck
were of patriotic blood, that sanctified
rather than soiled. Her great work was
done. There were only smooth waters
and fair skies above her. In all love and
gratitude and trust we gave her into the
charge of her guardians. How have then
given her back to us, now that the day of
accounting is conic?
They have taken out her staunch tim
bers to fill their place with rotten and
crumbling wood. They have replaced
her mighty masts with sapling poles that
will stand no gale. Her hull is pierced
with holes made by the rocks and shoals
of dishonor among which they have steer
ed her a devious course. Iler rigging has
fallen away in neglect. They have picked
the very oakum from her sides to sell it.
Worm-eaten, decayed, disgraced, unsea
worthy, as near to ruin as corruption and
incompetence can bring her, they ask us
to-day for leave to complete their work,
and wreck utterly our ship of state.
Better the lowered flag and the dry
dock. Better the four 3 r ears of honest
work which shall repair their insolent
ravages. For when the venal crew is
driven from the deck, and loving hands
set to work to build up what they have
destroyed, we may once more in hope and
laith look to see her what she w as. And
when, at so great a cost, she is restored to
us, the grand old ship of old, better for
the new.strength we have given her, we
shall have learned the lesson of her dis
honor and ours, and never more \v ill she
be trusted to unworthy hands.
This coming term v ill end the first
hundred years of the American presiden
cy. Shall the century begun with Wash
ington at the head of our government end
in disgrace with James G. Blaine in that
sacred clmir? Is not this the great ques
tion we have to face? Look at it clearly,
and see its magnitude. See how’ small all
considerations of policy, of convenience,
of party fealty must appear beside it.
Consider what that question involves.
The election of Blaine does not mean only
that we shall have a bad man in the pres
idential seat. We have had bad men
there before, and the country has survived
it. There might be far worse things for
the nation than the election of a bad man
in support of a good principle. Such pain
ful political necessities may—must, per
liaps—come to every country. They must
be accepted, not thoughtlessly or lightly,
but in deep.seriousness and sober regret.
But we stand in no such case to-day.
If we elect. Mr. Blaine we elect a bad man
as the representative of a bad principle.
Knowingly, we have never done this be
fore. Even the defenders of slavery were
put in power by the votes of men who
honestly believed that slavery w.-ic, at least
a desirable institution. But nobody can
honestly think political corruption a de
sirable, or even a defensible thing. And
nobody who will read the testimony that
is abundantly offered by the best men of
the two great parties can doubt that James
G. Blaine is the living exemplar of the
idea of deliberate, systematized political \
corruption. It is not merely that he has ;
done dishonest and dishonorable tilings.
It is that he, and the men who defend him, |
and with whom he allies himself, defend, .
excuse, palliate this dishonesty and dis- I
honor, and that they are known to prac- j
tice what they preach.
So that is more than the question of
having a good president or a bad one. We
have to ask ourselves whether we shall
formally approve right or -wrong. Is
there any doubt that this is the issue put
before us? If you vote for James G.
Blaine you vote for a man who has been
openly proclaimed, by reputable citizens
and responsible newspapers, a liar and a
corrupt official, and who has neither dis
proved the charges brought against him
! nor punished as slanderers those who
brought them. If you vote for James G.
Blaine you vote for a man who is willing
to assume the holy trust of office with the
burden of this odium on his shoulders.
Is not this enough for honest men —or
must the candidate stand at the cross
roads and cry “I am unclean !” before they
will acknowledge his uncleanness?
And if you vote for Grover Cleveland
you do not vote for the south, nor for the
democratic party, nor for slavery, nor for
state sovereignty, nor for free trade; but
for a man who lias been chosen as a can
didate by the wisest democrats and the
most patriotic republicans, just because he
best represents the principle of honesty in
public affairs, and because he is able to
give us that pure and clean government
in which he believes.
NUMBER 27.
THE HI MOB OF BILL NYE.
There ure humorists and humorists.
There is, also, a vast difference between
the humorous epicureans—the uevourors
of this kind of literature. That brand of
humor which would suit one particular
appetite might be distasteful to another.
One reader prefers George Eliot above all
English novelists, ancient or modern; an
other is well convinced that the superior
to Charles Dickens is yet unborn, or, at
least, has nut learned to grace the pallid
page with glowing thought.
But we commenced to say a friendly,
kind, and earnestly sincere word for B:i)
Nye, the man w ith a broken leg and the
hero of the late Wisconsin cyclone. We
regard him as the most perfectly equipped
American humorist with the jurisdiction
of the supreme court of the United States*
We use the word American advisedly.
Ilis humor is purely and emphatically
American, both in cast iff thought ami
style of diction. Ilis command of lan
guage—his ability t 6 "use the most fitting
word in tlo right place, and to UPC it b
that it will cover the most ground and do
the most good is unsurpassed on thio side
of the Atlantic.
The other side speaks for itself—-through
London Punch.
The forcible writer is he who can place
a picture before the mind’s eye drawn in
words so pregnant with vivid ideas that
the reader is forced to see reflected in
them the very situations which fired tlm
imagination of the writer. This art is
possessed by Bill Nye, and he turns his
art into the channels of humorous de
scription. He sketches the picture of a
man chasing a cow out of his garden w ith
a bed-slat by the light of the moon, and
the reader can sec the unfortunate indi
vidual, patiently walking through the
damp grass, tripping over the melon and
squash vines, hears the wild rush of the
bovine through the murkey evening miff,
hears the dull thud of the bed-slat, falling
anon upon the rump-steak of the hurried,
ungainly animal, hears the low, yet ear
nest conversational tone of the man, and
the advisory words of his wile from the
bay window. The whole scene is pre
sented in a few, apparently carelessly-a r
rauged words and sentences, but the art
of the writer has pointed a picture as vivid
as a red, white and blue cartoon.
Bill Nye says: “Yesterday I made some
New’ Year’s calls—l am told.”
What a world of meaning is couched iu
those three little words,“l am told.” The
signification of them aw akens a responsive
chord in many a young man’s heart. Amt
that is where the art lies. That is the to
ken of the rich vein of humor in Mr. Nye
which, in the estimation of many able
critics, has placed him head and shoulders
above any other distinctively American
humorist.
A NARROW ESCAPE.
We are now upon the eve of one of the
most disastrous presidential campaigns
that has ever visited this country. There
has never been a time in the history of
the republic when so much seemed ter de
pend upon a wise use of a free ballot.
Never was danger more imminent than ,t
is now.
And what is the moral thus far taught
by this campaign? If there has bet n
anything of a moral nature, I have not
observed it.
But what is to be the result of this sty e
of campaign? Can we hereafter spur the
ambition of our tow r -headed American
crows with the hope of 3ome day being
president? Ah, no! It has ceased to
draw. The day w hen our growing youth
w ere encouraged by the thought of being,
in the future, the president of the Unite l
States, has passed. It now* costs too
much. The price is too high.
No one can adequately comprehend the
quiet joy I feel when I call to mind how
last June I hushed the first intimation on
the part of my friends, and said pleasant-’
ly, but firmly, that 1 could not run. Be
fore the mad vox populi had swelled into,
a sullen roar and grown into a
tide, I quelled it. Ere had it begun to
vox populi very Seriously, I said no, it
could not be. With a prophetic eye I saw
that it wasn’t to be a question entirely of
statesmanship. It it had,-1 certainly would
not have quailed. And I can’t say really
that I quailed as it was, but I questioned,
the utility of my nomination.
“Gentlemen,” said I, “if this is to be a
contest of intellect and bulging brow*, I
have no hesitancy in peeling off my coat
and becoming your plumed huckle-berry*
but I trow* it is not.”
Rater developments proved my keen
sighted ability to probe the future. When
1 trow* anything, it is almost useless lor
any one else to come in and undertake to
out-tro w* me.
I saw, as it were, with an eagle’s ken,
that this w*as to be a grand free-to-all
smirch campaign, the best smirchest three
in five to take the stakes. So I looked over
my brilliant career as an ornament, to so
| ciety, and decided to pass. While I am
no moral wreck of social outcast by any
means, I felt as though I did not yearn lor
the asperities of a bitter and more or less
i exciting campaign filled with crimina
! tions and recriminations.
Those were substantially the reasons I
set forth to representative* friends in the
party. That is the rerson that my name
was not suggested in the convention. I
knew that my nomination would be the
signal for a most bitter and unjust attack
upon my official career as postmaster at
Laramie City, Wyo.
Remorseless politicians, the cruel vul
tures of the opposing party, -would have
scoured the country to ascertain what my
true name was before I went to the Rocky
Mountains, and why I adopted a non do
plume. They would have ripped up my
social record, and made me appear before
a heartless world as a wart upon tho
features of good society. They would
have heralded my shame broadcast over
the face of the earth, so that on the fourth
of March I would have found the city of
Washington deserted.
I presume, as a matter of fact, there isn’t
; a city in the civilized world that is so un
j reasonably squeamish and so prudish on
i the question of social smirch as Washirig
! ton. So I didn’t want to go to Wasliing
i ton, and do my own housework, and
i bring in my own coal, and carry water,
; and sweep out the White House myself.
Man is a social being, and does not like
■ to be ostracized. I’ve been through an
j Indian outbreak, six or seven mining
stampedes, an earthquake and a cyclone;
but I’ve never been ostracized vet, and I
don't want to be. I can stand almost any
amount of physical pain without a mur
mur; but if I should happen to get ostva
cized, and couldn’t get proper medi il
assistance at once, I believe it would
break down my iron constitution, and
leave me a physical wreck.