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THANKSGIVING STOUT.
“The Badgerleys cowing here to
spend Thanksgiving ?” said Mrs. Net
tingley. “ Not if I know it.”
Mrs. Nettingley was a close-fisted
and calculating matron, who lived in a
handsome house in a stylish neighbor
hood in New York, and was one of
those who, as her waid-of-all-work ex
pressed it, “ would skin a flea to save
the hide and tallow.” Mrs. Nettingley
liked to make a show, but she had a
deep-rooted aversion to spending money
And entertaining company on Thanks
giving day was one of the things that
could not be accomplished without the
latter concomitant.
Mr. Nettingley, a little, weak-minded
man, who viewed Ids big wife with re
spectful admiration, looked dubiously
at her. “ But my dear,” said he, “how
arc you going to help it ? They’ve
sent word they are coming.”
“ I’ll go to your sister Belinda’s up
in Saugatuck county.”
Mr. Nettingley felt of his chin.
“ They haven’t invited us,” said he
“ that is, not especially.”
“ Oh, fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Net
tingley. “ Belinda’s always glad to
see me and the children. And as for
staying at home to gorge Mrs. Badger
ly and her six children, and Mr. Bad
gerley’s two sisters, I won’t do it!
Why, such a turkey as they would ex
pect would cost three dollars, at the
very least. Get me a time-table, Net
tingley. Send word to Mrs. Badgerley
that I’ve gone away to spend Thanks
giving.”
Mr. Nettingley, who never dreamed
of opposing his wife’s will in this or
any other matter, wrote the letter ac
cordingly, and put it in his coat-tail
pocket, where it remained. For he for
got all about it. Mrs. Nettingley
packed up her own things and the
things of the four little Nettingleys,
and took the afternoon train to Scrag
Hollow, in Saugatuck county.
“ Mamma,” said Theodora Netting
ley—the juvenile scions of the house
of Nettingley all had high-sounding ap
pellations—“ it looks all shut up and
lonely. I don’t believe any one is at
home.”
“ Pshaw!” said Mrs. Nettingley,
■“ people tn the country alwy live in
the back of the house.”
And carrying a heavy carpet-bag in
"her band she trudged around to the
rear door, followed by Theodora, La
vinia, Evangeline and Gervase, each
lugging along a smaller bag.
Nobody responded to her repeated
volley of knocks, but presently a little
old woman, who had come from a neigh
boring cottage to the well for water,
was made to understand what was
wanted.
“ Mrs. Pcckfield ?” said the little old
woman, in a high pitched shrill voice,
which so often accompanies deafness.
“ You’re her cousin from the city, come
to spend Thanksgiving ? Well, if that
ain’t too bad ! Mrs. Peckfield started
this very afternoon for Ladd’s depot;
got some relations as lives there.”
“That’s very strange,” said Mrs.
Nettingley. “ I telegraphed to her
that I was coming.”
“ Couldn’t a got the telegraph, I
guess,” said the little old woman.
But, Mrs. Nettingley knew better
than that, for under the corner of the
piazza there lay a torn envelope of the
Western Union telegraph! And she
knew that Mrs. Peckfield had fled from
her, just as she, Mrs. Nettingley, had
fled before the Badgerley family.
“ But I’ll be even with her,” said
Mrs. Nettingley, grinding her false
teeth. “ I’ll go to Ladd's depot. What
are the names of her relatione there ?”
The little old woman, after some
meditation, said that it was Jones. At
least she thought it was Jones. She
wasn’t quite certain. It might be
Smith. Or it might be Thompson. But
she believed it was Jones. And she
believed they lived on Thorn street.
It was a long walk back to the rail
road depot, and the four little Netting
leys were tired and cross, but they for
tunately succeeded iu reaching it be
fore the last northward train started.
But it was an express, and didn’t stop
at small places like Ladd s depot, as
Mrs. Nettingley found to her cost when
she paid five dollars for a hack to take
her back to Ladd's depot.
On inquiry, it was found that there
was about a half dozen families of the
name of Jones at Ladd’s depot. The
first place to which they drove on Thorn
street, was a tenement house, where
they all had the scarlet fever.
“ Oh, my!” said Mrs. Xettingley.
“ Drive on quick. This isn’t the
place r*
The nest was a clergyman’s house,
VOL. Ill—NO. 16.
where a full fledged prayer meeting was
going briskly on.
“ This isn’t the place, either,” said
poor Mrs. Nettingley, waxing more
in despair.
And the third was a vinegar-faced
old maid, who lived with her married
sister, and never had heard the name
of Peckfield in her life.
“ What shall I do ?” said Mrs. Net
tingley.
“ Better go to a hotel, ma’am,” said
the hackmnn, who himself was begin
ning to get out of patience.
“ But it costs so much,” said Mrs.
Nettingly. “ And to-morrow is Thanks
giving day. Is there a train goes back
to-night ?”
“ To-night ?” said the hackman.
“ Why its past 11 a’ready ! And my
horses has got the epizootic, and I
couldn’t keep ’em out no longer, not for
nobody. But I s’pose I could take you
to the 12 :30 night express for a little
extra!”
And this moderate specimen of the
tribe of hackmen consented to be sat
isfied with eight dollars.
“ Ma!” whispered Gervase, “ where
are we going ?”
“ Home,” said Mrs. Nettingley, pro
nouncing the word as if it were a pea
nut shell she was cracking. There was
one comfort, though—the Badgerley
family would have been repulsed by
that time ; and, after all, coltl beef was
a cheaper way of supplying the table
than turkey at thirty cents a pound.
It was 1 or 2 o’clock the next day
when she reached her own door, having
paid in hack and car fare enough to buy
half a dozen ten pound turkeys, and
with jaded and fretful children, a vio
lent headache on her own score, and
one of her traveling bags lost!
“ I’ll stay at home after this,” said
Mrs. Nettingley to herself. “ Eh!
Parlor window-blinds open! People
talking! Ido believe Nettingley’sgot
company to Thanksgiving, after all!”
And her heart sank down into the
soles of her boots. It was quite true ;
the servant-maid, with a red and flur
ried face, opened the door.
“ Abby 1” said Mrs. Nettingley,
“ who’s here ?”
“ Lots of people, ma’am,” said Abby,
looking guiltily over her shoulder.
“ Where are they ?” demanded her
mistress.
“ In the dining room, ma’am.”
And Abby threw open the door,
thereby disclosing a long table with
three huge turkeys well browned and
savory, a chicken pie that was a small
mountain in itself, and a glass reser
voir of cranberry sauce, that set Mrs.
Nettingley calculating at once as to the
probable amount of dollars sunk in its
crimson billows; while, seated in hos
pitable array around the board, were
Mr. and Mrs. Badgerley, the two sis
ters, and the six children, Mr. and Mrs.
Smitliers, and seven little Smithcrs
and the six Leonards of Maine, second
cousins of her husband—twenty-six in
all—including her husband.
Mrs. Nettingley and her children sat
down and ate their Thanksgiving dinner
with what appetite they might. But
Nettingley had rather a hard time of it
that night.
“ My dear,” said the sacrificial lamb,
“ what was Itodo ? They didn’t get
the letter. They said they had come
to spend Thanksgiving, and of course
I had to order dinner. What else could
I do ?”
“ Do ?” repeated Mrs. Nettingley, in
accents of bitterest scorn. “ Couldn’t
you close all the blinds and lock the
front door aud go down cellar and pre
tend not to be at home ? I’ve no pa
tience with you!”
Three days afterward the three young
est Netlingleys broke out with scarlet
fever. The seven little Smitherses took
it of them —the maid took it of the
Smitherses, and Mrs. Nettingley had
her winter’s work before her.
“ I wish to goodness I had remained
at home,” thought Mrs. Xettingley.
And the amount of thankfulness she
felt that year was not oppressive, in
spite of the governor’s proclamation.
The faithful body (so called( servant
of the Hon. Alexander H Stephehs, is
reported as being a richer man than
his master.
HARTWELL, GA.. WEDNESDAY. DECEMBER 11, 1878.
“A” AND “B” AS FARMERS.
For The Hartwell Sun.
Many people attribute success or its
opposite, to good luck or bad luck; but,
after watching and scanning closely the
uctions of people, we come to the con
clusion that, in general, people are the
authors of their luck. Take, for in
stance, two farmers, whom we will call
A and B. After A has gathered all
his crop he begins preparation for an
other. lie deal’s his ground of sprouts
and bushes, fixes his fences and water
gaps, and if he breaks his land before
Christmas, it is work that will be well
rewarded. After B has gathered his
crop, which is very easily done, lie sees
nothing at all to do. It seems to him a
long time before he need do auy more
work. lie goes to every public place
within his reach, generally without auy
business at all. He w ill ride eight or
ten miles to a cash sale, as though he
designed to buy at least a thousand dol
lars’ dollars worth, wheu at the same
time he has not a cent. He does no
work of any sort until after Christmas.
Then he is badly behiud. He lets the
briars stand in his fence-corners and
along ditches, branches and gullies. In
his baste he has no time to cut them.
He cuts a few brush and throws them
on some of his lowest panels; half
breaks his land, and gets ready (?) to
plant. A begins to plant calmly and
carefully ; sees that his rows are laid off
right, and the seed deposited at the right
distance, and is very careful to
seed well covered.
B commences planting in a hurry.
All is bustle and hurry ; he little cares
whether his rows are laid off uniformly
and of the right width or not; he would
as soon lay them off up and down the
hill as on the level. He cares but little
how his seed are dropped, and fully as
little how they are covered. A gener
ally reports to his neighbors that he has
a very good stand of corn, cotton and
everything he plants. B never was
known, by the oldest, to have a good
stand of anything. Sometimes his corn
comes up as thickly as his cotton ought
to. and his cotton so thick that he does
not get it thinned till dog-days; but this
is not a good stand. As soon as A’s
seed are well up, he begins work in real
good earnest —losing as little time as
possible. Bis afraid to work his young
corn and cotton too soon, as it may
make a late frost kill them, or else it I
may injure the tender roots. So he
hunts, fishes and frolics about till his
fields look like a bolt of green silk from '
center to circumference. A begins J
working over the second time while his ,
crop is yet clean, and works as diligently
as he did the first time. B is now in a
great hurry to get over the first time.
He always says it is the worst spring to
tend a crop he ever saw. He gets over;
but has just about thinned the grass and
weeds enough to make them grow aud
do well. A keeps on and loses no time.
If the ground is dry, he plows on ; if it
is too wet, he spends his time in pulling
weeds, bushes, grass, or anything else
that is doing an injury. The ground
soon becomes too dry and hard for B to
plow. He says it will kill corn and cot
ton to plow them when the ground is so
dry and hot. So he takes his gun or
fishing-pole or both, and sometimes
spends almost a week sauntering and
idling about. When it rains, B thinks
the ground will be too wet for several
days, aud goes out fishing or hunting
again. When he begins to plow, the
grass chokes him up. He says it out
grows any grass he. ever saw. A works
on at his ease and keeps his farm clean.
B throws away several acres which he
had planted, laying all the blame on the
difficult season to till the ground. A
lays by clean and nice, aud in the mean
time keeps a sharp lookout around his
fences. B lays by very grassy ; says the
grass will keep the corn cool, and that
when cotton opens there ought to be
grass to keep the rain from beating the
dirt on the cotton for fear the sample
might be injured. He pays no atten
tion to his fences, but idles about till the
stock gets into his fields aud almost eat
up w hat little he has made. A gathers,
as a general thing, a tolerably good crop,
whether the seasons is wet or dry. B
never gathers a good crop, no matter
what the season mavhave been. When
he gathers his crop of corn, a good large
turkey could swallow about a peck of
the ** nubbins,” at a meal, and theu not
be near foundered. A gathers his cot
ton in good time, and by so doing it es
capes auy material injury by the winter
rains. It soon gets too cold for Bto
pick cotton, but he can sit by the river
side and shiver the blessed day, fishing
for suckers. A always picks out his own
cotton, for it is better done than to have
a “picking.” B idles about till Christmas
or after, and then has a cotton picking.
His cottou is badly picked; has been
injured bv the weather, and therefore he
does not realize as good a price as A.
After A has sold his cottou, he starts
around seeking out his debtors, and gen
erally hns money enough to pay them
and some to spare. He is not ashamed
or afraid to meet any man, whether he
owes him ur not, for all his acquaintances
know that he always makes an honest
cflort to pay his debts. If B sees any
man he owes, it discomposes him alto
gether ; he dodges him if he can ; if he
cannot, he puts up a dozen excuses and
doubles the number of fair promises to
be fulfilled at the end of the next sea
son. After A has pnid his liabilities he
goes home with a light heart, and has a
kind word for everybody he sees. B
goes home sullen and sour; is peevish
aud snappish, uud is not at all sociable
to his family or friends. At the end of
the next seasou, the way he fulfills his
fair promises is to secure his property by
law, so that he never can be mude to
pay his debt3.
Now, friends,-look the matter full in
the face, and ponder and think, and
then sum the matter up and see if you
have ever seen the conduct of A and B
exemplified in any of your neighbors.
Tyro.
A uerolntioß Indeed.
Little Sock (Ark.) Gazette.
During slavery I owned one of the
blackest as well as meanest negro men
in Soutli Arkansas. He was known in
the neighborhood ns Crow Sam. I used
to thrash Sam about twice a week.
Steal! he’d steal from himself and then
deny it. Well, when the war came on
he was one of the first to turn against
me. He went into the army and served
till the surrender. After peace was
made I moved over into an adjoining
county and went to work, trying to re
pair my broken fortune. One day a
negro that I had working for me knock
ed down one of my horses, which so en
raged me that I struck him several times
with my cane. He went away and re
turned with a constable who summoned
me to appear next day before a magis
trate. Officers were not quite so numer
ous then as now, and the magistrate’s
office was several miles away. Well )
sir, w hen I got there who should I see
on the bench but old Crow Sum. He |
was fat and greasy and had on an enor- j
mous pair of spectacles. When every
thing had been made ready court was
opened, and old Sam, giving me a search- j
ing look, remarked :
“’Pears that I've seen you afore.” j
“ Look here, Sam,” I said, “ I don’t
like to be mixed up this way. Try to
settle this affair without malice.”
“Dc law is gwine to hub its direck
course,” said Sam. “ Things have kind
er changed since we was in business to
gether, but the principle of dc nigger
havn’t revoluted. Dis nigger is as big
a rascal as I used to be, so Mars John
I’ll discharge you, flinging dc black ape
in de cost.”
Temperance Lecture on the Bail.
Burlington Hawk-Eye •
“ Twenty years ago,” said the passen
! gcr with the red ribbon in his button
hole, “ I knew that rnau whom you saw
get off at the last station, lie was a
young man of rare promise, a college
graduate, a man of brilliant intellect
and shrewd mercantile ability. Life
dawned before him in all the glowing
colors of fair promise. He had some
money when he left college. lie invest
ed it in business and his business pros
| pered. He married a beautiful young
girl, who bore him threelovely children.”
The sad looking passenger, sitting on
the wood-box : “All at one time?”
The red ribbon passenger : “ Xo, in
biennial installments of one. Xo one
1 dreamed that the poorhouse would ever
WHOLE NO. 120.
be their home. But in an evil hour
the young man yielded to the tempter.
He began to drink beer. Hu liked it
and drank more. He drunk and en
couraged others to drink. That was
only fourteen years ago, and he a pros
perous, wealthy man. To-duv where is
he?"
The clergyman in the front seat sol
emnly : “ A sot and a beggar.”
The red ribbou man. disconsolately :
“ Oh, no ; he is a member of Congress
and ow ns a brewery worth $50,000.”
Sometimes it will happen that way.
A Pinch of Salt.
George went to the meadow to carry
a bucket of salt for the cattle. “ How
odd,” said George, “ that nothing can
live without salt. What is salt ?’’
“ Why, salt is salt, to be sure,” said
the plowman. That is so. But the
answer did not quite satisfy' George.
There is a metal called sodium,
which looks like little silvery globes,
and is a sort of cousin to gold and sil
ver. If these little globes, in their way
over the world, meet and are breathed
upon it by a yellowish-green vapor,
called chlorine, they vanish in an in
stant ; and in place of the two, sodium
and chlorine, there is a gruin of salt.
It is a happy thing in nature that these
do come together very often ; otherwise
we should have no salt, and salt is
necessary for all sorts of life.
It is found almost everywhere. It is
in the great oceans. There arc also
salt lakes, and salt springs, and salt
mountains, and salt fields. Spain has
a great mountain of salt, and Poland
has some wonderful mines, where you
are let down a pit, and come to work
shops where hundreds of men are hew
ing out blocks of pure white salt which
shine and sparkle in the lamplight like
diamonds.
j Salt springs arc very common. The
I water is pumped into broad, pans, and
! left out in the sun to be dried up,
j the salt is left in a crust on the bottom
of the pans.
Judge Kives and the Preacher.
Scottivillf ( Va.) Courier.
Judge Alex. Kives, when a young man,
saw a good old preacher riding down the
Monticello road (then a single track).
A boy, with a loug cross-cut saw lying
crossways on his horse, was ulso coming
down the same narrow road, some dis
tance in the rear of the preacher. The
boy’s horse ran away, and as he was ap
proaching the pious divine, the latter
sprang from his horse and scrambled up
a precipice. Whereupon the Judge ex
claimed : “ Bless my life, Mr. ,
you have told me that you were 4 ready,
willing and anxious to die,’ why then
struggle so hard to get out of the way
of the horse and saw?”
“ Well, Mr. liives,” the good man re
p’ied, ‘‘l am anxious to die, but do not
wish to be sawed to death.”
This circumstance reminds us of the
following from the Courier-Journal :
“If a man is going to the woods to
commit suicide, and a bull suddenly
gives chase, the chances arc that he will
run for his life. Of course he will run.
He is going to the woods to commit sui
cide and not to be killed by a bull.
Besides, do you suppose a man wants to
have his last moments disturbed by a
personal difficulty that may cost him bis
life?”
There was a singular scene at the
Houston, Texas, court house : A negro
named Allen Smith had betrothed him.
self to six different damsels, all of whom
were in waiting to be espoused. After
considerable parlance, but one was chos
en and wedded, and the residue indulged
bitter invectives against the base de
ceiver.
If the people of the South do not
organize against the tramp nuisance
the organized tramps will take the
country. One hundred desperate vag
abonds can capture any county seat,
commit any and all kinds of outrages
and terrorize a whole county. We do
not produce the tramp in this part of
the country, and should not feed or tol
erate them. —Memphis Appeal.
At the present price of cotton no
farmer can afford to pay over S6O per
annum for first-class hands and furnish
them with rations.
BEECHER’S DREAM.
Henry Ward Beecher has lately had
a dream which will, probably, cause him
to again revise his opinions in regard to
hell. One night great and profound
sleep had overcome the great Brooklyn
clergyman, and he dreamed his last
days had come. At last the moment
came when the spirit stood outside the
tenement of clay. There came up to
him a very gentlemanly' man, and said :
•• Mr. Beecher, I have been commis
sioned by his majesty to conduct you
into the kingdom and the royal city,
where a palace has already been pre
pared for you,”
“ And who are you ?” said Beecher.
“ I am Dives, of whom you have no
doubt heard.”
“ But,” said Beecher, “ where aro
you going to take me ?”
“ To hell, of course.”
“ I had come to believe there was no
hell, and so preached. It was a terri
ble mistake,” said Beecher, somewhat
frightened.
“Come,” said his companion, as a
magnificent carriage, drawn by four of
the most splendid horses Bro. Beecher
had ever seen, was halted near to them,
“ this is to take us to the depot at the
border of the kingdom. We will then
proceed to the imperial city by rail. A
special coach has been provided for
you.”
They got in, and if the outside of
the carriage was attractive, the inside
surpassed anything on earth for luxu
rious appointments.
The horses pranced over a road
paved with ivory. The sky was clear,
and the air was balmy’. The ride was
exhilarating, and Brother Beecher said :
“ Well, friend Dives, you are surely
deceiving me, this can’t be hell ?”
“ Oh, yes, this is hell.”
“ Well, if it’s hell, it’s good enough
for me. It’s ahead of earth.”
After a few hours’ drive over a road
along which the scenery was of the
most enchanting beauty, they arrived
at a railway station constructed of the
purest white marble, and which was a
model of architectural beauty. At the
rear of it was a lovely grove of tropi
cal trees. There was sweet music in
the air, and millions of birds of the
most brilliant plumage were warbling
their notes in the branches of the trees.
Dives took Beeciier out into the
grove, and n repast such as only kings
can sit down to was spread upon a
table before him. The ride had whet
ted his appetite and he ate heartily.
After the repast the rarest of wines
were set out before the Brooklyn preach
er, and he drank freely.
“ That wine,” said Dives, “ is of the
vintage of the year after the flood, and
was manufactured by' old Father Noah.”
“ I don’t blame the old fellow for
getting a little set up on such wine as
that. If this is hell it’s good enough
for me,” said Beecher.
The train yvns soon ready to start.
Beecher was lifted upon a letter by four
slaves and carried to a (.special coach
provided for him. The train moved
out through a country that was of un
surpassed loveliness. The mountains
ami hills were covered with verdure
from base to summit. Lordly palaces
reared their .turrets, and castles their
battlements, above the orange and palm
groves. There were no large towns,
but numerous costly residences, belong
ing to his majesty’s creditors. Form
erly tiie land was parceled out among
the people, but the celestial power
made war upon his majesty', and he was
obliged to raise money to carry it on
* * * # * * *
He was shown the palace set apart
for him. It was more magnificent than
the residence of earthly royalty. There
was a cathedral close at hand for him
to preach in whenever he should desire.
There were troops of servants to do his
bidding, gold and silver and precious
stones in abundance, downy couches,
ottomans and divans—everything, in
short, to captivate the senses.
“ Well —well,” said Beecher, “ if this
is hell, it is certainly good enough for
me.”
For several days he enjoyed himself
far beyond his expectations, and
thought that he would rather be in hell
than on earth or in heaven. On the
fourth day during a very pleasant in
terview with his satanic majesty.
Beecher observed that it was very sin
gular to him that the women were not
allowed to mingle in society, as he had
seen none since his arrival.
“ Sir,” said his majestj’, “ women are
not allowed in this kingdom. They
have a kingdom by themselves. No
man is allowed to go there, and no
woman to come here.”
“ Then, indeed, this must be hell,"
said Beecher, and he awoke.