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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.