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THE SOLDIER TRAMP.
A SUrjr With n Bn<! Bt-iriiuilng ami a
tiuoU Eudiug.
“No tramps here,” said I, and shut
the door iu his face, I did. The wim
blew so, that I could hardly do it, ant
tho sleet was beating on the panes, anc
the pear trees were groaning aud moan
ing as if they suffered in the storm.
“No tramps here; I’m a lone woman,
and I’m afraid of ’em.”
Then the man 'I hadn’t 6ecn yet, for
the dark—went away from the door.
Champ, chauip, champ, came the man
back again, and knocked on the door—
knocked not half so loud as he did be
fore—and I opened it hot and angry.
This time I saw his face—a pale ghost
of a face—with yellow-brown hair, crop
ped close, and great staring blue eyes,
and he put his hand against the door
and held it.
“ How near is the next house,
ma’am?” said he.
“ Three miles or more,” said I.
“And that is not a tavern?”
“ No,” said I, “no drinks to be got
■ there ; its Miss Mitten’s and she’s as set
against tramps as I am.”
“ I don’t want to drink,” said the man
—though Ido want food. You needn’t
be afraid to let me in, ma’atn. I’ve
been wounded and am not able to walk
far, and my clothes are thin, and its bit
ter cold. I’ve been trying to get to my
parents at Grecnbank, where I can rest
until lam better; and all my money
was stolen from me three days ago. You
needn’t be afraid ; let me lie just before
the fire, and only give me a crust, the
stalest crust, to keep me from starving,
and the Lord will bless you for it.”
And then he looked at me with his
wild eyes in a way that would have made
me do it if it hadn’t been I’d seen so
much of thesaimpostors. The war was
just over, and %very beggar that came
along said he was a soldier traveling
home, and had been wounded and rob
bed. Oue that I had been fool enough
to help limped away out of sight, as he
thought, and then—for I was at the gar
ret window —shouldered his crutches
and tramped it with the strongest.
“No doubt your pocket is full of
money,” I said, “ and you only want a
chance to rob and murder me. Go away
with you !”
Drusilla—that’s my niece—was bak
ing cakes in the kitchen. Just then
she came to the door and motion
ed with her mouth to me: “Do let him
stay, auntieaud if I had not had bet
ter sense I might, but I knew better
than a chick of sixteen.
“Go away with you !” says I, louder
than before; “ I wont have this any
longer.”
And he gave a kind of groan, and
took his band from the latch, and then
he went champ, champ, through the
frozen snow again, aud I thought him
gone, when there he was once more, hard
ly with a knock at all, a faint touch,
like a child’s.
Aud when I opened the door again
he came quite in and stood leaning on
his cane, pale as a ghost, his eyes bigger
than ever.
“ Well, of all the impudence!” said I.
He looked at me and then said :
“ Madam, I have a mother at Green
bank. I want to live to see her; I shall
not if I try to go airy farther to-night.”
“ They all want to see their mothers,”
and just then it came into my mind
that I hoped my sou Charlie, who had
been a real soldier, an officer he had
come to be, mind you, wanted to see his,
aud would, soon.
“ I have been wounded} as you can
see,” said he.
“Don’t go a showing me your hurts,”
said I; “ they buy ’em, so they told me,
to go a begging with now. I read the
papers, I tell ye, and I’m principled,
and so’s our clergyman, against giving
anything unless its through some well
organized society. Tramps arc myl
abomination. And as to keeping you
all night, you can’t expect that of de
cent folks —go!”
Drusilla came to the door and said :
‘‘Let him stay, auntie,” with her lips
again, but I took no notice.
So lie went, and this time he did not
come back, and I sat down by the fire
aud smelt the baking cakes and the ap
ples stewing, aud the tea drawing on the
kitchen stove, and I ought to have been
very comfortable, but I wasn’t. Some
thing seemed tugging at my heart all
the time.
I gave the fire a poke and lit another
caudle to cheer myself up, and I went
to my w’ork-basket to get the sock I had
been kuitting for my Charlie, aud as I
went to get it I saw something lying on
the floor. I picked it up. It was an
old tobacco pouch, ever so much like
the one I gave Charlie, with fringe
around it, and written on it in ink:
“ From C. F. to R. H.” and inside w as a
bit of tobacco and a rumpled old letter;
and when I spread it, I saw on the top,
“ My dear son.”
I knew the beggar must have dropped
it and my heart gave one big thump—a
thump as though it had been turned in
to a hammer.
Perhaps the story was true, and he
had a mother. I shivered all over, aud
the fire and candles and nice, comforta
ble smells might as well not have been
at all. I was cold and wretched.
And over and over again had I to say
to myself what I had heard our pastor
say so often : “ Never give anything to
chance beggais, my’dear friends; always
bestow your alms on worthy persons,
through some well-organized societies,”
before I could get a bit of comfort. And
a fool 1 was to cry, I thought, when I
found my cheeks wet.
But I did not erv long, for, as I sal
there, dash aud crash and jingle came a
The Hartwell Sun.
By BENSON & McGILL.
VOL. Ill—NO. 51.
Isleigh over the road and stopped at our
Igate, and I heard my Charlie’s voice
■crying, “ Halloa mother 1” And out 1
Iwcnt to the door, and had him in my
■arms —my great, tall, handsome, brown
Ison. And there he was in his uniform
Iwith his pretty shoulder straps, and as
■hearty as if he had never been through
■any hardships. He had to leave me to
Iput the horse up, and then I had by the
Ifire my own son. And Drusilla, who
■had been up stairs, and had beeu crying
I —why, I wondered?—came down stairs
Bin a flutter, for they were like brother
land sister, and he kissed her and she
■kissed him, and then away she went to
■set the table, and the nice hot tilings
■smoked on a cloth as white as snow;
land how Charlie enjoyed them ! But
loncc, iu the midst of ail, I felt a fright
lened feeling come over me, and I know
II turned pale, for Drusilla said :
“What is the matter, aunt Fairfax?”
I said nothing; but it was this, kind
■o’ like the ghost of a step, going champ,
Ichamp, over the frozeu snow; kind o'
11 ike the ghost of voice saying, “ Let me
■lie on the floor, and give me any kind of
|a crust;” kind o’ like some oue that had
|a mother down on the wintry road freez-
Jing and stating to death. This is what
]it was. Blit T put 'it away and only
|thought of Cliame.
We drew up together by the fire when
■the tea was done, and be told things
|about the war I'd never heard before —:
|how thesoldiers suffered, and what weary!
|marches and short rations they rome-fl
[times had. And then he told me howl
[he had been set upon by the foe and!
[badly wounded ; and how, at the risk!
|of his own life, a fellow soldier lmdß
Laved him, and carried him, fighting hi.-a
[path, back to the camp.
| “I'd never seen you, but for him,”■
Lays my Charlie. “ And if there’s
[man on earth I love, its Bob Iladnwayl
| —the dearest, best fellow! We’v<p
[shared each other’s rations and drank!
from the same canteen many and manjg
times, and if I had a brother I couldn’t!
think more of him.”
“ Why didn’t you bring him home to!
Lee your mother, Charlie?” said I. “ I’d!
love him too, and anything I could d< a
[for him, for the man who saved my boy’s!
life, couldn’t be enough. Send for him,!
[Charlie.”
But Charlie shook his head and cov-1
ered his face with his hands. !
(* Alother,” lm, “J .mu t knovH
whether Rob Hadaway is alive or dead!
to-day. While I was still in the ranks!
he was taken prisoner; and military!
prisons are poor places to live in, moth-B
er. I’d give ray right hand to be able!
to do him any good, but I can find no!
[trace of him. And he has a mother,!
too, and she is so fond of him ! She!
lives at Greenbank —poor old lady. Myl
dear, good, noble Bob, the preserver oil
my life!” I
And I saw that Charlie was nearly
crying.
Not to let us see the teal's, be got up
[and went to the mantlepiece. I did not
[look around until I heard a cry--
“ Great Heavens ! what is it?”
And I turned, and Charlie had the
[tobacco pouch the man had dropped, in
■his hand.
“ Where did this come from?” said he.
1“ I feel as though I’d seen a ghost. I
[gave this to Bob Hadaway the day lie
■saved me. We soldiers had not much
[to give, you know, and he vowed never
to part with it while he lived. How
did it come here, mother?”
And I fell hack in my chair, white
and cold, and said I—
“A wandering tramp left it here.
Never your Bob, my dear; never your
Bob, my dear; never your Bob. He
must have been an impostor. I would
not have turned away a person really in
want. Oh, no, no; its another pouch,
child, or he stole it. A tall fellow, with
blue eyes, and yellow brown hair;
wounded, he said, and going to his moth
er at Greenbank. Not your Boh.
And Charlie stood staring at me with
clenched hands; and said lie —
“It was iny Bob ! it was my dear old
Bob, wounded and starving! my dear
old Bob, who saved my life, and you ye
driven him out such a night as this,
mother! My mother ;to use Bob so!”]
“ Condemn me, Charlie,” said I—]
“ condemn me if you like —I’m afraid!
God will. Three times he came back
three times he asked only for. a crustj
and a place to lie, and I drove him awayl
—l —l—and he’s lying now in the road]
Oh ! if I had kflowu.”
And Charlie caught up his hat.
“ I’ll find him if lie is alive,” said he]
“ Oh, Boh, my dear friend !”
And then—l never girl in
such a taking. Down went Drusilla on
her knees as if she was saying her
prayers, and says she —
“ Thank God I dared to do it!”
And says she again td me—“Oh!
aunt, I’ve been trembling with fright,
not knowing wliat you’d say to me. I
took him iu the kitchen way. I couldn’t
see him go faint and hungry and wound
ed, and I put him in the chamber over
the parlor, and I’ve beeu frightened all
the while.”
“Lord bless you, Drusilla!” said
Charlie.
“Amen,” saidl.
HARTWELL, GA., WEDNESDAY AUGUST 20. 1879.
And shogetting bolder, went on—
“And 1 took him up some hot short
cake and aiiple-sass and tea," said she,
“ and I took him a candle, and a hot
brick for his leet, and I told him to go
to bed in the best chamber, Aunt Fair
fax, with the white counterpane and all,
and I locked him in and put the key in
my pocket, and told him that he should
have oue night's rest, and that no oue
should turn him out unless they walked
over my dead body.”
And Drusilla said it like an actress
in a tragedy, and went off into hysterics
the moment the words were out of her
mouth. She’d beeu expecting to be hall
murdered, you know, and the girl was
but sixteen, aud always before minded
me as if I was her mother.
Never was there an old sinner so hap
py as I was that night, so thankful to
the good Lord ; and it would have done
your heart good if you had gone to set
the two meet in the morning—Charlie
aud his friend Bob. And Charlie had a
mother that was not pot? 'one''’ an< *
helped Bob into business.
well over his wounds, at last," A l 'V-w
as handsome as a picture, ailu jay
week he is going to marry Drusilla.
“ I’d give you anything I have,” said
I, “ and I wont refuse you Drusilla,”
when he asked me, telliug me that Ik
loved her since she was so kind to him
on the night I’ve told you of.
And Charlie is to stand up with him,
bud I am to give Drusilla away, and
[Bob’s sister from Greenbank is to be
bridesmaid, and I have a guess that
Lome day Charlie will bring her home to
me in Brasilia's place.
I don’t drive beggars from the door
now as 1 used, and no doubt I’m often
imposed upon, but this is what I say:
Better to be imposed upon always than
to be cruel to one who needs help. And
u’ve read my Bible better of late, aud I
know who says, “ Inasmuch as ye have
Mono it unto one of the least of these, ye
have done it unto me.”
| Happiness, Where it is to he Found.
Happiness is the great object of hu
man pursuit, as the conduct of all men
[in every age abundantly exemplify,
[since the fall of man efforts as varied
[and diversified as the conditions and
spheres of men And
!‘f c V magnitude of its importance can
Lily be conceived by the risks run, the
crosses borne, the sacrifices of health,
wealth, time and talent made for its
possession.
The military hero will risk his life
for that honor, in the possession ot
which he imagines he will be made
[happy. The man who endeavors to
[make his mark on earth’s political arena
[will submit to many buffets and sneers,
[and shoulder many arduous burthens,
[that his name as a man of honor may
be wafted by every breeze that sweeps
across the country. The aspirant for
literary fame will waste time wealth
and health for that which he conceives
will make him happy —fame.
If what we have stated be true, that
all the energies of man since his fall
have been expended in pursuit ol hap
piness, he of course will be considered
the benefactor of his race who can tell
where this heaven-bought boon may be
obtained. The Mussulman in bowing
to his prophet, never found it. '1 he
pagan in adoring his idol, never oxperi
frnced it. The votaries of fashion seek
t with an eastern devotion by bowing
it its shrine. The lover of gold and
silver searches for it, and counts his
fortune by millions, imagining that the
time will soon come when contentment
around his heart will fold its happy
wing, and not a wave of trouble e’er
again roll across his peaceful breast.
But, alas ! to none of them who seek it
in this way does that period ever come !
Where is it to be found ? We answer
in following him who says : “ My ways
are ways of pleasantness, and all My
paths are paths of peace.”
Italian (jirls.
The girls of Italy do many things
our young ladies would not think of do
ing,"and they leave unlearned certain
[accomplishments which only the very
[poorest American fair ones pass by,
[ I’he Italian bride makes her own outfit,
[and, as the trousseau consists of six
[dozen of everything, being intended
|to last twenty-five years, and all must
■be embroidered and frilled, the task is
loot an easy one. * But they take their
[time to it, occupying two years in get
■ting it in shape, and all the while the
work goes on the lovers are courting.
The husband gives the dresses, shawls,
everything, in fact, but the undercloth
ing. Italian girls do not learn to sing,
draw and play the piano. These are
left to people who earn their living by
them. But they are taught to sew,
cook and iron.
Pulverized alum possesses the prop
erty of purifying water. A large
spoonful stirred into a hogshead of
water will so purify it that in a few
hours tiie impurities will all sink to the
bottom, and the water will be fresh and
clear. Four gallons maybe purified by
a teaspoonful of alum.
Devoted to Hart County.
it is doubtful if any theatre ever of
fered such volumes of romantic inci
dents as the deck of the old time Mis
sissippi steamer. In the old days be
fore the railroads traversed the conti
nent in every direction, and the West
was a wilderness, New Orleans was the
Mecca of travelers, and the fleet wave
born carried thousands of pleasure seek
ers to the South. It was then that life
was a carousal; and men and women
surrendered themselves to the most lav
ish enjoyments. Gaming was a custom
and courage and instinct. Men were as
prone to brawls as the sparks to fly up
ward. Conspicuous among the fierce
and frolicing habitues of the steamer
was Captain West, a noted duelist.
One day he engaged in a controversy
with a gentleman whom he met on the
deck, whom he accused of staring at
him impertinently.
“Whydo you look at me so intent
ly?” demanded the captain.
“I am not looking at you.” calmly
replied the stranger, his eyes meanwhile
fixed with a stony glare upon the du
elist’s face.
“ But you arc sir.”
“ I am not.”
The captain turned away, hut a short
time afterward he felt that those stony
eyes were again upon him and follow
ing all his movements with pitiless fe
rocity. It became inexpressibly annoy
ing, and the captain at last determined
to stop it. Stepping up to the side
of the stranger lie inquired with sup
pressed passion :
“Can you fight as well as loojc?”
“ Perhaps so. I never tried it. Place
me, however, in position and I will do
my best.”
The singular conduct of the stranger
had by this time attracted universal at
tention, and whispered conferences re
garding his remarkable appearance ag
itated little groups of persons all over
the boat. In a shorttime, however, the
vessel rounded the lauding for wood,
and then the parties to the impromptu
duel went ashore. The stranger was
led off by a negro servant, who seem
ingly picked his way. Indeed from
the intense interest he was manifesting
in the encounter, the colored servant
was apparently more deeply interested
in the encounter, than his master. But
the time alotted for preliminaries was
brief, and the men were put into posi
tion and pistols placed in their hands.
The word was given and two ringing
reports flashed out on the air. Captain
West fell pierced to the heart. The
stranger stood erect, calm and dignified.
His second rushed up to him.
“ Are you hurt?”
“ No; how is it with my antagonist?”
“Can't you sec? You have killed
him.”
“ No; lam unable to see.”
“ You can’t see?”
“No; I’m blind.”
And he was. The tragedy was a
nine days’ wonder, and all sorts of ru
mors were rife as to the identity of the
k n K TiII.MOM AL.
Littlo Mi** Featherweight*
J Miming along,
* Haughty ami MiTogunt,
Traiu a yard long;
Too proud to notiro
Shop window or warn*,
Kndo ami uulndy-liko.
Rutting oil aim.
Tonne Mr. Noltody,
Living quite
]ill<r ot podigroo,
Hank in tho pant!
KuiHing with fondnoH*
A tow Milken haita,
Leaning on relative*,
l’utiing on air*!
Little Mi mm Foatliorwoiglit
MeetH Mr. N ,
* “ Angel in petticoat*
“ SwoetoHt oi men
Giggle and lmiidinage,
Love unaware*;
Bach to the other one
Rutting on air*,
a
‘ Young Mr. Nohodv
Mnrrie the mara;
She hlushoM tenderly.
He half afraid.
Now we’ve two Nobody*—
Dove* go in pair*—
*, Spending the honeymoon,
Rutting on airs.
One year ha* passed away,
Mask* are thrown duwu j
She a virago proves,
Hto bu t a down !
Stranger*, the XobW** - v
Ra* oi> yjLo ataii M ; / i
VUE MK i DVOuM.Y .
BY RUGRNK FIRM),
Algernon’* Ethel * papa ha* a
Newly painted front pioxxa.
He ha* a
piazza.
■When with tobacco juice ’twa* tainted,
They had the front piazza painted.
That tainted
Riazza painted.
Algernon called around perchance
That night arrayed in goodly pant*—
That night perchance
In gorgeon* pant*.
Engaging Ethel in a chat
On the piazza down they *at—
Jii chat
They *at.
And when an hour or so bad pars'd
JHo tried to rise hut, oh! Muck fust—
At luNt
Stuck fast !
Pair Ethel shrieked, “ It i* the paint !**
And fainted iu a deadly faint—
This Muint
Did faint.
Algernon Hit* there till llii* day—
He cannot tear himself away—
Away ?
Nay, nay!
Tlis pant* arc tinii, the paint i* dry—
He* nothing else to do hut die—
To die—
O my !
TUimumru Tsrrnv.
$1.50 Per Annum.
WHOLE NO. 155.
fivtal stranger. But who lie whs hikl
where he went was a mystery never
solved. The circumstances went to
make up an incident in the dark and
bloody memories which made fainote
the olden time.
Balky Horses.
The Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals, puts forth the fol
lowing rules for the treatment of a balky
horse:
1. Pat the horse upon the neck ; ex
amine the harness carefully, first on one
side and then on the other, speaking
encouragingly while doing so, then jump
into the wagon and give the word go ;
generally he will obey.
2. A teamster in Maine says lie can
start tho worst balky horse by taking
him out of the shafts and making him
go round in a circle till he is giddy. If
the first dance of this sort doesn't cure
him the second will.
3. To cure a balky horse, simply
place your hand over the horse’s nose
and shut off his wind till he wants to
go, and then let him go.
4. The brain of the horse seems to
entertain but one idea at a time; there
Tore, continued whipping only confirms
his stubborn resolve. If you can by
any means give him anew subject to
think of, you will generally have nq
trouble in starting him. A simple rem
edy is to take a couple of turns of stout
twine around the foreleg, just below
the knee, tight enough for the horse to
feel; and tie a bow-knot. At the first
Check he will go dancing oil, and after
going a short distance you can get out
and remove the string to prevent injury
to the tendon in your further drive.
5. Take the tail of a horse between
the hind legs and tie it by a cord to a
saddle-girth.
C. Tie a string around the horse’s
ear close to its head.
7. Give him about four ounces ot
good gravel to chew. That will divert
his mind, and start him.
A Philosophic Fiend.
AVue York Star.
IJI '(XU.bI Pk/l to. nail-ct-I-W
walked into an office the other day.
“We have no use for one,” replied
the cashier.
“But you should always look into
the mist}' future,” went on the fiend
demurely, “ next winter you will want
to make holes in your boot heels, so
you can get your skates on.”
“ I use club skates—no straps re
quired.”
“ You may want to screw some
boards together some time. The old
fashioned method of driving the screws
iu with a hammer is pernicious, as it
deteriorates the tenacity of the fangs
of the screw as it were.”
*• Nothing to-day, sir.”
“This gimlet also acts as a cork
screw.”
“ I don't want it.”
“ It also may be used as a tack ham
mer, a cigar-holder, and a tooth brush."
“ I don’t want it.”
“ It lias an eraser, a pen, an inkstand,
a table for computing compound inter
est, and a lunch box attachment.”
“ I can’t help it; I don’t want it.”
“ I know you don’t you’re one of these
mean men that won’t buy a gimlet un
less it has a restaurant, and a trip
through Europe, and an Italian Opera
Company attached. You’re the kind
of a man who would live near an elec
tric, light to save a gas hill.”
And the peddler walked out with his
mental plumage on the perpendicular.
Mother’s Affection.
Many of you have fond mothers to]
care for, watch over and keep you from]
harm and danger. Then let ine iin-S
press it on you to never cease being!
kind to your ever obliging mother]
Those of you who have mothers do not!
know how to appreciate them; but]
alas ! when that lovely form is taken]
away then and not till then will you!
realize the value of one. If you have]
spoken an unkind word or disobliged]
her, will not those harsh words rise]
often in your memory long after that]
lovely form has been laid in the coldj
dark grave, and cause your heart to!
throb with pain ? What would you!
not give then to have her buck to tell]
her how you had wronged her and how]
you had sinned against Heaven in dis-j
obliging her; but regrets arc useless]
after she has passed from earth away]
We think- yea, we know a mother isj
the kindest friend we have. She is soj
thoughtful and tender; she has the
first care, and is ever ready to do some
thing to promote the happiness andi
contentment of those around her, and!
the sorrow we experience in the loss oil
a mother is unsurpassed, for a
Mother lout in childhood
Uneven the heart from day to day,
We mine her n ell tie hand,
Her fond and earnest care,
And oh! how dark in life around n,
What la home without her there,
There is no grief like the grief which
does not speak.
A fine coat may cover a fool, but
never conceals one.
SOUTHERN INDEPENDENCE.
The following characteristic iittlc
sketch is from the Natchez, Miss., Dem
ocrat :
“ Halloo, stranger yon seem to be
goinir to market r”
“Yes, sir, I arc.”
“ What arc you carrying that plow
along for ?”
“ Going to send ft to littsburg.”
" To Pittsburg, in Pennsylvania!”
" You're mighty right, I am.”
•' What are you going to send it
there fof ?”
“ To get sharpened.”
“ All the way to l’ittslnirg to get
sharpened ?”
“ You bet! We’ve starved our
blacksmith out. He pulled up stakes
the other day and went to Texas.”
” Well, that's a rather novel idea my
friend—sending a plow so far to get
sharpened.”
“ Not so novel as you heard it was.
We do our milling in St. Louis.”
" Is that so ?”
" You’re right it is. We used to
have a mill at Pimkinvino creek, but
the owner got too poor to keep it lip
and so we turned to getting our grind
ing tlone at St. Louis.”
“ You don’t mean to say you send
your grist all the way to St. Louis by
rail ?”
“ I didn't say nothing about grist—
we hain’t got no grist to send. But we
get our flour and meal from St. Louis.”
“ I see you have a hide in your
wagon.”
“ Yes our old cow died lust week.
March winds Mowed the life out'n her.
Sendin’ hide to Boston to get it tanned.”
" All tho way to Boston ? Is not
that rather expensive, my friend ? The
freights will eat the hide up.”
“That’s a fact—cleaner than the
buzzards did the old critter's carcass.
But what's the use bein’ taxed to build
railroads, ‘thout you get tiie blood of
’em ? Used to have a lanyard over at
Lickskillett, and a shoemaker, too.
But they kerfluimnnxed.”
“ Kcrflummuxed—what’s that ?”
“ It means gone up a spout—and
twlxt you and me that’s mighty nigh
the ease with our State.”
“When do you expect to get your
leather ?”
“ Don’t expect to get no leather at
all—expect to get bliocs, some day,
made at Boston or thereabouts,”
“ Rather a misfortune to lose a milk
cow, my friend.”
“ Not so much of a misfortune as
you heard it was. Monstrous sight of
shuckin’ and unibbin in a cow, and
milkin’ iicr night and mornin’ and got
ten only ’bout three quarts a day.”
‘‘ Whflt iirp umiiHiiiur £itp mill/ 2’^
“ Semi North for milk ?”
“ Yes; concentrated milk and Go
shen butter.”
“Oh! I see the point."
“Mighty handy things, these, rail
roads—make them Yankee fellers do
all our jobs for us, now—do our smith
in’, and grimliu’, and tailin', and milk
in’, and churnin.’ ”
“ Yes, we go our bottom nickel on
cotton. Sendin’ it up to Massachu
setts to get carded, spun and wove.
Time'll come when we'll send it there
to be ginned, then we we'll be happy.
Monstrous sight of trouble running
these gins.”
“That would he rather expensive,
sending cotton in seed.”
“No more so than them Western
fellers pays when they send corn East
and get a dollar a bushel and pay six
bits freight. Besides as, I said, what
is tiie use of paying for railroads'thout
we use tho rood ?”
“ You seem to appreciate the value
of railroads.”
“ I think wc ought —wc pay enough
for ’em.”
“ I reckon you fatten your own
pork ?”
“ Well, you reckon wrong, stranger.
I get them lllinoy fellers to do that for
me. It’s mighty convenient, too;
monstrous sight oi' trouble toting a big
basket full of corn three times a day
to hogs in a pen, especially when you
hain’t got none to tote it to.”
“ I should think so.”
“ There’s one thing lacking though to
make the business complete.”
“ What’s that ?”
“ They ought to send them hogs
ready cooked. Cookin’, and preparin’
wood for cookin’, takes up a heap of
time that ort by rights to be employed
(in the cotton patch. I was sayin’ to
my old woman, the other day, if we
.Mississippi folks got our cookin’ and
washin’ done up North and sent by ex
press we'd be as happy as officeholders.”
“ Your horse In the lead there seems
[to be lame.”
| “ Yes, needs shoein’. If he wasn't
the only horse I’ve got, and can’t spare
him I’d send him up where they make
[the horse shoes and nails and get him
[shod. Can’t get such a thing done in
[our parts. Perhaps I can at the depot.”
j “ How do you manage to live in
[your parts, my old friend ?”
I “ Why, we raise cotton. My road
{turns off here, stranger. Gee, Ball,
Iback Brandy, I’m glad I seed you,
[stranger.”
I A little boy was told by his grand
[inother to turn down a leaf in the fam
|ily Bible every time he told a lie. At
■the end of a week the old lady asked
■him how many lies he had told in the
■seven days. He silently handed her
■the holy book. She turned over page
■after page, and at length said angrily,
1“ Why, you little brat, you’ve lied all
|the way from Genesis to Revelations,
land half way through the Psalm*.”
| Read what you do read carefully.