Newspaper Page Text
THE FENCE LAW IN THE SOUTH
Tl.ere is <f
featcd over the etfort now being wide,
in some sections of the South, to abol
an<l\o compel instead, ih© owners of
stock to confine them. Wherever in
telligence becomes widely disscraina
ted, the injustice and folly olVfhe jut*-
ent law is recognized, and Jbl opip-es
sion of an enactment by which a farm
er is compelled to build and keep ex
znatat \pze i. lit * \. • >i'U
a* awti yp' <y . Wft *k
nelils again si stock ; aim it is a-sad
evidence of old fogyism, gevepaj
ranee and backwardness 6f (igncnltulc
}arth*kM>iiQh, that such a law os that
now -in' tonic 4an exist. When the
country was very sparsely settled,
farms few aieLthcJitnliU'.-at.sCr -ttfcatuL.
wa P enacted, and,
fikeunany laws and customs, it has out
lived its usefulness; and from being
fcr to the greatest,
beeoraqf for
tTieir greatest injury.
A few facts regarding tls? lyxpqptse
of fences will demonstrator the ivast’e
ihlifc system. The average
size of farms throughout the seven
Southeastern States is about 200 acres,
and the yearly tendency iar'tci fUrtiisr
nApcg yiQ .average size. Now, the
actual first cost of a rail fence around
such a farm, where good pine timber is
abundant, is about $250, or $1.25 per
acre ; but where [tine is scarce, and oak
is used, the cost more frequently , rises
as high as $2 per acre.
The aotl J ,l | ..1C liinrul ftym
every coiftTT fITPI |UlbTiSTreil tty fTie ¥>?-
at Washington, show.that the
number of acres in farms in the South
eastern States is about I)3L)2B,<X)t), iukl
that the actual first cosf oft he ‘lenefn'g
for these farms was $177,200,000—an
average of over $1.90 per acre find
that the value of all cattle, sheepjftnd
hogs i j about, $57,000,000. , Fro pi these
figures it appears that, for every dol-
Ucff wojih of? st oqkrw. taint; $3. tie ees
-Up tJ R iwi-
Man}' of us have heard of the fool
ish boy olio invested ten cents in a
candle in order to look for the three
THMMMNHWMMMtM. -• ■■■!■
* dropped. The an
nual ooatwf JjjjjjjipsCp aS-aC felce is
known 1154 all fanribr/to lie itboui one
ter.th of the fence j thus the amount
f )c # t;^ r *#' c t r &**“4'* of the
Now, upon ray own farm, which is
iS)u.-ited in -one of the heaviest timber
ed sections of the South, I find that the
annual cost of repairs tv ray fencing is
o*r * i wp | ( TT £1 n
about fourtedfc iii other
sections, where pine is scarce and oak
is used, the annual expense is doubt
less muelr-greafer. -Moreover, the ex-
Venft of Itlitl wakfeif under a rail fence
amounts to two acres on a farm of
200, or one per valufc-to
about ten cents pel* Hflrt
ltt^ofaiP#<r!f w P il ? a ,iirul of 200
acres grumbles loudly at being com
pelled to pay a State tax of about nine
cents per acre, bq£jpt]jp|B any disqui
etude submits to an annual imposition,
■talker the present fence law, of an un
just tax equal to not less than twenty
four cents per acre. v . • _ r _ ijr .
The small farmets pffv tt proportion^ -
ately heavier tax to the fence law im
position than the large, for it requires
rnOre per acre to inclose a small
farm Ilian a largfe one, as is readily de
monstrated by the fact that, while one
acre requires 850 feet of fencing, four
acres require, not lour* tunes ns much,
but only twice as muck, say BGBO feetV
the farmer, and the
smaller his planting operations the
heavier is the rate of his tax; while
the richer |hs iafpfer, :asd ftifc njorfe ex
tended his undertakings, the lighter is
liia-caic of tiuUU-iom
Hwn If 'Hurp resent system of fenc
ing is considered vfith regard to com
mon ftonestyT its*' gross injustice iT
equally manifest. Jhe land outside of
the farm is as much the property of the
wnfcrftqf be? may teulttvate and
{infly Tn 'eOTCiial justice no stock of
Any right thereon, without
bis express' permission. With 'just as
ffrmffl equity may 4 theTaw give all the
world a legal permission to steal a far
mers, corn out .of his barn, unless it is
♦idked, aslt doel now to give permis
sion to others’ cattle to destroy his
qg>p, unless he ft n res it in.
In addition to the oppressive injus
tice s>f til# l^uc^^'stuA,
of tnc civilized world has clearly dem
onstrated it to be a’ useless and waste l
The Hartwell Si a.
By 8ET603! <fc ’ McOILL.
VOLi IV--NO. ;u).
ftn one. Whewter farirtuig 4mW lakfci
brought up to the high condition it de
serves, and to which it must be brought
tfebq tliy , Jaw jiTgttAiiijg
feu(®R i>ydir<*,lfly voutyary to rhi
force tl|rblTgh(ltlt ihoStof uie SoytTl: ' f
J When.lain, tyhiok i& jreatrainkL and
the responsibility for their depredations
iayfrown on their owners, capital
leased from the very unprofitable invest
ment of fencing, aud made available
for farm improvements. One of the
vo#y limit effects is the of
f!ie stock ; only the godil olfes arc kcjJf.
and tho inferior are klllfid or sold off- j
All the manure, instead of being wast
ed, |s the w:y prepared for
Abe (steady ofsthe soil:
Non* of the laK is wA*ted<*and ad
fields are cultivate*] down to the edges
of the roads. f k i
The best proof of the advantages of
th<s abolition of fences is found in the
fact that no section of the country that
lias abolished fences for cr**)* is will
ing again to return t<f ttie * antiquated
system, now oppressing the agricultu
ral industries of the South ; and if the
farmers qft!|e KAuth would tfiiijjk care-
this aiattrr, and
ttie lights of actual experience, Instead
of stubboridy closing their eyes to
facts, and hugging their antiquated
prejudices, they would soon see where
their own interest lay.
' —*
A Tough One.
’I rkruuMjf, n„„-,
“ Ever heerd bout the scrimmage me
:ywl Ease had with 9 liar over long- the
Rattlesnake Creek?" asked old Jerry
Grkewifig, a* he piled 41k* 'Wgs <* the
lire in his cozy little cabin near this
village. Jerry is one of the best hunt
ors in Fikojconiity, and his reminis
aences are peculiarly Interesting*
“ I'll tell ye all bout it fora
yrt know my son*"Casf, ye
cymes in. an Case an that
ere old jailer hound of mine—he’s 17
year <4d tlis cornin' started
Out after Wall,- we was a
walking long kinder quiet like, when
ail to aud<fen| that eussatl houutl of
mine give the all-firedest yell ever I
hear, ad oiftcr the brush an scrub oaks
come a tremenjus black bar. I’ll be
hamged if that bar wasn’t ten foot long.
Wall, the bar stood still in the path an
looked at me an Uqse, an; Case an me
fitobtl Still an looked at the bar, an I'll
be gosh-hanged if ’twasnt so com’cal I
just sot down on the groun an laffed.
Tlien Case he got up on his ear, cos
we didn’t have no gun nor nothin with
us, ceptin a naxe, an so lie yells tome :
( < iiceiton ye’d belSern get up a tree,
less ye WTTntter gli chawed into mince
meat,’ sez he. Jest about that time
Mr. liar made fur Case, an I shinned
.up a txee. -
u Wall, Case be went fur the bar with
the axe, and all of a suddent the old
concern flew - offen the handle ; so Case
he started fur ter climb a tree as the
tfbtne uir W*. Wall, sir, to see
Casea cliinbintliat'ar tree with that
bar after him was morn I could stand,
so I jest bust out lafiin agin. Then
Case he got red-hot mad, an the way
he slung the profanity round were a
caution. Jest about the time he begin
a calling ipe assorts er names that bar
Ireajlhed one *>f|his paws up an pulled
off one of Case's boots. lie slid down
the. tree with tluj boot, and wlien he
teehed the ground lie struck that ar
like that seventeen-year-old
<Jqg of jniive wud a rat. But the boot
did’t seem to satisfy 4 him, so he dim
the tree agin. Case saw him a comin,
so fte ydbrtrat, ‘ I’m a goner, dad-J I
aez, ‘Holdthe fort an give him t'other
boot?' Jest ttleii CasWsez,‘l’ll'fix the
old CUSS.’
“ Wall, sir, that bar clim a'most to
where CVse were a settia. when all to
once’t I see Case mailin’ some motions
with Liis fingers. Sez L, ‘ lie ypu a fix
ing fiirff?’ Sez he; • I bo.’ Jest then
the old devil gave a ter’ble roar an let
go the tree. I s’pose you'll hardly be
lieve it, but gOsh bang me-if*that bar
didn’t turn a summerset in the air an
light on his head. Yes, sir, it’s a sol
em fac’, that that bar fell oj* liiz head
so hard that he broke biz neck. The
whoje thing were so cussed comical that
T gbt a laffln ani fell ■clean off the limb
1 wris straddlirr an nearly broke my
HARTWELL, GA., WKl'-v.-fDAY, MARCH 24. 1880.
neck. \\ rven f\rs© ciuno down mnkw
tlie tree, sez I: ‘ What made the bar
tumble ?’ lie looks at me a minnit an
then* polls out a peppot-liox. Wall, sir,
that ar iioy*—l .tilers calls him boy,
ffioogh he'a ‘year old coynA h.dyiu
Lruie—-had atole the old woman's pep
per-box, just to tantilize her. an that's
Wljafc say**! h* life. He sprinkled the'
pepper in the bar’s eyes an nearly drove
him frantic, so he dropped, lint flic
strang st part of the story is the dog.
YVWu sk 1 utt-Case went back after tho
tlaf With ahfVSs an wagon, i'll bh btfist
ed if we didn't find that old yeller
hound up nother tree yellin like sin.
Truth, sir, truth. Yes, sir. that ar dog
lie’cf bpen spurt that hc'just cflm t hat
tre&thoMt tikinkin. thiuk
I’m lying when 1 say that bar weighed
five hnndijsfJ p*iGnd. But it's
the truth, sir. I never lied yet, an I'm
gettin t do old to learn, fur Fin nigh on
to 70 years old.”
The JcAr o( Dcatli.
Citieinnqti Times.
There are several elements that enter
into wlqtt is called tho. fear of Death
' f t hat ought to l>e.onrefully
between. j 1 k j
It is to be said in the outset that the
contemplation of Death increases as
(men adyance iuj’ears and grow to rec
rrgmze-tlmt -thw-time of the inevitable
j change draws nearer. But it is fairly
open to question whether the man who
has arrived at forty years of age has
| iifsome omr day exporieweed all
lLlic Year of Death he will.experience in
j one day tliereafter. How much or
jratbw how little, this is, each man
knows lor himself. Men think of
Death oftencr in a year, after they ar
rive at sixty than when they were
thirty, birt from all we can learn of the
inner life of such men. the fear is not
•iffdfe iimi thafl at earlier peh'odl* o^,
their lives.
TTie "first element of the fear of
Dpijjtli is the idea of physical pain. It
is natural that this should be connect
ed with the idea of Death, for in'many
cases intense pain precedes Death.
But the two are far from lieing invari
able accompaniments. Intense pain
may be followed by life ;is. well as by
Death. Wc must distinguish between
the fear of pain and the fear of Death.
Death may be painless. The approach
of- Death may lie comparatively pain
less. l’ain and Death do not stand in
the relation of cause and effect. One
is sometimes the preceding condition
of the other, but not a cause. Besides
this,The fact must be recognized that
Death is but a point in tirnd, an instant,
a second, and that neither the prelimi
nary process hor the immediate disso
lution is constantly attended by pain.
Even at the worst, Death may be wel
comed as bringing a release from suf
fering. So let us thrust aside the no
tion of pain, and keep carefully sepa
rated from it the fear of Deatii.
Second is the idea of tlie mystery
of the change. Bet us keep closely iu
mind what Death is—it is an instanta
neous change. t)ne moment was life,
the next is not life. One instant was
the exercise of the vital energies, the
next their total stoppage. One sec
ond one Was with this wqrid the next
he is gone from it forever. This mys
tery, unlike pain, is inseparable from
Death, and the idea of Death. One
cannot think of the mystery of the
change, and the kmesomeness of it.
Every one has to encounter for and by
himself, and himself alone.
Third is the idea of that which is
beyond Death.' This idea also is in
separable from the contemplation of
the change. Whether one believes in
a life beyond the grave, or in annihila
tion, makes no difference. There is
something beyond, and the dread of
that mystery
Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather boar the ills we have,
'l'han fly to others that we know not of. *
All these three ideas are connected
with Death. And yet the change is
one that is being encountered every
day. There are few but have seen one
die, and it is a matter of general knowl
edge that the number of death-beds
where the one who was experiencing
the. change has been unnerved is very
small. The and> 4 ing one is not moved
by his loneliness. He docs not weep
Devoted Ho Hail County!
at tliwW|>(#Htiou. What grief he does
manifest is more for those who are left
than for himself wJhj is going. Whether
4" Afibfie< ißdvio nsni t soonb Hnsi
fVct. When tho dying man comes to
die. a|
tkent, he has no fear of Death. The
)ftlfo li\ in ;of TVvitli is tud palucl
ed on the fe.-ir of Deafli f (if flic dying!
p.l#rqnw■ ■ljsjjqr swiij. qiiinetliing on
Of rtmtitm: Tmcd k have
iiave in it w woight'iif. wisdiwu; '/l ake
away,” he says, “but tho pomps .'of
death, the disguises and solemn bug-
am rtlie vA, ings By ligliV
a til pjpopql an#fanjastics
the minstrels and the noise makers, the
,wiasp<'rij, and the sliriek
ings, {lie nurses and the physicians, the
d-Wk room and ther minlßlieraJtthei kin-
atid ffie watches, aitd then to die
i a easy, remiy, ami quitted from its
tnlfililisania airoiimstances. It is the
same harmless tlyqg tliaj a poor
herd suffered yesterday, or a maid-ser
vant to-day ; and at the same time in
which you die, in that very night a thou
sand creatures die with you, some wise
men, and many fools ; and the wisdom
of tliy firtt will not qrtit him, anif the
fully ui' .UiC Utter (Joes not make him
unable to dier’ * '‘O
In a Word, reader,your fear of p^*‘ l th
will not make you fear Death when
Dontlv>o<Hpci.rjlt is only now when you
aw MvWgfthilt fou fear it, and how lit
tle time after all do you spend in fear
■ifi p
A Memorable Indian Fight.
,A sjuuj) one of most
cipsely-contested that ever took place
in, Texas, was fVnujht on the 22ili of
January. V-51. liiculcnaof Ed. Bnrlc
84sr wiXi m Uetmclmienbof cavalry, was
on his way from San Antonio to Camp
Los Ojuelos.
WTieTTneal' TTOTTCtrCW rtver, -be- -own
tiiret Coronnehe Imtttfs on iniraebiiok*
Taking eight men, r|<(jjorddrln;f4!le real
of the party to keep the roaifaml nfoVo
on, lie tlicit).
After running for two or three miles
the Indians came up with eleven of
their band on foot, and prepared for
battle.
Burleson’s men, who were old Texan
rangers, moved up within fifty or sixty
yards of the Comanche line, and open
ed the fight. Bv some mistake they
dismounted. The Indians charged,
and a terrible hand-to-hand fight en
sued. Shot's were fired at the distance
of a foot or two.
The field was an open prairie, on
which there was not ev%i? *a for
cover. It was a trial of strength, skill
and courage. The rangers fought be
hind their horses, shooting under them
or over the saddles.
Ited men and white men, Colt’s six
shooting carbines and bows and arrows,
revolvers and lauces were mingled in
a general melee. There was no shout
ing, no maneuvering, but each man
fought on bis own “book,” and for life.
Many of the incidents of personal
prowess would, if they had occurred in
a battle between mediaeval knights,
have been celebrated in song and
chronicle.
A Comanche singled.out Jem Car?,
a cool, brave ranger, and charged upon
him with bow and lance. Jem, with
steady aim, fired jut aud shot him ; then
fired Again, with the same eject. The
Indian still advanced, shooting arrow
after arrow. The arrows came with less
and less force, until the last one hardly
left the bow, as the plucky, determined
warrior fell dead a few feet from bis
white foe.
Jem received four severe wounds.
“It was like clock-work,” be said:
> every time I raised my carbine they
stuck an arrow in me,”
He had his carbine to bis face, ready
to fire, when an arrow, passing through
the last joint of his right forefinger
pierced the breech of the gun. Lucki
ly, the wood splintered and released
his hand.
Baker Barton, one of, those, indomi
table spirits who are game unto the lasc,
received three mortal wounds. He
died on his feet, holding to the horn of
his saddle.
One of the coolest of the laligors
$1,50 Per Amum.
wi^ ; a nmu namoa self
possesskm was wonderful. Buries*hi,
staling an Indian• aiming a pistol At
l#ath. AtidM his revolver to shemf.
4 BMhi*t AKoof at hitn,' I.leirtWiant,”
called out Lfrach : “j|e's IMufTttis^.
l w fnam watching him ;thm> ia is>
lonii in liis pistol.’' . - - .
Firfhlly the Indians fieri, having eight
woijHitetf find leurvlng ftmr dead fill tire
field. * Llfev were'so thoroughly whip
ped thal. uoiitrsi v to thair custuni. they
did not take.time t*ad with them.
Tw’o of tho rangers were killed and sev
eral were wounded. A gentdenian who
visited the field thirty dnrs after the
fight, l’onTrd ft. covered with iirrows.
Over two hundred were picked up on a
sp:reof loss thtm one.'burth wl an acre.
.14 4 4 " -r -1
RECALLING & WAR INCIDINI.
W Witf is Nniil About ilk- IMnn to Ciipliirii
i-rvsHi. ot mnlMit
Reierriug Ui ihv attotiipted mplgre cf
PiMnt A lira hAm Lincoln, the Phila
delphia Press couples the inline of Mr.
(1. living Ditty, and says that ** Mr.
Dittv' comnmiidod the rebel cavalr} 4
! company which was detailed to cajituic'
Mr. Lincoln, in pursuance of the plot
j arranged hy Wilkes Booth and John 11.
! Surratt.”
To this statement Mr. Ditty takes ex
ception, and this morning publishes itu
account of the expedition, which reads
as follows:
“My regiment, first Maryland ciitr
alry, commanded by ('olonel, afterwards
General, Bradley T. Johnson, of this
oily, in June, 18GL, was lying near
! Richmond, together with a large force
iti other cavalry, when wo were ordered
rfrirth, with several days’ rations. I was
quite uuwejl at the outset, grew worse,
and on the first night of the march waa
hurt by.* horse- I applied for * sliprt
sipk leave, when General Johnson, stat
ing that, very important movements were
oil foot which he could not disclose, hut
in which I would not regret not to share
urged me to remniii with the commrnd.
1 did so.
A few days afterward we met Gen
end Bheridan at Trevilliau Flattop and
fought him for three days, when we re
turned to Richmond and we innrehed on
Washington and Point Lookout, in low
er Maryland, where there was a large
number of Confederate prisoners, whom
we intended to release.
“ 1 heard nothing more, except vague
rumors of the movement to which Geu.
Johnson referred, until after the war
elbserl, when I learned that General
Johnson, not Booth* had planned the
capture of Mr. Lincoln at the Soldiers’
Homo, near Washington, where lie was
then spending the summer. This plan
would doubtless liavo been executed or
attempted, hud not General Early or
dered Gene ai Johnson to cover his rear j
while he (Early) advanced on General
Hunter at Lynchburg'.’’
The name of General Johnson being
so intimately connected with this circum
stance, and Mr Ditty being responsible
for the assertion that “General Johnson
not Booth, hail planned the capture of
Mr. Lincoln at thtf Soldiers’ Home, near
Washington,” a News reporter called
on General Johnses* lliis morning at his
office, and in a conversation gleaned the
following facts from that gentleman :
Tho General said that after the great
cavalry battle between Hampton and
Sheridan at Trevillian, ori June 10rh
and 11th, he obtained permission from
Hampton to proceed w ith his command,
First Maryland Cavalry and Bull's
Light Artillery,'to Maryland, where the
plan was to make a rapid raid on the
Soldiers’ Home, where President Lin
coln stayed at night, capture him, and
send him back to Virginia under an es
cort, while Johnson’s force wus to be di
vided into two parties, one to cross the
Potomac about the Point of Itocks anil
the other above Williamsport.
This pluu was frustrated by Early
ordering Jackson to guard tiie lower
valley, while lie wont after Hunter at
Lynchburg; and after that be placed
Johnson in command of bis advance
into Maryland and as bis rearguard on
his withdrawal from the State ; therefore,
there was neither time, inclination nor
opportunity to attempt it.
Neitlier Hampton, John-jon-nor Dit
ty bad at that time ever hcanf the
names of Booth or Surratt, and did not
IVHUI.ii \O. JMi.
know that < vinto-d. .TJo,plai*
<>f the* fcaptufe' *f JiilLti Lin
4>>WA4ilVl i]!V> V n s i Pi W '
soldier* and to ha *Mtim th mjk - carrie<f
out by snjdittr*. acting under miTrrrr '
onl^> f Ht bin! iff o u,y r,fllirtjj>c.*?**•"
per or torin any connection wits any J
other plan dw*4evur# .mo n t , *
k wH*lbhww Ui..Hftiaptwit:iUt<l JoUf
(■Art'lflmm hind tlai * latter afterwards
cdtntpWrfictftrd fu cam#*
ijueaW of Cos m mupMhtfttf
hjpJ* liiiii, l /ron" ipakmg dittyk
to AbugUnd to the
out mid ordered hint, to .cover liU rear
until he itmirhw! to Lynchburg t* head,
ft Mnnfer.
llitrf, Gen. Johnson snfs, neveid
kgcw ’ktr'JjcarJ of slich
after the war. . ,
Slnt itftli l<eWtm- A
fowa paper thinks It has n rightl
to toll a gooij joke cm an official. eych
if it was time agoing
a prominent KuipuckitHi, c it, ijeyqr..
lias been in |>uint betfcjrss. Previous U*i
Ilia election as treasurac the time
he was connected w ith rfdntg store. In
a vacant lot. adjoining the store prepAt*J
aliopst were being made .tor ilnjfcreclioh
of n building., A viewer of
Frankfurt, Um) ‘'wpiul, took U*e cou
trant and was irafctatp<afti exctivafioa:
,lbr thl fbttndatirth. T-br weather ! wtwa
very wriror, and the point sit tfltfeh thrf
work y^s.going on being rather sedfftT-'
cd, the workman disrobed hitry l >eff,. )
all unneusswry doUang. eveiuiroppmg
his shirt' doww* <* <M**atofc Tatcf
looked Wfstflilly through the -wiadilw
out upon the foiling and petspirintf
form, and though the workman was *
clever, very determined, highly respect-'
cd and courageous citizen, the tempta
tion for a practical joke was tea great
to be resisted. Calling in a friend tor
act as a confederate in the matter/
Tate went to tffC rear of the store and
hunted up an old Muderbuss of and pis
tol, charged it, with a heavy load of
powder and linn-led it to the gonfeder*
at**, telling him to tire into the air wkeu.
lie gave thA signal. * lie then took a
very’tfii'gfr fy t’tngc, filled it briinrtiinjjf
fulj °f, klu’ very coldest ice water, post-’
Oil himself, by the window vjjdch wa^
I lupated, and gave the signal to the cou
i federate. “ Hang 1" wont Jilfc.jiipfiiteSu
i buss toward the coiling, and ** squrtl'’
wertt the syringe. Tho victim wws
struck squarely ori the bare hack with
the load of icc-wator, anil falling to the
ground with sudden fright yelled at the
top of his voice, “ Murder ! d'm shotJ
Murder 1” Hut in tumbling to the ice
water, the frightened citizen soon tuuw
hied to the joke, mid, for a tong time
Tate had to laugh all to himself, and
wes vejy shy when in the ;4‘igb,boc)iyod
of tlio man on whom lie had played the
ice-wuter joke. \\ r o don’t know Uiatj
even to this day lie has ever had tbu
hardihood to come out squarely awi
acknowledge thdt he was the identibftf
individual who shot off the ifynnge.
A Drummer's Diary.
Among the large class of active eofti*
merciul men, the drummer seems to pea
flower of the family. He lias a kU\4
word for everybody be meets# and it
matters not whether the man is in an
other line of trade or not, it is all tho
same to him. From tho nature of hid
business, lie involuntarily acquires (lid
habit of treating everybody with becom
ing respect. The “ bosses ” are usually
cross and snappish, and wbat be says
about a business matter, is said quick?
short and to the point. Not so with th* 4
representative of the house on the road".
He never gets in a hurry until the very
moment to sell goods, and he usually
I knows when his man is ripe enough to
! pull and at the proper time, pulls him.
If necessary, lie will sit down and swap
lies for two or thrgp hours, telling all the
latest gags, which tickles the boys won
derfully. During all this time hehaSan
eye on business, mid ali this funny talk
is intended fora purpose. Among thb
many well known travelers in Georgia
Sim Sligh is probably the best kuowu
and most popular. While stopping at a
Southwest Georgia hotel recently a
chamber-maid picked up the following
diary, w hich she foitnd in his room, and
it is presumed that be lost it. Here it
is:
“ Don’t play yokcr at all; Miles
traveled, 3,964; number of trunks, 3;
shown samples, 116 times; sold goods,
S9B times ; been asked the news 5,061
times; told the news, 2,210 times; lied
2,160 times; didn’t know 661 times;
cussed the porter 1,700 times; been ask
ed to drink 1,861 times; drank 1,861
times; flirted with girls on the train 67
times; changed polities 52 tiniest
changed religion 25 times; daily ex
ponses allowed by the house $8 ; actual
expenses 85 ; cash on hand 60 cts; been
to church 1 time.”