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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.”