Newspaper Page Text
W. B. MINCEY, Editor.
VOL. III.
It is estimated that Uncle Samuel will
pay out at least $1,500,000 in artificial
legs and arms in 1890.
The railroad companies of the United
States owe $4,600,000,000. Last year the
amount of interest paid by the railroads
of the United States was $207,000,000,
and the amount in dividends $80,000,-
000. If the amount of freight hauled
were all reduced to one mile, it would
amount to $70,000,000,000 tons of
freight.
Joaquin Miller, who, after he went into
Wall street and lost his little pile, used
to rail at the rich and revile leading New
York capitalists, has become a capitalist
himself. Some years ago he bought 200
acres of land near San Francisco, and now
they have become valuable for town lots*
The poet says that he shall spend the re¬
mainder of his days on the Pacific
slops.
The whole trade of Calcutta was
almost paralyzed recently by a general
strike of native bullock-carters, 30,000
in number. They are forced to pay a
heavy municipal license. A local firm
endeavored to levy a further fee for
private registration, and the carters
thought that this was an endeavor to
impose an increase of taxation, The
misunderstanding was removed.
It is said that the common cowcatcher
attachment to locomotives is about the
only article of universal use that was
never patented. Its inventor was D. B.
Davies, of Columbus, who found his
model in the plow. Bed lights on the
rear car of trains, it is further said, were
adopted at the suggestion of the late Mrs.
Swisshelm, after a railway accident in
which she had a narrow escape.
Treasury statistics show that the ex¬
portations of Mexico for the first half of
the fiscal year 1888-9 amounted to $.26,-
846.990, indicating a total exportation
for the year of $53,000,000, the largest
ever known in the history of the country.
The exportation of precious metals in¬
creased in the half year, as compared
with the previous half year, $1,999,809,
and merchandise exports increased $570,-
263. These facts bear out the statements
regarding the prosperity of the country,
and what railways are giving to the de¬
velopment of Mexico.
Bev. J. Crossett, an independent
American missionary recently died in
China, where he had been devoting him¬
self to labor among the benighted, He
had charge of a winter refuge for the
poor at Peking during several winters,
and made it his business to seek out the
sick and unfortunate for the purpose of
affording them relief rather than to
change their faith. He went about in
Chinese costume, and accepted no remu¬
neration for his labors except bis enter¬
tainment. He was everywhere welcomed
among the Chinese and was called by
them “the Christian Buddha.”
The inquiry is not infrequently ad¬
dressed to a millionaire, “Why do you
not discontinue business? You have
wealth enough, you need not work any
longer”—and the answer almost invaria¬
bly is, ‘ ‘What shall I do with my idle
hours, if I have no employment?” This
was the answer that that eminent Chica¬
goan of brains and wealth, Mr. Philip D.
Armour, made when an English syndicate
offered him a bonus of $5,000,000 in ad¬
dition to the estimated value of his great
pork and great beef-packing plant. Mr.
Armour doubted if he would find peace
of mind in a plethoric purse and no busi¬
ness.
Three towns in the State of cyclone. Chiapao,
Mexico, have been destroyed by a
A storm has caused terrible havoc at
Islas del Carmen, Mexico. Twelve foreign sail¬
ing vessels, two steamers and twenty coasters
have been lost.
Negotiations for a compromise between
the strikers and employers in Rotterdam
were successful.
Thirty-two million marks are to be ex-
pended by the German Government for new
men-of-war.
ts We Seek the Reward of Honest Labor.”
JASPER, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, OCTOBER 2 >, 1889.
A Newspaper Clipping 1 .
•Twas a c ipping from ilie paper,
Telling of some funny caper
On the stage;
So I read it, every letter,
Saying that I’d seen no bet!or
For an age.
Theu I turned the clipping over,
With no purpose to discover
What was there;
Butin smiling contemplation
Of the humorist’s creation,
Rich and rare.
As I looked I know I started,
And the smile from lip departed,
For I saw,
Printed there in uncut column,
Notices of death, sad, solemn,
Full of awe.
So, I thought, come grief and pleasure,
Meted out with equal measure;
You may laugh,
For some other one is wailing,
For the tear is smile’s unfailing
Other half.
—Columbus Dispatch.
OLD COOL
r.Y HOSE TEIIitY COOK.
He wasn’t old at all, not a day over
twenty when he joined the regiment; a
great, tall, hulking fellow, with a big,
honest face like a boy’s, weighed one
hundred and seventy-five pounds if
he did an ounce, and answered to the
name of Josenh Cooley. We all called
him Joe, to begin with, and this yarn is
to tell how he got his other name.
We shipped aboard a river steamer at
New York for Ship Island, fifteen hun¬
dred of us; maybe you boys don’t
know what that means—aboard of a
river steamer? It means that every
birth had two men in it, lyin’ heads
and p ints, and glad to get one at that;
theumiucky ones lyin’ side by side on
the floor, like herring in a box, thick as
hey could lie.
Lots of ’em were dreadful sick, to
begin with, some for one day, some for
two, some all the way. You can guess
if ’twas pleasant.
We were alL in for it, goiu’ to fight.
We’d hollered, and waved flags, and
had speeches made to us, and felt con¬
siderable good about it; that was the
top-dressin’. Now wo began to strike
hard pan,and I tell you we didn’t think
about our country every minute, not
much.
Well, Joe he wasn’t sick a minute;
he’d go steppia’ round amongst the fel¬
lers as softly as a girl, grinniu’ at one,
giviu’ water to another, flxin’ this one’s
head up onto a knapsack, and proppin’
that oue up ag’inst a mast, as ef he’d
been a hospital nurse ail his days.
When some of the men would groan
he'd say, “’Tis ruther on pleasant, aint
it? Scold away; it’ll do ye good to
spit it all out;” and they’d have to
grin.
When we’d got about abreast of Ilat-
teras, there come up about five o’clock
one of the high old reg’lation kind of
storms, a buster. I can’t begin to tell
how the wind blowed; it come solid, as
if you was struck with something steady
that pressed you down; we couldn’t
stan’ up against it. They talk about
waves rollin’ mountain-high, that’s
poetry; but I’d be willin’ to make my
affidavit iu court that they did run all
of sixty feet high each side of us.
The steamer couldn’t make a mite of
headway, nor wouldn’t answer to her
helium, and there we lay, side on, in
the trough of the sea, like a fly in a
hammock, swingin’ to and fro sideways.
Every now and then a big sea’d come
slap down, like close-to thunder, onto
the deck and sweep everything off her.
There was a hundred barrels of beef
went to feed the fishes that night.
I lay in my berth a -lookin’ out of the
winder—five of us had that state-room,
four in the berths, one on the floor.
Joe Cooley had the floor; right outside
there was a lifeboat lying geared onto
the deck, and all around it was a thick
J row of men holdin’ on to her gunnel
! with both , hands, , , to get . the first „ ,
so s
, 1 c h aac e. j
“Well l” says I, kind of disgusted.
“What’s up?” says Joe, lookin’ up at
mo. So I told him.
“H’m,” says he. “I guess I'd jest
as lives bo drowned in bed as out¬
doors.” So if he didn’t draw up liis
blanket and go to snorin’ ag’in!
You see, just a minute before, the
cap’en of the boat had come through the
deck cabin where we was, and ono of
the fellers sung out to him, “Call this
a consider’blc of a storm, don’t ye,
jap’en?”
lie ripped out some big words, I tell
ye, the sense of ’em being that wo was
going to the bottom inside of an hour,
and Joe heered him.
Bure enough, there was no chance for
the men bangin’ on to that boat, tlieir
faces white as death, and their fingers
gripped into that gunnel till they bled;
for if the ship had gone to the bottom,
that boat would have crackled like an
egg-shell the first wave that gin it a
blow. It was a scary time lor all of us.
Some of the fellers took it one way
and some took it another; people aint
jest alike. Some prayed, and some grit
their teeth and kept still. Joe was the
only one that went to sleep and slop’
through.
However, we didn’t go down, for
about two o'clock in the morning there
come the biggest kind of a thunder¬
storm against the big blow, and the
wind and rain out of that killed those
great waves flat. In 20 minutes after
it set in, the sea was ordinarily peace¬
able, the boat got so’t the helium
steered her, and we went right along;
'and come mo-ning, Joe got up from his
bed on the floor, shook himself, rubbed
his eyes, looked round >ud grinned at
us.
“Well, fellers!” says he, “we ain’t
drownded, be’ wc-«” 1 •
“Not as we’re sensible of,” says Cha¬
pin, a dry sort of a chap in the bunk
below me.
“You took it rather cool„” says I to
Joe.
“Name’s Cooley,” says he, laughin’.
And after that we called him “Cool,’
or ‘ Old Cool,” just as it happened.
We got to land after awhile, as dirty
and water-tired a lot as ever veu see;
quite certain that solderin’ wasn’t
neither fun nor play; but, bless you! we
hadn’t but just said A. There was the
hull alphabet to come.
There was one colonel had a regiment
in camp along of us who was the great¬
est hand to nag the men you ever see.
lie was as pernickity as an old maid,
and as notional as au old bachelor. He
kep’ the men to drill as though ’ twas
up
salvation, and inspected them within an
inch of their lives,and callel that disci¬
pline; and ji’rhaps it was.
But he done worse; he kep’ settiu’
(raps for to ketch the men nappin’.
He’d travel outside the videttes and
pickets, so’stoseeif they was awake
and alert; and if they wasn’t than they
had to take it.
There we was, a parcel of volunteers,
doing nothing but drill, in a new, lazy,
sloppy kind of a climate, with nothing
but meat victuals and hard bread—I
tell ye we pined after onions and sceh
truck worse’n them old Isr’elites in tho
hymn-book did!
I well remomber how one day Char¬
ley Bliss was roarin’ out that old
hymn.
“The way is all new, as it opens to view,
An’ behind is the foamin’ Red Sea,
So none now need to speak of the onions and
leeks.
And don't talk about garlic to me.”
Chapin stepped up, as solemn as a
clam, and threatened to punch his
head.
( l Stop that blarsted tune!” says he.
“I’m nigh about ready to desert for a
head o’ cabbage, and I can’t bear to
hear onions made light of.”
Well, as I was sayin’, we were new to
the business, and to be spied on and
roared at and ketched nappin’ made us
all pretty snappish, and Coo! himself,
who was ordinarily as clever as could
be, was stirred up.
$1.00 PER ANNUM, In Advan< i:.
“I’ll fix him!” says ho one night,
when we was talking it over by the (ire.
“Wait till my turn comes.”
Sure enough, the next night he was
on vidette duty, and ho heerd a noise
in the bushes. Up went his musket.
“Who goes there?” he roared.
“Officer, of the day,” says the colonel.
“I know no officer of the day outside
the lines, throw up your hands, dis¬
mount and surrender!’’ yelled Cool.
< ‘I tell I’m officer of the day, ”
you
says the colonel madder’n a yeller
hornet.
“1 know no officer of the day outside
the lines; dismount or I fire,” repeated
Cool. Well, the colonel Fared and
sputtered, but Cool never lowered his
gun, aud finally the colonel had to dis¬
mount and come along towards Cool.
“I tell you, you blockhead, I’m
Colonel Blank, officer of the day."
Cool cocked his gun and levelled it
at the feller’s head, sayin’ agin:
“I know no officer of the day outside
the lines; give up your side-arms or 1
shall shoot you through tli3 head.”
Well, the colonel reely b’iicvcd Cool
didn’t reco’nize him, so he handed over
his side-arms, and Cool marched him in
clear through the camp to headquarters,
an’ handed him over to the General.
I tell you Mister Blank got a chrgc o’
cold shot in tho line o’ tongue-lashin’
that time, for the ’General was full o’
steel; but Cool got promoted for bravery.
When we got to Port Hudson, one
night before the battle we was lyin’
round on the ground, and Cool ho was
stretched out on his back, soi. of tilted
up against a little stump, fast asleep. 1
lay about twenty feet off, aud we had a
fire goin’, so’t I could see him layin’
there like a big log, mouth wide open
and big feet turned toes up jest though
ilie’ ma' a’t nothin’ heard go|u’ “z-zipj” on. and
Pretty soon I a
minie bullet just look off the toe of one
of those great army shoes, and theu
buried itself in the stump close to his
ear; just shaved it! He riz up a little.
“What’s goin’ on?” says he.
Why,” says I, “there’s some bullets
n-flyin’ round here and one nigh about
shot off your car. You’ll find it in
that stump.”
lie looked round, as quiet as Sun-
day.
“Well, 1’il get a leetle out o’ their
way, ” says he, and with that rolled
over about a foot to the left, shut his
eyes and was snorin’ inside of three
minutes.
After the battle was over wo had to
stay on the field pretty much all night.
When we begun to fall back next morn-
ing there wasn’t any way to get to
camp but through a ravine that the cn-
my’s guns raked—and they kept rakin’
of us into another world pretty spry as
we went through the gulloy.
We couldn't take long the wounded,
so they crept into the bushes the best !
they could, and there they had to lie all
day before we could go after ’em and
fetch ’em out. It was hard, but that’s
war.
But we couldn't let’ cm lie there all
through that hot day, with no water
and nothin’ to stanch their wounds, so
about noontime wc got leave to call for
a volunteer to go over to ’em.
Now betwixt us and that ravine there j
was about forty rod of old field, as bare
as a brick, right in the enemy’s range.
It was a pretty smart risk to run to cross ;
that field with water and cotton, and
we all knew it; but tho word for a ;
volunteer wasn't out of the cap’en’s |
mouth before oil C'ool jumped up. j
I’ll go, sir!” says he. “I haven’t got j
no incumbrrnces to home,” and he 1
grinned. So he started out with ten j
canteens full of water slung onto him j
and a bundle of-cotton under his arm.
“Cool,” says I,tryin’ to act as though j
I b’lieved he was cert’in sure to get j
there, “you be real economical about
distributin’ that water, because it's got
to last ’em all day.”
“You go’long!” says he, showin’ his
white tee tli, and off he uvent.
Then the balls begun to sing. We
NO. 1.
t go up (lie riso of grjma 1 for to
him, but after half an hour ono
man did venture to reconnoitre that old
field, and reported there wasn’t anybody
lyin’ there, so wc knew he’d got to tho
ravine-liko place where tie men was.
After he d been away a couple of hour*
ho conic back. Cool did, as cool us
over.
“Didn’t hit ye, did they?” says Cha¬
pin.
“You bet they did, though!” says
Cool. “They put two ventilatin’ holes
through the legs o’ my boots goiu’ over,
and tore a hole in m/ trousers ami ono
in my jacket sleeve a-comin’ back; but;
mebbe you don’t call that hittiu’ me,
an’ 1 dono as’twas,” says he laughin’.
For true, not one of them bullets ha! so
much as drawed a drop of blood!
Tvvusn’t very long after that wo was,
sent into the rifle-pits, some of us, with
rations for twenty-four hours. 1 low’d
you like that, boys, spendin’ a day and
a night into a hole in the ground, with*
chunks of salt beef—“old boss,” wo
called it—and toitg’.i, dry hard-tack to-
chaw on?
‘Twas rulher unpleasant; no way to
sleep exceptin’ up, and finally nothin’
to eat. I didn’t blame the men; in
fact, I was (jui o a little riled myself.
But Cool was as cool as a cucumber.
He joked and laughed, and sang, and
held up on his broad should ts more’n
one sleepy, tired-out head.
When some of ’em would mike dis¬
paraging remarks, he’d hol er out,,
“Come, hoys, stop growlin'! We’re in
for the whole war; hooray!’’ an 1 so
lce’d kind of heart us up.
He was always doin’ that; lie was as
clever hs a bobolink. Nobody was sick
or wounded but he was the first to help.
I’ve seen him give up his blanket many
a tin.), to some poor fellow shaking-
with svitli i'ehili. wound-fever, and let drain another, tho last burnt drop sip
out of liis canteen, when nobody know
if wc, should get any more water for a
hull day. And he always made as.
though he hadn' t don .■ nothin’.
Well, “when this cruel war was over,”
as the song says, an! the regiment was
mustered out, it come about that Cool
and I took the same train lo go home,,
though I lived ’way up in .Vermont, and.
lie was a Connecticut boy; and wo sat
together, I next to the window. .
He’d been :ts compose l as a chaplain
at a funeral all t hose years, but lie seemed
now as though he was on tenter-hooks
all the way. He wrast'.ed about, anti
got up aud sot down more’n forty times;
and never said two words all ill : way ;
but when we slacked up, aud a brake-
man ho!lore l out, “Sil verbridge! ” ho
give me a grip, froze o:i to liis knap¬
sack, and give a rush.
I looked out of tho window, for
thinks J, “There’s a girl waitin’ for
him, and he hasn’t never let on about
her.”
Sure enough, there he wa3, his face
ail broke up, as you may say, red as a
beet, holdin’ out his arms to—a gray,
old woman, tears runnin’ down her face
like a freshet. ’Twas his mother!
That was the last I see of 01! Cool.—>
Youth's Companion.
Slippers of Tunned Human Hide.
In the Smithsonian institution in
Washington city is a pair of slippers
made from (he tanned hide of a human
being. These slippers were on public
exhibition until recently, I am informed,
when a party of visitors who were
shocked at tho sight wrote to the siv
perintendent protesting against such a
display in a Government museum. The
result of this, it is said, was the re¬
moval of tho uncanny slippers from
their place of exhibition, and they are
now only shown in special cases —New
York Star.
A Poser.
Oreide—Gilpin, why is a clock like a
base ball player?
Gilpin—I give it up.
Oreide—Because it can t strike when
it’s run down.