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The Tombstone Inscription Willed by
an Ardent Republican.
At Attica in the little burying ground
is the grave of Nathaniel Grigsby. He
died in 1890 and was a man of much
force. He had a war record, serving
as second lieutenant in Company G.
Tenth Indiana cavalry. Grigsby was
an ardent Republican. He stood by
the G. O. P. at all times and even in
death. This epitaph is on his tomb
stone:
-——O
Through this inscription
1 wish to enter my dying
protest against what Is
called tli© Democratic party.
I have watched it closely
since the days of Jackson
and know that all the mis¬
fortunes of our nation nave
come to it through this so
called party. Therefore be¬
ware of this party- of treason.
Grigsby’s heirs did not want this in¬
scription to go on the tombstone, but
the lawyer declared that the will pro¬
vided that it must be used, and the
family had to agree. But the inscrip¬
tion is headed with a line that Grigs¬
by's will made the epitaph mandatory.
At Lincoln is a very odd tombstone.
A traveling man of that town, who had
been on the road many years and was
quite eccentric, framed an epitaph that
Is decidedly original. He died several
years ago, and a traveling bag hewn
out of marble stands at the head of his
grave. On one side of the bag is this
line:
“Here Is where Bill stopped last!”—
Kansas City Journal.
A VISION ON THE VELDT.
The Form on the Rocks That Con¬
fronted the Soldier.
I thought I saw a form of some kind |
between the bowlders. I jumped to j
the conclusion that it was a soldier. In
one second it had vanished. 1 chal
lenged, but got no answer. Those
pieces of rock seemed to terrify me.
I advanced toward them, but saw
nothing. I retired back and took up
my position, leaning on my rifle. My
eyes went again to the same place, and
there, standing between the two bowl¬
ders, was the outline of a woman. I
brought my rifle to the present, cover¬
ing the form which stood before me.
I saw her walk from one piece of rock
to the other.
I watched and saw her repeat her ac¬
tion. She then stopped and leaned up
against one of the bowlders with her
back toward me. I again advanced
to where she stood. When I had got to
within forty or fifty yards of her I
saw her turn round and look straight
at me with a careworn and sorrowful
face.
Then I saw and knew who she was.
It was my own mother. I was not mis¬
taken, for she walked within a few
yards of me, at the same time looking
me dead in the face. She then turned
about and walked to the two pieces of
rock, and I saw no more of her. About
three weeks after I received a letter
from home telling me of her death and
burial.—“A Grenadier’s South African
Reminiscence” in Occult Review.
Gambling For Maids.
“Many queer reasons are advanced
by servant girls for losing a place,”
said the manager of the employment
bureau, “but the queerest I have ever
heard was given by a girl who blew
In here last week. Her late mistress
was a bridge fiend. One day for the
want of money to bet she and her
friends played with their maids for
stakes. At the end of the game each
woman considered herself in honor
bound to stick to her agreement, and
an attempt was really made to swap
servants according to the ups and
downs of the game. Some of the girls
thus raffled off changed places willing¬
ly enough, but that client of mine re¬
fused to be swapped and hustled
around hunting a new job.”—New York
Sun.
Rough on His Lordship.
A carpenter in an English town hav¬
ing neglected to make a gibbet that
had been ordered by the hangman on
the ground that he had not been paid
for the last one he had erected gave so
much offense that the next time the
judge came to the circuit he was sent
for.
“Fellow," said the judge in a stern
tone, “how came you to neglect mak¬
ing the gibbet that was ordered on my
account?”
“I humbly beg your pardon,” replied
the carpenter. “Had I known it was
for your lordship It would have been
done immediately."
The Wave of Indulgence.
Indulgence nowadays is very much
exaggerated. We Lave even come to
admire clever thieves, and as long as
we are not the victims of the thef. we
are quite enthusiastic for the rogue
who shows great cunning and daring
in his crimes. He is almost a hero In
our eyes, and we call him a genius.—
Paris Figaro.
He Discovered Why.
Mr. Oldboy—Why do you bring so
much water, Tommy? I merely asked
for a drink.
Tommy—I thought you’d need more
than a glassful, ’cause sister said you
was the driest old stick she ever knew.
—Illustrated Bits.
Mostly Down.
Brown (expatiating on the merits of
his latest bargain in motors)—I don’t
say she’s much to look at, but you
should see the way she takes a hill!
Friend (callously)—Up or down?—Lon¬
don Punch.
Nature never did betray the heart
that loved her.—Barrow.
HOLLAND HOUSE.
One of England’s Picturesque and His¬
toric Mansions.
Few mansions in or near London
are more picturesque in their sur
roundings or more interesting from
their associations with the past than
Holland House. The do ^tin in which
it stands is a perfect rus in urbe—a
green oasis in a wilderness of bricks
and mortar. When you pass from the
noisy traffic of Kensington road and
enter the great gates there is a trans¬
formation scene. In a few paces Lon¬
don has disappeared, and you find
yourself all at once in the heart of the
country. You might be in the forest
of Arden, a hundred miles from Pic¬
cadilly—lawns shaded by noble cedar
trees, woodland glades, a green lane
with over arching boughs, and farther
on terraced walks, the stone balus¬
trades and the formal parterre of the
Dutch garden. The house itself has a
long, Irregular frontage, a fantastic
medley of turrets, gables, arcades and
oriel windows. The series of Hitting
rooms on the first floor are warm,
comfortable and homelike and filled
with a priceless collection of family
portraits and heirlooms. No wonder
that Charles Fox was devoted to the
place where he had passed a careless
and happy boyhood and in his last ill¬
ness drove over from Chiswick to
view once more the familiar scenes,
which he regarded with a special ten¬
derness and affection. Naturally his
memory is cherished here, and he is
still to some extent the tutelary genius
of the place. There is a statue of him
at the end of the avenue in the park;
there is a bust of him by Nollekens
in the entrance hall; there is a charac¬
teristic note in his handwriting on the
back of a miniature of Robespierre—un
scelerat, un lache, et un fou (a rascal,
a coward and a fool—and there is a
picture of him by Sir Joshua as a
youth with two charming damsels,
one of whom made a romantic mar¬
riage with an actor, while the other
refused the hand of a king and lived
to become the mother of the heroic
Napiers. Almost every room has its
tradition. In fact, wherever you tread
“a history Is beneath your feet.”—
Blackwood’s.
DUELING IN ITALY.
How the Count of Turin Came to Fight
Prince Henry of Orleans.
The greatest duel of modern days in
Italy was that between the Count of
Turin and Prince Henry of Orleans.
It came about in a curious man¬
ner. Prince Henry had insulted the
Italian army after the battle of Adowa
and one day received a telegraphic
challenge to a duel signed “Victor Em¬
manuel." The challenge was accept¬
ed, and thus Crispi, who was prime
minister, came to know of the crown
prince’s impulsive action and inter¬
fered. “But,” said King Humbert, his
father, “how can It be stopped? Our
honor is now involved.” Crispi thought
a moment and then exclaimed: “I have
It! The Count of Turin Is Victor Em¬
manuel also!” And thus he was the
one who fought.
This was followed by one of those
genial practical jokes which convulsed
Europe. France at that time hated
Italy and never lost an opportunity to
sneer at her. It must be explained
that in Rome there was always at car¬
nival time a characteristic figure of a
little old man with an immense sword
riding a donkey, who was a caricature
of the age of chivalry and was called
“General Mannaggia la Rocca.”
One day in the French papers ap¬
peared an imposing announcement that
General Mannaggia la Rocca threw his
glove at the feet of the entire French
nation and cast their base insinuations
in their teeth, inviting any or all to
mortal fight. Replies were not long in
coming, one of which was from a not¬
ed fencer and duelist of his day, M.
Tomegueux, appointing his seconds and
announcing their arrival in Rome.
France was on the qulvive, from gov¬
ernment personages to the humble
bargee, and when the trick played
upon them was discovered all Europe
shrieked with laughter, and France the
loudest of all.—Pall Mall Gazette.
England’s National Anthem.
There is a fourth verse of the na¬
tional anthem with which very few
Englishmen indeed are familiar. But
it was given, apparently in all good
faith, in an old Hanoverian musical
work, and the daring of the last rhyme
almost reconciles one to the shocking
character of the sentiment:
God save great George, our king!
Dong live our noble king!
God save the king!
Bend us roast beef a store.
If It’s gone, send us more.
And the key of the cellar door,
That we may drink.
—London Chronicle.
Bright Pupils.
“You have two very bright pupils,
Miss Winsome," remarked Mr. Sweet¬
ly to the schoolma’am.
“Which ones do you mean, Mr.
Sweetly ?”
“Why, those in your eyes, to be
Bure.”— Pathfinder.
A Righteous Judge.
One Sunday morning a minister’s
wife saw her son chasing the hens
with a stick. She went to the door to
investigate and heard him say, “I’ll
teach you to lay eggs in a minister’s
family on Sunday morning!”—Deline¬
ator.
The Growlers.
Stage Manager—I wish we could work
in a few more realistic touches in
this woodland scene. Now, how would
it be to have some one growl like a
bear? Author—The very thing! We’ll
THE COVINGTON NEWS
How the Puffer Discomfits His Enemy
and Saves Himself.
All the lititle sea folk have their
own clever way of protecting them¬
selves from their enemies, but the
spiny boxfisb has about the cleverest
way of all.
He belongs to the great family called
puffer, and you will see in a moment
how well the name fits him.
Just imagine the little puffer swim¬
ming around In the water looking like
a small round box with a head on. A
big fish comes along, sees the little
puffer and thinks; “There's just a
good mouthful for me!” But just as ,
he darts toward him the little puffer >
blows himself up like a ball, turus I
over on his back and floats around i
with all his sharp prickers sticking
out toward his enemy.
The big fish is dazed; he stares at
the puffer and thinks, “Can that great
prickly thing be the same little fish
I tried to swallow?” He can’t un¬
derstand it, but he sees there is no
use trying, so he goes sadly on his
way, and when the little puffer is
sure he Is gone lie just empties the
water out of his skin and goes back
to bis usual size.
Now, isn’t that a pretty clever trick
for a little fish to play? But, you see,
Mother Nature gave the little puffer
just that kind of a body that he might
escape from his enemies.—St. Nicho
The Bishop's Rebuke.
A conceited young cleric once said
to an American prelate, “Do you not
think that I may well feel flattered
that so great a crowd came to hear
me preach?”
“No,” was the answer, “for twice as
many would come to see you hanged.”
—From “The Old Time Parson,” by P.
H. DItehfield, M. A.
Ambiguous.
Dobber—I don’t know whether that
critic meant to praise or blame my
work. Cutter—What did he say? Dbb
ber—Well, I had a picture of “The
Dead Sea,” and he said it was full of
life.—Cleveland Leader.
The hand can never execute anj
thlng higher than the character can
aspire.—Emerson.
A Penalty of Genius.
It seems to be the frequent penalty
of genius that it is denied the privilege
of perpetuating its name and kind be¬
yond a few generations at most. Thus
it is said that there is not now living a
single descendant in the male line of
Chaucer, Shakespeare, Spenser, Milton,
Cowley, Butler, Dryden, Pope, Cowper,
Goldsmith, Byron or Moore: not one of
Sir Philip Sidney or of Sir Walter Ra¬
leigh; not one of Drake, Cromwell,
Hampden, Monk, Marlborough, Peters
borough or Nelson; not one of Boling
broke, Walpole, Chatham, Pitt, Fox,
Burke, Graham or Channing; not one
of Bacon, Locke, Newton or Davy; not
one of Hume, Gibbon or Macaulay:
not one of Hogarth, Sir Joshua Reyn¬
olds or Sir Thomas Lawrence; not one
of David Garrick, John Kemble or Ed¬
mund Kean.—London Standard.
Raikes’ Ragged Regiment.
“Bobby Wild Goose and his ragged
regiment” was the name hooted after
Robert Raikes, the first modern Sun¬
day school advocate, and his scholars.
The thoroughfare was Sooty alley,
and the scholars were the ragged boys
who toiled in the pin factories of Glou¬
cester. England. Robert Raikes paid
Mrs. Brandon, a poor woman, a shil¬
ling each Sunday to teach the boys the
Bible. That was in 1780. Four years
later there were 250.000 boys and girls
attending Sunday school in the king
dom.—Delineator.
Wearing Work.
“How’s your husband doing?” said
the pale woman.
“ ’Bout the same,” auswered the thin
woman.
“Hasn’t he got any regular work
yet?”
“Yes. He said he felt the need of
some steady occupation. So he thought
he’d make it his business to wiud the
clock.”
“Did he stick to it?”
“For awhile, but now he’s kicking
for an eight day clock.”—Kansas City
Independent.
GO TO
J. SIEGEL
The New York Watch Maker,
for first class repair work on all
Watches, Clocks and Jew r elery.
Reasonable prices.
At Dr. J. A. Wrights Drug
Store, Covington, Ga.
—Cabbage plants for sale at M. E.
Parker’s grocery store.—tf.
J. M. DEARING.
PROFITS CUT ALL
TO PIECES ON
PIANOS
Ten or Fifteen Different Makes.
$10 Profit on Factory Prices.
See This Line Before You Make
Your Purchase.
It Means Money To you.
C. A. HARWELL J
Leader In
Furniture and Undertaking
Covington, Ga.
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I Genuine Peruvian Guano I
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CHARLESTON, S. C.
NEW RACKET STORE.
We appreciate your liberal
patronage in past and try to
show our appreciation in a
sabstantial way by giving
you the same Big Cash Val¬
ues in future. New Goods
of the season arriving every
few days.
J. I. GUINN, Covington, Ga.
THE BEST IN JOB PRINTING