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deyotep TO THE ESTABLISHMENT
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rol. U ^Number 21,
T( JFF1\G AN AMERICAN
] met an American
Hot long hearing, related
jntieiuat 1 who, iu my
i amusing, not to say cure
detail an he had been - I will not
pa, ferS experience but the subject of. As
Sled that the stuffing process,
to unwitting foreigners, is
Italtofevtherof bat American that the practice boot may on
©etfuRO be on the other leg, I venture
, repeat his story. that the
I wav premise by saying
wtleilm alluded to is what you
ight call a young man, being about
irty, and possessed of a fair knowl
of the world and society, with a
se considerable private
eking of means.
* strict of the term an
ie is not in i: ss
hglomaniae, as thus nauseous creature
[ordinarily classed; letters of but introduction be came over to
Lrai pplied with
members of the nobility from
[utaal friends from—and in—no, it I will not his aim say
here he is was
bd object to meet and see as many of
ie big swells as he could during his
sit. bad time,
Unluckily he came at a
ie London season was just over, and
? calls present his letters in Gros
L or place, Belgrave square, Park
he and Queen’s Gate were unfruitful,
fe letters bore only the London ad
Uses of their intended recipients, and
b was not yet up in the way of reach
them by seeking their country ad
MSS in the peerage or leaving the let
irs to be forwarded.
[Naturally Mr. Pettigrew—such let
£ name be—was disappointed. What
Shad come to see was the British no
Jityat home, and they were uot at
Mile. He had met a few lords in New
ork and Boston, and even oat west.
Dt it was at “some other fellah’s”
me. He had liked them at the other
Hows’ homes, and he looked forward
i increasing the attachment when he
et them at their own. It was too
id to be thus thwarted after coming
far, and he was forever growling
lout it and threatening to go home by
e next steamer.
These particulars were imparted to
8 by a friend of Pettigrew, after I
id heard him tell his experiences. I
ay also add that it was in the Ameri
n exchange, where I was waiting with
friend while he wrote a letter. Petti
ew had begun when I sat down, but
:0 thread of his narrative had not
sen spun ou t too long to the little knot
listeners who surrounded him to
iuse any tangle in seeking the ends.
I told him how disappointed I was
xmt it, and that I’d a mind to go
raight back home by the next White
•arboat, when he said: ‘Why, pshaw!
\J lid ^ that!" a small exclaimed sized cooky sallow he never
with a faced
an a gray mustache, taking his
out of his month to expectorate
to the ’pittoon beside his chair.
^Perhaps I’m a liar?” said Pettigrew
’ No I don’t say that,” replied the
Now faced man. “I-»
“You’d better not, by I” re
-
fkd Pettigrew, with au angry head
take
^ ever 0 met ’-y that no born Englishman
ever says ‘Why, pshaw!’
dt proceed, Pettigrew.”
^ 7 where was I?” began Petti
tew, V,:” out bis under lip with his
‘ Why pshawl '
-
ML j- laughed the colonel;
hal » go«i one!
Smith, eh? Lord
fefi r . this etOTyr ’ mked
[6otK bat rY y l .[ rhat ’ 8 aU right,”
e: ' '| e tile or something to
pekli] ~ colonel kept on
Lord f miS matterin 8 to himself,
‘“Wh “i^- said Lord
Leiugrew, Smith,”
»hed lc* with a deter
COW at- t. eolonel, “ ‘I
V’dr be can
Ok lords you want—
fee knights J M
fev at 5 Wad in silent
and h! us en . .
(ef iY a
Rad i mat i;
be «t ^Distance, corroWatod
■mat he smiled gen
... .
Sorr come with me to
be n >;t ' ,li j^ W y°« .f l
Etta. w aot -fleet at the
atU J -UU . ' me
• W!eso
OF THE PRINCIPLE: “EQUAL RIGHTS TO ALL MEN AND SPECIAL
Conyers, Georgia, Saturday, June 20, 1893-
you won’t see anything else.’
u « You ain’t going to a levee or a
drawing room?’ said I, ‘because I’ve
got no court dress ready.’ ‘A levee or
drawing room in August!’ he exclaimed
with a loud laugh, but checked him
self suddenly and said: ‘Oh, no, the
levee and drawing room will be too
crowded for comfort. 1 shan’t take
you there, you know.’ This ought to
have given me a hint, but I was too in
tent on seeing the lords and ladies to
think of or notice anything else. Well,
next day he called for me at the little
old Met-”
“Pardon me, one moment,” the colo¬
nel said; “how did you meet this—
ahem—Lord Smith, if ali the lords were
away ?”
“I’ll explain that presently,” said
Pettigrew; “you just wait. Well, Smith
had a very tony turnout. High
wheeled dogcart, tandem team of dark
roans, and a tiger behind in livery and
top boots. I tell you, l felt fine dash¬
ing through the swell streets of Lon¬
don, and every one turning to look af¬
ter us. We struck right out into the
country as soon as we could get there.
a s We haven’t got to the place yet,’
explained Smith, in reply to my ques¬
tion as to how far we had come; ‘but
we’re not far off now. You see, the
place I’m talcing you to is a favorite re¬
sort of some of the greatest peers in
the kingdom. Hardly any one knows
this exeept people in the swim, you
know. It’s a small town about six
miles from Highgate, and out of it
leads one of the best roads in England
for driving. The peers come here to
drive.’
“ ’Four-in-hand coaches, I presume,’
said I.
4< fc Now,’ said he, ‘there isn’t a bigger
mistake than to suppose that four-in
hands are driven by the best people in
England. Snobs do, but peers—the
sort of peers that I’m going to show you
presently—drive simple one horse earts,
and many of them don’t even have a
groom with them. You see, I’m letting
you into some secrets,’ and he laughed.
I thanked him and he went on. ‘You
may also note that the horses do not
look much, and have generally the ap¬
pearance of being badly groomed or
not at all. That’s a sort of fad or
swagger. Snobs go in for smartness so
much that noblemen like to affect the
opposite. But here comes one now. ’
He looked keenly ahead, while I re¬
member thinking I did not find the
road we were on anything to brag of.
But I forgot it the next minute when
Smith began again.
44 4 Now, look well at this man, and
I’ll tell you presently who he is. You
will be surprised, I can assure you.’ A
very commonplace cart and horse came
lumbering along. The cart looked as
though it hadn’t been washed for a
month or the horee groomed for two.
Ih it, driving, sat one man. He was a
fat, red faced old feHow of between
sixty and seventy, with bushy gray
whiskers meeting under his chin. He
was muffled up in what I thought a
very shabby great coat for a peer, over
his knees was a faded striped horse
blanket, and on his head a dingy,
broad brimmed liigh hat. Between
his teeth was a blackened briar pipe.
A beam of intelligence fit up his face
as he caught sight of Smith, and he
touched his hat. He said something,
but I couldn’t hear it, for Smith waved
his whip and shouted, ‘Fine day, my
lord!’ The old peer smiled pleasantly
and made some reply, but I could not
catch what it was.
l( & Now,’said Smith, ‘can you guess
who that wasT ‘I should never think
he was a peer,’ I answered. ‘No, I
daresay not,’ he said. ‘Nor would
most people who didn’t know. Well,
that’s Earl Cadogan,’ and he fiicked his
leader’s ear with his whip. ‘Earl Cado
ganf I asked. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I thought
you’d be surprised.’ ‘I am,’said I; ’I
never should have thought it.’ ‘But,
steady,’ said Smith, catching me by the
arm; ‘here’s another, and in the dis
tance a lot more. We’re in the thick j
of it now.’ ‘Is this the good road?’I
asked as the wheel slid into a rut of
some dimensions* ‘Hush, don’t say a ,
word. I don’t want to speak to him. !
**«** X |
said L ^ he's a great swell.’ ‘He’s all j j
that ’,’ ™&**™*i ‘he couldn’t be a
gf^ter. But he s a mc«t awful bore!
J^ ata or^l sboS’t s erv aut have^known l> ,si .e , ‘ : j
me which
•
Wb , . eh. .
Si ; timetos5eia ^ foramith
whipped up his horses. But the small
man was the sorriest looking peer you
sou!:? imagine. Thin, dried up, badly
dressed, unshaven, unshorn and dirty
he was. ‘That’s Sir William Hareourt,'
said Smith. ‘That 1’ I exclaimed, ‘why
I always understood Hareourt was a
big, burly man.’ ‘Used to be,’ replied
Smith, ’but he’s been trying the Bant¬
ing system to reduce his size. It’s had
a wonderful effect in only sis weeks.’
‘Well, I should say so,’ said I.
“But the road was now alive with
carts. They were all earts. Nothing
but carts. And they came so fast that
I had no time to give more than a
hasty glance as Smith rhymed off the
names of the occupants. I noticed one
thing, and that is that but one had a
groom sitting behind. ‘That’s the Duke
of Argyle,’ said Smith, pointing to the
middle of a jumble of vehicles; ‘and
that man in the white felt hat is Vis¬
count Wolseley. He’s grown awfully
stout lately. There is Lord Harring¬
ton,’ and he nodded his head at a clean
shaven man of about (in looks) forty
five.
“ ‘I thought the marquis had a
beard,’ I gasped, for I felt my breath
beginning to give way. ‘Used to have,’
said Smith, ‘but they say the dowager
Duchess of Manchester coaxed him to
shave it off. Anyhow, there he is.
Yes, he is a young looking man for his
years, seeing he was born in ’33. 1
shouldn’t be surprised if we were to
meet the duke himself. But he only
walks. He’s over eighty, but nothing
can persuade him to get into a car¬
riage. By Jove! speak of the devil.
If there he isn’t now!’ The devil?’ I
inquired. ‘No, the duke,’ said Smith.
‘There he is resting himself. See?
Near that stile.’
“I looked, and there, sure enough,
was a very old man bending over a
stick and leaning on the stile. He wore
a long smock frock and thick, hob nail
boots and blue yarn stockings. ‘Isn’t
that an odd costume for a duke?’ I
asked, in amazement. ‘To you Arner
icans, yes. You expect dukes to dress
in coronets and ermine robes.’ ‘Well,
there’s a wide difference between er¬
mine and that,’ said I. ‘So there is,’
returned Smith; ‘but that’s the way
with our peera. They are so sickened
with the snobs that they .try to go the
other way.
“ ‘Anyhow, that’s the Duke of Devon¬
shire, and you can believe me or not if
you like. How is your grace?' he
shouted to the old man, who took off
his hat and stood uncovered while we
passed. ‘Well,’ said I, ‘if I’d been
alone I should have given the old fel¬
low a penny.’ ‘And lie’d have taken
it. The duke is a great miser. What?
You don’t believe it? Just hold up,’
and he drew a penny out of his ticket
poeket. ‘Hi 1 Your grace! Here!’and
lie tossed the penny to the old man,
who hobbled over and picked it up,
taking off his hat again.
4 4 4 Now, I'm sure it must strike you,
as an American, with peculiar admira¬
tion to see our peers so humble and po¬
lite. You think them proud, hard and
overbearing. What a mistake! There
is a man who is the richest peer in the
kingdom, and I’ll warrant you wouldn’t
find Vanderbilt or Jay Gould willing to
do the same. But here, we’re letting a
lot go by. There’s Lord Randolph
Churchill,’ as an elderly looking man,
with white hair and scrubby beard,
drove past. ‘You needn’t look so
^prised. lies turned Ins hair by
overwork, and has lately cut off his
mustache, refusing to let it grow again
untU he is pnme minister. There s the
M of Aberdeen, the Du^e of Port
a “. “'Where?’ <3 ’^ , I IS asked quickly; ■ , , , winch , .
I am most anxious to see him. There,’
said Smith, pointing to a smooth faced
old man, with puffy cheeks of bngh
crimson, who was trying his best to get
a sprung kneed fleabiden, gray mare
jnto a steady trot But where s his
long beard?' I asked m wonder. ‘Gone,
80,1 1 ’ ‘he’s a victim to facial
neuralgia, . and told ...... his beard , . kept
was
^nerves of his face damp scoff came
bis beard. They dosaj- nes been much
be. .er e\ei since. . y am v .as a
" 00 ^ cc ’’' jr s f u ^
' ’
= lAr .
f bis mouth, ^udon t say so? said J
L ^ I
went on until 1 suppose
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ We every got lord and the j
j u k e in the peerage. to j
town at ^ Sudt * | l,t ®
tavern to bait his horses and get a bite
forooro _ lva .
salcl I to the landlord, when Smith
went, out to speak to his groom;
'plenty going on.’
“ ‘Well, yes, sir, today,’ he replied,
with an emphasis, It isn’t like this
every day. This be fair day, sir.’
i< 4 Ah,’ said 1, ‘I daresay you had
most of those noblemen we met on the
road as we came.’
u i Noblemen, sir?’ he asked, blinking
his eyes, ‘noblemen? Where, sir?’
“ ‘Why, on the road driving in carts.’
“The man burst out laughing. ‘Why,
bless you, sir, them wasn’t noblemen.
They was horse dealers and farmers.’
“Just then Smith came in and wanted
to know what we were laughing at.
But I gave the landlord a wink and
said, ‘Nothing.’ I don’t think Smith
stuffed me much going home; though I
never let him see I had found him out.
But I cat him next time I met him.
Great Ciesar! it’s after 4,” and Petti¬
grew got up and kicked down the bot¬
toms of his trousers legs, preparatory to
a hasty departure. At that moment
my friend came to tell me he had fin¬
ished his letter, and we left.—Cockaigne
in Argonaut.
During vacation it would be
very profitable for the teachers
to review their last session’s
work and plan for improvements
on it. You are not yet perfect,
either in discipline ability or in¬
formation. Tliero is a great
deal yet to he learned and one
who dhes not intend to go for¬
ward may expect to be left be¬
hind for the world “do move.”
All other professions are constantly
buying new books and literature to
keep up with the march of progress,
and that teacher who expects to make
teaching a profession must do the
same thing or fail to make his pro
fession a success.— Ex change
The New York World say that the
Deputy United States Marshal who
was made a prisoner for a short time
on the Itata is being overwhelmed
with correspondence from all parts of
the country. Romantic maidens
have written him for permission to
marry him and museum managers
urge him to place himself on exhibi¬
tion for the gratification of a curious
public. Inasmuch as he is a modest
man life has become a burden to him.
Hawthorne's Doable.
It is a well known fact that Julian
Hawthorne has a double—a man so
fixe himself in countenance, dross and
manner that even Hawthorne’s inti¬
mates occasionally get mixed on identi¬
ty. Coming down Broadway the other
day Hawthorne met a warm friend and
stopped to speak to him.
“By Jove!” exclaimed the friend,
“what made you act so queerly when
you met me yesterday ?”
“I didn’t meet you yesterday,” said
Hawthorne, “I haven’t been in town
for a week. ”
“Nonsense! I met you yesterday in
front of the Hoffman House.”
“But you are mistaken. I was not
in the city. You probably met my
double. What did he do that was so
queer?” old man! Come
“Why, I said, ‘Hello,
and have a cigar,’ and he said, ‘No,
thank you. t
“Humph!” said Hawthorne con¬
temptuously, “you might have known
that wasn’t*I.’’-New York Recorder.
A LITTLE GIRL’S EXPERIENCE
IN A LIGHTHOUSE.
Mr. and Mrs. Loren Trescott are
keepers of the Gov. Lighthouse at
Sand Beach Mich, and are blessed
with a daughter, four years old.
Last Aprii she was taken down with
Measles, followed with a dreadful
Cough and turning into a Fever.
Doctors at home and at Detroit trea
ted her but in vain she grew worse
rapidly ™orLes-.-m,tri*. until she was a mere “hand
d„
use of two and a half bottles, was
completely cured. They say Dr.
King’s New Discovery is worth j ts
weight in gold yet you may get
trial bottles free at Dr. W. H. Lee&
, .
PRIVILEGES TO NONE.”
Price SI. 00
MR. Z. 0. BAKER.
The Z. C. Baker on the 4ih of
June, and his burial in the Sodom
graveyard two days later is known
to the reading public already. But
there was that about the man, feat¬
ures in his physical makeup and
traits of character that are not gen¬
erally known, a partial description
of which, we believe, will he read
with interest by some at least.
Mr. B. was the last of a large fam¬
ily, and, although m his eighty-third
year, had sound teeth; and a beard
that was a wonder—the longest the
writer ever saw. In order that rea¬
der may get a correct idea of the
length of this wonderful appendage
to the man’s face, we will say that
Mr. B. was ol medium height and
when standing errect his beard
reashed three inches below his knees.
It reminded the writer of those long
tresses of moss hanging from the
trees in south Georgia and Florida.
Of course this leDgthy beard was
not permitted to hang loose, to be
blown about by the wind and become
entangled with everything it came
in contact with; but was Kept tied
at the enns with a string or ribbon,
tucked under the chin and confined
with a hairpin as the ladies do their
hair.
Mr. B. was a dissenter from the
common faith of his church. Al¬
though he believed that Christ in
his death opened up a way, and
made it plain and possible that all
men through him might he saved.
He believed that men could quit
their meanness. This he taught by
precept and enforced by example,
for having beeu a slave to whisky
and tobacco in his .young and mid¬
dle life he quit both in his old age,
and become an ardent worker in the
ternpeiance cause. Through his in¬
fluence and the friendly co-operation
of others a temperance society was
established at Pleasant Hill, where
more than a hundred were induced
to come forward and take the
pledge. And though some nave for¬
gotten their pledge others aave not
and hey will not, but as long £3
they live will keep it and remember
the name of Z. C. Baker with pride
and pleasure. In this he has left
forhim-elfa monument for which
his children should be more proud
than for any marble shaft that could
be erected.
Mr. B. had enemies. Who ever
accomplished any good witoot mak¬
ing enemies? Bread for God is poi¬
son to the devil. And the man or
woman that will go through life
without making enemies will accom¬
plish little or no good. Of course
Mr. B. had enemies, and their sharp
words sometimes cut him to the
heart, but lie never sulked, but ac¬
cepted persecution as one of the con
ditions of lite, and the backbiter as
one of the fixtures of every commu¬
nity, and went boldly forward in the
discharge of what he believed to be
his duty. Punctual to meet and
faithful in his duties as a deacon in
the church of his choice where, by
his age and venerable appearance he
wielded a great influence over the
congregation, telling the tremendous
mistakes of his early life and ad¬
monishing young and o!\ • > profit
by his experince, and turn 'rom their
evil ways and be happy, and to God
and be saved.
In the deeth of our »le bro
tber Zedric Cook Bake u- church
and people of Rockdale suher a great
loss, is the opinion of a .■rowing
brother. M. II. M e. ley.
Subscribe forths paper.