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VOL. XX.
HIGH BETSY.
For the Constitution.
“Ay, law!” sighed Captain Sterne as we
sat down in the shade after a long trarnn
through the woods, “ye mought call this sorter
work tiresome, an’ ye mought call that sorter
work tiresome, an’ p’raps ye mought think
tny Injun expeerunce wer’ tho toughest I’d
ever seed; but young man, the tightest, was’
ongotionable work ’at ever I dune wus to try
to keep out o’ the claws of a ’orneru what ’ud
get it into ’er head to fall in love with me.
I never wus much of a high-dandy ’niongst
women folkses, an’ that ’us what made it
barder’n it nat’ly would o’ b’en.
The way that the thing started
with w r e an’ High Betsy—that
wus what the boys all called Betsy
Goffe, bo’case she wus es tall an’es slimes a
short leaf pine what'ud mako ten rail cuts ten
foot long cl’ar o’ win’ shakes an’ woodpecker
holes. I,reckin it wus jes’ my darn’d fool luck.
Leastways, she tuck a pow’ful likin’ to me
the fust time I seen her. We wus at a candy
pullin’, an’ all the youngsters had the’r gals
an’ wus a pullin’ an’ a talkin' an’ a laughing’
like a passel of idjuts, an’ a havin’ of a good
time giner’ly. All but me, an’ I wus afixin’
to slip out quietly an’ git away w’en 'or come
the longes’ leanes’ hongries’ lookin’ gal I ever
seed, an’ she had a wad of yallor m’lasses can
dy in’er han’, an’she wus a waxin’ it, back
'ards an’ for’ards an’says she:
‘Oh, I wants a partner. Who’ll
jine pardners ’th me! I’ve got so
cyandy I can’t pull it by myse’f.’
She looked at me kinder sheepish, and says
she:
‘Oh, ’scuse me, I didn’t see you, Mr.
Sterne.'
~‘tVher’, wus your eyes then?’ says Bill Gus
tins, who wus closte by.’
‘They wus right wlier’ your’n orter be,’ says
she, ‘instidier one bein’ up the chimbly an’
tother’n in the pot.’ Bill wus awful cockeyed,
an’ this jes’ made the crowd whoop. Bill
wa’n’t to be outdone, though, fur says’e:
‘I reckin the reason ye couldn’t see Jim
Sterne wus beca’se the freckles on yer nose
aire so thick that they make yo nighsighted.’
That wer’ a pretty good lickj. back, but I wus
mighty sorry a’terwards that ho ever
Said anything, for she jes’ made a
tex’ out ’n me right thar.
‘I don’ kcer bow I looks nor how you looks
Bill Gaskins, I know one thing mighty shore,
Mr. Steve aire a nation of a sight better lookin’
than you is, es he have got a mole on ’is chin.’
That started tho crowd an’ they begun to
holler out Jgo it Bill!’ ‘Give it to ’im Betsy!’
an’l jes’felt ’at 1 bad to do sumpin’ es no
feller with any spent 'bout ’im couldn’t help
but take up fur a gal what ’d praised ’is looks
right out in open comp’ny.
The consequence wus that afore I knowed it
I wus a pullin’ candy with High Betsy, an’
up hill work it wus, too, I kin jest tell ye.
She wus ’bout six foot four an’ I wa’n’t much
more’n four foot six, an’ the way that gal ’ud
pull wus a myst’ry to Moses. Some
times she’d raise me cl'ar o’ tho
puncheons, an’ I urns' a’ looked like one o’
these ’ore little fuzzy dogs what ther tails
curled so tight that they lit’ the’r bin’ feet
off ’n the groun'.
Fus’ she called me mister, then, a’ter awhile
she got to callin’ me Joames, ’n’ then she got
to plain Jim, ’tell by the time we’d got them
etran’s o’ candy pulled white,she was awiukiu’
an’ blinkin’ an’ acallin’ me Jaimmie, an’
astoopiu’ down to tell me sumn’n’ every two
or three miuits; an’ I felt like a poor dog in a
meat house, era fool at a frolic.
Well, a’ter awhile they all put up the’r
Candy an’ got down to business. Mas’ ’an ’em
wus co’nered off in pairs an’ asparkin’ like sin,
but Bill Gaskin an’ some o’ the others dev’lish
fellers got to prankin’ with the candy.
They called old Towze in an’ gave him a
chunk to eat, an’ w’en they’d got through
With him they got aholt o’ the cat an’ give her
some, an’ had ’er a clawin’ and spittin’ aroun',
an’ they jes’ had a rale gamit of it.
A’ter we got done with that everlastin’ up
hill work of our’n, I knowed High Botsy’d
’speck me to spark 'er. bnt I dadbearned if I
could do it to save my hide. W’en I looked at
that crap o’ red bristles on 'er head, an’ them
’ere freckles on 'er nose, an’ that weak ah’
watery eye o’ hern, it give me th’ allovors.
“ ‘A’ter awhile she says,’ says she, ‘Jimmie,
I’m agettin’ sleepy.’
‘Yes, hits agittin’ late,’ says I.
‘Don’t you want to hole my head, whilst I
take a little snooze, Jimrn e?’
‘No, I can't,’ says I.
‘Why can’t you?'
‘Beca’se I jest cant.’
•Well, tell me what’s the reason ?’
• 'Taint no use’n fellin’ you the reason.’
‘W’y aint it no usen?’
‘Beca’se ’taint.’
‘Oh, tell me why ’taint.’
‘Well, es nothin’ else’l! do ye I’ll tell ye.
Hit’s l>eca’se I’ve got a bile on my laig,’ says
I, fellin’ a pint black lie, fur I didn’t have no
bile nowher’ ’bout me.
‘Well,’ says she, as she drawed a longbreath,
H reckin hit's sleepy lime.’
*” ‘Hit wouldn’t s'sprizo me if it wer’,’ says I,
for I wus awful tin! o’ the gal.
At las’ she got up an' stretched ’ersc’f till
she looked like she wns at leas’ seben loot be
twix j’ints, an’ she hollered to Miss Jankson,
and says she:
‘Mis’ Jackson, I'in agittin, sleepy. Can't yc
fix me a place to sleep?’
‘What? Sleepy a’ready? W’y .Tranis intis’
be oncommon dull to let his spark git sleepy
an’ hit aint more’n Jeben o’clock. Come on
then, ye'll hafter sleep in the loom room, fur
I’ve got sieh a crowd, not but what I’m allers
glad to see my neighbors an’ allers gives the
best I has. Come on, an’ I’ll show you über
to lai .’
Betsy turned to mo an' says she, ‘hits a ter’-
ble lonesome place, but if a tagger era sperit
gits arter me I'll boiler an’ you inns come an'
he’p me out,’ au’ she grinned like a cow
achawin’ a bone.
Lordgeminy! ITow I did despise that 'ere
gal. A’ter she wus gone I sot therean'-cbawcd
terbacker on’ spit in the h’ath an’ them other
boys and gals wuz a whisperin’ an’ a sniggerin’
all aroun.'but I didn’t conuarn myself ’bout
em, fur I made up my min’ 'at that wuz 'bout
the last time I wuz agwiue to fool with High
Betsy.
She hadn’t been gone long ’fore mos' all the
others went, too —some to bed and tethers to
the’r homes, them what lived dost by, an’ th’
won’t nobody let! but nic’n Bill Goshins and
John Skipper, an’ we decided we set up n see
Who could tell the bigges’ lie.
Wc drawed straws to sue who’d begin, an’ I
got the longes,’ an’ I’d jestcl'ar’d up nrv th oat
an' begun to toll that’ll bout the man w'at
raised the big punkiu, w’en wc beard tho en
tireties’ racket oier t 'ard- tliu loom ro mi ati’
some’n a callin’ fur lie'p. It wus High Betsy
an’ she wus squealin’ like a paut'er.
*Oh Jeatns! como ho'p me! Thur's taggers
a’ter me! Run, Jimmie, run! Oh, lav..i a
massy! What shall I do?’ And we all broke
in a run to'arduthe room, s'pos’n that p’rapt
the gal inaught have a fit; out jest ar wo got
to the door—hit did'n have no shelter but a
bluukit, an’ it’d fell down—wo diskivered tho
vn» eiiarmansct phantom that yc ever read of.
The gal wus astan’in’ straight up in the led
an’ er eyes looked like two big turnups
arolliu* down a buggy branch, an' 'er liair w us
» staniu’straight up an'—b th” blue Jehosi-
Sbat! Kbe Wus skeerv lookin’ 'nougb to give
rale ehuat the fever 'n aver.
< Imide tbo’r was the allgouedea’ growlin’ an*
meolin’ an’ clawin’ an’ spittin’ what you ever
hearn tell of, an’ I thought old John Robin
son’s whole cirkis’ud broke louse. Just then
old Miss Jackson come arushin’ in with a
torch o’tier in one han’an’ the tier stick in
t’other, an’ says she, ‘What on the face o’
the yeath is tho matter, Betsy?’ an’ she let In
with er stick nn’ old Towze, what nd b’en un
der the aidge o’ the bed erchawin’ on that ’ero
chunk o’ m’lasses candy, come abilin’ out;
an’ the cat wliat’d been on the loom bench at
the same Lisness went ertearin’ out with ’cr
tail es big es a nail cag ; en’ Betsy made er
jump an’ grabbed me roun’ the neck an’
the light went out.
Well, sir, I never had sick feelin’s senee the
day I wus horned. 1 clawed and kicked, till
finally I got loose. I fetched one jump au’
knocked over two cheers au’ run agin the war
tor shelf at the fur eend of tho piazza, an’
struck a bee lino fur home. I never went back
to Mis’ Jackson’s, an’ I never went to meetin’
fur six months fur fear o’ meetin’ High Betsy,
an’ I dunno ! s I’d ever awent any more es she
hadn’t arun away with a one eyed clock ped
dler an’ I knowed th’ wa’n’t no more danger
iu gwino.
Ye may talk’bout this, that an’ t’other os
bein’ hard work, but may the devil take me es
I’ever struck a tanglier task ’n that.
Montgomery M. Folsom.
The Last Cargo of Imported Slaves.
From the Augusta, Ga, Chronicle.
Probably tho most interesting character
hereabouts Is a negro man who was one of the cargo
of tho'‘Wanderer,” the last slave ship to bring to
this country a load of captives from Africa. Lucius
Williams, as he was christened by one of the young
ladies of the family into wnich lie was sold, or
“Umwalla,” as I.e was called in Africa, lives in a
small hut on the outskirts of Hamburg, across the
river from hero. Since freedom he has earned a
livelihood working gardens, sawing
wood and whitewashing. He was a
little surprised when asked about
his early life, hut ti Iks well once he lias begun, re
quiring to b ? questioned frequently, however. As
Umwalla, he was born in Guinea, according to his
story, not far from Liberia. One day, when ho was
about ten years of ago, ho was sent to bls aunt's to
carry her some pinders to plant. When he was
going through the woods two strange black men
seized him and bound his hands. He cried terribly
and they soon gagged him. They sold him to a
native, who took him to Liberia. There, for the
first tin ein bis life, he saw a white man, and ho
was terribly frightened at him.
Among h's people there were no Sundays. Somo
of the men Os his tribe had two wives and some hud
three. It was death to any one to show any designs
on the wife of a neighbor.
Umwalla wa- then taken to the Wanderer, where
a large number of captives had already been stored
away in the bold. The passage over was fraught
with untold terrors to the young savnge. A storm
was encountered, and for days the hold was fasten
ed up, and numbers of the negroes died from sick
ness caused by tho foul air. There were a number
of ferocious men among the cargo who had to be
kept iu chains.
When tlie Wanderer approached the South Caro
lina coast she was sighted by a government boat
and given chase. During tlie night she dropped
anchor ofi’Pix ata! igo, and tho cargo of negro men
and women was debarked.
Umwalla, or as ho was soon afterwards called,
Lucius, was taken to a Carolina plantation no ar
Bcaeh island, find put to work there.
Lucius Is vary fond of the “while folks," as he
styles the family of his old master and mistress, and
frequently calls tosee them—walking several miles
to do so. The style of nunishment followed among
his tribe was to break the culprit’s neck by a sudden
wrench from a forked stick.
Lucius tells, in his quaint way, of tlie interesting
features of slavery. No negro woman was permit
ted. however gorgeous her toilet otherwise, to wear
a veil or gloves. Negro men;were neither pei milled
to carry a walking cane uor smoke a cigar ou the
streets. They could not remain away from their
quarters after 9 o'clock at night without a permit
from their master.
Lucius says he is glad he was brought to this
country, as be has learned tho way to save his soul.
His am estors took no account of Sundays. Lucias
has suffered greatly from tlie cold. He says many
of those who came over witli him died or consump
tion.
He is not lonesome here, for on a neighboring
plantation—on Captain Ben Tillman ■ place—are
many negroes from his old home, and tliey fre
quently meet and converse In African. They do
not attempt to impart the language to their children,
he sal», and of course nil vestiges of it, save what
they have engrafted on the southern patois, must
soon die our.
He was asked about the amusements of his folks
at home, and said the dancing here was very inucn
like in Africa, only there they had war dances,
which were marches with chanting. He ssys some
of the songs sung by tho held hands (the air) are
very much like those of his people, mid when he
hears several voices singing together one of those
wild, weird relrains ills thoughts aie carried across
the ocean to liis home autoug the primitive scents
of bls youth.
Lucius was delighted with the picture of himself,
an I opened ids eyes in amazement at the crude ex
ecutions of the artist, who caught a rattier good
likeness of him while he was talking, showing how
ho wears his goatee, platted after ills African an
cestors’ custom.
One Touch ol Nature.
From th' New York Sun.
Two or three months ago several thousand
Zulus rebelled against their British conquerors and
swept across a part of tlie country, laying waste the
homes of al! who would not join them. A large
number of loyal Zulus took refuge in a police fort at
Nwande, to which the instirgcnts at once laid sijge,
and General Smyth sent a flying column composed
of tl e Enniskillen Dragoons and tho Thirteenth
Hussars to relieve the beleaguered people. The
cavalry soon dispersed the rebels, and as tliey had
orders to abandon the station, they escorted the
poor tugltives to a place of safety.
It was y.a'niul work tolling over the parched
prairies in the blazing sun, and many a mother
with a baby in her arms suffered severely as she
struggled along trying to keep up with tLe column.
But soon the Itunlskillens and the hussars value to
the rescue. Then the spectacle was presented of
bronzed and hardy regulars, each with a brown
baby in his a-ms or balanced on his horse’s neck
before Idm, while the grateful mothers trudged
alongside reassuring their trembling infants, wbo
were inclined to distrust their new protectors. It is
safe to say that by this kindly act the English sol
dier stood revealed to these humble suireiersfiom
former British invasions, iu a light they bud never
dreamed of before.
On a b'.t er cold day In November, 18C2, about a
thousand Sioux woman and children under the es
cort of volunteer troops were nearing the end of
their long march to Fort Budling, Minnesota
They were the families of the captive braves who’
had been euimqed in tho terrible massacre of the
preceding .rummer. Uncle Sam had been fLJitlii.;
the Sioux instead of feeding and clothing them,
and now the Innocent among them, In their thin
and ra ,-led blankets, were Buffering for tlie crimes
of tlielr husbands an I fathers. As tlie mournful
p-ov-sslon encountered the icy wlude of Ten Mile
prairie, the liitl-i children began to cry most pit
eously. The sight of their helpless distress
moved the Loys in blue, as by one impulse
to curry out Instant measures for relief. Every
blanket was uii’tnipj e 1 from the knapsacks, set.-res
of overcoats we.« turown off the shoulders of bravo
men who really needed them, and on every ch ! 1
in liu> caravan «ns wrapped la the thickest of wool*
cns; and trie least hardy of ti.o captives were stored
away under the shelter of the canvas-covered bag
gage wagons. Only a little while before these
toilers had bo n targete. at Yellow Heino, Birch
Coobe, end a half a dozen other plaoos, for the
tellies Os the r 1 n..u wLo.-u Luuli.e. ibey now di 1
their beet to succor.
The rough, hard life of the soldlor lu a catnralgn
Is uut in' ctuUteut w ith the exercise of the most hu
mane sutlu.su ts.
ATLANTA, GA.. TUESDAY. OCTOBER 9. 1888.
IN COMPANY I.
The Constitution's Second Prize Story.
BY GLEN WATERS.
“Well—l—will—be
“I'll swear!”
“Now aint that a fine layout?”
“Hit certainly are.”
They both laughed, and then the tall sol
dier that had spoken first said thoughtfully
again.”
• • Well—l—will-be ’ ’
There was silence for half a minute or so, and
then the fat soldier asked:
“Now, Jakie, whar you ’sposo ho coino
from?”
"The Lord only knows,” said tho other.
“That ar’s a comp’ny 1 uniform—them Bu
ena Vista chaps. Well, dad blaino my cats.
Hero! Lock a boro, sonny! Wakin’up, eh?
That’s right. Now jes venture to tell mo whar
you come from.”
The big brown eyes opened sleepily, stared
hard, and almost cloied again, Then they
opened again slowly, and this time to their
fullest extent.
“Whar do you come from, anyhow?”
“Bueua Vista. Where is Colonel Butt?”
“Lord knows, son. You aint scared o’Col
onel Butfr?”
“No, but he’ll make me go to the rear again.
That’s how come mo lost now. Where is
company I?,’
“Yes, you are a groat un. How old are
you.
“Fourteen years old on the first of July.”
“Whar’s yer daddy ?”
“Ho was killed.”
“Hunipli. Any brothers?”
“Three. All of 'cm killed.”
“Well—any mo' folks?”
“Just mama.”
The two soldiers nodded, and then the tall
one spoke again.
“That ar you’r gun?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tlie boy was wide awake now, and a hand
some little Chap ho was, too.
“What’s yo’ name?”
“Rus Gilbert.”
“How long yuo been here?”
“I loft home Christmas eve, run away, and
joined company I, on the first of January.
They call nit! their new year’s present.”
Ah, me. What a laugh that was, you don’t
hear that often in war. There was a sort of con
tagion in its childish ring, and the two soldiera
laughed because the child did.
Then tliey stopped and listened.
“What was that, Jakie?”
“Pickets—arid here comes Shuford. This is
company F, sonny, the Cherokee Brown
Ritles. That's wiiar we belong, an’ by 'wo' I
mean you, too. You'd better git bellin’ me
an’ Bqb tbar, it yba don’t want Shuford to
pack vou off to the rear. Thar. Now wo’ro
solid.”
On with company F.
“Who’ve you got thar, Jakie?”
“Boy or gal?”
“Ono o’ yourn, .Take?”
“Look out, boys, he don't want Shuford to
see him. lie’s a Georgia cracker hissolt—
Bueua Vista.”
There was no time for further questioning.
The order came for the second Georgia to form
a picket line, and five companies were thrown
two hundred yards beyond tho little brick
house. Then three of these, including com
pany F, were thrown sixty yards further to
tho v cry edge of the thicket.
Pop! pop!
A dead pine limb fell, and the child walked
over it.
“Better look out for thorn, sonny,” remarked
Jake.
Fop! Pop! Pop!
“Steady, boys!” called Shuford, “down on
the ground there. Take your time, boys, and
pick your men.”
So Garnett’s farm became a battlefield, and
tho wheat field at tho edge of the thicket be
came a graveyard. The firing was murderous.
Presently the Georgians were moved back six
paces in order to bo sheltered by tho trees.
Tho two companies that had bi on left behind
were firing now, and two more bad come up.
All dc.y long it lasted.
Tho boy was unhurt. After nightfall ho
went back to Company I, and stood by with a
lantern while they buried the dead.
He was standing there with tho big gray
cap slouched ovex bis face when tiro colonel
camo up.
“Here! You youngster!”
“Yes, Hr—colonel—”
"Where were you today?”
“With Company F, sir. I—”
“Didn't I tell you to get to tho rear, sir?
Now drop that lantern. Tell your captain I
have sent him word once before to send you
home. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
The youngster put his lantern down, and
walked slowly to tlie rear.
“Who’s that?” asked the colonel suddenly.
“He’s our new year’s gif’, colonel, name Rus
Gilbert. His daddy au’ bis brothers was killed
and tho youngster run away from home.”
Four days later came tho first of July and
Malvern Hill. The story of that day is his
tory, and you know it already.
First over the fence crossed by tho Second
Georgia on the way to tho front that day was
Company I, and first in Company I was a
youngster, fourteen years old that day. The
big gray cap had been lost corning up, the can
teen thrown away, and tho gray jacket unbut
toned in front.
Within a few feet of the fence the entire reg
iment was halted and ordered to lie down iii
waiting for eupport. Tho grape and can
ister whistled and hissed around,
and rattled like hail against tho fence behind,
or buried themselves in the earth about.
“Keep cool, b iy;! our time is coming?”
It was tho colonel. As soon us lie had
passed the boy raised up again.
"Hello, Bill!”
“Good L rd, sonny, I thought the colonel
run you olf.”
“Well, I’ll swear. Boys, tbar’s little ole
rooster.”
“Hello, ole Buena Vista. Whar’ve you
been ?”
"I’ve been with Company F, tho Cherokee
fellows. You know I was with them at Gar
nett's farm, and they knew me and let me
stay. Bill —never mind, though. Here comes
the c donel. Throw meyourcap,Bill, quick!”
“Here tin y cornu boys,” thundered tlie col
onel. "Wait till they catch up with us and all
together!”
“Who is it, Bill?”
“Kershaw, I think. South Carolina.”
Two miuutea later the charge was made, tho
South Cuiolinians slightly in advance—on
hi the teeth of that iron hail, a hah, ou again
while shot and sb -ll toio through the thinning
ranks, step by step
“Close up, boys! Closeup! Close up!”
Tho South Carolinians wavered, lialud, tho
Georgians a few stope fat ther, without Mippnrt,
halted too. Oh, for Cobb, Audcr ou, Gordon!
"Down, boys! Wait for help!"
And there they lay for half an liour, and tho
ynukoo batt<‘i*v less than two hundred yards
away. The solid shot plowed yawning furrows,
and throw the dirt htgh and broad like g lO at
waves of spray, while sheltered sharp-shooters
U> the left u,uk dohuerate aim at the gray caps
over the farrows.
That waa Malvern Hill.
That night, whou tho fight was won, among
fbo dead and the dying they found tho boy.
"Is he dead, Bill?”
“No, bnt— Kus!”
, “I know—yon—Bill.”
’ "Are you hurt bad, Rus. Tom, put your coat
there, that’s right. Bring the water. Rus!”
“Bill.”
Tho soldier unbuttoned tho homespun shirt,
nil clotted and stiffened witli blood. The ball
had entered tho shoulder, near tho nock, and
gone towards tho heart. Five or six of Com
pany I were bonding over. They washed the
blood away from tho wound, alid bathed his
pale face aud his bauds.
“Bill.”
“Well, rooster.”
“I’m fourteen today."
“Oh, little Rus! Little Rus!”
Ho clasped tho child's cold hands in his own,
and so they waited. Tho colonel saw tho little
group, and he halted witli the surgeon.
Tho surgeon bent over, and shook his head.
The brown eyes were dimming fast, and tho
breath camo labored and husky.
“Old Buena Vista—mama—”
Not a word was spoken. Tho colonel was
kneeling beside tho boy, and stroking tho
brown curls back as gently as a mother could
have done.
"Colonel—”
“Yes, my boy."
“I—l know why—you wanted me—”
Tho eyes wore closing as if in sleep.
“Colonel—”
“My boy.”
"Colonel, I’m—going—homo now.”
The pale lips closed in eternal silence—the
child was dead.
RAISING THE DEAD.
“Can the dead bo raised ?”
Dr. Solomon Jewett, of 525 Folsom street, who
styles himself “The American Shepard ami New
School Physician of Vermont,” assorts that ho can
accomplish this miracle.
“Do yon think,” asked an Examiner reporter yes
terday, “that you could revive Goldouson after he is
stretched ?”
“I will guarnutee to bring him back,” was the
reply, “after tho doctors pronounce him deal, if his
neck Is not broken. I’ll toll you a little incident
about raising tho dead that occurred in 1808, when
I wus confined in tlie Ludlow Street jail for a debt
ot SB,U!». John Cronham, of No. 23 Cntherino
street, New York, occupied a cell four doors from
me in tho jail. He was also confined for debt.
“Aitor he was there two days Jio was taken witli
cramps and I heard a kicking arouud in his cell
and knocked on ills door. Tho watchman and the
doctors earns in and I followed tliom. His head
was lying on tlie floor. I took ills ankles and held
teem up and his cramps stopped entirely through
my magnetism.
“After I left his cramps came on tigaln, and tho
doctors in waiting could do nothing, and I was noti
fied that he wus dead. He was in the fourth cell
from me, but afier tliey drove me out I bad little In
terest in his case. When I saw tlie crowd around
tho door, I learned that ho had been dead at least
an hour. 1 went there, and as soon as I stepped in-.
Side I ordered every one from the room. Tracy,
t ■* boss of the jail, helped ma to get them out and I
hem he would bo restored to life in slx<y mln-
“.it tl.at time the spirits were with m< , and the
niluenee was strong. I fired the doetori i'.nd every
one, for the Bible says in three places that ail visit
o: j should bo turned out when one L being raised
from the dead.
‘‘Well, I first opened bls eyes, and then offered a
prayer to tlie angels. Baid I: ‘Now, yon angois, you
see my position. I have promised to save this per
son from the dead, and you must do the work.’ I
looked at the veins on his bands, and they were all
Wack, giving every sign of death. 1 then placed 14
feet against my stomach, grabbed his wrists, and
prayed again to Hie angels. I looked right Into Ills
left eye, on account of its being negative or recep
tive. Tlie right eye i» electrically positive. '1 he
spirits tell mo that tho lilo forces leave the body
through the eyes, and uro elcetrically Influenced.
Tills is why sleep is so necessary to recuperation.
“I then breathed Into his month and would get up
and take hold of his hands again, constantly keep
ing my gaze in his left eye.
“Shortly after, his eyes began to move slotvlv
sidewise and back again.
“ Ha, ba,’ 1 cried. Tvo got him!' I breathed
again Into his mouth, and he made a spasmodic
movement, but had not regained his senses. He
next sipped some weakened brandy.
“It was at this point that I was Informed tho
hearse was at the door. Hethen began to talk by
relating his experiences In another world, having
been ou a long voyage and seen a great number of
things. Wc dressed hia>, and bo get up and left the
prison witli ids sister.
“Before tills incident much fun had been made at
tho jail at iny expense, itnd I generally laughed
with them, but after tiiis they were as nfrall of me
as of tlie devil, aud there was no more poking fun
at mo.
“I was reared by my mother and when two years
of age fell from a flight of fourteen steps and was
killed.
“My mother who was a great medium and a relia
ble witness, declares that I was not breathing for
fifteen minutes after the accident. She subsequent
ly brought me to life by her magnetic power aud
breathing in my chest, Iliad been previously in
formed by a great medium that 1 possessed this
power and have exerted ft since successfully.”
Dr. Jewett, who is above the average height, is a
stoutly built man of about sixty years of age. His
hair is iron-gray, and his mustache is closely
trimmed. He Is a believer In spiritualism, and has
1-sucd a printed circular in blue inkjiontainirig tho
Angel Gabriel’s salutation to Mary, and a portrait
representing Mary as an Englbdi woman, with her
itair done uplu mop-stylo, and wearing a dross out
low In Iront and trimmed with swan’s down. ,
Under tlie portrait is the following announce,
ment: “Mary, the Mother of the G ,od Shepherd*
These pictures of Mary and Jesus, produced in too
city of New York, iu a part uliy darkened apart
ment by Welm I’. A urterson, tinder trance condi
tions, inside of sixteen minutes of time—life-sized
—in response to tho private mental asking of Dr.
Solomon W. Jewett, on May 15 and 16, A. D., 1569.
‘‘•Notice.—'demon W. Jewett, of Vermont, has
the New Testament of our Lord Jesus, as revised
uud corrected by the Spirits, in Leonard Thorn's
house, tn Koblnson street, New York city, in 1->ll
(whom Dr. Jewett rest',red in twenty minutes
from shaking palsy lu March, 1883, at 41 Taylor
street, Brooklyn). Some weeks following was pre
sented, by mail, with this Testament.”
The doctor believes that he is often visited by tho
spirit of his principal guardian, a deceased Sioux
chief On these occasions tho doctor greets bls vl fl
tor with a hoo, hoo, hoo in a falsetto voice.
“Hoo, hoo, hoo. There’s that Indian again.”
“That Indian,” conUnuorl the do lor, “saved me
from being robbed one night. Ho noticed me In
rny sleep that an attempt to rob mo would be made,
and in consequence I was prepared to drive the rob
bers ofl.”
Tho doctor alii bo ready at ull hours of tho day or
night to raise the dead. No tee required tniloc, sat
isfaction Is given. Country orders are executed
with noatnoiu and dispati h.
Social History ),r Mie I'eais.
From tho San Francisco Report.
Fivo years ago a girl smoking a ciparctto
with men was romldtr d Indecent. Today she’s a I
daisy. Five years u.,0 u lawn-tennis pvinnaztlc rout
Mould have smlrcl er u gill s repu • ion. Today I
ski's a ipler.'lltl kicker. J-ivo yea a ago a wine stq>-
per at a fasblonabl: nnl Iren r iter rant, under the
cliapcronagu of u foalifonnblo and lice im.tried
woman, would have filial nifXheni with horror. 'Io
day toinu not only appnn c. Lui anJik l ive years
ago young girls did not vi-* in undrees with loud I
n-arriC'l women. Now a laJlr-iom exhibits nature
lu ail ages. Five yeara ago n wl o did not run
round the eorintrr with men married, divorced * I 1
aft g . f-'iw It s "deilzlJf flly dsriug.' 1
Tho demand for Blaine is so great in tlie
i-scat that bls 6v« uMgactxiM-uls lu ludlaua have been
cut down to two
BILL_ARP.
ON THE GOOI> otr.f j, TTIES OETITE OLD
EASH JON ED NEGItO.
For The Constitution.
If there is any better invention than a good
old fashioned home-mado darky 1 don’t know
it. It is a great treat nt our house when Tip
Comes over to see us. He is looked upon as
ouo of tho family who litis strayed of! liko
somo of our other grown up children. Ho was
born my wife’s property anil grew up in her
family and played mid frolicked with her
brothers and was always faithful and kind and
good.
Tip brought his brido with him this limo—
his second wife—a good looking old fashioned
middle aged woman, for Tip has got souse mid
judgment and wouldont tio himself onto a
spring chicken iu his old ago. Ho was dressed
in a black frock coat aud wliilo vest, and strut
ted around liko ho wus going to Sarattiga on it
bridal tour. One of my wife's brothers was
here, and Tip was unexpectedly happy, for ho
liadcnt seen him for years.
“Howdy Mars Charley; howdy Miss Tavy;
howdy Mars Handolph I I is so glad to see you.
How does you all do?” mid he then took all
tlie children by turns and they were as glad to
sco him as if lie was a brother.
That night the children wanted to know how
Tip got his little short mime, and their mother
told them as how old General Harrison fought
a great battle with tho Indians away back in
1811 and how it was fought near a iiltlo town
called Tippecanoe, on tlie Wabash river and
the Indiim chief was a brother of Tecumseh
and was callod the prophet and General Har
rison whipped thorn mid scattered them so bad
they never rallied, and so this victory gave
him great reputation and made him president
in 1840 when ho ran against Van Buren. Tho
political war cry was "Tippecanoe and Tyler,
too,” and as our Tip was born about that time
and wanted a name his mother named him
Henry, hut tho boys named him Tippecanoe
just for fun and so Tin is his every day name
mid lie keeps Henry for Sunday.
A nick mime is very hard to get rid of. I
know some boys who are very close kin to us
who are still called Fits and Tnney and Isham
mid I’at and Snooks and Dock and Juke, but
those are not their real names. Spine of tho
old time negroes had very classic stylish names
such'tis Ueznr mid Pompey and ’Virgil and
Jupiter and Juno or such Scripture, names as
Moses mid Aaron mid Noah and Solomon and
Dinah. Tlie masters generally unnied tho
young negroes.
"i’r.pa did you over whip Tip when lie was a
boy ?’’ asked Jessie.
“No, my child, no. Tip never needed any
whipping. Tip was just as good as ho could
be considering that ho was always trotting
around after our oldest boys and had to do
wlmt they told him. I had to whip thorn
sometimes but Tip was the host in tlie lot mid
never did anytlilngworse than get np a dog
fight. No, 1 never whipped T)p r , but I .bad to
whip some of the other servants oecasionally
for tho old boy gets into negroes sometimes
just like ho does into white folks. He is no
respecter of persons or colors and had just as
leave bum a black man as a white one. Hut
I will say this for our negroes—they were all
mighty good to our children. They nursed
seven out of tho ten and watched them by day
and by night. Frances and Mary loved them
and would have fought for them liko a tigress
for her whelps and tlio children loved their
black •mammy better than tliey did their
mother. Many a time have I soon yonr moth
er try to coax her child to come to her from the
nurses’ arms.
“Win n the yankee raiders rode into Coving
ton ami took everybody by surprise your moth
er and six children wore there and Frances was
ont in tho street with the youngest In her arms
and they stopped as she rim and said to her,
‘You black fool you, what aro you carrying
that white cliild for—don’t you know you aro
freo?’ 'Don’t keer if I is,’ said Frances, ‘J is
gwino to carry de chili—chilo can’t walk.’
‘Wlioso chilo is it?’ said tho ynnltce. ‘My
chile, whose, chile do you rcc’on it is,’ and sho
drew tho little thing still closer to her bosom.
And during the war whilo 1 was in Virginia
Tip was witli mo and waited on mo like a
brother and took care of me when I was sick
and tho negroes at homo helped yonr mother
to manage and to get something t<> cat and to
wear and wood to Lum, for confederate money
wouldont buy much of anything and it took
close management to get along. The old
clothes had to be patched before and behind
Or ripped up and made over, and by and by
when tho coffee wns till gone Mary parched
somo rye or dried sweet potatoes ami parched
them and made out like it was coffee and when
the sugar gave out sho hunted up some sor
ghum for sweetening, and when the salt gave
out and there was no more lo bo had she boiled
down tho dirt in the smokohousotbat tho meat
had been dripping on for years and niado salt
out of it and claimed it and dried itin tlie sun
and it wns as lino and as white ns any table
salt you over saw. It was nip and tuck then
with everybody but they never complained.
Just before tho war closed wo rim out of most
everything. Your mother gave a ten dollar
confederate bill for a tablesnoonful of castor
oil and twenty dollars for a pound of sugar
and a huudred dollars for half an ounce of
quinine. I paid a hundred dollars for live
bushels of corn and in 4 to send, twenty miles
to get it and I kept it hid out fivo miles from
town for fear somo of the tramps and desert
ers would rob mo and get it. I had it ground
into meal half a bushel at a time and it was
more precious than gold. In December 18(14 I
gave three thousand dollars for aj little chunk
of a cow just to provide milk for a sick child.
There w ere not more than half a dozen in tho
county then.
“Some of you children never saw any candy
or nuts or raisins until you were several years
old. I remember t.hat after tho war was over
Mr. Snooki, camo to Romo with a nice little
stock of fancy goods, and lr: gave jour mother
‘onio raisins for tho children, and sho took
them home rind they were afraid of them, and
asked lu rlf they were bugs. Mr. Snooks wns
mighty clever uu<l kind to our little robs. Ho
is tiie same man who hr. i grown so rich In At
lanta selling furniture, but ho hasent cut his
old acquaintances yet, and 1 don’t reckon over
will.
"Well, what made Tip leave us all,” said
Carl.
Why because ho had a largo family of his
own to look alter. They dident belong to me—
old man White, n g od old H'.ot'linian, owned
them and supported them, and now that they
wore free and ho was dead, Tip had to knuckle
down to it lo maintain them, and lio did ft.
Tip had a good trade and was handy, and
everybody liked him, and so ho has prospered.
W hen General Hliwiroan run us all out of
Rome, Tip took charge ot tho run. geo busi
ness, Ho left his wife and children lor a time
and went with us lo Atlanta, and I then sent
him back to sec lifter his folk , and tlieyankces
took him up uudig suspicion and imide him
join a company, and he got detailed ns a cok,
but ho dident like their sort ot folks, and so ;
one dark rainy night ho pawied tho guards and ,
Kwaui the Oosinnaiilii rivej und wont down the
Alabama rojd about ten miles and swum the I
Coosa, and ho hid ont by day amt trawl. <1 by 1
night, until bo got back lo us again. Then bo i
run H'ith your mother mid tin: < hfldreu uw.iy ■
down Lolow (!ohunbus nn.l hid them out in the I
piney uixids, but the yankoes got so thick und
devilish, they run again and got round lo
Covington and thence to Madison, end then j
took roundaneeon the y uike** and flanked the |
whole concern ami settled down away upon
tho Chattahoochee. You eeo, 1 was on duty in
-Macon, and so Tip had to bo general
manager aud foot ocout for xtbe 1
PRICE FIVE CENTS.
family. Yonr mother had as much
confidence in him as sho did in mo, and
maybe more, for be had belonged to her about
ten years longerthan I hail. Wc ran away from
Romo about midnight; that is wo started to
run, but got blockaded on the street and’
forwards nor backwards, nor side
ways for the soldiers and tlie army wagens.
Wo never crossed the bridge until day was
breaking, and all this time old Sherman was
tossing his shells over in the town just for his
own amusement. We burned the bridges be*
hind us and felt easyfor awhile, and jogged
along down to Silver creek church, and
stopped to make coffee and take a bite of cold
vlttels. and while wo wore thanking the good
Lord for letting us get away, some scattered
cavalry oanio galloping along and said the
yankees had crossed tho Coosa down below
Rome and were coming to head us off. Bows
let the hot coffee burn its way down, and wo
out tho cold vittels on the run
and never stopped any more un
til we got to Kuliarlee creek. We stopped
to rest and from labor to refreshment, and felt
thankful, but Tin had hardly unhitched the
horses before some more cavalry came charg
ing by and said the yanks were not more than
five miles behind. We bounced tho big road
again and Euharlee bridge fairly danced an w»
Bow across just behind Bill Ramsey, and we
never slacked up until we got to Mr. White
head’s at tho foot of tho mountain. Your
mother and Mrs. Anderson and tho girls all
bunked in one little room in tlio house und we
men and boys tried to sleep in a great, b!g
wagon body under tlio wagon shod, but the
lleas everlastingly eat us up alive, and we took
to the boshos an<l threshed tho fleas out of our
clothes and then laid down in tlio piazza. Next
night we made a camp not far from old De-
Foor’s ferry on the Chattahoochee, and Tip
went to a house near by for
water, but tho bucket wns gone
and the folks said their well wouldent
furnish water enough for everybody that waa
winning from tho yankees. But Tip begged
enough to do us and after whiie went back
there to borrow a skillet and the old womati
was washing her feet in it, and said he could
liavo it when she got through. Tip seemed to
be in a hurry and couldn’t wait, and so he
cooked our meat on tlio coals. That night after
wo had laid down the little boys took onio
about their Ilea bites that jour mother told me
to rub them with some sweet oil that was in
her basket and sol fumbled around in the
dark and found a bottle and. rubbed them ail
over wherever they scratched and next mottl
ing found out it was syrup of ippecac. But it
is good for ilia bites, sure. Yes, wo had •
high old time running from old Sherman, and
wo beat old Joo Johnston a fair race to Atlanta.
“Papa,” said Curl, "was it right for you te
own nogros and make them work for
you.” “Us course it was, my boy. I would
own some right now if I had my way. There
arc lots ot thorn who ought to have a master.
Don’t I own you. But I wouldont own them
as tliey used to be owned. When tliey are old
enough to take care of themselves anil behave
themselves, Mid live l>y honest work they
ought not to he owned any longer. They
ought not to bo sold nor their families sepa
rated. I never separated femilleq, but I bought
’ negroes to got families together. Tho negroee
Owe to tho white people all the blessings they
enjoy. It was slavery that civilized them and
trained them to good habits. Their ancestor*
wore all barbarians. They eat raw meat like
dogs aud ent human flesh. Some years ago I
was in Columbus, ami saw some of the native
Africans that were brought over in tho Wan
derer. Colonel Mott hud them working iu his
garden. He was b aching them to work
with tools and to speak our language.
Tliey looked more like babhoons
than human beings. In a year or
so tliey became civilized and made good ser
vants and were contented and happy, anti
their children grew up like decent folks. It
was a blessing to them and their children that
their parents were stole away from Africa. It
is the very best way to civilize them, and if I
was a fanatical fool like some of our northern
brethren and wanted to do tho negroes all the
good I could I would abolish the laws against
the slave trade and get every one over here
that I could. It would boat all the mission ar v
work I hat has ever been done. But wo don’t
w ant any more down south. There aro enough
here now. Lot our northern brethren try It
awlnlo and see how they liko it. Why, these
negroes hero ought to send or go over to
Africa and bring a lot every year and own
them and put them to work aud civilize them.
No, my children, there was nothltigfn slavery
that you need be ashamed of so far as my
pin t of it was concerned. Tho truth is, I
belonged to Tip aliont as much us Tip belonged
tome. He was one of the family and that was
all. But if I had my way and was to eonie
across a barbarian 1 would do like Robinson
Crusoe did his man Friday—l would take
charge of him and tamo him- yes I would.
Bill Aar.
THE PRICE WAS TOO LOJV.
From tho Washington I’o t.
A number of members from tho Louse ot
representatives have stolen away al various times
and for short periods from tlielr congressional
duties. Most of them nave enjoyed tbcinsclveiq
but none to a greater exteut than did Wade, of !!!►
nourl, iflnd/>f Mtnnresota, and Sawyer,ofNew York.
They invaded the state of Mnryiano and atudied
tho unsophisticated actives until they go. tired.
The last idaoe ot which they made any slay waa
l«onardtowu. I’rom there tliey Intendc 1 coming
to the capital by bout, but that semi occasional craft
having departed, they wore compel ed to travel by
rail.
The train was started with a pinchbnr and pro
ceeded ot a very deliberate gait. Occasionally ths
conductor would get off and gather a few peaches,
with which ho would treat the passengers. After
the train had been crawling along for on hoar and
I.ad covered nt least six miles, the conductor col
lected tho fares, which, for the congressional crowd, .
amounted to eighty cents each. When he reaeliad
Colonel Wade that genial “bald kuobber ’ remarked
in his Innocent way:
"Du you charge preachers full fore on this road?”
“No, sir," was the conductor’s reply. "We only
cliarge them hull'rat: u. Are you a prcaoher?” ho
added, looking squarely at the colonel’s Methodist
countenance.
“No, lam not,” laid the Mfssourlnn, “butthat
genUsmaa Lx," (pointing to Judge aawycr, who sat
a couple of seats In front of 14m.)
The conductor at once returned to the Judge, and.
after a ecarchin;' glance at tho sun kisse l couuten
auceof the New York etatesmim, yrofiWed him
forty cents, witli tlio remark: “W» only collect
half rates from preachers.”
“Who In the blank said I was n preacher?” asked
the judge, with considerable show of anger.
Tho conductor threw bls thumb back oror his
shoulder In the direction of Colonel Wade, and
looked M though he thought ail the time that the
Colonel was garbling the facts in the case.
In the meantime the three dimes, the nlckle and
the five pennies iop o :il calmly lu thej idgo's fat
palm. He;reguidad them In silence for u moment,
aud then handed them back to tho otllciaJ, saying:
“I am u good, dual us a liar, but I will not lie for 40
Then ho relapsed Into absolute etlcnce. and would
not look al Gjlouel Wade until Washington WM
reached.
A DcuaelaM Custom.
From the Chicago Tin •>.
Tho idea of leaving curds nt tlie graves ot
distinguish d |>ers .usnjqicars to bo fas', becoming
established as ouo of H e regular nites of card eti
quette. 'Ho bust of Dsngfeilow In Westminster
Abbey is surrounded with these bits of cardboard,
and the grave of "IL II.” tn Colorado la said to bo
sttew n with the cards of tourist*. A Boston papog
says that nothing but vanity and lack of fa te could
prompt so idtotle a custom, aud it 1* prolxbljr fol
lowed by persona who aot i.p m the rule If you can't
abed a tear leave your cud.