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THE 'WEEKLY CONSTITUTIONS TUESDAY. MAJRCH II. 1884 TWiiiDYE PAGES.) OUR “DlXlh” HUMURISTS THE TVS ASn I'HH.ONOI-IIY OP TUB OM> HOME. NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS.* Ann! Tempy'* •tory. The little boy observed that Aunt Tempy yras Tery much Intereeted in Daddy Jack's story. Sbe made no remarks while the old African was telling it, but sbe was busily en gaged in measuring imaginary quilt patterns on her apron with her thumb and forefinger, a sure sign that her Interest had been aroused. When Daddy Jack had concluded—when, with a swift, sweeping gesture of his wrinkled hand, he cut the cord and allowed Brother Wolf to perish ignorainlously—Aunt Tempy drew a long breath, and said: •• *Dat ar tale come 'cross me des like a dream. Hit put me In mine er one w’at I year w’en I wua little bit er gal 1 hook like I kin see nijae'f right now, settin’ flat down on deh'ath lis'nln’ »t ole Unk Monk. You know’d ole link Monk, Brer ltemua. You bleeze Ur know’d 'im. Updarin Ferglnny. I 'clar* ter goodness, it make me feel right foolish. Brer llemus, I des know you know'd Unk Monk." For the first time in many a day the little boy saw Uncle Remus in a serious mood. He leaned forward In his chair, shook his head sadly, as he gazyd into the fire. "Alt, Lord, Bis Tempy!” he exclaimed sor rowfully, “don't less we all go foolin’ ronn' mungs dem o!e times. De bea’ kinder bread gits sour. Wat's yistiddy wld us wua 'to'de wort’ begun wld dish yer chile. Dat’a de way I looks at It" i “Dal's de Lord’s trufe,' Brer Remus," ex claimed Aunt Tempy with unction, “an I mighty glad you call me ter myse’f. Little mo’ un I’d er sot right yer un 'a' gone 1 may beck to Ferglnny, un all on 'oountei; dat ar tale w’at I year long floe ago." "What tale was that. Aunt Tempy?"asked the little boy. ■'Eh-eb. honey!" replied Aunt Tempy,with a display of genuine bssbfulness; “eb-eb; I 'fraioyou all 'll aetupdar un laugh me outer de bouse. I aint dast ter tell no tale 'long aide Brer Remus un Daddy Jack yer. 1 'frald I git it all mix up. 1 ' , The child manifested such genuine disap pointment that Aunt Tempy relented a little. “Kf you all laugh, now,” she said, with a threatening air, “I'm des gwine ter pick up en git right out er dish yer place. Dey aint ter be no laughin', kaie de tale w'at I year in Ferglnny aint no laughin’ tale." With like he cryin’. He des fa'rly boo-hoo d, un he say. sesee: , , , “ ‘Dar now, Brer Fox! I des know d date; I put my po' little cbilduns in dar wid yo’ folks dey’d git e’t up. I des know'd It!’ "Ole Miss Fox, sbe des yow she aint totch Brer Rabbit fammerly. But Brer Fox, he bin wantin' a piece un um ail de way, un he begrudge um so dat be git mighty mad wid he ole 'oman un de childuns, un be say. sesee: " ‘You kin des make de most er dat, ksse I’m a gwine ter bid you good riddance dls ve’v day;’ un, sho’ 'nuff, Brer Fox tuck'n tuck be whole fammerly ter town un trade um off fer co’n. “Brer Rabbit was wld 'em, des es big ez life un twice ez naichnl. Dey start back, dey did, nn w'en dey git four er fiye mile out er town, bit come 'cross Brer Fox min' dat he done come away un lef apluger terbackerin de eto', en he say he bleeze ter go back atter it. “Brer Rabbit, be say, sezee, dat lie’ll slay en take keer er dewaggin, w’lle Brer Fox kin run back nn git be terbacker. Soon ez Brer Fox git out er sight, Brer Rabbit laid de hoe- ses under lino un lash un drove de waggin home, un put de hosses In he own stable, un de co'n in de smoke-house, un de wagginln de barn, un den he put some co'n in he pocket, un cut de hossee tails o ff, un went beck up de road twel he come ter » qung- mire, un in dat he stick de tails un wait fer Brer Fox. , "Atter w'iie yer he come, un den Brer Rah bit gun ter holler un pull at de mils. He Rabbit ued Aunt laughing, With this understanding Aunt Tempy ad justed her bcad-handkerohief, looked around rather sheepishly, as Untie ltemua declared afterwards in confidence to the little boy, “Wen , in de times w’en Brer Rabbit un Brer Fox live In de same settlement wid one er n'er, de season’s tuck'n come wrong. De wedder got hot un den a long dry drouth sot in, un it seem like dat de natal leaf on de trees wuz gwine ter lu'n ter powder." Aunt Tempy emphasized her statements by little backward and forward movements of her bead, nnd the boy would have laughed, but a warning glance from Uncle Remus pre vented him. “De loaf on do trees look like dey gwine ter tu'n ter powder, un do groun’ look llko it dono bin cookt. All do truck w’at do cree- 1 turs plant wuz all parched up, un doy wa'n’t no crops made nowhars. Dey dunner w'at ter do. Dey run dis away, dey run dat away; ylt w’en dey quit runnln. doy dunner wlmr tley bread cornin' frun. Dls do way it look ter Brer Fox, un so one day w’en ho got a mighty hankerin’ atter Bumpin' sorter Joosy, he meet Brtr Rabbit In de lane, un ho ax um, aezee: “ 'Brer Rabbit, whar'bouta our bread corn in’ frunf , . "Brer Rabbit, ho bow, he did, un answer, 11 'Look like it luought bo cornin’ frun nowliar,’sc/.i'c.” "You seo dat, honey!" exclaimed Uncle Remus, condescending to give the story the benefit of his patronage: "Y'ouseo dntl Brer Rabbit wuz alius a-wnltin’ u chanco fer ter crack be Jokes." "Yes, Lordl" Aunt Tempy continued,with considerable more animation; "he joke, un joke, but blmeby, be aint feel like no mo' jokin', un den lie up’n say, sesee, dat him un Brer Fox better start out’n take der fam- merltrs wid um ter town un swap um o!T for some fresh-rroun’ meal; un Brer Fox say, aezee, dat dat look mighty fa'r and squar', un den uey tuck'n makede'greomenls. "Brer Fox wuz ter s'ply de waggin un team, un he promise dal be gwine ler ketch he fammerly un lie um hbrd un fast wid s red twine string. Brer Babbit be say, aexsa, dat he gwine ter ketch be fammerly un tie um all, un meet Brer Fox at de fork er de "Sho' nuflT, soon in de rnawnin’, w'en Brer Fox draw up wid he waggin, he holler 'Wol' un llrer Rabbit be tuck'n holler back, 'Wo J o'se’f I’ un den Brer Fox know dey 'us all ar. Brer Fox, he tuck’n sot upon de seat, un all er he fammerly, dey wuz a-layln' un der de seat. Brer Rabbit, be tuck'n put all he fammerly in de beblme een' er de waggin’ un he say, sezee, dal he speck he better set back dar twel dey gltaorter uecn ter dey sur- rounderlings, un den Brer Fox crack he whip, un off dey went toze town. Brer Fox, he holler ev'y once In a w'iie, sesee: " ‘No noddin' back dar, Brer Rabbit! “Brer Rabbit be boiler back, sezee: " 'Brer Fox, you inlaa de ruts en de rocks, un I'll mlae de noddin'.’ “But all dat time, bless yo' soul! Brer Rab bit wuz settin dar ontyin’ he ale'oman un he chlldun, w'ich dey wuz sev'm uy um. W'en he git um all ontie, Brer Rabbit, he tuck'n h'latbiase’f on de seat'long er Brer Fox, un dey sot dar un talk un laugh 'bout de all sorts er times dey gwine ter have w’en dey git de co'n meal. Brer Fox sea, aezee, be gwiue ter bake hoeeake; Brer ltabbtt aez, sezee, he gwine ter make ashcakc. "Dee 'bout dis time one er Brer Rabbit's childun raise hlsse'f up euy un bop out de waggin. Min Fox, sue slog out: " 'One Iran sev'm Don't leave 'lev'm.' "Brtr Fox hunch be ole 'oman wid he foot fer ter make'er keep still, Bimeby'n'er lit tle Rabbit pop up un hop out, Mias Fox say, se'sbe: " ‘One frun six Leaves me leu kicks,' "Brer Fox go on talkin' ter Brer Rsbb|t,un Brer Rabbit go on ta.kin'ter Brer Fox, un 'twa'n'l so mighty long 'fo* all Brer Rabbit fammerly dims pop up un dive out de wag- giu, un ey'y time one 'udgo Miss Foxsbs’ud fit it like she did de yuthers.” “What did she say, Aunt Tempy?" asked the little boy, who was Interested in the rhymes. *'TWa Isa mm at —ass... •••Oo* Iran one. Until done zone. 1 " "What did Brother Rabbit do then?" In quired the Uttle boy. "Better ax w'at Brer Fox do,” replied Aunt Tempy.ideased wiih the eflect of her rhymes. "Brer Fox look 'roun' atter w'iie un w'en be see dat all Brer Rabbit fammerly done cone, he leaa back un boiler ‘Wo!’ un den he uy, aezee: '“Indenameer goodness, Brer Rabbit! whs.-all yo' folks? 1 "Brer Rabbit look'roun'. un den he nyke ‘Run yer, Brer Fox! run ye-! Youer des in time of you aint too late, ltmi yer, Brer Foxl ran yeri' "Brer Fox, he run'd en jak II away, unsay,sezee: ‘"Git out de way, Brer R tbbii! little! Gil outde way, un let a n bolt.’ "Brer Fox tuck holt,” cm.tin Tempy, endeavoring to keep li im "nn he fetch'd one big puli, un I let you know dat uz de onliest pull-bo make, kaze do tails come out ue he tu’n a back summerset. He Jump up, be did, en 'gun ter grabble in de quog-mire des ez hard ez be kin. "Brer Babbit, he titan’ by, un drop some co'n inonbeknowns’ter Brer Fox, un dis make 'im grabble wtiss un wuss, un be grab ble so bard un be grabble so long dot 'tw.i'n’t long 'fo' be fall down dead, un so dat uz de las* er ole Brer Fox in dat doy un time." As Ann' Tempy paused, Uncle Remus ad justed his spectacles nnd looked at her ad miringly. Then he laughed heartily. "Ideclar’, Sis Tempy," bo said, after a while, "you gives tongue same «z a lawyer. Y'ou’ll hatter jine in wid us some mo . 1 Aunt Tempy closed her eyes and dropped her head on ono side. “Don't git me storied, Brer Remus," she said, after a pause; "kazeef you does you’ll batter set up yer long pus' yo' bed-timo." "I b'leeve you, 81sTempy, dat I does!" ex claimed the old man, with the air of one who has msde a pleasing discovery. < opytlghtjfeta^ , 1TBE ynu.Txar.") BILL ARPS LETTER. He Talks of She Time When his Fallier wns Postmaster nnd lie was Mail Rider. Two cents—only two cents. When I look st a postage stamp it carries me awsy back, Back to the time when my father was post' master and I was his clerk, and had to make up the mails in a country town. The differ ence between now and then shows the world's progress in a privilege and a pleasure that hardly excelled iu any other branch of Ini' provement. We couldent bear to be set back again in that line to the old ways that onr fathers thought wero pretty good. There were no stamps and no envelopes, and no mucilage, The paper was folded up liko a thumb-paper, and one aido slipped In the other and sealed with a wrapper. The llttlo school boys, you know, had to use thumb-papers In their spelling hooks to keep them clean where their dirty thumbs kept the pages open. Girls dident hnvo to use them, for tboywero nicer and kept their hands clean, nnd dident wear oat tbo leaves by tbo friction of their finger*. Boys are rough things any how, and I don' see wlist a nl.'o, sweet, clean, pretty girl wants with one of ’em, Girls they say are made of sugar and spice and all' that's nice, but boys are made of snaps nnd snails and puppy dogs tails. Josephus stys, that when the queen of Sheba was testing Soiomon’i wisdom, sho had fifty boys and fifty girls all dressed alike In girls' clothes and seated around a big room, and asked the king to pick: out the hoys from the girls, and ho called for a basin of water and had it carried around to caeli ono and told them to wash their hands. The girls all rolled up their sleevea a little bit, but tlie boys just sloshed their hands in any way and got water ail over their aprons, end so the king spotted every mother's son of ’em. The postage used to be regulated by the dis tance that Uuncls Sam carried tho letters. It was 1 JJ» cents anywhere in the state, and 1831 cents to Charleston, and 25 cents to New York. It was never prepaid. A man could allllct another with a plstaresn letter that wasent worth five cents. A pistarcen, yon know, was 18?* cents—that is a seven pence and a thrip. We had no dimes or half dimes. The dollar was cut up into eights instead of tenths. When a countryman called for let ters and got one he would look at it some time and turn it over and meditate before ha paid tor it, and very often they would say, “where did this letter come from." Weil, 1 would say for instance, "it come from Dab- lonega—dout you tee llihloncga written up on the corner?" Then he would say, "well, 1 reckon it's front Dick, my brother Dick. He is ap there digging gold, boat you reckon it's from Dick?™ *T reckon it Is,” said I. “Why dont you open Hand see?” "No, I'll wait until I get home. Tney'll all want to •ee it." When he got home that letter would be an event in the family, and perhapi it would take them a half an hour to wade through it and make out its contents. Nine out uf ten of thoee country letters began, "I take my pea in hand to let you know that I aui well, and hope Iheea few linee will find you enjoying the same blessing.” My father kept store and bis country customers used to ask him to write their letters for them, and be always sent them to me, and most of them told me to begin their letters that way. There waa not more than one in live could write, but they were good, clever, honest peo ple and paid their debts, but they hardly ever pud up in full at the eud of the year, and so needles, or get me to take along some socks and sell them, and so I made friends and ac quaintances all the way. The first trip. I made, an old woman hailed me and said, "Are you o mail boy?" “Why, yes, jnam,” said I,” "yon dident think I was a female boy, did you?" I thought, that was mighty smart, but it wasent very civil and it made her so mad abe never told me what she wanted, and as she turned her btek on me I heard her say, "I'll bet he is a little stack up town boy." My father was postmaster for nearly thirty years. It didn't pay more than about $200 a year, but it made nis store more of a public E iace. He didn't know that anybody else sukered after it or was trying to get it, but all of a sudden he got bis orders to tarn oyer theofllce to another man, an old line whig and a competitor in buslnese. It mortified him very much and made ns all mad, for there was uo fault found with hie manage ment, and he never took much interest in polities but voted for the man he liked the best whether he was a whig or a demo crat. When he found out that A let Stephens had it done he wasent a Stephens man any more, and I grew up with an idea that Mr. Stephens was a political fraud. I dident un derstand tho science of politics as well as I do now. I told Mr. Stephens about it ono night at Uilledgcville when we were all in a good humor anu were talking about the old times of wblgs and democrats, and he smiled and said, "yes, we had to do those thingsand sometimes they were very disagreeable." I will never forget that night's talk. It was daring the session of tho first legislaturesfter the war. Jim Waddell took me to Mr. Ste- £ bens' room to hear him talk, and there was !r. Jenkins and Tom Hardeman and Ban ning Moore and Beverly Thornton and Pete SlruzierundDr. Ridley and some others, and everybody waa in a good humor, and Mr. Ste phens was reclining on his bed and told an ecdote sfter anecdoie about the old whigs and how he met the democrataon the stump and what they said and what be said and how he most always got the advantage and car ried the crowd ivltb.bini. I waa very mnch fascinated with blsjconveraation, but couldent help being reminded of a circumstance that transpired some years before in the town of Calhoun. The whigs of Gordon county had sent for Mr. Stephens to come up and make a speech and rally tht|soys for the next elec tion, for Gordon was pretty tqually balanced between whigs and democrats, and the whigs wanted a big revival. So Alek accepted, and when the day came the crowd was tremend ous. The democrats had tried to get Howell Cobb and Herschel Johnson and Absolom Chappet and others to como up, but they all had other fish to fry, and so litr'- ‘ '-*- *-■■* it till his own way. wen no, caauny Cl Li. u,, for there was a feller there by the name of Russell, an eccentric, smart, cheeky,(random sort of a man who had a wonderful gift of language and who, lice Francis Train,dident care much what liesaid, and was no respeotor ot persons. Russell sworo by all tbo gods that If nobody else would reply to Stephens be would, and he would skin him alive, and let him ride home in his bone3. “Condlng him,” said he, "let him slay in his own dis trict and shinny on his own side.” Mr. Stephens made a fine speech, and the crowd cheered and shouted tumul tuously as lie arraigned the democracy and and held them up to ridicule, and when he got through tlie whigs were more than satis Ued, amt Mr. Stephens was'satisfied, too—he came down from the stand and wss receiving the congratulations of his friends, when sud denly Russell mounted the rostrum and, rap ping on the plank In front of bias, screamed out in one unearthly yell: “Fellow cltizensl” Everybody knew him, and everybody wanted to bear biro, and hushed into silence. After n sentence or two Mr. Stephens was attracted to him, and with cartons amt astonished in terest, inquired, "Whois that man?" After Rnssell bad paid an eloqaent tribute to the glorious old democratic party, and given it credit for every good thing that had been done since the fall ot Adam, be then turned to Mr. Stephens and, with a wltberiug scorn, said: "And what have you and your party been doing and trying to do?—what made you vote away the publio lands so that jnn- keea and lurr ners could get 'em nnd our peo ple couldent? What made you vqtolor a high tariff Ms sugar and cofftfl and raiso the price so that our poor peoplo couldent buy it?" Mr. Stephens roso up excited and irritated, and stretching his long arm to the andtence, screamed out: "I never did it, my fellow- citizens—I deny the fact and cell upon the gentleman for his proof," With the utmost self-possession, Russell said, "You do—you call for tho proof. Sir, if was to go two miles from home to make a speech I would carry uty proof with me. I wouldent b« vatu enough lo go without It; but, sir, I am at home—these people know me—they raised me end when 1 assert a thing they believe it. You ere tho man to bring tho proof.” The crowd shouted and laugued ns tumultuously as they bed done for Mr. Stephens, end be satdilwn disgusted, Russell continued: "And what was your motive when you were a member ot the legislature in voting for u law that prohibited a man from voting unless he wss worth $300? Answer me that while you are here face to face with these humble citi zens of Gordon county.” At this Mr. Steph ens rose sgalu furious with imt gaatlon and screamed: "U la false, sir—it la tales; I do ay the fact,” "You do," laid Russell, icornfully; I sup posed you would—you deny the fact. That Is just what you have been doing for twenty yean—going about over the country denying facts." And the crowd went wild with merriment, for even the whigs couldent help jolulng In the fun, Mr. Stephens turned to nis companions and said with a tone of des pair, "Let ns go to the hotel,” and they went. I thought of all this while Mr. Stephens was telling us of bis triumphs over veteran foes, and so when he came to a panse I timid ly aatd; “Mr. Stephens, did you ever encoun ter a man by the name of Russell up at Cal houn?” With a merry glisten of bis wonderful eyes he strenzthened up and said: "I did, I did, yes, I did. I will never forget that man. He got me completely. If I had known him I would not have said a word tn reply, but I dident know him. He cured me of one ex pression. I frequently used to emphasize my denial of lies and slander, and that was to say “I deny the fact" "I had never thought ot It's grammatical absurdity, but that man Russell taught me and I quit it. I think be had the moot wonderful plan o! language and liea of auy man I ever met.” Mr. Stephens then made a pretty fair recital of his recoun ter and bis “utter defeat” as be expressed it, allot which we enjoyed. Where are they now? Old father time has cut them all down but three Hardeman and Thornton and myself are here, but all,the rest of that bright, intelligent crowd are gone. It looks tike moat everybody is dead. If they are not they will be before long, and another set will be in their place* and bare their jokes and tlaah their wit and merriment all the same. Bill Aar. BETSY HAMILTON’S LETTERS. vt. Sunday Evenin’ as Onr House. Lazy Farm, 18SL—What can be mors en joyable than the gathering ot congenial friends around a cheerful, comfortable wood fire on a cold winter night? Again we are in grandma's room. Willis and Mattie are absorbed in a game of chess, in which Msttie is about to be check-msted. Cliff and Fan nie are scuffling over a picture; it Is Friadsy night and the children have come in, and are begging to bear Conain Betsy's letter. The game is ended, the house is brought to order and we read of SUNDAY ZVXKISO AT OCX UOUSk. Dear Cousin: One Bunday evenin' list summer It wss turrible hot—yon could se* the Uttle Freahoon chillun ketcliin June bugs awar over in the apple archard, bear headed in the brilin' hot inn—and the blood peared like it wou'JJpop out'n ther facet. If trie Alek had Well not exactly either, their mark. My father used to ssy that he had known cases where a man swore off hts written aigaatare, but he never knew a man to deny hta mark. Onr big northern mail used to corns in a stage from Madison twice a week, and 1 used to think the soand of the stags horse as the stage came over the hilt waa one of the snblimeet things in the world, and I thought that if I ever got to be a man I would be a stage driver if I conld. Well, I come pretty near It, for my father had hired a man to ride the mail to Roswell and back twice a week, and the man got sick and so my father pul me on a dromedary ot a horse and the mail in some raddle-bags be hind me, and I had to make the 48 mile* in a day and kept it up all winter. 1 liked to hare frose several times, and had to be tiffed off the hone when 1 got borne and it nearly broke my mother's heart, but I was getting a dollar a trip and it was my money, and so I wouldent back out. The old woman on the root* used to crowd me with thtlr little com missions and get me to bring them a little pep per, or copperas, or blnug, or pins and we'nns wan Is to go any whara otter dinner of a Sunday wc has to huff it to gtt ready and git off fore anybody comes, for Sunday is the main day for visltin in this settlement. We'nns wss a aimm that erenin to get off to the tingin'. A man, a stranger in the settle ment, was a teacbln’ the “far so Iara and do ray mees" up tbar at the school 'ouse, and we all was een a mat crazy to go and tarn "bow to note” as Jim Wiggins calls it. We wasn't a lookin’ for nobody that eve nin’ but pears like thata the very time you are a gwine to have compiny. Maw lows jes let her say she haint a lookin for nobody of a Sunday, and not comb her head and not take off her old cookin’ frock and not red up the house gooi as common, and above all, let her lay down and try to go to sleep if yon want a house toll to come in; as A unt Nancy says: “The pleasure of some folks 'pears to 'pend on the mizry and ilcouvenieuce of totbers.” Sometimes I wish we’uns could do like town folks, lock the doors and say we haint at home. Well, that Sunday maw she had jes layed down, when in stepped old Miss Green and old Miss Fresnours, and atter that fust one and then tother drapt in tel ther wasn't cheers to seat ’em, and pap he had to fetch the old rickety benchout'n the kitchen. Caiedony and Malindy Jane and Treasy Ann and Ann Ellizy Becky Haskinsand even to Dash Williamson, all stopped in on the way to the Bingln, and the shed was spang fall of gals, so thick me and Flurridy Tennysy couldn’t skaccly tarn around to fix. I didn’t keer so much fur laruiu to sing, but I knowed in reason Cap Dewbery or Iky Roberson or some of the bovs would ax me for my com pany home. Nobody over tbar hadn’t saw my new Sunday-go-to-meetin' pink calico frock trimmed in white domestic bios folds, and I knowed in reason it would take ther eya, bekaze it was made right dab in the town fashion, two narrer ruffles on the tail and the overskirt hiked up to one side, I hadn't wore It but ouce't and that was the Sunday Cap Dewberry stopped in here out'n the rain, and be lowed I looked as pretty os a hollyhock. It was a gittin late so I hurried and diked myself out as quick as I could. I greased my hair as slick asaribhin, with bog fat—I fried the meat and got it—and scented it with this here sweet basil comes out’n the garden I’d rather smell it os ciunamln drsps or pep- perment airy one. I pinned the tip eend of my handkercher under my belt and let tother part hong down at my side. My belt was slick patent leather, with a big shiny steel hackle on it, and ther wasn’t sich another'n this sido of Talladegy town. I grabbed up my little piece of broke lookin' glass ofFn the shelf in a hurry and dabbed some flour on my face, I was spang out'n akin powders, when buddy lowed yonder comes some of the boys. I had on my new Sunday shoes; pap he gin a dol isr and a quarter fur ’em, Jewed the man t quarter ou ern' and he lowed he'd take it but h jtouldu’tdo t ornobidye'.se.andltsllyoun they shined and screeched • too—you conld besr ’em spang to the spring’ouse. I made shorn it was Iky or Cap, one or tother, so I bit my lips and pinched my cheeks and stepped out iu the entry, and who should it bo bat that big headed pop eyed Tom Davis. I had sot my foot down agin ever gwine any whars longer him. so I retched my head back in the door and told the gats I wasn't a gwine to the singin’, and I seed Treasy Ann wink at Becky like abe thought I jes wanted to stay home longer Tom. "Thar now” says Flurridy, “my Sunday coat is in the lolt and I can’t git it tell that ar thing goes home for he is a settin’ right.fernent tbeladder.” Pap hadgln him a cheer right agin the tedder tuat retched uo in the loft. The gtla all got ’em some water and went on to the singin'. I jes wish yon conld have saw Tom Davis. Him and his Sunday clothes didn’t pear to be acquainted; they sot out sorter stiff from THE HOME OF DAVIS. Tb» Grounds and the Mansion BemindineOne or Old Times-How the Greet Southern Losdff Passes Hie Time-Pictures end Brlc-s-Brac of the Home-The Outgoing Tide. BiijUBiuvcu, luojr out uub DuriCT ouu uuui him like him and them wasn't used to one another. Hts coperas jeens pantaloons was too short and too big In the legs and his white home-knit socks bung in wrinkles over his brogan shoes, and his bine cotton coat looked like It had been cut for his daddy. His speckled calico shirt was so atlffltrattled ever time ho moved and his white paper collar rid high on his heck and tried to saw his years in tarn. Ho was ;turrible proud of his red and whito check choke rag, kep a tyln of it, and ontyin’ of it to make me notice it, and he was as restless as a bona In fly time; chawed up his ridin’ switch and spit It all over maw's clean scoared floor and kep a shiftin' of his feat swaupin fof ’em fast one side and then tother like his corns hurt him and which I I know in reason they did, bekaso his shoes was so tight he couldn't skasely sbet hts eyes. His hair was crapped to the skin of his head, and his foes shaved so eloat it was bleedin and as slick as sail sosp could make it. But bo thinks he is powerful pretty and that what be don’t know has been tore out'n the books; but its jes liko Caiedony says, “ig- nant folks has got the least sense of any/’ Atter me and him howdye’d hta face turned mighty red, end he giggled. I didn't see nothin to laugh at He ran both hands down in his breeches prekets and stretched his legs out straight and sorter rarred his cheer back and lowed: “Will you incept ot the—ot ar rar, my company to the singin’?" and giggled and (grinned agin, and chawed his ridin switch. “I’m not a gwine,” says I. "Haint you? Waal, if you don't go I haint a gwine nutber,” says he, hitenenhts cheer cloater to mine. "Guess what I fetched you," says he, lllttin a llttlo cloater and grinning like a baked possum. I was so mad I never said nothin. "Guess,” says he, "can't yon guess?" “Idon't know,"says I.,"I'>s mighty sweet,” a«y* he, “but It haint nigh as sweet as yon atr. I got lumpen to tell you.” “Is you?” says I. “Fra akeered to tell you—feared you won't believe it,” says he. ' What’s that ar you fetched ms?” says f. HRs monstrous putty, but it haint nigh as putty as you atr,” says he. >' What Is It?" says I. "Hits powerful good but it haint nigb as good as yon air, says he. “Well” says I, "what on, the yeth can it be?" "I love it a power," lays he "bat not nigh like I love you," says he, hitchin bis cheer cloater and a drawin of a little red Jane apple oat’n pocket bandin it to me. "Leu bust it and count the seeds,” uya he, “yon bite it fast and sweeten it, then leume bite.” I taken a little bit of a bite, then he fetched a big horse bite plum to the core and drapt the seeds in hts hand, and let in to countiu of ’em. "One I love, two I love,! three I lor* I ssy, four I love with all my heart and—” "You Flurridy Tenuysy Hamilton,” says mtw, "ef you aim to go to that sr singin its high time you wu off” Fluridy whined back half cryin," I can't I o tel I git my Sunday coat out’n the loft. wan't to git by tbar to git It but that fool’s a settin' right thar;ferment the ladder—he keep* a settin thar and a settin tbar; I dunno what big sis wants with that fool arjeettln’ up thar a courtin' er her for; I wished he’d g'long home I do, and stay thar when be gits thar.” “Good evenin' squire" says pan to Bqtre Robeson, “Come bore Betsy and (etch the squire a cheer.” I rig in a hurry and gin him my cheer, glad of a chanoe to gtt away from Tom Davis. Tom he rix and towed "I’ll come back agin next Sunday, Mies Betsy, if I live and lock well and nothin happens to hender me—" and I seed he wasn’t no way sot back by what Flurridy hadjsaid. 1 must close, fur my taller candle bos blinked and blinked smack down to the socket. Betsy Hamilton. “Go to bed now," said grandma, to the children “and to-morrow 1'R tell yon about a bean ot min when I wua girl.” "Oh;t*ll|ua now, please," cried all at once, but the fire bad lud burnt low between the big bra* andi rons, and it wu time to uy good night. [Next week, “Casmsu OrT/'J Dtatci BmlU by ike l»eke« Jirtri. xtowHi Pa.i Mofch 5.—Suit* lor criminal libel have been entered agalnil the editors of the RetmbllcAn Standard by H. H. Acklin and Lair* r5cSKuotti, member* of the jury which acquitted Hakes. The alleged libel appured In the issues ot lhat paper, tn March last, tad conilsitd In great part of the head Uses on articles written on From the Nashville World. Beauvoir, the home of Jefferson Davis, is a part of the property which was bequeathed to him by the late Mrs. Sarah A. Dorsay. Her relatives attempted to set aside the will, but the supreme court recently confirmed the de cisions of the lower courts in his favor. It is situated on the gulf coast in Mississippi, between Biloxi and Mississippi City. Near by are the campgrounds where the Methodists hold their annual summer meetings. The house is an old southern mansion, such as is quite common in this section. Its wide halls and many galleries speak of antc-bel lum days, of the olden time when wealth and luxury here were the common lot of all, The business men of New Orleans and Mo bile flocked from the croweded cities in summer to their sea-shore homes, and whiled away the heated term in luxurious rest. The professional man found recreation from his labors in fishing and*hunting, and rest for his wearied frame iu the ham mocks on the piazzas or beneath the. shade trees, The air in this clime is so soft, that except for shelter from occasional rains, man needs not the cover of houses. Beauvoir mansion stands something less than one hundred yards from the blue wa ters of the gulf. It rests upon brick pillars twelve feet nigh. Broad steps reach from the ground up to the wide front gallery, which is the entire length of the building, Other narrow porches join at each end, ex- tending around the house. The entire struc ture is of wood. The main entrance ii through a vast hall, whose high frescoed ceil fog is now dim from age. To the right are two spacious bed chambers opening into the hall, and separated from each other by large sliding doors. The windows extend to the floor, and furnish easy egress to the galleries. On the left of the hall are parlors, and a li brary furnished with easy cnairs nnd sofas. Around the walls hang fine old oil paintings, and attractive ornaments adorn the tables and mantels. The book-cases contain a wealth of literature seldom seen in a private library, Many of these things were the property ot Mr. Dorsay, and included iu the bequests sbe msde Mr, Davis. In the wide, airy hall are divans and lounges, upholstered in chinlz by Mrs. Davis's own hands. On the walls hang her paintings and those of her daughter. Aronnd on every side are curions relics of other days and other lands. Beyond the hall to the left Is an ell contain, lng the bed chambers, with large windows and doors opening upon the latticed porches. Across an intervening court opposite is the dining room, with its wealth of ola silver and glass, picturea and ornaments. Iu the yard towards the front of the house are two pavilions of two rooms each. The one on the left is furnished as bed rooms for guests. The other, on the right, is Mr, Davis' study. The latter is modestly furnished with a lounge, tables and chairs and contains qnite a library. Here the great man spends mnch of hts time in reading and writing. A small room adjoin, ing is his daughter’s boudoir, containing msny little articles denoting a woman’s oc cupancy. The window opens on a small gar den of rare and beautiful tropical flowers. The yard Is a very large one. The plank fence cannot be seen from the house, except where It passes In front, near the gulf. A few orange trees are scattered in the garden and yard. The stately pines, oaks and elms stand aronnd in forest-llke grandeur. From their branches wave the festoons of gray moss. Again, it hangs in graceful pen. dints, or Interlaces the pine cones and green foliage of the trees. tn the rear of the house, on the left, m be seen tho cottage occupied by Robert Brown, Mr.' Davis’ body-servant, who still follows as be ever bos done, bis master’s for tunes. It was he who took care of the chll, dren and carried thorn to Canada when Mrs. Davis followed her husband to a prisoner’s cell. He is a dark mulatto with a mixture of Indian blood. His hair is long and nearly straight, and now quite gray. Hts bearing is that of a poll«hed gentleman. There is another not lees faithful friend, though he is a dumb brute and said to be without a soul. It Is Traveler, a great New. foundland dog. Lord Byron pronounces a dog the most disinterested Diend of man. Perhaps he was right. Traveler is the constant attendant either uf Mr. aod Mrs. Davis. When not with one he Is surely to be found near the other. Ho welcomes the stranger with glad dem. onstrations, and taking bis haod gently in his great mouth, leads him up the steps into the House. He stretchy himself on the rag at his master's feet whenever there are guests in the parlor; he walks with the family and blends to the dining room and soberly seats himself near the hearth until the meal is finished. He remains quiet until his kind and good thoughtful master fills a plate with food and tells him to speak if he is hungry. A wag of his tail and a “bow-wow,” and he is imme diately served just outside the door on a mat. Whenever Mrs. Davis drives out Traveler accompanies her. When the phaeton is or dered the dog immediately goes to the beach for a bath, returning In time to join his mis tress at the door. He trots along beside the hair so whit* and black until it is almost dry, he resumes his journey, passing through the viltsges of Biloxi, Haadsboro or Misalasippi City, as the route of his mistress may del ermine. Despite all efforts, be occa sionally pauses to pick a quarrel or to snap amt bite at the dogs which he may meet in ' g. Such conduct sometimes causae i be forcibly detained at home on the next occasion. He seems to understand the punishment, and for weeks afterwards does not repeat the offense. He trots lelsarerly over the sands with a peace-abiding air, looking neither to the right nor the left, treating with, silent contempt all demonstra tions of hia old enemies. Time passes, and bis good resolutions fade—forgetting hts former obligations, heauffen his irate pas sions 10 swell. With a growl he aprinn upon the offenders, and bat for timely Interference he woald deal summarily with the whim pering brutes. At night Traveler sleeps onarngatthe door, the guardian of the threshold. Traveler was the property of Mrs. Davis's son,who tell a victim of yellow fever in Mem phis, Tenn., in 1878. His young master wss very much attached to the dog, and had ilaced him in the care of Mrs. Dotsay at leauvoir She waa also Tory fond of turn. Ot course the family have a tender attach ment for him. It may be true that animals have no sonl, but an acquaintance with some of them dis credits tlie statement. Traveler’s large,black, Intelligent eyes seem full of sonl, tnd his very action Unguarded rather by reason than ihy Instinct ” Between the dog and Ned, the hone, there exists an affectionate regard. Lazy Ned, aa he is familiarly called, trots more briskly when in Traveler's company. If the dog is left behind, the horse will torn his bead tn the dirtetion of hts cries, and he can oily be urged forward by (he whip. Among other pleasant reooUsctioxa of Bsanvoir la the sweet, sad face of Martha, Mrs. Davis’ attendant For years sbe has been with her. She lost her two brothers, they were her all, in the Confederate army. She united her fortunes to those of her gen erous-hearted friends, and is truly appreciat ed by the family. , , Mr. Davis has now bat two children, both daughters. Margaret or Maggie is married . to Adtson Hayes, of Memphis, and is the mother of two little girls. Varina or Win nie is still of her father’s household. The leading charm at Besnvior, sbe Is accom plished and affectionate, and her presence ts to her parents a “well-spring of joy.” Upon her, by bequest, Mrs. Dorsay entailed a por tion of her estate. Mrs. Davis's maiden name was Varina Howell. She was one of the oldest and moat honorable families of Mississippi. A noble spe cimen of the southern woman, sbe Is far above the average both personally and men tally. Like Mary and Martha Washington, Mrs. Davis has united the gentle, loving mother, with domestic virtues, to grander womanly qualities. Whether at the national capital, bearing tlie honors of the wife of the secretary of war, and latter, listening to the loud acclama tions that greeted his election to the United States senate, or at Briarfield, as the mother and mistress of the household, we find the same type of nobio womanhood. In prosperity as in adversity, whether the consort of the president of the confederacy, or the wife of the exile of Beauvoir, the same grand nature pervades her life. Still moving forward with au undaunted spirit— which sustained her in so many hours of trial, which supported her amid the clanking chains at Fortress Monroe, sbe clings fondly and untiringly to her husband in his declin ing years. The friend, wife and companion, she is all to him now in his quiet house. A native of Kentucky, Mr. Davis was reared in Mississippi. For.bis home hisattacbment is unbounded. He firmly put aside ail temp tations to live abroad and cast his lot on the Gulf coast of his much-loved state. The heart of her history is his, and it will remain faith ful through coming years. Time has not bent his proud form, nor age dimmed bis wonder ful mind, though nearly four-score years are his. His life is blessed with the love of all who know him. Among his ac quaintances there are no cavilers. It is only those who do not know him who misunder stand and misrepresent him. He has no in terest in politics. He desires none. He is not even a citizen of the country, in the ser vice of which the best years of his life were spent. Hedesires nothing more than to live quietly among his own people, and to feel that in death, as in life, he is ever dear to them. Beauvoir Is to him a sacred place,beautiful, heart-satisfying and real. There 1* a harmony In the sobbing breezes os they move soughing through the plumes of the pines that tower above. Melodious strains, low and sweet, linger faintly lathe soft evening air. The clamor of the seas, a a trifle louder, soon follows In rhymtbs, like the distant notes of the bass viol, whose bow is held by an unseen hand. Now and then a chord Is lost, or a note broken, and a thou sand quivering chimes are beard in the dis tance, growing lower, lower, until silence reigns supreme. S. M. R. ODD THINGS ABOUT BIRDS AND BEASTS. WHY THI YOUNG OAKS WrmgBlD. From tho Page, V*., News. As a couple of gentlemen were tiding down the Roanoke valley, Va., recently they saw a huge green-colored snake writhing and twisting at the foot ots beech tres; Going closer they discovered. It to be one ot tho horned epcclee of the hoop snake. It had formed Itself Into a hoop by taking ltz tall lu Its month tnd rolled down file bill tn pursuit of a rabbit or otber small game. So great had come Its velocity that ltcoutd not gptde itself, and lthad struck the tree with such force aa to drive Its bora nto the solid wood to the depth ot an Inch or more, raiding It tight and fut. There arc a great many known to wither wllhtn au t THEY All KNEW HOW. . From the Portland, Me., Press I took a large eplder f(om hts web under the basement of a mill, put him on a chip and set him afloat on tho quiet waten at the pond. He walked all about tho sides ot his bark, surveying the situation very carefully, and when tho fact that he was really afloat and about a yard from •boro seemed to be fully comprehended, he pros pected for the nearest point ot land. This point fairly settled upon, he Immediately btgan to cut a web for It. tho air and with tho wlod. It eooo reached the ho turned himself about and In true sailor fashion began to haul fo hand over hand on hie cable. Caretolly ho drew upon It unfit hts bark began to move towards the shore. As It moved tho faster he the futer drew upon It to keep his hawser taut and trom touching the water. Very non he reached the shore, aod quickly leaping to terra Grata ho sped his way homeward. Thinking then lhat he might bo a special expert and an exeeptiou lu that fine of boatmaushlp to tho rest ot his companions, 1 tried several ot them, and they all came uhore to like manner. BRUIN Alia FISHERMAN. I From the Lewiston, Me., JournaL I came suddenly upon a very largo bear In a thick swamp, lying upon a Urge hollow log aero* brook Ashing, and ho wu so much Interested In It sport that he did not notice me until I had ap proached very our to him, so that I could eee ex actly how he halted hU hook and played hla fish. He fished In this wise: There wu a Urge hole through the log on which he Uy, and he tbrnet hie forurm through the hole and held hlv open paw in tho water and waited for the fish to gather around and Into It, aod, when full, ho clutched hU fist and brought up a handful o! Gib, and sat and eat them with great ~usto; then down with the paw again and lo on. /he brook wu (airly alive with Utile trout and red- sided suckers and some black tuckets, so the old fellow let himself out on tho fishes. Uo did not cat tOelr heads. There wu quite a pllo ot them on the log. I suppose tho oil In his paw attracted the fish and balled them even bcttci than a fly hook, and his toe-nails wore his hooks, aod sharp ouu too, and once grabbed, the flsh are aura to auy. AN AHTkLOPR IN CHUSCH. From the St. Joseph Herald. Sunday morning a pet autetopo. supposed to be long t* Mr. D. U. Steele, escaped from the premises and wu usaulted by one of the numerous cattle that are permitted to run at large and browso about the atreeu and In other people's front door yards. The antelope fled for safety to Christ church, and had en tered the vestibule, when a frightened lady bran dished a parasol and drove It out. The lady did not pause to question the lunocent little creature u to the nature of its business there, or what it wu seeking from the Gelds of heaven. She did not volunteer the Information that It had no need of prayer, end no sins to be forgiven. 8uch reflec tions ere well enough In tbetr place, but in this particular emergency the lady simply said, “Get out of hero, yoo beut, or I’ll bust yer head.” The address tnd the parted combined had the desired effect. 1 Ysllsw Fever ee Ue I.tinea. Nxw York. March 5.—Panama dates of the 24th. nit. contain the following: Several cases ot yet* low fever have occurred on the Isthmus Medical mea believe It will become epidemic ou account of “ many newly arriving unaccllmated workmen. CAT'S-CRADLE. 'It's a crtucrea high aod it'e a crisscross fiat; Then four Untight Hues far the puseycat; Then criss-cross under; ah. now there'll be 1 nice deep cradle, dear grandpapa! Seel We can have a very good door, you 1 Now over, now under, now pull It fight; ke-uw, grandpa:-exactly right!” .a prattled the uttle one, grandfather's pet, A* deftly she wrought. “Seel now lu a net! “But where did you learn cat’s-rradle so well? She suddealy uked, and he coold not telL He could not tell, for hU hurt wu eere. As he gravely said, "I have played It before." What conld the sweet little maiden know Of buuUfnl etunmen loogego? ot the.merry sports and the games he played When “mamma" herself wu a little maid; What could she know ol the thoughts that ran Through the weary brain of the world-worn man But aka knew, when eh* kissed him, dear grandpa And that wu enough for the happy child. —Mary Mtpu Dodge.