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The Morgan Monitor.
VOL. II. NO. 37. $1 PER YEAR.
THE DREAM TOWN SHOW.
There Is an island in Slumber sea
Where the drollest things are done,
And we will sail there, if the winds are fair,
■Tust after the set of the sun.
’Tis the loveliest place in the whole wide
world.
Or any way so it seems,
And tile folks there play at the end of each
In day show called “Dreams."
a curious
We sail right into the evening skies,
And the very first tiling we know
We are there at the port and ready for
Whore sport the dream folks show.
And do think givo their night
what you they did last
When I crossed their harbor bars?
They hoisted a plank on a great cloud bank
And teetered among the stars.
WERASER TAN.
By MARGARET JOHANN.
\/ [—“S1 HE teacher stood
- by the blackboard
reviewing with
Ralph Burrows a
problem in alge¬
bra. Most of her
pupils were from
the lower walks of
life, rude in dress
and manner, and
backward in in¬
telligence. The
schoolroom was a relic of an ancient
educational regime, with broken, be¬
grimed walls, curtainless windows
and backless, splinter-fringed benches,
whose present incumbeuts could,
upon the clumsy “forms” before
them, carve their initials side by side
with those of their fathers’, or im¬
prison flies in dungeons gouged out
by the jack-knives of their grand¬
fathers.
This pupil in algebra was the sole
representative there of the township
aristocracy. The teacher was very
proud of him. He had already passed
the entrance examination for the high-
school in a distant city. He showed
what he could do when she had
material to work with, she thought,
and she was fond of showing him off
when the trustees made their pre¬
scribed “two visits a year.” The Wly
had an earnest though merry face, and
he bore with good-humored indif¬
ference the distinction of being the
best-dressed and most scholarly pupil
there.
It was a raw January day. The wind
made the old schoolhouse quake, but
for pity of tho children, it piled pro¬
tecting ridges of snow about the case¬
ments. For the comfort of the smaller
children benches were drawn close to
the stove; but at the forms the older
ones wrung their hands to dispel the
numbness of their fingers, and sat
upon their feet to keep them warm.
A little girl with stringy, yellow
curls, a lace-bordered apron, torn and
dingy, and a soiled ribbon around her
neck, tugged at the teacher’s gown.
“Tin me and Weasel: Tan do home?”
“Weaser Tan” (Louisa Rutan) by
her side, hung her head bashfully and
pulled] fingers. her mouth awry with her
There was no attempt at finery
in Weaser Tan’s costume. She was an
ugly child, with part of her unkempt
hair gathered into a short, tapering
braid and tied with a bit of thread,and
the rest of it hanging in strings about
her eyes and ears.
The teacher hesitated.
<< ( Me and Weaser Tan’ will freeze
on the way, Miss L--,” said Ralph,
good-naturedly turning from his prob¬
lem, “they have nearly as far to go as
I have.”
Miss L---- stepped anxiously to the
window and surveyed the road.
“If ‘Me and Weaser Tan’ will wait
till school’s out I’ll take them home on
my sled,” continued Ralph.
The teacher looked relieved.
“If you’ll do that, Ralph,” she said,
“you may go right away; for the
storm’s getting Worse every minute.”
The boy was delighted to get out of
school so early. “Proof that a good
action is never thrown away,” he said,
with roguish familiarity. Then ho
slammed his books into place, put on
his warm overcoat and tied a
bright home-knit scarf around
his neck, and the little girls
pinned on their threadbare shawls.
They went out into tho storm to¬
gether, and he seated them a-tandem
upon his sled.
“Put on your mittens, Weaser Tan,”
he said, for the child’s hands holding
to the sides of the sled were chapped
and red.
“She ain’t got none,” said Grace,
pulling at the wrists of her own and
giggling self-consciously.
“Put these on, then,” said he,
throwing his own into her lap.
She drew them on shamefacedly.
The little girls lived iu adjoining
cabins; and when he left them in front
of their door he said:
“You may keep the mittens, Weaser
Tan; mother’ll knit me another pair.
They’re not so gay as Grace’s, but
they’re warm.”
Ralph Burrows, home on a college
vacation, came out of the woods be¬
hind the Rutan cabin with his gun
ppon his shoulder. His dog had run
on ahead and Ralph came upon him
eagerly lapping water from a trough in
front of the house. Grace and Weaser
Tan were there, the latter with her
hand upon the handle of the pump,
from whose nozzle a stream of fresh
water was falling gently for the ani¬
mal’s enjoyment.
“Don knows where the best water
in the neighborhood is to be found,”
said Ralph, throwing a bunch of game
upon the grass and pumping a dipper
fnl of water for himself as the girl
stepped bashfully aside. The dog, a
And they sat on the moon and swung their
Like feet,
Down pendulums, to and Iro.
Slumber sea is the sail for me,
And I wish you were ready to go.
For the dream folks there on this curious
isle
Begin their performance at eight.
There are no encores, and they close their
doors
On every one who is late.
The sun is sinking o’clock behind the hills,
The seven bells chime.
I know by the chart that we ought to start
If we would he there in time.
Oh, fair is the trip down Slumber sea!
Set sail, and away wo go!
The anchor is drawn. We are oft and
gone
To the wonderful dream town. show.
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
magnificent English setter, went to
her and laid his tawny head against
her. She spoke gently to him, fond¬
ling his silky ears.
“He seems to be an acquaintance of
yours,” said Ralph, by way of being
sociable.
“Sh’d think he ought to be,” giggled
Grace. “She's always saving bones
and things for him.”
“That’s very kind, I’m sure,” said
the young fellow, turning toward the
game which Grace was inspecting.
“That blue-jay was an accident—I
didn’t mean to shoot him. ”
“You might give me his wings for
my hat,” said Grace, saucily.
t t His wings? with pleasure,” and,
taking out his knife, ho out them off.
“One for Grace and one for—‘Wea¬
ser Tan,’ ” ho said, giving one to each
and laughiug at the recollection of the
old childish name.
He went whistling out of the grate;
and Grace, with each hand grasping
a picket of the rickety fence, watched
him out of hearing. Ho drew a long
breath as she turned away.
“Gracious, ain’t he handsome!” she
said, “and, Wease, you like him awful
good.”
For answer Wease splashed her well
with water. Then Grace went crying
into the house, and Wease, in the
covert of the high pump, softly stroked
the jay-a wing and watched the giver
out of sight.
“Room in our town for another
physician,” wrote distant relatives,
aud there Ralph Burrows went fresh
froili an extended course of study and
travel abroad. He opened his office in
the heart of the town; his home was
with his relatives on hills that over-
looked it. Business came to him lag-
gingly, but love came on smooth, swift
wings.
Marguerite, heir of beauty, wealth
and gooduess, sat on tho veranda,
fieldglass in hand. A dozen times a
day she focused it upon Ralph’s office
in the town below. A few moments
since she saw him lock his door and
set out upon the homeward road. Now
he was hidden from view, but she
knew just what landmark he had
reached (she had timed him so often).
To speed the minutes she took up a
magazine and scanned an article that
essayed to settle for all times and for
all people the question: “Is life worth
living?” AVhen he came she met him
at the foot of the terraces, and with
his arm around her he led her back to
the veranda.
“What’s iu it?” he asked, tossing
the magazine aside to make room for
them both upon the willow settle.
“Oh, Ralph,” she cried, archly, “is
life worth living?”
He took her face between his hands
and looked unutterable love into eyes
that paid him back his own.
“Is life worth living? And with
Marguerite? A thousand, thousand
times, sweetheart, and forever and
ever!” He kissed her rapturously.
“For shame,” she whispered, look¬
ing Louise; rosily she foolish and have happy, “there’s
must heard and seen
the whole performance. And, by the
way, Ralph, when you write your
mother, thank her again for solving
for us the servant problem in so far as
a waitress is concerned. This Louise
Rutan has been with us two months
now, and we find her all we could de¬
sire: only (with a little deprecative
shrug) her face is bo stolidly sorrow¬
ful. I’m so happy myself, Ralph, that
when anyone else is sad I feel a sort
of remorse—almost as if I were re¬
sponsible.
“Well, poor girl,” he said, “I’ve
known her ever since she was—three
feet high, I suppose, aud she’s had
pretty hard lines. She’ll brighten,
never fear, iu the atmosphere of this
home.”
“Louise,” said Marguerite next day,
“I believe I’ll let you drive me into
town; you’re accustomed to a horse,
aren’t you?”
“Not very; but I’m not afraid,” was
the reply; so they went.
Marguerite had made her purchases,
had achieved a merry consultation with
Ralph in front of his office, aud they
were upon a homeward, uphill road
that lay along the bed of a little stream.
The queer, reticent girl by her side
was a study for Marguerite. Through¬
out the drive she had tried to make
her talk; but, baffled, she had by now
lapsed into a silence akin to pique, A
new thought came to her,
“Louise,” she asked, “is life worth
living?”
“For yon it must be, Miss Mar- j
guerite.”
It was a lengthy sentence for the j
girl to utter, but her eyes looked 1
staight ahead and her hands holding
the slack rein lay limp iu her lap.
“And why not for you, Louise?”
The girl hesitated, aud Marguerite,
POPULATION AND DRAINAGE.
MORGAN, GA„ FRIDAY. SEPTEMBER 21. 1897.
always prone to moralizing, improved
the opportunity.
“My good girl,” she said, “you
wage-earners make a great mistake in
thinking that wealth brings happiness.
All of rich and * alike, meet
us, poor
with disappointments, and we can
either make the best of them and be
happy or make the worst of them and
be miserable. Now, here are these
gloves that I’ve just bought. I
couldn’t get the color I wanted; these
are fully three shades too dark, but
I’m not going to fret about them; I’m
going to be happy in spite of circum¬
stances. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the girl, apatheti¬
cally.
“You have health, a home and
plenty to eat and to wear, Louise, and
I have no more than that.”
“Yes, ma’am”—but there was repu¬
diation iu the tone.
Marguerite recognized it, and went
on, a softness stealing over her glad,
flower-like beauty.
“Of course, I have Ralph; but
some hearted day, Louise, some honest-
young fellow will come to you,
and will love you as his life, and then,
Louise, if your heart responds” (her
voice weighed with the sweet mvstery
of love dropped into rhythmic cadence)
“you will be blest indeed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the girl again,
but feigned an interest in the land¬
scape and leaned forward to hide her
homely face from the gaze of the beau¬
tiful and blest.
Suddenly the feigned interest be¬
came real, for she half rose to her feet,
grasping the dashboard.
“Whoa!”
She threw the reins into Marguerite’s
lap; and, springing to the ground,
pressed into the thicket of blackberry
and catbrier that upon one Bide bor¬
dered the road. Parting the tangle
with her bare hands, she took one look
through the opening she had made.
The next instant she had loosened the
traces and was leading the horse out
of the shafts.
“Why, Louise”—began Marguerite;
then she got down and went to her
with a fnco full of astonished inquiry.
The girl’s lingers were flying from
buokle to buckle along the harness.
“Go home as fast as you can go,
Miss Marguerite,” she said. Her voice
was steady, but her hands shook,
“What do you mean, Louise?”
The gill dragged the harness off:
“For you,” she said, “life is worth
living; for me”—she backed the horse
to the carriage-side—“death is worth
dying.”
From a hub she vaulted to the
horse’s back.
“Go home!” she shouted, fiercely;
for by now she had lost control of her
voice.
“I believe you are insane,” said
Marguerite, half iu anger, half in
fright.
To the quivering girl the suggestion
was an inspiration. She waved her
hands wildly:
“Go!” she shouted, jerking the
horse upon his haunches, “start, or
I’ll ride you down!”
Marguerite (led in terror. Once she
looked back. No one was in sight,
but she heard the horse’s hoofs clatter¬
ing downward into the town.
A catalpa, little and old and scarred
and only of late protected from vandal¬
ism by a box, stood in front of the doc¬
tor’s office. A horse wheeled under it,
and Ralph reached the sidewalk as the
rider slipped to the ground.
< < What’s wrong, my girl?” heaslted,
with forced professional calmness.
Her breath came pantingly.
“Go home,” she gasped, with tense,
white lips, “they want you.”
He sprang toward his office, but she
clutched his sleeve. She was not
fierce now, hut her tone was an agony
of pleading.
“Oh, go!”—for the first time in her
life she looked full into his face—
“don’t stop for anything—she’s dying,
I tell you—Marguerite—she’s bleed¬
ing to death by the roadside—above
the dam.”
She pressed the bridle into bis hand,
but he tore away into his office. He
was out again like a flash, hatless but
his emergency kit in hand, He
snatched the bridle aud the next min¬
ute the woody, up-hill road plucked
horse and rider out of her sight.
Almost fainting, she held to tlie tree-
box. The street was nearly deserted,
but two women, talking earnestly,
came round a corner, She clutched
the gown of the nearer.
“The dam,” she whispered, “there’s
a leak—”
The woman started and gathered
her skirt closely about her. “Poor
creature!” she said to her companion,
“rum is the curse of this land,” and
they turned nervously into the nearest
street.
Then Weaser Tan’s strength came
again. Two boys tore past her in a
wild game of chase. She seized the
foremost by his shoulder, his compan¬
ion grabbed him at the same instant,
and both wheeled stumblingly in
front of her.
“Run for the 'hills!”—she shook
the boy as if to awaken him from
sleep—“the big dam is giving way!
Don’t stand and store! Alarm the
people!”
She flung them from her, and they
plunged ahead—one shrieking like a
maniac, the other dumb with terror.
The girl herself dashed after the two
women. Ahead of her and on tlie op¬
posite side, upon a bank of the
“branch,” was a factory, In its sec-
ond story young girls were working;
she could see them through tlie open
windows.
She was flying up the stairs when
a suspicious foreman stopped her.
i » Whereaway so fast, young wo-
man?” ;
“The flood is coming!” j
“Nonsense!” he smiled pleasantly,
“It’s the dam, the great dam above !
Hie South Fork! Look out at the I
branch!” and she tore past him.
The girls were already storing wild-I
!y into one another’s faces, for a new
din, the roar of a raging river, min*
gled with the whir and clatter of the
machinery. lives!”
“Run for your
their They rushed to the street and fled
various ways, One, Tan. half para¬
lyzed, clung to Weaser
“The railroad bridge is high and
very strong.” From both sides peo¬
ple were crowding upon it.
struggling Only a moment—but in it, to that
freight eternity—and cityful, terror enough her to
around her fainting Louise, charge arm
stood
upon the bridge. Then the dam sur¬
rendered its last defense and pande¬
monium plunged into the valley.
The work of rescue was going on.
The young doctor had not lain down,
they said, fca - two days and two nights.
He was everywhere, directing, com¬
manding, executing. Some sixty rods
below where the bridge had been was
a wooded knoll, for which the branch
in its peaceful days had turned tran¬
pilod quilly aside. A mass of drift was
there now, sand and soil;
trees, cattle and the wrecks
of homes; stone buttress; brace
and girder and stanohion of steel
and human flesh and blood—wisps of
straw flipped aside by the torrent, the
discarded playthings of a moment.
Gangs of men were sorting it over.
A bit of blue cambric caught Ralph’s
eye. He knew it, for his mother had
worn it once.
“Careful there, careful,”he warned,
pressing in among the laborers, “take
away that piece of roofing. Not your
axe, man! For heaven’s sake don’t
use that! There’s a young girl lying
just beneath! Help me lift it, half a
dozen of you—so—that will do.”
He scooped away some debris with
his hands and wiped the soil from the
dead face.
“Thank God, there’s no mutilation,
That iron beam thore twisted like a
thread—it confines the arm. Set your
lever just here. Steady-steady; that
will do.
“Now, some one help me carry her.
Not you, Van Courtlandt; some one
with an awful sorrow tugging at his
heart. You’ll do, McCall.
lift “Gently, my man, tenderly as you’ll
that little girl Of yours when you
find her. Lay her here, McCall.
“One moment more, my friend.
Here’s a pillow, soft ami white and
frilled, a dainty thing—Marguerite
sent it. Put it into place while I lift
the head. Now the spread—thank you,
McCall.”
NVeaser Tan lay in her coffin; her
face as plain ii) deatli as in life, but
more serene. Ralph stood and looked
at her wonderingly and sadly. His
old dog came and, whining, laid his
muzzle in his hand.
“Yes, Don, you’ve lost ft friend.
She loved you.”
Marguerite came softly in.
“Here’s something else she loved,”
she said. “They say she would not
sleep without it under her.pillow.”
He opened tho little box she gave
him, gazed into it for a moment,
touched its contents tenderly, then
tucked them under some roses that lay
upon her breast.
They were a pair of gray yarn mit¬
tens and a blue-jay’s wing.—Short
Stories.
WORDS^ OF WISDOM.
It is difficult to say who does the
most mischief, enemies with the worsi*
intentions or friends with the best.
Huoh as thy words are, such will thy
affections be; such thy deeds as thy
affections, such thy life as thy deeds.
There is a great struggle - between
vanity and patience when wo have to
meet a person who admires us but who
bores us.
One of tho highest mountains upon
which we may stand in this life, is to
be able to look back upon a long life
well spent.
Beware of prejudices. Aman’smind
is like a rat trap; prejudices creep in
easily, but it is doubtful if thoy ever
got out again.
Want of prudence is too frequently
the want of virtue; nor is there on
earth a more powerful advocate for
vice than poverty.
Don’t get tho notion that you are the
greatest person in creation. There
are plenty of other people who are just
as Rmall as you are.
The worst penalty of evil doing is to
grow into likeness with the bad; for
each man’s soul changes according to
the nature of his deeds, for bettor or
for worse.
Patient, hopeful waiting is hard work
when it is the only work possible to us
in an emergency. But patient waiting
is in its time the highest duty of a
faithful soul.
A good and wise man will at times
be angry with the world, and also
grieved at it; but no man can ever be
long discontented with the world if he
does his duty iu it.
We should so live and labor in our
time that what comes to us as seed may
go to the next generation as blossom,
and that what came to us as blossom
may go to them as fruit. This is what
we mean by progress.
Many ideas grow better when trans¬
planted into another mind than in tlie
one where they sprang up. That
which was a weed iu one intelligence
becomes a flower in another, and a
flower again dwindles to a mere weed
by the same change.—The Houth-West.
Tlie Tramp Worked t lie Dentist.
To work on the sympathies of a
dentist who was at first hardhearDH,
a tramp at St. Joseph, Mo., asked him
to pull out two of liis teeth which were
filled with gold; for, he asked, of whal
use were gold-filled teeth if one ha
nothing on which to use them? Thi;
appealed him so to tho dentist that he gave
some money instead of drawing
the teeth.
WILLIAM RECEIVES A COMMEKfl*
CATION FROM AN OLD FRIEND,
INTERESTING GEORGIA HISTORY.
Incident* WluVh Occurred When Indiana
lloamed the Forest* of the Empire
State of the South*
I thought that almost everybody was
dead but me, especially since Judge
Clark died, the man of memories, the
historian, the jurist, the amiable and
lovablo citizen. I want his book as
soon as Mrs. AVyly has it published.
I know it will be a treasure to the old
people, and should be to the young.
I thought that all my contemporaries
who were familiar with the public af*
fa:rs of fifty and sixty years ago were
dead, but I was mistaken. Quite a
flood of historic letters have come to
me of late from venerable and scholar¬
ly men who have awakened from their
long retirement and write me some
and most interesting recollections of men
events of bygone days, What
careful, artistic penmanship illumines
most of these letters, reminding me of
my father’s, and John McPherson
Berrien’s, and Henry R. Jackson's and
others who were trained to write by
the schoolmasters of the olden time.
Here is a long and scholarly letter
from Mr. S. P. Hale, of Madisonville,
Tenn., who is now in his seventy-
fourth year, and whose father was an
officer in the army that moved the
Cherokees beyolid the Mississippi
river. It took mtlny months for the
soldiers to gather these Indians to¬
gether, for they kept in hiding as lotlg
as possible, and while this was going
nil Mr. Hale’s father and his family
wore located at New Eehota, in what
is now Gordon county. “We lived,”
says Mr. Hale, “iu a house that my
father rented from Boudinot, and he
purchased from him many articles of
handsome furniture, among which was
a heavy folding leaf dining table made
of cherry wood and finished in artistic
style, This table has been in the fam¬
ily ever since and is now iu my house,
and on it we eat our humble meals
three times a day. I prize it highly as
a souvenir of my childhood, for I was
then only 12 years old. I remember well
n cvlii^ Mi . X> > • iAft 1 11 v< vi *■ ' r> -
and other notable Indians in confer¬
ence there. Ridge was tall, erect and
copper-colored; nose equiline, eyes
black and piercing, and hair straight,
black and coarse. Ho dressed like a
white man and spoke broken English
fluently. His father was an Indian,
bis mother a half breed, and he was
educated at a Moravian mission school.
“Boudinot was not so tali, but was
a heavier, broader man with attractive
features and polished manners. He
dressed stylishly, wore a tall silk hat
and spoke English in its purity. He
published a newspaper at New Eehota
in the Indian dialect, and we boys did
often play with the type. Boudinot,
whose Indian name was Charles Vann,
was of mixed blood, and while at the
mission school attracted the attention
of Elias Boudinot, a wealthy gentle¬
man of Philadelphia, who adopted
him and gave him his Huguenot name.
This is the same philanthropist who
was the founder and first president of
the American Bible Society, and gave
it $10,000 to start on. His will con¬
tained many bequests to charity, and
among them one of $2,000 to provide
spectacles for poor old women.
“But can you tell me anything of
Paschal—Lieutenant Paschal. I think
he was a Georgian. He was there at
New Eehota on General Wood’s staff
as aide do cainp and came thore with
Captain Derrick’s company from Dah-
lonega. He fell desperately in love
with John Ridge’s only daughter, Sa¬
rah, a beautiful and lovely girl, and
the best horsewoman I ever saw. He
courted her and married her there.
They spent some time at our house
and their marriage was quite a roman¬
tic episode in our monotonous life.
During their courtship she one day
expressed a desire to ride my father’s
horse, ‘Mucklo John,’ a steed of blood
and mettle. My father reluctantly
consented and for her safety had a
bridle with a very severe bit put on
him. Paschal v as mounted on a fast
Indian pony and they were soon away
and out of sight. They rode five or six
miles to the big spring, and when
about to return the happy, laughing
gin pTopt*'e<l to swap bridles and lei
Muokle John go as fast as he pleased.
PaRchal tried to exchange without her
dismounting, liut the moment Muckl*
John found his mouth free he gave a
snort and started home on a wild oan-
ter. Tn vain did Paschal try to over¬
ride his sweetheart, ft was a John
Gilpin race and Muckle John never
slackened his speed until ho reached
the horse block where his rider had
mounted. Blie was wild with laughter
and excitement and deejared it was
the finest lido of her life and that
when Hie horse got tired she lashed
him on. But poor Paschal did not for
a long time recover from tlie shock,for
be feared he would never see his dar¬
ling alive any more.
“Paschal and his bride went west,
and many y ars ogo I road something
about a Judge Paschal out in Texas.
Is he the same man?”
I supposo that lie was, for Paschal
did live in Texas for several years am)
published a paper in Austin, and in
1859 contributed largely to the election
of his friend, Ham Houston, as gover¬
nor. He settled first in Arkansas and
practiced law and soon won distinction
and was elected judge of the supreme
court in 1841. In 1809 he removed to
Washington city aud founded the law
department of Georgetown University
T. P. GREEN. MANAGER.
amt became its president and there
received the degree of LL.D. He
published and compiled many law
I books and also wrote a biography of
j pride General that Sam Houston. It is with
| we give this sketch of this
notable and gifted man, for ho was n
Georgian born in Greene county, edu¬
cated at Mercer and admitted to the
bar in 1831 at Washington, in Wilkes
county. He died in 1872. I wonder
if there were any quadroon children
born to his Indian wife. No doubt he
has relatives living iu Georgia who can
tell.
In perusing these ancient records I
find that Governor Troup; the noblest
Roman of them all, was a full-blooded
cousin to that famous Indian chief-
tain, Genera! William McIntosh, and
that the general’s father was, as is
usual, a Scotchman who took atl In¬
dian wife. Governor Troup’s mother
and McIntosh’s father were brother
and sister. McIntosh was chief of the
Creeks, and like Ridge ami Boudinot
was assassinated for signing the treaty
that ceded the Creek lands to Georgia.
I tell you, these Scotchmen, or Scotoh-
Irish, as George Adair calls them,
were on the wild hunt for Indinn
«ives, and they had the pick and took
the best of them. Even Osceola was
the son of a Scotchman. Maybe my
friend George Adair has a streak of
injuu blood in him, who knows? If
Evan Howell hasn’t, then all signs fail
in the face.
It is sad to realize that in a few
years more not a man or woman will be
left who mingled with the aboriginal
owners of Georgia soil—tlieRO Creeks
and Cherokees and Seminoles, who
gave kind welcome to our ancestors,
only to be despoiled of their homes—
not a man left to tell of their trials and
tribulations.
Big John Underwood, the Roman
ruuagee, who fled from the foul inva¬
der and for lack of any better trans¬
portation drove a steer In the shafts of
a one-horso wagon, and for lack of
harness bored a liole through the dash¬
board and drew the steer’s tail through
and tied the end in a knot., used to
tell me many stories about the indians,
for lie lived among them away back in
the 30’s. He, too, tried to marry an
Indian maiden, bathe wasn’t a Scotcli-
man and couldn’t shoot the crossbow
nor the long bow and so sbe wouldn’t
have him, These Indians had grent
admiration for the arehef’s skill. I
old remember Indian visiting the wigwam of an
on Sttwny’a I, mountain,
near Gumming, Ga. too, was then
a lad of twelve years and got the old
iny young cousins, fiplitting (Be up¬
per end of a small stick that was
about three feet long, I inserted a
silver quarter in the split and stuck
the other end iu the ground. At thirty
yards the boys would hit the quar¬
ter with an arrow almost every
time, and, of course I gave it to
them. How did they over learn to do
this? I asked of tile old man, They
begin, he said, almost as soon as they
can walk. First they shoot at a big
tree, and then a smaller one, and then
a still smaller one, and keep on from
year to yeur until they can knock out
a squirrel’s Smith eye. In 1840 I Mississippi, visited an
uncle in Cottnty,
and found a remnant of the Obiekfl-
saws there. They were friendly and
kind and very expert in killing deer
by shining their eyes at night. My
cousins and I wej t with them one
night, lmt yearling unhappily they shined the
eyes of a calf that belonged
t@ ono of the neighbors amt shot him.
It mortified and troubled them very
much, but as they went hunting on
our account, we quieted their fears by
paying for the calf the next day.
I forgot to mention that Elias Bou¬
dinot, the philanthropist, wrote a very
learned treatise to prove that the
Indians of North America all descend¬
ed from the lost tribes of Israel, and
his book made many converts to that
belief.
And now tlie sad news comes that
General Avery is dead—my gonial,
loving friend of forty years—a man
whom I always loved to meet whether
I was in the office or the counting
room or on the sidewalk. How full
of good, pleasant cheer he was. What
kind greetings he always gavo. What
thoughtful comments on men and the
events of the day. Georgia ran ill
afford to lose such men as General
Avery and Judge Clark, but still the
world moves on. “Close up, closo
up!” is tlie word from the Great Com¬
mander, and the gaps that deatli makes
in our ranks are closed and soon for¬
gotten.—Bu.i Anr in Atlanta Consti¬
tution.
’’High Water Bill” Moorhead.
William H. Moorhead, better known
during later years as “High Water
Bill,” has just, died at his home iu
Pembina, North Dakota, after an ill
ness of six months. This sobriquet
be gained by his numerous prophecies'
as to just how high the water in the
Red River would rise each year, aud,
be it said, his predictions were usually
not far astray. As an incident in this
line it is said that this spring, before
tlie snow melted, as he was lying in
his bed on the lower floor of his
house, talking “high water” to a vis¬
itor, he reached down about half way
on one of his bod posts and said:
“You’ll see the water up to this spot
when the snow melts,” and his predic¬
tion was verified. He refused to lie
carried up stairs until the water came
in on the floor.
Mr. Moorhead was a typical fron¬
tiersman and a general favorite. Tho
history of the lved Rivor valley would
be far from complete,without an inter¬
esting reference to a man who was
known far and wide for his genial
good nature and interesting stories of
the pioneer life in the northwest.—
8t. Paul Pioneer Press.
An old ’possum; w.th fifteen youiq
ones, was caught >u a henhouse r
Franklin. Ind.
EVERY TRAIN CROWDED WITH
FLEEING REFUGEES.
THE PEOPLE ARE PUNIC STRICKEN
New Cases and Additional Deaths at
Ocean Springs, Edwards and New
Orleans—Plague In Cairo, III.
The announcement of eleven new
cases of yellow fever at Mobile, Ala ,
Sunday, following so closely on a sim¬
ilar number Saturday, and the fact
that the twenty-four hours had found
one victim, combined to bring the
panic which commenced in the middle
of last week to its zenith.
depopulated, Monday found the city closed, practically
many stores and
wholesale business entirely suspended,
while retailers are apprehensive of
utter ruin.
There may have been worse days in
Mobile, but the oldest inhabitant fails
to remember them. The outlook npw
is gloomy in the extreme, not because
of the present fever aspect, but because
of the entire suspension of commerce
and partial stoppage of business. *
Every one who can afford it, with
the exception of those whose callings
compel them to remain, has sought re¬
fuge in cities beyond the state.
People in the city now do not fear
the fever, but they tremble for its con¬
sequences.
Mayor Loft tli« Town.
Even the government head has refu-
geed, and if a meeting of the general
council were to be called no quorum
would'be found to respond.
There is one courageous band, of
which Judge Price Williams is the
leader, which remains with the stricken
city in her hour of trial. They have
fought epidemics before.
Some of them went into the front
ranks against the southern scourge in
1853 and are gray headed men now,
and the constancy ami heroism which
they have formerly exhibited is still to
be witnessed. These Spartans are en¬
couraging, by all means in their power,
those who consider themselves unfort¬
unate in not having the means to de¬
sert their homes.
fever at Edwards’, Miss., Saturday
morning, ono of them being just out¬
side of town.
A total of thirty-nine cases doctors. are pro¬
nounced yellow fever by tlie
The rapid spread of the disease is re¬
markable, and it is now well distribut¬
ed through the town. Four new cases
were reported Sunday.
The fever situation at New Orleans
underwent little change Sunday. The
record book in the board of health
office showed a total of six new cases
and one death.
A special from Cairo, Ill., states
that Dr. Guiteras, the yellow fever
expert, arrived there from Mobile
at noon Sunday, and announced two
suspicious cases at the marine hospi¬
tal to be yellow fever of a mild form,
but owing to the prompt measure taken
there is no danger of the pest spread¬
ing. The hospital is thoroughly
guarded.
ROAD CONGRESS ADJOURNS.
Tim Parliament Will Meet In Omaha
Next Year.
At tho national road parliament iu
session, at Knoxville Friday, convict
labor in building roads and govern¬
ment aid were discussed. Experimen¬
tal road bedding was advocated. Reso¬
lutions recommending state aid and
aid by tlie general govenment aud a
restricted use of convict labor were
adopted. re-elected
General Roy Stone was
president; E. Rosewater, Omaha, vice
president, and tho following state
presidents: Kernochan.
Alabama—W. J.
Georgia—George W, Harrison.
Kentucky M. II. Crump.
Michigan—A. Campbell.
Minnesota—William M. Hayes.
Indiana—Governor James A. Mount.
Nebraska G. 0. Turner.
South Carolina—W. C. Cain.
Virginia—B. Chambers. Blackstock.
Wisconsin—Thomas B.
Tennessee—Governor R. L, Taylor.
The next meeting will be in Omaha,
subject to the call of tho executive
committee.
“HAD POLICY,” SAYS BACON,
Is the Appointment of Colored Men to
OMce ill the South.
Senator Bacon, of Georgia, has a
signed interview in the New York
Herald, iu which he says in part:
i ,' The appointment of colored men
to office in the south will certainly
lead to race antagonisms and estrange¬
ments which would otherwise not ex¬
ist. Such appointments are of small
benefit to the few negroes thus ap¬
pointed, and are of very great injury
to the masses of the negroes in the ill
feeling engendered between them and
the whites, upon whose friendship
and good will they are wholly depend¬
ent.”
INDIANA FACTORIES RESUME.
Wire Natl anil Lamp Clilmney Works He-
£in Operations Anew.
A dispatch of Sunday from Ander¬
son, Ind., says: The American wire
nail works, employing 700 men, the
Lippincott lamp chimney plant, which
works 400 men aud the McBeth lamp
chimney works with a like number of
men on its rolls, have resumed in full
blast after a shut down of some two
months and a half.