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SOME PAGES TKOM ME SCEAP BOOK THE ARKANSAS TRAVELER. The following introduction by an unremembered “explainer,” tells the story of the origin of the “Arkan saw Traveler”: Col. Sandy Faulkner, the original “Arkansaw Traveler,” was born in Georgetown, Scott county, Ky., March 3, 1803. He came to Arkansas in 1829, and settled in Chicot county, on the Mississippi River, as a cotton planter. In 1839, Col. Faulkner (with his father, the late Nicholas Faulkner, a Virginian by birth) took up his residence in Little Rock, where he died August 4, 1874, at the age of seventy-one years. It is well known throughout the northwest that Col. Faulkner was the original personator of the “Arkan saw Traveler.” It was his pride to be known as such. The story, it is said, was founded on a little incident which occurred in the campaign of 1840, when he made the tour of the state in company with Hon. A. H. Sevier, Gov. Fulton, Chester, Ashley and Gov. YelL One day in the Bos ton mountains, the party approached a squatter’s for information of the route, and Col. “Sandy” was made spokesman of the company, and it was upon his witty responses the tune- and story were founded. On returning to Little Rock, a grand ban quet was in the famous “bar (room” which used to stand near the Anthony House, and Col. “San dy” was called upon to play the tune and tell the story. Afterward it grew into popularity. When he sub sequently went to New Orleans, the fame of the “Arkansaw Traveler” had gone ahead of him and at a banquet, amid clinking glasses and brilliant toasts, he was handed a violin by the then governor of Lou isiana, and requested to favor them with the favorite Arkansaw tune. At the old St. Charles Hotel a special room was devoted to his use, bearing in gilt letters over the door, “Ar kansaw Traveler.” Dialogue. Traveler —Hello, stranger. Squatter—Hello, yourself. T. —Can I get to stay all the night with you! S. —No, sir, you can’t git to — T. —Have you any spirits here! S. —Lots w em. Sal seed one last night by that ar ole holler gum, and it nearly skeered her to death. T. —You mistake my meaning; have you any liquor! S. —Had some yesterday, but old Bose he got in an’ lapped all uv it out’n the pot. T. —You don’t understand; I don’t mean pot liquor. I’m wet and cold and want some whisky. Have you got any! S. Oh, yes —I drunk the last tliis mornin ’. T. —l’m hungry; haven’t had a thing since morning; can’t you give me something to eat! S. —Hain’t a durn thing in the house. Not a mouthful uv meat, nor a dust uv meal here. T. —Well, can’t you give my horse something! 8. —Got nothin’ to feed him on. WATSON’S WEEKLY JEFFBkSONIAN. T. —How far is it to the next bouse! S. —Stranger; I don’t know, I nev er been thar. T. —Well, do you know who lives here! S. —Yes, sir! T. —As I’m so bold, then, what might your name be! S. —lt might be Dick, an’ it might be Tom; but it lacks right smart uv it. T. —Sir! will you tell me where this road goes to! S. —lt’s never gone anywhar since I ’ve lived here; it’s always thar when I get up in the mornin’. T. —Well, how far is it to where it forks! S. —lt don’t fork at all; but it splits up like the devil. T. —As I’m not likely to get to another house tonight, can’t you let me sleep in yours; and I’ll tie my horse to a tree, and do without any thing to eat or drink! , S.—My house leaks. Thar’s only one dry spot in it, and me and Sal sleeps on it. And that thar tree is the old woman’s persimmon; yo can’t tie to it, ’cause she don’t want ’em shuck off. She ’lows to make beer out’n ’em. T.—Why don’t you finish covering your house and stop the leaks? S. —lt’s been rainin’ all day. T. —Well, why don’t you do it in dry w’eather! S. —lt don’t leak then. T. —As there seems to be noth ing alive about your place but chil dren, how do yon do here, anyhow! S. —Putty we11,.1 thank you, how do you do yourself! T. —I mean what do you do for a living here! S. —Keep tavern and sell whisky. T. —Well, I told you 1 wanted some whisky. S. —Stranger, 1 bought a bar’l mor’n a week ago. You see, me and Sal went shar’s. Arter we got it here, we only had a bit betweenst us, and Sal didn’t want to use her’n fust, nor me mine, see I had a spiggen in one eend, and she in t’other. So she takes a drink out’n my eend, and pays me the bit for it; then I’d take un out’n her’n, and give her the bit. Well, we’s getting long fust-rate, till Dick, durned skulkin’ skunk, he born a hole on the bottom to suck at, and the next time I went to buy a drink, they wa’n’t none thar. T. —l’m sorry your whisky’■ all gone; but, my friend, why don’t you play the balance of that tune! S. It’s got no balance to it T. —I mean you don’t play the whole of it. S. —Stranger, can you play the fid dul! T. —Yes, a little, sometimes. S. —You don’t look like a fiddler, but es you think you can play any more onto that thar tune, you kin jus try it (The traveler takes the fiddle and plays the whole of it.) S. —Stranger, tuck a half dozen cheers and sot down. Sal, stir your self round like- a six-horse team in a mud-hole. Go round in the holler whar I killed that buck this mornin’, cut off some of the best pieces, and fotch it and cook it fur me and this gentleman, directly. Raise up the board under the head of the bed, and get the old black jug 1 hid from Dick, and gin us some whisky, I know thar’a some left yit. Til, drive ole Bose out’n the bread tray, and climb up in the loft, and get the rag that’s got the sugar tied in it. Dick, carry the gentleman’s ross round under the shed, and give him some fodder and corn, much as he kin eat. TiL —Dad, they ain’t knives enuff for to sot the table. S. —Whar’s big butch, little butch, old case, cob-handle, granny’s knife, and the one 1 handled yesterday? That’s nuff to sot any gentleman’s table, out’n you’ve lost um. Durn me, stranger, es you can’t stay as long as you please. I’ll give you plenty to eat and drink. Will you have coffy for supper! T. —l es, sir. S. —l’ll be hanged if you do, tho’, we don’t have nothin’ that way here but grub Hyson, and I reckon it’s mighty good with sweetnin’. Play away, stranger, you kin sleep on the dry spot tonight. T. (after two hours’ fiddling)—My friend, can’t you tell me about the road I’m to travel tomorrow! S. —Tomorrer! Stranger, you won’t get out’n these diggin’s for six weeks. But when it gits so you kin start, you see that big sloo over thar? Well, you have to get crost that, then mightily in the weeds, but you need about a mile you’ll come to a two acre-and/a-half corn-patch. The com’s you take the road up the bank, and in n’t mind that; jist ride on. About a mile and a half or two miles from thar, you’ll cum to the damdeet swamp you ever struck in all your travels; it is boggy enuff to mire a saddle blanket. Thar’s a fust-rate road about six feet under thar. T. —How am I to get at it? S. —You can’t git at it nary time, till the weather stiffens down sum. Well, about a mile beyant, you come to a place whar thar’s two roads. You can take the nght hand es you want to; you’ll foller it a mile or so, and you’ll find it’s run out; you’ll then have to come back and try the left; when you git about two miles on that, you may know you are wrong, fur they ain’t any road thar. You’ll then think you’re mighty lucky es you kin find the way back to my house, whar you kin sum and play on that ar tune as long a* you please.—Arkansaw Traveler. OLDEN TIME PENALTIES IN VIR GINIA AND MASBACHU- • SETTS. From some entries of decisions re corded in the courthouse of Warwick county, Virginia, under date of Oc tober 21, 1663, we make some ex wife, being by the grand inquest pre mark that at that early period tobac co was not only a staple commodity but a substitute for currency. “Mr. John Harlow and Alice his wife, being by th egrand inquest pre- sented for absenting themselves from church, are accdrding to the act fined each of them fifty pounds of tobacco; and the said Mr. John Harlow order ed to collect the same from her, and in case of non-payment, to distress. “John Lewis, his wife this day refusing to take the oath of alle giance, being ordered her, is commit ted into the sheriff’s custody, to re main until she take the said oath, or until further ordered to the con trary. “John Lewis, his wife for absent ing herself from church, is fined fif ty pounds of tobacco, to be collect ed by the sheriff from her husband'; and upon non-payment, the said sher iff to distress. “George Harwood, being prosecut ed for his absenting himself from church, is fined fifty pounds of tobac co, to be levied byway of distress by the sheriff from said White, and up on non-payment of ths same, to dis tress. “Richard King, being presented as a common swearer, is fined fifty pounds of tobacco, to be levied by the sheriff, byway of distress, upon his non-payment. ’ ’ The following singular punishments were inflicted in Massachusetts two hundred years ago: Sir Richard Salstonstall fined four bushels of malt for his absence from the court. Thomas Peter, for suspisions of slander, idleness and stubbornness, is to be severely whipped and kept in hold. Josias Plaistowe, for stealing four baskets of corn from the Indians, to return them eight baskets again, to be fined 5 lb. and hereafter to be called Josias, not Mister as he used to be. Captain Stone, for abusing Mr. Ludlow, fined 100 lb. and prohibited coming within the patent. Joyce Dradwick to give unto Alex ander Becks 20s, for promising him marriage without her friend’s con sent, and now refusing to perform the same. Richard Turner, for being noto riously drunk, fined 21b. Edward Palmer, for his extortion in taking 325. 7d. for the plank and work of Boston stocks., fined 51b. and sentenced to sit one hour in the stocks. A DREAM OF DECEMBER. Christmas is crowned With colors divine. See, it has found The roses and wine! The chimes in the church, The maple and birch Bear beautiful face With December grace. The orange and pine, The voice of the vine, Are telling to me The song of the Free; In glory and glee, Their sweet voices hail The vision of the sail That shows another trip Os the old December ship. ARNOLD B. HALL. Gainesville, Ga. \ PAGE THREE