Newspaper Page Text
HOYT & CO,, Proprietors.
ANDERSON. S. 0., THURSDAY, MAY 27, 1869.
VOLUME 4.--NO. 48.
'ulitifs and gfetffc
The Men that Rule Us.
One of the remarkable things of the
present time, and which cannot have es?
caped the notice of most observers, even
those who only observe casually, and not
profoundly, is the class of men which the
last few years have brought into public
life, and whose fortune it is, as it is our
misfortune, to rule over us. Our lot as a
people seems to havo been cast of late
among little men, standing like pigmies
besido great 6vents, which they are as
impotent to control as an infant is to
guide the leviathan of the deep. When
we look around us with a wandering eye,
forgetting not tho magnitude of things
that characterize the latter halt ot the
nineteenth century, and especially re?
membering the mighty movements here
at homo, and the vast and comprehensive
powers of understanding that are re?
quired to cope with them, and see how
close and mean the intellectual horizon of
our so-called statesmen is, we are deeply
and painfully impressed with the great
disparity that exists between them and
the stupendous events that they are sup?
posed to grasp and mould. Nor can we,
too, fail to be impressed with the great
disparity that exists, also, between them
and the statesmen who have gone before,
in whose hands and under the power of
whose genius almost any events would
have been as clay in the hands of the
potter. Our degeneracy is marked and
painful. Mediocrity has risen to tho sur?
face, and 6waggers among great duties,
with pompous pretension, and stilted
weakness, striving to play, as best it can,
as mediocrity always does;the impossible I
part of the great. Realty great and
comprehensive minds?minds in which
lodge latent powers equal to any emer?
gency, arid which need only tho opportu-i
nity to be called out?minds capable of J
seizing events at critical periods, and
holding and shaping to grand results the
destinies of an-empire, seem to have be?
come extinct, or aro lost in this intellec?
tual jungle, this mental and moral under?
growth, which is the full stature to which
mediocrity or something beneath it can
attain, and which seems literally to have
choked, as thistles choke the grain, the
larger intelligence of the land* That this j
should be so at a crisis like the present is
to us a great calamity. We need real
statesmen, not mimic statesmen. \VTe
need mpn and minds of the first order,
not of the last. We need minds large
enough to be, like the ocean, calm at the
bottom. We need statesmen who can
draw knowledge from the past, tear the
veil and penetrate into the future, and.
Ptanding between, hold the eqaipoi.se with
a steady hand. We have now no such
men ip public lite, certainly none such
who are leaving their impress upon the
* limes, or influencing in any perceptible
degree the current of public affairs. Men
of the very opposite sort are at the
helm?they are captain, crew, steersman,
pilot, everything?and under their guid?
ance and management we arc being driv?
en, dismasted and with tattered sails,
whither we know not, going, as we are,
with tho light of tho Constitution extin?
guished, through unknown paths and
JVhen we recall the long list of illus?
trious names that shine like a line of
light through our history back to the ear?
ly time when that history began?tho
Washingtons, Jeffersons, Hamiltons, Ad?
amses, Madisons, Monroes, and others of
the same family and faith ; and later still,
the Wcbsters, the Clays, tho Calhorn*.?,
the Choates, the Wrights, the lientons,
and countless others of an intellectual
host?we cannot but deplore that they
are now in their graves and beyond our
roach in this the hour of our extremities,
and that they have left nothing like them?
selves behind them whom we can call to
our side. What are thoso who rule us
now, who make our laws, who instruct
the people, who put forth the edicts of
the land, who are the front figures in our
political arena, compared to these ?
Atoms to the might}'. With the expe?
riences which the past eight years have
given us, and the calamities they have
brought upon us because of the want of
statesmen equal to the task of holding
lawless passion in check and pointing out
to the citizens their duty, with that con?
scious authority which wisdom and great?
ness of character always give, wo aro
forced to look back upon the past to see
a mighty race, and in'looking ck wn upon
the present to behold with sorrow and
mortification a race of men that dwindle
into insignificance beside them, with the
destinies of a great nation in their
hands. What would wo not give at such
a time to havo a Webster rise to the res?
cue ! What would wo not give to hear
him now, standing over the fragments ol
a shattered Constitution, whose incompar?
able expounder ho was, and whoso prin?
ciples he spent a life in efforts to instill
into the hearts of his countrymen, de?
manding in tones of thunder why tho
American people have been robbed of the
great charter of their liberties, and point?
ing out the way that thoso liberties could
be restored, even while he mourned over
the melancholy ruins that lajr at his feet!
In such a man there is a more than mor?
tal power for the welfare and glory of
his country, and through such aro the
foundations made wide and firm, and in
guch there is a light ot liberty that would
reveal and exposo to open shame tho
most insidious machinations and darkest
designs against his country's freedom,
the chosen form of her Government, and
the integrity of her blood-bought insti?
tutions. Around such a one the people?
now running to and fro with none on
whom they can rely to guide them?
would gather, their latent virtues be rone
ed to action, and their dormant or misdi?
rected patriotism be fired anew, as their
fathers' was fired, with fresh love of lib?
erty secured by law. But we have no
Bitch man to whom we can look for conn
eel or redress. Tho largest of those who
presume to take his place are shrivelled
and shrunken things compared to him.
This barrenness of great men and able
statesmen is to us a very serious misfor?
tune. How it has come about is not so
obvio?e as that it has come about. Doubt?
less, however, it is due in a great meas?
ure, t? the convulsions consequent
upon a great civil war. Wo should
not forget, for it is historic, that in
times of such upheavals the weakest
and worst elements are usually thrown
to the surface, while the more solid and
worthy, the real force, like the forco of
the sea when it is disturbed, are obscured
underneath. Commotions in society,
produced by war or anything else that
takes off restraints from the passions of
men, usually brings forth a crop of fana?
tics?a feverish race of mortals, moro im?
aginative, desperate, and headlong than
wiae?whose forte it is, in such a crisis, to
gather round them the intemperate
rair.ded and the constitutionally lawless,
and by fiery appeals for fanatical purpo?
ses, intensify tho already overwrought
feelings of the masses, and augment ihe
prevailing tumult, and then, seizing the
opportunity offered by the public mind
half-crazed, assume a sort of wild leader?
ship, and strive, borne^on and upheld by
popular passion, to retain it. Something
like this has been thu process by which
our public affairs have been taken out of
the hands of those capable of managing
them, and placed in the feeble and incom?
petent hands that now unhappily control
them, and that seek to keep that control.
If we observe, a great many of the men
now in the ascendant have been in the
army during the war, some to share,
some to run away from its dangers. The
war presented an "opportunit}* for fnnut
ics, and men of small calibre of eveiy
sort, snch as comes, at most, but a few
times in a ccntur}', and our fanatics and
little loud men have made the most of it,
and managed, whoever sank, that they
should be conspicuous, even though con?
temptible, on the crest of the wave. In
this the people are to blame. Tliwy lost
their reason in their gratitude, and ad?
vanced to posts of civic honor men whol?
ly unworthy of them by reason of defi?
ciency of calibre attd character, thinking,
perhaps, that a man capable of plunging
his sword into tho heart of an enemy
must be capable of creating a nation's
laws or administering her government.
Such men were carried into high place as
the whirlwind sweeps tho dust and leaves
and waifs of every sort to pinnacle and
steeple. Proper giatititdc is due to brave
men who triumphed, on a nation's behalf,
in the valley of death, but there is a lim?
it to which gratitude should carry us. A
man who can fight well is not necessarily
a statesmen, nor has earned a statesman's
place. Great public questions and poli?
cies that work tho weal or woo of a
might}' nation are not tilings to be trifled
with. They need great minds, stored
with the wisdom of the present and the
past, to handle them. Upon the way in
which ihey are treated rest the hopes and
and happiness, perhaps tho heritage, of a
But though we are now destitute of
large and luminous minds to irradiate the
dark plans and the complex principles of
State policy, wo do not despair. We do
not believe that the greater elements of
American character are exhausted; we
only know that they are not now in play.
Perhaps they will rise greater, when they
do rise, for the obscurity and repose in
which they have so long lain concealed.
This, at least, wo do know, that when
they do come, they will come forth hand
in hand with wiser systems of laws and
sounder doctrines of public policy than
those which now prevail.?National In?
Josh Billings in the Editor's Chair.
HIS ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS,
Fred?You ain't obliged to ask a gal's
mother if you may go home with her
from a partee ; get the gal's endorsement
and go in ; it is proper enough to ask her
to take your arm, but yu hain't got no
rite to put yure arm around her waist,
unless yu meet a bear on the rode, ana
then yu are bound to take yure arm away
just as soon as the bear gets safely by.
Whip?Yu are rite ; mules live"to a
Ionia agee; I've known them myself to
live one hundred yeer, and not half tri.?
Yu are also rite about their being sme
footed ; I've known them to kick a boy
twice in a second, ten feet oph.
Gertrude?Yure inquiry stumps me.
The more 1 think on it the more I can't
tell. As near as. I can rekolek now I
think I don't know. Much mite be 6aid
both ways, and neether way be rite.?
Upon the whole, I rather think I would
or I wonldeiit, just as I thought best or
Plutark?Yu're mistaken j the Shakers
don't marry : If young Shakers fall in luir
tha are sot to wielding onions, and knres
them forth with I y. I kant tell you how
much it dus kost to jine the Shakers, but I
beliv the expenz used to be inklnding
having yure hair cut and learning how to
pause, about $fi5.
Sportman?Yure inquiry is not egzact
ly in mi line but I haste to reply as follers,
to-wit: The rite length to cut oph a dog's
tail has never yet been fully discovered,
but it is undoubtedly somewhere back of
his ears, providen you get the dog b con?
N. B. It ain't absolutely necessary the
dog's consent should be in writeing,
?Florida is going ini;o the grape culture.
Probably no other civilized people is
more irrational in its amusements or ben?
efit ted by them less than the American
people. We livo so fast, we are in such a
desperate burry to snatch all the world's
good things before our neighbors, that
we havo very little lime to spare for nec?
essary relaxation, and what recreation
we do not give ourselves reluctnntly and
grudgingly is poisoned and neutralized
by the restless impatience and goading
anxieties we carry into it. Indeed, prop?
erly speaking, it can scarcely be said that
tho average American ever does take
any relaxation at all, or that he ever
loosens for an instant that tense strain of
all his faculties whereby alone he con?
ceives it possible to hold on to the main
chanco. The habit of work has so
grown upon him that he carries it into
his play j perhaps that is the reason why
he is so often found a dull boy, by many
whom he regards as very far from sharp.
Leisure, to Iiis practical mind, is idleness,,
and idleness is the crying sin. The poet's
"Merely to bask and ripen is sometimes
The student's wiser business,"
he neither sympathizes with nor under?
stands. Life is short he knows, and
Jones' bank account is larger than his
own, and Robinson lives in a brownstone
front while he must content himself with
a brick one. So until these wrongs of
fortune are redressed there is no rest tor
the palm of his hand or the sole of his
Some concession, of course, he must
make to imperious nature. He takes
what ho calls his enjoyment in hasty
gulps, as he devours his dinner. The val?
ue of repose he is utterly unable to under?
stand, and his pastime i6 only a change
ilt^ho form of his labor. ^Vhatever he
docs ho does with all his might; ho plaj?s
the piano like an animated trip-hammer,
and he dunces like a tornado.
What is worse, this restless and fever?
ish habit of mind and body indisposes for
the quiet and soothing joys of the family
circle which would be its most effective
antidote. In that pure, serene atmos?
phere he feels the same sort of oppression
winch weighs upon one in the rarefied air
of a mountain-top. That simple, unevent?
ful life palls upon and wearies and Inex?
pressibly disgusts him. The fate of the
opium-eater is his, and that which was at
first the spice becomes at last the ncces-|
sit}' of his existence. In his business he
is scarcely more independent than in his
pleasures of family ties, and, if he only
knew it, he is almost as ignorant of true
domestic happiness as that traditional
Gaul whom he is constantly reviling and
imitating. The honest German who takes
his frau and his kinder to tho Biergarlcn
represents a phase of family affection
which he goes to see as a curiosity. His i
wife is at home, where she ought to be;
that she suffers at all from his absence,
that her life is made desolate and dreary,
her nature starved tor lack of the tender?
ness and sweet fellowship he fails to give,
never for an instant occurs to him. He
toils for her all day long, and so proves
his love by his works; what more ought
she to require ?
The truth is that Americans are gre?
garious, not sociable. Tney love crowds,
but only because in a crowd is the truest
solitude. They are independent and self
reliant, and they expect their neighbors
to be likewise. And their amusements
take tone and character from this unsocia
bility and this morbid energy. Social
amusements, properly speaking, we have
none. The only purpose we can think of
to justify us in assembling our friends to?
gether is in order to dance, or rather, to
indulge in that frantic whirl and scurry
which we miscall dancing. Now, dancing
is the least sociable of pastimes, and the
littlo is made still less by our way of man?
aging it. Connected conversation is not
easy during the gyrations of a waltze;
one is too busy securing new partners or
getting rid of old ones to think of talk?
ing at all. Two young people may have
a dancing acquaintance of several seasons
who have scarcely exchanged a dozen
sentences, and in reality know each other
no better at the end than at tho begin?
ning. Tho fact is that conversation is bo
coming a lost at't among us; and there
may he a more national significance in
the election of a silent President than
most of us imagine. Men talk and wo
I men talk among themselves; but as a
French author says, only from their mu?
tual intercourse arises true conversation.
And if society, which is the common
meeting ground of men and women, for?
bids them to do anything but dance and
stand against walls, how long will it be
before we return to that primitive ntate
of social intercourse when conversation
was only dissertation, which wo find rep?
resented in Plato's Symposium, and Cicero's
Amicitia. and which Johnson and Cole?
ridge did their best to revive ?
Dancing is very well in its way, but it
is just possiblo wo do a little too much of
it. Our only notion of a party is a dan?
cing party. Ball, sociable, reception,
promenade concert, or company?by
whatever name society calls its festivals
?they are still tho same; and the hint
on dansera which one finds on invitations
in Europe, where heads are sometimes in?
cluded as well as heels, has with us be?
come almost obsoleto from very super?
fluity. With whatever flimsy pretence of
alien entertainment an ovening may be?
gin, it is sure to slide into the inevitable
waltz and galop before the end. The con?
sequence is that our society is in the
hands of boys and girls, of brainless fops
and flodgi r.g flirts, who have no idea be?
yond a dancing floor, no higher aspiration
than to lead the "German/* The men
and women toho could adorn and give
tone to our Social meetings are thrust to
the wall by these gyrating puppets. It is
enough to make one sigh for the good old
daj s our grandmothers sometimes tell us
us of, when corn-shuckings and quilting
bees, flfi'd apple-parings and tea-fights
opened the sphere of their homely but
sincere delights to old as well as young,
and sociability was combined with danc?
ing in the hospitable figures of the Vir?
ginia reel, ftow they are only a tradition
in the land, for the saltatory mania has
invaded the country too, and rural belles
and beaux are as exasperatingly deep in
the mysteries of tbe"Boston" as the most
stylish of their city cousins. If someone
could only make fashionable among us the
serener pleasures of the continental con?
versazione under some less formidable
name, or even revive the mild joys of the
almost forgotten tea-party beloved of
maiden ladies and incipient curates, or
give us any other relief from this li^ht
fantastic tyranny of toes, he should sure?
ly be ranked among his countrymen's
The Fate or an Ex-Confederate.?
The New York Herald contains the fol?
lowing advertisement, thus adding anoth?
er to the countless thousands of victims of
"G. St. Ledger Grenfell, a prisoner on
the Dry Tortugas, who escaped on the
night of March 7, 1868. Any one who
can give information whether he is alive
or perished in his attempt to escape, will
address F. F. Marbury, counsellor at law,
61 Wall street."
Commenting on this the N. O. Times
says: Col. Grenfell has served with dis
tinction in the British army, and had been
promoted for gallant conduct in the field,
in one of the battles of the Crimea. He
early attached his fortune to those of the
Confederacy, and soon became noted for
his courage and audacity. It was this
wild love of adventure which probably
implicated him in a supposed wild goose
plot to burn Chicago, and secured his con?
viction to Dry Tortugas for life, where it
w?s the fortune of the writer to see him,
three yfears ago. One of the handsomest
men of the day, oftall, commanding pres
ence and dignified bearing, the coarse
prison dress and chains upon his ankle,
coiiid not hide the innate dignity which
constantly stood out in marked contrast to
the character of the negro regiment which
had him in charge. Moving about the
fort with a broom and bucket on his arm,
under the supervision of a negro guard,
who treated him with about as much
courtesy as is extended to an ordinary
cur; subjected to the most menial offices;
such as cleaning the negro barracks ; it is
no wonder that four years of such das?
tardly cruelty drove him to risk the ocean
in an open boat on the night of the most
terrible storm ever known rather than
have his life ebbed out by the slow tor?
ture he wa9 undergoing. Whether guil?
ty or not of the offence chargedj the pun?
ishment was so utterly out of proportion
to the crime as to be worthy of only two
men America has ever produced?Butler
and Stanton. Well may the latter seek
refuge in the bosom of the Episcopal
Church. His prayers will scarcely reach
the Almighty's throne, unattended with
the dying groau ef Grenfell, when he
sunk beneath the black waters of the Gulf
of Mexico, in a gallant but hopeless at?
tempt to escape captivity and torture.
Borrowing.?"My dear," said Mrs.
Green to her husband one morning, "the
meal which we borrowed from Mr. Black
a few days ago is almost out, and we must
"Well," said her husband, "send and
borrow a half bushel at Mr. White's; he
sent to mill yesterday."
"And when it comes shall we return the
peck we borrowed more than a month ago
from the widow Grey ?"
"Mo," said the husband, gruffly, "she
can send for it when she wants it. Sam,
do you go down to Mr. Brown's and ask
him to lend me his ax to chop some wood
this forenoon ; ours is dull, aud I saw him
grind his last night. And Jim, do you go
to Mr. Clark's and ask him to lend me a
hammer; and do you hear? you might as
well borrow a few nails while you are
A little boy enters and says, "Father
sent me to ask if you had done with his
hoe, which you borrowed a week ago last
Wednesday; he wants to use it."
"Wants his hoe, child? What can he
want with it? I have not done with it
yet; bnt if he wants it, I suppose he must
have it. Tell him to send it back, though,
as soon as he can spare it."
They sat down to breakfast. "0 mer?
cy !" exclaims Mrs. Green, "there is not a
parcel of butter in the house. Si, run
over to Mrs. Notable's?she always has
excellent butter in her dairy?and ask her
to lend me a plateful."
After a few minutes, Si returns : "Mrs.
Notable says she has sent you the butter,
but begs you to remember that she has al?
ready lent seventy nine platesful, which
are scored on the dairy door."
?'Seventy-nine platesful," exclaimed the
astonished Mr*,. Green., holding up both
hands. "It is no such thing} 1 never had
half that quantity; and if I had, what is
a little plateful? I should never think of
keeping an account of such a trifling
affair; I declare I have a mind never to
borrow any thing of that mean creature
i again as long as 1 live."
? At Malvern Hill thousands of rebel
soldiers were buried where they fell.
Some twenty acres or more have just
been plowed up by the owner of the field,
and the plowshare turned to the surface
all the skeletons. Over the whole tract
the bones are strewn in profusion, and
grinning skulls stare the visitor in the
face oo every hand.
A Georgian in Sew York.
FROM MAJOR JONES* SKETCHES OT TRAVEL.
It was 'bout three o'clock when I got
to the hotel, and after brunhin'and scrub
bin' a little of the dust off, and gettin'
dinner, I tuck a turn out into the great
Broadway, what I've heard 60 much
about, 6v6'r since I was big enough to read
the newspapers, to see if it was what it's
cracked up to be.- Well, when 1 got to
the door of the hotel, I thought there
must be a funeral or something else gwine
by, and I waited some time, tbinkin' they
would all get past; but they Only seemed
to get thicker, and faster, and more of
'em, the longer 1 waited, till bimeby I be?
gun to discover that they was gwine both
ways, and that it was no procession at all,
but jest one everlaatin' stream of people
passin' up and down tho street cumin*
from all parts of creation, and gwine
Lord only knows whar.
I mix'd in with 'em, but I tell you
what, 1 found it monstrous rough trav
elin'. The fact is, a chicken-coop raought
as well expect to float down the Savan?
nah river in a freshet, and not git nocked
to pieces by the drift-wood, as for a per?
son what an't used to it to expect to git
along in Broadway without gettin'jostled
from one side to tother at every step, and
pushed into the street about three times
a minit. A body must watch the cur?
rents and eddies, and foller 'em and keep
up with 'em, if they don't want to get
run over by the crowd, nocked off the
sidewalk, to be ground into mincemeat by
the cverlastin' ominy busses. In the fust
place, I undertuck to go up Broadway on
the left hand side of the pavement, but I
mougbt just as well tried to paddle a ca?
noe up the falls of Tallula. In spite of
all the dogin' I could do, sumbody was all
the time bumpin' up agin me, so that with
the bumps I got from the men, and given'
back for the wimmin, I found I was losin'
ground instead of gwine abed. Then I
kep utb the right as the law directs f* but
here I like to got run over by the crowd
of men, and wimmin, and children, and
niggers, what was all gwine as fast as if
thcr houses was afire, or they was runnin'
for the doctor. And if I happened to
stop to look at anything, the first thing I
I knowod I was jammed out amonf; the
ominybusses, what waB dashin'and whirl
in' along over the stones like one eternal
train of railroad cars, makin' a noise like
heaven andyearth was cummin' together.
Then there was carriages; and hacks, and
market-wagons, and milk-carts, rippin'
and tearin' along in every direction?the
drivers hollcrin' and poppin' their whips
?the people talkin' to one another as if
their lungs was made out of sole leather
?soldiers marchin' with bands of music,
beatin' their drums, and blowin' and slidin'
ther tromboons and trumpets with all
ther might?all together makin' a noise
enuff to drive :lhe very Old Nick himself
out of his senses. It was more than 1
could stand?rny dander begun to git up,
and I rushed out into the fust street 1
I cum to, to try to get out of the racket
before it sot me crazy sure enuff, when
what should I meet but a dratted great
bi? nigger with a bell in his hand, ringin'
it right in my face as hard as he could,
and hoilcrin' something loud enuff to split
the head of a lamp-post. That was too
much, and I made a lick at the fellow with
my cane that would lowered his key, if it
had hit him, at the same time that I
grabbed him by the collar, and ax'd him
what in the name of thunder' he meant
b}' such imperence. The feller drapped
his bell and shut his catfish mouth, and
rollin' up the whites of his eyes' 'tbout
say in' a word be broke away from /no as
hard as he could tear, and 1 hastened on
to find some place less like bedlam than
By this time it was most dark, and after
walkin' down one street till I cum to a
grate big gardin' with trees in it, whar it
was so still that noises begun to sound
natural to me agin, I sot down on the rail
in's and rested myself awhile, and then
set out for my hotel. I walked and walk?
ed for some time, but somehow or other I
could'nt find the way. I inquired for the
American hotel two or three times, and
got tho direction ; but the streets twisted
about so that it was out of the question
for me to foUcr 'em when they told me,
and 1 begun to think I'd have to tako up
my lodgin's somcwhar else lor that night,
I was so tired, Bimehy I cum to a street
that was ver}' still and quiet, what they
call Chambers street, and while 1 wan
standin' on ?Jie corner, thinkin' which
way I should go,'long cum a poor woman
with a bundle under her arm, creepin'
along as if she wasn't able to walk.
When she seed me, 6ho cum up to me and
put her ban kerchief to her eyes, and sea
"Mister, I'm a poor woman, and my
husband's so sick he an't able to do any
work, and me and my poor little children
is almost starvin' for bred. Won't you be
good enough to give me twoshillin's f*'
I looked at her a bit, and see I:
"Han't you got no relations nor neigh?
bors that can help you ?''
"O 1 no, sir; I'm too poor to have rela?
tions or neighbors. I was better off once,
and then I had plenty of friends."
That's the way of the world, thinks 1;
we always have friends till we need 'em.
"0 sir ! if you only know'd how hard
I have to work, you'd pity me?1 know
?'What do you do for a livin'?" ses I,
for she looked too delicate to do much.
"I do fine washin' and ironin',1,gessho j
"but I'm sick so much that 1 oan't make
enuff to support us." And then she oofied
a real graveyard coff.
"Why don't you git some of Scbenck'e
Polmonio Syrup ?" see I.
"0 sir!" says she, "I'm too pore to boy
medicin', when ray poor little children hf
dyin' for bred."
That touched me?to think sich a deli?
cate young cretur as her should have to
struggle so hard, and I ti ck out my punt
and gin her a dollar,
''Thar," ses I, "that will help you a lit?
"Oh! bless you, sir yotf'fe so kind.
Now I'll buy some medicin' for* my norif
husband. Will you be good enuffttfhphf
this bundle for me till I step back to thai
drug-store on the cerner? 11*8 so jeavy?=
I'll be back in a minit," ses she.
I felt so sorry for the pore woman that
I couldn't refuse her sich a little favor, so
I tuck her bundle to hold it for her. She
Said she was 'fxaid the fine dresses monght
git rumpled, and then her customers
wouldn't pay her; so I tuck 'em in my
arms very careful, and she went to the
store after the medicin',
Thernasagood many people passin'
by and I walked up from the corner a lit'
tie ways, so they shouldn't see me atati*
din' lhar with the bundle in my arms. I
begun to think it was time for the woman
to cum back, and the bundle wasbeginin'
to get pretty heavy, when I thought I felt
sumthin' movin' in it. 1 stopped rite still*
and held my breth to hear if it was
anything, when it begun to squirm about "
more and more, and I heard a noise just
like a tom-cat in the bundle. I never
was so surprised in my life, and I cum in
an ace of lettin' it drop rite on the pave?
ment. Thinks I, in the name of creation
what is it? I walked down to the lamp?
post to see what it was, and. Mr. Thomp?
son, would you believe me,it was alive
baby ! 1 was ho completely tuck aback that
I staggered up agin a lamp-post, and held
on to it, while it kicked and equalled like
a yountr panter, and the sweat jest pour?
ed out of me in a stream. What on yeatb
to do I didn't know. Thar I was in a
strange city, whar nobody didn't know
me, out in the street with a little young
baby in my arms. I never was so mad
at a female woman before in all my life4
and I never felt so much like a dratted
fool as I did that minit.
I started for the drug-store,' with thd
baby squallin' like rath, and the more I
tried to hush it the louder it squalled.
The man what kep the store sea he hadn't
seed no such woman, and I mustn't bring
no babies in than
By this time a everlastin'crowd of peo?
ple?men and wimmih?was giilhered
around, so I could i't go no whar, all gab
bin' and talkin' So I Couldn't hardly hear
the baby squall.
t teld 'em bow It was^ and told 'em t
was a stranger in New York, and ax'd
'em what I should do with the baby. But
ther was no gettin any sense out of 'em,
and none of 'ein wouldn't touch it no
mor'n if had been so much pisen.
"That won't do," ses one teller "Yon
can't come that game over this crowd."
"No, indeed," ses another little rusty*
lookin' feller?"we've got enuff to do to
take care of our own babies in these dig*
"Take your baby home to its ma," said
another; "and support it like an 'onest
I tried to get a chance to explain the
business to 'em, but drat the word could I
git in edgeways.
"Take 'em both to tho Tooms," ses one,
"and make 'em give an account of them
With that two or three ?fem cum to*
ward me, and 1 grabbed my cane In one
hand, while I held on to the bundle with
"Gentlemen," ses I?the bahy sqneeliu'
all the time like forty cats in abug-?
''Gentlemen, I'm not gwine to be used in
no sich way. I'll let you know that I'm
not gwine to be tuck to no Tooms. I'm
a stranger in y our city, and I'm not gwine
to support none of your babies. My
name is Joseph Jon- 8, ot Pineville, Geor?
gia, and anj'body what wants to know
who I am, can find me at the American?''*
' Major Jones," ses a cleter-lokin' man,
what pushed his way into the wowd when
he heard my name. "Major, don't be dis?
turbed in the least," ses be; "I'll soon
have this mutter fixed/'
With that he spoke to man with a lethef
ribbon on his hat, who tuck the baby,
bundle and all, and carried it off to the
place what they 've got made in New York
a purpose to keep eich pore little orfans
ttoiffc After Busisess II otJts-?-The
road which the man of business travels
in pursuit of competence and wealth is not
a macadamized one, nor does it ordinarily
lead through pleasant scenes and by well
springs of delight. On the contrary, it is
a rough and rugged path, bestt with
"wait a bit" thorns and full of pit-falls,
which can only be avoided by the watch?
ful care of circumspection. After each
day's journey over this worse than turn?
pike road, the wayfarer i eeds something
more than rextj he requires solace?ana
deserves it. He is weary of the dull prose;
of life, and athifst for its poetry, llayff
is the man who can find that solace ancfe
poetry at home. Warm greetings fron*
loving hearts, fond glances from bright
eyes, and Welcome shouts of children,, the
many thousand little arrangements for
comfort and enjoyment that wlently tell
of thoughtful and expectant love, the
gentle ministrations that hegmile us into
an old and easy seat before we are aware
of it j these and li^e tokens of affect ion
and sympathy constitute the poetry of life,
which reconcile ns to the prose of life.
Think of this, ye wives and daughters of
? A baker has invented a new kind of
yeast. It makes bread so light that a
pound of it only weighs four ounces.
??Seventeen towns in Missihsippi Are
preparing to bnjiM ootton fHJBarkev