The weekly ledger. (Gaffney City, S.C.) 1894-1896, October 01, 1896, Image 3
THE LEDGER: GAFFNEY, S. OBTOBER 1, 1896.
3
I
^ OUT OF THE WOODS.
Fresh from tho People Around
Rocky Crook.
Kill Elmpkina nn<t Ilia Illrrt Dog;* Make
Trouble—Deacon Joiner Comes
Cp “fllost Feloniously
Drunk.”
The ponebyest and most tremendius
fuss and oonfusionment you ever heard
tell of, perhaps,
1
m
vm
white people, Is
now poin on be
tween the Larys
and the Simp
kinses. The
storm riz down
in the Flat
Woody one day
' V^'v mv Iast w0l ‘ k aiia
, v - ' has be«‘n blowin
hiah aml fast
hiph and fast
and furious
h e nceforwards.
Tt is all on account of a dead dop, which
in the fullness of life and flesh belonged
to Hill Simpkins. Whilst I haven’t been
down there in the thick of the fuss, as
it were, the maincst facts in the ease
have come to me on the general rounds.
business is that the deacon now swears
and maintains that he didn’t drink
‘‘narry drop of sperits,” eo help him
God. On Saturday night before the
last Third Sunday, which is regular
meetin day over at 1’nrk Log where
for somethin lietter than 30 years th •
deacon has belt forth as cr.e of t.ie
shrntn lights—they had the old rooster
up before the church or .a general,
sweepin charge of drunk and dis
orderly.
Now, as I said before, it was nothin to
me, and I am the last man in the world
to be meddlin and mixin myself up
with things that don’t belong to me.
But it so come to pass that T was over
at Bark Log that day and heard the
deacon give in his sid; of the strange
and peetirious ease. From what the
deacon says with his own mouth it,
was nothin more and nothin less than
a plain and regular ease of drunk, but
the way in which he soys it was brung
on—that’s where the rancid and fishy
smell comes in.
ARPS BLUNDERBUSS.
He Firoa a General Broadside nt
Pooplo and Affairs.
Tackle* Vnrloii* Topic*—Talk* of Kcform*
Itcllgiou, Tolltlcs. Cycling: — t**""
norlntc* on Faint uiul
Urokcn Ola**.
T!«o Wherefores nn<l Whcncenc**.
It would seem like Bill Simpkins
rent the dog from town down there for
Dan Lory to train in huntii..
“What little. I don’t know in regards
to dogs and guns and sicli like must of
been tore out of the books before my
day and generation,” says Dan, and
that settled it. Bill he sent his fine ,
dog right on down to Flat Woods next !
day, and on the next return mail he
got the news that the dog was well
stricken with buckshot from a shotgun
in the hands of a man by the name of
Lary. Dan sent word to Bill that he
was mighty sorry but the dog went
mad and he was necessary com
pelled to kill him. But in the main-
time Bill had lit out for Flat Woods to
see about it -which, he says, that dog
cost him $13 ns a poppy and $30
wouldn’t of bought him. Naturally of
course he was a heap more sorry about
it than Dan, but he didn’t git mad till
Dan put in to give him all ti e facts and
general circumference of the calamity.
“You ought to know. Bill, that I did
mortally htite to do it,” says Dan. “but
the Marne dog was ravin mad if there
is anything in ‘igns, arrl I felt like it
was my private and public, duty to kill
him on lly* spot. It was ruther eaily
for huutio anyhow, and the wool her
was rwellerin hot, but I got down my
rid musket that evonin and started over
to the swamp, thinkin maybe I meught
jump Feme rabbits or pick otit a few
Mptirrols. We bad got. way over there
in my pea field nearly to the swninp,
arrl Ihe, dog was mnn.in round and
round like he had struck n hot trail
and lost It, when all of a sud lont like
he stopped short and quiek ns If he was
[shot nod straightened out his tall,
tremblin all over, and froze stiff in Ins
trneks. T lowed at first maybe he had
ct somethin at dinner wlreh went back
on him- :eein him tremblin all o'er
that v.ny like somethin was hurtin of
him powerful. I called and called, and
whist led mid whistled till my mouth
e. e.s tired, l ot he wouldn’t budge narry
inch. Then I 1 he light I would go up
dost ord look at him and sec if I could
tell what, was the matter. And, man.
rir, it did j< st naturally l>mt anything
I had ever saw. The blame ‘’og v nis
plum | analyzed from the end of his nose
cV-an Lack to the tip of his tail, and he
couldn't move a peg. I whistled and
called, but he didn't move. T hollered
at him and kicked him. but he didn’t
stir a hair. I’aley, Bill, Idontbrlievc
tho blame dog oould move, arid more
than that 1 tool; j nrtiolar notice that
he was pantin and ftxtmln at the mouth
eoni'ddm: lil<>. ]f that want n mad deg.
Bill, then T hope and trust I will never
see one. At any nib's, he was either
foamin mad or ravin crazy, and I lowed
his time had. come to die. flo 1 lacked
ofT o few steps and cooked my gun find
let him have it which you understand
I bad put in ni load of buckshot, that
even,in so as to be ready if In ease the
dog mouglit jump a turkey or r. door.”
Tlio Klrdi VTcro Tiiere.
“Did you see any biids around
there?” says Hill.
“Birds?” tavs Dan. “Well, I should
ray. And right along tlnue, Bill, is
where my hurtin luck chows up plum
marvelous. When the gun fired a big
drove of partridges Husked ami rlz and
blamed if 1 didn’t find three dead ones
layiu around then* on the ground
winch 1 bad killed with stray shot.”
“That wi ‘. a bird dog—tae finest that
overwent to the field you long-haired,
eream-ryed idiot," says Bill, “and you
arc the durndest biggest fool hi 17
atntes and torritores."
Ami from that the whole thing start
ed, Bill got hotter and hotter as they
Went on till he said everything he
could lay his tongue to except his Sun
day school lesson, whilst Dan belt out.
and maintain si to tho last that “the
durn dog v. a a either foamin mad or
ravin crazy.”
I be women folks have now put their
fingers in the pie and stirred nndtnlked
ami talked and stirrcd.till sueh another
nilxtry and messinent you never heard
tell of. The dog is dead now, and I nm
in.' hopes that Bill will recover and let
tin* rest bile down, and cool off and
/pilt.
Tin 1 Deaco:i "Fc onlonvljr Drunk.”
One day week b-fore last Deacon
.To'ner went to tov » and (hat night ha
“’ine up “most feloniously drunk."
'I bat was none of my business,
and no skin off my shins, you
understand, anil I wouldn't Is* spread-
lu the news now If It hadn’t
already leaked out proniisens in the
settlement. Every <ody in this coun
try fur miles and miles around knows
(1* D'r in Joim" got drunk. Even
h’HV'. ' " 1 ' > that to the extent
thht he d it't •<< " half way make out
like he didn't git drunk.
But the, most strangest part of tha
Tho Deacon ••Fesoea Fp.”
“I will have to own up to it, brethren,
that I was drunk—most feloniously
drunk"—says'the deacon, n» he went
down into his side coat pockets after
his old bandana handkerchief and
mopped out the salt water which had
backed up in bis eyes. “But I must go
on and tqll you—and I would swear to
it on a stack of Bibles ten feet thick
and n mile high—that I never drunk
nary single drop of sperits, so help
me God. No doubts it will lx* hard for
some of the brethren to believe that—
particularly them that have traveled
the downward road for lo 1 h<:;e many
years and are consequentially familious
with the common v. ny of bringingon a
plain, old-fashion drunk. But neverthe
less, henceforth and not wit hstnndin,
brethren. I nexer drank nary single drop
of sperits. I have spoke the truth—tho
naked unwashed truth and nothin but
the truth, so help me God.”
“But everybody <;nys ihat Deacon
Joiner wu« drunk. So he wr.f,—so he
wao—and it was the most filthiest :tn<l
low down os t drunk that has ever enme
to joss amongst the memlx :s of 13: rk
TiOg chmch. And yet I i ver drunk
narry single ilrap of sperits that day.
“Mow did Lt come to pass? Well, you
see, brethren^ I bad vent totov.n that
inornin, and one of the hands on the
place- which his wife and seven of the
children was all sick abed with chills
and fever—he ask me if I wouldn’t be
so kind, eondesccndin and cbligin as
to fetch him a quart of r-pc:!;s. Sj I
had got the sperits aecerdin, end as I
rid along the; road on: my return back
home that evening 1 bride out ail over
with the mad itch in sp..ts as, big as
your ihnnd. The more I scratched tho
worst* I got with the itch till it, did
naturally look like I would go
slap slam crazy. It was wrong,
brethren, I know it xwn wrong,
but I then got mad mad lo think
that I had lived in this vain and
fleet in, world (dost up to 70 years, and
then finallyat lust had to break out with
the. itch. Some people mouglit mnylxj
call it skin rupture or t he oxemas, or by
some othe r fancy name, but to me it w as
the itch nothin but the itch, and u
stand Ions bad ease of it. As I rid on it
got so bad t ill 1 would have to di«inount
and git down along the road and rub
and scratch myself agin the trees like
a mangy, lousy hog. Then, pri soully I
thought about tliut quart of sperits
which I had bought for the sick, and
says I to myself, it maybe mouglit cure
the itch. So I went down into my sad
dle l ags and got out tin; bottle, hitched
my horse and slipped off dew n in the
woods, crawled out of my shut .ind
poured on the sperits, and rubbed, till
my itebin skin soaked up all the sperits,
whereas 1 felt, a whole lot, latter. I
then mounted my horse and rid on
towards home. I didn’t, feel apy more
rufferin from the itch, but I didn’t go
mere than a mile or so before I felt the
sperits powerful. At first I didn’t know
what in the round created, world was
the matter with me—I did feel so tre-
mendus loose and mellow and rich and
good. But presently I was took w ith a
powerful swimmin of the Iwad, and
then I got sick—«o orful, fnoital sick.
About that time I reckon I must of fell
off of my horse, mid hence forwards
after that I didn’t know a bk-ssod thing
till I woke up nt home next mornin with
my bend feelin as big as a Lumper
basket, and—and— but I reckon the
brethren can see the pint, I am drivin
nt. But the Itch was gone—knocked
sky high and cured on the first round.
“I have now give unto you all the
maincst facts in the case, brethren,
✓
nncl I hopo you will deal Ulml and ffcntle
with me nceordin. I nm willin for you
to know—I nm w illin for the whole dis
covered world to know—that Deacon
Joiner got drunk — most feloniously
drunk. But please remember that I
never drunk nary single drop of s|x*r-
Its,"
All novel? nt Kuril I.og.
The ease was then turned over to a
committee of 15. The committee wont
out and belt a confabulation, finally
at last they reported back in favor of
flndln the deacon not guilty, provldin
he would promise on his word ns a
Christ inn ninn that lu* would never more
use sperits hi u plain ease of itch.
Old Parson Travis was there, and
whilst he want on the committee, he
said if he was in order he would love
to make a few seat ter in remarks in
piivsin. He was hound to believe what
Deacon Joiner said in regards to the
itch and the sperits, but yet still he
thought it mougbt be the best thing
they could do to withdraw church fel
lowship from tho deacon for a few
months at any rates. “If you don’t do
somethin along that, line, brethren,"
says he*, “I am __ afraid there
niought be a general breukin out of the
itch amongst the members at Bark
Log."
But the committee stood flatfooted
on their report. The deacon put on hit
long-meter face t*id gave his solemn
vow* nceordin. And now once more nil
Is lovely over at old Bark Log.
nurt’B SA.vDcna
One time there was a generous, big-
hearted man by tlio name of Col. Grif
fin, living at Gainesville, Gu., and his
heart’s desire was to .see i>eace on earth
and good will among men. His hand
was open as the day to charity, but
his chief delight was to reconcile those,
who were at enmity and make peace
between neighbors. He worked dili-
gently along this line for several years
and was called the peacemaker, but
in course of time lie seemed to lose his
influence, and if he succeeded in smoth
ering a quarrel it broke out again. Pol
itics got rampant and church members
got, nt outs, and it took a good deal of
his time visiting around and pleading
for peace. At last he ]xmdcretl over the
matter, and, like old Hip Van Winkle,
ho “swore, off.” “1 can’t do it, judge,”
lie sadly confessed to his old friend.
Judge Lumpkin, “I can’t do it, T
thought I could reform mankind, but
i can’t . They get worse instead of bet
ter. Society is like a mill dam. It is
always springing a leak, and as fast as
you ntop one bole it breaks out at an
other. Not hing but the grace of God.
can keep jvxaea among the people, and
even that docs not s em to circulate in
this region, so I have quit.”
The judge comforted him and told
him net to despair, bid Griffin retired
from tlio contest a sadder and wiser
man. The strife and slander and back
biting went on, and it took ponce war
rants to keep the jieaee. No one man
can reform society, and w ith many re
formers it, is soon discovered that they
need a little reformation themselves.
Henry Ward Beecher was a great
preacher and a reformer of social eon-
duet, but fell from grace just ns
Holornc*n did. Most of these reformers
are in earnest, but there are cranks,and
ere righteous overmuch. Park hurst
brought schism and dbcord in his
church by excessive, seal. Tom Dixon
is doing the same thing by dabbling
into polities. A respectable minority
of Ills members are silver democrats,
and his pulpit talk has insulted them.
When a preacher assumes to know it a!!
he Irscs his influence. Humility is the
best ircdentinl a man of God can have.
Vanity and conceit may rot be cins. but
they are tra’ts that nobody forgives.
Political preachers may get office, but
they make enemies, and that is a bad
sign. Drawing crowds ar.d creating a
sensation is one thing, but, saving son’s
through the power of the (Vv';>ol is
another. 1 wisii every preacher would
let |.clitics a lone, for when he abuses
the democrats lie makes them mad,
and it does not reconcile them if lie
abuses the republicans and the popu
lists, too. It is as if he raid: “Every-
’■•ody in a rascal blit t ••.” Of course we
all get more or le* s excited about, pol
ities, and let our | rejudiers get the
better of our judgim rt, and at such
times it. beenires 1 lie preacher to be
enlm and serene and tolerant and to
keep the jx*aee. I ere it eha.ged in the
northern press that we have no fair
elections in Georgia. I deny the alle
gation and defy ihe nib gator. I have
been on the watch for years, ami have
no reason to susp"ct that any man.
Mack <>r white, has 1 een d'"fratided of
!:ls vote in my county. I believe that
men have voted who were not entitled
to vote, but it was no port of a scheme
by the officials or managers, and was
wholly unknown to tin in. I believe that
the elections in Georgia an* s i fair
as in any state in tin* union. The de
feated party always cries, fraud, but
never proves it. tain.ndor is a ehenl sol
ace, lint, is hard to um'J», and (!:••• fur
ther from home it travels the deeper
it settles in the public mind.
intolenan.ee is the lane of society,
both in church and state. I was rend
ing to-day some bitter things against
women riding bicycles, am! in tin* same
] a pi r a temperate sensible ; i t : ele in dc-
lem e of the sex. it wan. v.ritt; n by a
woman a lady—and I concurred in all
she raid. I ear sc” not hii gimm idest in
a girl riding if she is mi..!'si 1_\ drrssel
in skirts and deports In. t: If ir.n.lcstiy
A fast girl w ill be fast, v b ; her she rid* s
in skirts or bloomers, < r don’t ride at
all. There, is more iuiimdcsly in pro
mi senous surf 1anh.rp aed in the round
dances of tin* ballroom than in ridbig
the bike, ( ven in He omens. A fc w years
ago I was shocked at the idi a of any de
cent girl riding the v. hei 1, but i..y preju
dices htixe | a-: ed ir.viiy. It r.ow seenm
a graceful thing to do. and I adir.’rc the
poetry of tiieir mot'on. My w ife in in
love with the wheel.: nd say that if she
could . HI l ack forty or fifty years she
would have one, T\vo of Li rpninelson/
(•ami* over from lloue* in their wheels,
and one moonlight tight t he u marked
that if there was nobody to sec km - nho
would go down to tiie tonn's eoui't mid
take a round on the sly, "Merciful fa
thers! Horribile d'etu! S'o ntt.^ur
ly ran n is!” I exolahaed, “You eouldnh
ride if you would, : id ypu shouldn't if
you could, and you rkant even think
about it. Now tIn'ii*,’’ and 1 departed
those coasts and walked out in tin* hull
to let my cholcrdow n. Pretty soon the
boy* enme out e n the veranda, and f
heard her laughing and tel'irg them
how she arouses up* indignation. Ko 1
enmo line!; and made nut like 1 wan. fun
ning. but I wmont. Bln* win tn me to
take a round just to nee me fall off, I
reckon, but I'm not going to try it. My
time is past for athletics. I can chop
wood and roll the iinlcych* nrd ride in
the qnadrloycle, but this double spin
ning wheel busine . don't suit an old
man w ith a very hi| ’i center of gravity.
It doesn't unit, a woman of that. kind,
either. '
But after nil Hie ‘ ike la rather an ex*
pensive toy. Th(? i ivs any that n good
one. w ill last about w oycais. and in the
meat)time the repni~s w ill average » few
dollars a year, and • I don’t nee that P
I* any elieiipcr In the long run than a
1mm*. But the price is entirely too
high. A man who knows told me that
the actual cost of a hundred-dollar bike
was about $33. I know n broker who
sold 42 in three months, and this com
mission w as $17 on each and a bonus of
$300 extra when his sales amounted to
f3,000. Our jieople ore buying thou
sands of them, and our money just pours
into their hopper like it always does
for everything they make and put at us.
If it is not a Chicago exjiosition it is
something else, and they keep us poor
all the time.’ But Cobe says: “Thnt’.i
all right, major for everything is adopt
ed, and the world is obleeged to have
poor folks to keep rich folks in money.
If there wasent any chickens there
won blent be any hawks. If there wasent
any rats there wouldcnt be any cats, for
everything is adopted.’’ “And if there
wasent any girls there wouldcnt be any
boys to fool ’em,” said'l. ”Jc* so.
r.dz.akly so,” said Cobe, and he shifted
his tobacco to the other jaw.
But I can still work around the house
and the garden. The flower pit was di
lapidated, and my wife called my at-'
tent ion to it several times. And so yes
terday I repaired the broken grass and
then got my can of red paint and gave
t he sash a new coat. It looked fine and
I was proud of it, and luxuriated in ad
vance upon the praise she would bestow
upon me, but when 1 came into her
august presence she discovered some
paint on my pants and vest. “Was there
ever such a man in this world; painting
in his best clothes—the only decent
pants you have got,” and she looked afar
off and sighed. “Well,” she continued,
"take them off light now before the
paint di icu and let me work on them. I
never can get you to change your clothes
when you are going to do dirty work.”
So I eliang'd them and she got the ben
zine and perfumed the room with It. and
in half an hour iny garments wore
cleaner than ever. “Wl.nt makes you do
Ihat way," she said. “Why, my dear, I
thought I could paint and not get a
drop on my clothes, and I feel so much
like a gentleman with my best clot lien
on that I hate to take them off, hut 1
won’t do it any more." In course of
time site got over it, and I got some
praise after all. Things are now calm
and serene.—Bill Arp, In Atlanta Con
stitution.
A GOOD CITIZEN.
8am Jr nos Enumerateo tho Good
Qualities in His Make-Up.
What r Yonny Man Mn*t Ko to Serve 111*
Country Accept »bly - No Overproduc
tion of Cood CltlKcti* —Demand
(•renter Than Supply.
LONDON’S "TOSHERS.*
A Fccultnr ('Inns of I'nzllstt 1 u-
borcr*.
Shonmien, or shore-workers, they
sometimes call themselves, biff their
most familiar appellation is “toshers,”
ar.d t he articles they pick up “tosh."
They really belong to another weJl-
! nov. n class, the mudlarks, but consider
tin i .: t Ives a grade or two above these
latter, for the genuine tosher does not
confine himself, as they do, totinv, ling
through the Thanv's mud and picking
up odd pieces of coal or wood, capper
nails, bolts, iron and old rope. The
tosher, when the. coast is clear of po
lice, makes his w ay into the sewers, and
will venture sometimes for miles in
quest of valuables t hat oeciusicnnlly find
tiieir way into them by the kitchen sink
or the stitct grating.
When alxnit to enter the sewers tin s:*
men provide themselves with a jkiIc
sew n or eight feet Jong, on one en:l of
which there is a larg* iron hoe, a bag
imriod on the back or a canvas apron
tied round them, and a dark lantei n sim
ilar to a polieemnn’s. This they Kt:op to
their right breast, so that while waiK-
irg upright through the large sewers
1 he light is thrown stiaghf in front.
When they come to the branch sewers
and have to stoop, the light is thrown
directly at tiieir feet. As they make
their way they use their hoe in the mud
at t iieir feet, and in the crevices of the
brickwork, and occasionally shillings
and s ilver spoons find a temporary rest
ing-place in the bag on tiieir back or in
tiieir capacious coat pockets.
The toshers generally go in gangs of
tlir -e or four, both for the sake of com
pany and the lietter to be able to de
fend themselves from tiie rats with
which tlie sewers swarm. When tliey
(ome m ar a street grating they close
their lanterns and watch an op port unity
to slip | nst unnoticed, for otherwise a
crowd of projile might, soon collect at
tiie grating, whose presence would put
tin* police on the alert. They find great
plantities of money, copper money espe-
e:.illy. in the oroviees of the brickwork
a lit tie below the grating, and not in
frequently shillings, half-crowns mid
s -.p- uces, with an occasional siovereign
or half-sovereign.
When “in luck”-they may find articles
( f plate, spoons, bulk’s, silver-handled
knives and forks, mugs and drinking
cups, and now and then articles of jow-
■ iry. They generally ;i*so innnngc to
liil tiieir bags with the more bulky nr-
t ill’s found in their search, Kiich ns old
ii’etnl. 1 voiies and ropes. These they dis
pose of to marine storedeulers and rag-
and-bone men, mid divide tin* p-oeeeds,
nlong w it’i the ruins found, among the
itiff' rent members of the gang. At one
time the regular toshers used each to
lain from 20 shillings to two |>runds n
week, lint w ith the construction of new
fewer:', grot d at the mouth, their In
dustry is not so cosily exercised, r.nd is
consequent !y less profitable.—1/uidon
Mail.
Six Pcnmln Fall DoRror*.
’I he Hill:: uni sight of female pall
bearers was witnessed nt I’ort Jarvis.
N. J.. the other afternoon r.t the funeral
of Mis. l.rlen Gillson Ilistuin. wife of
I'Tauk Hisstsm, of this place. Mrs.
Hissan was a member of tiie Loyal
letnplars of Temperance, m which or
ganization she took an active part. The
incnib'i 1 ; of the order attended the
funeral services at the Methodist
church in a I sidy a: d selected six wom
en to officiate as p*il| beaiers. They
carried Hit* casket to and from Hie
hearse, th” church and the grave, per-
foiiiiing tin* same service heretofore al
lotted only to men.
A Way of i:*r:in<*.
“What. d;» you think of ail the new
decadent literature, Osmund?"
'■’I Ids is a free country. I don't have
to thin of it nt nil.”—<!hiru|fQ Uncord.
It is worth our while in these days of
platforms and parties to consider what
are the essential elements of a good
citizen.
The first essential is intelligence. The
boy who grows up to manhood un
trained and untaught, ignorant of the
history of nations and jx-oplcs, who
could not define the difference lx*-
tween a monarchy and a republic, who
does noj know the difference between
organic law and statute law, who is
a democrat or a republican ora populist
or a greenbaeker, simply because his
father was, with n blind adherence to
partyism and absolutely ignorant of
principles, can never be a good citizen.
But the young man w ho walks up to
the ballot box for the first time thor
oughly posted on political economy and
governmental principles, intelligently
expressing his views in his ballot—he
starts cut with one of the elements
of a good citizen.
Another element which lies at the
very basis of good citizenship is pa
triotism. love of country, devotion to
her institutions, loyalty to her laws.
The highest patriotism in the world
is the patriotism thnt helps protect
the innocent, that supjiorts Hie weak,
that which heljis the. enforcement of
law, the punishment of criminals, and
allies himself with everything that
tends to good government, law and
order. I nm sure it is not the highest
patriotism that lives disregardful of
all the liest interests of cor govern
ment and then when the declaration
of war is made to shoulder a gun and
go to the front and be willing to die
for your country. lie is a much better
citizen who is willing to live for his
country. Best citizenship is not ex
pressed in whooping for Old Glory
while jiolitical speeches are being made
or bursting firecrackers on the Fourth
of July.
The next element of good citizenship
is a good moral character. Let a man
live so thnt every deed and word of his
life, but furnishes a maxim for uni
versal application, so that if every man
did and thought as he did the world
would he purer and better. Let a man
have personal honesty, eonimercinl hon
esty, polit ical honesty, and honesty fas
ten’d by a good conscience and a de
termined heart and will, the honesty
which makes a man’s word his lioiui.
Let him have not only the morality
which makes a man honest, hut the mor
ality which is made up of the effects
of Christianity, which scorns profan
ity, despises unelcanness and shuns evil
associations; the morality which is
the result of purity of character, the
morality which is able to resist temp
tation, to conquer the besetting sins
of life, and which lifts you above the
shafts and slings of your enemies. -
Another element of good citizenship
so essential is courage—not the courage
that makes a tow n bully of you, or that
carries a pistol around in your hip
pocket, but the moral heroism which had
rather lie right than rich, had rather be
jxjor than lx* a prince, thnt would rather
carry around a good conscience than to
own the world—a courage that lifts me
above the slavery of partyism and takes
me out from under the pressure of ma
chine polities and blind prejudice and
makes me w hat I am because what I air
is right and keeps me from doing the
wrong because it is wrong. I have no
patience with the man who sells out; I
have less patience with the man who in
seared out. Many a man in this coun
try would be a better citizen if he had
the courage to be. Cow ardice and eon
iumacy are tw in brothers. The courage
that transforms opinions Into convie
tion«. the courage then that follows con
victions to the gallows, the block, or the
■take—the courage like Saint Paul had
when ho said: “None, of these things
mock me; neither count I‘my life dear
unto myself.”
Another element of good citizenship
is a neighbor!}’ spirit. An intensely
selfish man can never be a good citizen,
but ho who looks not upon thnt which it.
his own, but upon the things of another,
a neighborly disposition which makes
him a brother to every piun, a father to
fvery orphan, a husband to every widow,
fv good neighbor who always picks up
tho wounded man by the wayside and
carries him to the inn and foots the
whole bill from start to finish.
Another characteristic of n good citi
zen is that he is a man who fosters nil
good. He believes in the churches, in
Sunday-schools, in Y. M. C. A.’s, and in
every institution which tends toelevnte
man nnd which tends to develop the
moral side of man. I have no patience
with the American citizen who gathers
a lot of bums and thugs around him
nnd who says the church is full of fools
and hypocrites, nnd that Christianity is
• failure. I believe an infidel is incapa
ble of being a good citizen, for no man
can be a friend to men who is nn enemy
of God. This country lins never ele
vated nn infidel to position or place, so
far ns I know. Faith In God nnd a good
moral character are essential to good
citizenship.
Another element of good citizenship
is industry. Tho man who choose* ra
tional employment and stays by his job,
earning his bread by the sweat, of his
brow, is a good citizen—not tho little
■took speculator who lives on puts and
eallss bears nnd bulls, nnd ujih and
downs from the New York, Chicago or
BL Ijouhs stock exchanges, or th" wheat,
corn and cotton future siieculations of
this country. The mnm who to-day
plowed nn acre of corn, or made a j»ir
of shoes, or dug coal from under tho
earth i* a lietter citizen than any mem
ber of tlio New York stock exchange,
everything else being equal. Industry
I* essential to good citizenship.
Another essential element togood cit
izenship 1* sobriety. No habitual drink
ing man is a good citizen. He furnkhe*
not only a l ad example to his mCTi Ikwti
but a despicable example to the lioys of
all other homes. No good citizen will
vote, for or jxvtronize thi-ealoons. for tho
saloon is the worst enemy any govern
ment can foster or any citizen patronize,
for there is not. a wor e thing this side
the gates of predition than nn open
saloon. The drunkard would net be in
the gutter but for the saloons. The
saloon would not.be in the state but for
the law that crea.ted it. The law and tiie
saloon nnd the drunkard would not bo
in existence but for the legislature .that
made the law, and the leg’slaturc that
made tiie law, that, created the saloon,
that made t he drunkard would not be in
existence but for the voter; end after
all the voter is at the bot tom of every
good tiling and every evil thing; and
when good citizens only vote then we
w ill rid this country of every evil thing
and only create nnd maintain that
which is good and that which makes
good citizens.
A good citizen is r.b-o a man of integ
rity. IIis word gore-, his promises are
sure. You can rely upon them. Ilia
w ord is equal to the bond of amiH'on-
nire; his character is worth more than
sureties. A good citizen is a man who
is a good husband to ids v. ife. a good fa
ther to his children, a good son to hi.s
mother, a good mnnlier of hi* church,
nnd a man who is faithful in all his rela
tion* of Irfo. fostering everything Mint
is good, clKim pinning every thing that is
noble, and everlastingly : t against
everything that is bad. In every com
munity in America we have, ge d citi
zens. but we must Ijewnil the fact that
thoy are not always in the majority.
Good citizens make a good community,
a gosl city, a good state, a ge</.l nation;
bad citizens make a bad community, a
Lad city, a bad state, a bad na.fon. Tito
liest service a man can do bis count,vy is
to turn out the boys from in home at
the age of 21 w ith all the. c.'T'ontlnl ole-
nicaits of good citizenship. The worst
thing a mm can do for hi.s country is to
turn out his boys from his borne as they
rea-h maturity indolent, vicious, law
less rascals.
\Yc need good citizens. The. hcm''s of
this country can furnish them if they
will. There, is no demand for hordes
nfcnv. We have largely supplied their
places. Very little is the demand for
wheat and corn and oats. They ray wo
have over-production, but there is an
un<l(*r-pvo(luet ion of good citizens. The.
demand is great. Let the homes of this
country go to work nnd supply the de
mand, nnd Hie world w ill be richer and
better in the coming years.
RAM_r. JONHS.
HANK THOMPSON’S DISCOVERY.
ITo Mistook a Dndo Young KTnn for aa
Fasy Mark.
One day in the old days at Cheyenne,
when it was stiil the terminus of th^
great Pacific road, there arrived, all by
himself, a young man about 21 years
old, who had sueh a lisp and looked so
girlish that tin* rough crowd looked
him over in astonishment It was Hank
Thompson who finally walked up to
tiie young man on the stre et corner and,
grufily demanded:
“Say, baby, are you looking for your
nurstn’ hot tic?"
“Tliir. do you e.ddret’i me?”r.s!:ed the.
young man, as he straightened up.
“You bet! AYhar’.i ycr me, and how
did you happen to get lost ?”
“My nta itli homo, tliir. and I am not
loth! You are very rude, tliir!”
“You are very rude, tliir!” mocked
the terror, as he beckoned to tiie boys
to close in and see the fun.
“It theems to me, thir,” said tlio
young man, as lie looked t lie other over,
“thnt you don't like my loaks?"
“No', I donth.”
“Ami that you want to pick a futh
with me?”
“A fuss with a baby—ha! ha! ha!"
roared Hank.
“Tliir. I can take care of mythelf!”
“Don’t want any’ ma to rock you to
sleep, eh?”
“No, tliir, and I want you to go away
before I hurt vnu. When I’m riled I
thoot!"
“Hear him—he thoots!” shouted the
terror, as he laughed all over. “Say,
boys, what is this thing,anyway?”
“Wnth you referring to me?” asked
the young man.
“Of course I was! Whose trunk or
carpet bag did you escape from?”
“Thir, 1 thee thntli you want me to
thoot you, and therefore I will thoot
unless you go away!”
“He will thoot—ha! ha! ha! Some-,
body git some sugar and a rag—mebbo
he’s hungry.”
“I don’t like to thoot, but I thee T
must!” said the young man. and before
anybody realized what he was at lie
had pulled out a little popper of a pop
and sent six bm kshot bullets into Hank
Thompson’s anatomy. The big fellow
staggered about and MI down, nnd,
everybody thought he was done for
until a doctor looked him over and said
no vital sjKit had been touched. Hank
lay w ith his eyes closed for a long, long
time, but be finally opened them and
faintly asked:
“Boys, have I bin (’hot, or what?"
"Yes, you’ve bin shot, answ ered one.
“Who did it?”
"The young feller that looks like a
girl and lisps."
“Great Scott, but. you don’t tell me!”
“Yes, he driv six bullets right inter
yer carcass. Hank, ”.11(1 you won’t can
ter about for a month to enme."
"And it was that feller?”
“Yes.”
"Wall. Vint my hbV! I’ve alius heard
thnt untliiu' on the face of this nirth
could lisp and shoot, too, but the fellers
thnt told me hadn't never run up ng’in
a baby!”—Chicago News.
Acroantlnff for It.
Bunker I w onder w hat made Hilllvcr
walk out of the church during the tcr-
mon.
Hill—lie must bo a somnambulist.—
Trutk.
vfl
Feeling the Pinch.
"Ilello! Why don't you speak to a
fellow? Feeling your oats, ain't you?"
"No, my corns."—Up-to-Date. |