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- <3 » , - a.-' THE LEDGER: GAFFNEY, 9. C., DECEMBER 31, 1890. “IN THE CHRISTMAS.” Tho Sago of Rocky Crook Looking Buokwards. Bank Williams and V.Tddnr llljrjjor*— When the Course of True 1,oyo Didn’t itun Smooth Ly n Whole l.ot— Tho Out 1’raylnest i’royer. Every time I go down to the Flat Woods and back—acrost tho bridge over the Jordan creek — I can’t keep from thinkln about Hank Williams and the wkkler Riggers, a n <1 the scandlous bad confusion- men t which they got Into oncst upon a time. In thorn days, ton chin 1 which I now sen-t myself tp drop you a few scatterin remarks. Hank Williams was livin right, t heiv r.t the old Williams’ place on the hill this Hide of the creek, whilst the Widder Riggers rhe was liv- Jn over aerost on the other side a mile »nd a half, or maybe a little better. To Do Al>cut or Dies At that time the Widder Riggers was fat and fair and forty—already ’'broke and brldlewke,” as lirit Foster were wont to any. Rut Hank Williams he WHS one of the most nervous and baoh- , fuleot men that I have ever scraped up • ru acquaintance with, lie was jest .ii. About good grown then -stood full six feet In hia cooks and was a man amongst ' Snen. He had went through l. r > or "0 l«id fights and always whipped his man as eaay as fnliin off of a wet log. Rut when It eojne to the female generation —well, Hank Williams he wnu’t in the fight any to speak of. I have seen him g i. caught out amongst the womgn foil;?, ns it wt re, and blamed if it didn’t look to me like he would have every thing on the sick list from a night A went to a buck ngrr. I row recollect one Mme when a gni.g of ns l>oys tolled Hank off to a >>reak down dance over fin 1 hill country and turnedhim loose in the house where there was a tremendius big drove of girls and he was t he on lyest boy. and I’ll be blessed if he ’.lldn’t take a Ruddcnt case of measles and break out. It was in tb.ii dead of winter—sorre- wlieres along betw; n Christmas and , . Year—and by Thai time Hank had worked up a furious bad onse with the widder. He laid want her his fine two-year-old turkey gobbler to make it Christmas dinner, and in hog kiliin time aho had returned hisdoublo-breast- cd compliments bv endin him a big mess of backbone, and spare rilrs, and . sausages., ami the like of that, So fur ns anybody knows. Hank never did | fool clT any time viitin love letters, I with plenty of flowers and fancy trlm- mlns throwed in for good measure. Rut yet still at the ? we time, anybody - could Rhct one eye and see that lie meant business over aerost the creek, and the widder well, she want gone nowhorcs. Finally at last In them days It come to pass that a big circus was eomin to town Friday night before New Year, and the time had now come for Hank Will iams to do about or die. “Cnt ttio ’Tot, V«'In or That Vi’cdncrdry inornin before the circus was to su.ow on Frklay Haul: come by our house bright and early on his way to to\yn. I had went out to the lot end^vm; boidin to the stock w hen he rid by in a. swingin galiojs— which up to that time 1 never had r.een him pass l y before sunrise, nor ridin faster than a jw-art bix walk. “Somethin’s in Hie wind this moriiln, rufus,’’ says mother Id me, when 1 n*• turned back from the lot, “Hank Wil liams is up and gone too outlandish roon and riilin most to furious like and fast,” * Rut I didn’t take any praticiilar no tice of what was goln On till late Ilia* even In when Hank conic back fiaun town. Then I could see wherein moth er had ])laeed him dead to rights. He was now ridin in a spankin new buggy, with bright Rlunin harness and a red Rtripe<l lap robe. Human nature h most in general alw ays'human, and so I naturally went out in the !> : g mn l when I saw Hank eomin. and licit him pp and calk'd on him to know what in the discovered world was goln on. “Nothin in ; articular, Fufc,” rays he. “C^ceptin it is now or never with ni<* and the widder. The cards are coni in my way thi-s eve nln, end to-morrow 1 will cut the jut, v. or lore. We have made our arnti ' rinent.s to go and take }n the show, hand in hand together, r.nd then if tbe weddin don’t come ol? In pursuit of adjouriiment. I will have to know the reason why. Rnfe, you have travelled all tiie ga ls and covered fll,' the grouml. tiposin you come over and see me off in gixsl ami regular on’ er." ?l»n sir, I ran shet my t yes to-night and Jock bock and ree Hank Willinnu* n« be went forth that day toeourtthe Widder Riggers. He. wore a full black Milt of new store-bought clothes—fine as split silk and soft as the fur on n cat’s lack—end lliiewite a boll-opown ■to\>pipe hat. In his uiitside left n poeki-t he carried a new opeu-facesllvcr w atch, w hich you eoidd hear it tick into the next room. On one linger he wore !» gry gold ring, whilst the smell of musk was in his do! In s and bear grease in hif hair. And when he wentout and rtrlv off in hir. new buggy—with the bright shiny liurnc: and ml rtriped lop robe--1 anys to myself, rays I—If the hamcidriiig holds and the traces don’t break and the !>i el.in don’t fly up, there is plenty of far', in America yet, A Time for '•te. rj an I It.r Tour*. . In the maiutaae \ >u miiEt recollect, Wung ;... ! grnlle rtad r, tiuit there >< ^any a ^iippunee betwixt the oui firing dawn under tin hill and the r aater« bucket on tin: bad; In If. Did I tho Widder Riggers go to the circus that day? She did. And Hank Wil liams—did he go with her? lie didn’t. Rut now os to the why fores nml tho wheneeness thereof, ’ can but only tdl you like Hank told me the m t time me and him met up together. Everything went ‘umxdh ; id lovely, 1 Rnfe, till I get don there to the creek.’’ says Hank to me, “but as I drlv aerost i 1 the bridge the mnehinery jumped a cog. Rurdblame it, there is v. l eve 1 bustexl the jug and s])iH my moh’.-ses. uo to speak. You know I wno drlvin that big rord | horse Rail, which I got fn the swap with | Will Tom Pickens, and which Will Tom had bought him from the widder. “Well, ns I driv aerost the bridge, feel- In as rich and handsome os any rosebud, i I pulled out my watch and leant back to i see what time of day it was. Right | j there—Inthat very same sad minute j . old Rail tipped and fell to his knees, r.nd then floundered around there so ! terrific till hanged if It didn’t look to me like he would tear the bridge down before he could catch on hir feet onest | more. In the general shake up and eonfusionment I dropped my watch and | it rolled off of the bridge and into the creek below. I had saw right where it fell, and it didn’t take me long to see , what I had to do, or lose a bully watch. “So I driv out on the other side of the bridge, turned old Rail out to one side of the road, climbed out of my fine clothes and my stem pii>o hat, and went down into the water after my watch. Now presently, whilst 1 was down there chin-deep in the water feelin for my watch with my toes-—thinkin T would find it for certain before I mode the dive—I looked up the hill and there was old Rail, [>olln ofl' in a jog trot and headed for the widders with my fine new suit of store-boughtclothesnnd my stovepijie hat in the buggy. ARE ON CHURCHES. Quotes Doan Swift on a Pouter Without a Folio win '. Defers to Judgc.-i an:l Ce. t J -ITe Discusses the Methods of Suioral Deaomlua- tlons in Callini; 1’as tors and Making Changes. out "Then, man, sir, I come that water like I was shot out of a can non and put out. up the road after old Rail. I give him a dost race for .some thin letter than n mile, and when finally at last I scrambled into the buggy from behind we wno right there in sight of the widder’s house. Old Ball hud slipjietl the bridle and wan drnggin ihe lines on tin* ground. I couldn’t pull him in, and the blamed old skate wouldn’t stop lor nothin. I talked to him kind and gentle like, then loud and \ehement, I first begged him. and then cussed him, but dadburn him he halt his gait and keep the road — never missed a lick uphill and downhill. You can see, Rnfe, where somethin had to be done right away immediately, and a little sooner if possible. “ConsequentinHy I clambered into a fe'w of my clothes and then wrapped up snug and dost in one corner of my large and lovely lap rol>e. Likewise also, I pulled on my fine fur trimmed dogskin glovca and my stovepipe hat, — which in the mnintiine. it had foil out and got itin over and mashed in the mud till it looked Eke the ragged edge of ruination. Time w;tt; so precious then— the moments flew so sn.jnlaious- ly fast—and I done like you would do. Rnfe— like any man would do in a bad cose of pusheney. And to speak forth the great unwashed truth, when I teil you I had on a stovepipe lint, a pair of gloves, a lap rolie and a few under garments—the. story is told. “This and so we reached the wid- der’s place. If I had but only licit the ribbons in one hand and a good whale bone whfp in th(> other, I would of driv right on by there in a di-ad run. Rut in gentle remembrance of his corn and fodder in the past—for the sake of bet ter and brighter days gone by—that, blamed old home turned out and trotted right up to the front gate. “The widder, it would seem, she was ready and a wnilin—primped clean out. of sight and dressed in an inch of her life.—Hero she come prancin out to the buggy, with her ribbons and her finery naturally rustlin in the wind and whistlin at every step. We passed the roglar compliments in regards to the weather, and when she wanted to know how I was eomin on, I told her ruther porely, thank the Lord. She wanted me to light and come in and let her fix me up some snakeroot and jn ppor tea. Rut I was as hot as a fox right then and sweat-in like a free nigger on election day. Then ehc put hi and fixed the bridle and took up the lines and crawled into the buggy, and we rid of? towards town. The widder rhe had circus on the brain, and nothin but the circus would fill the bill for her. She could tell that I was neither drunk nor crazy, and from my general appearments 1 reckon she thought I was too bad sheered and ralthd to know anything for certain. “As wo driv on down the road I w on dered in my soul w hat 1 must do. And what could 1 do( Rnfe, but put my trust in the good Lord, and wait and watch and-pray. In my mind and on the sly I prayed, and I do reckon 1 prayed the out pmyincst prayer that ever went up to the throne of grace—prny- in that somethin mought happen to l<c*op me from goln to tow n and to the circus with the widder under the sur round i n c i r eu mfe re n eo. We had w ent about two miles w hen all of a suddent we turned a Wild in the road and driv up behind John Andrew Milligan and his folks in a wagon. It was a monstrous rough place in the road, and old Rail stopped ho quick and suddent like till the oouplin pin broke, the buggy come uncoupled, and me and tin* widder went down in on sad smash- up. She fell out one w ay and I fell out the. other, whilst my new clothes tum bled out in a pile, right there in the mud. “Rut now, as for me and the w idder we have took out and quit houeefor- wnrds nml forevermore. I ain’t fittir. to be foolln and fmnbiin around amongst the female gmerntion, Rnfe, and it is ewrla-tingiy too late for meto git fit tea. A ud yi u are de d right in regards to . ; thing, l.efe - Iliero la many n slippum.; betwixt the old spring down undci the hill ijnd tho wa ter bucket on t^re Rack Khclf." ItVFI’O HANDERS. There Is an old English rhyme w hich rays: " A jiastor without any p-.’oplo Is like a church without a jtccple.” Dean Swift added two lines, which said: ’• A people without a paster Are Uko a dog without a nijtsier.” This fits us better for we have lost ours and are now’ groping around in search of another one. Calling a preacher 1h always a perplexing and em barrassing thing to do. What is the best mode of procedure has long been u vexed question among the churches. There are some objections to every method that has been tried. It is like tho election of judges of our courts; nine times in my recollection the mode of their election has been changed in Georgia and now the press and the pco- | pie are howling for another change. I Rut the churches don’t change. They ; think it better to endure the objections | rather than abandon the faith and for- 1 mula of their fathers. The Methodists get their preachers from the bishops and the people have no choice in the se- hetion. If they r.rr disappointed they j make no complaint, for they know that the. year will soon pass and a change will come. The rotation must go on. There is no interregnum. They are never without a preacher. This plan saves the people some embarrassment. It is hard upon the preachers, and espe cially upon their wives and children. No permanent abode; no home attach ments; no vine and fig tree; no neigh- l>ors of long standing w ho have been true and tried in sickness and health. Ry the time they begin to know them ; and to love them the year is gone and j they must separate. Dr. Johnson, the great philosopher, said: “I have always | looked upon it as the worst condition of J man’s destiny that persons are so often ! torn asflunder just ns they become ' happy in each other’s society.” Meth- | odist preachers’ wives and children arc ! the gypsies of tho church. I have nl- ! w ays sympathized wit h them. Another objection to the, Wesleyan method is the bishop’s lack of informa- | tlon as to the needs of the different I churches and the qualifications of the ! preachers to be assigned. Of course | he has to consult the elders and these i have, their favorites, their college 1 mates, their likes and dislikes, nml the appointments sometimes are disap- ' point men ts and cause heart burnings that are smothered, but felt. We see by the papers that Rev. Robert Tooinbs Dubose, n grandson of Rob Toombs, was given six little scattered country churches for the coming year, and he says he cannot take the burden, for his health is very joor and the winter’s travel from church to church would en danger his life. It looks like somebody ought to have known this before. Rome 40 years ago a Mr. Graves wrote a .••urenstie, unkind book nlxmt the power of the bishops over the people, ami pic tured n great iron wheel revolving hor izontally and the bishops sitting on it in dignified ease, while the wheel rested on the bowed shoulders of the humble preachers. The Episcopalians get their preach ers from the bishops, too, but they don't rotate, neither do they get far away from railroads or civilization. They are the mostdevoted sectarians of nil Christian denominations—devoted to their church, its venerable renow n, its rituals and traditions—devoted to their bishop almost to idolatry. An in different preacher is all the some to them as the most eloquent divine, for they perform os much of the service ns be does, and only not'd him for a leader. If he ran read the ritual passing well and pn*s the communion he is all right with them. It is an admirable feature in the ritual of this church that the peo ple l>oth young and old take so promi nent a. part in the service. I asked a critical synical friend one Sunday morning where he was going in such a hurry. “I’m going up to my church to worship God—not man,” said he. I read the other day about an old fisher man who had taken a. great liking to an Episcopal preacher who was fishing In his neighborhood, and he accepted his invitation to come and hear him preach in a neighboring church next. Sabbath. He put on. his best clothes fcnd rode the old mare to the little, oho pel and took a front seat and tried to be devout for the first time in his life. After t he sen ice was over ho took the preacher by the hand and said: “Well, parson, 1 promised to conic, and I conic. I didn't understand much of what you was saying and doing, but I rls and sot with you the best I could.” I have always thought that there was most too much riilin’ an’ sottin’ in that church, and not enough in the others. We took a little city boy with ms to church last Sunday. It was his first adventure of that kind, but he had been going to matinees. “Aunty, what are they doing now?” he, whispered. “They arc saying their prayers,” she re plied. So he bowed ids head and re peated: “Twinkle, tw inkle, little star." The Baptists have the moet demo cratic method of calling a preacher. It is the very essence of simplicity. They call whom they please and every member has a vote. They keep him as long as it is mutually agreeable^and either party can dissolve the. relation ship at pleasure. Of course, there is always sonic embarrassment about get ting rid of an unwelcome preacher, but there is one way that is generally suc cessful. They can otarve him out. This method will move him ns effectual ly u.s smoking a rabbit out of a hollow tiee. The Presbyterian mode of calling a preacher has much to commend it after It is happily done, but Is beset with em barrassment in the doing of it. The call is strictly democratic for everj member has a vote, but after the call is made and the preacher ordained as pas tor the presbytery locks the door and puts the key in its pocket and says now that you have got him you must keep him till I say no. It is like the law of marriage and divorce. It is easy enough to get married, but it used to be quite a difficult thing to get unmar ried. I say “it used to lie.” It is not much trouble now, neither is it ns much trouble as it used to be for a preacher to get divorced from his church. If he gets tired he goes. If he has a more inviting call he goes. If the climate does i\yt agree with his health he goes. If his salary is not promptly paid he goes, and I sec In a late paper that a preacher says the reason why he re signed his pastorate and is seeking an other is that he has finished his work in that community. That I« what the paper said. I would like to see that church. Eveiybody sainted. I reckon, and no outsiders to be t-iilnted. Surely he didn’t say that. When a Presby terian pastor has made up his mind to change his Imse the people had just ns well submit as gracefully as they can. for the presbytery will ratify it. No congregation should try to keep an un- willing, dissatisfied pastor, nml they don’t. Preachers arc Just human and will seek to better their condition. The best preachers get the best places, and this is right. It is the unwritten law of the church and of the state— the law of business and commerce and art and society. For ministerial talent there is always room at the top. I was ruminating about these things because we have lost our preacher and are looking around for another. He had a call to a bigger and maybe a bet ter place with a larger salary, and he accepted liefore we hardly knew he was called. He hadn’t finished up this church and he knew it, but I reckon w as afraid that it would finish him up if he staid, for the times were, so hard we couldn’t pay him promptly, though we did the best we could. Preachers want their salary in the bank, and it ought to be. I was present once when n preacher w-ns ordained. After the ceremony, when the people went up to give him their hands and their benedictions, one old man said: “May the l/ord keep you humble; we will keep you poor.” And they did. For 40 years 1 have lieon looking for a country chureh that paid the preacher a sufficient salary and paid it promptly. Paying the preacher is the unsolved problem and has been ever since there were preachers. Dea cons and stewards ought to get to Heaven, for the}- have a hard time here. Goldsmith tells u.s of the village preacher: “A man ho v.-aa to all tho country dear. And passing rich at forty pounds a year." So great and good a man ns Jonathan Edwards after 24 years of faithful serv ice at Northampton was voted outof his pulpit, and like an old horse turned out to graze and die. We find a good deal of fault with the. preachers and some times with their wives and children, but after all they are as a class the best ]>co- ple we have got and set us the l>e.st ex amples. How soon would we lose our morality without them. They have their likes and dislikes, and perhaps their favorites in the church, and so do we.. In the old times they preached for smaller salaries. The salary w as a sec ondary consideration, but now it is the firsts Over f>0 years ago I went to school to an Irishman who suddenly took a notion that lie would quit teach ing and go to preaching. lie studied a year and then applied to the presby tery at Columbus for examination and license. The committo reported favor ably and ho. was about to pass success fully. when old Dr. Goulding, the moderator, leaned forward and said: “I will ask the canelldatc a single ques tion. Brother Gray, do you feel in your heart that the Lord has called you to preach tho Gospel to tho people?" "\es,” said he, “if they pay me for it.” lie was not licensed. He attached too much importance to the pay. There are but few long-continued jinstorates in there Inter years. As soon as a preacher get*, a reputation he is called to a wealthier chureh, and he goes. It Is easy for him to see that the way is clear and U is the Lord’s will when the salary is Increased, The pas torates in England and Germany arc life-long and there Is no chance for the college graduates save to wait for their death or superannuation or for new churches to l>e established. The Presbyterian mode, of calling a pastor has no fixed rules or usages. For awhile the vacated chureh is all at sea, but by and by the applications be gin to come in and references are given. A correspondence is had and inquiries aro made ns to the applicant’s charac ter as a man and a preacher and a work er, and as to his wife and children. If it be practicable lie is invited to come and preach n trial sermon and mlnglorior a day or two with the people. This is a hard experience on any sensitive Chris tian man, for he realizes that he is oa trial and that the jury is composed of I>erhnps 100 men and women to whom he is a stranger and who know noth ing of his inner life, his emotions, his struggles and misfortunes. The situa tion is against him, for people will naturally wonder why he docs not- stay where ho is If he la the right sort of a man. Maybe he does not w ear well and his people are tired of him. And so he is a suspect. Tho test of a preacher from a single sermon and a day’s ac quaintance is a very unfair trial both 1 to preacher and people. Rut w hat, else ' ^an lie done? The result not unfre- juently is that one or both are disap pointed and another change Is wanted. 1’he church is split up. There are ma jorities and minorities until finally the subscriptions fall off and the preacher has to go or starve. Money is the sinews of church prosperity as well as nf war. The love of money is the root of all evil and tho lack of it is nearly aa bad. It will chill and paralyze the spir itual life of any church.—BUI Arp, In Atlanta Constitution. A DIVERSITY OF GIFTS. Sam Jonca on tho Many-Sidedness of Humanity. Tho DifTcrciu-e Dotwecu n Oenlnft and the Common Fellow—Gravity Inverted Carrie* n Alan Upward—Failure Near tho Hilltop. Humanity Is many-sided, is of many kinds—all casts, colors,clleksnndkinds. In al! phases of life we have diversity. America in lus ucsial life rarges from the dudes of the Four Hundred to the old rod-nosed bums in the back alley saloons; from the society woman with her wealth and want of heart to the old darky hunting 'possums because his home is out of meat. In the busi ness world, from millionaires down to mendicants. In the political world, they range from Gladstone to a state legislator. There may be something below Unit, but he is nearly out of j sight. In the former life, from the j big planter down to the old darky with the stiff-eared mule. In the manufnc- luring ciricles, from Carnegie, of Pitts- i burgh, to the red-neck of Mississippi, sitting up with his tar kiln. In the railroad world, from George D. Roberts, president of the Pennsylvania, to the brake-man on some little jerk-water road out west. Oil, the millions of teeming, struggling humanity between these two extremities in all the classes I have mentioned. Energy and thrift and brains head the procession in the commercial and professional world, w ith now and then n genius like Edison in electricity; a Wanamaker In mer chandise; a Milton Smith In railroad ing; a Philip Armour in manipulating. A man who does big things, great big things, and keeps on doing them, isa genius. Justany ordinary common fellow could not do it the first time; and ho cannot keep on doing it. An old-fnshioned cannon will shoot na loud as a Gatling gun, but it just can’t keen ou shooting a hundred times a minute t ill It gets so hot you have to pour water on it. A little peg won’t fill a big hole. You have got to brush the peg or lose it. A frog might be as big as an ox if his hide would stand the stretch, but It bursts on the way. A mule might pull as much ns an engine, and then again it mightn’t. A few great men lead the proee:wion in all lines. A Brooks, a. Spurgeon, a. Beecher, will pitch the tone for a century higher than most men can sing in the theo logical world. Here and there a farm er is getting rich, broadening his acres, shows the world what a farmer can do if he is a man as well as a farmer. A man who succeeds at one thing may have succeeded at many others. A failure is a failure. It takes pluck and vim and brains to “ge,| tlie.re.” If a fellow has got them and don’t “get there.” he ought to be left, and will be left,and left forever. There is n good deal of independence and dogmatism about a fellow who gets there. A man who is always working, struggling and do ing something loses sympathy with trani(>s and idlers. A man who keeps and saves and accumulates loses sympa thy with the prodigal and wasteful. A man who similes and thinks and grows intellectually soon parts com- jxmy with fools. One man will take a great railroad system and bankrupt it. Another man will take hold of a bankrupt system, like Samuel Spencer and the Southern system, and liter ally raise it from the. dead. One jxistor can take a chureh and run It- like a thing of life. Another soon gets It ready for spiritual irterment. One farmer converts sun shine and show ers into grain and wheat and oats nml corn and cotton and po tatoes. For another man all these things seem to make only weeds ami grass. One college graduate has token the curriculum of the school simply as a springing board to leap into higher and better success. Others have come homo from college to board with their daddies until their daddies-ln-law fur nish equal or better lodgings. One man begins braking on a railroad. By and by ho is president of the road. Another fellow starts out as vice president and winds up without the position of brake- man. Gravity inverted carries a man up ward. He who can invert gravity don’t need wings to lly. A Joseph Pulitzer can take a daily newspaper out of the •lust and give It the largest circulation of any newspaper in the world. Others turn their newspapers over Into the hands of the sheriff ora receiver. There Is more in the man than there is in the land. If a boy has got in him what we rail metal in the blade of a knife he will cut bis way. If he has not he had as well stay down and take it easy. A little fellow w ins running along in front of a gentleman on the sidewalk once and couldn’t keep out of the. way well. The gentleman said to him: “Get out of my way, boy. What are you fit for anyway?” The little fellow replied: *T am the stuff they make men out of.” There is the j>oint at lust. If the fellow’ has got the stuff in him that cun make a man then he gets there. There is a diversity In wives. Rome wives aro but wings to their hus- Ixinds by which they fly from hill top to mountain-top till they soar in t he altitudes of success. Other wives are but millstones about their husband’s necks. So in every phase of life they come anti go. They go up and they come dow n. Ambition, effort, econ omy, honesty—these qualities carry to highest success. Indolence, extrava gance and shiftlessnesH cut a man’s legs and arms off and make him craw 1 like a worm. I don’t know a man to-day who has succeeded in life but who deserved to succeed. There may bo some who have failed who didn’t deserve to fall. A man who is aimlws, purposeless, am bitionless is a cipher. The world must carry him, must feed him, must clothe him, The successful man is preemi nently a busy man. If something is ready for him to do he hunts a job. adage says: ‘‘All things com* to waits.” Whether all thing* L •• ihr come to him or nc coffin come to him ?1 Many a man has pt top of the hill of oucce his wagon run back bottom of the hill. Mi pulled an hour or a daj- have reached the top and rl hill of success. More failure made near the hill-top than ever else from base to top. It takes a me to pull when his shoulders are Mre when he. is out of breath and tre In every nerve; but the felldtor Hrlwji starts to the top determined to get there or die, generally dies on top of tne. Very few lie dead be tween the base end the top. I would not ridicule u man’s natural Infirmities If be Lao not had the facility or oppor tunity to remedy them, bul^ thousands of the defect* of life are not Imiurdt?*" - ' They come of the life we live. They come like a sober man becomes a drunkard, like n good man becomes a rascal, like a rich man become* a pau per. To stultify and blunt the eapabil- i Hies Is iss wicked ok arson or theft. To “ js-rvert the faculties which, if rightly used, would bring success, is a crime itself. It is my duty to use all I have, mind, heart and soul, resources and all, n» simply stepping stones to some thing higher and better. Hell 1*down; Heaven Is up. It 1« cney to roll down grade, but we only climb up by *1 and measured all round the -<| climbing is for easier than the of rolling downward. I have mixed with men w ho have suc ceeded. They meant to succeed or die. 1 have mixed with men who failed. They had rather fail than die; hence they failed and hove not died yet. Traveling ns I do, almost constantly here and there I see diversities mani fold, mnniformed. Rome of them in spire and some of them sicken. Thus humanity marches on, every man to his liking. SAM P. JONES. A KENTUCKY TRADE. - 1 TIm ColMMl Wm ltu«n«l to Uo Might In ftiio Swim. A drummer w as waiting for a train at n little station in Kentucky the other day when u red-nosed man came along dragging by one arm a tall man wear ing a big slouch hat, a now suit of store clot lues uud a big gold w atch chain. “Tluit’s him," nuid the red-nostxl man, pointing to a man who sat upon, a barrel at the other end of the platform, whit tling a stick. "Air yo’ shore?” asked the tall man, leaching under his coat and looking somewhat nervous. “I ought to know Lem Rogers, colonel. If anybody does.” “Air yo* shore, major,” said the tall man, “that this is a genuine article, I V year-ohl, full of shoot!n’ on right, and cussin.’ and killin’ each other's mulei and dogs, and it’ll keep on glttin’hotter and hotter?” “I have give you the word of an All- sop, colonel,” said the red-nosed man. “Do you guarantee, major, that he won’t git up and run w hen I shoot, and then sue me in eo’t for damages instead of cyarin’ the thing on fair and squall like a gentleman ?” “You can git yo’ money back, colonel. If the goods don’t turn out w hat I rep resented ’em,” "Fll take yo’ word fob it, major, but he looks tome like a man who is goin’ to run like a turkey atmy first fiah. How ever, I’ve done promised Merlindy, and I’m goin’ to try him a few shots.” The tall man drew a big Colt’s revoirrr from under his coat and cqiencd fin* ou the man on the barrel. That individual jumped to his feet, pulled out a big six- shooter and began blazing away at thii tall man. When both weapons had been emptied amd nobody hit, the man at the other side of the platform uttered a loud yell. Jumped up and cracked his heels to gether, and charged upon the tall main That gentleman dropped his Colt and turns’ll to fly, but hLs foe grappled hitn, and they went down in aheap together,, pommeling each other with their tirdx and rolling about on the platform. Presently they fell off upon the railroad truck, and the man who had I’cen at tacked pounded the tall man’s head u;> and down on the ties and rubbed a few handful ot coal dust into his moutn. After they had liecn separated nml the vTctor had l>cen led away by his friends, the drummer and the. ml-ncx ed man Jumped down on the track to look after the vanquished one. Ho rat up, rnkot the cinders outof his mouth and wiped his bloody nose upon his coat sleeve. “Did she turn out all right, colonel?’* asked the. red-nosed man. “She did,” sold the. tall man. “Yo’' have given me. a squab deal, major. I couldn’t nsk foh no better, sah.” “May I Inquire who this man is whom you attacked?” asked the drummer, ns he picked up some broken links of the tall man’s watch chain. “My friend, Maj. Allwop, here, infohm*. me tliAt his mime is Rogers, sah. “Do you mean to say that you tried to shoot a man without even knowing who he k>?” “You will understand, oah, when I ex- p’oln. My wife Inherited by tho death of an uncle last Novembnh an estate and some houses and mules valued at fo* thousand dollars. Rhe wn« determined, sah, that our fam’ly should hold up its head with the beat families in Kentucky. \V© was able to do this exceptin’ in ono respect. We have never had no feud in our faon’ly, and my wife knows what is expected from a flrst-raite fam’ly in our state. We didn’t want no new ftud, but a genuine old rip-snortin’ feud with a graveyard and one or two haugin’s in it.. My friend, Maj. AJlsop’s faan’ly has been cyarin’ on a feud with the Rogerses foh * IS years, anu I bought out his right, title and Interest In said feud foh $9<J. Maj. Allsop turned the feud over tome a few minutes ago and yo’ have seen me take charge of It, sah. Whan Mu-, lindy sees me slic’ll be pleased to see wA can now take our plm-cMnongt ho best: Kentucky society. Mifl you kindly