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Jeffersonian Magazine. 


Editor and Proprietor. 

Vol. 2. 

FEBRUARY, 1908. 

No. 2 



EDITORIALS Thomas E. Watson 

Tlie Reign of the Technicality — Concerning 
Money — This is why the Panic Came — 
How New^ York Gets the Money. 

THE GARDEN OF PEACE— A Poem - Elizabeth Dargan Forrester 100 

A SURVEY OF THE WORLD - - . . 101 

THE JACKSON-DICKINSON DUEL - - William L. Parks 109 


THE DREAM— A Poem Ada A. Mosher 121 

THE OLD AND THE NEW .... Nina Hill Robinson 122 

CONFESSION— A Poem - - - - - Mary Chapin Smith 135 

ECONOMICS /. Lancaster 136 

ANN BOYD— A Serial Story .... Will N. Harden 137 


LIVE IN HOPE Leonora Sheppard 151 

THE GOLD OF CHARACTER— A Poem - - Wm. Holcomb Thomas 154 


THE MEN OF THE GRAY— A Poem - - S. H. Lyiejr. 156 


Published Monthly by 


$1.50 Per Year. Temple C<»urt Building, Atlanta, Ga. 15 Cents Per Copy. 

Entered as second class matter December SI, 1906, at the Post Offlct at Atlanta, Oa. 


Jeffersonian MAbi^ZiNE. 


Editor and Proprietor. 

Vol. 2. 

FEBRUARY, 1908. 

No. 2 



EDITORIALS Thomas E. Watson 

The Reign of the Technicality — Concerning 
Money — This is why the Panic Came — 
How New^ York Gets the Money. 

THE GARDEN OF PEACE— A Poem - Elizabeth Dargan Forrester 100 

A SURVEY OF THE WORLD - - . . 101 

THE JACKSON-DICKINSON DUEL - - William L. Parks 109 


THE DREAM— A Poem Ada A. Mosher 121 

THE OLD AND THE NEW .... Nina Hill Robinson 122 

CONFESSION— A Poem - - - - - Mary Chapin Smith 135 

ECONOMICS - - /. Lancaster 136 

ANN BOYD— A Serial Story .... Will N. Harben 137 


LIVE IN HOPE Leonora Sheppard 151 

THE GOLD OF CHARACTER— A Poem - - Wm. Holcomb Thomas 154 


THE MEN OF THE GRAY-A Poem - - S. H. Lyiejr. 156 


Published Monthly by 


$1.50 Per Year. Temple Court Building, Atlanta, Ga. 15 Cents Per Copy. 

Entered as second clatt matter December il, 1906, at the Poet Office at Atlanta, Oa. 


Over the sweeps of wintry sea Along the rock-bound, gloomy shore. 
The wild north-easter raves, It hurries far and fast. 

Its loud song rising high and free And with fierce rush and savage roar 
Above the tossing waves. Bends straining sail and mast. 

Down from the north the brave ship 

O'er surges foaming white. 
Following where the tempest leads, 

Through trackless glooms of night. 

Grasping the wheel with freezing hands, The mighty breakers smite the sand 
No light his path to show, Eeyond the harbor bar. 

The weather-beaten helmsman stands. And fling against the frowning land 
His gray hair full of snow. Bent plank and shattered spar. 

And dim the beacon's w'arning streams 

Amid the flying spray. 
Or through the driving snow-squall 

A ghostly spark of gray. 

Oh, dark and low; the murky cloud The waves are full of phosphor fire. 

That hides the beacon's light; The good ship's foamy path 

And fierce and high the winds, that loud Glows like a serpent, foaming, dire, 

Exult in stormy might. And lurid in its WTath. 

Swift where the yawning caverns wait, 

And rocks with sea-lights shine, 
The good ship rushes to her fate. 

And breaks, and makes no sign. 

But on the sands, when radiant morn His rough hands grasp, with fingers cold. 

Illumes the eastern skies. The wheel that was his care; 

'Mong tangled rope and canvass torn. While tenderly the sunlight's gold 

The bluff old helmsman lies. Burns in his matted hair. 

The long, long years will come and go. 

And loving eyes grow dim, 
As by some old world river's flow. 

They wait and watch for him. 

— Frank H. Sweet, Waynesboro, Va. 


AVas there ever a judicial system more utterly absurd than that which 
we Euglish-speakinj^ people have established? 

Is it really anything better than Trial by Combat? Or walking over 
heated plowshares? Or being tied hand and foot and tossed into the 
water to find out whether one will float or sink? 

After all is said and done, the present method of trying law cases 
is nothing but a battle of the lawyers, and he who has the strongest lawyer 
generally wins. It is only Avhen the Judge on the bench lends his powerful 
aid to the good cause that the weak lawyer can win against an attorney 
who outclasses him. 

In bygone days, the man accused of crime was too cruelly treated. 
He was inhumanly tortured, to make him confess. To escape the frightful 
suffering, many innocent persons convicted themselves of crime. In 
swinging away from this barbai^ous mistreatment of the prisoner, the 
pendulum of human tenderness swung too far the other way. The state 
is not now permitted to ask the aeciised any questions at all, unless the 
prisoner voluntarily goes to the witness box. This is obviously nonsen- 
sical. No innocent man could have any possible objection to going on the 
stand as a Avitness, and no guilty man should be allowed to escape 
for the reason that lie alone can rstahlish liis guilt. 

Under the practice in most states a prisoner can make his own state- 
ment, say anything and everything he pleases relevant to the case, and yet 
the state cannot ask him the simplest question. 

The result is that the guilty are constantly walking out of the Court, 
acquitted, because the state is unable to establish some fact necessary 
to the making out of its case. 

In "Ten Thousand a Year," we have a fair illustration of the faulti- 
ness of our system as a means of meting out Justice. A clerk has beeij 
given a deed to engross. It must be written on parchment, which is costly. 
In transcribing, he makes an error in a word of no importance. Fearing 
that his employer will discharge him for carelessness if he reports the 
error and asks for another parchment, the clerk neatly erases tlie ivord 
which is wrong and writes in its place, the word which is right. 

The thing is so neatly done that the Attorney never detects the 
erasure. The deed is duly executed, enrolled, and made a part of the 
muniment of title to an estate worth ten thousand pounds, ($48,400), 
per year. 

After awhile, a keen lawyer discovers, as he thinks, a flaw in the 
title to this estate. Tittlebat Titmouse, Esquire, is thought to be the 


Irue heir, and is coached as Chiiiiiaiit. Tittlebat is a poor clerk — a poor 
one in all sorts of ways,— and the author displays him as a bumptious 
idiot of great proportion and variety. 

A big law-ease starts up to tiy. the title to that estate. The lawyers 
want a slice of that Ten Thousand a Year. In due time, the case comes 
on to be heard, and no book that I know of contains a better account of a 
battle of legal giants than docs this of Samuel Warren, himself a lawyer. 

At first, Tittlebat Titmouse seems to have made out his ease. lie 
is the true heir, and the proud family which has luxuriated in that 
noble income of ten thousand a year must give it np to Tittlebat and 
his lawyers. 

But the other side brings its guns into action, and begins to bombard 
the plaintiff's position. Deed after deed is produced, link after link in 
the chain of title passes through the hands of lawyers and judges and 
no flaw is found. Tittlebat's case seems to be going slowly but surely 
up Salt River. Blue funk begins to take possession of Tittlebat and his 
backers. Then the crisis comes. Defendants offer in evidence the very 
deed which makes their chain complete. 

Confidently the paper is offered,— anxiously it is taken in hand by 
Plaintiff's counsel for examination. First one, then another of the big 
lawyers scan the deed. Seems to be all right. But, hold on ! is that the 
right stamp? One of the Plaintiff's attorneys dives into a bag, fishes 
out a law-book, finds the stamp -.ict for the year in which the deed is made. 
Alas! the stamp is the right one. So that precious dream of an "objec- 
tion" to the deed goes glimmering. Exultantly, the leading lawA-er 
on the other side extends his hand to take back the deed, so that he may 
offer it, and take his verdict. 

But no — no, indeed! — one vigilant, lynx-eyed fellow on the Plaintiff '.s 
side discovers what he thinks is an erasure ! Great excitement follows. 
Consternation on the one side, and elation on the other. A magnifying 
glass is called ; the small speck on the deed is made to yield up its secret — 
yes — there is, unmistakably, the evidence that the clerk in Avriting out 
the deed erased a word wliiclt had no husincss ilierc and put in one ivJiicJi 
belonged there. 

Tittlebat wins an estate that isn't his and, for a brief season, enjoys 
another man's property. And all because the law is, in very many 
respects what Mr. Bumble conditionally said it is, — "a ass." 

In running away from the perils of forgery, in legal papere, the law 
went too far in the opposite direction. Since "Ten Thousand a Year" 
was published, there has been a relaxation of the rigid rule which did 
not allow explanations of changes in notes, deeds, etc., but where the 
Technicality loosens its hold at one place it tightens it at another. 

The veteran Georgia Lawyer, Col. Reuben Aniold, declares, in a 


recent juldi-ess to the Bar Assoeiation, that seventy-three per cent of all 
the cases arc (hcidcd on Iccliiiicalilics. 

Pray reflect upon that. There is deep significance in the statement. 
It means that nearly three-fourths of all law cases arc not decided on 
their merits. 

Can snch a system be meeting the requirements of Justice? 

The question carries its answer with it. AVe miglit as well let John 
Doe liire a man to fight Kicharcl Koc's man, aiitl make a ring, put the 
two champions wilhin it, and say — as in olden times, — "' Fujld, and (iod 
defend the right." 

Not long ago, I was in the Supreme Court room of Georgia, awaiting 
my turn to present a case. Preceding our case was one in which a man 
convicted of willful, deliberate assassination was seeking to upset the 

The uiidisiMited facts m the recoi'd showed thai the deceased had been 
killed l)y some one else, and had not killed himself. 

There was absolutely no question raised by the defense upon that 
point. The whole case had proceeded upon the self-evident fact that 
somebody had killed the man. There was no pretense whatever that he 
had killed himself. Yet the technical rule is that the plea of Not Guilty 
throws upon the state the burden of proving the unlawful killing, and 
in this case the judge of the Court below had, in his charge to the jury, 
referred to deceased as having been killed. Defendant's counsel therefore 
was asking that the Supreme Court set aside the verdict because the 
judge had e.rpressed an opinioji upon, a disputed fact. 

Tcchnicalljj the fact was in dispute — actually it was not; yet the 
Supreme Court strongly intimated that it would be compelled to grant 
the man another trial. 

Consider the California decision by which those grafters of San 
Francisco are escaping just punishment for their crimes. 

The INIayor, Schmitz, and the Boss. Abe Reuff, compelled certain saloon 
and restaurant men to pay large sums for the privilege of continuing 
their business under the customary license. Unless they would pay bribes 
to the Boss and the Mayor, they would have to close up their shops and 
go out of business. 

Yet the Appellate Court decides that there is no crime ! 

With astounding effrontery the Court says that although Schmitz and 
Reuff did threaten these saloon and restaurant keepers, and did thereby 
force money out of them, "the indictment is insufficient because it does 
not allege or show that the specific injury threatened was an unlawful 

So it would seem that some of our courts, eager to screen miscreants 
who deserve the severest penalties, have evolved a new kind of injuiy 


Avhich one man may do to another. There is a lawful injurij which I 
may do my fellow man, as well as an injury that is unlawful. 

The I^Iayor of a city may collude with the local Boss, and the two 
may go the rounds of the stores, saloons, restaurants, hotels, etc., saying, 
"If you don't cross these itching palms with gold, you'll get no license 
to continue business — See?" 

Yet this shameless California Court announces that such a threat 
as that is not a threat to do ''an unlawful injury." 

Of all the triumphs won by the imperious Technicality, surely none is 
more glorious than this last one in California. 

What we need is something that will lessen the power of the lawyers, 
liberalize the code of practice, destroy the tendency of technical rules 
1o defeat justice, increase the control of the judge and jury over the 
management of the trial. 

At present, a court-house combat is too much like a mere tournament 
where the lawyers come into the lists and tilt for their clients, while the 
crowd sits there to acclaim the victor, and the judge presides to award 
the prize. 

In every case, the judge should be the Chief ^klanager of the trial ; he 
should question each witness; he should call attention to errors of 
omission and commission, in order that the merits of the cause may get 
fairly presented; he should question eveiy defendant in criminal cases; 
he should instruct the attorneys on either side how to correct their 
pleadings when a litigant is in danger of losing his rights on account of 
some error of his la^N^yer; he should see to it that no man wins or loses 
a case on Technicality ; he should be ready, at any time before the verdict 
has been received, to reopen the case for material correction of any and 
every sort. 

In other words, a trial of a law-suit should be an earnest, conscientious 
effort of judge and juiy to measure up to the highest standard of duty, 
and that is to find out how tliis case should he decided on its merits. 

In a rough wa}', the following anecdote illustrates my idea : 

After AVilliam II. Crawford had had his first stroke of paralysis — 
causing him to lose the Presidency — his day of usefulness in the national 
arena was over. He was appointed Judge of the Superior Court of the 
Northern Circuit, and died in that office. On one occasion he was 
])residing in Taliaferro County, and a smart lawyer from Augusta was 
leading a case, on one side, while the other side was represented by a 
member of the Crawfordsville bar, and no match for his adver.sarj-. 

The Augusta lawyer was carrying things Avith a high hand and having 
it all his own way. Old Crawford was "scrouched" down in liis chair, 
and seemed to be nodding. The little countiy lawyer, who had right on 
his side, was in great distress. Time after time he jumped up, objecting. 



remonstrating, and correcting-, Init Crawford took no notice. Finally it 
came time to make the speeches to the jury. The country lawyer made 
his, as best he could, and then came the big lawyer from the city of 
Augusta. Having the conclusion, he made the most of his advantage. 
He misstated the evidence, put the law as he wanted it, made fun of his 
opponent, and was having a fine time, generally. Old Crawford dozed, 
the jury enjoyed, the little country la\iyer suffered. He kept jumping 
up, interrupting the Augusta lawyer, and disturbing the slumber of the 
Judge. Finally Crawford opened his eyes and said, "Never mind, Mr. 
S. — never mind. You sit down and rest easj'. Let Mr. B. go on and get 
through. I\'c got the last ivhack at that jury." 

Naturally, this observation of His Honor dampened the ardor of the 
Augusta lawyer, considerably, and he hastened to a conclusion. 

Then old Crawford roused himself, those great blue-gray eyes kindled, 
and when he had his full "whack at that jury," the best lawyer had 
lost the and justice had pr evaded. 

DO WATSON'S jp:ffersonian ^magazine 


In tlie early j-ears of the reisn of Queen Victoria, there came on to be 
heard, before her Lord Cliancellor, a veiy luuisnal case. 

The Emi^eror of Austria liad brouizht process ai^ainst Louis Kossuth, 
the IIun}j:arian patriot, to restrain him from issuing certain bits of paper 
which he had caused to be printed in England, for the purpose of circu- 
lation in Hungary, 

Translated into our tongue, tlie wording of these strij^s of paper was 
as follows: 

"One Florin, 

"This monetary note will ])e received in every Hungarian state and 
public pay office as 

" 'One Florin in Silver.' 

"Its nominal value is guaranteed by the state. In the name of the 

"Kossuth, Louis." 

It was shown that more than one l)undred millions of these florin 
notes had been prepared, and were intended to lie used in Hungary 
as money. 

The Emperor contended that "the introduction of said notes into 
Hungary will create a spurious circulation, and thereby cause great det- 
riment to the state and to the subjects of the plaintiff." 

It further appeared in evidence that the Emperor had surrendered 
to the National Bank of Austria the privilege of supplying the Empire 
with paper money, and doubtless this bank Avas the instigator of the Bill 
in Equity brought against Kossuth. The National Bank of Austria had 
the same feeling against Ko.s.suth that our Whiskey Trust has the 
Moonshiner. In each ease, the name and power and money of the Gov- 
ernment is used ])y a Monopoly to stamp out Competition. 

In delivering his opinion, the Lord Chancellor uttered this truisin : 
"The right of issuing notes for the payment of money, as part of the 
circulating medium in llungai-y, .seems to follow from tlic right to create 
money belonging to the supreme power in every state. This right is not 
confined to the issue of portions of the precious metals of intrinsic value 
according to their weight and fineness, but under it portions of the coarser 
metals, or of other substances, may l)e nuid(^ to represent vai-ying amounts 
in gold and silvei*, for which they may pass current." 

Recently when The JekfersoiNLnn put out, from Washington, an in- 
terview advocating the is.sue of treasury notes, and stating that the crea- 


tiou of money had always l)i('ii a sovoroign prerojjjative of the Govern- 
ment, the Washington Post,— a givat leading newspaper,— declared, in 
effect, that we were talking nonsense. "Mere rot," said the Post. 

The Jhffkksoxiax is so accustomed to that kind of answer that 
w( don't mind it much, but it's rougli on llie Lord Clinncellor of (Ircat 
Britain, isn't it .' 

Xo Greenbacker, no Fiat :\loncy crank, no Jxag 13al)y lunatic ever 
stated more distinctly the right of the nation to create money, as "a right 
belonging to tin supreme power in every state," than did this poor be- 
nighted Judge, presiding over tht> highest eonrt of the most enlightened 
nation on earth. 

Let us pity this Lord Giiancellor. lie had not had the inestimable 
advantage of learning finance fi-om the Ameriean daily paper. 

Kossuth Avas enjoined from issuing the notes, upon the sole ground 
that he was an exile in England, with no dc facto authority in Hungary, 
lie. himself, had admitted that the p:mperor Francis Joseph reigned over 
Hungary, and was. in fact, its Emperor. For this reason, the Chancellor 
held, properly, that the Emperor, alone, had the right to supply Hungary 
with notes to be used as money. 

In the history of the world there never was a period when a strong, 
orderly government allowed a subject to coin money. The state, invari- 
ably, held on to this mighty levei", as one of the indispensable preroga- 
tives of sovereign power. To make laws, to appoint public functionaries, 
to levy taxes, to control navigable streams, to police the public highways, 
to control the army and navy, to hold the national purse^and sword, 
to negotiate treaties with other nations, to regulate foreign commerce, 
to establish courts, to declare war or make peace, and to create money, 
were among the universal, inseparable attributes of royalty. 

When the state was weak. poAverful vassals waged private war, rob- 
bers infested the highways, pirates roamed the seas, and private citizens 
created money. When the state recovered its strength, it invariably 
swept the pirate off the sea, the roliber off the highway, put down the 
strife of lord against lord, and took hack,— with stern admonitions,— the 
exclusive right to create money. 

Historians, writing of the Dark Ages, never fail to tell us how the 
anarchv of the times revealed itself in the disintegration of sovereign 
power.' Private citizens encroached upon the state; the lords usurped the 
prerogatives of the King; the security of the rights of the individual dis- 
appea'red. Each man held what he or his order ivere strong enough to 
hold, and no more. Even in the Middle Ages, it required all the reso- 
lute 'courage of the strongest Kings to redeem the sovereign prerogatives 
which the feudal lords had arrogantly usurped. 

As chaos gave way to systematic government, the state was seen to 


have reconquered the sovereign attributes -wliieli the haughty nobles had 
usui-ped ^ and thereafter no lords had courts of his own, dungeons of his 
own, gibbets of his own, warfare of his own, or money coinage of his own. 
The King's law, the King's courts, the King's money, were supreme and 

But such daily papers as the Washington Post scornfully repel the 
statement that the sovereign created money. "Mere rot," says the 
Post. So? 

Was gold usable, as money, before the King placed his stamp upon it 
and declared, by law, that a certain amount of gold thus stamped, should 
be a guinea? Did God make pounds, shillings and pe7ice, or did the 
King do it? Was silver usable as money until similarly favored by the 
law and the royal stamp ? Could one take a silver cup and go into the 
market, and pass it about as money f Could the King himself, take the 
gold plate off his table, and go into the market, and circulate the gold 
plate as money? 

Before the passage of the law making the stamped gold legal tender, 
MONEY does not exist. The law and the stamp makes the money out of 
the gold. God made the pine tree, but the sawmill makes the lumber. 
Cod made the chicken, but the cook makes the fricassee. God made the 
swine, but never the sausage. Pardon the seeming irreverence and home- 
liness of the illustrations: — we are trying to reach the understanding of 
the editors of the daily papers. 

Ricardo declared that the universal adoption of gold and silver as 
money metals had been an immense benefit !o the world, for they drove 
out such clumsy currency as the Wooden Stick of England, ("Tally rod" 
of the British exchequer), the Tobacco of IMaryland and Virginia, the 
Peltries, of the Western States, Wainpum of New England, Leather of 
France and Spain, Bark of China, Lead of Burmah, etc., — but he said 
that the time had come when a still greater benefit to the world would re- 
sult from the abandonment of metallic money, altogether, and the adop- 
tion of a scientific paper currency. 

Upon this, all independent thinkers who understand the subject, have 
long been agreed. Those who really know how completely the ]\Ioney 
Trust dominates the world, and how that remorseless tyranny is based 
upon metallic money, cannot but denounce, with "divine indignation," 
the horrible greed of the comparatively few money-changers who use the 
coin fetich to hypnotize and plunder the nations of earth. When gold 
threatens to be plentiful, (as was the case after the discoveries in Cali- 
fornia), the money-changer loses his affection for gold and pays his court 
to silver; when silver becomes too common and gold scarce, silver loses 
favor and gold is again the IMoney King's favorite. Even now, paid 
writei-s of the Money Tnist are demonstrating with admirable skill, the 


fact that the present panic has been caused by the luige increase in the 
output of the gold mines. 

Wliy does the ^loney Trust want to limit the supply of real money ? 
For the same reason that any other Trust wants to limit the supply. The 
bankn-s seek control, and the smaHer the volume of real money, the more 
easily they can control it. If the bankers control the money, they rule. 
Even the Emperor of Germany, with all of his imperious arbitrariness, 
would never dare to go to war until he had consulted the Rothschilds, 
Bleichroders, and other monarchs of the realm of money. This tyranny 
of the banker is world-wide. Come war or peace, come famine and pes- 
tilence, come seven fat years or seven lean yeai-s, the banker rules; and 
he does it with "coin." He first chains the nations to the word "coin;" 
—then he gets his grip on the supply oi "coin;"— thus he holds the 
chain which fetters the globe. 

How simple it would be to shatter the chain and escape this odious 
servitude, hij doing precisely ivliat Louis Kossuth proposed to do for 
Huuganj! By the exercise of that right which the Chancellor of Great 
Britain declared to be a part of the supreme power of every state, a 
scientific system of paper currency could be created, hased on the strength 
of the state, answering the needs of every citizen of the state, and abso- 
lutely independent of the bankers. To smash the Money Trust, whose 
monstrous rapacity preys upon every nation, it is hut necessary that the 
state shall assert its inherent power to create its own currency. A 
dollar, whether in metal or paper, should be inscribed, "this is a dollar." 
That declaration, and the law which makes the dollar a legal tender for 
debts, are sufficient. There should be simply the sovereign mandate, 
''This is a dollar." Absolutely nothing more is necessary to make that 
currency as good and as strong as the Government which creates it. 

All governments, being composed of human beings, may perish. Of 
course when the Government is overturned, its currency is lost. But that 
is true of its bonds, also. 

The editoi^ of our daily papers are dreadfully uneasy, lest the small 
notes issued by the Government should go the way of Confederate money. 
But why are they not nervous ahout the hondsf 

If the Union should go to pieces, as the Southern Confederacy did, 
the bonds would fare no better than the notes. How about that, gen- 
tlemen ? 

Commenting upon the manner in which the Money Trust in the 
United States has been allowed to usurp the sovereign power to create 
money, the Jeffersoxiax declared,— in the AVashington interview.— that 
this surrender of royal prerogative to private uses had its origin — in 
modern times — in the concession which Barbara Villiers coaxed out of 
her dissolute lover, Charles II. 


The Washington Post found this statcinent to be peculiarly aggra- 
vating and inaccurate. It was n)ere rot, of course. All the same, the 
statement is capable of proof. In his learned and most admirable works 
on ]Moncy, Alexander Del ]Mar, formerly director of the Bureau of Sta- 
tistics of the United States, has a separate volume devoted to the Barbara 
Villiei-s ei)isode. This recognized authority on the subject of ]\Ioney 
shows how the East India Company, acting through the King's mistress, 
decoyed Charles II into sanctioning a scheme wliich gave to the Company 
and to the gold-smith chiss control over the royal mint. The law by wliich 
this was done is known as the "]Mint Act of lG(i6," and the bribe to the 
Villicrs u-oman is named in the Act, The "joker" clause of this Act 
was so framed that the gold-smith class and the East India Company ob- 
tained almost absolute control of the supply of money. JMoreover, these 
same intriguers secured a fourth charter for the East India Company, in 
1677, which authorized the corporation to coin in India with its own 
stamp gold, silver, copper and lead. This being a matter of public record, 
we really cannot understand the flippant and scornful. manner in which 
the Post scouted our statement. We make our mistakes as others d(>, 
but generally Ave can produce respectable evidence to support our state- 
ments of fact. 

The Constitution of the United States expressly invests the Federal 
Government with every sovereign prerogative necessary to its perform- 
ance of those functions for which it was created. To make peace antl, to collect and disburse taxes, to control national and foreign com- 
irvcree, to make laws and enforce them, to create offices and fill them, to 
control the army and navy, to create money, — are among the necessary 
sovereign powers conferred upon the general Government. To surrender 
any one oE these royal prerogatives in whole or in part, is to maim the 
(lOvernment. Who would not protest, if it were proposed to delegate to 
[)rivate individuals or corporations the power of regulating foreign com- 
merce? Where is the man in public life who would dare to propose that 
the Government should surrender to private individuals or corporations 
the power to control the army, or the navigable watei*s, or to operate our 
postal system ? Yet, in abdicating in favor of six. thousand national 
bankers tJie sovereign prerogative of creating money, the GovernnuMit 
has surrendered a power infinitely more precious than that of regulating 
fori'ign commerce. 

The very life-blood of the commercial and industrial icorld is money, 
— the artificial creation by which we have agreed to take the measure of 
the value of all conunodities, in exchange. And we have surrendered, 
to a rapacious six thousand, the terribly dangerous power of saying Jiow 
iiiiirli life-blood shall flow into the veins of the body-politic! 

With their unconstitutional and calamitous Gold standard, their ab- 



sorption oC all the surplus cash of the national tn-asury, and their usur- 
pation of the riiiht. to slami) Iheir own notes as money, the six thousand 
national bankers have as complete a trust as the Standard Oil, or the 

Steel Trust. 

What a shameful speetaele, that of a (iovennnent of 85,000,000 peo- 
ple chained io a f click by a handful of Wall Street rascals! Oh, for one 
year of Andrew Jackson, to smite these infamous scoundrels and to assert 
///<? power of the Government! 

Listen to the Supreme Court of the United States, (39 Barb. 427), 
announcing its decision in Hague vs. Powers : 

'']\roney is the medium of exchange— the standard oi- representative 
of all commercial values. It is that which men receive in exchange and 
in satisfaction of labor, and its various products; and ivhcthcr it is intrin- 
sically valuable or otherwise, it is the standard of value by which alone 
ihcy are all measured. Gold and silver are not naturally money, any 
more than any other metal product or fabric. They are made so hy law 


"These metals become money by the force and operation of law alone. 

"The power (to create paper money) is clearly one of the attributes 
of Governmental sovereignty and may be exercised wherever it is deemed 
necessary or proper by the sovereign power." 

Thus the highest Court of the United States has done, as the highest 
court of Great Britain did,— made a clear statement of a fact that is as 
old as government itself, and which was never disputed until the money- 
changers, using the libertine King's harlot as their tool, took possession 
of the irresistible and sovereign power to control the money supply of 
the world. 



At the close of the Civil War, we had upwards of $2,200,000,000 of 
paper currency. This currency was based on the wealth and strength 
of the entire nation. As population and business increased this volume 
of currency should have been increased. Gold and silver being uncer- 
tain, the Government of all countries should see to it that the amount 
of money in circulation bears some reasonable proportion to the popu- 
lation and the commerce. 

The chief function of money is to replace the old and clumsy system 
of bartering one commodity for another. With money, we measure values, 
for exchange purposes and for the payment of debts. 

Consequently, it follows that money is a commercial instrument whose 
duty it is to enable the commercial and industrial world to transact 
business. Logically, therefore, the amount of money in circulation should 
bear some relation to the amount of work which it is intended to do. 
That is, the volume of money in actual circulation should bear some 
proportion to the volume of commerce. 

Now, when the Civil War was over, the armies disbanded, and the 
industries of the country taking their first great leap upward, it is 
obvious that the Government should have kept its eye on the vast increase 
of production and of commerce and should have proportionately increased 
the volume of currency, from year to year. 

Just the reverse was clone. 

As population increased, the supply of money was diminished. As 
commerce expanded, the tool of exchange — money — was shortened. 

As the demand for money became greater the supply was made 

Incredible to relate, the Government had no sooner conquered the 
seceding States and forced them back into the Union than it began to 
wage deadly war upon the producer of the entire republic. 

The Government weid into the money-hurning business. 

It supplied itself with the necessary furnaces and, in Washington 
City, the currency of the country to the extent of eiyhteen hundred mil- 
lions of dollars was delil)erately, designedly, wickedly burnt. 

Why was this done? the ])ankers of New York, Boston and riiiladelpbia 
demanded it. 

And why did they demand it? 

Because they had cornered the coin of the country, by means of the 
Exception Clause, and ])ecause they had got all Ihe bonds by means of the 


greenbacks which the Exception Chiuse liad dt'preciated, and now they 
wanted all other kinds of paper currency destroyed, in order that coin 
and hank i)apcr might rule. 

And they had their way. 

Both the old parties actively aided the bankers in consuinniating 
their conspiracy against the legitimate industries of the country. 

The paper currency of the Government was almost entirely destroyed, 
and as the volume of currency shrank, through the burning process, 
prices fell, business failures multiplied, and the republic went through 
an era of Hard Times. 

At first the obligations of the Government, which the bankers had 
increased as much as possible, were payable in lawful money. 

Then they forced Congress to change it to coin. 

Then they changed it again, and made it pa^yablc in gold. 

They got the bonds witli grccnbachs which th< g liad purposelg depre- 
ciated, with the Exception Clause. 

Then they moir than doubled their )n(nn g on the bonds by compelling 
Congress to change the money of pay>ne)it. 

And at every step in this series of atrocious crimes against the people, 
hotJi the old parties were the pliant tools of the conspirators. 

In reaching their goal, the bankers and speculators not only dragged 
the country through several periods of depression and stringency, but 
brouglit upon it the Panics of 1873 and 1893. 

Having contracted the money of final payment to gold, and having 
cornered the gold, the remorseless Money Kings worked so triumphantly 
upon a servile Congress that the Secretaiy of the Treasury was ordered 
to deliver over to these favored rascals the revenues which the Govern- 
ment raises by taxation. 

All the Custom House receipts must go directly to these National 
Bankers. The Internal Revenue taxes find their way to the same vaults. 
The net result is that the conspirators are compelling the Government 
to o^^ertax the people in order that a lot of New York rascals may have 
money to gamble on ! 

The Government has a surplus — on paper. And it has a deficit — in 

Why has it a surplus? 

Because it over-taxes the people. 

And why has it a deficit? 

Because it has loaned the money to those New York rascals, and can- 
net gel it hack! 

At this very moment, the National Banks have more than two hundred 
and fifty million dollars of public money, raised by taxation, and the 
Government is in desperate need of it to pay operating expenses! 


Yet, wlii'ii ,"\Ii'. CorU'Iyou calls for the ten iiiiliioiis which those rascals 
promised to ytny on the first of January, he cannot get a dollar ! 
"Why did the panic come? 

(1) Becanse the volnme of real money was being decreased during 
a long period in which population and commerce increased. 

(2) Because (iovernment currency had been destroyed and bank 
paper put in its place. 

(3) Because the law of "Ecservcs" had been sneaked through Con- 
gress, b}' the aid of both the old parties, by means of which the money 
of the country had first been drawn into the big cities, and then by an- 
other twist of the reserve law draivn chirflij to New York. 

(This will be explained in detail in another editorial.) 

Now, consider the situation which the politicians of the two dominant 
parties have aided the New York thieves to l)i'ing about : 

First, they burn the Government's own currency. 

Second, they abdicate in favor of the national l)anks the sovereign 
function of supplying the country with money. 

Third, they change the contract made with the bondholders and allow 
those speculators on the necessities of their country to more than double 
tlie value of their investment. 

Fourth, they violate the Constitution and establish the Single Gold 
Standard, thus narrowing the basis upon which all credit currency must 
necessarily rest. 

Sixth, they not only allow the national bankei-s to use, free of charge, 
the cTcdit of the Government in their business, ])ut practically all of its 
surplus cash, as well. 

Seventh, they pass laws which draw all the loanable funds of the 
country into New York. 

Eighth, they permit the bankers to inflate the currency with various 
kinds of bank paper, until the financial system looks like a church turned 
bottom-upwards and resting on the steeple. 

Ninth, they have so little real money afloat that less than one hillion 
tloUars is available for the business transactions of 85,000.000 people, 
Avorth at least $120,000,000, and doing a yearly business which is so vast 
that the human mind can hardly grasp it. 

Then, one day, somchody demanded c^tual casli — and the church 
which had been nicely balanced on the tip of the steeple, lost its balance — 
and great was the crash thereof as it fell over, 

Do vou see it, son 1 



Once upon a tiin!\ those who put their nuuiey into a l)ank, for safe- 
keeping until they wanted it, were supposed to have some rights. 
This may sound like a touuh yai-ii. but it's a fact. 
The depositor was onee regarded as a right decent sort of fellow, anr! 
the law made motions as though it wanted to protect him from thieves, 
speculators, stock-gamblers. forcil)l.> Ix.rrowei's, and other speckled va- 
rieties of latter-day financiei-s. 

AYith an eye to the protection of the depositor— a weak, filmy, watery 
eye. I admit— the law solemnly requested the bankers to nmintain a cer- 
tain amount of money where they eould lay hands on it, at any time, so 
that if a depositor wanted a few dollars of his own money, he could get 
cash, instead of soap-wi-appers. 

At that time, the rogues' deviw of Clearing House Certificate had not 
entered the head of those scoundrels of New York, who first forced that 
nastv stufit* into circulation and set an evil exami)le whieh others followed. 
By the national bank act, each national bank is required to keep a 
reserve, in lawful money, to the extent of a certain per cent of its deposits 
and circulation. 

In some cities, named in the act, the reserve of actual money required 
to be kept on hand, is twenty-five per cent.-, in all others, fifteen per cent. 
But the act further provides that three-fifths of this fifteen per cent, 
mav consist of a balance due to these banks by the banks of St. Louis, 
Louisville Chicaoo, Detroit. ^lilwaukee. New Orleans, Cincinnati, Cleve- 
land, Pittsburg, Baltimore, Philadelphia. Boston, New York, Albany, 
Leavenworth, San Francisco, Washington City. 

See how cleverly these schemers go about getting all the available 
inonev of the country into a few big cities! 

But that isn't the Avorst of it. After the money has been drawn into 
these various "reserve cities/' it must then be drawn into one big pond- 
New York. 

Section 32 of the National Bank act provides, that one-half of the 
reserves required to be kept by these banks of the big cities may consist 
of deposits in the New York banks. 

There you have it— a cleverly devised net work of canals which con- 
vey the currency, first into many big cities, and then into one. 

And vet Ave marvel that everybody should have to bow down to 
New Yorik and go to her, on our knees, begging for some of our own 

M0NE"i ! 


We are fools enough to vote our financial independence away, and 
then marvel at our chains. 

We first say, by law, that the national banker shall be our financial 
master, and then we wonder at our slaven'. 

When these national banks came back to Congress, in 1903, to have 
their charters renewed for another twenty years, not a single Republican 
raised a voice of protest. 

And not a single Democrat had the spunk and the patriotism to re- 
mind the countr}' that the Democratic party, as now organized, owed its 
first great victorj' to the fight which Andrew Jackson waged upon this 
very question of national banks. 


Over the Mountains of Loneliness, 

Back from the Wastes of Desjiair, 
My soul comes home from its wandering 

To rest in your Garden fair. 

In your Garden, dear, heartsease is growing, 

There are lilies and snowdrops too; 
The fragrance of lavender blooming, 

To bear me a message from you. 

Blue violets spring by the wayside, 

That those who are lost may find cheer. 

My soul creeps back through the darkness, 
To breathe in the perfume there. 

0, Garden that on earth is the fairest! 

0, tlow'rs with your incense rare! 
Reach out toward the death-sown Desert, 

To the rocky bounds of Despair! 

Oh ! shelter me. Love, in your Garden 
From the wrecking winds that blow ! 

Let my spirit find peace from its wandering, 
Where the flowers of Heaven grow. 

— Elizabeth Darjran Forrester. 


In Gennaiiy they have sent Max 
Harden to jail because he published 
the truth on some of " the rotten 

Similarly, Zola was convicted for 
telling the truth in the Dreyfus case, 
and Stead was sent to prison for ex- 
posing the manner in which English 
lords bought young girls. 

The Marquis of Queensbury Avas 
powerful enough to send Oscar Wilde 
to Reading Gaol for precisely the 
same unnatural vices cf which Moltke 
and Eulenberg and their set were 
guilty; but Harden, who exposed 
them, was only a commoner, — not a 
Marquis of Queensbury: therefore 
Harden must go to jail. 

There is another difiference ; the 
Marquis prosecuted a literary man 
who had no powerful protector; there- 
fore the crime got the punishment it 
deserved ; in the Harden case, the 
criminals were nobles, and they not 
only escaped punishment, but put the 
literary man behind the bars. 

All who followed the evidence taken 
in the former case, where Harden was 
acquitted, know that powerful agen- 
cies were at work suppressing evi- 
dence at the second trial. Not only 
was Fran Yon Elbe virtually silenced, 
but Harden himself was terrorized. 
On the second trial, he was no longer 
the same man that he v.-as at the first. 

To save his court from indelible 
stain, the Emperor probably exerted 
all of his power to hush matters up. 
and it is not improbable tJtat terms 
were made with Harden himself. 
Four months in jail is no adequate 
puni.shment for such a crime as that 
of which Harden was accused. He 
perhaps compromised on a nominal 
sentence to escape something much 
more terrible. 

Persia is about the last country on 
the globe where you would expect to 
hear a representative of the people 
address "Mi-. Speaker," and refer 
in good parliamentary style to the 
"gentleman on my right," or see him, 
on a small dilference of opinion as to 
what had been said, imitate our friend 
John Sharp Williams by fighting it 
out in the hall with some recalcitrant 

Yet, in spite of the Shah and his 
I)i-iests, Persia has a Senate, a House 
of Representatives, a Constitution, a 
Cabinet of Ministers, and is now 
read}^ to try her hand at parliamentary 

These changes have not been brought 
about without strife. In fact, the 
reformers have had to persuade the 
Shah very much after the manner in 
which the English Barons reasoned 
with King John. He yielded because 
he could not do anything else. 

The financial system in Persia is 
like it is everywhere else — execrably 
bad. The financier rules. The Shah 
has to give up to the foreign money- 
lender all of his Custom House 
receipts to pay the interest on the debts 

Bryan: "I have no such scruples." 
— From the Evening Journal (Jersey City). 



due foi-oijun C'l-oilitors. Therefore, the 
.Slmh lias to run tlie governinent on 
domestic taxes, one of which is a land 
tax whieh the wealthier jii'oprictors 
do not pay. 

This leaves the expense of adminis- 
tration to fall mainly on the poorer, as it does in our own dear 
eon n try. 

* * * * 

When ]\Ii*. (Jladstone was a member 
of the ministry of Sir Robert Peel, 
he introduced and passed throngh 
Parliament a bill which authorized 
the (iovernment to purchase all the 

in favor of the private ownership of 
public utilities. 

The Jkkfeksunian' believes that if 
the great organization of which lion. 
Samuel Gompers is I'resident, persists 
\v. its present official attitude of hos- 
tility to the government ownership of 
raili'oads, it will not only lose touch 
with the labor movement in other 
countries, but will lose the confidence 
of the Amei-ican public and develop. 
in its own ranks, divisions that will 
be ruinous. 

And the Jkffersonian is truly 
sorry, for it admires Samuel (Jompers 
and is in thorough sympathy with 
most of his views. 


—From tlio Plain Dealer (Cleveland). 

The Act of 1S44 lias never been Our fat friend, the King of Portu- 

repeahd. but has icmained a dead gal — who is said to eat nine meals a 

1( ttcr. Th.e Labor i»Mi-ty, which is day and who looks it.— has abolished 

now well irpresented in Parliament, his Parliament. The kind of Parlia- 

and also in the Cabinet, has formally mcnt that it was is i)roved by the fact 

declared itself in favor of this CJlad- that the Portuguese people .seem to be 

stone law. llow Tiiuch greater, then, glad it's gone. The man who is reallv 

is the genuine regret which nuist be 
felt by all reformers that the Amei-- 
ican Fedei'ation op Labor, at its last 
Xatioiial ('oiivciilioii, dccbircd ifst'll" 

the master in Portugal is the Pi-ime 
i\lini.ster, Fi-anco. It appears that he 
wants to refoi-m abuses, 
Icss olTices. cut down lavish expenses, 



squeeze excessive i)en.sions and sal- 
aries, and "educate the people to take 
their place in Europe." As he began 
liis i-etrenchnient by cutting oft' 
^JrO.OOO from the animal allowance of 
the Queen IXiwagcr, we cannot but 
believe that he is in earnest. 




— Dailing- in Uic Des iroines Register ami Leader. 

Washington to denounce ihusc C'alhuhc 
voters ivho elected this Mayor? 

For, mark you, the voters who 
elected Ernesto Nathan JNlayor of the 
Holy City of Rome, arc CalhoJics! 
So, it woidd seem that even in Italy 
the people Avant the priest to mind 
I'lis own business, and not mix religion 
\\i1h politics. Whenever the Church 
iiiterincddles in affairs of State, the 
consequences are bad for both. There 
is (nitirely too much of it in our 
country, as well as in Creat Britain 

and Conliiu'iital Europe. 

* * * * 

American literature is severely ar- 
raigned by (Jertrude Atherton, who 
says that a tyranny exists which is 
destructive of "virility, originality 
and elemental fire." She calls the 
reigning style the Magazine School, 
and traces its origin to William Dean 
Ilowells, — the gentle author whose 
gentle readers will recall with feelings 
that are inexpressible how he begins 
"Venetian Life" with the .sentence, 
"I think it does not matter when we 
co:ne to Venice." 

If we Americans could abolish our 

own "Parliament," for a while, and 

turn some able, courageous Dictator 

loose on governmental abuses, the 

country would be vastly better oft'. 
"* * * * 

A most significant thing has hap- 
pened in Rome, Italy. In spite of 
F. INFarion Crawford, the Pope, the 
Sacred College and the rest of it, the 
l)eople have elected, as INIayor, a man 
who is notoriously "a bitter enemy 
of the Catholic Church" whose creed 
he denounces as "the graft of super- 
stition or dogina." Worse yet, the 
newly elected ]\Iaybr of Rome is a 
]\Iaster-]\fason. Still worse, he is a 
Jew ! 

No wonder there are frantic 
screams of agony from the papal 

Shall we not have some public meet- 
ings of Catholics in New York and 


Kladdera.lalsili (Berlin). 




"3 2 tu 

— X 


^ ™- 


o i 



But is Mrs. Atherton right in say- 
ing that there is a tyranny in the 
literary world which smothers elemen- 
tal fire, eliminates virility and dis- 
courages originality? Do our pub- 
lishers refuse any book whatever, if 
they think that it will sell ? Do they 
select smugly respectable books, just 
because the W. D. Howells school pro- 
duces no other kind ? 

Bah ! The American publisher is in 
the business to make money, and he 
will publish anybody's book and every 
kind of book, if he believes it will sell. 

Did not they publish a book for 
]\lrs. Gertrude Atherton herself, in 
which that lady glorifies adultery, and 
originates a new history for our 
Colonial Era? What is her "Con- 
queror" but a book throbbing with 
virility and originality? I know of 
but one thing more surprising that a 
lady should have Avritten such an 
essentially false and corrupting book, 
— and that is, that it had such a large 
sale. As history, it is a shocking of- 
fense against Truth ; as a novel, it 
should be classed with the Chevalier 

de Faiihlas. 

* * * * 

Last year the Secretary of the 
Treasury went "to the relief" of 
Wall Street by turning over to a lot 
of ravenous New York rascals pretty 
much all the available cash which he 
had on hand. To cap the climax, 
Senator Aldrich introduced and 
passed a bill which required the 
collectors of Customs duties to deposit 
in the National Banks all the money 
collected on imported goods. 

The sum and substance of the mat- 
ter is that 85,000,000 people are being 
taxed beyond the needs of the Govern- 
ment, in order that the National 
Bankers may have funds to lend to 
"Wall Street specidators at from 50 to 
300 per cent. 

When the last loan of public funds 
was made to the New York banks, it 
was distinctly agreed that the loan was 
to be repaid on January 1, 1908. 

January has conic and the New 
York bankers refuse to pay. 

^yhat arc ivc going io do ahout it? 

The fact is that the National Banks 
now have $250,000,000 of public 
money. This money was taxed out of 
the people for the purpose of paying 
the legitimate expenses of the Govern- 
ment. Instead of being kept in the 
Treasury, where it belongs, it is given 
to G.OOO National Bankers to use in 
their business. The people Avho paid 
the tax cannot get the use of their 
own money without going to the men 
who pay no tax, practically, and sub- 


mitting to such terms as are imposed. 

Brown, the National Banker, has 
the money which the people of his 
community paid, in taxes; and these 
people must pay Brown a goodly rate 
of interest to get the privilege of using 
their own money. 

How long are the tax-payers going 
to tamely Qndure such monstrous in- 

* * * * 



At lliis VL-ry tiino, (January 10), 
the (Joverinnent is ruuuing sliort of 
actual cash and is livinc: from hand to 
mouth. Dofifits are springiufi: up in 
several directions and are clamorins? 
for immediate cash. The Tivasury 
Statement shows a mafrnifieent Gold 
Reserve and cash balance. 

But where is the actual money 
needed to pay the daily expenses? 

Those Xciv York rascals hare got it. 

They are not only keeping it. but 
they mean to keep on keeping it. 
I'hey will never pay it hack, s.u'e 


* * * * 

Press dispatches of January 8th 
announced that Secretary Cortelyou 
had "called for" ten million dollars 
of the loan which the New York 
bankers promised to return on Jan. 
1st. The dispatches further stated 
that the New York bankers had not 
responded to the "call" of the Sccrc- 
tarv of the Treasurv. but had sent 

l)articularly illegal way, it is J. P, 
Morgan who personally takes charge 
of the job. This specialist in the 
manufacture of bogus stock, bogus 


J. P. IMorgan down to Washington to 
see ]\Ir. Cortelyou. 

Exactly so. Whenever Wall Street 
wants to victimize the country in some 

In his cell at Boise. 

l)onds. and bogus bank-credits, has 
done more harm to the legitimate 
l)usiness interests than a year of 
famine and pestilence would have 
done. lie was niainlv the cause of the 
$263,000,000 mortgage which Presi- 
dent Cleveland put on the nation, and 
he is mainly responsible for those 
frenzied financial methods of his imi- 
tators which precipitated tho panic. 

His visit to Washington was un- 
doubtedly for the purpose of urging 
^Ir, Cortelyou to "hold up" in his 
effoi-ts to compel the borrowers of the 
National money to pay it back. 
* * * * 

Now what -will ^h\ Cortelyou do? 

Let us bear in mind, first of all. that 
the Secretary of the Treasury did not 
make the situation of which we com- 
]ilain. Congress innde it. The pol- 
ished tools of the Privileged Interests, 
operating in and upon Congress, first 
levy more taxes than the Government 
needs, and then tuni the surplus over 
to the National Banks. 

Mr. Cortelyou cannot change this, 
no matter how hard he may try to do 



so. Congress makes the law, Congress 
taxes the people. Congress votes the 
public income into the N.-.tional 

:max harden. 

Who Opened Emperor Williiinis" Eyes. 

We have a huge surplus, — why? 
Because we collect more taxes than the 
Government needs. 

But we have, also, a defieit, — why? 
. .Because Congress votes i)uhUc 
moneij into j)rivate business, and tJic 
rascats who gd the money refuse to 
return it. 

The utmost that j\Ir. Cortelyou can 
do, so far as what has already beeji 
done is concerned, is to keep on call- 
ing for the re-payment of the loan. — 
refusing to make further deposits 
with the dishonored banks. 

But there is a thing that IMr. Cor- 
telyou has power to do and this would 

smash the ]\roney Trust, in.stantly, 
bringing those New Yoi-k rascals to 
their senses: he can issue $10:^,000.000 
Treasury Notes. If he will do this, 
and put the money in the state banks 
for immediate distribution, the skies 
would at once clear. 

As a I'cmedy to Ihc (inancial situ- 
ation, the Senatoi- whose j)ili gave the 
National l^ankers our custom house 
receipts, has introduced another bill. 
He proi)osivs that these National 
Bankers shall be given the authority 
to issue $250,000,000 in notes to be 
used as money, basing the notes on 
state, municipal and railroad bonds. 
He says that the 6 per cent tax which 
this emergency currency must pay 
will speedily drive it into retirement 
when the emergency passes. Will it? 

With "call money" in New York 
ranging from 15 per cent to 300 per 
cent why should the emergency cur- 
rency ever go home ? 

The self-evident effect of the Aid- 
rich bill would be to encourage the 
Wall Street speculator. Such men as 
Harriman. Heinze, Morse, and IMor- 
gan himself, could swallow that small 
sum of money in their stock-watering 
operations, and never bat an eye. 

Senator Culberson of Texas has in- 
troduced the sanest bill. Repeal the 
law which counts as cash a credit 
which the various banks may have on 
the books of the banks of fsTew- York 
and other reserve cities. The logical 
result of the law of reserves is that 
the "reserve city" banks draw into 
themselves all the surplus cash of all 
other banks. 

Thus the loanable funds all go to a 
few^ financial centres — N\nv York 
chiefly. There these loanable funds 
are sucked into the Wall Street mael- 
strom. The country at large has to do 
business on bogus money — bank cred- 
its of various sorts. Then, some fine 



morning, somebody wants real money, 
and the bank cannot or will not pro- 
duce it. 

Result — panic! 

* * * * 

With all the loose cash of the coun- 
tiy sucked into New York, to lend to 
specuhitors at enormous usury, the 
banks tiiere coolly declare a "closed 
season," during which they refuse to 
return to a depositor a cent of his own 
money, refuse to send cash to their 
correspondent banks, refuse to pay 
cash on the drafts of disbursing offi- 
cers of the Government. All this 
time, they are lending the actual 
money to Wall Street speculators at 
from 20 per cent to 300 per cent, and 
are lending the country bogus money 
(Clearing House Certificates) at the 
regular legal rate. 

* * * * 

Take one instance: 

•Senator AV. A. Clarke had $400,000 
on deposit in one of the New York 
banks. He had need to draw on this 
to the amount of $100,000. ' 

He was not allowed to have that 
much of his own money until he 
agreed to pay $4,000 for the boon. 

Oh, how lovely is our blessed Gold 
Standard, our Sound Money, and our 
"best banking system on earth!" 

wanted to get more money into circu- 
lation. But the individual bidders for 
the bonds were ignored, their bids of 
104 turned down, and the bonds given 
to the banks at 102V^. Even then, 
the banks were not required to pay 
for the bonds. At most, they went 
through the form of paying 10 per 
cent of the purchase money, and the 
remainder was but a credit entry on 
their books — worthless to the Govern- 
ment and to the people. But the Gov- 
ernment will have to pay interest on 
the full amount of the bonds and 
notes for the full time they are out. 
Hence the banks will collect annually 
two and three dollars upon an un- 
taxed investment of ten. Tiventy and 
thirty per cent interest! 

To cap the climax, ]\Ir. Cortelyou 
"went to the relief" of Wall Street 
by lending, without interest, fifty or 
sixty million dollars of our public 
funds to these bankers. Therefore, in 
effect, they were supplied, free of 
charge, Avith the money with which 
the.v paid that 10 per cent on the 
bonds ! 

Indefensible as this entire trans- 
action is, Mr. Cortelyou has done no 
more than to faithfully follow the 
examples set him by his predecessors 
for the last forty years. 

While I\Ir. Cortelyou is in no wise 
to blame for our system of national 
bank finance, the issue and dispo- 
sition of the Panama bonds and the 
3 per cent notes were indefensible. 
The for the issuance of these 
securities was that the Treasury 

In Berlin the people are at the 
point of insurrection because the 
Prussian Landtag has refused to 
grant manhood suffrage. As we close 
the forms, the militarj^ is being 
held in readiness to suppress any 
revolt which may be attempted. 



many versions have 
been given to the pub- 
lic of the famous 
Jackson - Dickinson 
duel, that for the sake 
of truth, and that a 
just account of the 
same may be read at this late day, I 
have written this article, and have 

for forty j'eare, varied accounts of the 
affair given at different times, and 
have read the accounts as given by the 
able and distinguished writers of the 
life of Jackson. I will not go into 
detail and give each name or author, 
hut have the proof that convinces me 
that tlie following account is the true 
story of the unfortunate affair. In 

The Old Pock Snrinc- House, where Jackson drank 
the milk after he was wounded. 

based my account of the duel on con- 
versations had with living men who 
iigured in the hot political campaigns 
of General Jackson, men who were his 
warm advocates, and men who were 
his bitter political enemies. I have 
read and preserved in my scrap book 

addition, only a short time ago, I vis- 
ited the spot where the duel was 
fought, and had an octogenarian 
whose father heard the pistol shots, 
and who was familiar with all the sur- 
roundings and incidents connected 
therewith, to tell me what he knew. 



On this trip 1 ohtaiiK'd pioturL's of the 
sun'ouiidiiigs, and many facts hereto- 
fore unknown to the public. 

After first giving the cause which 
led up to the duel, then will follow 
the account of the duel which resulted 
so fatally. 

On March 15th, 1806, the following 
notice appeared in the Nashville, 
'I'enucsscc, Imperial llcvicw. 

the field, af they will be shot without 
refpect to their ownerf, 

'^\Iarch 1ft, 180G." 

The race was to be run on General 
Jackson's plantation eight miles out 
from Nashville. On the day ap- 
pointed a great crowd gathered, but 
to the surprise and chagrin of all, and 
at the very last moment, Capt. Erwin 
withdrew I'lowboy from the race. 

■" — ; — w» ■ — 


' . . ..» 





' ■•■^ V**. 



H- ^If^H 











Si)riiiy: ulicrc Dirkiiison was gi\en water on way from diiclliiig j^ii.iiinl. 

"Ci.ovER Bottom Races. 
"On Thurfday, the 8d day of 
Api-il iie.xt, will be run the greateft, 
iinil moft interefting match race ever 
run in the weftei'u country, between 
(iciici-al Jackfonf horfe 


fj yearf ohl, cari-ying 324 Ibf, and 
Cai)t. Jofeph Erwin 'f horfe 

8 yearf old, carrying ];50 l])f. The 
lu)rfef will rini the two-mile heaff 
for the fum of -1^3,000.00 doliarf, 

"No stnd horfef will be admitted 
within the galef but such af contend 
on the Turk, and all perfonf are 
i'(>(iuefted not to bi'ing their dogf to 

• i\Irs. Rachael Jackson, wife of Gen- 
eral Jackson, was present to witness 
• the race, and was very much wrought 
~ ijp over the fiasco, and exclaimed, on 
hearing that Plowboy had been with- 
diuwn : "I know very well why Capt. 
Ei'win backed down ajul withdi-ew 
Plowboy from the race. He knew that 
Truxton would beat his horse out of 

Charles Dickinson, the .son-in-law of 
Cai)t. Erwin was in the crowd, and 
was drinking very heavily. 

I\ri-s. Jackstm's remai-k was fold 
to him, when he flew info a rage of 
anger, and exclaimed in a very loud 
and boisterous maimer, "just about 
as far out of siglil as I\rrs. Jackson 



run from her first husband when she 
ran off Avith Gen. Jackson." 

Dickinson's rcniarlv was repeated to 
Gen. Jackson at once, wlio demanded 
a retraction from Dickinson. Dickin- 
son at once retracted tlie remark, 
pleading his intoxication as an 

A short time aft(n- this, Diclvinson, 
vrhile iml)ibing' freely in a bar-room 
in Nashville, repeated the same offen- 
sive language with reference to ]\Irs. 
Jackson. When told about it, Gen. 
Jackson went at once to Capt. Erwin, 
and told him that he must make his 
son-in-law hold his tongue. As is 
well known, IMrs. Jackson had sepa- 
rated from her first husband, Samuel 

Ihey were re-married. This second 
marriage gave rise to much tadc and 
scandal, as Jackson had been to Con- 
gress, Judge of the Su})reme Cou^t 
of Tennessee, and was then Major 
General of the State IMilitia. 

]n the course of his political career 
he had made many very bitter enemies 
^\ho were quick to use this scandal 
as a weapon to encompass the defeat 
of Gen. Jackson. 

This oft-repeated scandal was a 
source of continual annoyance and 
mortification to him and well-nigh 
broke Mrs. Jackson's sensitive heart. 

As a result of the failure to run his in the race, Capt. Erwin was 

Si-eno on Red River ncnr tlie iluclling grounds. 

Robards, and accompanied Gen. Jack- 
son to ]\Iississippi, where she visited 
i-elatives and he engaged in a mercan- 
tile business. While in Mississippi 
they learned that Robards had secured 
a divorce, and they were married. 
Returning to Nashville they lived 
together as man and wife for several 
>ears, when it was discovered that 
the}^ were not lawfullv married. Then 

comi)elled to pay Gen. Jackson a large 
sum of money, and not having the 
ready money to liquidate the debt, a 
violent quarrel ensued between them, 
which gave to Dickinson occasion to 
wi'ite for publication an article which 
was vinl(>nt and insulting to Gen. 

Hearing of the article, he rode into 
Nashville, went direct to the office 



of the printer, and demanded to see 
the article. 

As soon as he had read the article 
in proof, he went to Gen. Thomas 
Overton and sent a challenge to 
Dickinson, which was promptly ac- 
cepted by him, Gen. Overton acting 
as second for Jackson and Dr. Hanson 
Catlett for Dickinson. The time 
agreed on was IMay 30th, 1806, and 

to a marriage feast. Jackson Avas 
cool and serious, and made known to 
his second all his plans in the combat. 
He told Gen. Overton that it mat- 
tered not who won. and called the 
word to "fire," that he was going to 
reserve his fire and give Dickinson 
the first shot, giving as a reason for 
so doing, that unless Dickinson shot 
him through the heart or brain, he 

Tlie men stand near the exact spot wlicre the duel was fought. 

the place the north side of Red 
River, mid-way between Mason's 
]Mill and Adairville, Logan County, 
Kentucky, a very short distance from 
the Tennessee line. Eveiy one in 
Nashville knew of the fight, and to 
avoid arrest, early on the morning of 
the 29th, both parties, mounted on 
swift horses, left for the meeting place 
on the Kentucky line fifty miles away. 
Dickinson and his party took the 
lead, and on their way made fre- 
quent stops, at which times Dickinson 
would take advantage of the stops to 
make a display of his marvelous skill 
as an expert pistol shot. Dickinson 
and his party were as gay and frolic- 
some as had they been on their Avay 

would, by holding his fire, kill him 
certain. In a former combat of the 
same kind he had clipped Gen. Avery's 
ear, so near did he hit within strik- 
ing distance of his head. 

Reaching the j^lace of meeting late 
in the evening, Dickinson and his 
party found Red River was a rag- 
ing torrent, owing to the heavy fall of 
the water from recent rains. Con- 
fident, undaunted, and in such high 
spirits, they swam their horses across 
the swollen stream, and engaged lodg- 
ing at a farm house on the north side 
of tlie river. 

Jackson and his ])arty coming up 
later, and learning that the Dickinson 
party had crossed over, put up for the 



night at a tavern on the south side twenty-four paces apart, the pistols 

of the river. Before sunrise the next were loaded, handed to them, and at 

morning Jackson and his party crossed last the two deadly enemies stood face 

over the river, meeting the Dickinson to face. 

The Old Tavern, whore Jacl;son spent the night before and after the duel. 

The men stand near the exact spot where the duel was fought. 

party by agreement on "half-way 
ground." On the duelling grounds 
Dickinson won position, and Jackson 
the word. They took positions 

"Are you ready?" asked Gen. 
Overton, and at the word "fire*' 
Dickinson's pistol rang out, and a 
puff of dust was seen to fly from Geii, 



Jackson's left breast, and as quick as 
a Hash of li^'htning: Jackson's pistol 
cracked, and when the smoke had 
cleared away, Dickinson was seen to 
stagfier and fall in the arms of his 

Proud and defiant, with liead erect, 
Jackson and his party hastily with- 
drew to the river and crossed over in 
])onts. Up to tliiit lime no one of 

PusliinLT rapidly on, tliey came to 
an old rock spring house, where they 
halted, and on investigation found a 
bucket of fresh sweet milk, of which 
Jackson drank copiously, and was 
very much revived. 

Weak and faint from the loss of 
blood they soon reached the tavern, 
wliere the party spent the remainder 
of the dav and the following niuht. 

Tlie liDUSO wliCk'o Dickinson died. Died in rof ni on right. .M tliat time 
a log liouse. Since weatlierlHiarded. 

either pai'ty knew that Jackson had 
received the slightest wound. After 
the party had mounted their horses 
on the opposite side of the river, and 
were riding rapidly, Jackson's sur- 
geon noticed the blood flowing from 
his left boot leg. When asked about 
it, Jackson re])lied, "I am danger- 
ously wounded, he shot me through 
my left breast." 

When a.sked why he concealed his 
wound he replied: "lie was certain 
he would shoot me dead in my tracks, 
and not get a scratch. I did not want 
him to have the satisfaction of know- 
ing that he hit me." 

Late in the evening of ^lay 31st, 
a covered wagon drawn by a pair of 
horses passed through the streets of 
Nashville. The wagon contained the 
dead body of Charles Dickinson. 

On the same evening Jackson 
arrived at his home (having made the 
trip on horse-back), near what is 
now known as the "Hermitage," 
bearing a ghastly and i)ainful 
wound on his left l)reasl ; a wound 
which never entirely healed, and never 
ceased to give him i)ain, and culmi- 
nated in a disease which cau.sed his 
death fortv vears afterwards. 


The Jeffersonian means to do its 
utmost to help the agi-iciiltural classes 
in their fight for justice. The wealth- 
producing millions who labor on the 
farms have been mercilessly pillaged, 
ever since the Civil "War, by our 
diabolical financial system, by the 
trust-breeding Tariff, and by the 
public service corporations. The day 
of revolt and of organized battle for 
a square deal is at hand. The fight 
is on, and there will be no laying down 
of arms until victory is won. 

At the head of the Farmers' Union 
stands Charles S. Barrett, of Georgia 
— as modest as he is industrious, 
unselfish and devoted. If he does not 
work himself to death, he will be 
recognized soon as one of the most 
important factors in our national life. 
A few years ago he was a country 
school-teacher. Taking hold of the 
task of organizing the farmers, he has 
worked at it with the untiring zeal of 
a Loyola, or a Peter the Hermit. 
Always on the go, concentrating his 
energies to this one purpose, he does 
not spend an average of one day in 
the month at home. Today he is in 
Texas, tomorrow in Oklahoma, next 
in Kansas, then in Louisiana, then in 

In the beginnings, the Union often 
needed money. Barrett would reach 
down in his own pocket and fetch out 
all he had. 

At one of the early State Conven- 
tions, Sir Grumpety Growler and 
Colonel Greeneye IMarplot made some 
remarks that indicated doubt as to 
whether the finances had been prop- 
erly handled. Barrett quietly pro- 
duced the books and vouchers, which 
not only proved that he had been 

working for almost nothing, but had 
spent, from his own slender resources, 
several hundred dollars to keep the 
thing going. 

Ashamed of their suspicions and 
grumblings, the Convention sent out 
a Committee to buy for their Presi- 
dent the finest gold watch that could 
be found in Atlanta, — a gift to remind 
him of their affectionate gratitude. 

Tactful, honest, gifted with a rare 

t.'ilent for seeing it all and saying 

little, free from ambition for office, 

guiltless of greed, Barrett is the ideal 

man for his difficult position, and has 

won the unbounded confidence of 

every member of his great order. 
* * * * 

Wishing to present to our readers a 
brief sketch of the life of Newt 
Gresham. the founder of the Farmers' 
Union, The Jeffersonian applied to 
his daughter, INFiss Lutie Gresham. 

She was kind enough to send the 
biographical sketch which follows. 
Her own winsome and intelligent face, 
alons: with the strong features of her 
father, appears in the engravings 
which illustrate her narrative. 

Wishing to present, also, a short 
summary of the origin, early strug- 
gles, and the final success of the 
organization, we applied to R. F. 
Duckworth, President of the Georgia 
State Union and one of the pioneers 
of the movement. His response is 
given just as he wrote it. 

Mr. Duckworth, it will be remem- 
brred. was invited not long ago to 
vicrit "Washinsrton for a consultation 
with the President. He is universally 
regarded as one of the strong men of 
the Farmers' Union. 

Among the other leaders who fall 



into tlic same class as Barrett and 
Dnclnvorth may be mentioned 0. P. 
Pyle, of Texas, whose paper, The 
National Co-Operator, has the hirgest 
circulation of any of the Farmers' 
Union periodicals. True-hearted Ben 
Griffin, of Conway, Arkansas, is 
another of the leaders whose influence 
is national. 

« * * * 

As yet the Farmers' Union leaders 
have not put their finger on the true 
source of agricultural depression. 
After awhile, however, they will 
realize that their lack of prosperity 
is due not to immigration and specu- 

Founder of the Farmers' Union. 

lation so much as to a Tariff system 
which allows the manufacturers to 
rob them, a financial system which 
allows the national bankers to rob 
them, and to the system which allows 
the pul'lic service corporations to rob 

The manufacturers and the bankers 
are extremely anxious to keep the 
farmers from going into politics. 
Therefore, the editors and politicians 

who serve the Privileged Few urge the 
Union leaders to ignore such matters 
as require national legislation. 

Don't assail the Gold Standard! 
Yet that is the veiy thing which 
jerked down the prices of wheat and 
cotton when those silk-hat rascals of 
AVall Street began to draw gold from 

Don't assail the National Banking 
system! Yet that is the vampire 
which sucks out your life blood with 
compound interest on billions of bogus 

Don't assail the Trust-breeding 
Tariff! Yet that is what makes your 
farm supplies cost you twice as much 
as they should, and gives you 10 cents 
for cotton, when you ought to have 

Don't assail the puhlic service cor- 
porations, which exploit public utilities 
for private profit! Yet that is where 
you are made to pay annual interest 
on eight billion dollars of capitali- 
zation which is fictitious and fraud- 

The labor leaders have declared, in 
national convention, that you must 
continue to submit to this tremendous 
burden, — just as the labor union 
leaders of ]\Iacon sided with the rail- 
roads when the Farmers' Union of 
Georgia was making its successful 
campaign for lower passenger fares. 

Talk Good Roads — that doesn't 
hurt the Privileged Few. They don't 
pay the national taxes : you do. If 
3'ou want to increase your taxes to 
keep swarms of laborers on the high- 
ways, go it! You can't scare the 
Privileged Few by doing that. They 
also love good roads. Tax yourselves, 
and give these automobile fellows 
good roads. That's what they want. 
Then scoot for your life when the 
automobile dashes down the road, at 
fifty miles an hour. Pick up what is 
left of your wife, or daughter, and 
tote it home, after your buggy has 
been knocked to pieces in the public 
road. Catch your runaway team, and 



get tlie broken Avagon to the black- 
smith shop, the best you can. 

G ood Roads 1 Dear me ! You won 't 
liave any difficulty in getting good 
roads. The millions of your money 
needed to make them will be a tip 
top excuse for not reducing your 

of the disease. Sooner or later, they 
will discard the surface remedies and 
will adopt the constitutional treat- 
ment which alone can bring relief. 

"Patience, and shuffle the cards!" 
The farmers will understand their 
own case, by and by. And when they 

* "'SW^^BS^^^C^?? 


tariff taxes. Therefore, the j\Ianu- 
facturers who tax you will help you 
graciously, freely — laughing in tlieir 

sleeves at getting rid of you so easily. 

* "" * * * 

But, sooner or later, the awakened 
agricultural classes will locate the seat 

do — watch out, Steel Trust! Your 
day of clearing $156,000,000 per year 
will be over. 

Watch out, Express Companies! 
You won't slice any more melons of 
200 per cent net profits. 

Watch out, Uailroad Kings! You 



won't run any more public-be-damned 
ex[)cditions wherein stockholders are 
looted and the public swindled out of 
hundreds of millions. 

Watch out, Mr. Wall Street hanker! 
You won't keep the $250,000,000 of 
the people's money which the Govern- 
ment has fjiven you, nor continue to 
suck up the vital resources of the 
nation with compound interest on fic- 
titious money. 

Such a revel at the public expense 
as the Privileged Classes have had in 
this country since the Civil War is 
without parallel in the history of the 
human race. But the clock will 
strike after awhile, else the heart of a 
great people has already been cor- 
rupted and the puhlic conscience 

By Lutie Gresham. 

My father, Newt Gresham, the 
founder of the Farmei-s' Union, was 
born in Lauderdale County, Ala., 
February 20th, 1858. When he w^as 
six years old, his parents moved to 
Kaufman County, Texas, where they 
soon died, thus leaving him, at an 
early age, to battle against the world 
and its hardships. It was, undoubt- 
edly, during this time that the foun- 
dations of his character were laid. 
The strength developed in these early 
struggles helped him in shaping and 
leading America's greatest organiza- 
tion for farmers. 

He was a member and a leader in 
the Farmers' Alliance, and was never 
reconciled, after the death of that 
order, until he succeeded in having 
another take its place. 

]\ry father never had the oppor- 
tunity of attending a free public 
school. All the education he received 
was the result of his own labo? and 
determination. He was not a polished 
scholar, but by dint of hard work he 

secured a good practical education 
and a vast amount of general infor- 

In May, 1877, with seven dollars in 
his pocket, he left his home at Cedar 
Hill, in Kaufman County, and w^nt 
to Terrell, Texas, where he boarded a 
train for Fort Worth, on his way to 
Granbur}', Hood County, Texas. 
There was no railroad from Fort 
Worth to Granbury. and not having 
money enough to hire a private con- 
veyance, he walked the entire distance 
of forty miles. He then hired himself 
to work on a farm at thirteen dollars 
a month. 

In January, 1881, he married Miss 
Ida Peters, whose home was in Gran- 
bury. He joined the Alliance in its 
infancy, and was the first man in the 
State to receive a commission to go 
beyond State borders to do organizing 
work. He was the best posted man 
regarding farmers' organizations in 
Texas. Leaving his young wife with 
her parents, he went to the very com- 
munity in Alabama in which he was 
born. While there he organized a 
good local Alliance, and before leav- 
ing the State, a year later, he suc- 
ceeded in organizing many thousands 
into the Alliance. He then went to 
Tennessee, taking his Avife with him, 
but remained there only a few months, 
having to return to Texas on account 
of his wife's ill health. 

In January. 1896 he went into the 
newspaper business at Granbuiy. In 
1899 he moved to Greenville, Texas, 
where he was engaged in newspaper 
work also. In January, 1902, he 
moved to Point. Rains County, Texas, 
and in the fall of this year, after 
many hai'd efforts, he induced nine 
men of Rains County to unite with 
liim and secure a charter from the 
State. My father was made General 
Organizer, and in the face of eveiy 
discouragement began the w'ork of 
building up our great Farmers' 

I give a list of the names of the 



ten men avIio were instiiimental in 
bringing about the F. E. C. U. of A. : 
Newt Gresham, 0. II. Rhodes, D. L. 
Seamster, W. H. Cochran, B. F. 
Morris, James Turner, Tom Donelson, 
Jesse Adams. Tom Pounds, W. S. Sisk. 
My father was honest, sincere, self- 
sacrificing, always seeing the good 
points in a fellow man, and never 
giving a thought to the bad. He was 
a loving husband and father. He died 
the 10th of April, 1906. after an 
illness of five days. Our earnest wish 
was that he might have lived longer, 
so that he could rejoice in seeing the 
great work he started going on so 
faithfully and helping all who be- 
longed to the great organization. 
* * * * 


Barnesville, Ga., Nov. 22, 1907. 
Hon, Thomas E. Watson, 

Thomson, Ga. 
My Dear Mr. Watson:— 

After having been away from the 
office for some days, I returned to find 
a letter from you asking that I give 
you some data as to the dates, etc., of 
the Farmers' Union. 

Replying I will say that the Farm- 
Gi-s' Union was organized by Newt 
Gresham and nine associates the last 
days of August, 1902, their charter 
being granted October 2nd, 1902. 
They began the organizing of the 
Farmers' Union in Rains County, 
Texas. From Rains they went into 
Wood, and Hopkinr, where I was 
found, and I began my connection 
with the Farmers' Union in December, 
1902. I rented out the land which I 
was to cultivate with my own hands 
and began the active work of the 
Farmers' Union in February, 1903. 
In February, 1904, a State Union was 
organized in Texas. It was in June, 
1905, that we organized a State Union 
in Georgia. 

The daily papers absolutely refused 
to give us any notice until about the 

spring and summer of 1904. Then we 
were severely criticized by some, 
slightly spoken of • by others, and 
merely mentioned by others. In 1905 
they began to give us some consider- 
ation. In the spring of 1906 we had 
sufficient strength to enable us to 
demand their "august attention." 

When we first began the work of 
organizing the Farmers' Union we 
met with every obstacle conceivable. 
The farmers themselves were super- 
stitious, and feared that there was a 
political move on foot. Almost every 
farmer you came in contact with men- 
tioned the Alliance and feared that 
the Union would go like the Alliance. 
It was hard to make them see that 
though the Alliance made mistakes 
and went down, that the amount of 
good that it accomplished could not 
be estimated in dollars and cents. 

The country merchants, lawyers, 
and the doctors, the old-line poli- 
tician, and the new-line politician, all 
feared that the Farmers' Union was 
an interference with their business or 

At one time there was several 
months when myself, the founder of 
the organization, and his brother, Ed 
Gresham, were the only men in the 
field actively engaged in the work of 
organizing. I was then traveling with 
Newt Gresham, the founder, and 
many, many times did we become 
blue, disheartened and almost ready 
to give up the fight. It was not long 
until Newt and I had spent about all 
the cash we had, of our own, and the 
amount we were receiving from our 
work proved inadequate to meet 
expenses, but we borrowed and fought 

The endurance of Newt Gresham 
Avas wonderful. He could ride all day 
long in the rain, make a speech at 
night, sit and talk until one o'clock, 
and be jubilant the next morning. 

Being reared in and having prac- 
ticed an outdoor life, he was able to 
stand the strain through which we 



had to pass, but when he was locked 
up, as it were, at his desk in an office, 
the strain proved too great and the 
good man succumbed. But the organi- 
zation goes on, its strength and power 
continue to grow, its usefulness is 
becoming greater and greater Avith 
each j'ear. 

It was the dream of the founder of 
the organization to send a man to 
Europe to study and investigate the 
cotton situation each year. That man 
has been sent. The founder dreamed 
of the day when in spite of the specu- 
lators in New York the farmers would 
be able to get the minimum price 
for their crops, and through times of 
panic and flourishing conditions to be 
able to hold their crops until they 
brought that price. His dream has 
come true and todav the Farmers' 

Union stands as a monument to the 
efforts of the men who planted it, 
and to the courage of the men who 
watered the plant. 

Yours respectfully, 

E. F. DucKvroRTn, 

State President. 
* ^ * * 

Mr. W. S. Sisk was born in Georgia 
Dec. 12th, 1866, and has lived and 
worked on a farm all his life. He 
moved to Texas thirteen years ago, 
and was one of the ten men who 
assisted Newt Gresham in organizing 
the F. E. C. U. of A. 

He is also an old Farmers' Alliance 
man, having belonged to that order 
when it was in progress in Georgia, 
and read the first paper that Hon. 
Thos. E. Watson ever issued. 


Two hours ago he heard her goodnight prayer: 
His motherless wee lamb's — and, tired, there. 
Sat dozing softly in the easy chair. 

Sudden, two little arms in baby might. 
Around the father's neck are clasping tight! 
The little body shaken with affright. 

"Father!" — she trembled with the terror's dread — 

He cuddled close the tousled, flaxen head: 

"Father," she sobbed, "I dreamed that you were dead!" 

'Gainst his, her little heart beat out its fear: 
Holding her close and strong, he kissed each tear: 
Soothing her gently — "Darling, father's here!" 

From life, a little longer, wearier sleep. 

Like a strong swimmer beating back the deep. 

My sobbing soul, from troubled dream, shall leap 


Into his arms! my heart, against his own 
Shall grow as quiet as this child's hath grown: 
Knowing, at last, the dream a dream — and flown! 

And I shall see his eyes — 'tis many a year — 

Shining above my tears to cast out fear: 

And hear him whisper — "Darling, father's here!" 

— Ada A. Mosher, While Springs, Fla. 



(The following story is one of a series of "Glendower" tales, or sketches of Tennessee 
village life, yet unpublished, by Mrs. Nina Hill Robinson — Editor.) 

Chapter I. 

The city clocks struck ten, Sara 
Meredith closed her machine with ner- 
vous fingers. All day its sharp click- 
ing had sounded a rasping protest of 
the real against the imaginary — its 
steady "stitch-stitch" disproving 
with pitiless materialism the teeming 
fancies of her tired brain. And yet 
all day familiar faces had smiled into 
hers, and friends of twenty years be- 
fore had trooped into her room and 
held high revel there. 

This was an off-daj'. Sara, after 
years of self-discipline, was not wont 
to play truant in the sunny valleys of 
her girlhood days, that necessitated 
a mental journey backward over a 
stony ground of stony experience. 
Many a dreary waste lay between that 
gap of twenty years. ]\Iany a strange 
dark mountain loomed within ! It 
was rare now that she cared to do the 
penance of a pilgrimage over, having 
scarcely time for a look backward, she 
told herself. Still, as an "off-day," 
when old scenes and faces would not 
be denied, she lingered awhile — a dan- 
gerous little while — with her happy Today, before her inner vision 
were tantalizing glimpses of a noble 
old mansion, with wide-open doors of 
rest and peace, its galleries flooded 
with Southern sunshine, and June 
roses nodding in its windows. The 
breath of the hills swept her cheek. 
About her, in undulating waves of 
green and gold, lay the familiar fields 

of long ago, and sounds of brooding 
peace, distinctly at home — like as of 
pigeons cooing from the house tops — 
fell on her ear, softly. 

She saw again the shifting season 
of fruit and flower, as when in her 
girlhood's bloom she dwelt under blue, 
Georgian skies. Along the garden 
Avails were luscious figs, wasting their 
cloying sweetness. Peaches, ripe and 
rosy, hung low in wanton profusion. 
And grapes, purple as Italy's own, 
dripped their honey for crowding 

Apricots blushed under sunny skies. 
AVatennelons lay "green and dew- 
covered" in grass-grown patches. 
From cotton-fields, white unto har- 
vest, came the songs of negro pickers. 
And further still, out and awa}', over 
hedges of Cherokee roses and tangling 
undergi'owth, adown the line of blue- 
gray horizon, and far blue air, to the 
east or to the west, came the perfume 
of Jasmine or scent of the fragrant 

Oh, garden of delights! Oh, land 
of flowers, and fruit, and sunshine! 
Oh, the piney woods, the red hills of 

Sara folded her sewing in the neat 
and careful manner habitual to her. 
She drew a chair before the open 
grate, and placed a study lamp on the 
table, where lay an open letter, tlie 
innocent cause of her disquietude. 
She read again, slowly: 

"Do Sara, put away your sewing, 
and spend your holidays with us at 



The Oaks. We are to have our usual 
house-party, and a number of guests 
' are going out with me. We shall stop 
awhile at Glendower and go on home 
by early stages, in good old Southern 

"I shall bring my school friends. 
One is from Virginia, another from 
Georgia; and her uncle — an old friend 
of papa's — is going out also. And 
Oh, Sara, he is so distinguished. 
He has traveled everywhere and be- 
longed to some foreign embassy, or 
legation. Brother will bring a friend 
who was with him in Ctiba — Lieuten- 
ant Watterson, of New York. 

"Mother is planning the festivities 
after the old-time fashion of a South- 
ern Christmas, and the final enter- 
tainments will be a dress occasion in 
the costumes of — Oh — anywhere be- 
tween the '30 's and '60 's of dear old 

"And now, Sara, Sara, dear, bring 
with you that lovely white silk gown, 
with your pearls, and promise me you 
will lay aside your work for one night, 
and be young again with your own 
little one, 

"Ethel Summerfield Deering. 

"Grandview College, Bait., Md." 

A card from Mrs. Deering, written 
in a more sober vein : 

"Dear Sara: 

"Spend your Christmas holidays 
with us. I am so helpless without 
3'-ou. We are to have a larger number 
of guests than usual, this season, and 
my servants need constant oversight. 

"Mr. Deering and the boys join 
me in affectionate greeting. 

"Yours sincerely, 

"Anna Deering. 

"The Oaks, Glendower, Tenn., Dec. 
15th, 1900." 

Why, certainly, she would go. Life 
Avith Sara was largely made up of 
".uch things — of goings and retum- 
ings, and taking up her work again. 
The Oaks was nearer a home to her, 

and dearer than any, out of Georgia; 
a place of rest that toned her strained 
nerves, and rein vigora ted her w^ith 
the pure air of pine hills, and black- 
jack forests. 

Sarah Whiteney Meredith was born 
to the luxurious ease and refinement 
of an affluent Southern home, and 
brought up under the tutelage of an 
aunt, Avho was a survis'or of the 
South 's ancient regime — a type of wo- 
manhood which gave prestige to the 
South in the days of her old school 
chivalry, and social prominence. 

The child, however, oi'phaned in 
her earliest years, was the spoiled and 
petted darling of that Georgia home. 
Her aunt (than whom, to Sara's 
thinking, none ever lived among wo- 
men so gentle and lovely) paved the 
way of her niece with rose-lined ease, 
and heaped luxuries about her with 
a prodigal hand. 

In like manner she was educated 
by early degrees; absorbing natur- 
ally, and growing into mental and 
bodily culture. It was not until her 
twentieth year that she was taught, 
as a final accomplishment, fine sewing. 

This was the beginning. There 
were then financial reverses (and re- 
verses have a trick of swooping doAATi 
upon the unwary) which left her pen- 
niless. The death of her aunt quickly 
folloAved. Sara, who was now alone, 
realized that fine serving, the dreaded 
accomplishment, w^as her sole means 
of support. 

Years passed. In the natural evo- 
lution of things, the dainty frill, the 
rolled and whipped ruffling, the fine 
embroidery, gave place to the grind 
and click of the sewing machine; the 
smart tailor-made costumes and shirt- 
waist of up-to-date fashion. But she, 
too, had changed from a child of 
nature and grace to a woman of forty, 
with a gleam of silver in her gold- 
brown curls. 

But the Avhite silk gOAvn ! Sara 
glanced up over the mantel at her 
favorite painting — a work of her'^ 



done in idle hours — a garret in som- 
bre colors; an old trunk with a white 
ball gown, in sheeny folds, pulled half 
way out. A string of pearls hung 
over the edge; a satin slipper lay on 
the floor, and a broken fan beside it. 

It had been a whim of hers to em- 
body these souvenirs of her past in 
oil and color — the white silk gown in 
which she had floated light as thistle 
down, on the night of the last happy 
day of her life, and the slipper which 
carried her through dance and meas- 
ure, tapping impatiently when the 
kindest of true lovers came to her and 
said in his quiet way : 

"Shall we tread a measure, Sara?" 

She remembered with pain her im- 
perious gesture ; how she shrugged her 
silken-draped shoulders as he turned 
sadly away, and the angry snap of 
her fan, that he sought her no more. 

Sara was easily the favorite of the 
ball room. She had no lack of lovers. 
But Eobert Grantland, the friend of 
her whole life, was to her nothing less 
than the noblest and manliest of men. 
He was the superior of her masculine 
friends — a gentleman in a finer sense. 
Her tender heart adored his virtues. 
In spite of her capricious moods, her 
faulty appreciation of his love, her 
conception of his character was clear 
enough — he was one in a thousand 
among men. 

She had wounded him carelessly. 
She had done the like before, times 
without number, assured of his gener- 
ous pardon. But she little dreamed 
that this last offense decided his fu- 
ture career, and sent him far from 
her presence. 

Sara waited through a painful si- 
lence. There were no tearful apolo- 
gies or happy reconciliations ; no word 
or message — never a sight of his face 
— only silence. Then the news of his 
sudden departure for Europe turned 
her heart cold with fear. 

She waited dumbly. There was a 
letter of farewell which was kind, 
even affectionate in tone, but unmis- 

takably friendly; and letters again, 
month after month, with the same 
thoughtful, kindly interest. Still she 
waited with dmnb, insistent pride, 
but the slow months brought her no 
guerdon of love, or promise of love's 

Sara felt that she had been Aveighed 
and found wanting. She was counted 
unAvorthv to walk in the way of a use- 
ful life. " 

In this the truth was evident. Rob- 
ert Grantland had serious views of 
life. He had truly relinquished the 
love of his heart, without a word of 
blame or protest. He argued wisely 
that her butterfly existence was un- 
fitted for an arduous and uphill ca- 
reer. He would place no sacrificial 
yoke upon her. She should be free to 
spend her bright days in joyous aban- 
don of soul. "With her thousand gay 
and dainty charms, some one with a 
like appreciation of the things of 
earth would seek, and win, her affec- 
tions. She would be, in a way, a 
happy Southern matron, and life's 
merry little round for her, perhaps, 
would soon be over. 

However, had he known that in 
leaving Georgia he Avas leaving that 
young heart desolate, the inomentous 
question of his life might then have 
been decided, with all his careful 

This trial, as such trials often do, 
awoke within Sara her better self, and 
provided her a strength which cov- 
ered her head in the day of battle. 
Troubles crowded about her. She 
stood alone, and bereaved. The pil- 
lared mansion of rest and peace was 
no more. 

After this, the long years of expe- 
rience! Sara stitched into ruffle and 
seam the roses in her cheeks, and the 
hopes of her youth. A woman of 
forty remained. 

Yet she was not given to repining. 
Nor was she inclined to lackadaisical 
airs over untoward circumstances. 
She had developed rather into a 



wholesome type of womanhood, and 
by slow gradations, into that product 
of the twentieth century — a self-reli- 
ant woman. At forty, she was not 
bereft of charms. Age slips easily 
over the heads of favored ones. Hers 
was an elastic nature, peculiar to 
Southern women — brave to bear, he- 
roic to endure — preserving in her 
spinster, days the sweetness of soul 
and grace of her youth. There w^as 
about her a certain poise and gesture, 
a willowy grace that bespoke the 
artist; a certain carriage of the head, 
a high-bred air; a gracious sweetness 
of mouth and brow that reminded one 
of an old portrait of generations 
gone, or the patrician danghter of a 
hundred dainty mothers. 

The careful training of Sara's early 
life upheld her in perilous days. In 
her darkest hours of privation and 
toil, she was recognized everywhere 
and always, as distinctly a gentle- 
W'Oman. She had avoided — how care- 
fully! — the pitfalls along the way. 

There w^as, for instance, the crabbed 
discontent of spinsterhood, and again 
the gossipy tendency of the average 
dressmaker. But she had no leisure 
for small or mean diversions. Her 
life had resolved itself into one prayer 
— to be noble, to be something, to be 
worthy ! and a veritable safeguard it 

Sara kept her joyous and lovable 
individuality, which w^as to her the 
spring of life and youth. Her reso- 
lute will triumphed over the many 
petty weaknesses of her kind. Her 
high courage and unfailing courtesy 
found no closed doors to encounter. 
Withal, she had schooled herself into 
a sort of calm content — a poise of 
mind that balanced safely her ills and 
pleasures. She learned to divide her 
life into short spaces — to live a day 
at a time. x\nd the day was not all 
dreary with a lace Avork of greenery 
in her windoAV, and a bit of blue sky 

Owing to an artistic touch, and con- 

scientious regard for duty, she was a 
successful dressmaker. But that she 
was an artist by practice, she counted 
as a triumph of her will, which 
snatched this luxury from working 

Toil for Sara had its recompense. 
In her art she was truly happy, and 
grouped about the walls of her room 
were relies of her summer idyls — 
paintings done in oil and water color, 
sketches of sea and land, silvery snow 
scenes, and quiet landscapes. These 
summer outings among the lake re- 
gions of New York, where she reveled 
in the beauty of earth and sky, of 
wide hay-mown fields, and silver bits 
of water, freshened her spirit for ev- 
ery winter's toil. 

Sara counted her friends by the 
score, whose kindly influence had 
helped her to an independent footing. 
Of all her services (wdiich bore ever 
the unmistakable stamp of her handi- 
work), perhaps she alone kept a reck- 
oning. Her list of accomplishments 
was sui-p rising even to herself. Be- 
sides her dressmaking, she Avas also a 
skilled nurse, and a dainty cook, as 
many a table in gala dress bore wit- 
ness. Time was her most expensive 
luxury; yet her decorative instinct 
led her into opulent homes Avhere teas 
and sAvell clubs prevailed. 

Sara might truly have called her- 
self successful. She had now reached 
a substantial basis in her work. Her 
yearly trip to New York — her summer 
revel in color and glorious perspec- 
tives — was assured. She reassured 
herself that she was calmly happy. 
She felt, indeed, a sort of pity for 
that irresponsible young German girl 
she used to know, who fed on illusory 
sweets, and ballroom unrealities. Her 
present strenuous life Avas, by far, 
more satisfactory. And the little 
ministries, w^aiting, to the right and 
left of her, which added so much to 
the pleasures of others, she Avould not 

At The Oaks — a haven of rest and 



refuge — she had been lavish in 
kindly returns. She would spend 
Christmas there. Sara folded the 
letter in her hands. Nothing should 
be wanting to heighten the pleasures 
of the sea.son that her ingenuity 
could devise. Ethel's warm heart 
i^hould be comforted. 

She began preparations for the 
morning's train, packing a small 
trunk, and smiling as she placed the 
white silk at the bottom, wrapped in 
silver paper, where it had lain un- 
touched for years. This, with a neck- 
lace of pearls and some rare cameos, 
Avere the only relics of her palmy 
days. She strapped her trunk, 
turned the key in the lock, laid out 
her purse, hat and gloves, as the city 
clocks struck twelve. 


A flutter of snow in the air! 
Clouds scurrying toward a gray 
horizon in tlie teeth of a gusty wind! 
Slush and mud in the streets ! Pave- 
ments slippery and glistening under 
the fading lights ; the cry of news- 
boys, the rattle and bang of heavy 
wagons; the swift, undulating motion 
of the electric cars, and withal, the 
city of Nashville with gaily decked 
shopwindows, and Christmas greens 

Sara left the Union depot on a 
Avestward bound train, speeding over 
Tennessee hills and valleys; passing 
hamlet and town, dreary looking 
stations, desolate farm houses, and 
negro huts; miles of barren lands in 
scrub oaks; ten miles of valley with 
a river running through ; a forest of 
black-jacks, a background of hills and 
noble pines, and Deering Station was 

Tennessee is full of suiprises. In 
her seasons, for instance, what a 
sportive Aveather-vane! She is fam- 
ous for her lovely autumns — the 
gorgeous cbloring of her Avoods; the 
soft, hazy blue of her skies. Yet, 
Avhen the late November Avinds Avail 

through the holloAvs. and call from the 
hill tops, one aAvakes from the pleas- 
ant vision to find a treacherous chill 
in the air, the trees all bare and gray 
against a grayer sky — the severe 
aspect of Avinter settling on field, and 
hill, and river. 

But Avho can determine the length 
and breadth of a Tennessee Avinter? 
In the late fall there is still a hint 
of summer in the fragrant Avoods and 
odorous breath of dead broAATi leaves; 
still a hint of fresh green life under 
the drifts, and in sunny stretches. 

On frosty mornings, the air is 
darkened by crowds of noisy black- 
birds, creaking Avith their discordant 
voices, like the sound of miles and 
miles of rusty, moving machinery. 

One says, "Winter is surely com- 
ing." Yet Avhen the land lies locked 
in snow, and icicles hang pendant 
from every tree and housetop, a 
spring sun looks out suddenly, and 
a spring birds' carol sounds like a 
p»on of victory. There are touches, 
too, of color to brighten the Avintry 
landscape. In the Avoods or on the 
higliAvays, the glossy laurel and crim- 
son bittersAveet; lichens, flecked Avith 
fire, and bronze green mosses on rocky 
spaces. Cedars eveiyAvhere, contest- 
ing the ancient groAvth of oaks and 
poplars. And lo! under the white 
coverlet of midAvinter, plants of a 
bulbous kind put forth green heads 
Avith a gloAv of reneAved life. 

Tennessee, herself, holds variety as 
the "spice" of her existence. No 
dead monotony of treeless plains on 
her rugged surface! She delights in 
bumps and depressions ; in scooped-out 
valleys and endless chains of hills — 
but here again she surprises one. 
From barren fields and scant vegeta- 
tion, a neighboring hill may command 
from its summit of Avild honeysuckles 
an inviting prospect — a vast pano- 
rama of velvety, blue grass pastures, 
set in ancient trees, clear of under- 
groAvth, and fair as an English pre- 
serve ! 



This is IMiddlo Tennessee, mind you, 
not in the East where her mountains 
kiss tlie skies, nor in the West, where 
she lies flat and prone by the Ten- 
nessee river. She is, however, a land 
of surprises from mountain peak to 
river bottom; but in nothing more 
than promiscuous mixing of localities 
and men. A village of simple folk, 
old and primitive; then as if progress 
had suddenly remembered the lapse, 
an upward and outward bound of 
nature, and lo, the lordly estate of 
the Southern land-owner, the man- 
sion of refined and cultured life ! 

Tennessee has had her history. 
And now, though strung with the 
M-ires of modern inventions, many a 
monument of her ancient greatness 
stands yet among the seclusions of 
hoary trees — the family homes of de- 
parted generations. 

The Oaks was such a surprise. 
Commanding a view of the ten-mile 
valley, and just over the intervening 
pine hills from Glendower, the man- 
sion Avitli its vast estate was an im- 
posing reminder of antebellum days. 
The building was a square massive 
structure, whose stone walls were 
quarried from the soft tinted rock 
of the neighboring hills. 

The spacious rooms were rich in 
fresco work and antiquated carving. 
A wide gallery, with its heavy col- 
umns in clusters of three, ran across 
the breadth of the building. A grove 
of towering oaks, interspersed with 
evergreens, adorned the grounds. 
Here, Mr. Deering, a successful busi- 
ness man, a progressive farmer, and a 
scholar of high degree, dwelt among 
his neighbors with the simple grace of 
a country gentleman. 

At Deering Station, Sara Mere- 
dith entered the waiting trap, driven 
by the practiced hands of Uncle Joe, 
Avho was the man-of-odd-jobs at The 

A drive of two miles by the river's 
side, which turned abruptly as she 
entered Glendower — that dull village 

asleep in its cradle of hills — then out 
and beyond, a sudden turn of land- 
scape, a rolling sweep of upland, and 
the light and wannth of The Oaks 
greet her tired vision. 

A broad light streamed from the 
open hallway into the gathering dusk. 
Sara's face flushed with the pleasure 
of that true home feeling never ex- 
perienced elsewhere than in Tennessee. 

Two bearish hugs from Rob and 
Edgar Deering unceremoniously bade 
her welcome. These were her juven- 
ile admirers. Mr. Deering, her kind 
friend and counselor, greeted her cor- 
dially; and INIrs. Deering, on whose 
pleasant face time had levied no tax, 
laid an affectionate hand on Sara's 

"To your room, my dear, for a lit- 
tle rest up before dinner." 

And she mounted the stairs with a 
vv'cary step, but that feeling again of 
home, and that delicious sense of 
happiness and subdued excitement 
that pervades the Deering home at 
Christmas time. 

"Now, Sara," said her hostess, as 
they sit at last by the great wood fire 
in the hall, "hear my plans for the 
holidays. AA^e have decided to cele- 
brate Christmas in tiiie Southern 
style. Mr. Deering expects an old 
friend who has been abroad for years; 
and who, 1 am sure, would relish once 
more an old-time Christmas. ]\Iy 
son, Vv^ho brings a friend from the 
North, wiites to the same effect. We 
shall please Ethel also, and her 
friends ; and to tell the truth, ' ' added 
Mrs. Deering, laughingly, "I am 
really wishing to conciliate Glen- 
dower, too. with something out-of-date 
and musty." 

"Glendower has a disgruntled air 
on festive occasions," remarked Sara, 

"Yes, like a decrepid old watch-dog 
disturbed in his evening nap. It 
seems that I ofTend the peace of Glen- 
dower. Gold, or tennis, tallyho par- 
ties, hay rides, and the like are 



severely discountenanced. An auto- 
mobile is an instrument of the evil 
one, I cannot find the tender side 
of Glendo^A'er. And the telephone, 
Sara! That is an added offense." 

"There is no real quiet where the 
telephone rings." said Sara, with 
genuine sympathy. "It ha.s a knack 
of ringing out jokes, and disturbing 
the climax of stories. It is a most 
annoying convenience, I surmise, at 
the Postoffice." 

"An old-fashioned Christmas, once 
more, ladies." advised Mr. Deering, 
from behind his paper, "provided 
you can command j'our forces." 

"Ah, the question of serv^ants! 
That is my dilemma. How can I 
depend on them for such an occasion 1 
They know little now of antebellum 
times, and care less to learn. Then, 
there is a kind of "Union" among 
them, which includes every organiza- 
tion for mutual benefit that they can 
devise. They have lately regulated 
working hours." ' 

"That is discouraging for the din- 
ner hour?" 

"I cannot learn. They claim the 
holidays now. I am not sure of my 
servants at all, throughout Christ- 
mas. And without them, my plans 
fail, of course. Think of it — a house- 
party without servants! And — how 
ludicrous! an old-time Southern 
Christmas without darkies! Really, 
I regret having attempted this affair. 
I fear we shall only celebrate the 
passing of the old." 

"There is only one waj^" advised 
Sara. M'isely, "Bribery." 

"But, oh, my depleted wardrobe! 
"What have I not given? I am con- 
stantly receiving notes and divers 
complaints. They are sent in as 
admonitory warnings of leave-taking; 
or I have learned to spoil thorn out 
to mean additional gifts rather than 
increase of salary. I resort to my 
wardrobe, as I dislike to break my 
rule of prices. And do you know, 
my dear," Mrs. Deering whispered 

solemnly, "a gown that is not strictly 
up-to-date in style, they simply will 
not accept?" 

Sara laughed merrily. 

"What force have we? Give me 
my bearings." 

"Well, Joe is a certainty. I have 
only the faintest hope of keeping 
Bettie, the housemaid, or Sam, the 
butler. My laundress is almost 
sure to fail me. Aunt Ann may 
stay — at the expense of our peace — 
in the kitchen. But just fancy my 
pompous old cook in a cotton gowTi 
and red bandana!" 

"They need a Booker Washington, 
or a wise leader, to teach them the 
dignity of work," commented Mr. 
Deering, from his desk across the hall. 
"Can 3-0U solve our difificultj^ Sara?" 

"Trust my rabbit's foot for Aunt 
Ann," she answered gaily. "Let the 
others go if they will." 

The festivities of the week were 
carefully planned on old-fashioned 
lines. .f;uiious among the annals of 
Southern hospitality. Apart from the 
celebration of Ethel's birthday, which 
was a dining, in red eft'ect — a charm- 
ing combination of crimson wax 
candles, holly, and j-ards of crimson 
ribbon — every day's entertainment 
was a replica of one in a departed era. 
A rather grand dress affair in cos- 
tumes of the early '60 's closed the 
social features of the week. 

"Now, Sara," said INlrs. Deering, 
"one thing more — something in prim- 
itive style — a kind of suiprise for 
Christmas Eve. Our guests will arrive 
on the evening of the 23d. Next 
morning there will be a meeting of 
the hounds at Glendower. We want 
an illumination for the evening. 
Think of something unique." 

"I have an idea," said Sara, slowly, 
"An 'possum hunt. The old cabin 
on the hill must be cleaned and white- 
washed. We will have a primitive 
supper there, with a dnnce afterward. 
The hill will be lighted with pine 
torches. ' ' 



"Oh, Sara, how delightful!" ex- 
claimed i\Irs. Dcering. 

There was more need, however, of 
diplomacy in the kitchen. The maids 
were sullen. Aunt Ann was porten- 
tously stiff. She protested indig- 
nantlj' : 

"Name o' sense, Miss Sallie, what's 
dat fur? Clean dat old cabin in th' 
woods? Tain't fitten fur nuthin' but 
a shuck pen ! ' ' 

She was a dignified old negro, in a 
sweeping black skirt and striped shirt- 
waist, very tight and trim ; with side- 
combs of red celluloid in her haii", and 
brass mounted glasses on her nose. A 
broad ring on her finger, in spite of 
its brazen quality, but emphasized her 

She stalked across the kitchen floor 
with an affronted air. 

Miss Sallie was a favorite in the 
Deering kitchen — a particular one — 
but Aunt Ann was intolerant of sacri- 
fices now — she was more in need of 
help. The dragging work increased 
her exasperation. 

Sara's perseverence met with a 
second rebuff, evasively given: 
"Scour it? Well, I kin scour it — I 
IS done it time and agin. I live there 
five year." 

"Aunt Ann, persuade Joe to clean 
and whitewash the cabin." 

Aunt Ann rattled the crockery 
ominously in the pantry. 

"Now Miss Sallie, ef Joe does that 
whitewashing in Christmas time it'll 
open my two eyes — dat's all." 

Joe was Aunt's shiftless and irre- 
sponsible husband, tolerated at The 
Oaks for the sake of his "better half" 
— a fact of which she was fully aware. 

The overhauling of the cabin was 
done at last, however, and beautifully 
done. The floor was scoured as clean 
as sand and water could make it. 
The walls were snow white, and the 
old fire-place put in order — all the 
work of Aunt Ann's irate, but ener- 
getic arms. Joe was the object of 
many a threatening imprecation. 

The servants were still in an obsti- 
nate humor regarding their expected 
duties. They of the fluffy coiffeurs 
and shirt-waist proclivities did not 
relish a return to the bandana head- 
dress and cotton gown. They missed 
the sentiment of old-time relations, 
and rebelled at the badges of slavery 
days. They asserted their liberty. 

They also claimed the holidays — 
their own social duties would be neg- 
lected. Sara's arguments were met 
invariably with one or more rules of 
the "S'ciety." Replies were quick 
and pert. She was tempted more than 
once to vacate her ground. But by 
dint c«: coaxing, and rewards, an 
agreement on Avorking hours, and 
finally by crossing their palms with 
extx'a coin, Sara triumphed in the end. 

She compromised herself, however. 
Through the busy days that followed 
she was appropriated in the kitchen, 
and the pantry was filled with 
exquisite conceptions of culinary art, 
for Avhich she was noted. 

"You're welcome as an angel, 
honey, ' ' said Aunt Ann, with restored 
good humor. "Dese gwines on here 
is sump'n turrible," 

The decorations were complete. 
The Oaks was a bower of holly and 
mistletoe from guest-chamber to the 
great front vestibule. The heavy 
pillars were Avreathed in pine, and 
over the front entrance "Welcome" 
glowed in holly berries from its green 

One afternoon Sara went up to the 
cabin on thehill where the delinquent 
Joe stood ready to serve her orders. 

"Loads of mistletoe, Joe, and holly, 
and pine," said she, kindly. And Joe 
worked with unusual interest and 
unaccustomed energy, as her deft 
fingers fashioned wonderful bowel's 
of green, and cornucopias of the 
autumn's fullness. Toward sunset 
they rested from their labors. The 
old cabin was transformed into a 
thing of beauty. 

Sara wended her weary way home- 



ward. She reached the front lawn as 
Joe disappeared under the oaks, on 
his way to Glendower driving a trap 
gaily bedecked with Christmas greens 
and crimson streamers. 

"Dat fool nigger," exclaimed Aunt 
Ann disgustedly. "A red bow in his 
haid! Dat's a sight fur quality 

Sara passed into the dining-room 
and critically inspected the table as 
it stood under the soft glow of wax 

"I bid 3'ou good-night, Aunt Ann. 
I shall not dine tonight; I am very 

"Dat you is, honey," said Aunt 
Ann, who was still in a wonderful 
humor. "Good-night. I'll send you 
a roll an' some tea." 

Sara wheeled a chair to the bright 
wood fire in her cozy room. She 
closed her eyes dreamily, basking in 
the delicious warmth, and enjoying 
the quiet rest that was so rare a thing 
with her. She listened drowsily for 
sounds of the incoming guests. A 
bark of a cur sounded with dismal 
distinctness from across the river. 
Then the melodious notes of the 
hounds in the kennel, a crunching of 
wheels on the front driveway, with a 
chorus of voices and happy laughter. 

There were greetings in the hall; 
more voices and laughter, mingled 
with the deep bass of masculine tones. 
Then Ethel's voice, clear and high, as 
she mounted the stairway: 

"Sara! Sari! Sari!" 

Sara felt two loving arms about her 
neck. She looked up, smiling, into 
Ethel's tender face. 

' ' Oh, my dear, how good you are to 
come, and how beautiful everything 
is! Home is so refreshing. You will 
dine with us tonight? Brother John 
has grown quite an inch, and is so 
handsome in his uniform. Ilis friend 
from the North — Lieutenant Watter- 
son — is very interesting, and probably 
finds us so. He is certainly enter- 
tained with Southern scenes and cus- 

toms. He seems to enjoy every mo- 
ment of his time. , 

"I am sure you will like my school 
friends, Sara, but our distinguished 
guest from Georgia is quite beyond 
me. I need j'ou, really. You cannot 
dine? How tired you are!" 

"Not tonight, little one. Don't 
mention me please — just yet. I have 
some work to finish, and rest I must, 
to-morrow. ' ' 

"Always 'work' with you, Sara! 
When are your holidays?" 

"Never mind. I shall be with you 
to-morrow, sometime. ' ' 

"You must entertain our friend. 
Perhaps you can advise him. Did I 
tell you that he is planning a great 
work in Georgia? He has now the 
time and means to carry out his 
plans. jMy friend, Elizabeth Dunlap, 
is enthusiastic over her uncle's life." 

"Oh, Ethel!" cried Sara in a 
pained voice. "How happy are they 
who can gratify the desires of their 

"Why, you are always doing good. 
Your life is a service and a mission," 
said Ethel, caressing the wealth of 
gold-brown hair. "There's always 
the hope of better things, remember, 
and better days for you. dear." 

Sara listened sadly. She saw noth- 
ing before her but the inevitable dress- 
making. There was no escape from 
it. Her soul abhorred a fashion- 
plate. The hollowness of dress and 
display sickened her at times. How 
glorious to be free of it all, to go into 
the world and help others to be 
happy! And how pitiful that the 
soul was more often neglected — thrust 
aside for material needs of the body ! 

The world is beautiful to the one 
Avho makes it so. 

Sara bade her friend good-night, 
with a smile, and gathered her ma- 
terials for work. Her elastic nature 
rose buoyantly, above repining 
thoughts. Better things would come 
in time. And time should find her 
ready and equipped for the change. 



The clock struck ten. Sounds of 
laughter and music issued from the 
drawing-room below. Llrs. Deering 
moved in and out like a spirit of 
Christmas, with her pleasant bits of 
news and cherry messages. Sara 
woi'ked rapidly, with skillful touches 
of brush and pencil, on bits of brown, 
crude paper , scrawling out, in letter- 
ing of red ink, suggestive of poke- 
beriy juice, the words of invitation 
to the 'possum hunt. The work was 
soon finished. At midnight the 
curious guest, drawing out the thorn 
which pinned the card of rough 
brown paper, read in pleased sur- 
prise : 

"Start from The Oaks and find 
ME — a fat 'possum, hanging from 
a limb of a spreading oak! 

"On the night before Christmas 

Ch.vpter III. 
The hall clock counted in sonorous 
tones the hours of the night. Slum- 
ber lured the tired guests with sooth- 
ing lullabies. Yet there was one 
among them who walked his chamber 
floor with the startling cry of "Sara — 
Sari — Sari!" still ringing in his ears. 
The sound thrilled his soul like a 
chiming of familiar bells. It brought 
back with compelling force an over- 
whelming rush of memories, with a 
happy dream of his youth. 

Identified with every nook of his 
boyhood's haunts was the little 
maiden, Sara, of his love — the fairy 
creature with gold-brown curls, at 
once his heart's desire, his soul's 
torment. Her presence had im- 
pressed upon his heart for aye the 
mountain steeps of Georgia, the som- 
bre shadows of the pines; the endless 
hedges of Cherokee roses, and wild 
muscadines by the water courses; the 
sprays of trailing wistaria over-run- 
ning hamlet, or mansion, or fence of 
the field. 

It were as but yesterday that he saw 
her taking her evening walks with old 
Madam Whitney, when the sun lay 

low, and the mountain shadows were 
long. She was the idol of this stately 
old grandmother; and the delight- 
some darling of a delectable home. 
He knew her well — the little Sara 
with gold-brown curls — she of the 
poke-bonnet, whether of white, or blue, 
or crimson; always and ever with 
flowers on her dress or in her hair — 
golden-belled jasmine or purple 
wistaria, or blood-red blossoms of the 

He had traveled far and wide, and 
years had passed, yet her face had 
come between him and every woman 
he had thought to call "wife." She 
was like a ghost that would not 
"down," the winsome, merry child 
of long ago. The little maiden, with 
her thousand endearing charms, Avas 
still his soul's torment, his heart's 

Next morning the music of ' ' Sara — 
dear Sari" still echoed from corridor 
and hall. This "Sara" was in de- 
mand — a ministering angel of a 
Tennessee Christmas. Who could 
she be? 

He passed on through the hall to 
the wide, front gallery, where Rob 
and Edgar Deering, abreast with the 
day, played in the early sunlight. 

The glow of the morning lay on 
the grounds, and softened the sturdy 
lines of the great bare oaks. Brown 
leaves fluttered in the chill wind. A 
thin blue line hung over the distant 
river. The sun rode gloriously 
through the clouds. It was a Decem- 
ber morning of Tennessee — half gray, 
half cold; a veil of cloud and a chal- 
lenge of sunshine. 

"And who is Sara, my little man?" 
asked Robert Grantland, placing a 
hand on Edgar's shoulder. 

"Sara's a trump," answered Ed- 
gar, busily fingering her latest gift — 
his new air-gun: 

"Sara's me mother," observed Rob, 
meditatively, toiling down the gallery- 

Sara, who was blissfully uncon- 



scious of the mystery, luxuriated in 
the rest and seclusion of her room, 
eluding guest and tiresome formality. 
It was onlj^ when the afternoon was 
half spent that she girded herself 
anew to do the honors of the opening 
entertainment — the o 'possum hunt. 

"Come, Aunt Ann — are you 
ready?" she called out cheeril}^ from 
the waiting cart. 

She was fresh and sparkling. Her 
face flushed with the pure joy of 
living. The gold-brown hair Avaved 
rebelliously about her brow, escaping 
in tiny curls above her white linen 
collar. Sara was ready Avitli a zest 
for the occasion. 

"Got Christmas in yo' bones, I 
reckon; I ain't," grumbled Aunt Ann. 

She inspected the loaded cart. 
"All th' 'visions in here? Where's 
that spare-rib an' sausage — here 'tis. 
I tell you, Miss Sallie," she continued, 
climbing into the cart, and settling 
her ample proportions on the seat, 
"dese here doin's is heathenish. I 
lay myself out to be a light to the 
cullud folks in this kuntry, an' here 
I is, pullin' to a 'possum hunt — an' 
a dance. Now this very night — this 
vc7"if night — our s'ciety meets — 
where I ain't been in a mont. " 

"Tell me about your society, Aunt 
Ann," asked Sara, flipping the pony's 
cars with her whip. 

"Well, it's th' 'Sons and Darters 
of Ham,' Miss Sallie, an' its a power- 
ful s'ciety. It helps the sick an' it 
buries the dead." 

"That's a good thing," observed 
Sara, sympathetically, "Where do 
you meet?" 

"On tothcr side of the hill there. 
We calls it th' hall, but we uses it 
fur a church an' a school-house. I'm 
treas'rer now, sence that no-count 
Jim Jones tuck an' run off wid de 
money — . Take keer, ]\Iiss Sallie! 
Dat pony is de outdaciousest scamp 
on dis whole place — that very Proc- 
tor Knott. Hold th' lines — so. 

"We chu'ehed him for it— Jim 

Jones — and tu'ned him ela'r outen de 
meetin '-house — " 

"What church. Aunty?" 

"Baptist — in cose," said Aunt 
Ann, shortly. 

"Well?" queried Sara, amusedly. 

"Well, yo see. old Aunt Demsey 
died about that time, and we all wid 
an empty treas'ry — so de white folks 
had to bury her. Den two of de 
brethren wus sick acrost the river, 
dependin' on dat dollar an' a half 
from th' s'ciety — an' it ain't been 
paid yit. 

"Hold up de lines. Miss Sallie. 
Dat pony needs a stiff hand." 

"And Jim Jones — what of him?" 
asked Sara. 

"Dat low-life nigger? Why, what 
did he do but dress hisself in fine 
sto' clo'es an' 'pear 'fore the kongre- 
gation, CO 'tin' dat yaller gal what 
moved into Glendower. Now you 
know. Miss Sallie, dat the whole er 
Glendower jes do nacherly 'spise a 
nigger — dey never havin' owned 
none durin' de War — or befo' 
nuther — an' 'specially a yaller 
nigger — 

"I tell you. Miss Sallie, dat pony's 
gwine to show hisself — wid all them 
tin pails rattlin'. I've knowed him 
fur ten year, an' I ain't never knowed 
him guilty of a good action yit. Now 
hold him! Hold on. Miss Sallie! 
Ketch dem buckets! Dar goes th' 
taters — hold him — " 

And over Avent Aunt Ann with a 
thud on the pine-strewn ground, while 
Proctor Knott clung to the hillside, 
eyeing the overturned cart with criss- 
cross eyeballs, and a contemplative air. 

"Come, Aunt Ann, you are not 
hurt?" asked Sara, solicitously, look- 
ing down at the prostrate form with 
meriy eye and twitching lips. 

"Ilu't! Did you ever kno' an' ole 
pusson to git over a fall? I ain't 
'sprised ef I never gits over it." 

Aunt Ann groaned. "Here I is, 
thr'own on th' wayside, stid er tendin* 
my meetin'! It wam't intended for 



luc to fool long o' 'possum hunts an' 
dances! Take kccr, chile, I'm gwine 
home ! Its th ' rulin 's of Providence. ' ' 

"Rulings of Proctor Knott!" ex- 
claimed Sara, alarmed. "You can't 
desert us now, Aunt Ann — Mrs. Deer- 
ing is depending on you. You are to 
have a new bonnet and gown for this 

Aunt Ann arose, trying her limbs 
cautiously. "Well, they ain't no 
bones broke. I reckon," straightening 
her bandana. "But I ain't ride 
behind dat pony no more — you hear 

Sara refilled the cart hurriedly, 
soothing the wounded feelings of the 
old negress, and instructing her in the 
duties of the evening. 

"You are to help me cook and serve 
this supper, Aunt Ann," she said 
kindly, as they walked up the hill, 
leading the pony. "And you are to 
be a genuine before-the-war darkey." 

"I 'members clem times," said 
Aimt Ann soberh'. 

"Well, I shall expect a good fiddler 
and a banjo-picker." 

"Joe ain't fitten fur nothin' else 
but fiddlin', and Jack makes a banjo 

"Very well, now; a crowd of dar- 
kies about the door — all sizes — young 
and old. They, may laugh, sing, 
shout, dance — and finish up the 

"That'll do fur ole Abe an' his 
tribe down there at th' foot of th' 
hill. They'll act enuff— don't be 
oneasy. ' ' 

The cabin was in sight. A Christ- 
mas bower of green, white and crim- 
son. "My land! Miss Sallie, you is 
fixed things up. Joe's got his blood 
up, I reckon." 

Joe was retrieving himself. The 
yard was neat and homelike. Hung 
in the trees around were wire baskets, 
filled Avith pine knots, for torches. 
Within, the huge fireplace was ablaze 
with light. 

A pleasing odor of pine filled the 

room. Creat wreaths of evergreens 
festooned the walls and swung from 
the rafters. Bunches of mistletoe 
adorned the improvised lamps. 
Fronds of featheiy fern Avaved softly 
from white walls, and across the wide 
fireplace Avas an old and quaint device 
in letters of pine — "Kindle Friend- 

Sara flitted about busily, filled the 
long t able with crockery, borrowed 
from the Glen dower store, and, cut in 
fanciful shapes, napkins of soft brown 
paper. Aunt Ann, clothed in a blue 
cotton gown and red bandana, 
arranged her ovens on the broad 
hearth. The primitive supper was 

At ten o'clock, Sara's listening ear 
caught the sounds of animated talk 
and mingled laughter of the hunting 
party, with Ethel's high, clear note 
predominant. An enthusiastic cheer- 
ing followed a sudden turn of the 

Outside the cabin Joe had gathered 
a crowd of curious onlookers. The 
pine knots ablaze in the trees made 
a glorious bonfire Avhicli quite 
eclipsed Glendower's solitary Roman 
candle. Under the flare of torches, 
forms, dark and picturesque, moved 
about to the sound of fiddle and 
banjo, with a "flip-flap" and meas- 
ured beat, yet with indescribable 
rhythm of motion that invests a 
negro's rags with the Avitchery of 

Under a shoAver of eager "Christ- 
mas Gifts," the surprise party, led 
by IMr. Deering, entered the cabin. 
Aunt Ann hovered over the o\'ens in 
tlie old-time Avay. The supper Avas 
liroAvning slowly on the hearth — 
'possum and sAveet potatoes; sau- 
sages, broiling on a gridiron ; a huge 
spare-rib, turning sloAA'ly before the 
coals and roasting a delicate broA\'n; 
corn-cakes, a pot of coflPee steaming 
on a tripod, and a teakettle, singing 
from its pot-hook up the chimney. 

The lights shone brisrhtlv. The 



white walls glowed -with Christinas 
cheer. Sara, in a dark blue gown and 
dainty white apron, stood beside the 
breadtray, moulding lier dough into 
biscuits, putting a dimple in each 
one with a turn of her palm, after 
the pattern of the old-time mistress 
of the oven. 

iMore cheering followed, with cries 
of wonderment and appreciation in 
feminine tones. 

"Oh, Sari, how dear you are!" 
cried Ethel with eager enthusiasm, 
bringing a bevy of girls about the 
breadtray, while Sara smiled and 
nodded in recognition. She received 
the guests graciously, giving her 
friend John Deering a bright wel- 
come, and bowing cordially to Lieu- 
tenant "Watterson, as they closed 
about her. 

"Of all things, Sara." said John 
Deering, "this primitive scene pleases 
us most — this bit of the old past, with 
the new century." 

But she scarcely heard. She stood 
staring beyond him at a tall, stately 
form — a handsome, manly man, with 
close-cut, silvered hair, and face 
bronzed and saddened, yet "one in 
a thousand" still. 

Her hands trembled. The green 
and white walls swam before her dizzy 
eyes. Again the breath of Georgia 
hills; the vision of cotton fields, white 
unto harvest; again the home of her 
youth with its wide-open doors of rest 
and peace. 

Robert Grantland stood before her, 
pale and agitated. She looked up 
with a sobbing breath. 

"Sara! Why, Sara, my little 
friend ! Why are you liere among 
these Tennessee hills? How has the 
world used you, my dear, through all 
these years?" 

She smiled bravely through her 
teal's. "I'll tell you, sometime. I 
shall just be glad tonight — your face 
is like home. I am rejoiced, Robert, 
to see you again," she added, under 
his kind gaze. 

Sara recovered her composure. 
She turned to the group about her, 
ignoring John Deering 's quizzical 

"This is an old friend, Ethel," 
she explained, smiling off the sup- 
pressed excitement, as Robert Grant- 
land began a pleasing description of 
a little Georgia girl of his remem- 

Sara was resourceful. She under- 
stood the art of reducing to order a 
chaotic condition of affairs. She was 
again the gracious hostess. With a 
bright remark — a word here and a 
smile there, she went on moulding her 
biscuits, and dimpling each with her 
palm, to the delight of her guests. 

A merry party gathered at length 
about the rough table, gaily bedecked 
Avitli apples, popcorn, and stick-candy 
— Gleudower's best. Then, what a 
feast — not so much of wonderful bis- 
cuit or golden butter as a banquet of, 
memory and "flow of soul." 

Aunt Ann served the guests in a 
prim and dignified manner. Her 
statuesque dignity, unconsciously 
posed, harmonized with the spirit of 
the occasion. But Sara! With what 
infinite tact, what exquiiste grace did 
she do the honors of the homely table ! 
How deft Avere her fingei^s! And, 
again, how light her jests, how joyous 
her abandon, feeling in her happy soul 
the tender watching of certain loving 
eyes. The demure, Puritan-like mai- 
den of the bread-tray was transformed 
into a creature of sparkling wit and 
merry jest. Aunt Ann lifted her tur- 
banned head in mild surprise. 

The banquet ended with a musical 
clinking of glasses, under the happy 
toast of Lieutenant Watterson 's "The 
Old and The New," to which Robert 
Grantland responded in eloquent and 
retrospective vein of a nation's past. 

The room was cleared for the Vir- 
ginia reel. The thumping of banjo 
and tedious tuning of the fiddle were 
followed at last by a stream of liquid 



music. Joe drew his bow across the 
strings with a steady hand, 

Sara led the reel, in slow and stately- 
fashion, Avith Mr. Deering. Graceful 
figures moved down the line with 
dainty step and rythmic tread. 
Ethel glided by with happy, shining 

"A white silk wedding gown, Sari," 
she whispered, irrepressibly. 

Sara caught the bright glance, but 
she heeded not. The years of toil were 
slipping back. Peace was hers at last. 

The music changed. She sat on 
Aunt Ann's knee for a moment's rest. 
The merry crowd flitted back and 
forth across the floor. Laughter was 
in the air, and happy voices. She 
watched the scene with lustrous eyes. 

' ' Shall we tread a measure, Sara ? ' ' 
and he, who was "one in a thousand" 
still, whose voice was sweeter than 
music, stood again before her. She 
turned to him \Adth a smile, as he took 
her in his arms. 

Aunt Ann, from her resting place 
on the hearth, leaned over toward the 
fiddler in excited protest. 

"Chune up dar, Joe! Chune up. 
man! Can't you see dat gal a step- 
pin'? M-y land — how easy she go! 
Chune up, Joe, I tell yer! Oh! Miss 
Sallie, honey, you've danced befo'." 

And never was music sweeter. 
Volumes of it rolled through the room ; 
rills of it streamed from the crevices 
of the cabin walls, and out upon the 
torchlight hills — music that dropped 
its liquid notes into the heart with a 
song of love, and joy, and home. 

The lights burned brightly. Holly 
berries glowed rich and warm from 
emerald wreaths. Christmas cheer 
was in the air, and laughter, with the 
hum of pleasant voices. 

Sara floated down the room, in a 
dream too happy for words. A brood- 
ing peace lay in her heart — a restful 
quiet, like sunshine from the Georgia 
skies. She saw before her, in long 
stretches of beautiful service, the satis- 
fying desires of her soul. Gone were 
the burdens, the dread and suspense, 
the unrequited toil. Hers was the 
recompense at last — ^the sheltering 
arms of her heart's beloved. 



Dear Lord, we daily cry to Thee 

As beggars asking alms, 
Always imploring Thee to fill 

Our empty, uplifted palms. 

Continually we turn to Thee 

From each hour's wrong and blight, 

As children to kind parents flee 
For refuge from affright. 

We chant our litanies of woe. 

Forgetting in our pain 
That streams of countless blessings flow 

Free as the gentle rain. 

Thy pardon. Lord, we humbly crave. 

And may we ever raise 
Altars within our willing hearts 

On which to offer praise. 


"Wealth is a quality of things causod 
by the wants, desires, or necessities of 
mankind. A thing that is not wanted 
is not wealth. A thing that is wanted 
is wealth, and the greater the neces- 
sity, the greater the wealth. 

A log may be worth a dollar as fire- 
wood, but if a man were to fall into 
deep water his necessity to keep afloat 
might make its value equal to all his 

What are dollars? 

They are things that can be trans- 
formed into all forms of wealth known 
to economics. If a man has dollars 
he has everj-thing he can desire. Dol- 
lars would not give him wisdom, or 
virtue, or innocence, but these quali- 
ties do not belong to economics. 

The experiences of mankind hav.J 
produced dollars of two kind.s. They 
are dollars that are paid, and dollars 
tkat are promised to be paid. Both 
are indispensable in conducting the 
business of the world. Credit is as 
important as cash. Banks deal with 
both cash dollars and credit dollars 
in the same way that everybody deals 
with cash and credit. The entire pro- 
cess comes from the experiences of 

In practical life everybody deals 
with wealth in the same waj^ There 
is no trouble with any of it until it is 
critically discussed, when the great 
majority of men gi wild. 

It is often said that labor makes 
wealth, but the history of the world 
does not produce a single exampL;. 
A man may live in the world for 
eighty years, having worked for many 
persons and many have worked for 
him. But he never worked to make 
wealth. In every case he worked for 

•dollars that were already made, and 
in the pockets of another man. The 
labor was done to get the dollar out 
of the other man's pocket into his 
own. If he thought the dollars were 
not in the other man's pocket he 
would throw up his job. The same 
is true of all who worked for him. 

Colonial speech is made up of 
tropes, metaphors, figures, and is not 
fit for critical statement. We say 
the sun rises and the sun sets, the 
rose is red, the grass is green. "We 
talk of moral forces, of human broth- 
erhood, all figurative. Wealth is an 
abstraction, and not an object, or 
thing, and as the majority of man- 
kind cannot comprehend abstractions, 
this quality must be combined with 
an object, or thing, to be reacquired. 

We say that labor made the grind- 
stone, that the grindstone is wealth, 
therefore labor makes wealth. But 
wants, and desires, make the quality 
of wealth that is in the grindstone. 
Wealth is on the chain of causation 
with wants and necessities, and not 
with labor. 

Labor is done to enable the individ- 
ual to get for himself the bounty of 
nature, and in no instance does it 
make the bounty. Successive phe- 
nomena are not always cause and ef- 
fect, however much they may appear 
to be so. 

The infant labors to supply its 
wants. It does not make its food. 
It does not make the vital air it 
breathes, and from the cradle to the 
grave the child, the youth, and the 
man, are economic products that sub- 
sist upon the bounty of nature. 

I. Lancaster. 

Fairhope, Ala. 



Chapter XXXI. 

FTER leaving Atlanta, 
with only her normal 
strength and flesh to 
regain, Jane Heming- 
way returned to her 
mountain home in 
most excellent spirits. 
She had heartily en- 
joyed her stay, and was quite in her 
best -mood before the eager group of 
neighbors who had gathered at her 
cottage the afternoon of her return. 

"What I can't understand," re- 
marked old Mrs. Penuckle, "is why 
you don't say more about the cutting. 
"Why, the knife wasn't going into me 
at all, and yet on the day I thought 
the doctors would be at work on you 
I couldn't eat my dinner. I went 
around shuddering, fancying I could 
feel the blade rake, rake through my 
vitals. Wasn't you awfully afraid?" 
"Bless your soul, no!" Jane laugh- 
ed merrily. "There wasn't a bit 
more of a quiver on me than there is 
right now. We was all talking in a 
funny sort of way and passing jokes 
to the last minute before they gave 
me ether. They gave it to me in a tin 
thing full of cotton that they clapped 
over my mouth and nose. I had to 
laugh, I remember, for, just as he got 
ready, Dr. Putnam said, with his sly 
grin, 'Look here, I'm going to muzzle 
you, old lady, so you can't talk any 
more about your neighbors.' " 

"Well, he certainly give 3'ou a bliff 
there without knowing it," remarked 
Sam Hemingway, diyly. "But he's 
a fool if he thinks a tin thing full o* 
drugs would do that." 

(CopjTight, 1906, by Harper & Bros.) 

"Oh, go on and tell us about the 
cutting," said Mrs. Penuckle, wholly 
oblivious of Sam's sarcasm. "That's 
what / come to hear about." 

"Well, I reckon getting under that 
ether was the toughest part of the 
job," Jane smiled. "I took one deep 
whiff of it, and I give you my word I 
thought the pesky stuff had burnt the 
lining out of my windpipe. But Dr. 
Putnam told me he'd give it to me 
more gradual, and he did. It still 
burnt some, but it begun to get easy, 
and I drifted off into the pleasantest 
sleep, I reckon, I ever had. When I 
come to and found nobody in the 
room but a girl in a white apron and 
a granny's cap, I was afraid they had 
decided not to operate, and, when I 
asked her if there had been a hitch, 
she smiled and said it was all over,, 
and I wouldn't have nothing to do but 
lie still and pick up." 

"It's wonderful how fine they've 
got things down these days," com- 
mented Sam. ."Ten years ago folks 
looked on an operation like that as 
next to a funeral, but it's been about 
the only picnic Jane's had since she 
was flying around with the boys." 

The subject of this jest joined 
the others in a good-natured laugh. 
"There was just one thing on my 
mind to bother me," she said, some- 
what more seriously, "and that was 
wondering who gave that money to 
Virginia. Naturally a thing like that 
would pester a person, especially where 
it was such a big benefit. I've been 
at Virginia to tell me, or give me some 
hint so I could find out myself, but 
the poor child looks awfully embar- 
rassed, and keeps reminding me of 



her promise. I reckon there isn't but 
one thing to do, and that is to let it 

"There's only one person round 
here that's got any spare money," 
said Sam HemingrAvay, quite with a 
straight face, "and it happens, too. 
that she'd like to have a thing like 
that done." 

"Why, Avho do you mean, Sam?" 
His sister-in-law fell into his trap, as 
she sat staring at him blandly, 

"Why, it 's^ Ann Boyd— old Sister 
Ann. She'd pay for a job like that 
on the bare chance of the saw-bones 
making a miss-lick and cutting too 
deep, or blood-pizen settin' in." 

"Don't mention that woman's name 
to me!" Jane said, angrily. "You 
know it makes me mad, and that's 
why you do it. I tried to keep a 
humble and contrite heart in me 
down there; but, folks, I'm going to 
confess to you all that the chief joy I 
felt in getting my health back was on 
account of that Avoman's disappoint- 
ment. I never mentioned it till now, 
but that meddlesome old hag actually 
knew about my ailment long before I 
let it out to a soul. Like a fool, I 
bought some fake medicine from a 
tramp peddler one day, and let him 
examine me. lie went straight over 
to Ann Boyd's and told her. Oh, I 
know he did, for she met me at the 
wash-hole, during the hot spell, when 
water was scarce, and actually gloated 
over my coming misfortune. She 
wouldn't say what the ill-luck was, 
but I kncAv what she was talking about 
and where she got her information." 

"I never thought that old wench 
was as black as she was painted." Sam 
declared, with as much firmness as he 
could command in the presence of so 
much femininity. "If this had been a 
community of men, instead of three- 
fourths the other sort, she'd have been 
reinstated long before this. I'll bet, 
if the Scriptural injunction for the 
innocent to cast the first stone was 
obeyed, there wouldn't be no hail- 

storm o' rocks in this neighborhood." 

"Oh, she would just suit a lot of 
men !" Jane said, in a tpne which indi- 
cated the very lowest estimation of 
her brother-in-law's opinion. "It 
takes women to size up women. I 
want to meet the old thing now, just 
to show her that I'm still alive and 

Jane had this opportunity sooner 
than she expected. Dr. Putnam had 
enjoined upon her a certain amount 
of physical exercise, and so one after- 
noon, shortly after getting back, she 
walked slowly do^^Ti to Wilson's store. 
It was on her return homeward, while 
passing a portion of Ann's pasture, the latter, with pencil and 
paper in hand, was laying out some 
ditches for drainage, that she saw her 

"Now, if she don't turn and run, 
I'll get a whack at her," she chuckled. 
"It will literally kill the old thing to 
see me walking so spry." 

Thereupon, in advancing, Jane 
quickened her step, putting a sort of 
jaunty swing to her whole gaunt 
frame. With only the worm fence 
and its rough clothing of wild vines 
and briere between them, the women 
met face to face. There was a strange, 
unaggressive wavering in Ajin's eyes, 
but her enemy did not heed it. 

* ' Ah ha ! " she cried. * * I reckon 
this is some surprise to you, Ann 
Boyd ! I reckon you won't brag about 
being such a wonderful health prophet 
now! I Avas told doAATi in Atlanta — 
by experts, mind you — that my heart 
and lungs were as sound as a dollar, 
and that, counting on the long lives 
of my folks on both sides, I'm good 
for fifty years yet." 

"Huh! I never gave any opinion 
on how long you'd live, that I Imow 
of," Ann said, sharpb''. 

"You didn't ht^gliv You didn't 
that day at the wash-place when you 
stood over me and shook your finger 
in my face and said you knew what 
my trouble was, and was waiting to 



see it get me down? Now, I reckon 
you remember!" 

"I don't remember saying one 
word about yoiu' cancer, if that's what 
you are talking about," Ann sniffed. 
"I couldn't 'a' said anything about 
it, for I didn't know you had it." 

"Now, I know tJiat's not so; you 
are just trying to take backwater, be- 
cause you are beat. That peddler that 
examined me and sold me a bottle of 
medicine went right to your house, 
and you pumped him dry as to my 

"Huh! he said you just had a stiff 
arm," said Ann. "I wasn't alluding 
to that at all." 

"You say you wasn't, then what 
ivas you talking about? I'd like to 
know. ' ' 

"Well, that's for me to know and 
you to find out, ' ' Ann said, goaded to 
anger, "I don't have to tell you all 
I know and think. Now, you go on 
about your business, Jane Heming- 
way, and let me alone." 

"I'll never let you alone as long as 
there's a breath left in my body," 
Jane snarled. "You know what you 
are ; you are a disgrace- to the county. 
You are a close-fisted, bad woman — 
as bad as they make them. You ought 
to be drummed out of the community, 
and you would be, too, if you didn't 
have so much ill-gotten gains laid 

There was a pause, for Jane was 
out of breath. Ann leaned over the 
fence, ciTishing her sheet of paper in 
her tense fingers. " I '11 tell you some- 
thing," she said, her face white, her 
eyes flashing like those of a powerful 
beast goaded to desperation by an ani- 
mal too small and agile to reach — 
"I'll tell you one thing. For reasons 
of my own I've tried to listen to cer- 
tain spiritual advice about loving ene- 
mies. Jesus Christ laid the law down, 
but He lived before you was born, 
Jane Hemingway. There isn't an 
angel at God's throne today that could 
love you. I'd as soon try to love a 

hissing rattlesnake, standing coiled in 
my path, as touch a dried-up bundle 
of devilment as you are. Could I hit 
back at you now? Could 11 Huh! 
I could tell you something, you old 
fool, that would humble you in the 
dust at my feet and make you crawl 
home with your nose to the earth like 
a whipped dog. And I reckon I'm a 
fool not to do it, when you are push- 
ing me this way. You come to gloat 
over me because your rotton body feels 
a little bit stronger than it did. I 
could make you forget your dirty car- 
cass. I could make you so sick at the 
soul you'd vomit a prayer for mercy 
every minute the rest of your life. 
But I won't do it, as mad as I am. 
I'll not do it. You go your way, and 
I '11 go mine. 

Jane Hemingway stared wildly. 
The light of triumph had died out in 
her thin, superstitious face. She 
leaned, as if for needed support, on 
the fence onlj'- a few feet from her 
enemj'. Superstition was her w-eakest 
point, and it was only natural now 
for her to fall under its spell. She 
recalled Ann's fierce words prophesy- 
ing some mysterious calamity which 
was to overtake her, and placed them 
beside the words she had just had 
hurled at her, and their combined ef- 
fect was deadening. 

"You think you know lots," she 
found herself saying, mechanically. 

"Well, I know what I know!" Ann 
retorted, still furious. "You go on 
about your business. You'd better let 
me alone, woman. Some day I may 
fasten these two hands around that 
scrawny neck of yours and shake some 
decency into you." 

Jane shrank back instinctively. She 
was less influenced, however, by the 
threat of bodily harm than by the sin- 
ister hint, now looming large in her 
imagination, that had preceded it. 
Ann was moving away, and she soon 
found herself left alone with thoughts 
which made any but agreeable com- 



"What can llie woman mean?" she 
muttered, as she slowly pui-sued her 
way. "]Maybe she's just doing that 
to worry me. But no, she was in earn- 
est — dead in earnest — both times. She 
never says things haphazard; she's no 
fool, either. It must be something 
simply awful or she wouldn't mention 
it just that way. Now, I'm going to 
let this take hold of me and worry me 
night and day like the cancer did." 

She paused and stood in the road 
panting, her hand, by force of habit, 
resting on her breast. Looking across 
the meadow, she saw Ann Boyd stur- 
dily trudging homeward through the 
waist-high bulrushes. The slanting 
rays of the sun struck the broad back 
of the sturdy outcast and illumined 
the browTi cotton-land which stretched 
on beyond her to the foot of the moun- 
tain. Jane Hemingway caught her 
breath and moved on homeward, pon- 
dering over the mystery which was 
now running rife in her throbbing 
brain. Yes, it was undoubtedly some- 
thing terrible— but what? That was 
the question — what ? 

Reaching home, she was met at the 
door by Virginia, who came forward 
solicitously to take her shawl. A big 
log-fire, burning in the wide chimney 
of the sitting-room, lighted it up with 
a red glow. Jane sank into her favor- 
ite chair, listlessly holding in her 
hands the small parcel of green coffee 
she had bought at the store. 

"Let me have it," Virginia said. 
"I must parch it and grind it for 
supper. The coffee is all out." 

As the girl moved away with the 
parcel, Jane's eyes followed her. 
"Should she tell her daughter what 
had taken place?" she asked herself. 
Perhaps a younger, fresher mind could 
unravel the grave puzzle. But how 
could she bring up the matter without 
betraying the fact that she had been 
the aggressor? No, she must simply 
nnrse her new fears in secret for a 
while and hope for — well, what could 
she hope for, anyway? She lowered 

her head, her sharp elbows on her 
knees, and stared into the fire. Surely 
fate was against her, and it was never 
intended for her to get the best of Ann 
Boyd in any encounter. Through all 
her illness she had been buoyed up by 
the triumphant picture of Ann Boyd's 
chagrin at seeing her sound of body 
again, and this had been the result. 
Instead of humiliating Ann, Ann had 
filled her quaking soul with a thou- 
sand intangible, rapidly augmenting 
fears. The cloud of impending dis- 
aster stretched black and lowering 
across Jane Hemingivay's horizon. 

Sam came in with a bundle of roots 
in his arms, and laid them carefully 
on a shelf. "I've dug me some sassa- 
fras of the good, red variety," he 
said, over his shoulder, to her. "You 
folks that Avant to can spend money 
at drug stores, but in the fall of the 
year, if I drink plenty of sassafras tea 
instead of coffee, it thins my blood 
and puts me in apple-pie order. But 
I reckon you don't want your blood 
any thinner than them doctors left it. 
Right now you look as flabby and lim- 
ber as a wet rag. What ails you, 

"I reckon I walked too far, right 
at the start," Jane managed to fish 
from her confused mind. "I'm go- 
ing to be more careful in the future." 

"Well, you'd better," Sam opined. 
"You may not find folks as ready to 
invest in your burial outfit as they 
was to prevent you from needing 

Chapter XXXII. 

The following morning, in her neat- 
est dress and white sun-bonnet, Vir- 
ginia walked to Wilson's store to buy 
some sewing-thread. She was on her 
way back, and was traversing the 
most sequestered part of the road, 
where a brook of clear mountain water 
ran rippling by, and an abundance of 
willows and reeds hid the spot from 



view of any one approaching, when 
she was startled by Langdon Chester 
suddenl}' appearing before her from 
behind a big, moss-grown bowlder. 

"Don't run, Virginia — for God's 
sake don't run!" he said, humbly. 
"I simply must speak to you." 

"But I told you I didn't want to 
meet you again," Virginia answered, 
sternly. "Why won't you leave mo 
alone? If I've acted the fool and 
lowered myself in my estimation for 
all the rest of my life, that ought to 
be enough. It is as much as I can 
stand. You've simply got to stop fol- 
lowing me up." 

"You don't understand, Virginia," 
he pleaded. "You admit you feel dif- 
ferent since that night; grant the 
same to me. I've passed through ab- 
solute torment. I thought, after you 
talked to me so angrily the last time I 
saw you, that I could forget it if I 
left. I went to Atlanta, but I suf- 
fered worse than ever down there. I 
was on the verge of suicide. You see, 
I learned how dear you had become 
to me." 

"Bosh! I don't believe a word of 
it!" Virginia retorted, her eyes flash- 
ing, though her face was deathly pale. 
"I don't believe any man could really 
care for a girl and treat her as you 
did me that night. God knows I did 
MTong — a wrong that will never be 
undone, but I did it for the sake of 
my suffering mother. That's the only 
thing I have to lessen my self -con- 
tempt, and that is little; but you — 
you — oh, I don 't want to talk to you ! 
I want to blot it all — everything about 
it— from my mind." 

' ' But you haven 't h e a r d m e 
through," he said, advancing a step 
nearer to her, his face ablaze with ad- 
miration and unsatisfied passion. "I 
find that I simply can't live without 
you, and as for what happened that 
awful night, I've come to wipe it out 
in the most substantial way a self-re- 
specting man can. I've come to ask 

you to marry mo, Virginia — to be my 

"To be your wife!" she gasped. 
"Me — you — ive — marry — you and I? 
Live together, as — " 

"Yes, dear, that's what I mean. I 
know you are a good, pure girl, and 
I am simply miserable without you. 
No human being could imagine the 
depth of my love. It has simply 
driven me crazy, along with the way 
you have acted lately. IMy father and 
mother may object, but it's got to be 
done, and it will all blow over. Now, 
Virginia, what will you say? I leave 
it all to you. You may name the place 
and time — I'm your slave from now 
on. Your wonderful grace and beauty 
have simply captured me. I'll do the 
best I can to hold up my end of the 
thing. My cousin, Chester Sively, is 
a good sort of a chap, and, to be 
frank, when he saw how miserable I 
was down tliere, he drew it out of me. 
I told him my folks would object and 
make it hot for me, but that I could 
not live without you, and he advised 
me to come straight home and pro- 
pose to you. You see, he thought per- 
haps I had offended you in not mak- 
ing my intentions plainer at the start, 
and that when you knew how I felt 
you would not be so hard on me. 
Now, you are not going to be, are you, 
little girl? After all those delicious 
walks we used to have, and the things 
you have at least let me believe, T 
know you won't go back on me. Oh, 
we'll have a glorious time! Chester 
will advance me some money, I am 
sure, and we'll take a trip. We'll sail 
from Savannah to New York and stay 
away, by George, till the old folks 
come to their senses. I admit I was 
wrong in all that miserable business. 
I ought to have given you that money 
and not made you come for it, but be- 
ing a mad fool like that once doesn't 
prove I can't turn over a new leaf. 
Now, you try me." 

He advanced towards her, his hand 



extended to clasp hers, but she sud- 
denly drew back. 

"I couldn't think of marrying 
you," she said, almost under her 
breath. "I couldn't under any pos- 
sible circumstances." 

"Oh, Virginia, you don't mean 
that!" he cried, crestfallen. "You 
are still mad about being — being 
frightened that night, and that old 
hag finding out about it. No woman 
would relish having another come up 
at just such an awkward moment and 
get her vile old head full of all sorts 
of unfair notions. But this, you see — 
3^ou are old enough to see that mar- 
riage actually puts everything 
straight, even to the bare possibility 
of anything ever leaking out. That's 
why I think you will act sensibly." 

To his sui-prise, Virginia, without 
looking at him, covered her face with 
her hands. He saw her pretty should- 
ers rise as if she had smothered a sob. 
Hoping that she was moved by the 
humility and earnestness of his ap- 
peal, he caught one of her hands gently 
and started to pull it from her face. 
But, to his surprise, she shrank back 
and stared straight and defiantly in 
his eyes. 

"That's the way you look at it!" 
she cried, indignantly. "You think 
I hopelessly compromised myself by 
what I did, and that I'll have to tie 
myself to you for life in consequence ; 
but I won't. I'd rather die. I could- 
n't live with you. I hate you! I de- 
test you! I hate and detest you be- 
cause you've made me detest myself. 
To think that I have to stand here 
listening to a proposal in — in the hu- 
miliating way j^ou make it!" 

"Look here, Virginia, you are going 
too far!" he cried, white with the 
dawning realization of defeat and 
quivering in every limb. "You are 
no fool, if you are only a girl, and 
you know that a man in — well, in my 
position, will not take a thing like this 
calmly. I've been desperate, and I 

hardly knew what I was about, but 
this — I can't stand this, Virginia." 

""Well, I couldn't marry you," she 
answered. "If you were a king and 
I a poor beggar, I wouldn't agree to 
be your wife. I 'd never marry a man 
I did not thoroughly respect, and I 
don't respect you a bit. In fact, 
knowing you has only shown me how 
fine and noble, by contrast, other men 
are. Since this thing happened, one 
man — " She suddenly paused. Her 
impulse had led her too far. He 
glared at her for an instant, and then 
suddenly grasped her hand and held 
it in such a tight, brutal clasp that she 
writhed in pain, but he held onto it, 
twisting it in his unconscious fuiy. 

"I know who you mean," he said. 
"I see it all now. You have seen Luke 
King, and he has been saying sweet 
things to you. Ann Boyd is his 
friend, too, and she hates me. But 
look here, if you think I will stand 
having a man of that stamp defeat 
me, you don't know me. You don't 
know the lengths a Chester will go to 
to gain a point. I see it all. You've 
been different of late. You used to 
like him, and he has been talking to 
you since he got back. It will cer- 
tainly be a dark day for him when he 
dares to step between me and my 

"You are going entirely too fast," 
Virginia said, grown suddenly cau- 
tious. "There's nothing, absolutely 
nothing, between Luke King and my- 
self, and, moreover, there never will 

"You may tell that to a bigger fool 
than I am," Chester fumed. "I 
know there is something between you 
two, and, frankly, trouble is brewing 
for him. He may write his long- 
winded sermons about loving man- 
kind, and bask in the praise of the 
sentimental idiots Avho dote on him, 
but I'll draw hiin back to practical 
things. I'll bring him down to the 
good, old-fashioned Avay of settling 
matters between men." 



"Well, it's cowardly of you to keep 
me here by brute force," Virginia 
said, finally wresting her hand from 
his clasp and beginning to walk on- 
ward. "I've said there is nothing be- 
tween him and me, and I shall not re- 
peat it. If you want to raise a fuss 
over it, you will only make yourself 

"Well, I'll look after that part of 
it," he cried, beside himself with rage. 
"No mountain razor-back stripe of 
man like he is can lord it over me, 
simply because the scum of creation is 
backing up his shallow ideas with 
money. I'll open his eyes." 

And Langdon Chester, too angry 
and disappointed to be ashamed of 
himself, stood still and allowed her to 
go on her way. A boy driving a 
drove of mules turned the bend of 
the road, and Chester stepped aside, 
but when they had passed he stood 
still and watched Virginia as she 
slowly pursued her way. 

"Great God, how am I to stand 
it?" he groaned. "I want her! I 
want her! I'd work for her. I'd 

(To he Continued.) 

slave for her. I'd do anything under 
high heaven to be able to call her my 
own — all my own ! My God, isn't she 
beautiful? That mouth, that prouc> 
poise of head, that neck and breast 
and form ! Were there ever such eyes 
set in a human head before — such a 
maddening lip, such a — oh, I can't 
stand it! I wasn't made for defeat 
like this. Marry her? I'd marry her 
if it impoverished every member of 
my family. I'd marry her if the 
honeymoon ended in my death. At 
any rate, I would have lived awhile. 
Does Luke King intend to marry her? 
Of course he does — he has scai her; 
but sludl he? No, there is one thing 
certain, and that is that I could never 
live and know that she was receiving 
another man's embraces. I'd kill him 
if it damned me eternally. And yet 
I've played my last and laiggest card. 
She won't marry me. She would 
once, but she won't noiv. Yes, I'm 
facing a big, serious thing, but I'll 
face it. If he tries to get her, the 
world will simply be too small for both 
of us to live in together." 



(Copyright, 1906, By Thos. E. "Watson). 

Chapter XIV. 

During: the' whole time that Jackson was in the woods of Alabama, 
relentlessly crushing the Creeks, the War of 1812 was running its course, 
on land and sea. 

There never was an administration less adapted to manage military 
operations than that of James Madison. He had no turn for that sort 
of thing himself, and nobody in his Cabinet was equal to the emergency. 
Without any real preparation whatever, the United States rushed into 
a conflict with a nation which had been on a war footing for twenty 

British soldiers and sailors had been trained, by actual service, into 
an efficiency which made them the best fighting men that the world could 
produce. In the Peninsula, under Wellington, the English infantry 
and cavalry had become almost invincible. On the ocean, Nelson had 
won such magnificent triumphs that no European nation even thought of 
rivalling Britain's rule of the waves. 

It was against this warlike nation, which had been in training for 
twenty years, that the ardent Henry Clay and the timid James Madison 
went to war — forgetting the difference between the cause of ivar in 1776 
and that in 1812. 

Battling for elemental human rights and against foreign control, 
with the North and the South united — hand to hand, heart to heart— 
the American people were in a totally different attitude in 1776 from 
that of 1812. To defend one's self, to resist the foreign invader, is one 
thing; to make war for a principle and to begin that war by invading 
some other country is quite another. More especially Avas such a war 
bound to be doubtful when New England hotly opposed it. 

While the insolence and the outrages perpetrated upon us by Great 
Britain were almost unbearable, they were no worse at the time we began 
the War of 1812 than they had been during the two preceding adminis- 
trations. Even under President Washington, we endured infractions 
of treaty and outrages to our commerce, without armed protest. When 
Wa.shington signed the infamous Jay treaty, he must have done so with 
bitterness of soul, for its conditions were harsh and humiliating. 

As such matters go, there was ample cause of war in 1812, but as we 
had waited that long we might at least have waited a little while longer, 
and spent the time in unifying the countr.y, and gcttiuQ ready io fight. 

The nominal cause of war were the British Orders in Council which 


had cut off our maritime commerce. Those Orders had been revoked 
before the Declaration of War was published, but our Government could 
not know it. The tidings came after Detroit had been surrendered by- 
General Hull, and the United States disavowing the armistice which 
General Dearborn had concluded with the enemy, renewed the orders 
for the invasion of Canada. 

It would seem that had General Dearborn sent by courier, instead of 
by mail, a letter to General Hull stating that the Orders in Council had 
been revoked and an armistice agreed on, his surrender would not have 
been made, that stinging blow to American pride not have been given, 
and the Administration might have ratified the armistice. Negotiations 
and an honorable peace would probably have followed. But General 
Dearborn — almost incredihle to relate! — mailed his letter to General Hull, 
and it was eight days in going the three hundred miles which separated 
Albany from Niagara. When it reached the river, Hull had been a 
prisoner for two days. 

So, the war went on — in a half-distracted, hap-hazard, feeble, inter- 
mittent sort of waj'', which was disgraceful. The troops were raw levies, 
mainly, and there was no drilling worth mention. The officers w^ere 
mostly new men, without military talent, or revolutionary veterans who 
had outlived their usefulness. Among these there were feuds which 
caused them to hate each other more rancorously than they hated the 
British. Then there was hunger among the American soldiers, and 
intense suffering for the want of woolen clothing, shoes and blankets. 
The hardships encountered by the Kentucky and Indiana men in their 
winter march to the Maumee and to the river Raisin, were so terrible, 
that those of Jackson's troops in Alabama seem trifling. Think of 
soldiers wearing the loose, cotton hunting-shirts, many of the men bare- 
footed, in the mid-winter of the Northwest, trudging through the icy 
slush, sleeping on the frozen ground, facing sleet and snow, hungry 
as wolves most of the time ! 

And during this period of privation and suffering for the American 
soldiers, the patriots of New York and Vermont were supplying the 
British wdth abundant food. Thus treason was turned into a profitable 
commerce and the enemy, fed by our own people, was enabled to maintain 
a force which otherwise could not have been held on the Canadian frontier. 

The story of this War of 1812 cannot be t6ld, in detail, here. IMost 
of us are familiar with the leading events. Our memories pass in review 
the shameful surrender of Detroit by poor old General Hull, who Avas 
afterwards sentenced to be shot for his cowardice, and whose life was 
saved by Mr. Madison's clemency. There was the gallant but abortive 
attempt of Van Rensselaer to capture Queenstown. There were the 
boastful proclamations and ludicrous doings of General Alexander Smyth, 
who was finally hooted out of the service and who crept back to Virginia 
by the side roads. There w^as the complete failure of General Dearborn. 
There were the quarrels and the incapacity of Generals Wilkinson and 
Wade Hampton. There was the amazing repulse of the American army 
by a handful of men in a little stone mill on Laeolle Creek — one glorious 
result of which was that it put Wilkinson out of the army. 

There were the splendid courage and ability of the younger generals, 
Scott and Brown, and that heroic struggle of Lundy's Lane. But there 


was also the outrage of burning York (Toronto) -which Avas later to have 
its revenge in the burning of Washington. 

In the Northwest there Avas the fatal division of Winchester's army, 
tlie march on Frenelitown, the surprise of the Americans by an over- 
whelming force of the enemy, and there, too, Avas a surrender, to be 
followed by the massacre of the Avounded prisoners by the maddened 
Indians. Then there Avas the action known as the Battle of the Thames, 
and AA'hich Avas, so far as I can make out, nothing more than one resistless 
onset made by the regiment of mounted Kentuckians. The cavalry 
charge Avas so Avell timed and so Avell led that the Indians Avere struck 
Avlien in confusion, Avere scattered like chaff, and then the British broke 
and left the field. Practically no fighting Avas done by the infantry 
at all. In the Battle of the Thames, Teeiunseh Avas killed. The Avhites 
disgraced themselves by slicing strips of flesh off the dead chief's limbs, 
to keep as trophies. 

Nor must Ave forget hoAv young George Groghan refused to evacuate 
Fort Stephenson Avhen General Harrison ordered him out; and mingled. 
Avith our great admiration for Groghan, Avho beat oft* the enemy, is a 
feeling of indignation against Harrison Avho, although close by, refused 
to^o to the support of the heroic defender of the Fort. 

This is Avhat Wellington used to say to his intimates, concerning the 
long-draAvn battle of Waterloo: '^f I had had the army Avhich broke up 
at Bordeaux, I Avould have SAvept him off the face of the earth in tAvo 
hours!" And the Duke Avould illustrate by sweeping his arm over the 

As is Avell knoAvn, a portion of "the army Avhich broke up at 
Bordeaux" came over to take part in the War of 1812, and Ave cannot 
but speculate on Avhat Avould have happened had all those veterans been 
concentrated on the Canadian frontier, and sent doAvn upon Ncav York, 
Avhile a feAv Avar vessels cooperated by sea. It is practically certain that 
nowhere in the East, North, or Northwest Avas there an American army 
Avhich could have Avithstood the seasoned strength of these Peninsula 

As Fate Avould have it, these soldiers Avith Avhom the Duke of Welling- 
ton felt sure that he could have brushed Napoleon off the face of the 
earth in tAvo hours, Avere' sent SouthAvard — and there Avas Avhere the 
United States had the seasoned captains, the Avell-trained troops, the 
practised marksmen, Avho Avere best fitted to reverse that "sAveeping" 

After the last great victory of AndrcAv Jackson over the Creeks, at the 
Horse Shoe Bend, an incident occurred Avhieh docs him immortal honor. 
lie refused to engage in a personal fight. 

This is the Avay it happened : Colonel William King, of King's MeadoAvs, 
(now Bristol, Tcnn.), Avas the son of the Colonel James King Avho in 1795 
furnished the money Avith Avhieh General Jackson and Colonel Overton 
purchased the ChickasaAV Bluff's, Avhere the city of INIemphis noAV stands. 
The victory of the Horse Shoe Bend Avas largdy due to Colonel William 
King and his men. Indeed, it is claimed that he Avas the first man Avho 
crossed the breastwork. After the battle, Colonel King Avas made so 
angry by the slight mention given him in Jackson's report, that he sent 


a friend to his superior officer with the message, "Lay off your stripes, 
and I will challenge you to a duel." 

This reminds me of an incident related to me by an ex-Confederate 
soldier, (Sol. Andrews), when I was teaching .school in Screven 
County, more than thirty years ago. General Pat Cleburne had in some 
way made one of his troopers furiously angry, and the soldier said to 
the General: "If it wasn't for them epaulettes of j^our'n, I'd give you a 
d — n good licking." 

At the word. General Cleburne threw himself off his horse, flung 
his coat upon the ground and pointing to it, exclaimed: ^^ There lies 
General Cleburne! Now walk into old Pat." Wliereupon the irate 
soldier walked into old Pat and in about two minutes old Pat was one of 
the worst whipped men that ever lived. And as he picked up "General 
Cleburne" oft' the ground, it probably dawned upon old Pat that both 
the General and Old Pat had made fools of themselves. 

Now, when General Andrew Jackson was asked b}' Colonel 
William King to lay aside those epaulettes, he declined to do it. Nobly, 
he said to Colonel King's messenger: "Go and tell Colonel King 
that our countiy cannot afford to lose such men as he and I. Therefore, 
I will not fight him. I will correct my report in which I inadvertently 
failed to give him and his men the credit they deserv^e. ' ' 

This manly reply, of course, disarmed Colonel King, and his friend- 
ship for Jackson was made warmer and stronger than ever. 


Turning his army over to General Pinckney. Jackson returned to 
Tennessee — this time as the conquering hero. But his health gave way, 
and for several weelvs he was prostrated at the Hermitage. May 22, 
1814, brought him, from Washington, the appointment to the rank of 
brigadier-general in the regular army; and six days later another 
messenger brought him the appointment to the rank of major-general, 
in the place of William Henry Harrison, resigned. 

In obedience to orders, Jackson left home in the latter part of June 
and reached Fort Jackson, in Alabama, July 9th, 1814. Here he was 
instructed to conclude a definite treaty of peace with the Creek chiefs. 

Summoned to this Council at their Hickory Ground, the red men 
came. — those who had fought with Jackson and those who had fought 
against him. The Big Warrior had been heroically faithful to the 
whites throughout the war. He had kept Jackson reinforced by several 
hundred warriors, his hunters had helped to feed the camp, his scouts 
had kept him informed of every movement of the Red Sticks. He now 
came to the Council where peace-terms were to be agreed on, and he 
must have anticipated a generous reward for himself and his people 
for their devotion to the cause of the whites. Weatherford, the leading 
chief of the hostiles, was likewise summoned and he also, came to the 
Council, but he sagely declined to waste words in the deliberations. He 
said, in substance: "The loser pays. I am here to learn what terms 
the whites impose. Then I will submit, because I can't help it." 

A most sensible man — this Weatherford. He seems to have read 
Jackson's character like an open book. He realized that the only way 
to get what he wanted of Jackson was to humor him — as the Kitchen 
Cabinet and Pegg}^ O'Neal aftenvards did. Therefore, Weatherford 
sided with Jackson throughout the painful and prolonged negotiations, 


and after the terms liad been forced through, the astute Weatherford 
got what he wanted — an exception clause Avhich allowed him to keep 
and live on his fine plantation on Little Kiver, inside the territory which 
Jackson was taking away from the Creeks. 

Great was the astonishment and indignation of the Big Warrior and 
the other friendly chiefs when they learned that they were not only 
not going to be rewarded for their services, but that they were going 
to be punished, along with the hostiles, just as though they had all 
been Red Sticks. 

Hard, hard was this treaty; stern, pitilessly severe, were Jackson's 
methods in forcing the chiefs to sign. Virtually, he told them that 
they must sign, or he would destroy them. Then they signed. He 
compelled them to give up all Southern and Western Alabama, and 
cooped them in the territoiy between the Coosa and the Chattahoochee. 

With a pathetic effort at propitiation and to avert future attacks 
from the terrible Jackson, the Indian chiefs, by separate treaty, sought 
to give him a large tract of fine land. Congress did not ratify the 

Not until Aug. 9, 1814, w-as this treaty of Fort Jackson signed, 
and the General free to carry out the further order that he should 
take command at Mobile. 

Jackson had long had his heart set on having a brush with the 
Dons. That Spain was at peace with the United States did not matter 
at all, for the Spaniards were allowing the English to make Florida 
a base for military operations against us. 

At Pensaeola, a certain foolish Major Edward NichoUs was issuing 
absurd proclamations to the people of Louisiana and Kentucky, had 
seized the Spanish forts, had run up the British fiag, and was trying to 
make soldiers out of a few Red Sticks who had drifted to the town 
after the battles of the Creek War. 

Also at Pensaeola was Captain Percy, of the British Navy, with 
two sloops of war, Hermes and Carron. ffl 

No sooner had Jackson come to Mobile than these two English 
officers began to plan to attack him. First they made the attempt to 
enlist the Lafitte brothers and their forces — the alleged pirates of 
Barataria. This effort failing, they brought their own forces to bear 
upon Fort Bowyer, at the entrance of j\Iobile Bay. 

On Sept. 15th, 1814, the Fort was attacked both by land and water. 
The guns of four vessels {Hermes, Carron, Sophie and Childcrs), and 
the battery planted behind the sand hills bombarded the Fort, where 
Major William Lawrence, with eight guns and one hundred and sixty 
men were determined to make good the war-cry of the day, "Don't give 
up the fort." 

The British vessels carried, in all. seventy-eight guns; in the land battery 
were two ; but the marksmanship of the Americans was so much better 
than that of the enemy that the attack ended in complete failure. The 
Hermes, her cable cut, drifted, grounded, w\as set on fire by Percy, and 
blew up. The other vessels drew off, and early next morning the expe- 
dition returned to Pensaeola. 

Jackson, who was a great hand at proclamations himself, had issued 
two calls, one to the whites and one to the free negroes of Louisiana, 
urging them to enlist in defense of their liberties and their country. 


By this time, Sept. 181-i. the War Department was sending letters 
to the General, warning him that England meant to attack New Orleans. 
In October, j\Ionroe again wrote that an army of 15,000 men had set 
sail from Ireland for New Orleans. 

But Jackson was bent upon taking Pcnsaeola. 

On Nov. 2, 1814, the General set out at the head of 2,800 men to 
invade Spanish Florida. On the 6th of the same month he appeared 
before Pensacola, and demanded the surrender of the town and the forts. 
His demand being refused, he marclud into Pensacola, without meeting 
any resistance to speak of, and the Spaniards ran up the white flag. 

In the year 1874, I was asked to visit a veteran of the War of 
1812 and to make out certain portions of hi-; application for a pension. 
I remember that the old fellow was barricaded in his house, to keep off 
service in some bankruptcy proceedings, I think. 

I was passed through the picket line, however, and proceeded to fill 
out the blanks in his application for pension. One of the questions 
required that he should relate an incident of the war. I remember 
quite well the veteran's reply to that particular question. 

He said that he was standing close to Gen. Jackson at Pensacola, when 
the Spaniards ran up the white flag, and tliat Jackson acknowledged 
the signal tvith his pocket handkerchief. 

The old fellow stood up, totteringly, and showed me the motion 
which Jackson made with hand and arm. Up, then straight down, went 
the old man's hand, in which he held his handkerchief, — and that's the 
way Old Hickory answered the Dons, according to this survivor of the 

]\Iajor Nicholls hastily evacuated Fort Barrancas, and took refuge 
on the British ships. — having first spiked his guns and laid the train 
for the blowing up of the Fort. 

Having done what he came to do — to drive out the English and 
the Indians, and make an impression on the minds of the Dons, — Jackson 
returned to Mobile. 


(1). From excessive rains the roads in Alabama had been almost 
impassable. The army, which was on the march, suddenly came to a halt. 
Jackson, who was some distance from the front, started on a gallop 
to learn the cause. On nearing the head of the column, he saw a wagon 
mired in the mud, the team unable to move it. and a young man swear- 
ing at the driver and beating the mules. Jackson immediately called 
for a long, stout rope and ordered one end fastened to the front axle, 
then called for volunteers to take hold of the rope, while he took hold 
of a hind wheel, and gave the word to pull, "all together." Out went 
the wagon, while the swearing young man looked on in silence. Jackson 
approached him Avith the inquiry : ' ' Wliy did you not do this 1 ' ' Because, 
sir, I am an officer; I am an ensign." ''An ensign, indeed! Well, I 
am General Jackson, commanding this anny, and I did not think it 
beneath my dignity to put my shoulder to the wheel." The soldiers 
talked and laughed at the fellow until he resigned, and returaed to the 



(2). On one occasion. Avhile the army was in camp, and Jackson 
in his tent, surrounded by his stafl! and many officers, ha\'ing a merry 
time telling anecdotes, a captain appeared at the entrance of the 
tent. One of Jackson's staff, observing him, approached and inquired, 
"What do you wish?" "I would like to speak to the General," he 
answered. Jackson, seeing him about the same time, invited him in. 
"What is the trouble. Captain?" asked Jackson. "Why, General, I have 
a complaint to make." "What is it, Captain?" "]\Iy soldiers do not 
treat me with proper respect." "In what way, Captain?" "They call 
me names; they call me Captain Bigfoot." "Well, let me see your foot, 
Captain, set it on that box there." The Captain hesitated, but finally 
placed his foot on the box. Jackson looked at it, and remarked: "Well, 
by the Eternal; Captain, you have got a good-sized foot." And every- 
body roared, — except the Captain, — who was greatly embarrassed. But 
Jackson, to relieve the Captain, said to him: "Captain, if I were you I 
would pay no attention to it. They call me names too, — they call me Old 
Hickory, because they think I am tough, and my face rough like a shell- 
bark hickory." "No, General, I can't stand it, and I want to tender my 
resignation." "All right, sir, I think you are better adapted to handle 
the plow than the sword." 

My father said this was a Captain ^McCloud, of Sullivan County, Tenn. 

(For these anecdotes I am indebted to ]\Ir. Geo. A. Alexander, of 
Washington, D. C.) 

Errata : Where Lookout Mountain was mentioned, in the preceding 
Chapter No. 13 of this biography of Jackson, Missionary Ridge should 
have been named. Just one of those slips of memoiy which will occur in 
the rapidity of composition. 



ID you catch a beau 
while you were gone, 

A most provoking 

smile and eye-twinkle 

accompanied the 

words, and deepened 

at the reply which 

his niece gave — a "No" Avhich was 

meant to be supremely indifferent, 

but was a miserable failure. 

Instead of relenting, however, 
Hugh Wynne, the handsome bachelor 
uncle, persisted, prolonging the tor- 
ture until Mrs. Page, Jessie's widowed 
aunt came to his aid, which she invari- 
ably did. 

"Don't mind you '11 be here the day 
of the sale. Why, you're twenty- 
five and going on, aren't you?" 

This roused Aunt Lily; as the 
scheming tormentor knew any refer- 
ence to age would. 

"When I was your age, Jessie," 
she began in her languishing voice. 

But Jessie did not wait for the 
remainder, she knew it too well. With 
one sweep of her arm she gathered 
all her sketching materials in her 
apron, and ran from the porch and 
doAvn the walk, banging the gate be- 
hind her as Uncle Hugh's aggravat- 
ing laugh reached her, followed by the 
words: "Live in hope, if you die in 
despair. ' ' 

These words, together with those of 
her aunt, completed from memory, 
"Wlien I was your age, Jessie, I had 
been a wife five years and a widow 
two," rang in her ears every step of 
the way to her favorite haunt, a 
pretty vine-embowered nook by the 
big clear pond, about two hundred 
yards from the house. She did not 

slacken her speed until she had 
reached her little retreat, and then 
the raging flood burst bounds. Angiy 
teare rolled swiftly down her cheeks 
and fierce whispered words helped to 
relieve the pressure. 

"I can't go away for a little visit, 
but it's looked upon as a sally after 
a man. First thing when I come 
back somebody wants to know if I 
caught one. I'll save myself the 
trouble of answering next time. I 
shall pin on a big white card with the 
result printed in bold black letters. 
If unsuccessful: "No man yet;" the 
contrary: "I've caught that man at 

A few more tears and vehement 
resolves and the stonn abated. She 
settled herself and began to sketch a 
pretty bit of scenery on the opposite 
side of the pond. 

"I'll make myself a great painter," 
she said to herself, "and maybe I 
won't be laughed at if I am an old 
maid. I don't think famous people 
are supposed to care veiy much about 
marrying — too absorbed in their 
work, at least it is only a secondary 

With this unsupported and un- 
proved idea she began diligently to 
work, and proved her talent to be far 
beyond the ordinary. As her satis- 
faction grew with the progress of the 
work, she followed a never-failing 
precedent — laid aside her work and 
proceeded wdth child-like abandon to 
enjoy her surroundings. 

Only a few minutes of rapt nature 
worship had elapsed when she heard 
footsteps, and, looking up, she saw 
her companion and friend since child- 
hood, Hart Brinson. 



She was unfeignedly glad to see 
him, but Hart's ni^rvous, constrained 
manner was so unlike his usual frank, 
cheery greeting that she was puzzled. 
He fumbled with her sketch, but for- 
bore his accustomed blunt criticism. 

"Wliat's the matter with you, 
Hart?" she asked at last, as his ner- 
vousness increased. 

He laughed, and squirmed more 
than ever, as he answered, "I've got 
something to tell you and don't know 
where to begin." 

"Begin at the beginning," was the 
curt reply. 

He did not notice the retort, but 
sat gazing off into space. 

"I'm to be married two weeks from 
today," be blurted out finally. 
"Grace HjTuan — I don't suppose it is 
unexpected news to you." 

No, she was not surprised, and 
wished them both much joy. 

"Say, Jess, did you find a lover 
while 5^ou were gone?" he queried 
with an air of immense relief at 
changing the subject from himself. 

His satisfaction was short lived for 
the change in Jessie's face startled 

"There it is again — hide from one 
only to be found by another! I think 
every one must be bound by a solemn 
covenant to ask me that question. 
No, I did not, and I won't next time, 
and never shall. I 'spise a man any- 
how. Now go!" 

And go Hart did with a queerly 
mixed expression on his face, in whi<?h 
amusement predominated. finally 
deepening into shouts of laughter as 
he directed his steps toward Grace 
Hyman's home. 

As Hart disappeared from sight, 
the girl's erect head drooped, and the 
crimson cheeks and blazing eyes were 
buried in her hands, while the reliev- 
ing tears again flowed. 

Finally, the bowed head was raised, 
and the painting resumed. While 
glancing from her sketch to the dark 
red gables of the Brinson home. 

which she Avas tr;>Tiig to incorporate 
into the picture, her eye was caught 
by the figure of Paul Brinson, owner 
of the home and uncle of Hart. 

As he crossed the dam, she laid 
aside her brush and welcomed him 
with a smile of genuine pleasure. No 
fear of wounded feelings from him. 
Never since their first meeting on this 
very spot twenty years ago, had he by 
word or act, hurt her proud, sensi- 
tive spirit. 

After the brief greeting, there was 
silence for a time, he examining her 
work with a trained, critical eye, and 
she in reminiscent mood, watching 
some ducks as they floated on the 

"Do you remember our flrst meet- 
ing?" she asked finally, with a little 
laugh, and not waiting for an answer, 
continued: "I had run away from 
Aunt Lil, and was on this very bank, 
watching the ducks, when you and 
Hart came across the dam. I remem- 
ber you told me Hart had lost father 
and mother, and that I must love him 
because he was lonely." 

"Hart is going to be married 
"soon, ' ' he told her. watching her face, 
kcenlj^ as the words left his lips. 

"Yes, he told me," was the brief, 
indifferent reply, and the searching 
eyes could detect no sign of emotion 
in tlie tell-tale face, save perhaps, a 
faint show of anger in the eyes, the 
suggestion of a pout on the curving 

"I shall be wevy lonely when he is 
gone." He spoke slowly, with his 
eyes still on the girl's face. 

"He will not live with you?" she 
queried with surprise, as she faced 

" No ; he goes to the place his father 
left him." 

She turned her attention again to 
the ducks, as though the subject held 
no particular interest for her. 

"Jessie," the tense voice made her 
turn again. "Jessie, I have loved you 
ever since I found you here, twenty 



years ago. It has undergone changes, 
but only deepened with the passing 
years. Can't you care enough for me 
to come and brighten my home? 
There's no other, is there?" 

Unknowingly, he had touched a 
sere spot, and Jessie's temper was 
made savage by the hurt. "Of 
course he knows there's no one else, 
and he thinks because I'm on the bor- 
derland of spinsterhood I'll be glad 
to look at his ugly old face three hun- 
dred and sixty-five days in the year, 
to escape it. But I won't! Uncle 
would laugh, everybody else would 
smile and say — ■" 

"I'm waiting Jessie," in a calm, 
3'et insistent voice. 

' ' I don 't care for you in that way, ' ' 
and the tumult within made her voice 
curt, more curt than she realized, till 
a brief, shy glance at his face showed 
her the hurt look in his eyes. 

But when he spoke again, after a 
few minutes' silence, his voice was 
perfectly natural, and kind as ever. 

"Are you trying for the prize, Jes- 
sie?" touching the picture lightly. 

A questioning look was her only re- 
ply, and he explained: "One has 
been offered by a patron of the fine 
art, to be given to the best picture by 
an amateur, exhibited during the fair 
in October. Suppose you try," and 
with a few helpful criticisms and sug- 
gestions, he left. 

Art day found Jessie's picture on 
exhibition, with a score or more of 
others. Driven by a restlessness 
which she made no effort to analyze, 
she had finished the painting with a 
painstaking perseverance, totally un- 
like her usual habit of abandoning her 
v.ork when enthusiasm died. 

Surprised a little herself at its 
merit, and remembering Paul Brin- 
son 's words, she had it entered for the 
exhibit, but with a sort of hopeless in- 
difference. Today, however, as she 
watched the ever-increasing number 
of spectators who paused to admire 

the beautiful conception and exquisite 
finish of her little picture, a faint 
hope stirred. It throbbed with al- 
most painful strength when Paul 
Brinson, in passing, whispered with 
his peculiarly winning smile: "I be- 
lieve you'll bear the trophy." 

In trembling suspense she awaited 
the decision of the judges, which de- 
clared her winner; and after the or- 
deal of presentation, and the congrat- 
ulation of friends, she slipped away 
behind a screen of potted plants to 
recover self-possession. 

From the otlier side came voices — 
the conversation of two luckless girl 

"Who won?" asked the first. 

"That little doll-faced Jessie Cub- 
bedge. " sneered the other. 

"Bah! She didn't do the work; 
Paul Brinson did that. He can paint 
— and he's in love with her — can't 
fool me." 

The speakers moved from the shelter 
of the plants, and catching sight of 
Jessie, Avith ci'imson face and tear- 
filled eyes, stared rudely, and went on 
their way tittering. 

Jessie looked after them with a pain 
at her heart which told her that none 
can attain a position which will lift 
them above the hurts common to all. 

During the homeward drive, she 
was stubbornly unresponsive to her 
uncle's efforts at conversation, and 
kept her eyes fixed, gloomily, on the 

Indifferently, she raised her eyes 
when the buggy stopped and then 
stared in surprise — they were in the 
fine grove fronting the Brinson home. 

"I wanted to see Paul Brinson 
about that horse he has been keeping 
for me," explained her uncle, as he 
jumped from the buggy, and threw 
her the lines. "He's over in the 
meadow now. I won't be gone long." 

After a while Mrs. Bailey, the 
housekeeper, came from the barn with 
a huge pan of grain, which she car- 



ried to the poultry run. Tired of 
■waiting Jessie twisted the lines about 
the whipstaflf, and leaving the gentle 
old horse, joined her. She was watch- 
ing, with the pleasure of a genuine 
poultry lover, tlie fowls scramble for 
their evening meal, when the two men 
came from the pasture. 

When within a few feet of where 
Jessie stood, a sharp crack was heard 
overhead, and before she could real- 
ize its source, Paul Brinson sprang 
forward, and giving her a headlong 
push, lost his balance and fell, face 
downward, just as a huge dead limb 
crashed dovAii, striking him on the 

For a brief space the three stood 
motionless, then Huge Wynne snatch- 
ed the limb from the motionless fig- 
ure, and after a hasty examination 
signalled the two women to help, and 
lifting the unconscious man, they bore 
him into the house and laid him on 
his bed. 

"Do the best you can for him while 
I go for a doctor, ' ' was Huge Wynne 's 
parting admonition to the old house- 
keeper, as he hurried from the room. 

Paralyzed by the fear that he was 
going to die, Jessie stood motionless, 
gazing at the fine face with its deathly 
pallor, and realizing, in the search- 
light of this great fear, that she loved 
him as he wished. 

j\Ii-s. Bailey thrust a bottle of cam- 
phor in her hand, with a. command 
that she bathe his face. Jessie obeyed, 
dropping on her knees by the bed Avith 
a wild, unuttered praj^er in her heart 
that he might be spared. 

He gi'oaned at last while Mrs. 
Bailey was bathing the wound on his 
head, and stirred feebly. Twice or 
three times he opened his eyes in a 
dazed way before he fixed them on 
Jessie with full recognition, and the 
tale her anxious face told was suffi- 
cient, for he smiled. 

"I knew it would come" was all he 
said as he touched her hand for a 
moment, but they both understood. 

The old doctor bustled in, leaned 
for a moment above his patient, and 
with a mighty throb of relief Jessie 
heard his verdict — "A glancing blow; 
be out in a few days." 


The future's hope is in the middle class — 
'Tis there we find the gold of character — 
The love of kindness and the hate of wrong, 
Faith in the good, the beautiful and true. 
And purity of noble womanhood. 
True sympathy and love of bravery, 
A perfect hope and simple trust in God. 

— William Holcomb Thomas, Montgomery, Ala. 


Men of Mark in Georgia, 

This is the most ambitious work ever 
attempted by a Georgia publisher. Mr. 
A. B. Caldwell, of Atlanta, has under- 
taken a monumental task, and every pub- 
lic spirited citizen of the State should 
feel an interest in his success. His pur- 
pose is no less than that of presenting a 
portrait galleiy containing all the men 
whose lives, devoted to the public service, 
contributed to the security and the glory 
of the State. 

Biogi-aphical sketches, illustrated by 
engravings, present the fine array of the 
strong men who have been leaders in the 
forum and in the field, men who have 
been distinguished in science, in art, in 
literature, on the bench, at the bar, .in the 
pulpit, or in the development of material 

When the gi-eat plan shall have been 
earned through, we will have, in one pub- 
lication, the very essence of all the best 
histories, biogi'aphies, memoirs, etc., that 
have ever been written on the subject. In 
these sketches we shall have, at one and 
the same time, a magnificent history of 
the State, beautifully illustrated, but we 
shall likewise have a Biographical Dic- 
tionary, in which can be found a clear, 
well-written summaiy of the career of 
every man who made his mark in Georgia, 
whether he was a native of the State or 

No library should be without "Men of 
Mark in Georgia." 

(See advertising pages.) 

Campus Verse. Edited by W. C. Hen- 
son and A. H. Bunee. The Mc- 
Gregor Press, Athens, Ga. Price 
When our friend, Henson, wrote that 
he was sending a copy of a collection of 
Poems written by the students of the 
University of Georgia, we trembled. We 

feared that these boys had published 
rhymes wliicli neither gods nor men can 
tolerate, and that it would be our painful 
duty to say so. 

Judge, then, how deep was our sigh of 
relief when, after opening the book, and 
getting past three doubtful hymns which 
stand there in a very solemn manner, we 
soon stnick "pay dirt." 

College boys are all supposed to be 
l^oets, at some time or other. There is a 
stage in adolescence wliich relieves itself 
in rhyme, in spite of all that can be done. 
Have we not, each of us, gone through 
that sentimental period wherein, if we 
could say nothing better, we did cast our 
poetic eyes upward to the pale night- 
queen, and exclaim, "0 Luna! Thou art 
the Moon?" 

Of course we have. Even young George 
Washington "drapped into poetry;" and 
Thomas Jefferson wrote early verses that 
give one the earache. And did not young 
Byron start too soon, and get his hide 
taken off by the brilliant Harry Broug- 
ham, in the Edinburgh Review ? And 
did not Byron then drink heavy measures 
of port, and proceed to take the hide off 
a lot of other fellows who hadn't done a 
thing to him, ("English Bards and Scotch 
Eeviewers"), and thus come near having 
a duel with Tom Moore? 

Thinking of these things, we confess 
that it was a genuine surprise, and a most 
pleasant one, when, after getting safely 
past those three preliminary hymns, in 
"Campus Verse," we came upon pure 
gold, — for boundless is the sympathy of 
the Jeffersonian for ambitious boys and 
girls Avho are striving to develop intellec- 

"The Chapel Bell" is worth a place in 
any volume of poems. "A Ballad/' by 
E. B. Vail, shows decided dramatic tal- 
ent ; and "Genius " by the same author, 
is exceedingly fine. In a humorous vein, 



the same author writes "In My Other 
C'oat Pocket at Home" three stanzas 
■which reveal a gift of originality which 
is unusual. 

As exquisite a bit of versification as you 
will find anywhere is "The Girl I Never 
Have Met." A daring, yei successful 
effort, is that of C. D. Russell (in "Quoth 
the Devil"), to give expression to the sat- 
isfaction Satan may be supposed to feel at 
seeing the condition of the world in which 
he and the powers of righteousness are still 
having it, nip and tuck, as they have done 
since the creation of man. 

"Space," by Harold W. Telford, and 
"Heroism," by Arthur L. Hardy, are em- 
phatically good. "lone" is a gem. 

"Had She?" by T. G. Stokes, is one of 
the cleverest little strokes ever made with 
a pen. It is delicious. 

"To an Ante-Bellum Mansion," is per- 
fect in its way, and its way is thoroughly 

"A Youth's Prayer" might well be 
taken as a standard the world over. The 
name of the author is not given. 

"Opportunity," by George M. Battey, 
is worthy of Lanier, of Timrod, of 
Hajme, of any poet whomsoever. 

The Jeffersonian endeavors to be 
conscientious in "sizing up" books which 
it reviews, but we do not hesitate to say 
to lovers of verse that this little volume 
has a lot of genuine poetry in it. 


We've drunk to woman — God bless her, — 

We've drunk to our Southern States, 
Right merrily we've drained a bumper 

To appease the wrath of the Fates; 
We've drunk till the keg's run dry — 

And the east blushes red with the day; — 
Last toast, and your glasses held high, 

A health to the men of the Gray. 

We'll wander yet in this strange world, 

As did those who sought the Grail; 
And some will live, and some will die. 

Some will prosper, some will fail. 
Yet as the years go swiftly by us 

We'll still bear hearts that are gay; 
In victory and defeat alike we'll honor 

The mem'ry of the men of the Gray. 

We've drunk like men of might, 

All through this Southern land; 
We've drunk to our Northern brother — 

But he cannot understand. 
Those who can, on your feet again — 

'Tis the flush of a new-born day — 
Last toast, and drink it like men, 

A health to the men of the Gray. 

—By Samuel Harloy Lyle, Jr. 



By Dr. S. J. COBB. 

The help question seems to have become 
a problem in this country, particularly in 
the South, where we depend largely upon 
negroes for help. 

I would suggest as a solution of this 
problem, that we raise our children, boys 
and girls, rich and poor, to be more in- 
dustrious; raise them to take a pride in 
doing everything that may be necessary 
for comfort, instead of raisin^2: them to 
feel that they are above work, as many 
have been raised. There is an old saying, 
'•Idleness is the devil's workshop." We 
should all keep out of the devil's work- 
shoj). When we think of it as we should, 
we see it is wicked to be idle. We are 
commanded to live by the sweat of our 
I now, and that means work. If we fail 
to do that, we not only violata that com- 
mandment, but deprive ourselves of 
health, happiness and comfort. We are 
always happier, healthier, and more com- 
fortable when doing some legitiiiiate work. 
Xo man or woman ever attained to any 
high position in life who did not work. 
Then why raise our children to feel that 
they are above woi-k? It is absolutely 
wicked to raise children that way. Dr. 
Hall said in his Journal of Health, he 
lived for the good time coming when man 
would be ashamed to be seen sick. I may 
say with equal propriety, I live for the 
good time coming when people will be 
ashamed to be seen idle. Better make that 
sort of impression on our children's 
minds than to make them feel that they 
are above work. There is plenty of work 
for all to do, and all work that is neces- 
sary to be done for comfort, is Jionorable. 
No one should be too lazy or proud to do 
such work as will add to his or her com- 

fort. As we do these things, we will not 
only need less hired help, but have better 
help, help that we can rely upon; not 
only that, but develop ourselves into that 
high order of manhood and womanhood 
that God intended us to be. All great 
men and great women have been great 
workers, and, as a rule, they commenced 
at the bottom round of the ladder and 
worked i;p. While all lazy people, who 
feel that they are above work, never get 
above the bottom round of the ladder that 
leads upward. It is natural to be lazy, 
but unnatural and wicked to cultivate a 
false pride that would keep us from as- 
cending the ladder of life. 

The problem having been solved, the 
question now is, will we do it. That de- 
pends entirely upon our education and 
training in early life. If we were edu- 
cated and trained in early life to take a 
pride in doing everything necessaiy for 
comfort, and to look upon idleness as dis- 
reputable, in fact disgraceful, we would 
do it. 

Norfolk, Va., Nov. 22, 1907. 
Hon. Thomas E. Watson, "Editor. 

Dear Sir: After reading your articles 
in The Jeffersokian Magazine on 
"How I Came to Write About Napoleon," 
and on "Protection," I felt that I bad 
found my long lost brother, strawberry 
mark and all. I have read "Mr. Isaacs" 
twice, not because it was so good, but be- 
cause after the lapse of years it happened 
to fall in my hands, and I enjoyed your 
sarcasm at Mr. Crawford's exjiense im- 
mensely. Don't you think the audience 
who paid a dollar a head deserve, also, 
some ridicule? Like you, I fed on Ab- 
bott when a youngster, and later on re- 
read him. Since then I have read every- 
thing I could lay my hands on relating to 
Napoleon and his times, including j'our 
book, and have made an exhaustive and 



critical study of Waterloo. Though I 
never wrote anything on Waterloo, I got 
up in my head a lecture on that battle 
and delivered it in Norfolk, Portsmouth, 
and elsewhere. I am still pining for more 
worlds to conquer in the line of Napo- 
leonic histoiy and literatui'e. I especially 
want to read Henri Houssaye's great work 
in four volumes, the last being devoted to 
Waterloo, but know not where to get the 
original or a translation. The best book 
on the Watei'loo campaign I have ever 
read is the work of John C. Ropes, of 
Boston. Your article on "Protection" 
also pleased me, for I have been all my 
life an enthusiastic free trader, and was 
the member for Virginia of the national 
committee of the "Free Trade League of 
America." I hope you will keep ham- 
mering away on this subject. You will 
help to enlighten the working men, who 
I am sori-y to say ai'e, as a rule, intensely 
prejudiced on this subject. I presume you 
have read Basteat's "Sophisms of the 
Protectionists,"-rthat great and interest- 
ing little book. I used to be a contributor 
to The Million, the organ of the Free 
Trade League. My principal article was 
called "An Indictment of the Theory and 
Principle of Protection," which I would 
like you to read, and republish if you 
like. I will send you a copy as soon as 
I can get one. • I also enjoyed a few years 
ago your magnificent defence of the Ital- 
ian race in answer to Booker Washing- 
ton's absurd statement. Like j'ou, I am 
deeply interested in Gettysburg, and am 
making a study of it with a view to lec- 
turing. Sincerely yours, 

R. Devereux Doyle. 


Massachusetts, Feb. 26, 1907. 
Hon. Thos. E. Watson. 

Dear Sir: I should like to inquire just 
lohi) it is that librarians slip and slide 
when it comes to a question of your "Na- 

My interest was aroused by a para- 

graph in Watson's Jeffersonian for 
Febniaiy, and I tried to secure the vol- 
ume at one of our home libraries, without 
success. Why ? 

The name of the libraiy is of no con- 
sequence; it is a mild and inoffensive 
specimen of the genus Carnegie, and by no 
means worse than its contemporaries. 

Is the book too "Watsonesque," in its 
easj' disregard of alleged vested rights or 
wrongs'? Does it rasp, too gi'atingly, the 
finer sensibilities of our ultra conserva- 

Not having the piece I must, forsooth, 
defer to some indefinite future time the 
solution of the puzzle. 

A Reader^ of Reversionary Rights. 


Pastor's Study, Trinity M. E. Church, 
Atlanta, Ga., Jan. 2, 1908. 
My Dear Mr. Watson : Pennit me to 
congratulate you on the Januaiy issue of 
your Jeffersonian Magazine. Eveiy 
number is worth more than the price of 
a year's subscription, but the first num- 
ber for the new year is particularly fine. 
Your editorial entitled "The Late" is a 
wonderful piece of writing, uniting as it 
does, in so inimitable a fashion, the ele- 
ments, both of pathos and thought. 
AVislung for you the happiest and best 
New Year you have ever knoAvn, I am, 
Sincerely yours, 

James W. Lee. 

To THE Jeffersonian : 

The press has been scattering abroad, 
for some time, statements to the effect 
that Attorney-General Bonaparte would 
take decided steps to bring to account the 
"big" criminals, and commit to jail such 
as were found guilty. 

The Jeffersonian reproduces a state- 
ment, with various connnents, from the 
New York American, of late date, to this 
effect. From the way, and in the manner 
ill which this threatened action has been 



given such extended circulation, one ac- 
quainted with Republican methods of en- 
i'oroement of law might look up and 
thank his stars that he was not a "specu- 
h;tor in stocks" and under the ban of 
this modern Cromwell and bis "brethren," 
so bent upon the incrimination of wrong 
doers. But that man who has lived to 
witness the last few years of skip-the- 
rope law enforcement in this countiy, 
only gives such news items the average 
"strap-hanger" headline reading, and 
passes on to the sj^orting page, where 
news is a little more definite and inter- 

Mr. Bonaparte has it within his power 
to bring to account a score or more offend- 
ers in high circles, and lodge them so far 
behind the bars that their stay would 
exceed the duration of an Australian Land 
Lease. That's a fact, boys. 

But is he going to do it? 


Who has ever suspected that he would'? 

True, he may fire a few blanks and 
"impose" a few fines, but prison walls 
were not made for the rich, but for the 
offenders of the rich. The rich frame 
and perpetuate laws for self-protection — 
they employ armies, perfects, and officers 
to enforce them. 

The only law the poor have are such as 
are given him gratis, in order to arrest 
his recourse to the bludgeon, by deluding 
him into the happy resignation that he is 

Mr. Bonaparte and the Administration 
can put John R. Walsh in the pen; he 
can put Harriman in with him for com- 
pany, and he can make John D. R. dig 
up that $29,240,000, if he has to pawn 
hip wig to raise the money. But will 
^N'alsh go to the pen, and Harriman go 
for company, or John D. pay the fine 
which the Federal law says is due? 

No, in the name of humanity, NO! 
It would shock the civilized world ! These 
men are too widely known, their influence 
is too strong, their bounteous hands are 
remunerative to thousands of toilers, their 
generosity too overflowing into the cam- 

paign hat. And many such things do 
tliey do. 

John R. Walsh, the wrecker of three 
banks, high finance juggler, grabber, per- 
jurer, robber of the poor who had in- 
trusted their savings to his care. Two 
years have passed away since his crimes 
were apprehended, and he quit the busi- 
ness, but has he been punished for his 

I saw the long line of bread earners, 
widows, and evei-y stamp of humanity, 
lined up for more than a block in the bit- 
ter cold, nudging up, inch at a time, as 
they filed past the paying teller's windotv 
of the Walsh bank, in Chicago, withdraw- 
ing their accounts until the funds were ex- 
hausted, and were only replenished when 
the other banks came to the rescue. 

There you are, Mr. Bonaparte; if you 
want to do something, sic yourself and 
the rest of the administration bloodhounds 
on his track, and bring him to justice. If 
Andrew Jackson had had half the chance 
for a combat as you have it would seem 
a very easy task to prosecute and bring 
to justice these criminals of the 400, who 
have continued to violate Federal and 
State laws with an arrogance that is ad- 
mirably imposing. 

If Mr. Bonaparte means business, let 
him sally forth and beard the redoubtable 
Harriman, who has only laughed at his 
threats, and turaed bloody handed and 
declared that Senator Cullom was "drunk" 
when he declared that Harriman ought 
to be put behind the bars. 

We, the people, are getting tired of 
this trust-busting crusade. It is too hard 
on the consumer; it is too expensive on 
the wage earner. 

It is not long since Roosevelt set out 
to bust the coal tnist. I wish he would 
huny up and bust it, or else lower the 
price of coal — I don't care which. 

He set out to bust the meat trust, and 
have you heard anything smash? Meat 
has taken a gradual flight in the ascend- 
ant, like a mad bull over the hill after a 
red rag. 

The man who willingly violates law, and 
haughtily defies the administers thereof, 



is just as much a criminal as the man who, 
in open defiance of law, holds you up 
and takes your purse. 

The criminals of high finance have 
robbed the people, the State, and the na- 
tion of millions, while the small one-horse 
criminal with a tool bag, the mask and 
the slug, have taken a petty few thous- 
ands in little grabs here and there. 

On the vciy day that the failure of the 
Walsh bank was announced, a man in a 
few blocks of the bank building, held up 
and robbed a man of a few dollars, and 
was Avith short ceremony sent to tlie pen 
for five years, while Walsh had jeop- 
ardized millions, lied to the government, 
and is a free man today, and, to my mind, 
will be until a man who does things slaps 
the hand of justice on the shoulder which 
has so long been cold to reporters, pho- 
togi-aphers, courts, etc. 

Of course things will wag along about 
as they have, but I have no confidence in 
these reiiorts that are going the rounds, 
nor will I till I see some of the cloven- 
feet villains begin to exercise themselves 
with a sense of fear when the chief min- 
isters of the law threaten prosecution. 

The law is plain, and the violations 
have been open and kuo^vn to the public, 
but the influence behind the violators is, 
and has been, strong enough to brook the 
subsidized administration. 

J. H. Camp. 

Grundy, Ya., Oct. 31, 1907. 
Hon. Thos. E. Watson, 

Thomson, Ga. 

Dear Sir: I have read Mr. Barker's 

proposed platform for a new political 

])arty, and j'our editorial on the same in 

the November number of your Magazine. 

You have done the cause of reform a real 
sfbrvice in your clear, unanswerable argu- 
ments against the protective system. You 
have spoken plainly, — just what the situa- 
tion demands. The robber tariff cannot 
be fostered by a refonn party. 

Tiie tariff is a moral question, — is it 
right to rob the masses to protect the 
classes? Let the tariff question be de- 
bated as a moral question, and its mean- 
ing will appear as clear as the noon-day 
sun. The American people will not stand 
for tariff "gi'aft" (once they realize the 
iniquity of "high protection") — and more 
than that they will not stand for the 
various fonns of robbeiy that do not 
have the sanction of law by act of the 
national Congress. 

The centralization of power is touched 
on in the last paragi'aph of Mr. Barker's 
plan, or outline, whereas it is of such 
supreme importance as to demand the 
first position and a fuller exposition. It 
seems that the South must save the Union 
by. insisting on State's Rights, for local 
self-government and self-preservation 
against the all-consuming corporations. 
Yes, the South must insist on a tariff 
that grants "special privileges to none" 
and demand the just rights of the States 
against Federal usurpation — and let her 
voice be heard without fear or aj^ology — 
in words that shall burn their meaning 
iiilo the very wick of our political body, 
and rouse the nation to action. Watson's 
Jeffersonian Magazine will herald the 
sentiments of a true Deraocracj', and may 
the people everywhere read its utterances 
to know tlie truth and be convinced that 
nothing less than radical measures can 
constitute the Jeffersonian Democracy. 
Yours sincerely, 

J, L. KiBLER. 

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I Containing the masterpieces of the WRITINGS, ORATIONS, ADDRESSES, 
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