LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Shelf 3i^rf\? 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
D. U. SLOAN, Jr., 
 Professor and Proprietor of Sloan's Atlanta School of Telegraphy, Atlanta, Ga.— a compe- 
 tent and thorough instructor in the art of telegraphy. His school is now in its ninth year, 
 and is tlie oldest continuous School of Telegraphy in the South ; and it has sent out its 
 graduates througliout the country, who are to-day occupying positions of trust and profit. 
 Professor Sloan is a young man of irreproachable character, diligent and conscientious in 
 his efforts to instruct. 
 
D. U. SLOAN, Jr., ) ( D. U. SLOAN, Sr., 
 
 ^ AND < 
 
 Professor of Telegraphy. ) ( Manager. 
 
 SLOAN'S* 
 
 ATLANTA 
 
 ISCHOOU 
 
 JUL ^4 1091 ;• : 
 ATLANTA, - - .-^^^.^ GA. 
 
 :>$?: 
 
 THE OLDEST TELEGRAPH 
 INSTITUTE NOW IN OPERATION 
 
 1^ 
 
 TELEGRAPHY.. :\ 
 
OUR STUDENTS ^ 
 
 Are instructed in the management of instruments, batteries and 
 wire connections. We prepare them to send and receive both Com- 
 mercial and Railroad Telegraph Business, and graduate them when 
 they can copy from the sounders correctly twenty-five words per 
 minute. 
 
 OUR MANAGERS 
 Are experienced railroad men, and familiar with the duties required 
 of railroad employes. 
 
 Colonel D. U. Sloan, our manager, is widely and favorably known ; 
 was Atlanta's first 
 
 TELEGRAPH OPERATOR; 
 "an old-timer," forty years ago, and more recently for a number of 
 years, agent and operator for the R. & D. R. R.. assisted byhis son, 
 who afterwards was Professor of Telegraphy in " Moore's Business 
 University " for four years, and since then has been Principal of 
 Sloan's Atlanta School of Telegraphy. He has proved himself a 
 successful teacher of others, as his numerous graduates who are 
 now filling positions of trust and profit, will most cheerfully attest. 
 
 BUSINESS PROSPECTS 
 
 For Telegraph Operators were never brighter than now. The great 
 number of railroads in operation, the many new ones in construc- 
 tion, the rapidly increasing business of the "New South" will 
 employ a vast army of Operators, and from the present outlook, the 
 day is far distant when an expert and reliable Telegraph Operator 
 will fail to command good remuneration for his services. Besides, 
 there is no trade or profession in this land that can be acquired at 
 so little expense of money and time that pays so well. Telegraphy 
 is a good business for the poor boy or girl, and might prove a bless- 
 ing for the children of the rich to fall back upon, in case their 
 wealth should take wings. 
 
 QUALIFICATIONS. 
 
 Any young person of either sex, with bright mind and ordinary 
 English education, is qualified to make a successful operator. 
 
 TIME REQUIRED TO LEARN. 
 
 The average time required to learn Telegraphy in our School has 
 been from three to four months, owing to the aptness and applica- 
 tion of the student. 
 
 If you desire to learn Telegraphy, pay no attention to the boj'^- 
 cotters, the disciples of the "Telegraphers' Brotherhood" or to the 
 O. R. T'.s, who are sworn to do all in their power to keep you from 
 learning Telegraphy, by fair or foul means. They are not your 
 friends, and their object is obvious. Come and investigate our 
 school and be your own Judges, 
 
OUR REFERENCES. 
 
 Prof. Moore, Moore's Business College, Atlanta, Ga. ; 
 
 Prof. Sullivan, Sullivan's Business College, Atlanta, Ga. ; 
 J. M. Stevens, Man'r. W. U. Telegraph Co., Atlanta, Ga. ; 
 
 A. N. Oldfield, Electrician, Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 OUR RATES REDUCED. 
 
 To beginners, first month $ 15 00 
 
 To " second month 10 00 
 
 To " third month 10 00 
 
 To " fourth month • 10 00 
 
 If longer time is needed, per month 5 00 
 
 OUR BUSINESS HOURS. 
 
 Nine o'clock a. m. to 12 o'clock m. ; 2 o'clock p. m. to 4 o'clock p. m. Besides a NIGHT 
 CLASS OF TWO HOURS, for those who cannot attend the Day School. 
 Rates — J 10.00 for first month, and $5.00 for each succeeding month. 
 Board can be had in the city at from $12. 50 to #15.00 per month. 
 
 TESTIMONIALS. 
 
 What has been done for the young men signed below, can be done 
 for others. Could give many testimonials, if we had space. 
 
 Belmont, N. C. 
 Professor D. U. Sloan : I take great pleasure in testifying in favor of your School of 
 Telegraphy, where I received my instruction. I will advise all who wish to study Tele- 
 graphy to go to you. I am now agent and operator at this place, with a good salary. 
 
 WILL B. PRUETT. 
 ^ Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 Professor D. U. Sloan : My sincere thanks for your good teaching. From your School 
 I accepted a position on the East Tennessee road, at Baxley, and already I have been 
 promoted to a better position on the same road in Atlanta, and with increased pay. I will 
 ever hold up your School to those who wish to learn Telegraphy. 
 
 JAMES BARNWELL. 
 Atlanta, Ga. 
 Professor D. U. Sloan: To all who contemplate tlie study of Telegraphy, I most 
 heartily recommend your School, where I received my training. I am now "Train 
 Despatcher" for the R. & D. R. R. in Atlanta, and receive a salary of $100.00 per month. 
 
 B. F. MARTIN. 
 
 Address, 
 
 D. U. SLOAN. IVIanager 
 
 iloan s itlaiita ichool of iGlGgraphy, 
 
 Atlanta, - - - Ga. 
 
THE FOGY DAYS and NOW; 
 
 ou, 
 
 THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 
 
 ON SENECA'S BANKS. 
 
 (N Seneca's banks so often fished, 
 Her woods and fields all I wished ; 
 There drove the deer, knew every stand, 
 And chased the fox through brake and strand,, 
 
 Have hunted every dell and hill, 
 There slaked my thirst from every rill ; 
 From tree top did the squirrel bring, 
 Shot down the partridge on the wing. 
 
 « 
 Have treed the 'possum and the coon, 
 • Larnt" the signs from stars and moon; 
 Before the lark, didn't count it trouble 
 To hunt the roost where turkeys gobble. 
 
 Picked the strings and drawed the bow, 
 To lively tunes fiddle and banjo ; 
 ^ly old tutor darkey. Fiddler Jack, 
 How these memories carry me back. 
 
 Back, back to good old days of yore, 
 Back to the olden days galore ; 
 To that home in the Piedmont land, 
 Where mountain zephyrs softly fanned ► 
 
IQ THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 Back to olden days of pleasure, 
 The days of Inck, ease and leisure ; 
 T)ays of youth, when the heart was glad, 
 Before sorrows came to make sad. 
 
 Free as air to go, as free to come. 
 Bring our friends to a father's home ; 
 Then so happy to entertain. 
 And ne'er to see the like again. 
 
 The rich cut-glass and old sideboard, 
 A custom then could well afford ; 
 8iich hospitalities then would share, 
 Its absence from a home was rare. 
 
 Ever with rich juices filled, 
 Ever stood with the best distilled ; 
 . Full w^elcome, never lock or key, 
 A jovial dram for you and me. 
 
 And the sugar loaf too was there, 
 Aromatic nutmeg for toddy rare ; 
 Or fresh from garden, the fragrant mint, 
 Free to all, nor thought of stint. 
 
 To drink a friendly toast was nice. 
 Before prohibition gave advice ; 
 Drank good cheer to friendship true, 
 A drunkard then scarce ever knew. 
 
 Bong table spread, many a seat. 
 Where the welcome guests all could eat. 
 And merrily, merrily passed the day. 
 With friend and friend the old time way. 
 
 The great Blue Bidge full in sight, 
 80 azure blue, else clothed in white. 
 Could view afar their craggy heights. 
 And oft' have clambered o'er their flights. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 11 
 
 How much in bliss there realized, 
 When all for sport have sacrificed ; 
 In summer time there was my home, 
 Tramped from valley up to dome. 
 
 With dogs and gun, my chief delight, 
 I worshipped them and thought it right; . 
 Downed the buck in its wildest route. 
 Flirted from the shoal the speckled trout. 
 
 There first read the " Lady of the Lake, '' 
 Where poet's pen did heroes make ; 
 On rock couch had my reveries woke. 
 By the wierd sound of ravens' croak. 
 
 Listened to music from following hound. 
 Traced echoes from the horn we wound ; 
 And it did seem heaven there and then. 
 If another on earth, Oh where, and when. 
 
 Mysterious world, thus to sever, 
 I but dream of what's gone forever ; 
 To me it seems but yesterday. 
 For time at his old tricks doth play. 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 FAIRFIELD VALLEY, NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 VALE of Avoca, have never seen, 
 But Fairfield would beat it, I ween ; 
 On a knoll, in that lovely vale, 
 Sat our cottage, gem of the dale. 
 
 By a brooklet so chrystal clear, 
 Sky-scraping mountains in the rear ; 
 East there flowed the cleanest river, 
 As limpid as the Gaudalquiver. 
 
 This river's name was Toxi-way, 
 Uoubtless is running there to-day ; 
 And there sported the spangled trout, 
 'Tvvas my delight to lift them out. 
 
 Across the river, mountain chain. 
 Making off from the Blue Ridge main, 
 To the left, and also parallel, 
 AValls of blue rock, remember well. 
 
 As rounding high, a thousand feet. 
 Which do, too, the Blue Ridge meet ; 
 And Fairfield Valley lies between. 
 Nor fairer vale was ever seen. 
 
 In contour oval to the eye, 
 And level doth its bottoms lie; 
 The river heads north, full in sight, 
 From a thousand rills with waters bright, 
 
OE, THE AVORLD HAS CHANGED. 13 
 
 •Comes dashing down into our vale, 
 Making a river of silvery trail ; 
 It's egress south, does seem shut in 
 As if no outlet, none had been. 
 
 Ridges seemed joined in solid wall, 
 But through a gorge the waters fall ; 
 Go plunging down this narrow way, 
 Mad'ning in their boisterous play ; 
 
 Reckless leaps to the dell below, 
 Plunging, foaming, and white as snow. 
 Just down there, once, we had a mill, 
 Wonder if it grinds, sawing still ? 
 
 High, o'er cottage, a mountain top. 
 As if upon perchance might drop ; 
 To the north, standing stark and stiff, 
 The mountain backbone, grand Sheep Clifi\ 
 
 And mountains circling all around, 
 80 was this lovely valley bound ; 
 Much like some great amphitheater, 
 Built by God, the grand Creator. 
 
 A scene so grand, indeed so great. 
 Artist hand dare not imitate ; 
 And is so fraught with Nature's gush, 
 The tints must come from Heaven's brush. 
 
 The sun climbs o'er the hills at ten. 
 Shines o'er this deep basin — and then 
 Hides its head at four, sinking down, 
 Shuts out the curtailed horizon. 
 
 Another valley, across a gap, 
 ■Cashier's, and lying like a lap ; 
 The lap of this great mountain chain, 
 And lies there yet, if been no change. 
 
14 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAV ; 
 
 These valleys lie there side by side, 
 Their beauty no one bath denied ; 
 And here our Southern people came, 
 Some for health, some in search of game. 
 
 They came in search of game and health, 
 All of means and many of wealth; 
 Here they came to spend their summers, 
 Were attracted there, many comers. 
 
 These valleys in the old North State, 
 There yet, if not removed of late ; 
 Very near its Southern border, 
 Sure we left them in that order. 
 
 From the State of Buncombe were due West, 
 These valleys of so much interest ; 
 Left them there hanging near the sky, 
 Among the clouds ahanging high. 
 
 And here we gathered every Spring, 
 Our guns and dogs along would bring; 
 Came to enjoy each one full share. 
 So back behind we left all care. 
 
 THE DEER DRIVE. 
 
 Would break our fast at early morn, 
 Called together by signal horn ; 
 When eager hounds with business yelp, 
 Seemed crying, " Masters, here's your help. 
 
 Horn answers horn to sound the meet. 
 We'd start the hunt before the heat ; 
 Then off to the wilds we'd repair, 
 To roust the game from out his lair. 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 15 
 
 First plan the drive, start in the hounds, 
 Then post the standers on their grounds ; 
 All ready, each one for his part, 
 The drivers in to make the start. 
 
 Anon, we hear the shrill halloo, 
 Down in the cove, way down below ; 
 Watching, listening, catch a sound, 
 'Twas but loose tongue, a puppy hound. 
 
 But, there again, old Troop strikes trail, 
 Troop is true, never known to fail ; 
 There's Haidee, too, and she's a blood, 
 They now give tongue all through the wood. 
 
 Aye, aye, and now have sprung the game, 
 The pack all in, and are aflame ; 
 They follow close, the scent is strong, 
 Now the grand chorus swells along. 
 
 Lookout standers, now watch your ground, 
 Ha ! Here they come, the crying hounds ; 
 What bodes the weakness in my back? 
 The tremor doth my legs attack. 
 
 Have heard, if symptoms don't deceive, 
 Case of buck-ague, we do believe ; 
 LaGrippe has got us in the back. 
 Has got us, got us, fur a fack. 
 
 But they have tacked, turned another way. 
 And our chance is lost, lost for to-day ; 
 The game is wary, plays around, 
 Can trace him by the following hound. 
 
 Other stander may be in luck. 
 May be his day to kill the buck ; 
 Nervously we watch, watch and wait, 
 Hi ! They come again, coming straight. 
 
16 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAV ; 
 
 A crash, a thug, our ears assail, 
 See there branching horns, cotton tail ; 
 Quick bounding past, as like a streak, 
 And right now's our time to speak. 
 
 Bang, bang, our double-barrel went, 
 And two buck loads at him we sent. 
 Aha ! We see he drops, drops his tail, 
 His agile spring begins to fail. 
 
 The pack sweep by, as like a storm, 
 They scent the blood and make it warm 
 And, like the wind, they follow fast. 
 And like a cyclone now have past. 
 
 'Tis all over, the dogs at bay, 
 Glory enough for one short day ; 
 The chase is ended, the stag is dead, 
 The hounds around are gather- ed. 
 
 Now in triumph, filled with pride, 
 The dogs at rest, are satisfied ; 
 Now we sound the gathering call, 
 Answer winds back from one and all. 
 
 Have heard the signal and obeyed. 
 And up rides the jolly cavalcade; 
 So went the hunt from day to day. 
 If not the same, then another way. 
 
 Sometimes rewarded with a bruin, 
 Or sleek panther, a beast of ruin, 
 Wolf or catamount, all the same, 
 For we were out, our purpose game. 
 
 Turkey and pheasant we often shot, 
 To grace the table, fill the pot ; 
 So all our summer days were spent, 
 For, like business, at it we went. 
 
OR, THE AVOELD HAS CHANGED, IT 
 
 LAND OF THE SKY. 
 
 That beautful land of the sky, 
 Grand mountains rivalUng Italy ; 
 From their high tops the grandest view, 
 For vast expanse we ever knew. 
 
 From great Sheep Cliti; the main Blue Ridge, 
 Long, narrow, like a mountain bridge; 
 On that high perch we've often stood, 
 And gazed afar 'pon field and w^ood. 
 
 O'er tops of hundred circlhig peaks. 
 And endless coves and cliffs in streaks, 
 Boundless forests, with much Spruce pine. 
 And all the brooks, the Laurel line. 
 
 Here and there we see bright cascades, 
 Snowy waters leaping to the glades ; 
 Northward the Smoky Mountains blue. 
 And noted for this special hue. 
 
 Here the balmy Balsams intervene, 
 Wrapt in their softer velvet green. 
 Though together so closely linked, 
 Their shades of color quite distinct. 
 
 Now mark those ridges taper down, 
 Towards the plain, the level ground ; 
 There we have the ocean view, 
 Those white spots like white caps too. 
 
 See the field and wood sink and swell, 
 Doth imitate old ocean well ; 
 Watch the glories of setting sun. 
 Painting resplendant the horizon. 
 
18 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 Painting, guikling with such bright sheen, 
 r.anguage fails, can't describe the scene ; 
 Xow feel the need of education, 
 Subside, no further explanation. 
 
 In Heaven we ken, mountains fair, 
 Grand ranges, ever standing there, 
 For they display God's mighty hand, 
 Majestic mountains bear His brand. 
 
 Silvery streams and chrystal bright, 
 Rivers in which the saints delight , 
 Who, forever sing out their thanks. 
 Tramping gems that line their banks. 
 
 Plucking fruits that forever ripe, 
 And ne'er and ne'er a tear to wipe ; 
 No anxious thought about to-morrow. 
 Where the Son of God shuts out sorrow. 
 
OR, THE AVOELD HAS CHANGED.. 19 
 
 LAST HUNT WITH HAMPTON 
 
 O uT Summer's past and Fall has come, 
 '-^ Now turn our thoughts to going home. 
 Here's a yarn, some may call it luck, 
 Col. Hampton wished a deer — a buck. 
 
 A whole buck to his home to take, 
 So we did the arrangement make ; 
 Take to Columbia on his return, 
 He'll testify to the whole concern. 
 
 Now knowing where a fine deer lay, 
 On Nix Mountain, there let him stay, 
 'Till by appointment, when enroute, 
 Had laid our plans to get him out. 
 
 Ready, sent our negro driver. 
 If this buck he could diski-ver, 
 And we rode round to hold the gaps 
 Where the game would pass, no mishaps. 
 
 Nor did we have to dally long. 
 Until we heard the dogs give tongue. 
 In a jiffy the game was sprung, 
 And at his heels the dogs were strung. 
 
 The deer made direct to our stand, 
 Double-barrel cocked in our hand ; 
 Our eye fixed on the coming game, 
 And we were nerved for deadly aim. 
 
20 THE FOGY DAYS AND SOW, 
 
 Crash above called our attention, 
 'Twas the Colonel making our direction, 
 Galloping down the mountain side, 
 As rapid as a man could well ride, 
 
 Came quartering toward the deer. 
 As to intercept it did appear ; 
 The buck was stretched at full speed. 
 So it seemed w^as the Colonel's steed. 
 
 Then we saw a blaze from his gun, 
 And as quick as thought another one ; 
 The buck came on like thunderbolt, 
 As if shot out from catapault. 
 
 And fell dead within twenty rods, 
 
 That shot was worthy of the gods ; 
 
 Wagon w^as waiting at the road. 
 
 That buck made part of the Colonel's load. 
 
 The last hunt with him we ever took, 
 Just as we tell it in this book. 
 
 Col. Hampton then was young and rich, 
 
 A full made man in every stitch. 
 
 A man who no one bore ill will, 
 A hunter bold and one of skill ; 
 A soldier born, though then untried, 
 Now known to fame, far and wide. 
 
 Oi the best timber was he made. 
 And braver ne'er donned the plaid ; 
 Nature's nobleman, luck or adversity. 
 The hero be known to posterity. 
 
 Hampton, Miss., April Kith, 1891. 
 My Deau Sir— I have been traveling about so much of late that 
 my correspondence has fallen in arrears, and thus your kind letter 
 directed to Washington remained unanswered. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. .21 
 
 I remember well the incident you refer to, as I do many pleas- 
 ant hours spent with you in the mountains of North Carolina. 
 
 There have been many changes since those days, and many ot 
 them for the worst, but I hope that our South may yet be prosper, 
 ous. With my kind regards I am, 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 Wade Hampton. 
 
 P. S. — Two or three years ago I shot a buck here which weighed 
 with entrals out 265 pounds; his skin, from neck to end of tail, 
 is seven feet long. I have here, too, a pair of horns with twenty- 
 eight points. H. 
 
 To D. U. Sloan, Atlanta, Ga. 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW 
 
 CASHIER'S VALLEY, N. C. 
 
 n^His valley was named for a horse, that strayed from its 
 owner, James Mc Kinney, of South Carolina, and after 
 months was discovered grazing in security there. McKinney 
 was so well pleased with the locality that he afterwards set- 
 tled there, and spent the balance of his life in Cashier's Valley. 
 Situated upon the very apex of the Blue Ridge Mountains, 
 in North Carolina, this valley is one of the most elevated in 
 the State, htiving an altitude of near 4,000 feet above 
 tide-water, bounded on the north by Sheep Cliff, the backbone 
 of the Blue Ridge, east b}' the Rock Mountain and Chimney 
 Top, south by the Terrapin, and west by the great White- 
 sides. Passing through McKinney's Gap, to the north, cross- 
 ing the ridge, one would descend into the fertile Tuskaseege 
 Valley, and crossing a gap to the east, Avould drop suddenly 
 into Fairfield, oOO feet lower than Cashier's, and one of the 
 most beautiful valleys in all this range; going west, would 
 enter the valley of Horse Cove, nestling under the shadow of 
 the Whitesides; following the waters south, would be brought 
 to a sudden halt by the White-water Falls, equal in volume of 
 water, and vieing in its magnificence of scenery with the 
 famous Tallulah Falls of Georgia. After several stupendous 
 leaps, this beautiful clear water stream plunges into the Valley 
 of Jocasse, S. C, where, uniting with other streams, it forms 
 the Keowee River. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 23 
 
 Passing through Cashier's Yalley is a turnpike road, built 
 before the war, by Colonel Wm. Sloan, to the North Carohna 
 line, and from thence by Colonel Wm. Thomas, across the 
 Blue Ridge, and on down the Tuckaseege. Cashier's is com- 
 paratively level, and the tourist could imagine he was in a 
 champaign country, but for those huge domes that stand like 
 grim sentinels encircling the valley, and upon every hand an 
 eye of taste could select the most charming spots for i-esi- 
 dences. Years ago, when hunting game, and fishing for the 
 speckled trout from their silvery beds, we would, conjure up in 
 our minds vision pictures of enchanting grounds and imposing 
 edifices, consequent upon the advent of railroads; and 
 now, since the development of the Richmond and Danville Rail- 
 road — the great Piedmont line — our youthful fancies have in 
 part been realized, for a few miles away the thriving town of 
 Highlands has sprung into existence, on one of the most ele- 
 vated plateaus of the Blue Ridge — is a charming place, and is 
 becoming a place of resort in the summer months. 
 
 The visitor, in ascending this mountain region, notices the 
 wonderful change in the atmosphere, its bracing effect on the 
 system, the feeling of freshness and delight experienced in 
 this altitude. The effect on the appetite is remarkable ; first 
 keen, ttien ravenous. We can never forget our first visit to 
 Cashier's Valley, our relish for old Aunt Sally McKinney's 
 *' yaller-legged " chickens, fried so brown, and floating in the 
 golden melted butter, snow-white smothered cabbage, mealy 
 Irish potatoes, cracking wide open as they were lifted from the 
 kettle, buckwheat cakes and mountain honey, nor shall we try 
 to erase from our memory old Mr. Mac's mountain dew that 
 sat out on the water-shelf before and after and between meals. 
 
 To describe this romantic region would require the pen of 
 
'ii THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 genius, and books, and after all would have to be seen in per- 
 son to be appreciated. This section abounds in game and 
 affords many delights to the sportsman. Cashier's and Fair- 
 field Valleys were for many years the resort of some of the 
 best citizens of South Carolina. It was here the noble Hamp- 
 ton loved to come out of the Summer's heat to chase the deer 
 and catch the mountain trout ; and, long before the war, the 
 Hamptons, Prestons, Calhouns, Haskells, Chevises, McCords,. 
 Taylors, Palmers, Stevens, Whitners and Sloans spent their 
 summers there. 
 
 " Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
 And clothes the mountains in their azure hue." 
 
 The poets picture here is but partly true, 
 True, its distance makes the color blue, 
 Why not as pretty, if the color's green, 
 As arrayed in its lovely Summer sheen, 
 
 On near approach, the color changes hue, 
 Refreshing green takes the place of blue ; 
 But the distance part we would refute, 
 In our survey, would rather be more minute ; 
 To us the enchantment is in being there. 
 At least we'd choose it for our share. 
 
 Viewing these mountains from the Piedmont Road, from 
 the many glimpses to be had as it skirts along its base for one 
 hundred miles, is a sight that must ever attract attention, but 
 for real enjoyment the admirer should go in their midst, 
 ramble the valleys and climb the heights, trace the dashing- 
 streams, behold with his own eyes the cloud-capped peaks, 
 view the broad expanse of country to the south, stretching 
 as far as the eye can reach, 'till earth and sky seem to kiss 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED.. 25 
 
 each other ; see hill and dale, like ocean's undulating waves, 
 landscape dotted with farm and villa, resembling much the 
 white caps of the sea, and all around see monster peaks, peep- 
 ing over the heads of the others, as if to catch a better view 
 of the great world below, but, ever quiet and courteous, they 
 do not, human-like, trample upon each others toes and cry out 
 "down in front" to those who happen to impede their view. 
 
 These mountains possess a labrynth of magnificent scenery, 
 and the lover of the romantic and picturesque can here revel 
 in such delights. If one would witness Nature's grandeur in 
 an adjective degree, let him stand on one of those towering 
 pinnacles and watch the storm king as he sways the earth 
 beiow, standing serene beneath the brightest rays of the sun, 
 he may see the white clouds roll far beneath his feet, listen to 
 the rushing winds, without a ruffle of his hair, hear the thun- 
 ders reverberating boom, see the flashing lightnings as they 
 cleave their zigzag course, and whilst torrents deluge the earth 
 below, he stands dry shod, or let him peer into the abyss 
 below, from the brink of some precipice down into the giddy 
 depths, where houses look like toys and men and beasts as flies 
 that creep on the wall. 
 
 If the visitor be an artist, there is a world of material for 
 his crayon ; if a poet, in the midst of these mountains is the 
 home of the Muses ; if an orator, here let him choose his 
 rostrum and spout, for inspiration must seize him here ; if a 
 statesman, here let him climb some mountain dome, adjust 
 his glasses, and he will, perhaps, see further than he 
 could from the halls of " our fathers ; " if a lawyer, let him 
 come here and rest from strife and enjoy that peace he would 
 not allow his neighbors ; if a doctor, he may come here and 
 
26 THE FOGV DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 find the roots, dig and pack tliem home, for no physician is 
 needed here; if an invalid, let him hie to the Highlands, for 
 every spring here is a Ponce DeLeon and filled with life ; if a 
 lover, let him bring hither his charmer, seek some sequested 
 dell, and whilst reclining on some mossy couch, with finger 
 tips rippling in the gurgling rill, and though the heart speaks 
 most when the lips move not, the tale would soon be told ; if 
 a Nimrod, here is the hunter's dreamland, the paradisical 
 hunting grounds; if he has a soul for delightful chords, here 
 he may bend his ear and catch the cadences as they fall from 
 the musical echoes of the raany-tongued pack, as it swells in 
 song, publishing where the fieeting stag has sped; if he be an 
 emigrant, here he can come and buy a home, rich and cheap, 
 here is the place to feather a nest, sing " Home, sweet home," and 
 compose new luUabys for generations yet unborn, who shall 
 surely flourish under these Italian skies. 
 
 In this delightful region your scribbler was delighted to 
 spend many of the summer days of his early manhood ; here 
 first read the beautiful poems of Walter Scott ; here first 
 brought down the antlered buck, and flirted from their crystal 
 beds the golden spangled trout ; here quaffed from the glassj^ 
 brooks delicious draughts that ice would spoil, and breathed 
 an atmosphero so pure and bracing that physical exercise 
 seemed attended with no fatigue, and often since, when burn- 
 ing with miasmatic fevers in Southern Georgia, in fitful 
 dreams have wandered here again, almost tasting the precious 
 boon, when some tantalizing fate would snatch it away. 
 
 The inhabitants of these mountains are rude and illiterate, 
 l)ut warm-hearted and generous to their friends; they have 
 lU) idea of caste, and arc profoundly impressed with the idea 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 27 
 
 that one man is as good as another, if not a little the best, pro- 
 vided he is honest. They entertain supreme contempt for the 
 lower country and city folks, who were too ignorant to course 
 a bee tree or follow a wolf trail, who asked silly questions and 
 could not tell a deer track from that of a hog or a sheep, who 
 knew nothing of signs and shot-scatter guns, who wore 
 starched shirts and combed their hair. 
 
 Even the women regarded the men from the lower country 
 as effeminate, and on one occasion a buxom mountain lassie 
 bantered a South Carolina hunting party for a foot race, offer- 
 ing to take the biggest man they had on her back and beat 
 their best runner. On another occasion this same heroine was 
 seen coming from a mountain george, with her rifle, sleeves 
 rolled up and bloody arms, and, upon being questioned, indiffer- 
 ently replied that she had " jist kilt a bar beyant the Terrapin." 
 
 Many years ago, Mr. John C. Calhoun, Col. Gadsden and 
 Col, Wm. Sloan, were surveying for a railway pass through 
 these mountains, and whilst the subject of railroads was under 
 discussion in the presence of the mountain family, a young 
 daughter, the pride of the household, put in : " Uncle Jim says 
 ef he war to see one of them relerodes acomin', he'd leave the 
 world and take a saplin' ; Dad says, ef he seed the dern 
 thing he'd drap rite down on the yeath." But now these 
 people can mount any of their neighboring heights and watch 
 the wreathing smoke as it curls up from the iron horse, speed- 
 ing along the Piedmont hills. Long ago a marketing ])arty 
 from this section, with their wagons, made the great trip to 
 Augusta, Ga. They belonged to the Hardshell persuasion and 
 everything moved nicely 'till they got to Augusta, when one 
 of the brethren got too much of the o'erjoyful, fixed up in ice 
 
28 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 and sweetiiin', lost liis gauge, and was picked up by some of 
 the party in a gutter. After the return home he was dealt with 
 by the church. The good brother made an honest confession, 
 and humbly besought forgiveness for the not uncommon 
 offence; he plead in palliation for the slip, that the ice and 
 sweetnin' in the licker had fooled him, when one of the 
 breth-ren exclaimed, "Stop right thar Brother Wilson ; did 
 you say they put ice in your licker?" Turning to the other 
 breth-ren asked, " Wernt it in July we was thar?" i^rother 
 Wilson said he knowed it wer in July, but they surely put the 
 ice in the licker; the brethren looked grave, and, after mature 
 deliberation, decided to expel Brother Wilson from the 
 church, not for getting drunk, but for telling a lie and sticking 
 to it, for all the brethren knew it was cooler on the Blue 
 Ridge than it was in Augusta, and the oldest man in the 
 settlement had never seen ice in July. 
 
 On another occasion a mountain preacher was explaining to 
 his audience that morals alone could not take a man to 
 heaven ; as he proceeded with his argument he became more 
 and more convinced of the impossibility of the thing ; sud- 
 denly paused for a moment, then raising high his brawny arm 
 brought it down with sledge-hammer force on the candle 
 board, exclaiming, "No, no, my breth-ren, the thing can't be 
 did ; you might as well tell me that a hawk could knock feath- 
 ers out of a terrapin." 
 
 Another, a minister, was illustrating the meekness of the 
 lamb, and made the following graphic picture : " Thar was 
 once a goat and a sheep acrossing of a log and it so happened 
 that they met right in the middle; the water was swift" and 
 tlu' log was high ; they couldn't ])ass one another, the loo- was 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. . 29 
 
 too narrow, they couldn't turn around for fear of falling off, 
 nur they couldn't go through one another, and to hit that 
 bilin' water down below were surely death to a goat or a 
 sheep. Now my breth-ren, right thar was a dilema wan't thar ? 
 Didn't it look like thar was a dilema thar? Well, thar wernt. 
 No, my brethren, thar wernt narry need to be a dilema thar. 
 I'll tell what they done, why the sheep squatted down and the 
 goat jumped over, and right thar was the meekness of the 
 lamb ; and oh, my dear breth-ren and sisters, thar's a way out 
 of every trouble ; its to squat, why squat, jist to squat, in the 
 name of my lowly Master squat, git down, git down ; oh, my 
 dear breth-ren, be ready always to squat, when the dilemas of 
 life come — be ready to squat. 
 
 PREA(^HER REID. 
 
 Brother Reid was an uneducated mountain preacher, could 
 read the scriptures with difficulty, but he thoroughly under- 
 stood the plan of salvation, and could illustrate it with great 
 force to his people, was as solid and orthodox in his principles 
 as the rocks that surrounded him. He was to preach in Horse 
 Cove, where Judge Whitner, from Anderson, S. C, was 
 spending the summer. 
 
 He was informed by some of the brethren that the great 
 Judge Whitner had come out to hear him preach, that he 
 must do his very best on that occasion. 
 
 When Brother Reid rose to line out his hymn it could be 
 plainly seen that something was weighing heavily upon his 
 mind. He started to read, then hesitated, then stopping short 
 and looking around most solemnly at the people, said : " I 
 have been told by some of the breth-ren to do my best to- day, 
 for the great Judge Whitner has come here to hear me preach. 
 
30 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAV ; 
 
 I have never seen the Judge, but have hearn of him, and I 
 suppose he is a powerful high hirnt man, and if he has come 
 to hear me preach it don't make no difference to me. Brethren 
 when I preach the gospel I preach Jesus Christ and him cru- 
 cified, and I don't care if Judge Whitner or Judge Thunder 
 is here, and if Judge Whitner is in this house and is a Chris- 
 tian man I want him to get right down on his knees and pray 
 with us. " The Judge complied and he became a great admirer 
 of Brother Reid and his lifetime friend. 
 
COL. WILLIAM SLOAN. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 33 
 
 SOUTH CAROLINA HOME. 
 
 D UT Fall is here, we homeward bound, 
 *— ' Like the swallows that homeward fly, 
 Back to onr homes, the Piedmont lands. 
 Farewell, Blue Ridge, 'till bye and bye. 
 
 Long Seneca's gently flowing stream, 
 Lies a valley most passing fair. 
 
 Valley rich with alluvial lands. 
 That have long been tilled with care. 
 
 In the good old South Carolina, 
 
 Where Twelve-mile Creek and Keowee, 
 Mixing waters make the Seneca, 
 Below this fork dwelt our family. 
 
 The old home was named Tranquilla, 
 Across the river was Fort Hill, 
 
 Famous home of John C. Calhoun ; 
 Both these old homes are standing still. 
 
 Across the Keowee, fronting too, 
 Once a palatial mansion stood ; 
 
 John E. Calhoun did there abide. 
 And rich in slaves, field and wood. 
 
 West, and below. Uncle Tommy Sloan, 
 Lewis, Cherry, Earle and Maxwell's, 
 
 Generals Pickens and Anderson, 
 North, above, Lawrence and Liddells. 
 
34 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 Still above, the Ramseys and Reids, 
 Broad acres each and all possessed, 
 
 Their rich bottoms lined the river, 
 With abundance all were blessed. 
 
 To say they lived would fail to tell. 
 Larders full, graneries bulging o'er, 
 
 Lived as nighbors ought to live. 
 Their latch-strings all hung out the door. 
 
 Their big white mansions crowned the hills. 
 
 Had comforts that ne'er can be told. 
 Though tedious in this little sketch, 
 
 We try to tell of the times of old. 
 
 Each house, at times, was made hotel, 
 And oft with friendly guests was filled, 
 
 Who came in squads and families, 
 And who oft for days were billed. 
 
 Friends would come from many a mile, 
 In old-time coach and baggage carts. 
 
 Children, servants, sometimes their dogs, 
 And they would come with jolly hearts. 
 
 Then fowls and swine, and fatted calf, 
 So freely slain on their advent, 
 
 And warm welcome greeted everyone. 
 Such welcome as was surely meant. 
 
 Would feast and frolic, and entertain, 
 So the old-time days fiew by apace, 
 
 Played old-time games, as blindman's buff, 
 The boys would jump and run foot race. 
 
35 
 
 Their daily sports to hunt and fish, 
 The nights made merry with the dance, 
 
 Neighbors called to swell the throng, 
 Help out the fun and hold parlance. 
 
 No morn nor eve allowed to lag, 
 Each day had its own sensation. 
 
 Fun and frolic was in the wind, 
 Those old-time days of recreation. 
 
 They had good times throughout the year, 
 But Christmas capped the climax, 
 
 Every door thrown wide open then, 
 Hung with mistletoe and smilax. 
 
 Santa Clause ne'er failed to come, 
 Nor the little ones, unbefriended, 
 
 Hanging stocking ne'er failed to fill. 
 For he ever came full-handed. 
 
 Time was not counted money then, 
 Lucre needed, sires freely gave. 
 
 Would run accounts with all the stores , 
 And never sought a bill to stave. 
 
 Each family had yearly account, 
 
 Everybody would do to trust, 
 Tho' prodigal the total amount. 
 
 The money due, down came the dust. 
 
 Ah ! Those were rosy, daisy days, 
 But now have gone, gone glimmering, 
 
 Love to think of those happy days. 
 Whilst our life away is simmering. 
 
36 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 THE HALCYON DAYS. 
 
 Since then have seen a bit of the world, 
 Had trials, seeming of perdition, 
 
 In all our wanderings never known 
 A people liappier in their condition. 
 
 Intelligence, freed from fashion's chains, 
 Wealth, divorced from aristocracy, 
 
 When heart was free to show its hand, 
 'Twas time of the true democracy. 
 
 Such was confidence, that money loaned, 
 'Twas rarely asked to give a note, 
 
 Promise was better guarantee 
 Than legal paper daftly wrote. 
 
 Don't claim there were no rascals then. 
 That would be to cheat the devil, 
 
 Admitted fact since Adam sinned, 
 There has been more or less of evil. 
 
 There was a social line and plummet, 
 Character weighed more than gold. 
 
 The man who did a dirty trick 
 
 The good people would not uphold. 
 
 They despised that narrow leanness, 
 The Yankee grip on a quarter. 
 
 Happier to bestow than receive, 
 And their favors flowed like water. 
 
 Did not consider swindle smart, 
 Did not seek to rob a neighbor, 
 
 Would not lose sleep to undermine, 
 But for the right they would labor. 
 
OR, THE WOULD HAS CHANGED. 
 
 Bible folks, too, that is mostly, 
 Humanity never was perfected, 
 
 One cheek smote, the other turned, 
 Then it was that they reflected. 
 
 Winked at the old code duello, 
 
 Where there could be no compromise, 
 
 Where blood or life must wipe out 
 Stains 'twould not do to temporise. 
 
 And to-day 'tis an honest querry, 
 If 'tis not best mode of settlement, 
 
 Where honor is so deep involved, 
 To make a test of mettlement. 
 
 Now looked upon as barbarous, 
 This great age the code discarded. 
 
 Old times belonged to refinement, 
 To best classeF was awarded. 
 
 'Twas handed down from chivalry. 
 Days of Fitz James and Roderick Dhue, 
 
 Of bonnie Scotland's literature. 
 Doubt if we, better type, don't you? 
 
 Our old time folks had fogy ways, 
 
 A cowardheartily did despise. 
 Thief, even too low for contempt. 
 
 And a liar would soon assize. 
 
 In truth, they stood on higher plain, 
 Their social order less impure. 
 
 Less of deceit than this fast day. 
 And in virtue far more secure. 
 
 The war has brought its bad results, 
 And our old customs it has changed, 
 
 Are learning fast the Yankee plans. 
 From the right we have been estranged. 
 
 37 
 
33 THE FOGY DAYS AXI) NOW; 
 
 THE OLD SLAVE REGIME. 
 
 Our paternal grounds spread out wide, 
 View them o'er took many a stride, 
 Were owners too of many slaves, 
 Who worked our crops, dug our graves. 
 
 Cooked our food, brushed our suits, 
 Hitched our teams, blacked our boots, 
 Hauled the wood and made the fires, 
 And did these things for our sires. 
 
 Kept a dozen about the house. 
 Some in livery, some in blouse ; 
 Fed and clothed, thrashed them well, 
 If they got too mean, then would sell. 
 
 Master was good, if slave was true, 
 And such were nicely treated too ; 
 Did as well for them as w^e could. 
 Doubtless as well as Yankees would. 
 
 Gave them tobacco, sometimes dram, 
 These were the things that tickled Sam-(bo), 
 And made his white teeth to shine. 
 When well pleased this was the sign. 
 
 Their little cabins were all in line, 
 Like little town, but not so fine ; 
 'Twas what we called the (juarter, 
 Near some s])ring, or running water. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. o9 
 
 Rations per week, a peck of meal, 
 Measured correct in high state seal, 
 Besides a pint of molasses, 
 They provide all other sasses. ' 
 
 Three pounds bacon, woe or weal, 
 Thribble as much, if beef or veal 
 A good patch, too, each family had, 
 With right to work it good or bad. 
 
 Saturday's gave them half the day, 
 To work their patches or to play, 
 And at night they would pat and jig, 
 Monday morning its plow and dig. 
 
 Some had chickens, a pig and a cow. 
 How many nigs doing better now? 
 Some were lazy, some had thrift. 
 Some would work, some had to lift. 
 
 A Sunday rule, they must come out. 
 
 In their best suits were to be seen. 
 Their kinky heads be carded up, 
 
 Sunday must show up neat and clean. 
 
 Sometimes he'd rob master's roost, 
 Sometimes master made him boost, 
 And then again he'd run away. 
 But then again 'twas master's day. 
 
 And Sambo said, more rain more ress; 
 What, sir? " I sez more rain more grass. " 
 Ah, said master, pretty well done, 
 You rascally African son. 
 
40 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 One peculiarity is his scent, 
 Whene'er he moves he gives it vent ; 
 After all has been a useful race, 
 After all, a good thing in its place. 
 
 Once Sambo to the I^ord did pray, 
 Master Lord, let me die dis day ; 
 Wicked boy ensconsced o'er head. 
 Cried out. Sambo, and to him said : 
 
 Come, Sambo, your prayer is heard, 
 Come home, the Lord has got your word. 
 Who dat, cried Sambo, who sed so, 
 Dat you marse angel, call Sambo? 
 
 Done come for him, is dat you say? 
 AVhy he done dead de lass tree day ; 
 Marse angel tell em him done gone, 
 Yessa, he done dead, dis same one. 
 
 A truth that claims recognition, 
 Their one great trait, superstition ; 
 For take them one or by the hosts. 
 As a race, all believe in ghosts. 
 
 Southern slavery maj'^ have been sin, 
 But the Bible does not show it ; 
 
 There is abuse in everything, 
 If forbid, would like to know it. 
 
 By Yankee means he now is free, 
 We believe the Lord hath done it; 
 
 His days of bondage had run out. 
 By the powers above he won it. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 4l 
 
 Flames first kindled by Madame Rtowe, 
 
 Crazy John Brown then made it roar, 
 On to the bloody shirt to-day, 
 
 Flaunted by grannies Ben and Hoar. 
 
 May be the T-ord to Christianize, 
 
 Allowed Yanks to do the stealing; 
 Sold the niggers, then felt the sin. 
 
 Got the pay, then did the squealing. 
 
 And so the nig was the winner, 
 
 But our Yank he got the credit ; 
 Poor Dixie was a cat's paw made, 
 
 And to the Rebel falls the debit. 
 
 But slaves were happy in the main, 
 
 Of course, exceptions in all cases. 
 No heavenly state here below, 
 
 'Tis not in reach of earthly races. 
 
 Let's have old Sambo take the stand. 
 
 Let old time nigger tell the truth, 
 Which times were best, freedom times. 
 
 Or the old slave times of your youth. 
 Were you happier then or now? 
 
 Give us truth, weigh upon the scales. 
 As slaves were you not free from cares, 
 
 Your only fears the lash and sales? 
 
 Didn't love poor bucra overseer, 
 
 Your terror was the patter-roll ; 
 To leave your home must have a pass, 
 
 Or risk your heels to save your poll. 
 
 Have you forgot your little thefts. 
 
 Of all the chickens you have stole, 
 Of the tater patches you have robbed, 
 
 Couldn't count them for your soul. 
 
^«J THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAV ; 
 
 You had your faults and had good traits, 
 Were faithful in our distress, 
 
 Were tiue to us in time of war, 
 Left in charge of our business. 
 
 A happier people ne'er was known, 
 Than the old-time Sunny South, 
 
 Including slavery in its bonds, 
 Subject of so much Yankee mouth. 
 
 THE CORN SHUCKING. 
 
 But best of all he loved to sing, 
 
 And in song indeed was gifted, 
 The field and wood he made to ring, 
 
 ]5elly full, into song he drifted. 
 His gala time— the corn shucking— 
 
 No cards needed to bring him in ; 
 As sun went down could hear him shout. 
 
 For he was coming to the binn. 
 
 When full gathered, a motley crew. 
 They would come from many a mile. 
 
 Without regard to sex or size, 
 Would gather around a corn pile. 
 
 First choose their leaders for the fray, 
 And then the leaders pick their sides. 
 
 The pile of corn is struck in half. 
 
 Over which each captain now presides. 
 
 Word given then a rip of shucks, 
 The ears go flying o'er the pile. 
 
 Shucks are pushed back to the rear, 
 The captain cheering all the while. 
 
 Each leader walks on top the pile, 
 Midst the showering ears of corn, 
 
 They walk and shout and lead the song. 
 And far away their songs are borne. 
 
ok, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 43 
 
 The war waxes to fury fast, 
 
 'Tis strife, who shall the victory win. 
 The pile grows less at every turn, 
 
 No fiercer fight, tho' thousands slain. 
 
 All through the clash the jug goes round. 
 
 From mouth to mouth the goody went. 
 As fast, faster the corn would fly, 
 
 'Till the unshucked corn was spent. 
 
 'Tis then the victors heave a shout, 
 
 A shout that rends the very skies, 
 Now the devil seems turned loose. 
 
 And its now the master flies. 
 
 For the boss is seized if found, 
 
 Is hoisted o'er the darkey heads, 
 With shout and song they bear him round, 
 
 To where the supper table's spread. 
 
 In home yard, on rude table laid, 
 
 Is fowl and shoat, and lusty pies, 
 'Possum and 'tater, many a dish, 
 
 Canopy o'er head, God's blue sky. 
 
 And next the fiddler thumps his strings, 
 
 A dusky crowd round pine torch light. 
 And dance with all their might and main, 
 
 Regardless of the fleeting night. 
 
 There never was a happier race, 
 
 If they could have been left alone, 
 'Twas hatred that stirred up the fuss. 
 
 The Yanks were jeal(>us of our bone. 
 
44 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW 
 
 To solve their future, the problem, 
 
 One intricate to unravel, 
 Shall they stay ? Must they go, or no ? 
 
 We think they will have to travel. 
 
 'Tis the great question of the day, 
 He has already cut a figger, 
 
 He'll never ride the upper rail : 
 But just now we'll drop the nigger. 
 
OR, THE WOULD HAS CHANGED. 
 
 45 
 
 THE SUNNY SOUTH 
 
 GREAT mistake think our fathers made, 
 Raised their sons without work or trade, 
 Raised as j;entleaaen, were not prepared, 
 If had been trained, had better fared. 
 
 In those evil times that were in store, 
 In the troubles that tried them sore, 
 They felt the keener that distress, 
 Consequent upon their idleness. 
 
 Were taught in honor— that was well ; 
 But that alone doth not propel ; 
 They learned aptly how to spend. 
 This was their trouble in the end. 
 
 AVrong idea of the old time South, 
 Thus a noble generation was lost ; 
 
 111 prepared to meet and grapple, 
 Tiiey have learned at heavy cost. 
 
 The world w^as not made in a day. 
 
 Takes longer to make a nation, 
 And blood that tells take time to breed. 
 
 Must have culture and recreation. 
 
 The works of time may be impaired, 
 Noblest monument may be marred, 
 
 The grand old oak may be despoiled. 
 And its rootlets all be scarred. 
 
46 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW 
 
 So the grand old Soutli long had stood, 
 Its great branches were spreading wide, 
 
 A brother's axe hath cut it down, 
 And e'en prostrate they still deride. 
 
 Nor spared in hatred, yet pursue, 
 E'en in defeat they still would vex, 
 
 And seek to hoist an accursed race 
 To place their feet upon our necks. 
 
 They shirked the slave off on us. 
 Because they could not make him pay, 
 
 Then again they were dissatified, 
 Have robbed us, stolen them away. 
 
 In their zeal, 'twas " snake in the grass ; " 
 We do not speak in hate or spleen, 
 
 We do not wish the Yankees harm, 
 We do not think they all are mean. 
 
 They made their money out of us, 
 We hewed the wood, drawed the water ; 
 
 Oar good friends when served their ends. 
 Gave big end in every barter. 
 
 Now we are glad^the negro's free, 
 Tho' 'twas hard at first to swallow, 
 
 Has broken up old fogy plans. 
 In which we were want to wallow. 
 
 Now we grow, even more than they. 
 And in progression shall compete ; 
 
 We'll make our cotton into cloth. 
 Thus their own plans will defeat. 
 
 The South will run her factories, 
 
 Kun them for all the money's worth ; 
 
 Tariff paid them will keep at home. 
 We will have the new South henceforth. 
 
OR, THE WOKLD HAS CHANGED. 47 
 
 'Tis a long lane that never turns, 
 
 Hair from dog is ffood for the bite, 
 Just keep still, and things will turn round, 
 
 Darkest hour comes before daylight. 
 
 Blood will tell, tho' it seemeth dead, 
 
 AVill rejuvenate, will flow again, 
 Scions will spring and flourish here, 
 
 Tho' the paternal stalk be slain. 
 
 New scions shall take the firmer root. 
 
 True scions from a noble race, 
 Who shall be rulers of this land. 
 
 No darker blood can e'er displace. 
 
 For 'tis written in their very hearts. 
 
 Written there in blood's red ink, 
 'Twill never be recorded here, 
 
 We are ruled by a race that st-kink. 
 
 Let Southern States as sisters be. 
 
 True sisters walking hand in hand. 
 Their native worth is sure to win, 
 
 There's none like them in all the land. 
 
 Like lilies bent by stormy blasts. 
 
 And as the eagle stoops to rise, 
 Fair Dixie thou hast but to wait. 
 
 For thou shalt soar as the eagle flies. 
 
 FIFTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 Fifty years ago, age of content. 
 
 Before fashion's laws were defied, 
 And our worship was so simple then, 
 • When our wants were not so amplified. 
 
48 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 Walked in the paths our fathers trod, 
 In suppliance bent the humble knee, 
 
 Took our dinners to the meeting house, 
 And was so glad each other to see. 
 
 In those frugal days our wants were few, 
 The only fashion was to be neat, 
 
 Didn't care much for outside show, 
 But sure have something good to eat. 
 
 Better daj^s than now, it seems to us, 
 Although didn't know near so much, 
 
 And some things are glad we didn't know ; 
 Indeed, would have been ashamed to touch. 
 
 Before the day of the patent pill, 
 Days of the lancet, the calomel, 
 
 Doctors didn't try to size your pile, 
 But worked harder to get you well. 
 
 And justice was better meeted out, 
 Tho' the lawyers were not so plenty, 
 
 And neighbors were less at logger-heads, 
 Not so many suits, not one to twenty. 
 
 Our preachers then were humbler, too. 
 Like Paul, labored for their living. 
 
 Preached because they loved the Lord, 
 Wan't so rantankerous 'bout giving. 
 
 At church they sang most sacred songs. 
 
 To the old time fogy meter, 
 And these old songs didn't make you feel 
 
 As in a circus or theater. 
 
 Sang hymns to the old familiar tunes, 
 Were sacred in all their bearings, 
 
 Could not mistake it for caterwaul, 
 For naughty felines on a tearing. 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 49 
 
 'Twas antideluvian as to choirs, 
 
 Had no big bellowing church organs, 
 And the congregation sang God's praise, 
 
 Did not hire his songs out to bargains. 
 
 Music modern, now a thing of art, 
 
 Fitie art of difficult execution. 
 Introduced to meet new demands, 
 
 Oi this progressive age of fashion. 
 
 E'en that good old time Virginia reel, 
 
 Of all the dances most inspiring, 
 The rciil test of the heel and toe, 
 
 C mdemned as fogy, undesiring. 
 
 'Tis true we hail from a fogy day, 
 
 Since then the era of invention ; 
 We were a happier people then 
 
 In many ways that we might mention. 
 
 Those times never heard of matches, 
 
 Lucifer (not Adam and Eve) 
 Lighted our fires with flint and steel, 
 
 'Tis the truth, tho' it's hard to believe. 
 
 Our old time guns had priming pans, 
 
 'Twas before the age of percussion, 
 Such the backwardness of the times. 
 
 This we'll yield without discussion. 
 
 No steel pens nor gold diamond points, 
 
 With goose quills all our letters wrote, 
 The coach or wagon our carriers then. 
 
 Our freight often came by pole-boat. 
 
 Mails were slow and postage dear. 
 
 Sealed letters with wafers or with wax, 
 Ha<l no envelopes, no postage stamps, 
 
 We write no fiction, but naked facts. 
 
50 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 There was not a railroad in the land, 
 Never a steamer plowed the sea, 
 
 Telegraph, telephone, all unknown, 
 Nor dreamed of in all eternity. 
 
 Washing and churning done by hand. 
 Pine torch or candles gave us light, 
 
 Nor stove, nor range to cook our food, 
 Swinging pot-rack was our delight. 
 
 No thought of a sewing machine. 
 Nor phonograph nor velocipede. 
 
 We had hearn tell of the elephant, 
 In fact one of them we had seed. 
 
 Then the printing press was very crude, 
 And pictures they were pow^erful scace; 
 
 Were way behind in all these things, 
 But we were a mighty happy race. 
 
 Before diskivery of coal and ile. 
 
 We still wonder at the electric light; 
 
 Now the street car, dummies they surprise, 
 Reckon we was sorter in the night. 
 
 What comes next? We may learn to fly. 
 And gold will be made out of clay. 
 
 Everybody will become so rich 
 Will be nothing to do but play. 
 
 And then what next is hard to tell, 
 May be that the girls will sprout wings, 
 
 Already they seem to fly around. 
 And do some mighty funny things. 
 
 A word about the ladies of the day, 
 One thing doth most sensibly impress, 
 
 Their skirts have got the natural shape, 
 Resemble our old mother's dress. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 51 
 
 Our fogy ladies were not so fast, 
 
 They were too true and kind to flirt. 
 Did not go promenading round, 
 
 But they kivered a heap more dirt. 
 
 Our kids had more respect for age, 
 
 No, they warn't nothing like so peart. 
 If skedaddled round like to-day, 
 
 Why, they'd hat-ter haul oflf their shirt. 
 
 Nor they didn't smoke the cigarette. 
 
 But did inginerally chaw tobacker ; 
 Did many things they oughten to, 
 
 Our old-time fogy country cracker, 
 
 The female bustle was then well known, 
 
 But was built in a different form. 
 Made out of rags and stuffed with tow. 
 
 Or paper 'bout the size of your arm. 
 
 Prior to the days of hoopskirts, too, 
 
 They warn't so waspish in the waist. 
 The dear sweet things didn't like to sting, 
 
 'Twas before they acquired that taste. 
 
 There was a creature, that then unknown, 
 
 Malformation now called the dude, 
 A hypersarcostic sort of thing. 
 
 With little common sense imbued. 
 
 The changes wrought in fifty years. 
 
 What we have told is but an inkle. 
 Invention is still upon the tare. 
 
 Would stun a new Rip Van Winkle. 
 
 Now these public schools, the great jehu ! 
 
 They dish out larnin' by the platter, 
 Why, they pour it down and rub it in. 
 
 They fry it in the children's batter. 
 
52 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 Babies now are chocked and crammed, 
 Are just loaded down with knowledge, 
 
 Soon as their bibbs are taken off, 
 Are prepared to enter college. 
 
 George Washington was a mighty man. 
 In days of which we've been speaking; 
 
 Could he come back, a goose he'd be, 
 It would make him feel real sneaking. 
 
 Then what about old man Franklin? 
 
 The man who first cotch the lightning ; 
 Could he see half that's now been done. 
 
 Why, he couldn't keep from frightning. 
 
 And that old- tune orator, Patrick Henry, 
 That liberty speech he seemed a cordon, 
 
 But, goodness gracious, in this great day, 
 Whar'd he be 'ginst Grady and Gordon? 
 
 John AVesley, he was a " hustler " then, 
 Counted powerful in a scrimmage, 
 
 But to set him down in these big times. 
 With sich as Sam Jones and Talmage. 
 
 Old man Girrard was then thought rich. 
 And so was Mr. John Jacob Astor, 
 
 But millionaires of the present day, 
 Have possessions greatly vaster. 
 
 Merchants, lawyers, doctors all progress, 
 ' Mechanics is the greatest wonder. 
 And farmeis who held the biggest cards, 
 Are the worst of all snowed under. 
 
 We seem to live in a different world, 
 The old ball seems turned inside out. 
 
 Things aint running as they use to was. 
 No, they aint agwine as they mout. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 5^ 
 
 The sun's the same, the world has changed, 
 
 Sun looks all right, shines as bright. 
 And the stars twinkle as they ever did, 
 
 But the world has changed its plight. 
 
 The firmaments stand as firmly fixed, 
 
 Our mother's Bible reads as of old, 
 The change must be in our fellow-man, 
 
 He's patterned in a different mould. 
 
 It may be all right, it may be wrong. 
 
 The change may be to man's interest, 
 But we fear the devil's in the deal. 
 
 For his cards seem to show up the best. 
 
54 
 
 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAV 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 55 
 
 Old Pendleton— A Sketch of Old South Carolina. 
 
 \ i /hat hallowed associations does the name of this old vil- 
 lage conjure up — how often in thought do we wander 
 back there. Old landmarks and many reminders are still to be 
 seen, but the kindly faces and precious souls have nearly all 
 gone across the bourne. We hope to meet them again in the 
 better land, and if admitted into the eternal realms of bliss, 
 and as time rolls on her endless cycles, we feel that now and 
 then we should still be constrained to spare a moment to peep 
 down upon the old familiar spot, where our first fond hopes 
 on earth aspired and indulged in many bright anticipations, 
 which have never been realized. 
 
 Fifty years ago old Pendleton was the fairest town in upper 
 South Carolina, a community of wealth, intelligence, refine- 
 ment and religion, and the home of the best people it has ever 
 fallen to our lot to know. A resort of giant minds who would 
 do honor to any age of the world's history — such men as John 
 C. Calhoun, Langdon Chevis, Daniel Huger, Warren R. Davis, 
 John Taylor, David K. Hamilton, the Pinkneys, Haynes, 
 Earles, the Generals Pickens, Anderson, Blassengame; the 
 Colonels Warren, Allston and Boul'on, and the homes of Bar- 
 nard E. Bee, the Stevens brothers, of Charleston gunboat 
 fame, of Confederate times, home of John and Pat Calhoun, 
 the well-known young financiers of to-day ; and from those 
 old hills came our astute ex-Senator Joseph E. Brown, and 
 
56 THE fo(;y days and now; 
 
 Atlnnta's brainiest man, Dr. H. V. M. Miller; General Kusk, 
 of Texas, a power in bis day; Governors Perry and Orr, Com- 
 modore Stribling, of tbe navy, and bundreds wbo bave left 
 tbeir impress upon tbis new world, and in tbeir day and time 
 belped to lay tbe foundation and build up tbis great country, 
 and a bost of otbers wbose bonorable names and useful citi- 
 zensbip would cballenge tbe world for comparison. Sucb was 
 tbe status of old Pendleton fifty years ago, wben in tbe full 
 tide of ber prosperity. A splendid Piedmont climate, witb 
 fertile lands, and under tbe old slave regime ; and tben tbe 
 wealtb resided in tbe country, and agricultural pursuits were 
 regarded second to none otber as an occupation of bonor and 
 profit, and were conducted witb an intelligence and advance- 
 ment scarcely surpassed to-day in tbe Soutb. 
 
 It was in tbe streets of old Pendleton tbat ber indignant 
 citizens kindled tbe bonfire tbat consumed in its flames 
 tbe first incendiary papers and letters sent Soutb by tbe abo- 
 Mtionists to stir up strife and discord among a bappy people. 
 
 One of tbe first female high schools in tbe Soutb was con- 
 ducted there by Misses Bates and Billings, from Vermont, who 
 taught tbe young ladies etiquette and French, graceful atti- 
 tudes, and "higbfalutin' notions," modern manners, to walk 
 daintily, and to scream fashionably at a bug or a mouse. 
 
 One of the first military academies, where the boys drilled 
 daily, and wore gray uniforms and brass buttons, was con- 
 ducted there. 
 
 My first recollection of a Sunday Scbool was there in the 
 old Baptist Church, whicb is still standing. Uncle Tommy 
 Sloan and Mrs. Fanny Mayse were the managing and leading 
 spirits. We had little tbuml) catechisms, and the first and 
 second questions were, " Wbo made maii ?" " Of what did 
 God make man ?" 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANCED. 57 
 
 The first cooking stove I ever heard of, my father bought, 
 and was describing its excellences to Uncle Tommy, and among 
 its otlier advantages he said : " Why, Tommy, it will save half 
 the fuel ;" when Uncle Tommy replied : " Well, Billy, why not 
 get two of them, and save all the fuel ?" 
 
 One of the first cotton factories was established at Pendleton 
 and run with great success and profit for many years, and up to 
 his death, by Major B. F. Sloan, and is still in operation by 
 the Sittons. 
 
 Pendleton had her agricultural society, fair grounds and 
 race track, and some of her exhibitions would put to blush 
 many fairs of the present day. 
 
 Pendleton had four flourishing churches, two hotels ; and 
 who of her old citizens do not remember the long ball-room 
 in the old Tom Cherry Hotel, and the beautiful young girls 
 who once skimmed like swallows over those well-waxed floors, 
 and the stately matrons, who, as chaperones, patronized with 
 their presence these delightful occasions, and gave dignity and 
 respectability to the ball-room ? The old debating society, 
 held in the old Farmers' Hall, and ever graced by a full at- 
 tendance of the fair sex? The magnificent coaches and the 
 elegant spans of horses that whirled up the dust in the streets 
 of the old town ? What old citizen's heart is not made to 
 throb at the recollection of thrilling notes from the stage horn, 
 borne over the hills to notify them of its coming ? How the 
 people would gather around the hotels and the postoffice as the 
 great rocking, ponderous vehicle came rolling and swaying 
 over the rocks, drawn by four or six horses, dashing in at a 
 gallop into the center of the old town, with its passengers and 
 mail. And with what eager excitement the citizens sought 
 to welcome friends and visitors, and receive the tardy news. 
 
58 TIIK FO^.Y DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 Who does not remember the old "Pendleton Messenger" and 
 Dr. F. W. Symmes, its editor, and the old "Farmer and 
 Planter," and Major George Seabourne, proprietor and pub- 
 lisher; Mr. E. B. Benson, the long-time merchant, and old 
 Billy Hubbard, the jolly landlord ; the old English dancing 
 master, Walon ; rich old Sam Maverick, the eccentric ; old man 
 Sid Cherry, the bachelor; old Tommy Christian, the town 
 marshal, and many other notables we have not space here to 
 mention ? 
 
 The first farmers' society in the South was inaugurated at 
 old Pendleton in the year 1815, and was known as the "Pen- 
 dleton Farmers' Society," and, if we are not misinformed, the 
 second society of its kind in the United States, and the third 
 in Charleston^ in 1818, the first being in Philadelphia. The 
 first officers of the "Pendleton Farmers' Society" were James 
 C. Griflin, President ; Josiah Golliard, Vice-President ; Colo- 
 nel Robert Anderson, Secretary ; Joseph V. Shanklin, Treas- 
 urer and Corresponding Secretary. Its honorary members 
 were General Thomas Pinkney, Honorable Wm. Lowndes, 
 Honorable C. C. Pinkney, R. S. Izzard, Esq., J. R. Pringle, 
 Esq., Doctor J. Noble, General Daniel linger, Honorable 
 John "C. Calhoun, Colonel J. Bonl'on, Colonel L. J. Allston, 
 Reverend Doctor Waddell, General John Blassengame, D. P. 
 Ilillhouse, Doctor Isaac Auld, Doctor C. M. Reese, of Phila- 
 delj)hia. 
 
 And among the earliest resident members were Thos. Pink- 
 ney, John L. North, Andrew Pickens, Benjamin Smith, John 
 Miller, Charles Galliard, John E. Calhoun, J. Taliaferro Lewis, 
 Doctor Thomas L. Dart, General J. B. Earle, William Hunter, 
 Benjamin Diipree, Joseph Gresham, L. McGregor, Samuel 
 Earle, Kiclinrd Harrison, ]*atrick Norris, J. C. Kilpatrick, Jo- 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 60 
 
 seph Earle, T. W. Farrar, C. W. Miller, Samuel Cherry, John 
 Taylor, J. C. Griffin, Colonel Robert Anderson, Thomas Strib- 
 ling, John Greene, Josiah Galliard, Francis Burt, John Hun_ 
 ter, W. S. Adair, William Taylor, William Anderson, Thomas 
 M. Sloan, Joseph Mitchell, Thomas Lorton, Reverend James 
 Hillhouse, Benjamin Dickson, Richard Lewis, J. B. Hammond, 
 John Holbert, Robert Lemon, John Hall, David Cherry, Chas. 
 Story, McKenzie Collins, George Taylor, Theodore Galliard, 
 Samuel Gassaway, R. A. Maxwell, Jesse P. Lewis, Doctor F. 
 W. Symmes, George Reese, James Farris, James O. Lewis, 
 Henry McReary, David K. Hamilton, Major George Seaborn, 
 Major R. F. Simpson, E. B. Benson, B. F. Perry, Geo. Reese, 
 George Liddell, David Sloan, J. B. Perry, John Martin, T. 
 Farrar, Warren R. Davis, William Gaston, John Maxwell, 
 William Sloan, William Hubbard, Elam Sharpe, Leonard 
 Simpson, Samuel Taylor, Major Lewis, William Steele, James 
 Lawrence. 
 
 And this old Farmers' Society, organized seventy-five years 
 ago, is still in existence, and flourishing under the administra- 
 tion of the present officers, D. K. Norris, President; J. C. 
 Stribling, Vice-President; G. E. Taylor, Secretary and Treas- 
 urei-; J. B. Sitton, J. D. Smith, James Hunter, W. H. D. Gal- 
 liard, H. S. Trescot, Executive Committee. 
 
 Let all honor be given to the old Pendleton Farmers' So- 
 ciety, the pioneer of our Southern agriculture, the first organ- 
 ization of its kind in the sunny South, and nowhere in the 
 State to-day can be found greener pastures, finer stock, or 
 better farming, than in the vicinity of this venerable old vil- 
 Inge, all due to the grand race of people who once lived and 
 flourished there, and at that time one of the most intelligent 
 and delio'htful communities that ev^er existed on this check- 
 
60 THE FU(iY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 ered earth, and where to-day can be found a brighter galaxy 
 of names and more honorable men than these recorded on the 
 roll of the Pendleton Farmers' Society. 
 
 Once more, I say, let it be remembered in this ascending 
 farmers' era, that from this little leaven came the leaven that 
 shall leaven the whole lump. 
 
 There, too, was published one of the first agricultural 
 monthlies in the South, under the proprietorship and manage- 
 ment of Major George Seabourne, " The Farmer and Planter," 
 a most able and valuable ally to the Farmers' Society.^ and did 
 much to promote the spirit of agriculture in that section in its 
 day. 
 
 It is the opinion of many persons now living that the author 
 of the Junius Letters, so famous in their day, was a PendJe- 
 tonian, one John Miller, formerly the King's printer, in Lon- 
 don, and who fled from England on account of some political 
 offense, settled at Pendleton, and was one of the founders 
 and proprietors of the " Pendleton Messenger," seventy-five 
 years ago. As far back as I can remember, the authorship of 
 those letters were currently attributed to him. 
 
 But the glory of the old town has long since departed — in 
 the first j)lace shorn of her Samson locks, robbed of her terri- 
 tory and ca})itolcy, the great district cut up into Anderson, 
 Pickens and Oconee ; and the railroads, of which she little 
 dreamed then, have ignored her claims, stolen away her thrift, 
 and now the good old town of auld-lang-syne stands out for- 
 lorn, gray and dilapidated in her tottering senility. But there 
 still lingers a fragrance of intelligence and refinement in her 
 social atmosj^heie that ever strikes the visitor with admiration 
 and respect. 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 61 
 
 Since the days of which we have been speaking, the second 
 and third generations are passing fiom the stage of action, 
 rapidly losing their grip on life, and falling off into the sea of 
 time. Of the second, Colonel Tom Pickens, Mr. Dickson and 
 John Sitton alone remain, Mr. William Galliard having died 
 but recently, and but a remnant of the third generation is left. 
 The Clemson Agricultural College is now being erected at old 
 Fort Hill, the John C. Calhoun place ; a fine hotel is about to 
 be built at old Pendleton, and it is thought the old town is 
 looking up somewhat. May the Lord bless the faithful old 
 spot, and may she become once more as she was in the days of 
 yore, as a "city set upon a hill. " 
 
62 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW 
 
 JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN. 
 
 VITII all her honors in the olden days, perhaps nothing 
 gave more distinction to old Pendleton than the name 
 of John C. Calhoun, for that was his home. There he done 
 his trading; there he schooled his children ; there he and his 
 family went to church; there he received his bulky mails ; 
 there many strangers came to visit him, and four miles from 
 the town was his famous Fort Hill farm, a splendid property 
 on the Seneca river, with broad acres of bottoms, fertile 
 uplands and forests of native timber. The old home is still 
 standing, a roomy but unpretentious looking mansion, over- 
 looking the Seneca Valley and in full view of the Blue Ridge 
 Mountains. This valuable estate was inherited by Mr. Clem- 
 son, Mr. Calhoun's son-in-law. and \)y him donated to the State 
 of South Carolina for the purpose of an agricultural college, 
 which is now being erected near the old mansion, which is, I 
 understand, to be preserved intact, with the old furniture and 
 bric-a-brac, that visitors may see the old home as it was in olden 
 times. 
 
 Mr. Calhoun was very fond of his Fort Hill farm, and 
 during his vacations from Washington gave much attention to 
 his farming interests. lie was first to introduce into that 
 section blooded cattle, and I can remember his importation of 
 the English red Devon cows. He first introduced Bermuda 
 grass for grazing purposes. This grass is still to be seen on 
 the great l{\wn in front of the old mansion, and I understand 
 
JOHN C. CALHOUN. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 65 
 
 this same Bermuda grass has about captured all of the fine 
 bottom land on the place. He also first introduced the hill- 
 side ditches. I remember when I was quite a boy, seeing him 
 superintending, surveying and staking off these graded 
 ditches, and many times have I seen him with his eldest 
 daughter. Miss Anna Mariah, walking together through the 
 fields and meadows of Fort Hill. 
 
 Mr. Calhoun was ever pleased to receive and entertain his 
 neighbor farmers and discuss with them the agricultural inter- 
 ests of the country, and it made no difference whether they 
 wore broad cloth or homespun geans, all received the same 
 kindness and attention. His most earnest friends were his 
 nearest neighbors, and those who were best acquainted with 
 his spotless character. No state ever held more confidence in 
 her representative than did South Carolina in Mr. Calhoun, nor 
 did the South ever have a better and truer friend ; he seemed 
 to possess, to an eminent degree, all of the elements that 
 belong to true human greatness ; though brilliant and pro- 
 found beyond other men of his day, he was simple and unpre- 
 tentious in manner, affable and conservative, yet as firm as the 
 rocks of Gibraltar in his convictions ; possessed of a Christian 
 spirit, without a shade of fanaticism, fully temperate, though 
 not a total abstinent, gentle and kind in disposition, but with 
 the heart of a lion when aroused by acts of aggression and 
 injustice ; as to the depth of his great mind there seemed no 
 bottom and his foresight of coming events is still the subject 
 of remark and wonder to the present day. 
 
 John Caldwell Calhoun was born in Abbeville District, 
 South Carolina, in March, 1792; his family were Irish on both 
 sides. His father, Patrick, was born in Donnegal, Ireland, and 
 landed with his parents in Pennsylvania when but a child. The 
 
6G THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 family then moved to Virginia and from there to South Caro- 
 lina, in 1776, where John, the last but one, was borne, and 
 grew up on a farm; aspiring to an education he was sent over 
 to Georgia to his uncle, Dr. Waddle, then a famous teacher and 
 Presbyterian minister, and making such promising progress was 
 next sent to Yale College, where he gi-aduated with great distinc- 
 tion, and where, by invitation from Dr. Dvvight, the president of 
 the college, engaged with that celebrated scholar in a political 
 discussion (they entertaining opposite views) which elicited from 
 the doctor the remark: "That young man has talent enough to 
 be President of the United States;" and the doctor predicted 
 someday, that he would be, if he lived. From Yale he went to 
 Litchfield, Conn., and attended the celebrate law school under 
 Judge Reeves ; returning to South Carolina he spent some 
 time in the law office of Mr. Dessaussure, in Charleston, and 
 also in Abbeville, S. C, with Col. Geo. Bowie. He served 
 two sessions in the South Carolina Legislature and then was 
 elected to Congress, and then to the United States Senate, 
 and was afterwards Secretary of War, Vice-President with 
 Andrew Jackson, and died as Senator from his old State, South 
 Carolina. 
 
 Mr. Calhoun married his cousin, Floride Calhoun, of Abbe- 
 ville, S. C, and settled permanently near old Pendleton, at 
 Fort Hill. He raised seven children, Andrew P., Anna 
 Mariah, Patrick, John C, James E., Cornelia and William 
 Lowndes. Not one of the family are living, the two eldest 
 being the last to die. 
 
 The eldest married a daughter of Gen. Duff Green, a man 
 of great distinction in his day, and although Andrew P. was 
 educated for and would have preferred a political life, was 
 coni])elled to abandon the idea on account of his own and his 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. ()9 
 
 fathers agricultural interests in Alabama, thus became a 
 planter, and a successful one. After the death of his father 
 he returned to the old home at Fort Hill, where his younger 
 children were born. Anna Mariah, the next, married Mr. 
 Thomas G. Clemson, a foreigner, and who was afterward made 
 Minister to Belgium and Cuba, from this Government. He 
 and his wife both died at Fort Hill, since the war. Patrick 
 was a graduate of West Point, and died a United States officer, 
 before the war. John C. chose the medical profession and 
 graduated, but never practiced ; he married twice and left 
 several children. James E , perhaps the brightest mind of the 
 family, settled in San Francisco, Cal., started out with brilliant 
 prospects, but died quite young. Miss Cornelia was injured 
 by a fall in her infancy and never married ; she was also very 
 bright, and assisted her father as his amanuensis. William 
 Lowndes, the youngest of all the children, Avas my class-mate 
 and best friend, married a Miss Cloud, of Winnesborro, S. C, 
 and died early. 
 
 Mrs. John C. Calhoun was famous for her hospitalities and 
 her varied domestic accom]ilishments[; superintended, in per- 
 son, her extensive household affairs; her home was ever full of 
 visitors ; she was the very perfection in housekeeping, and 
 after the war her old house servants were in great demand ; 
 she was the most loving and indulgtint of mothers, was very 
 fond of building, and constantly kept carpenters in her 
 employ, adding, changing and remodeling 'till the old Fort 
 Hill mansion became a model for its conveniences. 
 
 Mrs. Andrew P. Calhoun is still living, and she and her only 
 daughter reside with her son Pat, in North Atlanta. The 
 family, like many other wealthy Southerners, were bereft of 
 their fortune during the Confederate war, but through the 
 
70 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 })henomenal success of her sons, John and Pat, they are in 
 affluence again. It is but a decade since these two enterpris- 
 ing young men were struggling for a support, and now have 
 not only acquired fortunes, but have developed into great 
 railroad factors, and have had much to do with the present 
 prospective great development of the South. It is an unde- 
 niable fact that the R. cfe D. R. R. is largely indebted to the 
 brain of young Pat Calhoun for its vast proportions. He is 
 now a director and general attorney for this powerful syndi- 
 cate, and John is also a director and is president of the South- 
 ern Society in the city of New York. Mrs. Calhoun has 
 reason to feel proud of her children, and they are descended 
 from distinguished ancestry on both sides. We doubt if there 
 is a young man on this continent, to-day, who has accomplished 
 through the means of his own brain, more than Pat Calhoun ; 
 but little past thirty years of age, he has climbed within the 
 past eight years from absolute poverty to the top of one of the 
 greatest n.oney powers in the land, wields an influence and 
 handles fortunes in a manner that savours of the old stories we 
 read in the Arabian Knights. I feel I cannot close this refer- 
 ence to the family of Mr. Andrew P. Calhoun, without a word 
 about Miris Margie, the only daughter, and do so without per- 
 mission, and take the liberty, because I believe the name of 
 John C. Calhoun and his discendants belong to the Southern 
 public Though Miss Margie's efforts have been confined to 
 a more secluded field of action, she has proven herself no 
 idler; she seems to have inherited her grandfathers taste for 
 agriculture and fine stock, and in the management of her val- 
 uable stock farm near Atlanta she has exhibited a successful 
 and practical business management that challenges competi- 
 tion with the best farmers of the day. Her management has 
 
OR, T[IE WORLD MAS CHANGED. 71 
 
 been a success, as her green meadows and beautiful Jerseys 
 and Ayershires will attest. She ignores cotton altogether, and 
 confines her efforts entirely to forage crops, delights in fine 
 stock, and sits on her horse as securely and handles the lines 
 behind her spirited bays with the confidence of an expert. 
 In many ways &he reminds me of her grandfather, not alone 
 in her predelections to agriculture and fine stock, but in the 
 unassuming simplicity of her manner, and her disposition and 
 capacity to entertain and interest others. 
 
 In the dark days of the Confederacy, and after the war, 
 during the years of poverty of the widowed mother, this 
 daughter became the great comfort to the mother and the sole 
 instructress to her younger brothers, and besides her teaching, 
 Pat went but a short time to Prof. Cooledge, at the Dalton 
 Academy, and to the devotion and inspiration from this noble 
 sister he is, no doubt, indebted in a large measure for his extra- 
 ordinary success in life. Miss Margie seems to have no aspi- 
 rations for herself; her whole ambition in life is concentrated 
 in tlje interests of her brothers ; she prefers the most simple 
 and retired life and is chief and major domoress of the entire 
 home dej^artment. 
 
 I love to think and talk about the John C. Calhoun 
 family, they were our nearest neighbors and best friends; the 
 Calhoun boys were ray school mates for years, and they were 
 my associates all through the days of my youth — we rode to 
 school together to old Pendleton, hunted together in our holi- 
 lidays and the youngest son, William Lowndes, was my bosom 
 friend ; his mother used to call us h«r " Damon and Pythias." 
 The first enterprise I ever attempted, he was my partner. I 
 have outlived them all, and shall ever cherish in the greenest 
 spot in my heart every member of that noble family. 
 
72 THE FOGY DAYS AXD NOW; 
 
 I have often conversed with Mr. John C. Calhoun, for he 
 was fond of talking with boys, and would adapt his conversa- 
 tion to entertain and instruct them. He once said to me, 
 "You boys go out hunting with your double-barrel guns, 
 pov/der flasks and shot pouches filled with amunition, and not 
 even the little larks and buUbats escaped your attention, you 
 waste your amunition and bring home trifling game in your 
 bird bags; said it was not so in his youth, that then he 
 shot a rifle, and never fired at anything less than a squirrel or a 
 turkey, and that it was a rare thing for him to miss a shot ; 
 that amunition was expensive and had to be economized. I 
 still have in my possession his life and speeches, presented me 
 by his own hand. He also gave me a list of histories for my 
 early readings, which I purchased and kept up to the late war, 
 and lost during the confusion of that terrible time, together 
 with everything else I owned. Mr. Calhoun told me that his 
 favorite reading in his youth was such books as Josephus 
 Rollins, Ancient History and Plutarchs lives, and especially 
 the last, he was very fond of; said we boys were too fond of 
 trashy novels, that he never read them. I remember once 
 discussing with Mr. Calhoun the phenomena of rains, hi-s 
 unassuming manner throwning me off my guard, wfien I 
 launched off into quite a theory of my own. Ho listened 
 deferentially to what I had to say, and then gave me modestly 
 his ideas upon the subject, and I was so struck by his able 
 logic that it suddenly occurred to me that I was listening to 
 the greatest mind of the day. How ridiculous my shallow 
 ideas must have appeared to him, and during the balance of 
 the conversation felt constrained to say little more than yes. sir, 
 and no sir, and felt much embarrassed, which I know he dis- 
 covered and tried to relieve. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 73 
 
 Traveling through the Blue Ridge Mountains in North 
 Carolina, Mr. Calhoun, Col. Gadsden and my father stopped 
 over niofht at a mountain cabin home. There was but one 
 spare room, and in it a bed and a pallet. My father arranged 
 for himself and Col. Gadsden to take the pallet and Mr. Cal- 
 houn to take the bed. About midnight the mail-rider stopped 
 in, and seeing but one person in the bed, said: "Git furder 
 thar, old horse, and spoon," and familiarly piled in with the 
 Senator. In the morning the hoi^tess came in the room and 
 finding Mr. Calhoun there alone requested him to climb up a 
 ladder into the loft, and hand her down a shoulder of bacon, 
 which the Senator complied with, as gracefully as circum- 
 stances would permit. 
 
 Our party spent several days on this trip in Cashier's Valley^ 
 at the home of the old man, James McKinney. Mrs. McKin- 
 ney was quite a stout, red-faced, middle-aged lady, celebrated 
 far and wide for her curiosity as well as her loquacity, as also 
 her unsophisticated manner ; entering the room where the 
 gentlemen were talking, with her sleeves rolled up above her 
 elbows, her arms akimbo, addressing my father, with whom 
 she was acquainted, said: "Colonel Sloan, is this the great 
 John C. Cal-honn that I have hearn so much talk about ? " My 
 father answered in the affirmative, saying: "Mr. Calhoun, 
 allow me to present to you our hostess, Mrs McKinney." 
 Mrs. McKinney grasped the proffered hand, saying: "Do tell; 
 why, you look jist like other folks. I reckon you've got a 
 mighty purty wife to home haint ye ? " Mr. Calhoun answered, 
 that he intended bringing Mrs. Calhoun on a visit to the mount- 
 ains, and she would have an opportunity to judge for herself, 
 when Mrs. McKinney broke in again, " Well, I low she's got lots 
 of purty bed quilts down thar," when old man McKinney spoke 
 
74 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 out, "Thar now, Sally, you've played h— 1 agin," and for one 
 time in his life our great Statesman seemed at a loss for a 
 reply. Mr. Calhoun made frequent visits to these mountains 
 with my father, examining the topography of the country in 
 view of a railroad crossing the Blue Ridge, and could often 
 be seen cracking rocks in search of minerals. He was first to 
 discover the indications of gold in that section, and afterward, 
 my father and others, worked extensive gold mines there. 
 
 Mr. Calhoun was noted for his wonderful forecast of coming 
 events. Many are still living who remember his predictions 
 about Marthasville, now Atlanta, the coming city of the South. 
 Nearly fifty years ago he said it would become a great 
 railroad distributing point and a great city. He greatly 
 desired about that time a railroad connection between Charles- 
 ton, S. C, and Knoxville, Tenn., which enterprise was finally 
 undertaken before the war, and after an expenditure of sev- 
 eral millions of dollars, under bad management, was abandoned 
 for want of further means, the failure proving a great misfor- 
 tune to South Carolina. 
 
 As a boy, I have often heard Mr. Calhoun discuss with my 
 fatiier the great approaching crash between the North and 
 South, and its certain fearful results. He would show the 
 continual encroachments of the Abolitionists upon the con- 
 stitutional rights of the South, and pictured the troubles that 
 would be unavoidable. He feared that our people did not 
 fully appreciate the gravit}^ of the situation. I have often 
 heard him say il must come if these aggressions continued, 
 and from his intimate knowledge of our opponents and their 
 unrelenting and selfish character, he feared the worst. 
 
 My father was devoted to Mr. Calhoun, and when he died 
 was in the deepest grief and gloom, for he felt that the greatest, 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 75 
 
 the wisest, the purest of all, was lost to his 001111117 ; and I 
 cannot help but believe that could he have lived untill our 
 trouble, we would have come out of it better than wo did. 
 
 I remember once that as father and I were riding over to 
 Pendleton, passing the Fort Hill big gate, we discovered Mr. 
 Calhoun and his negroes fighting fire in the woods. We got 
 out of our buggy and assisted in putting out the fire and sav- 
 ing the fencing. 
 
 When the Senator would return from Washington, my 
 father and other neighbors would visit him frequently, being 
 received at his library, a cosy little house out in the yard under 
 the shade of several venerable oaks, where they would discuss 
 the state of the country, agricultural, and other topics of the 
 day. 
 
 I once encountered a most embarrassing position at the Fort 
 Hill dinner table ; had been out hunting with the boys and 
 returned to dine with them. Mr. and Mrs. Calhoun were 
 seated at either end of the long dining table and I was placed 
 right between two very elegantly dressed young ^adies (sup- 
 pose everybody has some peculiar weakness, and somehow, 
 elegantly dressed young ladies, with long trains, always had a 
 paralyzing effect upon my mental system), my embarrass- 
 ment increasino; with the closer contact. I was feelincj exceed- 
 ingly awkward and cramped on this occasion, when to increase 
 my discomfiture, my friend, Willie Calhoun, requested me to 
 carve a roast duck just in my front. I picked up the carver 
 and fork and made an awkward lunge at the fowl, when it 
 skipped clean out of the dish, landing plump into Miss Martha 
 Calhoun's lap. It was an awful affair, and my first impulse 
 was to fly, but I dared not attempt it, for those long, mysterious 
 silken trains were coiled all around about my feet, and I feared 
 
76 TIIK FOGY DAYS AXt) NOW; 
 
 if I made a dash I might become entangled in these stylish 
 appendages and upset the young ladies or something else, and 
 the only resort I could think of was like old Adam, to try and 
 put the trouble off on some one else, so turning to the sufferer 
 I said: "Miss Martha, I am very sorry, this thing would never 
 have happened if it hadn't have been a wild duck." This excuse 
 brought down the house with a roar of laughter, and even the 
 stately Senator smiled and remarked that the young man 
 should be pardoned at once, and the pardon was at once gra- 
 ciously granted, and instead of the miserable culprit, 1 at once 
 became the hero of the occasion. 
 
 I now want to tell you a story. It may at first appear a 
 little marvelous, but I have earnestly tried to give the truth all 
 through this little book, and as I am now a white haired man, 
 am persuaded that I have borne a respectable name for 
 veracity, and would therefore regret, at this late date, to be con- 
 sidered a competitor of the Baron Mon Chaussen. I trust the 
 reader will at least be kind enough to give the statement the 
 benefit of what the law recognizes as ' reasonable doubts." 
 The strange story is about a remarkable and very deep old 
 well on the top of old Fort Hill, on the John Calhoun place. 
 
 It is said that, in olden times, several battles were fought 
 around this old fort, and reported that many human bodies 
 were thrown into the old well. It has never been used since. 
 In our day, there was much superstition about this old well, 
 especially among the negroes, who gave the place a wide 
 berth after nightfall, but as to the facts of which we are 
 about to state, I, and others now living, were personal 
 witnesses. 
 
 In that day, if a person would go to this old well after sun 
 set, and leaning over so as to throw the voice down to the bot- 
 
OR, THE AV^OKLD HAS CHANG FCD. i I 
 
 torn of the well and would halloo, "what are you doing down 
 there?" It would answer back, "n-o-t-h-i n-g a-t a-1-1." As to 
 the whys and wherefores, we decline even to express an opinion, 
 but leave our incredulous readers to form their own conclu- 
 sions; we can only avow again that we have in no wise mis- 
 represented the facts. 
 
 Mr. John Ewing Calhoun, a brother of Mrs. John C. Cal- 
 houn, married the sister of the distinguished South Carolina 
 Congressman, Warren R. Davis, and owned and lived on a 
 splendid estate of lands adjoining Fort Hill ; had also many 
 slaves, and was considered a very rich man in that day. It 
 was his son. Col. Ransom Calhoun, who was killed in a duel 
 by Lieutenant Rhett, on an island near Charleston, in the early 
 part of the war. His only daughter, Miss Martha, familliarly 
 called Coody, was one of the most splendid young ladies of 
 that day, with a cultivated intellect, a gifted conversationalist, 
 an accomplished musician and the author of the " Keowee 
 Waltzes," and besides an equestrian of extraordinary skill. I 
 once saw her mount a young blooded horse of her fathers" 
 that two negroes with difficulty held whilst she was being 
 seated, and when turned loose, skilfully managed him. She 
 died early — never married. 
 
 Mrs. Calhoun had another brother, Mr. James Edward 
 Calhoun, a very wealthy man, and one of many eccentricities, 
 who lived on the Savannah River, in Abbeville Dist., S. C, 
 and who died but recently at a very advanced age. He left 
 no children. 
 
 One of her Sisters was the wife of Gov. Noble, of South 
 Carolina. The Calhouns, of Atlanta, are also of the Abbe- 
 ville, South Carolina, Calhoun family. We refer to the great 
 oculist, Dr. Abner Calhoun, and Judge William Lowndes Cal- 
 
78 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 houn, who has iilled so many honorable and useful offices in 
 this City; the brilliant lawyer called "Andy" Calhoun, and 
 other members of these families. 
 
 Circumstances have connected a name with the John C' 
 Calhoun family that savors much of romance, that of James H. 
 Rion, late of Winsboro, S. C, who died a learned scholar and 
 distinguished lawyer. Of all persons now living, I am, perhaps, 
 the only one that can give a correct account of his connection 
 with the Calhoun family, who had much to do with the shaping 
 of the remarkable events of his after life. 
 
 How well I remember the first time I ever saw Jim Rion, 
 sitting alone on the root of a great oak in front of the old 
 Pendleton Academy, with a yellow ribbon band around 
 his })lain straw hat. I was struck with the peculiar whiteness 
 of his skin, his delicate and girl-like appearance. I spoke to 
 the boy and learned from him that he and his mother were 
 Irish Canadians, but recently from Savannah, Ga. His mother 
 had come to keep house at the Old Pendleton Hotel. He 
 wanted to witness the examination then going on, but was too 
 timid to venture in alone. I conducted the stranger boy in 
 and shared with him my seat. 
 
 Soon after this he entered school, becoming my classmate 
 and we afterward became devoted friends, he spending his Sat- 
 urdays and vacations with me at my fathers beautiful home, 
 Tranquilla, on the Seneca River, and in the Blue Ridge Mount- 
 ains, hunting. 
 
 I rode to school at Pendleton, joining the Calhoun 
 boys at the big gate. One morning, calling at the mansion' 
 Mrs. Callioun mentioned to me that she wanted a good house- 
 keeper, when 1 told her of Mrs. Rion, whose cakes and pies I 
 had so often enjoyed, and at the request of Mrs. Calhoun I 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 79 
 
 went to see Mrs. Rion and obtained her consent to go to Fort 
 Ilill, and then Jim formed a part of our cavalcade to the 
 Pendleton Academy. Our party consisted of Mr. Calhoun's 
 three sons, John C, James E., William Lowndes and Jim Rion, 
 from Fort Hill, Ransome Calhoun, from Keowee, and my Uncle 
 John Hackett and myself from Tranquilla. 
 
 Jim Rion received every kindness from the Calhoun family, 
 and it is believed, to this day, even in South Carolina, that he 
 was of blood relation to the Calhouns, but it is not true. Jim 
 Rion was fifteen years old when he came to Pendleton, and 
 sixteen when he went to Fort Hill. 
 
 My father first noted his brilliancy of intellect and spoke of 
 it to Mr. Calhoun, and through his infiuence, and the efforts 
 of Young James E. Calhoun, who was then in college, he was 
 entered as a beneficiary and graduated with great distinction, 
 winning the first honors of his class, though some of his com- 
 petitors belonged to the wealthiest and most aristocratic fam- 
 ilies of the State. He also captured a more precious prize 
 from the family of the President of the College, then the Hon. 
 W. 0. Preston. 
 
 Rion commenced business as a teacher in Winsboro, S. C, 
 studied law under the famous Mr. Woodward, and soon 
 became his partner in the practice. The war coming on, he 
 was among the first to volunteer, came out as a colonel of a 
 reij^iment, and was known as a brave and brilliant officer 
 After the war he rose rapidly in his profession and became 
 famous as a railroad lawyer, which branch he made a specialty. 
 He refused to enter politics and to accept any kind of political 
 preferment. He presented two scholarships to his alma mater, 
 in gratitude for benefits received. Mr. Calhoun entertained a 
 very high opinion for James Rion, and in many ways showed 
 
80 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 his confidence in his talent and integrity, and after Mr. Cal- 
 houn's death, Rion found opportunity, and did render valuable 
 service to members of his family. James Rion was a remark- 
 able man, and his death was not only an irreparable loss to his 
 family, but to his adopted State. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 81 
 
 THIS DAY OF PROGRESSION, 
 
 TiiE world moves on, it does progress, 
 Rests not, rushing on, on it goes ; 
 Where, or whitherward it may be bound, 
 Is veiled — God himself only knows. 
 
 We may look back for fifty years, 
 And our records tell of many more; 
 
 New petals bud and then unfold, 
 
 And each one gives a greed for more. 
 
 To-day every man's for himself, 
 
 Hindmost left to the devils ca^e ; 
 The tickling game, the winning card, 
 
 Man must tickle, to get his share- 
 Friendship is but an empty sound, 
 
 And gratitude a giddy farce ; 
 Going up we meet many a friend, 
 
 But coming down we find them scarce. 
 
 Who to-day is our dear neighbor. 
 On whom are your praises lavished ; 
 
 They who sit on the topmost rails, 
 Favors wanted there are ravished. 
 
 Boot licking full in fashion now, 
 
 A science made of flattery ; 
 Success, hard won without deceit. 
 
 The tickling force the battery. 
 
82 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 Vile rings are formed to coiisnmate, 
 And foulest sclieiues are de8ijj:iied ; 
 
 Oft worse men are placed in power, 
 To swindle the weak are combined. 
 
 This day an humble, honest man, 
 Is trodden under out of style ; 
 
 Is tho't a man of no git up, 
 
 Voted out of rank, rank and file. 
 
 'Twas in this progress we fell short, 
 Sought for the truth, even prized it; 
 
 Had no more sense than pay our debts. 
 Condemned trickery, despised it. 
 
 Wore woolen jeans, home tanned boots, 
 Had shirts hitched to our collars ; 
 
 Our breeches had the fogy flap. 
 But pockets filled with dollars. 
 
 Yes, you call us old-time fogies, 
 Our old-time ways you have dropped; 
 
 New things, new ideas every day. 
 From the fogy world you've flopped. 
 
 If your progress was most for good, 
 Good and evil both run along, 
 
 Side by side, do their waters flow. 
 But evil seems the biggest prong. 
 
 One flows on with gentle ripple, 
 Other rushes with a mighty roar ; 
 
 The one, but laves its gentle banks. 
 But the other is flooding o'er. 
 
 The first progression known was sin, 
 First development brought unrest, 
 
 First advance was in devilment, 
 And proved to be a bad invest. 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS. CHANGED. 
 
 First couple were a happy pair, 
 Until they struck that progress tree, 
 
 A curse upon tht lirst invention, 
 An apron to hide naked-i-tee. 
 
 Proof tirrft progress was not for good. 
 In fact, panned out vice- versa, 
 
 First advance to pollute the soul. 
 Forward movement, bad disburser. 
 
 May be all right, it suits the folks, 
 Who are the makers of the times. 
 
 Progress is the new order now, 
 
 And the propelling force, the dimes. 
 
 Our old time rig is of ante-date, 
 Modern innovations now preside, 
 
 Be it for better or for worse, 
 They are the court, they must decide. 
 
 New modern fleets around us tack, 
 See gaudy yachts go flying by, 
 
 Fast steamers leave us in their wake, 
 Cant keep up, 'taint no use to try. 
 
 Are on the sail, must scud along, 
 Old bark must bufi'et with the tide. 
 
 Rough breakers beat against our prow, 
 And the great sea seems drear and wide. 
 
 Are on the train, its schedule new. 
 We can but wait, and watch, and see ; 
 
 But it seems it's running very fast, 
 Too fast, much too fast for we. 
 
 83 
 
84 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW 
 
 AN AGE OF MONOPOLY AND GREED. 
 
 N age of monopolous rings, 
 Formed of sharpers, bulls and bears, 
 Of cunning trusts to rob the poor, 
 Then divide up their guilty shares. 
 
 The rich grow richer every day, 
 Their greedy craws never satisfied ; 
 
 They grind the poor down into the dust, 
 And e'en life's comforts are denied. 
 
 While millions live from hand to mouth, 
 Are o'er burdened with the toils, 
 
 Monopolies' coffers are never filled. 
 Nabobs are gloating in the spoils. 
 
 An age of swindles and humbugs, 
 Honesty stands but little chance, 
 
 The big dog's got the whip in hand. 
 And the little dog's got to dance. 
 
 Now these big dog's have got to think 
 That they are made of porcelain clay, 
 
 The under dog's of common mud. 
 That they have lost all right to say. 
 
 They look down on poverty as shame, 
 Though it meet all its obligations; 
 
 A guilty shame that they would shun, 
 As only fit for their abnegations. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 86 
 
 And distress of odious savor, 
 
 To some who recline on roses, 
 On earth they turn up their noses, 
 
 Nor change till up go their toe-ses. 
 
 What a sight in the judgment day, 
 
 When the Lord gives out his diplomas, 
 When some of these high-stepping bucks, 
 
 Will skulk away with the gloamers. 
 
 When earthly laws shall be reversed. 
 
 By light verdicts of the master. 
 When conflicting judgments of men, 
 
 Be wrecked in common disaster. 
 
 Then ye high-headed ones of caste, 
 
 Don't deign a nod to your betters, 
 What will become of your pewter? 
 
 For you must hand in your letters. 
 
 What will you do in the awful day? 
 
 When the grim monster shall find you, 
 The old imp, with sulphurous breath. 
 
 Brings his iCy chains to bind you. 
 
 We would not chide at all the rich, 
 
 For the world must have its pageants, 
 For Heaven fills many a purse. 
 
 And makes good men its agents. 
 
 Grand the man who is so blessed, 
 
 With worldly wealth and with a soul, 
 A heart to feel and hand to help, 
 
 For he shall reach the highest goal. 
 
 The biggest fool that we can ken, 
 
 Though he be a man of learning. 
 The bloated toad who loves himself, 
 
 His own great traits alone discerning. 
 
86 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 Sometimes we meet liim on tlie streets, 
 Have marked his braggart swagger, 
 
 Oe'r the Immble, lie towereth high, 
 To such his eye hath look of dagger. 
 
 •'Twould be hard if in this poor world, 
 If recompense in this dark vale. 
 What entanglements wright and wrong, 
 Thank God there is a grand finale. 
 
 What is progress, except from sin? 
 
 What worth the earth, its passing joys ? 
 A few short years when we look back. 
 
 These mighty things will seem as toys. 
 
 The rage now is to let 'er roll, 
 
 Roll on, rush on, regardless where. 
 
 Let 'er roll, we'll cross the stream, 
 Though we know the maelstrome's near. 
 
 Sometimes we gaze into God's expanse, 
 Peer out into a thousand years. 
 
 Then look back at the trifling past. 
 And smile at former joys and fears. 
 
 See how we struggled there for naught, 
 Some worthless bauble to obtain, 
 
 How many mistaken roads we took. 
 And how sufiered there in vain. 
 
 Then we laugh at human giant fools. 
 Whose form once towered o'er the poor. 
 
 But pigmies do they now appear, 
 Shivering dwarfs outside the door. 
 
 We see the once grand millionaire, 
 Who had but borrowed deceitful gold, 
 
 That swelled his purse a little while, 
 And then found too late he was sold. 
 
Otl, lllE \VOELD HAS CUAKGED. S7 
 
 Have some magnates now in our mind, 
 
 Who in these great times do dwell, 
 Have lorded over God's little ones, 
 
 Might call their names, don't care to tell. 
 
 Sometimes the case that rulers be, 
 
 Whose hearts are rotten to the core, 
 Clothed in power for one brief day, 
 
 And who may soon be worse than poor. 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ', 
 
 THE T\A/^0 STREAMS. 
 
 BUT there are good as well as bad, 
 E'en in this wild and rattling day, 
 Heaven hath sentinels every age, 
 To point its pilgrims on their way. 
 
 Midst sin and shame, some humble ones, 
 Unknown, unselfish, every thought, 
 
 Whose secret prayers reach His throne, 
 Who have his ardent battles fought. 
 
 There is a Christian type this day. 
 Same as was in the days of old, 
 
 As high, as true, and noble too, 
 That ever watches o'er his fold. 
 
 And these make up that gentle stream, 
 The stream that laves its placid banks, 
 
 And but for these the world were lost. 
 For these let's give to God our thanks. 
 
 To noisy world are often hid. 
 
 Unpublished, all their work is done, 
 
 In self-denial hold their creed. 
 And through faith is victory won. 
 
 Not always in the pulpit found. 
 
 Not ever in the church would seek, 
 Not midst the gay and social realms, 
 r>ut rather mongst the low and meek. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 89 
 
 The angels know them, man's in doubt, 
 
 May be Lazarus or Magdalene, 
 Such that might be scorned of men, 
 
 Such might be God's choice I ween. 
 
 How many wolves that wear lambs wool. 
 
 Have gathered within the fold, 
 They may deceive his people here. 
 
 But in his courts they cannot hold. 
 
 How often e'en within the church, 
 
 That Heaven's temples are profaned, 
 Hypocrite in a deacon's chair. 
 
 Who for a saint hath been ordained. 
 
 How many, who may feel secure, 
 
 That will pass through the inner gate ? 
 Oh ! How many shall enter there ? 
 
 And how many will miscalculate? 
 
 Then I wonder what'll be my fate, 
 
 When I'm called to make the change. 
 If I'm saved for what I've done, 
 
 Would think it passing strange. 
 
 If I'm lost, could but deem it just, 
 
 For I know I've a rebel been ; 
 Could make no excuse, silent be. 
 
 My sins I would not dare to screen, 
 
 In soul I know I love the Lord, 
 
 But in the flesh I'm very weak. 
 Sometimes I feel a wouid-be saint, 
 
 Then comes again a devlish streak. 
 
 Now some may think all this is weak. 
 And to all such it may be Greek, 
 To me the only solid plan. 
 Only reasonable left to man. 
 
90 1'HE FOGY DAYS AND NoW 
 
 All others fail of which I've read, 
 To suit the living, fit the dead, 
 None like Christ on earth hath trod. 
 Born a man, I believe he's God. 
 
 I accept Him ; in Him have faith. 
 His promise seal what e'er He saith. 
 Against His word dare not reason, 
 Simple, sacriligious treason. 
 
 I shall cling to his written word, 
 'Tis ahead of all I've ever heard ; 
 If some things I can't understand, 
 Still I'm subject to his command. 
 
 Believe in both heaven and hell. 
 Where right with wrong can never dwell, 
 Deprived of heaven, all that's good, 
 Is essence of hell, its daily food. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 91 
 
 EARTH'S THREE EPOCH'S. 
 
 The earth lay dormant, a dismal mass, 
 Its first epoch thus for ages lay. 
 
 Ever whirling, turning, turning, 
 For how long, God alone can say. 
 
 Next a wriggling of created worms, 
 Then chattering noises in the air, 
 
 But in Eden sprang the master worm, 
 Then a wormess made the happy pair. 
 
 But too soon they spun their first cocoon, 
 With silken threads, their funeral shroud. 
 
 Which their fair forms was to entomb, 
 Heretofore had never seen a cloud. 
 
 Human destiny ruined, one fell swoop, 
 Thwarted, blasted by a devil's trap, 
 
 Banished hence from that garden's bliss, 
 Forever by this sad, sad mishap. 
 
 Henceforth doomed to labor and to plod. 
 Earth's second epoch, a faithless race. 
 
 Stupid fogies, seeking how to find. 
 How to dodge the law, sweat of thy face. 
 
 And though cycles of time have they spent, 
 Have striven and toiled to attain, 
 
 To save " elbow grease " have been intent. 
 Striven and toiled, and still in vain. 
 
92 tliE FOOY DAYS AND NOW ^ 
 
 The old cocoon they at last have burst, 
 On u^rial wings they now seek to fly, 
 
 As butterflies sail on gaudy wings, 
 Flutter in the sunshine, then must die. 
 
 This century, fogy chains were loosed, 
 And since invention can scarce be told. 
 
 And to-day they sail on gaudy wings. 
 They do hardly seem the worms of old. 
 
 The old fogy worm was sleek and fat. 
 And he was content his sphere to fill, 
 
 And these butterflies they flounder too. 
 With all their gaud are but mortal still. 
 
 They gambol midst sweets of every kind, 
 And reckless, no thought of coming storm. 
 
 Forget the tempest is sure to come. 
 Beneath flower lies the prostrate form. 
 
 And such is life, then what doth it wot, 
 In this brief life whether crawl or fly ? 
 
 How short at best our troubled days, 
 For in the midst of life then must die. 
 
 And the spark of life is all the same, 
 Let outside be worm or butterfly, 
 
 This vital spark is all that's worth, 
 The only part that can never die. 
 
 The vital spark alone can stand. 
 For all else is nill, good for naught, 
 
 The God-given spark to every man, 
 Only spark of earth from heaven caught. 
 
 Then what matter whether we crawd or fly ? 
 
 AVhat matter whether we sail or plod. 
 Best of all to live an honest man. 
 
 To be the best, the noblest work of God. 
 
 And through all times we now conclude, 
 There have lived upright, honest men, 
 
 Not so many as there used to be, 
 But still they do turn up now and then. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 93 
 
 THE PE\A/TER BUCKLE MOULDS. 
 
 |NE biigbt morning my father sent me up to old man 
 Howell's, with an order for a lot of shingles. The place 
 was about six miles off, and I was soon on my way, galloping 
 along the country roads. It did not take me long to reach my 
 destination and learn that the old man was already out in the 
 woods, drawing shingles ; however, his son Mart was at home, 
 and kindly offered to conduct me to his father, but before 
 starting, exhibited to me an invention of his own, a pair of 
 soapstone buckle moulds, also displaying a stock on hand of 
 bright, shining gallows buckles. I examined the machine with 
 undisguised wonder, feeling that I was in the presence of a 
 genius, and looked upon the inventor with profound admira- 
 tion. This poor man's son, without opportunities, with his 
 untutored hands, had wrought this valuable machine. I 
 thought, what a brilliant future would be his, what wealth and 
 fame would fall to his lot in life ; such were my meditations as 
 I inspected the beautiful products of his invention. I was 
 startled from my reveries by the young man proposmg to sell 
 the moulds to me. I had not imagined he would part with this 
 valuable property for thousands. I was still more surprised 
 when he offered to take the insignificant sum of 11.50. I had 
 but 75 cents., but he took that rather than miss a trade, admitting 
 he had sold too cheap ; then said there was a soapstone quarry 
 close by and he could make more moulds ; that he was short 
 of capital, and this sale would enable him to lay in another 
 
94 THE FO(;V DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 stock of pewter and go on with the business. He said the 
 worki liad to be supplied with these gallas buckles ; that there 
 was a great future in the business for both of us; that my 
 engaging in the business would only help to advertise it; that 
 it would take a number of factories to supply the demand ; 
 that he was willing to share both the fortune and the fame 
 with me. 
 
 I purchased the factory, and was so elated with my invest- 
 ment that I came very near forgetting the eri-and upon which 
 my father sent me. It was not long before I was on my retui-n 
 home with the valuable machinery in my breeches pockets, 
 engrossed in the contemplation of a great enterprise to be 
 established in the very near future. That night I tossed rest- 
 lessly on my pillow and couMn't sleep for pondering upon my 
 great scheme. I organized many brilliant plans for the future 
 operation, but determined to keep my counsel, for I had heard 
 it said that a wise man keepeth his own counsel. In my good 
 mothers kitchen I knew there were large numbers of pewter 
 spoons and plates, all of which I determined to capture and 
 convert into valuable articles of trade. I matured many im- 
 l^ortant plans of procedure during that short night. 
 
 Next moining I arose early and made a confident of black 
 Dan, my fathers hostler, who had often proved my faithful 
 friend and allie when I wanted a horse out of the stable at 
 night to ride fox hunting. With Dan, I held a protracted and 
 secret caucus, and it was agreed to go on a 'possum hunt (to 
 all intents and purposes), so after supper we tooted up the 
 dogs and sneaked all the pewter out of the kitchen, secured 
 an old bullet ladel for melting the metal, then repaired to a 
 deep hollow not far away, built a fire and started the factory. 
 Everything worked like a charm, the enterprise was a success, 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 95 
 
 and we continued to mould gallas buckles until the lirst warn- 
 ing notes of the morning cock admonished us to desist. We 
 had near a peck of the shining beauties on hand ; it had 
 proved a glorious triumph, and I and Dan were happy ; we 
 congratulated each other, shook hands time and time again. 
 I ]>roniised to make Dan a foreman in the factory, and, in a few 
 years to set him free, give him eighty acres and two mules. 
 
 I now determined soon to hold a conference with my parents, 
 and thought what a surprise it would be to them; and oh, how 
 happy it made me feel to think of tlieir delight in the discovery 
 of the enterprise and cleverness of their eldest son. I deter- 
 mined that very day to show up the whole scheme, together 
 with my w ell digested plans for operation in the business. I 
 intended to make my worthy sire a })rinci23al partner in the 
 concern, and we should either employ young Howell, or give 
 him an interest in the business. His department would be to 
 make the moulds — make Ihem on a grand scale. We would 
 have double moulds, tripple moulds and after a while, an acre 
 of moulds, and great cauldrons to melt the pewter. My father 
 could make a corner on all the pewter in America, get an 
 option on all the timber in the neighboring counties for fuel, 
 get up all the labor possible, and when once under full head- 
 way, would run the business for all it was worth. We would 
 become many times millionaires, would build churches, schools 
 and hospitals, help the poor and afflicted, and in my great 
 gratitude to a kind providence, I resolved that no one within 
 my reach should hereafter suffer for want of good, remunera- 
 tive labor, or the comforts of life, and I did not know but that 
 under a favoring providence I might become an humble agent 
 in the ushering in of the great millennium. 
 
 Early after breakfast, I took Dan and made a visit to the 
 
96 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAV ; 
 
 buckle factory. I shall never forget the joy I felt that 
 morning as I surveyed that embryo buckle factory, the pride 
 of that epoch in my life's history, with what complacency and 
 self confidence, with v/hat intensity of satisfaction with myself 
 and all the rest of mankind, as I stood there with my arms 
 folded across my peaceful breast, contemplating the vast 
 fortune that had so benificently fallen into my hip. Oh, could 
 I have died right then ; but alas for all human hopes, when we 
 feel strong it is so often but the precursor to our own weak- 
 ness. While thus wraj)t in the glories and fulness of my 
 great enterprise, black Dan was hitching on a pair of buckles 
 to his home-made gallases, but the tongues to the buckles bent 
 and easily broke ; they wouldn't hold, and a sharp exclamation 
 from the negro broke up my reveries. " Why ! Marse Dave,'' 
 he exclaimed, " dese buckles, dey aint no good, look-a-here." 
 I saw it, the truth flashed upon me like a thunderbolt ; it stag- 
 gered me. I tremblingly asked, "what's that Dan?" He 
 answered, " dese buckles." It was enough, I was stupefied, 
 squelched ; this was a part of the business that had been com- 
 pletely overlooked; ruined, bursted, at one fell swoop a bank- 
 rupt. There was only one case of equal gravity that I could 
 think of, and that was when Lucifer fell from Heaven. 
 Instead of the great millionaire, as I had calculated, I was a 
 pauper ; instead of one who had achieved both fortune and 
 fame, I was now a miserable culprit, for I knew the pewter 
 plates and spoons had to be accounted for. I turned from 
 Dan, my faithful colleague, in gloomy silence, spiritless and 
 hopeless, bearing my almost paralyzed body back to the 
 parental mansion, where I found new troubles awaiting, me. 
 My mother had the cook up to answer for the missing utensils. 
 I could not allow the poor innocent woman to suffer for me ; I 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 97 
 
 told my mother it was I who " cut the cherry tree with my little 
 axe. " I then laid open to my compassionate and sympathetic 
 mother the whole story from beginning to end, as best I could, 
 between sobs, and my kind and considerate mother concluded 
 I had ah-eady been sufficiently punished, and even tried to 
 console me under this, my great trial, but somehow the whole 
 affair leaked out and became the talk for a full week in the 
 neighborhood. I was greatly prostrated for a time, but finally 
 recovered my wonted enthusiastic dis])osition. 
 
 Years after this occurrence, I visited Milledgeville, Ga.; 
 went to see the penitentiary, and among the convicts I discov- 
 ered my gallas-buckle mould inventor. Mart Howell, making 
 shoes for the State. My talented friend had surpiised me once 
 more, and upon inquiry he explained that he had been unjustly 
 incarcerated in that unhallowed place; said he was a martyr to 
 cruel circumstantial evidence ; that some years ago, while in 
 attendance on a camp meeting, just for a joke, he took a 
 fellows horse and rode a little ways out, intending to bring it 
 right back, when a crowd of rascals got after him and accused 
 him of wanting to steal the horse, when such a thought had 
 never entered his head ; said he was just about to turn around 
 and go back with the fellows horse when they came upon him* 
 I asked Mart how far he had got with the fellows horse when 
 they came upon him ? He answered, "But a little ways, not 
 more than twelve or fifteen miles;" and such is life; our 
 inventive genius in the Georiria penitentiary, and a would-be 
 millionaire and philanthropist keeping an Atlanta boarding- 
 house. 
 
 " I set me up a bakers' shop, 
 
 And thought I was improving, 
 But a bakers' shop will never do, 
 So must push along, keep moving. " 
 
98 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 MY FIRST HORSE TRADE. 
 
 pROM tirst reiuberance, I have been impressed with the idea 
 that I was a born speculator, and have ever been in expec- 
 tation of some grand result from this inherent talent, 
 although my experiences in life have turned out to the con- 
 trary, I am still unshaken in my faith, and live in constant 
 expectation of something turning up. I can only reconcile 
 the past contradictions to this (my pet theory) by the belief 
 that there is but one little obstruction in the way, and that is, 
 as yet, I havn't happened to strike it right ; have not 
 struck the flood tide at its proper stage, and though I now 
 number past three score years, still in the vigor of manhood, 
 I have not dispaired. I feel my good time has got to come, and 
 if I fail to catch up with it in this world, which I have now 
 concluded is most probable, then I shall confidently expect to 
 be successful in the next one. 
 
 My father owned and worked extensive gold mines in North 
 Carolina, though our home was on the Seneca river, in South 
 Carolina. He often sent me to Dahlonega, Ga., where a 
 United States mint was located, to have the gold dust coined. 
 I started out one beautiful spring morning with some two 
 thousand pennyweights of this precious stuff in my saddle- 
 bags, riding a s])lendid young sorrel mare named Francis ; my 
 father and mother both stood out on the portico and watched 
 me as the beautiful filly bore me gracefully from their sight. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 99 
 
 Proceeding on luy journey, about noon, I overtook a small, 
 stoop-shouldered, freckled-faced, red-haired man, about forty 
 years of age, wearing a wool hat, blue jeans coat, coperas 
 breeches and home-tanned shoes, without socks. He was 
 jogging along in a sort of lazy mixed walk and trot, on a sluggish 
 looking old sway-back, clay-bank mare, with flax main and 
 tail. Feeling lonely I accommodated my gait to suit that of 
 the stranger, and we soon became engaged in conversation. 
 Several times I noticed the man eyeing my handsome filly, and 
 after awhile he ventured to remark: "That's a right snug 
 critter you've got there, how'd you like to swap her ? " Swap 
 for what?" I asked, astonished at his impudence, "you don't 
 mean for that old thing you are riding there do you, why, I 
 wouldn't have her as a gift?" He mildly replied that he Avas 
 not at all surprised at my hastily formed conclusion; that he took 
 no offence at what I had said ; that it would not always do to 
 judge by appearances; that his critter was calculated to deceive 
 more experienced heads than mine ; said some of the most 
 famous horses in the world were the most unsightly looking; 
 said his critter had royal blood coursing through her veins : 
 called my attention to her pointed ears, wide nostrils, the full 
 swelling veins, the symetry of ber limbs; said she was now 
 with foal by the celebrated horse Steel (a horse that I had 
 seen, and the most famous horse of that day) and that the colt 
 would bring five hundred dollars when it was six months old. 
 I listened with wonder at all this riga-ma-role, somewhat 
 staggered as he talked on, but still unconvinced ; after awhile 
 I ventured to make an objection to the color of the mare. He 
 quickly replied that he was glad I spoke of that, as her color 
 was one of the best evidences of her value, and asked me if I 
 had not, myself, observed that all circus horses were selected 
 
100 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW, 
 
 for intelligence, and that the white and spotted, and especially 
 the clay-banks for ring purposes ; this last claim for the old 
 mare was a stunner. 
 
 He saw he had gained a point'; said he didn't want to part 
 with the critter, not for love nor money, and wouldn't think of 
 it, exceptin' for the fact that he was now on his way to the 
 Mas-se-sip, and owin' to his critters condition he was afraid he 
 would hatter leave her somewhar on the road, and as he had 
 taken a considerable liking to me, if he was obleeged to give 
 her up, would ruther put a good trade into my hands than in 
 the hands of a man he'd never seen before. 
 
 My opinions had now undergone a complete change in regard 
 to both the little man and the old mare. The kind expression on 
 the little man's face made him seem to me now real handsome, 
 and the entire aspect of the old mare had changed ; and although 
 at first she had excited my disgust, and what I considered 
 deformities, were now points to be estimated. This same 
 old, ungranly animal, had become the great object of my 
 desires. I observed closely, and in great admiration, the pointed 
 ears, the wide nostrils, the swelling veins, and magnified the 
 royal blood coursing through the intelligent animals veins. At 
 last I asked my new found friend how he would be willing to 
 trade? He answered reluctantly, that it made him sick to think 
 about trading the critter off, but it seemed he was obleeged to 
 do it ; said to come to the real worth of his critter, he couldn't 
 expect to get nothing like it, that there ought to be a great 
 deal of boot between the nags, and heaving a sigh from the 
 very bottom of his heart, "said, bein' as it wus me, and it wus as 
 it wus, he'd take a hundred dollars to boot." Then I felt sad, 
 when I realized this valuable foal was out of my reach, as I had 
 only ten dollars my father had given me to defray my expenses. 
 
OR, THE WORLi) Has CHANGED. lOl 
 
 I confessed to him I had only this small amount with me. 
 His sympathetic nature seemed to have been touched at mj^ 
 candid statement, as we came to where our roads separated 
 (mine to Jarrett's bridge on the Tugalo river, and his to Pul- 
 liam's ferry), he turned his benignant countenance on me and 
 said: "Young man, I see you want my critter, and you ought 
 to have her, I have taken a liking to you, give me the ten dol- 
 lars and take her. We both lit and changed saddles, shook 
 hands, remounted, and parted to meet no more on this 
 chequered earth. I got to Jarrett's that night, but thought it 
 prudent to get another horse to make the trip to Dahlonega, 
 and on my return mounted the old mare once more. After 
 a most patient ride, I reached home just as the sun was sinking 
 into a molten sea of golden glory, which I construed into a 
 good omen, as it indicated I had made a golden, glorious 
 trade. My father met me at the door, and in some surprise 
 asked me what had become of Francis? I told him I had traded 
 the filly off ! I told him in glowing terms of the good luck that 
 had befallen me, of the splendid trade I had made. I expa- 
 tiated to my astonished parent on the pointed ears, the wide 
 nostrils, the symetrical limbs, the royal blood, the foal, the 
 intelligent color — caught my breath and was about to take a 
 new start — when my father exclaimed "fiddle sticks". I told 
 him that I was not at all surprised at his hastily formed opin- 
 ion; that more experienced heads than his had been deceived 
 by appearances; told him how the stranger had taken a liking 
 tome, when my |»arent cried out, "the devil he did." I was 
 about to take a fresh start, when my father shouted out at me 
 " hush ; " and not exactly liking the cut of his eye, I hushed. Pie 
 called up my old friend, black Dan (my former colleague in 
 the pewter buckle mould business) and ordered him to take 
 
102 THE FO(iY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 that old carcass hitched out there, up to old Jake Frederick's, and 
 tell liim he sent her to him to have and to keep as a present 
 with a right to all her emoluments, and issue forever; then 
 turned on liis heel and left me without another word. 
 
 I was greatly shocked at my fathers impatient and reckless 
 manner, but was not set back in my judgment in the least, feel- 
 ing calmly confident that time, which rights all things, would 
 yet justify me in this horse trade. Yes, I felt as confident of a 
 glorious victory over my parent, as I afterward did in Charles- 
 ton on the great evening of secession, when I blew my old 
 hunting horn down the streets, that it would be but a break- 
 fast spell to wipe out the yankees. 
 
 I made the trip every day up to old man Frederick's. One 
 morning I met the old man at the bars, with a broad grin on 
 his face, and I knew something had happened. My heart 
 fluttered with excitement, as I cried out, all right Uncle Jake? 
 He answered, come and see. I rushed forward with the latin 
 words on my lips, "?;e?^^, vidi, vici^^'' and sure enough, there it 
 was": a little, Aveazelly, mud-colored, sway. backed, crooked- 
 shanked, long-eared m-u-l-e. 
 
 I collapsed, telescoped, wilted, and wept for shame. That 
 was the straw that broke the camels back; disgraced, defrauded, 
 heart-broken. This story also got out in the settlement, and to 
 the present day, I have never completely regained my former 
 self confidence in a horse trade. 
 
 " O, some Dower the gift to gie us, 
 To see ourselves as ithers see us." 
 
OM, THE WORLD HAS CIIANGEi). 103 
 
 MOUNTAIN SPROUTS AND SAND LAPPERS- 
 
 n^HE boys from near the South Carolina coast used to call us 
 up-country fellows mountain sprouts, and we in turn 
 called them sand-lappers. Near a little town called Slab 
 town, in Anderson District, off in the w^oods was a famous 
 school in the days of our story, a large, one-room hewed log 
 house. This school was taught by the deservedly celebrated 
 John Leland Kennedy, who had been a pupil of the famous 
 teacher. Dr. Waddell, and upon whose shoulders the veritable 
 mantel of the Doctor had fallen. Mr. Kennedy was also a 
 preacher, a Presbyterian of the strictest sect, and the word 
 strict would hardly strike those who knew him as striking 
 enough, on account of his striking propensities, for he struck 
 all his pupils in the most striking manner ; that he would not 
 hesitate to strike, and indeed, when it was necessary to strike, 
 he invariably struck. His reputation as a teacher was known 
 throughout the country, and he had a very large school, not con- 
 fined to mountain "sprouts" and " sand-lappers," but boys were 
 sent there from other States, and of all who came to this great 
 school, no boy ever got too big for Mr. Kennedy to strike. 
 Consequently, many unruly boys were sent to this noted school, 
 which increased in numbers so that the house would not hold the 
 pupils; therefore, we were sent by classes out in the grove to 
 study our lessons under the shades of the great oaks. Mr. 
 Kennedy sat in the door, where, with the sweep of his keen 
 black eyes, he could command both the house and the grove, 
 
104 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 and the least disorder among the groupe would draw from him 
 the sharpest reprimand. Among the members of our class was 
 a sand-lapper from Charleston, named Joe Hide ; this boy Joe 
 became greatly attached to one of the mountain sprouts, 
 and would hang upon his words as he related his wonderful 
 hunting yarns, and his hair-breadth escapes amid the wilds 
 of forest life. Joe would listen with wrapt attention and 
 admiration to these narrations, and no matter how extrave- 
 gantly these stories were manufactured, would swallow down 
 every word as gospel truth. I said the sand-lapper's name was 
 Joe Hide, the other fellow was me, and Joe stuck to me like a 
 leach. I boarded at Dr. Earle's, on one side of the school, and 
 Joe at Dr. Robinson's, on the other side, about three miles 
 apart. One evening Joe decided to go home with me and 
 spend the night ; my room-mates were Tom Pickens, from 
 Pendleton, Sloan Benson, from Anderson and John Evans, 
 afterward M. C, from Spartanburg. 
 
 Well, after supper, we got up a little game of cards, for fun 
 — we never gambled. Joe didn't want to play, wanted to hear 
 some more hunting stories. I felt a little annoyed at his per- 
 sistence, when a devlish idea entered my head, and I arose 
 from the table and went to a corner and loaded a pistol with 
 powder, got out an old razor and laid them in a convenient 
 place, returned to the table and at the first opportunity gave 
 the boys the wink, remarking as I did so that I did not feel 
 exactly right; was afraid one of my old spells was coming on 
 me. Joe wanted to know what kind of spells I had. I eva- 
 sively replied that sometimes I had sorter wild spells, or abe- 
 ration of the mind came over me, and turning to the boys said, 
 boys if I should have an attack to-night please take care of 
 me, and don't let me do any harm. Joe looked startled and I 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 105 
 
 continued, it distressed me greatly to know that I bad done 
 some terrible things while under the power of this awful 
 affliction, but trusted I would not be held responsible for it 
 hereafter, and proposed to go to bed, but Joe was not at all 
 sleepy, and said he believed he would go home ; thought he 
 ought to go home anyway. Evans remarked it would be very 
 unsafe to make the trip after night, as two large bears had 
 been seen in the swamp afew days since. Pickens said he would 
 not think of such a thing, as the road was doubtless full of 
 snakes ; that in this country the snakes all crawled at night. 
 Joe gave a sort of uneasy grunt, and asked if he could get 
 another room. Benson answered impossible, as all the rooms 
 were occupied, so we all began to undress to go to bed ; he 
 got on the edge of my bed, as he was my visitor, and every now 
 and then would ask how I was feeling. The boys kept talking 
 to themselves in an undertone, but every word was audible to 
 Joe Hide. 
 
 One of them said what a pity he has these spells, he's such 
 a clever fellow when he's at himself ; another one said he's so 
 dangerous, I'm scared. Evans said, warn't that awful about 
 that fellow he killed in Pickens District last year, and they 
 had to choke him off while he was sucking the Wood. Benson 
 said the worst thing was his killing that family in Anderson, 
 cutting them up in quarters and salting them down in a hogs- 
 head. Pickens said it seemed his whole desire was for blood 
 when those spells came upon him; was about to tell of another 
 terrible affair, when I cried out, boys hold up, I don't want to 
 hear about those terrible things, you knov/ I would not have 
 done it if I could help it, please stop and let's go to sleep. I 
 could hear Joe's heart thumping against his ribs, and he was all 
 over in a shake. I asked what's the matter Joe, got a chill? 
 
lOG THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 He replied no, but he felt mighty bad, and asked how I was 
 feeling now ; I told him I felt all right, never felt better in my 
 life, but always before my worst attacks I feel the best. Joe 
 asked if he hadn't better get np and sleep in a chair. 1 told 
 him no, to go to sleep, that he could tell when the spells were 
 coming on by my jerking. Joe lay still a little while, as if 
 planning for an emergency, suddenly starting up said, sup- 
 j)ose I don't wake up when you commence jerking? This last 
 remark tickled me so that to restrain a smothered laugh I 
 made a few jerks before I- intended to. Joe made a spring, 
 crying out, " he's jerking boys," and he and all the boys went 
 out through the window ; I followed with my pistol and razor, 
 and of course took after Joe. He made for a fence and corn 
 patch hard by, and as he mounted the fence I blazed away with 
 my pistol ; Joe and several rails fell on the other side, and as he 
 arose I was close behind him, then through the corn we went, 
 Joe parting the stalks with both hands, as he ran but I pushed 
 him so close that he turned back to the house and as he struck 
 the fence again I split his shirt with my razor from the 
 colar clean out to the end of the tail, making an apron of it; 
 we rose on the fence together and came down on the other 
 side with three or four pannels of fence, but Joe had no idt^a 
 of surrender, making a break for Dr. Earle's room, bursted 
 through the door, yelling : " Doctor, Doctor, Doctor, he's got a 
 spell on him, he's nearl}'- killed me, oh Lord, Doctor! " The 
 Doctor was greatly startled and his family badly frightened, 
 luithe lighted a candle and there stood poor Joe in his wife's 
 room, shaking with terror, his shirt split and entirely oj^en 
 at the back. The Doctor rushed into our room to find out the 
 trouble, l)ut we were back as still as mice, and begged pardon 
 for the (lisliirbaiu'c: told the Doctor we had not intended to 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 107 
 
 carry the joke so far, and that Joe got scared worse tlian we 
 wanted him to. The Doctor laughed and went back to his 
 room after Joe, but could not make him believe it was a 
 joke, nor get him back into our room any more. The Doctor 
 had to set up with Joe the balance of the night and dose 
 him with nerve tonics, and send him home in the morning. 
 Joe never came back to that school again, and I have never 
 had the opportunity of speaking to him since, but I have ever 
 regretted that little cruel escapade, in which I lost a friend 
 and admirer. Joe is still living in that section of the country, 
 where he married and raised a family of excellent children, is 
 doing well and is a solid and useful citizen. He is also better 
 off in this w^orld's goods than I am and no doubt a better man. 
 
108 I'HE FOGY DAYS AND NOW 
 
 HERE'S ANOTHER. 
 
 A . 7e said Mr. Kennedy was strict, his rules not only applying 
 to our school hours, but also to our conduct at our board- 
 ing house. We had positive orders not to go tracing about the 
 country after night, but in violation of this most august author- 
 ity, we determined to go to a quilting and dance about four 
 miles off in the country. In this spree my room-mates were my 
 companions, the same who had helped me to scare poor Joe. 
 We had lots of fun, and near daylight started home, but when 
 within a half mile of the house, had to climb one of Dr. 
 Earle's staked and ridered fences. We mounted it, and feeling 
 a little tired, sat on top to rest awhile. All at once I said come, 
 boys, let's go, and jumped to the ground, but found I couldn't 
 get up — had broken my leg. The boys picked me up in great 
 consternation, my cousin, Benson, carrying the broken limb with 
 the tenderest care, the least jostle causing me to cry out 
 with pain. They got me to the house with all possible care, laid 
 me on the bed and went for Dr. Earle, who came in, and as I 
 lay there groaning, I managed to give the Doctor the wink 
 (I knew he loved a joke as well as anybody). The Doctor 
 examined my leg and looked very solemn, saying now boys, 
 you see this thing would not have happened if you had 
 obeyed the rules of your teacher; now, here lies this poor 
 fellow ruined for life; this is what is called a compound 
 duplicate fracture of the femur. In plain English, his thigh is 
 broken in three places, and if it aint amputated at once, then 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 109 
 
 I think he ought to be switchulated. I coukl not stand it any 
 longer, but sprang out of the bed on both feet in a shout of 
 hiughter, when my cousin, Sloan Benson, jerked off his coat 
 and swore he could whip any d — d broken-legged rascal in 
 America, and it took all the boys and the Doctor to hold him 
 off of me until he sorter coobd down; but I soon made it up 
 with the boys, and as we were all in sympathy with eachother 
 about going to the frolic, it was agreed all around to keep the 
 whole matter from Mr. Kennedy. 
 
110 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW 
 
 DISAPPOINTED LOVE. 
 
 I ovE is a powerful thing; it has caused more than one man 
 to leave the roof of his father and mother and go to 
 furrin parts with a conquering female and be exposed to lier 
 tender mercy; and agin, it has been the cause of many disap- 
 pointments, for many fellows have got left, because the cruel 
 female didn't want him to move off with her, for more than 
 many times, she has preferred some other fellow to go along 
 and keep house for her. 
 
 The human bosom is also a mighty much of a thing ; it is 
 somewhat labyrinthian as to the character of its apartments, 
 and in one respect it is liken unto a reservoir, they both have 
 capacity more or less, the one inginerly holds mud and wate^' 
 and trash and sich ; the other holds love and joy^ and some 
 other things, not so nice: fear, anger, hate, jealousy etc., 
 and all these latter sins, are called passions, and they go in 
 and come out of a fellow's bosom as they please, when they get 
 the bulge on him. We dont know for certain the number of 
 therooms they stay in ; some say the heart, the main office, but 
 we have thought they meander about in the different strceis 
 and suburbs of his physicological anatomy, that sometimes they 
 may scoot from the heart to the hollow of the head, and back 
 and forth, and we have seriously considered that they mought 
 at times,*show up on the outside of a man, in sich places as "the 
 skin of his face, the optics of his eyes, and the very har of his 
 head, selah? 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. Ill 
 
 Love is more severer than the grip when it pre-empts a 
 numaii bosom. It cannot be properly called an epidemic, yet 
 a fellow is likely to take it at most any time before he 2jets 
 married, and he can take it more than two times also, but the 
 first attack in some cases is considered the worstest, it makes 
 its ap[)earance in some instances, sudden like the measles, then 
 again tardeoiis, like a cancer, or in a typhodity manner, there 
 is greater danger when it strikes in-nerd, than when it only 
 shows on the outside, in the former case it is much to be 
 dreaded, for it has been khown to cause a man to go plum fool, 
 and has driven some persons to commit death upon themselves 
 or somebody else, and in every case where it strikes the interiro 
 portfolio, that patient ought to be scrutinized carefully, but 
 if it only shows on the superficial areas, there aint no immi" 
 nent danger, as the fellow will convaless, or get marrfed, which 
 IS about the same thing in Dutch. 
 
 And once more, there aint so much danger in the passion of 
 love if it visits the human bosom alone by itself, but like some 
 folks we know, it gits into bad company, if it gits m with envy, 
 hate, anger, and the green-eyed monster jealousy, why then 
 there is apt to be trouble, and it is strange they will associate 
 together, fur they never could get along in peace and hominy; 
 I say, when all of these gits in thar together, its like a pack of 
 ravening wolves, and the fellow whats got that bosom is in a 
 bad fix, sure, and there's another thing goes into the human 
 bosom when the door is open, and that is licker, and its a reg- 
 ular ag-ger on of fusses and other devilment, and the more of 
 it that goes in, the worse it is for the fellow and the whole 
 settlement. 
 
 It is said that a persen looses his heart when the passions of 
 love gets a mortgage on it, this aint according to our polliticks; 
 
112 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 we honestly deem this to he an error, the fellow may lose his 
 gumption, and we solmemnly opine, thats hit; fur how can a 
 fellow lose his heart, when it is hitched on tight to the liver 
 and lights, it seems to me unpossible fur the heart to come out 
 without bringing all the in-nards out with it and that would 
 wind u]) the whole kerHumux, I imagine. 
 
 I remember vividly when the passion of love first occupied 
 my vitals, ray heart was unremoved; indeed it swelled up big- 
 ger, and a protuberance seemed to have forced up into the 
 thorax, and caused a quite uncomfortable, and choking sensa- 
 tion, l)ut subsequent circumstances have corroborated my con- 
 victions that my heart remained in my bosom and continued to 
 perform in a desultary way its accustomed functions, so I still 
 surmise that all this talk about the loosing of the heart is 
 nothing bu* gass, and also tlie reports about hearts abursting 
 is bosh and totally onreliable. 
 
 But it was not my purpose on this occasion to annihilize the 
 heart, or dissectify the subject of love in all its ramifications, 
 my priuioval object was narration. I wanted to norate the 
 history of my experience Avhen I was first conflumicated by 
 this phenomenon, when its phantasmagora first developed in 
 my tender youth. 
 
 How fearfully is the human bosom affected when first 
 awakened from its lethargy by the passion of love. I had 
 arrived at the plastic and sweet age of sixteen when its first 
 waves swathed my peaceful breast, when its swashing billows 
 rolled over the component parts of my cupidical system. It was 
 a protracted siege, and for many months belt me suspended over 
 the dark chasms of doubt and hope, until the chords that sup- 
 ported my trembling carcass became frazzled, and at last the 
 weakened strands snapped asunder, and like Lucifer fell 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 113 
 
 Hounnderiiig down into the murky abyss of despair; 'twas a 
 stunning fall, and it is still fresh on my memory to-day; that I 
 was deeply impressed at thnt especial epoch in my life; that 
 something had drapt, and though near a half century has sped 
 o'er the hills and valleys of time since then, I doubt not that 
 some of the footprints of that eventful period mought still be 
 traced amidsts the sands of my gizzard. 
 
 I first diagnosed my trouble from the great disquietitude 
 raging in the interior of my internalities, fur indeed, they 
 seemed to be litterally tored up; ray old friend slumber became 
 estranged from my habitual command, my grub lost its for- 
 mer savory attractions, instead of my previous eubulistic gush, 
 I was now wont to go it alone, a sort of lonesome far off feel- 
 ing had sot down on me. I forsook the society of my old hale- 
 fellows well-met, sought the mellowed rays of the sympathetic 
 moon beams. I tried to hold sweet converse with the twink- 
 ing little stars, fur I felt an aching void in my raging bosom, 
 that nothing else on earth but she could ever fill. But in the 
 vehemence of my desire, my powers of conquest seemed bar- 
 daceously parrallalized, and in the persuit of the object of my 
 yearning I became both blind and dumb, and my whole pan- 
 oply for acquiring victory, want nothing but dern fool ardour. 
 As to tact or diplomacy, I was asguideless as a timblebuii, my 
 intentions were noble, but even a superficial observer might 
 have remarked, "his intentions were good, but darn his judg- 
 ment." 
 
 But now I approach the climax, the focus-pokus, the culmi- 
 nating point of the pittiful finale. I had on divers previous 
 occasions made desj^erate efforts to pop the question, but upon 
 every assay courage had oozed out, and had resulted in signal 
 disaster, when I confronted the fortress. When the time for 
 
114 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 discreet and skillful action was required that was the very 
 time when my intellectual forces all vanished into the vaguest 
 vagaries, and then too the organs of sound, as well as the mus- 
 cular attachments of my tongue refused absolutely to corres- 
 pond. When I was absent from ray sweet pnrralizer, then, 
 my obstinate vocabulary was prolific of woixls, and my per- 
 verse tongue most fluent of speech, and often in romatic groves, 
 and under the somberous shades of giant oaks, I have sat with 
 my finger tips rippling in the limped waters of gurgling brooks 
 rehearseing sweet phrases of my own composition.^ until I 
 thought I had them engraven upon my memory, and that I 
 was bravely pre[)aied for the next onshiught, but in the pres- 
 ence of those ravishing eyes, all had vanished into a misty 
 dream. To be absent from this adored one, was to me the 
 pangs of death, and my embarassment in her presence, was as 
 a night-horse pressing his horny hoofs upon 1113^ smothering 
 bosom, to say simply that I loved her would be an imbecility 
 of expression — with extacy I would have died for her (provided 
 I could feel assui-ed no other fellow would get her); I would 
 cheerfully have laid my hypnotized body down on the ccdd, 
 col<l, ground, with her fairy foot u])on my neck absolutely 
 content and happy till the crack of doom. What more can I 
 say? 
 
 I had now reached the last stage of desperation, and besought 
 the sympathetic aid of a sweet cousin, and through her 
 friendly manipulation arranged a fishing party especially for 
 this, my contemplated coup. With cruel anxiety I looked 
 forward to that coming day as the most inij^ortant era of the 
 coming age and fraught with the most momentous results that 
 was to occur on the continent of America. It almost takes 
 my breath after all these years, when my thoughts recur to the 
 
OE, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 115 
 
 torrents of anxiety, the earthquakes of api)reliension, and the 
 cyclonic palpatations of the heart, as that day, so pregnant 
 with profound results, approached. But at last it came, the 
 morning of the day came bounding in o'er the cycles of time. 
 I donned my best suit of blue geans and advanced to meet the 
 engagement. I didn't sing any poeans of victory as I marched 
 to the front, for I did not feel assured that my march would be 
 a triumphal one. I often repeated to myself the maxima 
 " Faint heart never won fair lady," and would bristle up con- 
 siderably for awhile, but soon found that I was no porcupine 
 and that my bristles wouldn't stand worth a cent. O, how I 
 longed for some such a backbone as is possessed by our ex- 
 President Cleveland, still I proceeded and actually assembled 
 with my Dulcina, and started as her escort to the fishing 
 grounds, but right here my memory fails me. I must have 
 made the intervening space in a walking swoon, for when the 
 first glimpse of consciousness returned I discovered we two 
 standing on the banks of the creek, with a cou])le of fishing 
 poles tucked under my arm, but I had lost the hooks and the 
 bait; a haloe of gloj-y seemed to surround me, the opportunity 
 had come. I assayed to speak and tried to concentrate all the 
 ideas of my soul into one grand captivating address ; that's 
 what I wanted to do and that's what I tried to do, but sud- 
 denly the old panic seized me and again I flickered, and the 
 only thing I could think to say to her was, "did you get a 
 bite?" When she naively, but sweetly replied, "How could 
 I without a hook?" Just then I caught another spark from 
 her electrical eyes and went off uito a new swoon. I can 
 make no report of what further happened, until the iiext 
 return of consciousness, when I found us in a pathway on our 
 return to her home ; the parental mansion was in sight and my 
 
1 16 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 opportunity perhaps lost forever. This fact aroused me to a 
 a sense of the situation, lost, lost, lost, seemed to ring through 
 my burning brain ; the extremity of the case impelled me to 
 heroic action, it was the " denier resort," and resolved to 
 plunge tlie rubicon, suddenly exclaimed aloud, "the die is 
 cast," every muscle of my body taught with excitement, with 
 distorted features, the fingers of both hands run through my 
 disheveled hair, blood-shot eyes, nearly popping from their 
 sockets, I sprang like a wild varmint in the pathway fronting 
 the angelic damsel, and with the yell of an Indian, cried: 
 " Stand, brave Saxon, stand." She gave one glance of horror 
 at my demoniacal expression, then sprang past like a fright- 
 ened deer and fled to the safety of her homa. 
 
 I stood transfixed, rooted, grounded to the spot, and would 
 no doubt be there yet, a pillar of salt, but for my affectionate 
 cousin, who sought and led me from the fatal spot. 
 
 I never tried it again by word of mouth, but after a lapse of 
 time I wrote her a beautiful epistle, which she answered 
 promptly, saying her hand was pledged to another, but would 
 ever esteem me as one of her most devoted admirers. Then I 
 felt my sandy hair would surely go dov/n in sorrew to an early 
 grave ; but it didn't, I'm still on deck, without an api)arent 
 scar, married another girl, have lived with her thirty-five years 
 reasonably happy and content. Amen. 
 
OR, THE WOELi) HAS CHANGED. 117 
 
 SHIRT-TAIL CANYON, CALIFORNIA. 
 
 \ 1 /hile there is nothing wicked or improper in this narra- 
 tion, yet it is with a feeling of temerity and shame- 
 facedness that I pen it. This sketch is not intended for the 
 eyes of the ladies (for men only); had rather they would not 
 read it, but if through curiosity any of them should do so, 
 then they ought not to call us hard names. 
 
 Shirt-tail Canyon is a deep, rough gorge, more than a thous- 
 and feet down to the creek bed, and the gold-diggers in 
 descending its rough slopes have to submit to frequent falls 
 and slides, in consequence of which the seats of their corde- 
 roys suffer divers abrasions, and in the course of time 
 and the frequency of these slides, the lower or other 
 end of their shirts become exposed, and not unfrequently 
 even obtrude from their proper indoor position, and this 
 common custom of dress from this particular section gave to 
 the canyon this inelegant name. 
 
 It was an inconvenient portion of the mining region, the 
 nearest trading point being Yankee Jim's, a smart mining 
 town, and it got its name from the hanging of a man on the 
 spot, of that name. It was no little job for the boys to get in 
 and out of Shirt-tail Canyon, therefore they made as few trips 
 as possible, so when not engaged in work they were often 
 taxed to find amusement; of course gambling of every kind 
 was prevalent throughout the mines, and the most common 
 and convenient games were with cards, but tiring of cards 
 
118 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 they would sometimes resort to racing, not horse racing, for a 
 horse cannot be got down into that abyss alive, nor could a 
 race track be secured in that rough region ; not foot racing^ 
 for even a man had to pick his way down there, yet the boys 
 had racing, "kritter racing;" the racers were "body kritters." 
 The boys would select from their persons the best bred of 
 these little fleet footed fellows, put them in a tin plate, push a 
 coal of fire behind them, when around the track they would 
 gallop at an astonishing pace to those unacquainted with the 
 sport, till the third, or any number of rounds agreed upon by 
 the bettors, and of course the foremost "kritter" won the race. 
 Often large bets were made on these pets, and some of them 
 have frequently been known to win their weight in gold 
 dust. 
 
 Californians did not regard these little "kritters" with the 
 prejudice and disgust that seems general in the Eastern States. 
 These hoc]y "kritters" were simply unavoidable in the California 
 camps ; they were indigenius to the soil and climate, and indeed 
 usage and customs have much to do with our likes and dislikes 
 in different parts of the world. The French like horse steak^ 
 the Chinaman rat pies, the Dutch dog sausage, the cannibal 
 human flesh, and the American eats the filthy hog. In the 
 California diggins in those days, if one of the boys were asked 
 "what's the matter — fleas?" He would invariably reply, 
 "No, I'm not a dog, its nothing but a louse;" but we will not 
 dwell longer on a subject so repugnant to our present country 
 men. 
 
 The mining section of California seems to have been an ele- 
 vated plateau intermediate between the Nevada mountains 
 and the lower plains adjacent to the Pacific Coast, and the 
 lieavy winter rains causing the torrent streams in their descent 
 
Otl, THE WORLD HAS CHANCED. 119 
 
 to the plains below to cut out these deep gulleys or gorges, 
 and in the washing down of the veins and pockets the loos- 
 ened particles of gold are carried down to the creek beds and 
 deposited in the lowest bottoms, though sometimes ])ockets are 
 only partially interfered with and left on the sides of the 
 slopes, and have often been discovered by the miners far 
 above the present water beds. One of our most expert miners 
 was Jim Kennedy, from Lumpkin County, Ga. He was co?i- 
 sidered authority on the subject of gold mines, and he had 
 often pointed out a spot to be seen from our camj^, where he 
 believed was a rich pocket, yet his faith was not strong 
 enough to make the test, which would require a considerable 
 amount of labor. 
 
 One day a raw Dutchman made the descent into Shirt-tail 
 Canyon and wanted a gold mine. We sent him to Kennedy, 
 who directed him to this spot and gave him directions how to 
 work it. The Dutchman went at it faithfully and confidently, 
 worked day after day, and would bring down his pans of dirt 
 to the water to wash for the gold sign. One evening he came 
 down as usual with his pan of dirt, and on Avashing it out dis- 
 covered he had made a rich find of gold. Kennedy tried to 
 buy him out or an interest, but he wouldn't sell worth a cent^ 
 not even a partnership, and after a few months exhausted the 
 pocket, and went home with more than $20,000. I heard of 
 another Dutch cook who knew nothing whatever about min- 
 ing, who went out one Sunday morning with a pick and found 
 the biggest piece of gold ever found in the State, sold it to a 
 man for |40, and which proved to be worth over $7,000. I 
 saw the lump or nugget on a gambling table in Sacramento 
 City, about a year after the find. 
 
120 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 CHASED BY \A/'OLVES IN CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Oecoming tired of the gold mines, and desiring a change, I 
 determined to go to San Francisco, and shoot wild fowls for 
 the city market. On the boat from Sacramento down the river, 
 I heard some passengers speaking of Noble's ranche. They 
 thought he was a South Carolinian, and I was satisfied 
 it was my old friend and schooll-mate, Alick, a son of 
 ex-Gov. Noble, of S. C. Many a time had we hunted together 
 in the mountains of N. C, so concluded to change my pur- 
 pose for the present, and pay him a visit. From San Francisco 
 I took a small steamer to Petaluma, and from thence not being 
 able to secure a conveyance, after receiving instructions as to 
 the route, struck out on foot, a distance of sixteen miles. 
 
 I always carried my shot gun, and my way leading some dis- 
 tance down a creek, discovered a number of fine English ducks, 
 and soon became engaged in shooting and packing my game, 
 oblivious to latitude, or longitude, or the flight of time, nor 
 did the waning hours occur to me till late in the afternoon ; 
 nor had I paid any attention to the instructions given me as 
 to destination, was satisfied I had wandered considerably out 
 of my coarse, so gave up the sport and turned my attention to 
 the seeking of my friend's home, still hoping to reach it before 
 night fall ; but dark overtook me trudging along, with a heavy 
 pack of ducks swung across my shoulders, tired and foot-sore. 
 I was thiidving of my far-off home, of friends and comforts left 
 behind. A sudden feeling of desolation occupied my mind, and 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 121 
 
 a premonition of some coming evil depressed my spirits. My 
 reveries were broken by the sound of a quick yelp, and a suc- 
 cession of weird howls wafted on the still night air. The truth 
 flashed upon me as an electric shock, wolves ! I had heard the 
 sound before. I knew the gray wolf of the Blue Ridge moun- 
 tains. I had read of the ruthless red Russian wolf, and of human 
 bones bleaching on the plains. I was at first startled, now 
 alarmed, for I knew they would soon be upon my track ; all my 
 fatigue vanished, forgot my skinned heels, and quickened my 
 pace into a trot. Directly the yelps multiplied and constantly 
 became more distinct ; they were on my track and getting 
 nearer every minute ; were rapidly gaining on me ; that my 
 pack of ducks were impedeing my speed, I had not thought of 
 before. I dashed the game on the ground, and spurred into a 
 gallop ; but on came the wolves. I could hear them scrambling 
 and fighting over my game, but I did not stop to listen — but 
 got faster — my whole mind and body concentrated in one 
 grand central idea : to get away from those wolves if there was 
 any possible chance to do so. I revolted at the thought that 
 my poor carcass should make their next repast, as I sped along 
 the plain. I saw off to my right a huge rock rising in the prai- 
 rie. I turned my course thither, and as 1 drew nearer found its 
 front inaccessible, but running round discovered a water rut, 
 and up this groove I climbed to the verry top and stopped, 
 because I could'nt get any higher. By this time, the terrible 
 brutes had finished the ducks, and were again on my track ; 
 nor did I doubt for a moment that they wanted the man who 
 killed the ducks. I at once began preparations for defense 
 My gun being empty, I quickly threw down the old muzzle loader 
 a couple of charges of powder, rammed down the wads, seized 
 my shot pouch, when to my horror, discovered that 
 
122 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAV : 
 
 I liad galloped all the shot out of my pouch, and now 
 the wolves were around the rock, and had set up the most hid- 
 eous and hungry howl. I could see their dusky forms and 
 gleaming eyes — they seemed unusually large — larger than the 
 gray wolf of the Blue Ridge, and perhaps more ferocious than 
 the terrible Russian wolf. Now, two of the daring devils start 
 up the very rut that I came, and as they get in a few feet of me, 
 I let both barrels of powder off right in their faces. This was a 
 surprise, they rolled down the rock and the whole pack scam- 
 ])ered away. Just then a flash of light caught my eye out on 
 the ])rairie — some body's home. I slid down the rock and made 
 for the light. I never felt so agile before in all my life, as I 
 seemed to fly over the grassy land, and during that brief transit, 
 the panorama of my whole life passed before me. My 
 thoughts traveled from childhood to the present and on into 
 the next world to the judgment to come; but all this did not 
 impede my speed in the least. I believe that extraordinary phys- 
 ical action produces extraordinay mental action, and vice versa 
 It is retroactive, and just then I felt assured that all my mental 
 and physical forces were pulling together. I knew I must 
 annihilate time and space, or be annihilated myself, for the 
 ravenous beasts were again on my track. They were coming, 
 closing up the little space between us. I could almost feel their 
 hot breath and bloody fangs, rending my limbs and gnawing 
 into my vitals. 
 
 I reached the house firet, the bloody wolves at ray heels. I 
 did not try to ring the bell, and gave but one knock at the door; 
 knocked the door clean through, both falling inside, but I was 
 on toj) of the door and had l)urst into the kitchen. The hur- 
 ricane awoke the cook, a Sweede, and he was scared nearly 
 as bad as T wms. Tie could not speak a word of English, nor 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 123 
 
 could I speak a word for want of breath ; for sometime we 
 stared at each other ; but, oh ! I felt so thankful that I was 
 safe, when sufficiently recovered. I tried to make the Sweede 
 understand my narrow escape from the wolves, and just about 
 the time I thought he was catching on to my signs, the fool 
 commenced laughing as if his very sides would split open, and 
 then I feared he had lost his reason from fright, but after a 
 spell he checked up and I succeeded in making him under- 
 stand that I was Noble's friend; he indicated to me that 
 Noble had gone out but would soon return, and gave me a lunch 
 and showed me a cot. I could not sleep after so much 
 excitement, and my heart was so full of gratitude that my 
 unworthy life had been spared by what appeared to be a 
 special interposition of Providence. As I lay there in the cot, 
 I reflected much and tried to repent of my many mis- 
 deeds and shortcomings, and formed many good resolutions for 
 future conduct. 
 
 Late in the night I heard my friend Noble return, heard him 
 talking to the cook and heard them both laughing ; after 
 awhile Noble came in and recognized me with great joy, and 
 as soon as our first greeting was over I tried to tell him of my 
 wonderful escape from the terrible wolves, when to my aston- 
 ishment and mortification he broke out into a hysterical fit of 
 laughter, and laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. 
 He saw that I felt hurt and as soon as he could recover his 
 faculties he said: "Why Dave, they were nothing but harm- 
 less coyotes, and were never known to attack a man." I told 
 him how large they were and how their eyes gleamed on me. 
 He said : " No, they Avere not half as large as the Blue Ridge 
 wolf, and absolutely harmless. 
 
 But those pretended wolves had hurt my feelings and I 
 determined to be avenged upon them, and before I left the 
 California prairies, killed as many of them as I thought tried to 
 kill me. . 
 
124 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAV 
 
 A RABUN COUNTY, GA., FROLIC. 
 
 In the olden times, dancing was by odds the favorite amuse- 
 ment with the 3'oung people, and in my youthful days I 
 engaged in all kinds of terpsichorean felicities, participated in 
 the fashionable cotillions, waltzes and polkas, at the balls, 
 weddings and parties, with the elite of thnt day ; have been 
 to the piney woods frolics, shin digs and stag dances, but in 
 Rabun County, Ga., where once lived our Chief Justice 
 Bleckley and the silver-tongued H. V. M. Miller, I attended a 
 frolic, that for intensity of enjoyment, cast a glamour over all 
 the balance of my experience. 
 
 I had recently returned from California, and my father was a 
 contractor on the old Blue Ridge Railroad, in South Carolina, 
 and had taken a contract in Rabun County, Ga., known as 
 the Whitmire fill, and said by Col. Walter Gwmn, chief 
 engineer, to be the deepest railroad fill then known, measuring 
 108 feet from the culvert to the top of grade, and a descrip- 
 tion of which was given by our Judge George Hilly er in an 
 Athens paper, in his youthful reportorial work, and where I 
 first made his acquaintance. 
 
 In this contract I was to be a })artner as well as a manager 
 and had made a horse-back trip up into Rabun. I v/as riding 
 through the rich valley, at the very head- waters of the Ten- 
 nessee river, with a resident young man named Major Gibson. 
 Late in the afternoon (dusk had already commenced to throw 
 its sable mantle over thcbenutiful valley), as we ])assed a store 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 125 
 
 we were iiiforraed of a log-rolling and quilting close by, and 
 decided to attend ; but as we had not participated in the labor 
 of rolling logs, and did not like to intrude without some 
 equivolent on our part as a contribution, so bought a jug of 
 mountain dew and had it sent over to the frolic ; we were 
 welcomed and our present was well received by the boys. We 
 were introduced as the men from Calif orny, and we all took a 
 familiar smile from the afore-mentioned jug. 
 
 The quilts having been finished and removed, the frolic had 
 already commenced. Our host, Jack Bradley, was the fiddler; 
 his favorite tune was an old-time famous one, and widely 
 known as " Rye Straw," and Jack's performance was entirely 
 confined to the bottom part of the tune, but after a bit (like 
 the Arkansaw Traveler) I ventured to ask him if he never 
 went up stairs on that tune ? He answered he didn't, because 
 he didn't know where the steps was, and handing me the 
 instrument asked if I could play the fiddle? I answered that 
 sometimes I sawed a little and put the upper story on " Rye 
 Straw " the best I could. It proved a ten strike, as I soon 
 discovered that I had become a very popular person. I showed 
 Bradley the stairsteps and soon had him educated so he could 
 go through the upper story of the tune. 
 
 Suddenly I felt a slap on the shoulder and turning, discov- 
 ered my assaulter to be a splendid specimen of fresh mountain 
 girlhood, a beauty with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. She 
 said, " Calif orny, less you and me take a turn." 'Nough said, 
 says I, as quick as a cat could wink its eye, and calling on 
 Bradley to give us the best he had in the shop, he promised to 
 empty out the gourd for us, and added : " Go it, Californy, if 
 you keep up with that gal there aint nothing in this valley too 
 good for you." Now, the floor of the house, like many others 
 
126 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAV ; 
 
 in that section, was made of puncheons, split out from the 
 forest trees and hxid on chestnut or wikl locust sleepers, and, 
 consequently, quite springy. Chairs in Rabun County were 
 not then so plentiful as they now are in Atlanta, and it was 
 not an unpopular custom for two of the young people to sit on 
 the same chair together and in a dance, frequently a couple 
 would occupy the floor, especially in a break-down. 
 
 I had been challenged by the belle of the valley to single 
 combat and knew I was in for it, but had fully determined to 
 be on hand when she got through. I led Miss Mary D. a few 
 turns up and down the hall, stopped in the center where we 
 made our bows, forwarded and back, swung corners and circled 
 all, crossed over and back, then the fun commenced. I made 
 a pass and she coquetted, I cornered and she chassed, I 
 shuffled and she sidewized, I pigeon-winged and she wire-toed, 
 I double-shuffled and she gave the toe-whiz, I gave a jim-crow 
 lick and she kill-krankled, I struck a break-down and she hit 
 the hurricane, I went into a jig and she jiggareed, and for 
 every lead I'd make she'd call me and go one better ; now and 
 then we'd change sides and cross back into another break- 
 down, and it was go it Miss Mary, hurry Californy, and Jack 
 Bradley seemed to have got inspiration on " Rye Straw." 
 Major Gibson beat the fiddle strings with straws, one fellow 
 beat a triangle, several were patting and every gal was keep- 
 ing time on the floor with her feet, and the heads all around 
 the room were bobbing up and down with the spring of the 
 elastic floor. Now and then some chap would sing out, "go it 
 frolic, yer dady's rich and no poor kin ; " " hurry Miss Mary, 
 come down to it Californy," and we were both doing our very 
 level best. Miss Mary was a ])icture — to say she looked a thing 
 of life would be but a feeble and emaciated expression. I can 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 127 
 
 still see her after the lapse of time in the midst of one of 
 those dead setto's, her lythe and willowy form swaying from 
 side to side in a quiver of action, athletic and graceful in her 
 very motion, head and shoulders a little inclined to the front, 
 the folds of her blue-checked homespun frock grasped in her 
 hands on either side, a little raised to clear her shapely ankles, 
 her skirts artistically spread out and in, to a perfect harmony 
 of motion, and her dainty feet would strike that puncheon 
 floor with the quick beat of a knitting-machine, and she 
 skimmed the floor as smoothly as a full-rigged brig, as she cuts 
 the great deep, rocking from side to side before a spanking 
 breeze (talk about your germans of this advanced day and of 
 the enjoyments of your young folks, all tame to that). And 
 I was right about there too, head and shoulders thrown back 
 to the break-down, a little to the front in the pigeon-wing, 
 arms flying to help the feet keep time to the music; the 
 weather was getting equatorial, the perspiration streaming, 
 and we were just getting down properly to our knitting in 
 what is called the cyclone movement, when the music suddenly 
 ceased. Jack Bradley had sawed his treble string clean in two' 
 and it was a draw between me and the belle of the Tennessee 
 Valley. We retired to a chair amid the plaudits of the 
 crowd ; were pretty well blowed and a little fatigued, but I 
 found a delightful repose for my arms, and my partner rested 
 one of hers on her lap and the other round my shoulder. Miss 
 Mary felt a little warm, but not at all disagreeably so ; our 
 temperatures ranged about the same degree farenheit. The 
 caloris gradually cooled down to its normal state and we spent 
 several very agreeable moments together watching the other 
 couples as they would take a turn. 
 
 "We danced all night till broad daylight and went iiome 
 
128 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 with the girls in the morning," and as we passed the store 
 treated the girls to torter shell side combs and sacrament wine. 
 The Miss Mary D., of the valley, is still there, but now a 
 silverhaired matron and the faithful mother of a crowd of 
 excellent children. My locks too have changed to a frosty 
 hue, though now and then I still saw on my old fiddle and 
 never strike old " Rye Straw " but I think of Miss Mary and 
 the Rabun County frolic, and when I compare the good old 
 usages of those days with the present fashionable arm clutch, 
 it is impossible for me to restrain a feeling of contempt. 
 

 MRS. JULIA A. SLOAN. 
 
i 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 131 
 
 THE VICTIM. 
 
 T HAD profited by experience; my second effort was adroitly 
 and ably managed — was an eminent and triumphant suc- 
 cess in every particular. I bad now reached the more mature 
 age of twenty-six years, and had become more rational in 
 many respects; and while it still gives me pleasure to crow 
 over this victory, I want to tote fair, and right here make the 
 acknowlegment that my victim was captured at the tender 
 and inexperienced age of fifteen, and of course more suscept- 
 ible than one more advanced in maidenhood. This avowment, 
 I am aware, will detract a part of the glory, but I have still 
 enough left to mako me feel comfortable, and, besides, after 
 the lapse of thirty-iive brief years, have got the old girl tO- 
 boot. 
 
 I had long ago become reconciled to my first disaster, had 
 now and then sparred a little among the girls, but nothing 
 serious had occurred. Now I began to realize the need of a 
 help-mete; wanted a good wife, craved the refining influences 
 of a good woman, to pare away the rougher protuberances of 
 my nature, I caught the idea from the poet Tupper, and want 
 him to have the credit of it — to pray for a wife, to pray for a 
 good wife, just such a wife as the Good Lord knew I needed. 
 I did ]»ray in faith, believing, and watched for; and to-be-sure 
 my prayer was answered in such an especial manner, to my 
 mind, as to leave no doubt that it was in response to my ear- 
 nest supplications. I met with my fate at Anderson, S. C, in 
 
132 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 the person of a college girl, who was so pointedly flung in my 
 pathway that I recognized in her, at once, the ])rovidential 
 boon. As pretty as a pink, as gentle as a dov^e, and sweeter 
 to me than taffy. I gathered all my forces and stormed the 
 citadel without delay, allowing no grass to grow under my 
 diligent feet. I went in to win, and the recollection of my 
 former weakness only made me the stronger and more deter- 
 mined. We first commenced playing the fiddle and piano 
 together, and accorded from the start. Our music made others 
 merry, and M-e had a little side-show of happiness to ourselves: 
 and although now thirty-five years have sped since our union, 
 I keep up my fiddling with an harmonious accompaniment 
 from this dear old girl, and, if spared, hope to keep attuned to 
 our golden wedding. 
 
 I felt from the first, in this campaign, that I was master of 
 the situation, and talked out my love like a little man; and my 
 love listened to me lingeringly, and like the fellow who had no 
 heart to refuse a drink, gave me her hand affectionately, and 
 referred me to the old folks. But didn't I feel good then. 
 How I stepped around the streets of Anderson next day. I 
 stood so straight in my boots that I sorter leant back. The 
 girl was mine, and I didn't care who knew it. I thought of 
 my first failure and how greatly I had improved upon that 
 effort, how nice I had done up this job, and that I was no 
 longer to be classed with the batch elor dogs; soon to be a 
 respectable married man, the prospective head of a family, a 
 man of responsibility and consequence, and no telling what 
 the future might have in store for me. 
 
 The greatest trouble I now had to contend with was impa" 
 tience. I didn't want to wait. The little lady lacked about 
 two years of finishing her education. But I decided it would 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 133 
 
 be better for the education to be disappointed than me. 1 
 wanted the girl, and wanted her quick — like Judge Bleckley 
 wanted the earthquake to stop. 
 
 Soon after her vacation, I followed her to her home on the 
 Saluda, in Edgefield ; got off the railroad at Chappell's, and, 
 fortunately, met a gentleman taking the train, who kindly ten- 
 dered his large coach and baggage cart to take me to my des- 
 tination, as it was near the route home. Some time after dark 
 had set in, we crossed a bridge and drove up a long rocky lane 
 approaching the mansion. It was one of those close, sultry 
 summer evenings, so common in our southern climate, and the 
 rattling of the cumbersome wheels of our vehicles seemed to 
 make the most extraordinary lumbering noise. As we drew 
 near the dwelling I observed, in the lighted windows, numer- 
 ous heads poking out, to ascertain the cause of the unusual 
 rumpus. Our caravan halted before the front gate, and your 
 writer descended and walked with a stately tread to the 
 entrance, and was met there by a brother of my intended. I 
 introduced myself and announced the object of my visit, and, 
 upon invitation, resolutely moved forward into the parlor, 
 filled with people. A single glance satisfied me that I had 
 interrupted their evening devotions. A reverential old gen- 
 tleman was peering over his spectacles, with Bible in hand, and 
 beside him sat another old gentleman, who I decided to be my 
 future father-in-law, and the balance of the company to be 
 guests and members of the family. On the right, I discovered 
 my jewel, greeted her warmly, then moved around the room 
 with my usher, bowing in the most gracious manner as intro- 
 duced, then modestly retired to a seat in the rear of one cor- 
 ner of the piano and listened devoutly to the family service, 
 scarcely casting a glance in the direction where my eyes es- 
 
134 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 pecifilly desired to range. The service over, my attention was 
 directed to two young ladies, who were talking in an under- 
 tone and casting significant glances in my direction ; then 
 heard a suppressed giggle as a servant girl placed a lamp on 
 the corner of the ])iano so as to shine directly in my face. 
 Turning suddenly to where my sweetheart sat, the seat was 
 vacant ; she had slipped out. Then my old experience recur- 
 red in all its original force — deserted ! She had gone back 
 on me; and now, like Peter, I lost my faith — all my prayers 
 for a wife wasted. Right then it occurred to me that I or the 
 Lord one had made a bad mistake; and to complete my dis- 
 grace, I was now an object of sport for those two young ladies- 
 It was too much. I determined to forget the unfaithful girl 
 and ray prayers, and to leave for home the next morning — even 
 thought of hunting another roof for the night; but the girls 
 had riled me. I was going to get even with them before I 
 left, to show them T wasn't the kind of a bug-eater they took 
 me for; so I picked up ray chair and sat down right in front 
 of thera and commenced a rattling, don't-care sort of confabu- 
 lation. This bold act brought them to their p's and q's, and 
 placed them on the defense. Directly, turning around, I^saw 
 the two old gentlemen regarding me, as I thought, with critic's 
 eyes, and feeling just like I didn't care what corn was worth a 
 bushel, moved my seat and tackled them, and soon had the 
 pleasure of thinking I had paralyzed the whole party, and was 
 now ready to vauiose the ranche, cursing (iji my mind) the 
 unreliability of the entire fair sex. 
 
 Just about this condition of affairs I observed a handsome 
 young woman tripping in the parlor; the gay deceiver was 
 making for me. I recognized the face and the form ; was she 
 about to tell me to git uj) and gitV I braced myself for the 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 135 
 
 coming shock, and it came, but not as I expected, for she 
 sweetly invited me in to take a hmch. I had forgotten that I 
 had no supper. She sat by me as I partook of her hospitali- 
 ties (both she and her mothei-), and as I was satisfying the 
 inner man I also saw through the millstone and wilted, and as 
 my ire abated so did my glibness of speech. It got real hard 
 hard for me to think of anything at all to say, and once more 
 recurred to me my old time predicament. I got too modest to 
 talk of love that night and retired from the scene under con- 
 siderable embarrassment, but got all right next morning when I 
 learned that my faithful one had reserved a buggy for our 
 especial use to ride to church. My tongue soon recovered 
 its wonted roll and I remained pleasantly situated for several 
 days. In fact, I felt loth to leave at all, but my embassy was 
 unfinished ; I wanted to secure the consent of the old folks. 
 At the first opportunity I invited the old gentleman to take a 
 walk, and when well out the gate he asked if I would like to 
 see the crops. I answered abstractedly in the negative, then 
 he proposed the meadows and the stock. I answered, " No, 
 sir, not on this occasion, I am here on an entirely differ- 
 ent business, and doubt not, sir, you have already guessed the 
 object of my mission. He answered, "that it was not 
 his custom to guess at other peoples' business." 1 must 
 have looked surprised, but frankly told him what I had come 
 for, and how gladly I would receive his consent to my suit. 
 He remarked that I was a stranger to him and that he would 
 like to be better informed before he could give his daughter to 
 a stranger. This stumped me, but only for a moment. I pro- 
 posed to the old gentleman to go home with me and investi- 
 gate, but he made the objection that he could not leave his 
 crops for the present; then I asked him wliich was of the 
 
136 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAV ; 
 
 most importance to him, his present crops or the happiness of 
 his youngest daughter ; this got him, and he went. Now I 
 had to talk to the old lady, and managed to find her in the 
 parlor early next morning, so brought the question to bear at 
 once; but she said she wanted her daughter to learn more 
 about the responsibilities of housekeeping before she married. 
 I told her I had an old mother where I lived, who was the best 
 in the world about that. She then remarked very positively 
 that her daughter was too young to marry ; but I was posted 
 and asked the old lady how old she was when she married' 
 and this v/as a sockdolager. Then, as a concluding remark, she 
 was not willing to give her daughter up ; but I spiritedly told 
 her that was exactly my fix, that I'd die before I'd give her 
 up ; then the old lady fled, and I never did get her consent. 
 
 But I took the old gentleman home with me, and he and my 
 parents consulted together over the matter, and after the 
 caucus had been held I was summoned to the parlor. My 
 father wJis the speaker ; he stated that the matter had been 
 fully discussed between them and had been decided in my 
 favor, but that they had all agreed that it was best to postpone 
 the marriage for two years longer and allow the young lady 
 an opportunity to finish her education ; then I kicked, kicked 
 the tea overboard. I took exactly the position the confed- 
 eracy took toward the federal government, seceeded, positively 
 re'fused to accept the amendment, called for the previous 
 question, and, like Tom Reid, counted the votes all my own 
 way. I firmly stated to my seniors that the timo was irre- 
 vocably "sot,"and we were of the opinion that as we were the 
 parties mostly interested that our decision was a matter of 
 much consideration, and we carried out our programme. The 
 dear old folks ac^ainst whom I rebelled have lonir since sxone to 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 137 
 
 the better world, and we are whacking along here yet through 
 
 the rough lanes of life, and have had many ups and downs, 
 
 but mostly downs, and have long since tried to learn submission 
 
 to Him who hath joined us together; and though our locks 
 
 are growing whiter each day, we still feel young and fresh in 
 
 heart; and as we approach the shadowy end, are filled with the 
 
 hope and trust that though we shall soon leave this earthly 
 
 scene of many grievous trials, that after a brief separation we 
 
 shall meet again and continue our journey together through 
 
 the spacious halls of eternity, 
 
 " There to bathe our weary souls 
 In seas of heavenly rest." 
 
138 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 FALLING OFF A MOUNTAIN. 
 
 In front, and in view of our old mountain home in Fairfield 
 * Valley, N. C, stands the Rock Mountain, with its bare walls 
 rounding up a thousand feet towards the sky ; on its summit 
 is an extensive area of ravines and ridges, covered with the 
 native forest tree, and used to be a favorite tramping ground 
 for the deer, and I have killed a number of them started on 
 this mountain. On one occasion I went up on this mountain 
 to hunt alone, except my dogs, and soon a deer was sprung, 
 but loth to leave the mountain, it played around ahead of the 
 dogs. I was slipping along trying to get a shot when I saw it 
 coming clipping along toward me where I had stopped not far 
 from the brink of a precipice. The doe discovered me too 
 late and attempted to pass between me and the precipice, 
 when I fired and gave it a mortal wound. To my astonish- 
 ment the wounded deer turned abruptly and went headlong 
 down into the abyss below. I rushed forward to the brink to 
 peer over and see where the poor thing had gone down, when 
 to my horror my heel slipped and over I went after the deer. 
 I remember closing my eyes, for I knew it was all over with 
 me, and I also remember as I started, my first thought was of 
 prayer and that I would have to make quick work of it too. 
 I think I had got about as far as " Now I lay me down to 
 sleep," when I brought up with a sudden jerk and thought I 
 had struck the bottom and was a dead man, but in a moment 
 reason began to return and it occurred to my mind that I had 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 139 
 
 made the trip too quick. Then the question arose, was 1 dead 
 or not? whereupon, I opened my eyes and discovered that I 
 was alive and unhurt, sitting astride a clump of ivy bushes 
 that grew in the crevice of the rock. My hat had gone over 
 after the deer, but I was sitting safe enous^h astride of those 
 blessed bushes with my gun still clutched in my hand, and 
 looking up discovered that I had slid down about fifteen feet 
 from the top of the rock ; hut how to get back I did not see. 
 I could finish the trip down with very little difficulty, but was 
 not willing to make the trip voluntarily, to the contrary hugged 
 the rock at my back more tenaciously ; indeed there has ever 
 been an inclination in my nature to ascend rather than descend, 
 though in actual experience I believe the latter has been my 
 fate. 
 
 But the all important question with me now was, how to 
 get out of that place. I was discontented, was dissatisfied with 
 my position in life ; I wanted to resign and even to abandon 
 the position without a formal resignation. Oh, how I needed 
 the advice and aid of some good friend just then. From my 
 sit-point I could see into the veranda of my own sweet home 
 (had been married but a short time). When in great trouble 
 I try to reason as well as pray — and reason as methodically as 
 possible. To extricate myself from this terrible imprison- 
 ment, I had to devise some method, so I adopted methodism 
 unanimously, and began to shout most lustily ; but it soon 
 occurred to me that there was a difference between the Meth 
 odist's experience and mine, for they claim to shout when they 
 are harpy, and I felt sure I was not happy ; I did not feel the 
 slightest symptoms of happiness, still I kept on shouting, but 
 it was no go, for the wind was against me and I could not make 
 myself heard. I continued to shout; to tell the truth, I yelled 
 
140 THE FOdY DAYS AND NOW: 
 
 and yelled until my voice broke u|) in utter hoarseness. 
 I saw my young wife come out on the veranda and look 
 towards the mountains, as if ex|3ecting to hear from or see 
 me; and, oh! how I longed to be there. Home never looked 
 sweeter to a living man than mine did to me then. I thought 
 of the good old song, " Sweet Home," and tried to sing it, but 
 had got too hoarse to sing. In fact, I did not feel much like 
 singing anyhow. After awhile, I saw my darling turn and go 
 back in the house; then a feeling akin to that of Mr. Selkirk's 
 took possession of my poor, isolated soul. I wanted to go 
 home. I wanted to be more social ; wanted to be an affection- 
 ate husband, a good democrat, an exemplary Christian, and get 
 something good to eat; but the unpleasant fact stared me in 
 the face that I must get out of my present predicament before 
 I could do or get anything. My wife came out again and 
 looked anxiously, and I returned the look with double com- 
 pound interest ; but, alas! she retired again. I remained in 
 this awtid position three weeks, thirty-seven days, forty-two 
 hours, sixty-five minutes and ninety seconds ( at least so it 
 seemed to me). At last a negro man named Jim came into the 
 cove below to get white oak splits, and I succeeded in making 
 my position known to hmi. I directed him to come around to 
 the top of the mountain above me and cut a long pole, with 
 which he pulled me up to the point from whence I started, and 
 was thus delivered fiom my perilous position. My deliverer 
 was Jim Hacket, one of our slaves, and I have never seen the 
 day, from that time till now, that I would not cut my tobacco 
 right in the middle and give the biggest half to that old 
 darkev. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 141 
 
 THE ANXIOUS ENQUIRER. 
 
 pROM the surrender at Appomatox, I returned to Edgefield, 
 S. C, where my wife had remained during the war, with 
 her father. I had sold all the property I possessed, except 
 negroes, at the beginning of the war, and invested in Confed- 
 erate bonds; now, the war ended, I found the bonds worthless 
 and the negroes free. I had three silver watches, $7.50 in 
 silver and $15 in greenbacks, captured from the enemy when I 
 was a scout and my horse. I swapped all but the cash for a 
 wagon and team from Johnson's returning soldiers, and moved 
 with my little family to Southwest Georgia, to start anew. 
 
 I bought a plantation, with outfit complete — stock and im. 
 plements — on a credit, from John W. Jordan, Jr., near Smith- 
 ville, in Lee county, and started the business of cotton plant- 
 ing. I had been raised, as we then thought, above the cotton- 
 belt; although my father used to plant several patches of cot- 
 ton, I knew nothing of its culture. I had sold out a splendid 
 stock farm, to go to the war, and my teaching had been to 
 raise grass and not to destroy it. 
 
 In starting a new business, I thought the best way to get 
 at it was to obtain all the information possible of the modus 
 operandi of planting cotton, and so set myself to work visit- 
 mg and pumping my neighbors for the coveted information. 
 I made frequent visits to the Wellses, Jordans, Jenningses, 
 Jays, Aliens, Birds, Kosses, etc., and as Lem Jay (who was 
 considered a crack cotton planter) remarked, got everybody's 
 
142 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 opinion then turned around and done as I durned pleased. 
 There was a scarcity of cotton-seed in the country, and difficult 
 to secure even at a high price, and it had become to me a 
 question of great perplexity. 
 
 One Sunday, I went with my family to spend the day with 
 Mr. William Wells, and found there quite a number of neigh- 
 boring planters. We were all sitting out on the front veranda, 
 and, as usual, I was spunging out of the party all the informa- 
 tion I could get, when that scamp I referred to before, Lera 
 Jay (and who had seen me the day before setting out cabbage 
 plants) remarked that he thought he could put me on to a 
 plan that would interest me. He said that Mr. Jule Bird, a 
 neighbor and very large planter, had a great deal of cotton 
 already up, that it had come up very thick, and he 
 would commence chopping it out to-morrow, and had no doubt 
 that Mr. Bird would take great pleasure in furnishing me all 
 the plants I might want, free of charge. Mr. Bird was present 
 and said it would afford him great pleasure to do so, and that 
 I would be welcome to all I wanted. I expressed unbounded 
 gratitude to the gentlemen for their kindness, and was about to 
 make a little speech of thanks when I caught a glimpse of 
 several roguish looking winks sliding around, and stopped sud- 
 denly short, as I smelt the fumes of a dead rat, when there 
 followed a general explosion of risibles at my expense; but full 
 amends were made by their assistance to procure the necessary 
 cotton-seed. One day I called on my neighbor John W. Jor- 
 dan, Sr., and had plied him with many questions on the cotton* 
 making business, and finally asked him how many bales he 
 thought I ought to make this year. He surveyed me sol- 
 emnly from head to foot replying that he could not tell 
 me how many I ought to make, but if I made airy bale he 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 143 
 
 would be mightily surprised. The shock was a severe one to 
 me, but I had the pleasure of beating the old gentleman that 
 very year; and I think he was sorry for the joke afterward, 
 when he found out that I was the son of his first sweetheart, 
 whom he had very earnestly courted in his younger days. 
 
 I was greatly puzzled when my cotton commenced blooming 
 to find both white and red blossoms on the same stalk at the 
 same time ; why one should be red and the other white, I 
 could not get at the philosophy of it; the chemical action 
 on the part of nature I could not quite understand. This 
 brought another good laugh from my neighbors, and the dis- 
 covery to myself that I had gone off in this instance half 
 cocked, for had I waited and observed, would have learned 
 that the blossom is white the first day and red the next. 
 
 But here's another rigid joke. One day I was sitting on the 
 fence watching my hands hoe cotton, when a stranger to me 
 drove up and alighting from his buggy took a seat beside me 
 and commenced conversation (the whole thing was a put up 
 job). After awhile he said he had been driving around 
 through every part of the country and had never, in all his 
 Hfe, seen such grassy crops (it had been a very rainy season); 
 but he'd bederned if I wasn't considerably worse off than any- 
 body he had yet seen. This hit me heavy, for I thought I was 
 ruined, and as soon as the man left I got a hoe and let in and 
 whooped up the darkies and got rid of the grass, but the unac- 
 customed exertion cost me a spell of fever. I made one of 
 the best crops to my force in Lee County, that year, and fully 
 established myself as a cotton-planter. 
 
 Now for the benefit of despairing humanity I will tell an 
 anecdote on a Lee County young man, who, at the time of 
 which we have been talking, was my neighbor farmer; our 
 
144 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 places joined and when I left that country, left him there. 
 Some years after, I came down to Atlanta from Norcross an d 
 met my former neighbor on the street. He informed me that 
 he had just arrived in the city and had come here to practice 
 law. I was astonished and asked him what he knew about 
 law. He said he had busted farming and had taken to law; 
 had been studying it for a few months, and asked my opmion 
 as to what I thought of his chances in Atlanta. I gave him 
 my opinion candidly and in a flat-footed manner. I told him 
 these Atlanta lawyers were a sharp set, and the chances for a 
 country fellow who had come to a great city with a smatter- 
 ing of law was about as slim as anything I had ever seen. His 
 face lengthened out as I talked to him, and finally he 
 exclaimed: "I am obliged to succeed; I've got nothing 
 but a family, and it's a " ground hog case." and stamping his 
 foot in a resolute manner, said : "I am obliged to succeed." 
 Then I said. Bob, if it has come to that, go ahead and maybe 
 you will; "where there's a will there's a way :" and if you 
 are obliged to do it, you will. Tliat same fellow is familliarly 
 known to almost everyone in the city to-day as Bob Jourdan, 
 and one of its most popular lawyers. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 145 
 
 HOW^ I GOT RID OF PRICE ALBERT. 
 
 KIear the famous Cashier's Valley, in the Blue Ridi^e moun- 
 tains of North Carolina, and two miles across a gap, 
 nestles as lovely a little spot as this noted range can show, 
 Fairfild Valley, resembling a great ampitheater, with its lofty 
 blue rock walls surrounding. 
 
 Here my father's family used to spend their summers, and 
 here I afterwards, with my uncle, J. T. Hackett, ran a stock 
 farm and a summer hotel. We raised cattle, hogs, sheep and 
 mules. Among other animals, we owned an imported jack 
 named Prince Albert, that cost eight hundred dollars. After 
 a while the confederate war came on, and we had to abandon 
 this lovely home, and went as volenteers to fight our country's 
 battles. We sold out every thing except this especial ani- 
 mule. Not being able to find a purchaser for his royal high- 
 ness, I sent him down to Edgfield, S. C, and boarded him out 
 during the war, and when the war wafe ended moved to South- 
 west Georgia. Still not being able to dispose of the 
 prince, I transported him, at considerable expense, to my new 
 home, where he became not only a considerable expense, but a 
 nuisance to the whole neighborhood. He would not bear im- 
 prisonment, either by fences, bars or gates. Not satisfied with 
 injury to my own property, he committed depredations 
 on my neighbors. The more I tiied to sell him, the more I 
 couldn't do it. Finally I tried to give him away ; couldn't 
 
146 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 even do that, and indeed this jackass problem had become one 
 of great anxiety and gloom to me. 
 
 One day I had my hands near the public road, raising some 
 timbers to build a carriage house, when I heard a halloa out at 
 the road. I turned and saw a solitary horseman halted in the 
 highway. He called to me in the most beseeching tones, and 
 said : "My friend, will you be so kind as to step this way, just 
 for a moment." He seemed in great distress, so I ordered the 
 boys to stop work till 1 returned. As I approached, the man 
 reached out his hand and grasped mine, saying: "My friend? 
 I want to ask a favor of you; do not deny me; I am suffering.'' 
 I asked, " What can I do for you, sir?" (feeling my heart melt- 
 ing toward the poor fellow.) [ie continued : " My good friend 
 I have been riding alone for hours down this lonesome old 
 ' Bond's Trail.' I have not met or seen a human face, and I 
 am under a most sacred vow. I have sworn never to take 
 a drink of spirits by myself, and I have in my saddle-bags 
 some of the best old peach brandy you ever wet your lips 
 with. I want you to take a drink with me ; please don't 
 refuse, for I feel I cannot stand it any longer." The favor 
 seemed so small and the self-denial on my part so insignifi- 
 cant, that I complied with his request. Then he took the bot- 
 tle, and a goodly portion of its contents went down his thirsty 
 throat. I then offered him my hand and wished him a pleas- 
 ant journey on his way; but he held my hand, and pleadingly 
 said: "My dear friend, don't go yet; just one more, please." 
 I took the flask and turned it up to my lips, as if I intended to 
 take another, and — did, then, after watching him gurgle down 
 swallow after swallow, begged to be excused, as my hands 
 were waiting for me, and again bid him Godspeed on his way, 
 when he cried out: "Oh, my dear friend, my good friend, just 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHAXGED. 147 
 
 one more before we p.irt. His tone was one of abject en- 
 treaty, and to get rid of the man, I smiled once more with 
 him, and said, "good-byo, gnod-byo, sir." As I walked off, 
 he watched me regretfully, hailed me again, and said : " I, 
 say, my friend, have yon got anything to trade?" I stopped, 
 as ray troublesome mule flashed across my mind, and an- 
 swered, "Yes, sir, I have a very fine jack that I would like 
 to trade." He said, " bring him out," at the same time draw- 
 ing another flask; then handing me a watch and chain, he 
 added, "I will give you this for him." I did not take time 
 to examine the trinkets, but called to a boy to bring out 
 Prince Albert. The trade was confirmed without further 
 talk, he only requesting that I let the boy go a mile or so, to 
 get the prince well started. I ordered the boy to go with 
 him twain. Before starting, however, he took my hand, and 
 said: "My friend, my benefactor, as long as my life lasts, I 
 shall feel grateful for your kindness to a dying stranger. I 
 was athirst and you helped me to drink. I will never forget 
 you; I shall cherish your memory as that of a friend in my 
 time of need, and now, in this parting moment, perhaps for- 
 ever, favor me just once more." I favored him, and thus we 
 parted. I watched him and Prince Albert go down that long 
 lane until they passed beyond my sight. I have never heard 
 of either of them since, but have often hoped that both were 
 doing well. 
 
 1 found both watch and chain to be good gold, and traded 
 them for a fine horse; and smce that jackass trade, I have 
 concluded that there is always some hope, even under the 
 most adverse circumstances and the gloomiest out-look. 
 
148 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW I 
 
 THE PROPHETIC SPEECH 
 
 ADDRESS DELIA^ERED BY D. IT. SLOAN, BEFORE THE EARLY 
 COUNTY, GA., AGRICULTURAL SOCIETY, JULY, 1874. 
 
 J^ R. President, Ladies and Gentlemen — This large and 
 respectable audience is encouraging, and is proof that 
 "there is life in the old land yet." The presence of so many 
 ladies inspires fresh hopes for this society. Mr. President, I 
 discern that your benign face wears a more congenial glow, 
 your eyes scintillate with gleams of returning youth, as from 
 your elevated perch you gaze admiringly upon the fair forms 
 that surround you. Our Secretary, too, appears more sprightly, 
 while from his humbler position he steals the furtive glance, 
 delighted that his earnest effort to induce their presence has 
 been crowned with success. 
 
 Brethren of the plow, do we not all feel happier for the 
 presence of these fair friends in or midst? May they con- 
 tinue to come and cheer us with their smiles of approval, and 
 help us to promote the great cause of agriculture." And, 
 ladies, please pardon me if I remind you of your great rspon- 
 sibility in life, for in all the annals of history, from the first 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 149 
 
 fair maid of Edenville, through the tedious chronicles of gen- 
 erations, till you come to the mother, the better-half, or the 
 absorbing sweetheart of the present day, and behold your 
 potent influence over the so-called lords of creation, for weal 
 or woe; and while the unhappy experience, the lamentable 
 difficulty, of the first sweet girl, in the primitive garden 
 about the fruit, may serve as a gentle reminder, yet remem- 
 ber your influence for good or evil is not abated one jot or 
 tittle. Ladies, ever encourage the worthy enterprises of your 
 infatuated admirers; frown down by youi* absence all their 
 evil works, and so shall you truly become the good angels of 
 deliverance to your less reflned and more obdurate com- 
 panions of earth. 
 
 Mr. President, I have neither the disposition nor the infor- 
 mation to discuss the science of agriculture, and will leave 
 such work for wiser heads thart mine. I only propose to offer 
 a few general ideas on subjects of vital importance to the 
 class of men who earn their bread "by the sweat of the face," 
 and as the great Mr. Greeley should have said, I want to tell 
 you what little I know about farming. 
 
 Mr. President and brother "crappers," as sure as I stand 
 before you to day, without hesitation or reservation, without 
 fear of successful contradiction, and in all the solemnity of 
 truth, I feel constrained to state that the noble, the wonderful, 
 the glorious profession of agriculture has nearly "busted" 
 your humble orator, "enduring the last few craps." But, sir, 
 I believe — and 1 find much comfort in the thought — that all 
 hope is not yet with me fled, for I believe the right kind of 
 farming can be made profitable. Sir, your eloquent speaker 
 of last month told us how he had come to grief agriculturally. 
 He gave us a graphic description of the romantic castles he 
 
150 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 had constructed in the azure skies of paper calculation ; told 
 us of his fond devotion to that gay coquet, Miss Delila Cot- 
 ton, and how he had been blinded by her charms and had 
 yielded to her fascinations; how he had tripped the fantastic 
 toe with her in the mazy dances of fortune, whirled with her 
 in the dizzy waltzes of speculation, gyrated in the polkas and 
 highland flings, cut pigeon-wings, and went through all the 
 fancy steps of anticipation, and how the heartless flirt had 
 tantalized him with false hopes and at last had cruelly deserted 
 him — flung him off: and then he told us that his eye-teeth 
 were now cut. Ah ! brethren, brethren, how many of us have 
 had our poor pates lured into this same false Delila's lap, and 
 have been deceitfully shorn of our precious locks, and awoke 
 only to find our former strength departed; and, alas! how 
 many of our noblest sires, too, like yours, Mr. President, 
 frosted with the experience of manj^ crops, have been capti- 
 vated by her smiles and made her willing dupes. 
 
 'Tis said that " there is a tide in the affairs of men, which, 
 when taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." That fortune, 
 my brethren, has not ebbed in on the flood-tide of cotton 
 which is surely drifting us into poverty. 
 
 But it is human to err. Let us give over the wild chase — 
 cease to follow the will-o'-the-wisp; let us go back to good old 
 Uncle Corn once more, and to our more reliable country cous- 
 ins, the Misses Oats, Peas and Pumpkins. We know their 
 friendship; 'tis tried and true. 
 
 Look around us and behold the common wreck. Debt and 
 bankruptcy are sinking the hearts of men into the dark and 
 turbid waters of despondency. Where are the honest, joviaj 
 faces we were wont to see in days of yore ? Gone glimmer- 
 ing among the things that were, and in their stead we see, at 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; l51 
 
 eveiy turn, the longated visage, the downcast eye, and the 
 pendant under-jaw. Ask for the trouble and they will tell 
 you the old and too familiar story — had an attack of cotton 
 on the brain. The awful epidemic had seized them, like some 
 thousand-legged nightmare, stagnated their blood and, like 
 grim death, pinned them down, and the future offered no 
 hope. But occasionally you meet a contented face. Ask how 
 so — how have you escaped the general ruins — and he will 
 answer: "Well, sir, I raise my home supplies; I never go in 
 debt; every year I make a little above my own needs, and 
 to these fellows who raise all cotton, why I sell them some- 
 thing to eat, sir." And hereby hangs a tale. 
 
 Let the farmer give his first attention to home supplies, fill 
 his home with comforts and contentment, then let the chords 
 that support the Wall street rigging snap asunder. Let the 
 main masts and money kings topple and tumble ; let financial 
 panics and crises come. Amidst the crash, the self-sustain- 
 ing farmer will float serene ; with barn and store-house well 
 filled, he can snap his fingers and whistle Dixie. 
 
 There is a terrible hydra-headed monster on the rampage 
 throughout our land. A merciless dragon of consumption, 
 his trail is marked with wan despair, and like a besom of 
 destruction, he sweeps the country. His name is debt. The 
 people know him, fear and tremble in his presence, yet madly 
 rush into his very track. Loans and liens are his daily diet. 
 The ever insatiate beast, with hungry jaws crammed with cot- 
 ton bags, still cries for more and more ; and his infatuated vic- 
 tims hurl the overburdened commodity into his throat — and 
 are frequently swallowed u}> themselves. Is there no deliver- 
 ance? Yes, thank God, a few 'wise men have seen a star. A 
 saviour has been found; an angelic song has been heard, pro- 
 
152 OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 
 
 claiming peace and good will to the tiller of the soil. His 
 name is Cash, and common sense catches up the strain, and 
 chimes along the farms, pay up, pay up as you go. 
 
 Mr. President, I believe it is the farmer's true policy, if he 
 can't run ten plows on the cash salvation plan, to come down 
 to five, or two, or even one; and if he can't make the riffle 
 with one, then to quit the business, or hire out to some man 
 or woman who does business on that plan. If he can't work 
 fifty acres well, then ten; if he can't pay cash for his fertil- 
 izers, then save what he can from his barn-yard, plow deeper 
 and cultivate better. If the Dixons and Wothens can make 
 from three to five bales per acre, why should we put up with 
 one bale for from three to five acres? Brother Mulligan said 
 muscle and brain were needed, and he is right about it. The 
 fault is with us. If our patches are not just what we want 
 them to be, we must make them so. Our Creator has done 
 his part, and left it to man to develop the hidden resources 
 stored away in nature's labyrinthean recesses ; earth, air and 
 water, all are teeming with material to supply the wants of 
 man. 
 
 Necessity has been called the mother of invention, and the 
 direst necessity often produces the most beneficial results; 
 and who knows, brethren, but that the very difficulties which 
 now encompass us may be fraught with some great blessing to 
 the tillers of the soil. We have gotten into a fog; we must 
 arouse to a sense of our danger, and with strong hands steer 
 clear of the disastrous rocks of debt, too much cotton, and 
 poor culture. 
 
 Mr. President, I believe more profit can be realized from 
 ten acres well cultivated than fi'om fifty in the ordinary way, 
 thereby both lessening the cost of production and increasing 
 
OR, THE AVOKLD HAS CHANGED. 153 
 
 the profits of the farm, besides the improvement of the prop- 
 erty ; and if my proposition is correct, then cash and high 
 culture are the true finger-boards to successful farming, as all 
 will agree. Why not adopt the plan at once? There's the 
 rub. How to get at it is the thing. Some are so deeply in 
 debt that they think they can not adopt the cash plan; and so 
 many a poor sinner wants to believe in the Saviour, but hesi- 
 tates to lay hold on the salvation plan, still delays and tries to 
 work himself into a more acceptable state with his God, but 
 only succeeds in heaping sin upon sin on his poor soul. And 
 the planter, in trying to get out of debt by going in debt, is 
 getting in deeper all the while. The present southern farmer 
 has to be regenerated — to be born again — to go to his cred- 
 itor, like the sinner does to his Saviour, give up all he has, if 
 necessary, and start a new and better life. 
 
 I believe, sir, farming can be made to pay; I think we have 
 cause for encouragement if we can profit by past experience, 
 and appreciate the lights before us; and what avocation is 
 there in life more desirable than farming, what occupation can 
 afford more attractions, what more free and independent, and 
 where on earth ought woman, the true wife and mother, to 
 find more real happiness, where more contentment than as 
 mistress of some good farmers household? 
 
 The farmers make a great mistake when they select their 
 dunces for the plow handles; they should pick their brightest 
 boys for the farm, and put the fools somewhere else. They 
 may fill some other place, but the farm never. It requires as 
 much brain to conduct the farm successfully as it does to leg- 
 islate in the halls of congress. A farmer ought to understand 
 all the requirements and deficiences of his soil — to be familiar 
 with the agricultural experience and improvements of the 
 
154 tHE fOGY DAYS AJfD NOW J 
 
 world. He ought to be an expert even on the rostrum, for I 
 believe tlie time is not far distant when he will control this 
 great government. He holds the balance of poAver in his bal- 
 lot, has the biggest share of brains, and only needs the culture. 
 Cultivate him and he will take his true position in the world, 
 and then he will frame laws to protect himself, and advance 
 the cause of agriculture, and wrest from the cormonants of the 
 country his rights, which so long have been trampled upon, 
 drive the money grabbers from their high places, and save the 
 people from the avaracious craws of the few, and then the 
 laboring masses will get their dues. 
 
 Mr. President, I feel like I believe it will not be long till the 
 daylight will begin to dawn on the tiller of the soil. I believe 
 the farmers of this country will rise in their might, and claim 
 their own. I think I can discern the ilrst rays of the morning 
 light, the herald of the coming sunshine, and if we live a few 
 years longer, Mr. President, we may see it rise in its radiant 
 glory, and cur chidren may see it ascend higher in the horizon 
 of intelligence to its noon -tide splendor, till its fructifying in- 
 fluence shall make the world better and happier. But a short 
 time since we first heard of the grange, and even now the 
 name is scarcely familiar to our ears. Their power unknown 
 to themselves — a power, though in its infantile experience and 
 ignorance, that is yet shaking with the sound of its voice the 
 very heart of this corrupt government. May God give wisdom 
 to the laborers and grant that their combination and honest 
 efforts may prove an ocean of blessings to this country. I 
 know, sir, we must expect our share of the ills of life. Dark 
 ness has hovered over our recent pathway, but I believe if" we 
 will have it so, tliere is a better day coming, bless the Lord. 
 Let us only be true to ourselves, and we shall brincr the world 
 
155 
 
 to our feet. We have the elements of power; let us cultivate 
 the brain. 
 
 Now a word in conclusion. I maintain that a farmer, a 
 granger, cannot fulfill his true position in life if his aspirations 
 are no higher than to grasp the perishable of this world. Man 
 at best is but a pilgrim upon earth, and but for a season ; is on 
 a wearisome and hazardous journey, and if he will but cast his 
 eyes beyond "this vale of tears," he will find it is "not all of 
 life to live or all of death to die." Solomon tried it all, and 
 concluded that there was very little here besides vanity, and 
 about the best thing a man could do was to eat and drink 
 v/hat God allowed him. 
 
 Now let the farmer heed the commands of a merciful God, 
 and strike only for his just rights, which he has not by many 
 jugs full at present, abandon all inordinate desire for greed 
 and gain, and his home may be made, indeed, a place of con, 
 tentment, where he may sing, "home, sweet home," and where 
 it may be felt that there is "no place like home," and when 
 done with the earth, our voices may be attuned to a higher 
 sphere, where we may join the heavenly choristers in the ever- 
 lasting home of homes. Mr. President and brethren of the 
 plow, I offer these thoughts, and home supplies in abundance 
 recommend the cash plan, high culture both of land and brains 
 stand shoulder to shoulder, live in the fear and admonition of 
 the Lord, and I guarantee success in this world, and a far bet- 
 ter country in the dim mists of tlie eternal future. 
 
^^Siu,,, 
 
 
 'f^'^^H 
 
 PROFESSOR N. F. COOLEDGE, 
 A distinguished educator; born iu Vermont; came to Georgia a young man; first 
 taught school at Perry, Ga. ; became famous as a teacher at Cotton Hill, Ga. ; 
 afterwards taught at Dalton, Canton and Norcross, Ga.; still resides at the latter 
 place, retired from business; father of the Cooledge Bro's., of Atlanta, and an 
 earnest working Baptist; has been one of Georgia's best teachers. 
 
II 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ! 159 
 
 THE UNEXPECTED PREACH. 
 
 At ihe lime of this story, our home was in Norcross, Ga., on 
 the R & D. R. R. One of the most venerable and useful 
 citizens of this town was Professor N. F. Cooledge, a distin- 
 guished educator, and an earnest Baptist ; a line, portly looking 
 old gentleman, and one whose appearance would attract atten- 
 tion anywhere. 
 
 The professor and I made a trip to Gumming, Ga., up near 
 the mountains; spent the night there, and hearing of a Bap- 
 tist camp-meeting across the Swanee mountain, concluded we 
 would attend on the morrow, which was the Sabbath. So in 
 the morning we ordered out our conveyance and drove over. 
 Arriving at the enterance to the camp-grounds, we were met 
 by several clever looking countrymen, who had our horse 
 cared for and bestowed on us, as we thought, extraordinary 
 hospitilaties. We were invited down to the stand, as it was 
 about time for the morning services. Instead of entering the 
 aisle at the front, we were conducted round to the rear, and 
 before we were aware of the situation, were being ushered up 
 into the pulpit. We remonstrated, but they persisted, and 
 introduced us to the preacher, who had just risen to start the 
 opening hymn. We were seated, one on the right and the 
 other on the left on the preachers' bench, and left, to our own 
 reflections. As Brother Pirkle proceeded to line out his hymn 
 a sudden idea struck me that Professor Gooledge had been 
 
160 OR, THE WORLHANGED. 
 
 taken for a jn-eacher, and would be called on to follow Brother 
 Pirkle. It was too good, and tickled me all over. I knew 
 the professor would be astonished, taken completely by sur- 
 prise, and in my imagination, I could see his eyes about the 
 size of saucers — had to pinch my thighs severely to keep from 
 laughing outright. 
 
 Brother Pirkle finished, and turnino: to me, said ; "Brother 
 Sloan, you will follow me." This shock came as a thunder- 
 bolt from a clear sky. Such a turn of affairs had never 
 entered my calculations. I half arose, completely befuddled, 
 saying, "No, sir; I — I — I — ," but the preacher paid no atten- 
 tion to my remark, and said, "let us all pray," I knelt at my seat, 
 but didn't take in much of that prayer . My great desire was 
 to escape. I twisted round to get a view of the long steps we 
 had just come up. Every plank was ])acked with people, and 
 found that; I would have to make a leap of at least fifteen feet 
 to clear their heads, to get to the woods. I raised up high 
 enough to peep over the pulpit to the rear, but there were 
 rows of heads. At last Brother Pirkle said amen, and arose 
 to read and announce his text. I tried to attract his attention, 
 but in vain ; mj'- tongue seemed to be paralyzed, and I felt as 
 if what little sense I had ever claimed, had departed. I did 
 not look towards Professor Cooledge, partly from a guilty 
 conscience, and did not care to catch the expression of pity 
 and anxiety I knew to be upon his face, in my behalf. I was 
 in a predicament, and how to get out of it I could not see. In 
 my checkered life, I had faced many dilemmas and dangers. I 
 had been among wild Indians, chased on the plains by wolves 
 on a burning ship in the midst of the rolling billows, and had 
 passed through the terrible carnage of war. I remembered in 
 my school-boy days the relentless rod of the pedagogue, the 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 161 
 
 agony of early inaiiliood, my disap})oiiitiiicnt in love ; had 
 passed thvough an unusual share of the ups and downs of life, 
 made bad speculations, been dead broke, but in the whole cat- 
 egory of my tribulations, I could think of nothing so embar- 
 rassing as this — for me to preach to four thousand people, and 
 me not a pi-eacher. There seemed no way out of it but con- 
 fusion and absolute disgrace. To preach to a camp -meeting, 
 and already scared most to death ! My heart thumped against 
 my side, my legs were all in a tremble, and I felt a great weak 
 strain down my back bone. Time was passing, and the crisis 
 approaching. An old saying flashed across my mind, that a 
 cornered rat will fight a cat. Then I thought of old Preacher 
 Dannelly of South Carolina, the most self-possessed and confi- 
 dent looking man I ever saw, except Sam Jones. I perused 
 the pluck of both of these men, and it helped me. I knew 
 something "had to be did," and concluded that the best way 
 out of the ordeal was to vyade right through the fire. I 
 resolved to try it; reached up got a hymn book, selected a 
 number and turned down the leaf, listened attentively to the 
 sermon, and marked in my memory some of the principal 
 points. After a time the preacher finished, and turning to me? 
 waved his hand to the front. I arose as deliberately as my 
 shaky legs and yielding back would allow, and leaning with 
 my right arm on the book-board, the book in my left hand, and 
 for a moment surveyed the sea of heads around me, then pro- 
 ceeded to line out the song. When finished, all excitement 
 had vanished, and I entered the skirmish line without a single 
 feeling of my former terror. I complimented the able sermon 
 of the preacher, commented u])on the unanswerable points of 
 his argument, extenuated upon the great truths advanced by 
 him to the dying sinner, and closed my ten mnutes talk, wiih 
 
162 OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 
 
 an army anecdote, applicable to salvation, then turning to my 
 left, in a most solemn tone, called on Brother Cooledge, to lead 
 in prayer, to which he responded in the most efficient mannei-. 
 The preacher closed the service, and we were invited to a 
 tent to dinner. While sitting at the table, a couple of com- 
 mitteemen came in and announced that Brother Sloan had 
 been appointed to preach the evening sermon. Then I squealed, 
 and let the cat out of the wallet; told how I had been taken in, 
 and that I was no preacher at all. Of course, I was excused. 
 
 The professor and I started home after dinner. We had 
 ridden along some distance in silence when I remarked, "Pro- 
 fessor, I believe you are about as deep in the mire as I am in 
 the mud ; suppose we don't say anything about this scrape 
 when we get home." He said he'd never breathe it. 
 
 About a year afterward, two young lawyers came down 
 from Gumming and stopped at the Norcross Hotel. I was 
 proprietor, and was carving at the dinner table. At the table 
 also, were quite a number of Atlanta guests. The two young- 
 lawyers seemed to be having a side-show of fun to themselves. 
 When I asked them to divide, give the public the benefit of 
 their mirth ; they asked if I really wanted to hear the joke. T 
 told them by all means let us have it, when George Bell waved 
 his hand and said, "Brother Sloan, you will follow me," and 
 then blurted out the whole story ; and to make matters worse, 
 my wife remarked that they must h ive kept the matter very 
 quiet, as she had never heard of it before. I had to grin and 
 bear it all, and became more than ever impressed with the old 
 adaoe "that murder will out." 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW: 16o 
 
 A HISTORIC HORN, 
 
 pKOM the Constitution: "Mr. D. U. Sloan, of the National 
 Hotel, lias a historic horn, and on being asked the story 
 connected with it, furnished the following sketch : 
 
 " This horn has been in my possession for one-third of a 
 century. Notice the perforations through its rim ; see how 
 the worujs have eaten it. It was presented to me by a man I 
 never saw, nor heard of in my life until after his death, and 
 who never saw or heard of me. His name was Kirkpatrick, 
 and it came about in this way : Kirkpatrick was on his death- 
 bed, and said to his friend Strohecker, of Charleston, who was 
 sitting by his side: 'Strohecker, there hangs a horn. I have 
 prized it much, on account of its superior tone. The delights 
 of the chase are all over with me. I shall never be able to 
 sound it again. Take it, and give it to some good hunter, 
 for me, and tell him I bequeathed it to him as a dying gift.' 
 Strohecker promised, and I became the favored one; and if 
 departed spirits have cognizance of what happens here bel««w, 
 I trust the old hunter may be satisfied with his legatee. 
 
 "I have winded this old horn in many a hunt on the Blue 
 Ridge mountains, with the Hamptons, Calhouns, Haskells, 
 Taylors, and many others of South Carolina's noblest sons. I 
 made old Charleston's walls ring with its shrillest notes, on 
 
164 OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 
 
 that memorable evening of secession. I sounded it again, on 
 Atlanta's hills, for Cleveland and democratic victory, and 
 made it to resound with lusty blasts on the triumphal entry of 
 Jefferson Davis into Atlanta. I was a secessionist, and 
 fought for what I believed to be the rights of my country; 
 and though a reconstructed rebel, I do not feel that I com- 
 mitted treason against the federal government. If so, our 
 fathers of the revolution did the same thing. The same 
 causes existed, but God gave success to the one and defeat to 
 the other. His ways are inscrutabe, and we know ' he doeth 
 all things well.' 
 
 "The lost cause is dead and buried. I revere its ashes, and 
 love and honor the grand old chieftain, who must soon go, 
 too. I honor the old hero, because he never faltered, nor 
 shrunk from what he believed to be his duty. 
 
 "But about this dear old horn. I shall hope to sound it 
 again in 188S, for Grover Cleveland, or some other democratic 
 president; and if defeat should be our fate, will hang it 
 among the willows for another and more propitious day. 
 Once before then, however, I will take it down and give three 
 blasts for our next governor, John B. Gordon — a name irre- 
 sistible to every son of Georgia, and to every boy who wore 
 the grey. Respectfully, 
 
 " D. U.. Sloan." 
 "Atlanta, Ga., May 30th, 1886." 
 
 From the Atlanta Capitol: "This morning a Capitol re- 
 porter stumbled upon an item that will be read with interest, 
 and will also be amusing. It will be remembered that Mr. D. 
 U. Stone, of the National Hotel, has a historic horn, which he 
 sounds out on patriotic occasions. A communication ap- 
 peared in the Constitution, about the first of the gubernato- 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW: 1<>«'^ 
 
 rial campaign, in which Mr. Sloan wound up by saying he 
 would sound three blasts from his horn for Governor John B. 
 Gordon. He has received the following postal from a Bacon 
 man: 
 
 '' 'Atlanta, Ga., June Gth, 188G. 
 
 * Mr. D. IT. Sloan : 
 
 ' Dear Sir — I have read with much interest the account of your 
 historic horn, but would suggest that you practice on it from the 
 reverse end, as you will have to blow it out of the little end, for 
 Gordon, when the convention meets. As I am a private citizen, 
 and have no axe to grind, have clipped my name from this card. 
 'Yours truly, ' 
 
 * Sloan's reply, through the Constitution : 
 
 * My Dear Unknown Friend — Your card with name clipped off 
 is received. I read and considered its contents, and thought, 
 *Is it possible that I am mistaken; shall I, indeed, ever blow this 
 good old horn out of the wrong end for John B. Gordon, the soldier, 
 the statesman, the people's man?' While thus sadly ruminating, 
 I seemed to hear a voice — a whispered voice. I turned and lis- 
 tened. The old horn was trying to talk, as it hung above my head. 
 AVith bated breath I listened, and these are the words I caught: 
 
 * B-y-e-g-o-n-e, b-e-g-o-n-e, B-a-k-e-o-n.' I arose and reversed the 
 ends — turned the right end, the mouth-piece, to the breeze that 
 played through my open window — and the words changed and these 
 are the sounds I heard : * G-o-o-d-o-n-e, g-o-o n, G-i-d-e-o-n;' and as 
 a stiffer breeze struck the right end, it spake out distinctly, ' G-0 E- 
 D-O-N, G-0-R-D-O-N, G-0-R-D-O-N.' So, my dear unknown 
 friend, do not allow yourself to be deceived. This is not only an 
 historic but a prophetic horn; for even as your name was clipped 
 from your erring card, so shall the wings of your aspirant be clipped 
 of his expectant glory, when the convention meets, for, most cer- 
 tainly, I shall sound the three prophetic blasts for Gov. Gordon. 
 
 'Respectfully, D. U. Sloan.'" 
 
160 on, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 
 
 From the Atlanta Journal : 
 
 '' During ihe immense cheering, and great excitement, in the 
 gubernatorial convention, attendant on the nomination of General 
 Gordon, there rose higli above all the noise and din, three sharp 
 clarion notes from Sloan's historic horn. In a moment a dead 
 silence reigned for a brief period, and was broken by a voice, shout- 
 ing, 'That's Sloan's horn; toother again!' then the cneering was 
 resumed with a will " 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 161 
 
 DRIED APPLE CIDER. 
 
 Tn a previous chapter, I stated that I had long been impressed 
 with the idea that I was a born speculator, and although my 
 experience in life had been sufficiently disastrous to entirely 
 explode this pet theory to any ordinary practical person: yet, I 
 still condoned my constant reverses with the excuse that I 
 had not struck it right — had not struck the ebb at the flood-tide 
 that led on to fortune, and with unbroken spirit still looked 
 hopefully and fondly to the future, when things would turn 
 up more favorably, and even now, seemed the auspicious time, 
 and, indeed, in this dried-apple business, things did turn up 
 mightily, but not in accordance with my pleasureable anticipa- 
 tions, and turned up with such dynamic force, as to greatly 
 shake my life-time faith as to ray birth-right as a speculator. 
 When the great prohibition movement resulted in success, I 
 was proprietor of the National Hotel, and one of my frequent 
 guests and warm friends was a Mr Obediah, who owned a fine 
 river farm near Gainsville, Ga. There he cultivated big 
 apple orchards and vineyards, and manufactured oceans of vin- 
 egar, and sold profitably to the various markets* 
 
 One day Mr. Obe registered at the desk, and I noticed a 
 peculiar cunning twinkle about his eye, and soon he had me off 
 to one side and was divulging a great scheme — the result of 
 much figuring and meditation — an enterprise, the manufacture 
 
1<)8 OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 
 
 and sale of cider. Prohibition had now become a sealed fact ; 
 nov\^ was the opportune time; the people couldn't get whiskey 
 nor beer to drink, and consequently would take powerfully 
 to cider. I asked where the apples weie to come from, at this 
 season, to make the cider. He gave me a knowing wink, and 
 answered, "Dried apples; the best cider in the world; equal to 
 champagne." He had recently bought a recipe at an extrava- 
 gant price, which would keep the cider sweet indefinitely. 
 Said it would be the biggest business out; showed the im- 
 mense profit to be made, and said he had selected me, as the 
 man he could trust, for his Atlanta partner. As he unfolded 
 his well matured plans, I saw every thing plainly, and even 
 more, too, than he had yet conceived. The firm was organized, 
 and the duties of each fully agreed and understood. Mr. Obe. 
 would furnish the barrels and kegs, and manufacture and ship 
 me the cider; we would quietly buy up all the dried apples on 
 the markets, and empty bottles; I to provide delivery wagons, 
 and the necessary help for the sale of the cider. Our plans all 
 arranged, Mr. Obe. returned home to manufacture, and I to 
 prepare for the sale and delivery. The first thino-, I found a 
 large quantity of dried apples at Mr. Shomo's, bought and 
 shjjoped them to the factory ; then cleaned the city out of 
 empty bottles, both pints and quarts, but met with a loss 
 on the pints, as the law would only allow us to use the quart 
 bottles ; rented the back end of Cohens store, on Alabama 
 street, and the privilege of an ice-house, for storing; got up a 
 delivery wagon, and made engagements for sales. Everything 
 worked nicely, and I had confidently considered the question 
 of many investments in Atlanta dirt. I sent Mr. Obe! word to 
 turn on a sluice of dried apple cider — that all was ready — and 
 promptly received a cargo of barreled cider, and stowed it 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. l69 
 
 away in the ice-house ; hired help and bottled up a couple of 
 thousand. Mr. Obe. came down to see the business well started, 
 and we loaded up the wagon with the bottles in boxes prepared 
 for the purpose, and a keg which had been engaged, and then 
 mounted the spring-seat, and moved off. The business was in 
 operation ; we delivered a dozen bottles here and two dozen 
 there, and the keg, according to engagement ; and as we trav- 
 eled round delivering, were in charming good humor, and very 
 much in love with each other, and all the rest of mankind. 
 
 We were moving far up Decatur street — the day well ad- 
 vanced and the sun growing intensely hot — when we heard a 
 shot in the rear. We turned to see where the shot came 
 from, when " Bang ! " went another, and a cork flew over our 
 heads, with a shower of cider. This exhibition had not been 
 put down in our original programme. We considered it acci 
 dental, knowing that accidents sometimes happen in the best 
 regulated families. Stopping in front of a grocer's store, Mr. 
 Obe. stayed with the team while I gathered an armfull of bot- 
 tles and went in. I found the proprietor and family in the 
 back room at dinner. I made them a little speech on the mer- 
 its of our champagne cider, and remarked that it was a nice 
 opportunity to give them a taste of our delicious beverage. 
 I cat a wire and, before I expected, the stopper and the foam- 
 ing liquid burst out and struck the old lady full in the face. 
 I turned the muzzle as quickly as possible, and it bespattered 
 the bosom of the daughter; whirled the gun from her, and 
 the old man, in trying to dodge, turned his chair over and fell 
 sprawling on the floor. The ladies fled, screaming — and the 
 old man cursing. I was left alone in an emf)ty room, with an 
 empty bottle. I tried to follow, to apologize and explain, but 
 they shouted at me, "Get out, get out; take the derned stuff 
 
170 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 out!" When I got to the front door, I heard several more 
 bottles firing off, and Mr. Obe. was swinging to the lines to 
 keep the horse from running away. I climbed in behind, and 
 we started for home ; and as we pranced down Decatur street 
 the fusilade opened out in dead earnest, and it took both of 
 us to keep the team in the street. And the people in the 
 streets, doors and windows, gazed in wonder on the pass- 
 ing scene. We got safely back to the store, and found all in 
 confusion and consternation there. The bottles were firing 
 off in platoons in the rear end, the corks striking the ceiling 
 and flying all over the room, and the inmates huddled about 
 the front door. We stood in speechless horror at the scene. 
 Just then, the man we had delivered the keg of dried apple 
 cider to, came rushing up and reported that the keg had 
 blown up and torn the whole side out of his house. Cohen 
 was ranting, and wanted the dynamite removed from his 
 house immediately; but the demand was unreasonable, and 
 we paid no attention to it. No man could be had to face that 
 terrible battery. Somebody suggested Cap Joyner and the 
 fire department, but Cap could do nothing there. Some 
 wanted Connolly and the police, but several policemen peeped 
 in the door and then shied off. 
 
 After awhile, the fracas gradually exhausted itself and then 
 died down, and was succeeded by the usual calm that follows 
 the storm. 
 
 When some new customers came in ( who had not heard of 
 the trouble), inquiring for the champage cider, we took 
 them down to the ice house and tapped a barrel with a mallet, 
 when the bung flew out like a cannon ball and sent a fountain 
 of cider drenching the party, and everybody fled from the 
 scene. Other explosions followed till everything was empty. 
 
171 
 
 Mr. Obe. and I dissolved the firm by mutual, silent consent. 
 He resumed the manufacture of vinegar, and I confined my 
 efforts strictly to the affairs of the National Hotel. 
 
 But I have since thought we broke ranks prematurely, and 
 lost a great opportunity, one that might have proved a for- 
 tune to us, as the power from that dried apple cider might 
 have been most profitably utilized (instead of the engine) 
 under the artesian well. Why, there was force enough in one 
 of those kegs of dried apple cider to have thrown the water 
 clear over the Kimball House, and rushed it through the 
 piping to every part of the city. 
 
172 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 AN OLDEN TIME FOX CHASE. 
 
 nr^HE people of to day have a greater variety of amusements, 
 than in the olden times, and I suppose their amusements 
 must be attractive to them ; but I wouldn't give one good old 
 time fox hunt for all of theirs bunched up into one big show. 
 As to their germans, I can't form an opinion, for I never 
 saw one. The base ball I dont understand ; think the old town 
 ball is good enough. As to their clubs and secret societies, 
 I care nothing about them ; I dont like the secret business. 
 When I get hold of anything good, I want everybody to know 
 all about it. The modern circus has got so many rings running 
 at the same time, I can't see what is going on in one, for being 
 bothered with the others ; and even music is now so adulter- 
 ated and diluted with cranky preludes, and foreign variations, 
 innovations, combinations and complications that it is hard 
 to detect a bit of the old simon-pure in it. And now they have 
 got to having canine exhibitions on the stage, (The theater 
 has gone to the dogs sooner than I expected.) Recently a 
 dog-gone professor introduced a parcel of imported whelps on 
 the stage in Atlanta. He had along with him a vagabond Irish 
 dog he calls Barney, that stood on his head, and the people 
 thought it wonderful. I would like to know what use, or com- 
 mon sense, or skill there is in a dog standing on his head. A 
 good sensible dog, in our day, would have refused to have 
 made such a fool of himself. Then this professor of dogs had 
 these dude poodles dressed up in silks and streaming ribbons, 
 parading the streets, drawn by splendid spans of horses, in 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 173 
 
 magnificent carriages. Think of it, Ameiican people! Dogs 
 in silks, dogs in cairiages, and dogs on the stage. 
 
 I thought it bad enough to try to " histe " the nigger over 
 the heads of the white folks, but now it comes to " histing " 
 the dogs over both — what next? I like the dog and I like 
 the nigger, but I like them in their places. I like rich folks 
 and poor folks, but there is a proper place for all. But it does 
 look like, in these modern days, things are getting " sorter 
 mixed ;" but for real useful knowledge and intelligence, W9 
 had dogs just as far ahead of these gentry imported pups as 
 Thomas Jefferson was, in his day, in true, broad statesman- 
 ship, ahead of little Benny Harrison. This seems to me to be 
 a day of queer capers, anyhow. Just think of Clay, Calhoun, 
 or Webster cutting up the capers of Tom Reed in the last 
 congress. Why, it is too ridiculous to think about, and these 
 gentry dogs seem to be running in the same line. 
 
 M.J memory goes back to the days of old Troup, Hector, 
 Baily, Rattler, Jeff, Lady, and Haidee, and other good dogs of 
 their time and kind. Dogs, in their day, noted for their dignity 
 of character, their unquestioned veracity, their almost unerring 
 wisdom in the science of trackography, their vast attainments 
 in deer and foxology, dogs of sterling integrity, who deserved 
 to be, and were, examples, and were imitated by every respec- 
 table young dog and puppy that came within their purview. 
 I have often watched these old dogs, as they lay down, or 
 squatted in the summer's shade, meditating upon the mistakes 
 of the last season's hunt, and planning to avoid all such in the 
 next. I have seen them so absorbed in such reflections, that 
 they would forget to snap at the flies swarming round their 
 heads. I have seen old Troupe go off into a snooze and get to 
 dreaming. Sometimes he would dream he'd struckj^a fresh, 
 
174 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 hot trail, when he'd spring to his feet and shout out, "h-e-r-e 
 h-e-w-e-nt," wake up all the balance of the pack, and have 
 them charging around looking for the game; then he would 
 look ashamed of himself, walk off sorter grinning like, hunt an- 
 other place, and lie down again. 
 
 If Troup thought he knew where he could start a buck, or 
 wanted to go a hunting, he would come to me and whine and 
 frisk, and wag his tail, and look off toward the mountains, in the 
 direction he thought the deer was; and if I couldn't go, I'd 
 just tell him so, and then he would look disappointed, and if 
 he felt he couldn't stand it, he'd go and wake up the pack; and 
 if they were too lazy, why he'd just go by himself, pick out a 
 good sized buck and run him clean to water. 
 
 Troup was a philosopher and an economist. If he thought 
 he was going to have a long run, he would economise his wind 
 — he'd only open about every quarter of a mile, just enough to 
 let it be known he was coming down to his business. This old 
 dog caught in the Blue Ridge mountains sixteen deer, that 
 never had a shot-hole in them; and old Jeff broke one of his 
 fore legs running a deer. I splinted it up, and he went out 
 again and broke the other leg, and walked home three 
 miles on his hind legs, and for months he walked about the 
 yard on those two legs. It's a fact. My wife says she has 
 seen him do it a many a time, and she will tell anybody so. 
 
 But we started to tell about an olden time fox chase. We 
 have been in so many — hardly know which one to tell about ; 
 Our old time dogs couldn't speak English, but they could listen, 
 and heard every word we said, and knew just what we 
 said, and what we wanted. 
 
 I'll give this one. We were to meet at Warr's old field, 
 which lay between the present town of Seneca, S. C, and the 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 175 
 
 river, at half past 10, o'clock p. m. I select this one because 
 it was short and business like. 
 
 As the hour approached, I mounted my Bucephalus, and blew 
 up the dogs, they were all keen, in for the hunt, and in 
 finest trim. As I wended my way along the country roads, I 
 could hear the winding of the horns of my comrades as the 
 cheery sounds were wafted over the hills from their different 
 routes. We were all promptly on the ground. There 
 were Tom Lewis, Dave, Mack, Sloan, Joel Patterson, and my- 
 self — all had our favorite dogs. We were sitting on our horses 
 discussing the route to be taken ; the dogs were flying round in 
 wide circles over the crisp grass and frosted leaves, in the 
 bright moon -light. Joel Patterson had a dew drop in his 
 pocket, with which we all moistened our lips. Joel had hardly 
 returned the jewel to his pocket, when Tom Lewis' little bitch. 
 Lady, struck a trail, down near the old school house. Tom 
 yelled out, " I heard you my little Lady," and we all moved off 
 in that direction. We passed old Jeff in the field, (close on 
 our right, diligently snuffing the ground,) and saw him sud- 
 denly raise his head heavenward, and quivering from head to 
 foot, cried out, in doggerel : 
 
 " He's been right here, for a fact; he's been right here, I smell his track." 
 
 Now Rattler opens out across the branch, and the cry 
 becomes general, as each dog gets a sniff of where rey- 
 nard has been loitering. Now Hector and Bailey turn 
 loose together, down the ridge ; they have got the run- 
 ning trail ; they make towards the fish trap, and the whole 
 pack have fallen into line, and the music has commenced* 
 Talk about Gilmore's, or Barrack's bands, I love to hear them ; 
 but if both of them were going on at Grant's park, and this old 
 time dog music heard about the Soldiers' Home, Pd make for 
 the home. Now every thing is in, and its " Yah-rah-ya-rah-ugh- 
 
176 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 ugh-oph-oph-ya-rali-oph-oph-ugh-ugh," and notes impossible to 
 spell in the English Language, or for the science of music to 
 confine to it its limited staff and bars. Now the chorus swells 
 out o'er hill and dale, with its prolonged and softened echoes, a 
 music wild, wierd and heavenly. I imagine it to be a fore- 
 taste, a sort of type of when, in the millenium, the angels shall 
 come down to chase the devils out of a sin freed world. Oh, 
 the extacies of an old-time fox hunt. 
 
 The dogs are off, and the hunters close behind, yelling en- 
 couragement to the eager pack, leaping logs, gullies and fences. 
 Now they turn up the banks of the Keowee, and now their 
 quickened cry tells us plainly they have got him on the run. 
 Now they turn again at the fork, and up Little River, and now 
 they leave the stream and make for the Dry Pond, and on 
 toward the Ramsey place ; there they turn up Seneca creek, 
 cross over and down the other side. We cross the creek and 
 wait; here comes the fox in a few feet of us, he bounces like 
 an india rubber ball, seemingly confident, and at each jump 
 his tail flies from the ground high over his back ; the dogs pass 
 us well bunched, and wild with the excitement, as they see us 
 watching them, and five lusty throats gave the genuine fox- 
 whoop with a will ; now they head round Sloan's mill-j^ond, and 
 on down to the Earle place; here reynard tries several dodges, 
 but the dogs push him too close, and he resorts to the cow-pen 
 trick — in amongst the cattle. As the dogs come up the cows 
 bellow and show fight. This brings confusion for a little while, 
 but the dogs circle wide to avoid the cattle, and soon Heck and 
 Bailey strike the trail again, and all the balance of the pack 
 fall quickly into line. Now back to the mill pond, where he 
 tries to loose them in the hurricane thicket, but they soon 
 scare hiia out, and back to the Ramsey place, where he tries 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 177 
 
 the fence-dodge ; but no go, for Haidee finds where he struck 
 ground, and off the pack go, now back to Warr's old field 
 where the start was made. Here he makes several circuits. 
 Kow we see him again, badly worn and his tail hangs low ; he 
 is running for his life ; the dogs pass us tired but confident ; 
 now he makes for the fish- trap once more, but turns as we meet 
 him again. We see his time is almost up ; his efforts are labored, 
 his tongue is lolling from his mouth, and the fog is rising from 
 his thick fur; the dogs are fast closing the distance between 
 them ; we follow close behind, and now old Bailey's nose is 
 almost on his tail ; he turns to avoid the dog, and falls into 
 Rattler's jaws, then a bunching of dogs, a scramble, a death 
 squall, and all is over. Bale Maxwell gets the tail, the fun is 
 over, the hunters are happy, the dogs are happy, and poor rey- 
 nard, if not happy, is at rest. The dogs rest, loll their tongues 
 and pant, we blow our horses and talk over the chase, and the 
 splendid performance of each dog is commented upon. Now 
 we wind our horns again, hunters and dogs separate and seek 
 our several homes to sleep, and dream happy dreams, and as 
 we write up this old time fox chase, after the changes and 
 tribulations of time, the whole of life seems to us but a fitful 
 dream. 
 
 We are aware that some men are soulless as to the music of 
 a fox chase, for we remember Bob Jarrett, of Tugaloo, onec 
 called out an infidel to listen to the glorious melodies of a fox 
 chase. The dogs were in full cry up the river bank. Bob 
 asked him again, " Dont you hear the glorious music ?" when 
 he, the idiot replied, he could not hear a thing for the barking 
 of those confounded dogs down about the river. Bob left the 
 man in unutterable disgust, and sprang out after the dogs. 
 
f % 
 
 HON. JONATHAN NORCROSS, 
 
 Born in Charleston, Maine, his first adventure was in Cuba, where he engaged in the 
 machine business ; next in North Carolina, as a school teacher ; from thence to Augusta, 
 Ga., in the same avocation; thence to Marthasville, with ahorse saw mill; next, estab- 
 lished at the now famous old Norcross Corner as a merchant (where I well remember his 
 shingle advertisement hung out. for exchange in country produce). 
 
 Elected Mayor of Atlanta in 1850, Mr. Jonathan Norcross may be considered above 
 all others, as a father to Atlanta, as a father to the great Air Line Railroad, and the father 
 of the State Railroad Commission. The Pioneer of Atlanta, and as the living link between 
 its present and the past.; has lived in Atlanta from its beginning, and its friend in every 
 great enterprise. An honest republican, loved and honored even by his political foes. I 
 have known him for forty years, and remember him in those olden days as one of tlie best 
 patrons of the telegraph business. 
 
THE CRACKER GIRL. 
 
 On Carolina's hills, my father's flocks 
 Were fed, and I a mountain sprout, 
 
 When wandring fancies filled my head, 
 And I longed to look, look about. 
 
 From South Carolina, a frugal swain, 
 Like Norval from the Grampian hills ; 
 
 Though we left home in times of peace. 
 Our home where sang the whippoorwills. 
 
 Had heard tell of Iron rail-roads, 
 Big towns, of steamers on the sea ; 
 
 Of a great world filled with wonders, 
 So a rov-yer were bound to be. 
 
 Had read in books about Columbus, 
 Of Alladdin, in the Arabian Knights, 
 
 Of clever old Robinson Crusoe, 
 
 And of strange and marvelous sights. 
 
 It was talked, away over in Georgia, 
 A mighty town had been designed, 
 
 'Twas bound to be a railroad center, 
 Oodles of trade would be consigned. 
 
 Marthasville the little burg was called, 
 Now as Atlanta was to be known, 
 
 Taken on a high-fa-luten name, 
 Had let out a tuck in her gown. 
 
182 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 Now Martha was but a country lass, 
 And 90 she'd stepped upon the rink, 
 
 Although her dress was sort of shabby, 
 'Twas said she had a business wink. 
 
 And so I left my parental home 
 
 And steered my charger west-ward ho ? 
 
 My fortune in my britches pocket, 
 Lit out, struck the grit, off did go 
 
 For Atlanta, in a bee-line course. 
 
 Here, forty years ago, I landed. 
 'Twas not long till my funds were gone, 
 
 Till my finances all were stranded. 
 
 When I found IM have to hump it; 
 
 Fortune favored in my behalf, 
 A new thing had just then started, 
 
 And I struck for the telegraph. 
 
 To President Foote I boldly went, 
 Applied for the Atlanta position. 
 
 He asked if I was an expert, 
 I said, to be, was my intention. 
 
 Told him I'd never seen the thing. 
 But reckoned a fellow might learn. 
 
 Astonishment seemed on his face, 
 Tho't he said, well, j'^ou-be dern. 
 
 I told him I wan't afraid of work, 
 Then looked him right straight in the face. 
 
 Said he, young man, may be, you can ; 
 Go try, if so, can have the place. 
 
 I'll ne'er forget his kindly face, 
 When as learner I was installed ; 
 
 I made the riffle, caught on the lick, 
 By no obstacles was appalled. 
 
on, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 183 
 
 First to sling Atlanta's lightning, 
 
 'Twas right here I made the start ; 
 Then but a little shabby hamlet, 
 
 And now this great business mart. 
 
 The town then seemed a small potatoe, 
 
 A sort of grass colt over done, 
 And so slow to grow any bigger, 
 
 As to outcome there seemed none. 
 
 And ever since that's been the talk. 
 
 Folks said she'd never fill her gown. 
 But she's kept a growing all the same. 
 
 Till the old dudds can't hold the town. 
 
 She's bound to be a corsf^t burster— 
 
 Can't tell what she's going to be ; 
 Of all towns in the Sunny South, 
 
 She's bound to be the grand Cit-tee. 
 
 But I got tired of the cracker girl, 
 
 And longed to see the far off west ; 
 Now for California gold mines, 
 
 There next determined to invest. 
 
 So with my friend, J. W. Rucker, 
 
 We bade the little town adieu; 
 Agreed to try the world together, 
 
 Those auriferous fields we'd view. 
 
 We passed within the golden gate. 
 
 But it cost us many a quarter ; 
 Found that gold did not grow on trees. 
 
 Had to be dug in mud and water. 
 
 Sure we took in those golden fields, 
 Didn't pan out as we expected ; 
 
J. W. RUCKER, Esq. 
 
 Of the present firm of Maddox & Rucker, Atlanta, Ga., is my old California chum. 
 Forty years ago he was a poor young man, a clerk for U. L. Wright, on Whitehall street. 
 We left Atlanta together, went by my father's home at old Pendleton, S. C, from thence 
 via Charleston, S. C, New York, Havana, Panama, Acapulco, San Francisco, Sacramento, 
 and into the gold mining region, where we soon got strapped and had to separate and hire 
 out to work for a living, and met again in Atlanta, Ga., after many years. 
 
 Rucker, by great diligence and unswerving rectitude, has accumulated a handsome 
 fortune, is well known in Georgia, and liked by everybody. 
 
The fogy days and now. 185 
 
 We had no lack of hardy toil, 
 But as to wealth, wan't elected. 
 
 'Twas then we thought of home, sweet home, 
 
 Of friends and comforts left behind ; 
 Of our dear old South and betterments. 
 
 And of many other things in kind. 
 
 I sighed for the songs of whippoorwills, 
 
 And longed to herd my father's flocks ; 
 To see the dear old bills of Caroline, 
 
 r>ivel take the pesky gold and rocks. 
 
 Rucker yearned for the cracker girl, 
 
 Sweet to him ee'n in her shabby frock. 
 Swore if he got back to her again, 
 
 There he'd forever plant his stock. 
 
 True to his word here he has staid, 
 
 Has proved most faithful to that vow ; 
 Plodded on through the weary years. 
 
 Till his form has begun to bow. 
 
 I went back to old Caroline, 
 
 After years wandered here again ; 
 Could not forget the cracker girl, 
 
 Who fixed her image on my brain. 
 
 Found Rucker on an upper limb. 
 
 Though I am roosting on the fence ; 
 I am glad to hear Rucker crow, 
 
 He's got dollars, where I've got cents. 
 
 Rucker was sort of slow and sure, 
 
 I, perhaps, little sorter fickle ; 
 But he's raked in the sponduhcks, 
 
 And I've just about lost the sickle. 
 
186 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW. 
 
 Right here will tell of another friend, 
 A friend of all , would do to trust : 
 
 L. E. Bleckley, who'd settled here ; 
 Anchored here, for better or for worst. 
 
 Friend Bleckley bought a box of books 
 At auction, said he'd no time for fun ; 
 
 To read and learn, he'd started out 
 For to climb the ladder, he'd begun. 
 
 Then, too, we had a debating club, 
 And he was the longest winded. 
 
 On questions for to argufy, 
 
 With fellers that was so minded. 
 
 Bleckley kept a mighty digging, 
 Digging for lore, law and fame ; 
 
 I didn't take to that kind of digging. 
 But he dug, dug himself a name. 
 
 Now I'll speak about a little boy, 
 
 Little black-eyed kid, name of Evan — 
 
 Evan Plowell, my dispatch l>oy. 
 And this kid is still a liven. 
 
 He's a big horse now, a rouser, 
 Is printen of a great big paper ; 
 
 He don't seem like that small kid now, 
 Case he's a real gol-golly whopper. 
 
 Recall to mind many others 
 We left here forty years ago ; 
 
 Most of them have gathered moss, 
 As their Atlanta dirt will show. 
 
 Had we stuck to the little city. 
 And, like them, had saved our pewter. 
 
 Might have become a plowshare too, 
 Instead of a little scooter. 
 
Mliit: jufflliir. ,iiill!lfiir. iiilUlk jiilUlkjiilllir Jiilirnr. :iiill!lfiir. jiilEk..iiill!liiir;. ;iii1l!lk Jiitl'Jk .iiiiu,-,: .:*^"'k JiiUlIk jnlllir. jull'liir Jiill?^ 
 
 1 c 
 
 < . r 
 
 M This page was intended to present a like- ^ 
 
 M ness of my friend, Judge Bleckley, but at his ^ 
 
 ^ request it is left blank, so that each reader 9 
 
 ^ may supply the picture from his own im- W 
 
 4 . . m 
 
 2 agination. c 
 
 I I 
 
 Pj|r JHgnr •Jiijg[iirjii]||!ic^ji|||!ir'jiij|j]|!ii-'jii|j||pt :iiii||iL- :jiijlj]l^^^ 
 
 The lines above were written and handed to me by my friend, Judge Bleckley, upon 
 my application for his picture, and it is with regret that I have to inform my readers, that 
 on account of my regard for the request of the Judge, I have restrained my desire to pre- 
 sent his likeness on " this page," as intended. 
 
 However, as the Judge's injnnction only applies to " this page," as intended, it is with 
 pleasure that I announce to them that I have secured a most excellent picture of the Judge* 
 and present it on another and unforbidden page, together with a little poem from is pen. 
 

 CAPT. EVAN P. HOWELL, 
 
 The Napolian of the Atlanta Constitution, a man of big brain, and has wielded a powerful 
 influence in the affairs of Georgia. 
 
 Forty years ago he was my telegraph messenger boy in the first telegraph office started in 
 the city, and he was a bright one, and a good boy. (He may have done some devilment 
 since then.) Lremember once watching him count his days earnings, which had been extra- 
 ordinarily large, two dollars and five cents, (lie got five cents on the delivery of each message.) 
 He looked up at me with eyes sparkling with inspiration, and said Mr. Sloan I am going to 
 be a rich man. He has made the rich man, loves a good joke, enjoys life; and if perpetual 
 vouth could be preserved, think he would be willing to cast his lot with Atlanta forever. 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW. 189 
 
 Now my head is growing whiter, 
 
 My days they will soon be ended ; 
 [ dropped my pail, and spilt my milk, 
 
 And its too late to be mended. 
 
 After another forty years have sped, 
 
 Don't think I much shall care 
 How this little world is wagging, 
 
 Nor that I didn't get my share. 
 
 Got to think next world's the big one ; 
 
 My future hopes all center there, 
 And now wouldn't swap the chances 
 
 For the w^ealth of worlds down here. 
 
 I have made right smart of money. 
 
 But somehow never could it keep ; 
 The thing was so slick and eely, 
 
 That I couldn't make it heap. 
 
 I never loved the mighty dollar 
 
 As much as what it would buy, 
 And I couldn't keep from spending, 
 
 I reckon that's the reason why. 
 
 But a word more about Atlanta, 
 
 Our grand Lady and so fair; 
 The crown upon her queenly head, 
 
 The sparkling jewels in her hair. 
 
 Such beauteous face, winsome form — 
 
 Ain't she a daizy, daizy belle? 
 And what her triumphs are to be, 
 
 Is more than weuns now can tell. 
 
 She steps lightly like a fairy, 
 
 All her movements so full of grace ; 
 
190 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 Like her namesake, swift Atalanta, 
 She's the champion in every race. 
 
 Wh^'d have guessed this cracker girl, 
 The same that wore the shabby dress ; 
 
 But though she was a cracker girl, 
 She had a wink to business. 
 
 Now her suitors count by thousands, 
 Under each one's arm they say is worn ; 
 
 Ever alert to start to tooting, 
 For 'tis said, each one toots a horn. 
 
 And she dances to the music, 
 She cuts a caper for every blast ; 
 
 Can't count the twinkles of her feet, 
 Kase she flings em out so fast. 
 
 Lightly trips our Lady Atlanta, 
 So lightly trips to the mazy dance ; 
 
 She's the belle of all the townies. 
 And she's passed the line of chance. 
 
 See her church spires point to heaven, 
 She's kind and helpful to the poor ; 
 
 She has a welcome for the stranger. 
 Her latch string's outside the door. 
 
 Her breezes are soft and balmy, 
 And her heart is ever warm and true ; 
 
 You bet her dirt is good investment, 
 And will bring in the revenue. 
 
 Toot your horns for the cracker girl, 
 The girl who wore the shabby dress. 
 
 For now she's a Dolly Varden, 
 She's a hummer, and nothing less. 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 101 
 
 PROHIBITION VICTORY IN ATLANTA, GA. 
 
 The battle is o'er, the victory won, 
 Prohibition has saved, saved her son ; 
 The blue ribbon triumphs over the red, 
 The goggle-eye monster, drink, is dead. 
 
 The day of Jubilee has surely come. 
 Prohibition has slain, buried rum; 
 Great rejoicing throughout the camp, 
 .lined with the saint is the Jug-a-wamp. 
 
 Dear Atlanta, for thee there is a boom, 
 Blessings for which ihere can't be room ; 
 Shake hands, victors, shake hands, shake. 
 We've fought the battle, won the stake. 
 
 One Boniface, he sot on the fence. 
 Reckon, bekase he'd no better sense ; 
 And he didn't take to narry side. 
 So sot on the fence, sot thar, astride. 
 
 He heard Prohibition's vengeful cry, 
 See'd the sparks come outen her eye ; 
 See'd her light onto the crouching brute. 
 But he sot thar still, sot tKar mute. 
 
 Sot thar till Betsey kilt the bar. 
 Watched through all the howlin war ; 
 Saw Prohibition Betsey whip the fight. 
 This Betsey gal — oh ! wan't she a sight? 
 
 She fit and prayed, and prayed aud fit, 
 And, golly, didn't she make old Anti git? 
 
192 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 Preacher folks belt Betsej^'s skirts ; 
 'Tis tho't some of em tore their shirts. 
 
 Niggers jined in, throwed Betsey chunks, 
 Kase 'twas fore-agreed to go in hunks ; 
 White gals pinned ribbons on their coats, 
 And served them lunch to git their votes. 
 
 And thus it wer old Agaric died, 
 Who had so long the law defied ; 
 A rose smells as sweet by other name, 
 But whiskey will be drunk all the same. 
 
 For Prohibition now sound three cheers, 
 Let defeated Antis close their ears ; 
 Now we'll ride upon the upper decks. 
 We've got our feet upon their necks. 
 
 Come world, we open now all our doors, 
 Prohibition will fill all our stores ; 
 Come world, Atlanta is now the hub, 
 Strike the tambourine, a rub a dub, dub. 
 
 And the poor imbecile, who had no will, 
 His only grits from prohibition mill ; 
 Poor devil, who couldn't pass a bar, 
 He too. saved by this mighty war. 
 
 Poor old Anti, whar, oh whar now is he? 
 Lets wait two years, then we'll see ; 
 He maj"^ be dead, past resurrection. 
 But apt to hitch on another connection. 
 
 Now your Poet feels little sort of sad, 
 For in this victory he no part had ; 
 No part in victory, neither feels defeat. 
 Till he gits short of something good to eat. 
 
 Written the morning after the prohibition victory in Atlanta, Ga. In that election I was 
 neutral. I could not vote for whiskey, on the other hand, I thought the jug business would 
 make matters worse. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 
 
 193 
 
 OUR OLD CHIEFTAIN. 
 
 (Mrs. Davis offers her husband medicine.) 
 
 Pray excuse me, my dear wife, 
 Medicine cannot save my life ; 
 Pray excuse me, a gentle wave, 
 With his enfeebled hand, he gave. 
 
 Pray excuse me from the pain, 
 For to no good it can attain. 
 Pray excuse me, was his last word, 
 His last speech ever heard. 
 
 Pray excuse me, I must away ; 
 I must go, cannot longer stay. 
 Pray excuse me, my dear friends, 
 For angel spirits now attends. 
 
 Pray excuse me, oh, my South, 
 liast words from his mouth. 
 Pray excuse me, I cannot take. 
 Give to widows and happy make. 
 
 Pray excuse me, I cannot receive. 
 Let your alms orphans relieve 
 Pray excuse me, nor think me proud, 
 Want not charity, prefer my shroud. 
 
 Pray excuse me, ye who hate. 
 For I have been-a man of fate. 
 Pray excuse me, ye who spurn. 
 For my people my heart did burn, 
 
194 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 Pray excuse me, my country's flag, 
 From my South I could not lag. 
 Pray excuse me, if I must sever, 
 Forsake my country, never, never. 
 
 Pray excuse me, if I must yield 
 My country's cause upon battle field. 
 Pray excuse me, for I must bear 
 Her lost cause I held so dear. 
 
 Pray excuse me from the scorn, 
 For to entreat I ne'er was born. 
 Pray excuse me, I'll bear the blame, 
 God is my judge, I know no shame. 
 
 Pray excuse me, time shall clear 
 The shafts of venom I did not fear. 
 Pray excuse me, perhaps 'tis best ; 
 I did my duty, now I'll rest. 
 
 Pray excuse me, if I did wrong. 
 In heaven above this be mj' song. 
 Pray excuse me, I must be gone ; 
 To heaven alone shall I atone. 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 195 
 
 A clerk in the War Department, says he would not lower the flag on the 
 death of Jefferson Davis. 
 
 THE LITTLE PURP. 
 
 TJiere is a little piirp at Washington, 
 Don't know the size of his body ; 
 
 W e'd bet he's got but little brain, 
 Yes, we'd bet a brandy toddy. 
 
 This little thing, he turns loose. 
 The little fellow seems a talker ; 
 
 This little fice, with noisy mouth, 
 Like all his breed, he's a barker. 
 
 Like the purp that beyed the moon, 
 He tries to bark at Jefferson Davis. 
 
 These fice purps will make a fuss ; 
 From fice purps, Lord, save us 
 
 Borrowed wit from Old Beast Butler, 
 He would bury the Mexican leg ; 
 
 Then would hang the Davis body — 
 Little purp, he'd suck an egg. 
 
 This little would-be son of Mars — 
 Underling, they call him partridge — 
 
 Without asking, tells what he would do, 
 And he's never smelt a cartridge. 
 
 Dry up, dry up, you little purp, 
 Yodr bark, it sounds too ficey ; 
 
 Better wait till you are asked, 
 You need both wit and policy. 
 
196 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW 
 
 THE MESSENGER OF PEACE. 
 
 A meteor flashed athwart the sky, 
 
 A star of wondious brilliancy ; 
 And thousands gazed as it went, 
 
 And thousands grieved when spent. 
 
 O'er a continent in its flight, 
 South to north flashed its light, 
 
 Then sank at old Ply moth Rock, 
 First landing of our parent stock. 
 
 Like Bethlehem's star, mission peace, 
 The bonds of hate sought to release ; 
 
 Messenger from heaven, oh, brothers, heed, 
 To heal the wounds that still do bleed. 
 
 Glorious Grady, thy work was short, 
 Brave and alone, with no cohort ; 
 
 Like the master, sowed the seed. 
 Like the master, martyr to the deed. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 
 
 197 
 
 WHO IS POOR? 
 
 We may be poor in worldly gain, 
 
 May be poor in what's called lucre, 
 Our purse strings ever were too short — 
 
 No, we never was much on euchre. 
 Yet we are not without possessions 
 
 Too rich for sordid gold to buy. 
 My wife is worth a nameless price. 
 
 And we rate her none too high. 
 Have our boy, and he's all right, 
 
 He's the gentleman, every inch ; 
 He's as true as steel, and staunch. 
 
 And we can trust him in a pinch. 
 Our old fiddle still is left to us. 
 
 Have had it nigh on to fifty years ; 
 Has been in all our ups and downs, 
 
 And still shares our joys and fears. 
 Wife's old piano still sounds sweet. 
 
 Though 'twas bought before the war ; 
 Like Mary's lamb, has stuck to us, 
 
 Though it has gotten many a scar. 
 And there's our old buckhorn pipe, 
 
 Oar consolation in every wail ; 
 Dear reminder of former days. 
 
 Will go with us down to the vale. 
 Our old horn hangs by the wall, 
 
 And it is not unknown to fame ; 
 Though sighing now among the willows, 
 
 It grieves but knows no shame. 
 
198 THE FOGY DAYS AND now; 
 
 Still have our manhood, all our pluck, 
 
 While we live we'll strike away ; 
 If our coffers have failed to fill, 
 
 We trust we struck for higher pay. 
 Then who is poor? it can't be us. 
 
 It might be the rich to-morrow ; 
 To leave behind what we have named, 
 
 Can only cause us sorrow. 
 From the old fiddle, horn and pipe, 
 
 From these we'll have to sever ; 
 AVife and boy we'll meet again, 
 
 No more to part, no more forever. 
 We doubt not God will care for us 
 
 As long as he lets us stay. 
 •So will wait and laugh, be content. 
 
 Whilst fleeting time is called to- day. 
 More than all, the blessed hope 
 
 Of Christ, through riches of his grace 
 Oh ! what joys we expect in Him, 
 
 When we reach the heavenly place. 
 
OR, THK WORLD It AS CtlANGED. 199 
 
 [From the Atlanta Journal.] 
 
 HOTEL POETRY. 
 
 The National Hotel. 
 
 Our friend, Major D. TJ. Sloan, senior proprietor of the 
 National, has much native wit about him. He occasionally 
 drops into poetry, which bristles with points, as note the 
 following : 
 
 Friend and stranger, you would do well, 
 To stop at the National Hotel, 
 In Atlanta, j'ou'll see it stand 
 At Peachtree crossing, close at hand. 
 Stands in the center of the town — 
 The business center — sets you down. 
 Our doors are open night and day, 
 With a welcome in the good old way. 
 
 Not first-class, in a high-faluten sense ; 
 First-class middle-class, all intents. 
 Nabob or Dude might histe his nose. 
 The Peacock tribe expect to lose. 
 We seek no style, we make no show ; 
 For paraphernalia we do not go. 
 Of solid comforts have the best, 
 In these good things we do invest. 
 
 *Tis not glitter that makes us rest, 
 The homelike fare is oft the best ; 
 Good appetite needs no display. 
 Better tempted the good old way. 
 
200 THE foCtY days and now; 
 
 Our meals are square, the cooking good, 
 We put up things just as we should ; 
 Our rooms are nice, the linen clean, 
 Servants attentive as ever seen. 
 
 A first-class middle-class hotel, 
 AVhere best people are wont to dwell ; 
 Great middle-class, of all the best. 
 Purest, truest of all the rest ; 
 The strong bulwarks of every land. 
 Their country's pillars do they stand ; 
 They are the muscle and the brain, 
 Pardon us if we speak too plain. 
 
 But grand hotels there ought to be. 
 Grand things are pleasant for to see ; 
 Let those who have to throw away. 
 Suit their fancy, for which they pay. 
 Must be hotels of every sort, 
 Hotels for purses that are short ; 
 Ours is run on the solid plan, 
 The right place for the middle man. 
 
 Now, friend and stranger, what you need 
 Is, that your purses should not bleed. 
 Good fare at reasonable prices. 
 Not to pay for extra devices ; 
 Then, traveler, stop with Dave U. Sloan, 
 Make you feel like his house is yourn ; 
 He'll feed you and sleep you so well, 
 You can't keep away from his hotel. 
 
OR, THE WORLD '"has CHANGED. 201 
 
 SEWING MACHINE POETRY. 
 
 The world moves on, moves on apace, 
 
 Onward moves the mighty, mighty race ; 
 
 Could our fathers, back from the grave, 
 
 See how we doth labor, labor save ; 
 
 What inveniion for us hath won, 
 
 What half- century for us hath done ; 
 
 See the great steamers plow the sea. 
 
 Long railway belting hill and lea, 
 
 Telegraph, telephone and wonder sights, 
 
 Oil, gas, and grand electric lights. 
 
 Never dreamed of fifty years ago. 
 
 But onward, flying onward, here we go, 
 
 Fulton and Morse first led the van, 
 
 This day Edison is a mighty man ; 
 
 Already the world is set ablaze. 
 
 Invention seems to be the craze. 
 
 Now here comes Brosius' new machine, 
 
 For woman the best of all I ween. 
 
 To woman, 'tis the greatest blessing, 
 
 She now can sew without distressing. 
 
 No treadle now for her to beat, 
 
 No labor now for weary feet ; 
 
 But touch a spring, the needle goes, 
 
 She guides the cloth, 'tis all she does ; 
 
 No aching back no tired feet. 
 
 Just sitting upright in cozy seat, 
 
 A pleasant past-time 'tis now to sew, 
 
 With AVoman's thanks to brother Brosius go. 
 
 All mothers will bless tne Brosius name, 
 
 Their daughters will ever do the same. 
 
 Benefactor Brosius, to female race, 
 
 Thou hast solved a serious case ; 
 
 God has inspired thee with this fact, 
 
 Guided thee in this genious act. 
 
 D. U, SLOAN. 
 
 Atlanta, Ga., Sept. 5, 1888. 
 
202 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW! 
 
 A ^VORD FROM A CENSUS TAKER. 
 
 [ From the Rome ( Ga.) Tribune,] 
 
 Avast, There ! Atlanta. 
 
 It was only by the most strenuous exhibition of nerve and 
 obstinacy that one of Rome's most distinguished citizens 
 escaped a forcible enumeration as a citizen of Atlanta. 
 
 The Roman (and his name would add immense pungency to 
 this narrative) was sitting in his room at the Markham, 
 engaged in business conversation with a citizen of Texas. 
 There was a knock at the door, and in answer to invitation, a 
 census enumerator walked in, took a seat, unrolled his papers 
 and presented a blank to each of the gentlemen to be filled. 
 
 "But I am not a citizen of Atlanta," said the astonished 
 Roman. 
 
 "That s all right," said the enumerator softly. *'You are 
 here now." 
 
 " Well, but I live in another city," said our distinguished 
 fellow citizen. 
 
 " Yes, but you may not get back in time to get counted 
 there," urged the Atlanta census taker. 
 
 " Oh, I live in Rome. I left there this morning. I am 
 going back this afternoon," protested the Roman. 
 
 " Still the train might run off with you. Better let me 
 count you anyhow." 
 
 And the stirring official, with the noble s})irit of Atlanta 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 203 
 
 pulsing in his wrist, was just about to capture and appropriate 
 to the State capital one of the best names of the mountain 
 metropolis, when the owner of it rose up and invited the obdur- 
 ate census man to go out and get a breath of fresh air. 
 
 Our citizens of Rome generally — and this one in particular — 
 are good enough generally to divide in half and make two 
 good citizens to the growth of other towns, and there is no 
 place we had rather share with than Atlanta, but somehow the 
 pride of locality is so great with Romans that none of our peo- 
 ple care to be counted away from home this summer. 
 
 We regret now that this disposition was not published earlier 
 for the benefit of Atlanta enumerators. 
 
 Editors Constitution : I read in the Constitution this 
 morning the article from the Rome, Ga., Tribune, a thrilling 
 episode, of how " one of Rome's most distinguished citizens, 
 by strenuous exhibition of nerve and obstinacy, escaped forci- 
 ble enumeration by one of Atlanta's census takers." 
 
 That ferocious enumerator must have been me, as the Mark- 
 ham House was a part of my work. The list of names and 
 rooms were given me by the clerk, and I called to see the 
 parties. 
 
 This particular case is adorned with so many embellishments 
 that I fail to remember it, and must say that it savors to me 
 much of romance. I take the occasion to beg the gentleman's 
 pardon, if I seated myself in his room without invitation. 
 
 I beg his pardon again if I failed to distinguish him as one 
 of Rome's most distinguished citizens. It did not occur to my 
 obtuse mind that he was a mogul, nor the disproportion 
 between his size and make up, and that of my humble self. I 
 
204 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 do not remember even that his august presence inspired me 
 with the slightest terror. 
 
 And once more I beg pardon if I handed him and the gen- 
 tleman from Texas, the schedule blanks to fill, for in every 
 other instance, I have asked the questions, and filled out the 
 blanks with my own hand. 
 
 If the conversation occurred as related, I do not remember 
 it, and if true, it was in pleasantry. I like a little fun, but I 
 do assure the distinguished gentleman from Rome, that I did 
 not seriously entertain the thought for a moment to commit a 
 rape upon his great name, for the emolument of Atlanta. The 
 conquest of a more insignificant name would have been 
 attended with less hazard, and would have answered the same 
 purpose. 
 
 Now as to the last statement, the grand climax and finale. 
 
 "When the census taker was just about to capture and 
 appropriate one of the best names of the mountain metropolis, 
 then the proprietor of that great name, rose up and invited the 
 obdurate census man to go out and get a breath of fresh air." 
 
 Now that part of the story is too thin, for I reckon there 
 are a hundred good citizens in Atlanta who know the census 
 man referred to, and it would be hard to make them believe 
 this census man was so forgetful of his principles, and his her- 
 editary courtesy as to fail to return the compliment by asking 
 the distinguished gentleman from Rome to come out, too, and 
 breath the fresh air with him. 
 
 When he speaks of the stirring official with the noble spirit 
 
 of Atlanta j^ulsing in his wrist, if he will allow the substitution 
 
 of the word heart for wrist, the phrase will be accepted ; for 
 
 the census taker loves Atlanta, for forty years his heart has 
 
 been with her. He knew her when she was weak, and shabby, 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 205 
 
 and poor, and now adores her in her strength, splendor and 
 greatness. He has watched her eclipse all other cities in 
 Georgia, and now that she has promise to become the great 
 city of the south, she has no time to rebuke the barking at her 
 heels; but she has enough humble citizens, like her census 
 takers, to take care of her trailing skirts. 
 
 Respectfully, D. U. Sloan, 
 
 The Census Taker. 
 
HON. LOGAN E. BLECKLEY, 
 Chief Justice tor the State of Georcia, a self-made man, has ever been a hard worker, a 
 man who stands square in his boots, and asks no favors. A man distinguished for his con- 
 scienciousness, ever willing to take the fare he offers to others ; a man who knows how to 
 imitate nothing or nobody — ^if not an original character, then nothing. Generous and just in 
 all his dealings, and adorned by nature with a large share of the Christian virtues, but a 
 man that I have thought has given more of his attention to the teachings of Moses than he 
 has to the teachings of Christ, the greater of the two. He has been my friend for forty 
 years, and from whom I have received many acts of kindness. A man to be admired as 
 much for his simplicity of manner, as for the largeness of his intellect. 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW. 209 
 
 JUDGE BLECKLEY'S PHANTOM LADY. 
 
 O, Lady, Lady, Lady: 
 
 Since I see you everywhere, 
 I know you are a phantom — 
 
 A woman of the air. 
 I know you are ideal, 
 
 But yet you seem to me 
 As manifestly real 
 
 As any thing can be. 
 0, soul enchanting shadow, 
 
 In the day and in the night, 
 As I gaze upon your beauty 
 
 I tremble with delight. 
 
 If men would hear me whisper 
 
 How beautiful you seem, 
 They should slumber while they listen 
 
 And dream it in a dream ; 
 For nothing so exquisite 
 
 Can the waking senses reach — 
 Too fair, soft and tender 
 
 For the nicest arts of speech. 
 
 In a pensive, dreamy silence 
 
 I am very often found, 
 As if listening to a rainbow 
 
 Or looking at a sound. 
 'Tis then I see your beauty 
 
 Reflected through my tears, 
 And I feel that I have loved you 
 
 A thousand thousand years. 
 
^ '% mi 
 m) wm 
 
 SENATOR JOSEPH E. BROWN, 
 
 Born in old Pendleton District, S. C; married Miss Elizabeth Gresham, who was born at 
 old Pendleton; made the law his profession. Elected to the Georgia Senate, next Gov- 
 ernor of Georgia for four consecutive terms. From that position he went to a Federal 
 prison, next Chief Justice of Georgia. Elected President of the Western and Atlantic 
 Railroad, and to the United States Senate. Senator Brown gave fifty thousand dollars to 
 the education of the poor young men of Georgia, and fifty thousand dollars to the Baptist 
 Theological Seminary of the South; and has, in his day, wielded more power in Georgia 
 than any other man alive or dead. 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW. 2l3 
 
 THE POOR BOY. 
 
 Though a secessionist and a confederate soldier, I rejoice 
 that the Union of the States has been preserved, and pray 
 that this Union may never be severed. 
 
 If wrongs shall occur, as they undoubtedly will, from tima 
 to time, I have confidence in the people. If through party 
 spirit, excesses and outrages are perpetrated by one section 
 upon another, I believe a right thinking people will correct 
 the wrongs at the ballot box. 
 
 Here is a brief history of the lives of two American South- 
 ern boys, two cousins, both with brain and brawn, the one 
 from the hill-sides of poverty, the other from the lai) of wealth; 
 the fortune of one, that he started poor, the misfortune of the 
 other, that he started rich. 
 
 The birthplace of the poor boy was among the backwood 
 hills of old Pendleton District, South Carolina, near the Geor- 
 gia line, and opposite the counties of Rabun and Habersham. 
 
 In his youth his parents moved over into Union county, 
 Georgia, to a section still farther remote from the advance of 
 civilization ; here our poor boy was compeled to labor daily 
 on the little farm to aid his father in the support of the family 
 and in such spare times as he could command for himself, he 
 cultivated patches and corners of the fences for his own private 
 means. After a time, he had saved enough of his hard earn- 
 ings to purchase a pair of small steei's, which he broke to the 
 yoke. 
 
214 THE POGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 From that small start, from that insignificant possession, 
 sprang in his mind a great conception ; he thirsted for knowl- 
 edge. He had learned from sui-rounding nature that from the lit- 
 tle acorn the great oak had grown, and right upon those steers 
 was laid the foundation for future greatness. He had deter- 
 mined to sacrifice the steers, earned by the many days' sweat 
 of his face and tiresome toil of his body, upon the altar of wis- 
 dom, and resolutely and literally " steered " his course in that 
 direction. 
 
 Watch him as he starts from the humble home of his parents 
 dressed in a plain homespun suit, wool hat, and home tanned 
 shoes ; he walks behind, and with a plow line drives before 
 him his steers. I am familiar with the roads he traveled then 
 and in my imagination can see him now as he wends his way 
 over the mountains, up and down the long, rough, steep, hills 
 over creeks and rivers, on and on for more than a hundred 
 miles. As he wends his weary, lonesome way, the passing 
 equestrian but little dreams of the undeveloped power hidden 
 in his humble mien ; and as he ghees, or haws his steers to 
 either side of the road, to allow the splendid equi]>ages to pass 
 with their stylish occupants, unnoticed by them, could it have 
 entered their thoughts that one day that shabby youth would 
 be able to buy out their aggregate possessions and still have 
 abundance left. But on and on he trudges with weary feet, in- 
 tent upon one great object, to seek the temple of learning, some- 
 times overtaken by the darkness of night, alone, friendless and 
 unknown, except by his steers ; at last his destination is reached 
 he has arrived at the Calhoun academy. He soon trades his 
 steers for eight months' board, and arranges his spare hours to 
 labor for his tuition. 
 
 Next we see him as he sits under the shades of the great 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 215 
 
 oaks near the academy pouring over his lessons. We now 
 introduce the wealthy cousin, who has also come to the Cal- 
 houn academy to be educated. He comes in a carriage, is 
 dressed in broad- cloth, and has money in his pockets to spend 
 as he likes, but withall a clever kind hearted, rollicking, friendly 
 and talented fellow, ready for fun or for a fight at the drop of 
 a hat, but with no incentive to self exertion, or self daniel. 
 
 Time passes and the poor boy's means are about exhausted, 
 he must soon abandon his studies and return to his humble and 
 obscure home, to his old time daily toils. 
 
 One day the rich cousin approaches where he sits under the 
 trees at his books, advises him to give up the foolish idea of 
 an education, to abandon an ambition so preposterous. He 
 said to get an education required money, that he had already 
 fooled away his steers; to go back home and when he got hold 
 of another pair of steers to hold on to them; that it was not 
 his lot in life to have an education ; to be content to remain in 
 sight of his daddy's cow pen— that he could be happy there. 
 Said his own father was rich ; that the negroes were like black 
 birds in his father's fields; that he would have money to back 
 him ; he would go through the South Carolina college; that 
 his career would be onward, upward, excelsior, by-G-d, and 
 concluded by saying to the poor cousin, when I am thundering 
 in the halls of congress where the h-11 will you be. 
 
 This was discourao:ement, but it did not discourage him. 
 The poor boy returned alone to his humble and obscure home; 
 but he had got a taste, he had learned to read, to write and 
 cypher, and plodded on as best he could for advancement, and 
 the rich cousin went to college, and here we draw the curtain 
 for a season. 
 
 Nearly twenty years have passed, the scene now opens at 
 
216 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 Milledgeville, Ga. There is an assembly of guests at the Man- 
 sion. Two gentlemen from S. C, and the once rich cousin, who 
 is now a member of the Legislature, are the guests, and are 
 entertained by the once poor boy, now Governor Joseph E. 
 Brown, and his wife. They are talking of bye-gone days, and 
 the Governor relates the story of the school boy days, and 
 the advice of the rich cousin, who meditatively replies, "well, 
 Joe, the changes and i)hases of human nature are d — n strange, 
 arn't they? Once more we let the curtain fall. 
 
 Another season of twenty years have intervened, and the 
 scene has shifted again. Joseph E. Brown is now a U. S. Sen- 
 ator, and is really a thunderer in the halls of congress, but the 
 once prosperous cousin, where, oh where is he ? The rich man's 
 son a wanderer in a strange land among strangers, the j^oorboy 
 a man of untold wealth, and upon whom all the honors of his 
 adopted State has been heaped. 
 
 The cousin was a warm friend of mine, and a school mate, 
 and by nature a real noble fellow ; his great misfortune was 
 that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. The once 
 poor boy lives to-day in Atlanta, Ga. A phenomenal success 
 in every thing he has undertaken, known to the world and to 
 fame, and the best illustration of the possibilities of a poor 
 young man, perhaps, that there is to-day in America; and no 
 doubt that many of us, of ante-bellum times, would [have been 
 more useful citizens, and better off in the world, if it had not 
 been for the difficulties of the silver spoon. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 217 
 
 THE OLD NORTH STATE. 
 
 Surrey County, N. C, April 26. — Editors Constitution : 
 The biggest man in the world was fattened in North Carolina, 
 having reached the enermous avordupois of one thousand 
 pounds. The anecdotest man in the world lives in that state. 
 The largest lump of gold was found there, too, and the Bun- 
 combe part of that state is without a rival for its cabbage 
 heads. 
 
 If you stick a pin through the map, near the coast at the 
 northeast corner of North Carolina, about Currituck, and 
 whn*l the old North State around with your finger, you will find 
 the southwest corner, in the circumference made will brush 
 both the states of Maine and Florida, and that it embraces 
 within its territory a greater variety of products than any 
 state in North America — from cotton to tobacco, rice to buck- 
 wheat, tar to balsam, goobers to chestnuts, coal to iron, nickle 
 to gold, corundum to diamonds — and let it be ever remem- 
 bered by all Americans that it was from this old North State 
 the first bugle notes of independence were sounded, whose clar- 
 ion blast awakened this great continent, and its sound went 
 across the great waters to the shaking up of kingdoms. Great 
 is the old north state. 
 
 Recently I listened to a song of the old North State, ren- 
 dered by a Surrey county young lady with so much patriotic 
 pathos that I caught the inspiration. As each verse proceeded, 
 
218 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 SO increased ray reverence for the old North State. When 
 Fulton county, Ga., was but a howling wilderness, when her 
 hills were only known to the red man and her forests the hab- 
 itations of wild beasts, when the great city of Atlanta was as 
 vet unconceived in the realms of thought, Surrey county, N. C? 
 was already settled by an intelligent and hardy race of Caucas- 
 ians from the isles of Great Britain, whose decendants still 
 hold the fort. Some of them have grown rich in lands, tene- 
 ments and herediments, but still adhere to their original 
 simplicity of manner and dress. With these unpretending 
 people the outside fix-up of a man is not an index to his finan- 
 cial condition. I imagine if one of Sam Jones's spider-legged, 
 toothpick-toed dudes were to alight about the Pilot mountains, 
 he would be taken for some kind of a stray sea bird driven in 
 by the storms, captured and caged by a sewing machine agent, 
 and carried around for a nickel show. 
 
 Mount Airy, the principle town of Surrey, is located on a 
 hioh ridge, in the fork made by the Arrarat river and Stew- 
 art's creek, half surrounded by the Blue Ridge mountains, pre- 
 senting a most enchanting view. It is already quite a flourish- 
 mo- town, without railroad facilities; has 1,500 inhabitants, 
 mostly white; is remarkably well built. I noticed many hand- 
 some, even stylish residences; beautiful shades and flower gar- 
 dens ; large brick stores, warehouses, manufactories and tan- 
 neries; has a capital newspaper, a brassband, hotels, 
 schools and churches. I heard modern music floating 
 out from parlor windows ; saw w^ell dressed ladies on 
 the streets, some even with bustles, but not of the huge pro- 
 portions we often meet on the side walks of Atlanta. I met a 
 young lady resident of Mount Airy, who had triumphantly 
 scooped up three first honors from the different colleges, and 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 219 
 
 whose artistic touch on the piano would command the admira- 
 tion of Peachtree circles in the gate city of the South. An- 
 other young lady is a finished cabinet workman, as well as an 
 accomplished musician, who handles the saw and chisel, 
 and the piano keys with equal talent and facility, possessing 
 a superb and cultivated voice, and is the organist of the Bap- 
 tist church. 
 
 The finest wool blankets, cassimeres and jerseys are manu- 
 factured here by the Moore Brothers. 
 
 In sight of Mt. Airy is the birth-place of Daniel Boone, of 
 Kentucky fame. His name is still to be seen chiseled out on a 
 rock by his own hands, in the yard of the old homestead. 
 Spending a night at the dilapidated old town of Rockford, we 
 stabled our horse in the room of the old court house where 
 Andrew Jackson w^as admitted to practice law and where he 
 pleaded his first case. Just across the line, in Patrick county, 1 
 was pointed out the birthplace of J. E. B. Stewart, of con- 
 federate fame. In Wilkes, an adjoining county, our Governor 
 John B. Gordon's father was born and lived for many years, 
 and where his relative, General J. B. Gordon lived and won 
 great distinction. From Wilkes county a part of my own an- 
 €estry came, on the Hackett side. Mt. Airy is built on a beau- 
 tiful white speckeled granite rock, the disentegration of 
 which has imparted a whitish color to the soil for miles around. 
 This gi-anite works up well, and there now lies at the quarry a 
 slab, without a break, two feet wide and ninety- two feet in 
 length. 
 
 My old friend Charley Lewis carried me out to see the cele- 
 brated White Sulphar Springs, four miles from town — a most 
 lovely place. The hotel sits in a cove under the foot-hills of 
 the Blue Ridge, with a lawn, covered with shade trees of ten 
 
220 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 or fifteen acres, stretching to the Arrarat river in the front. 
 The analysis of this spring is the same as the Greenbrier, of 
 Virginia. You can see the sulphur crystalized and encrusted 
 upon the walls of the rock enclosing the spring. For dyspep- 
 sia, catarrh, cutaneous, liver and kidney affections, wonderful 
 cures have been effected. Near this spring are the Blue Ridge 
 pinnacles, said by an extensive tourist to be the greatest curi- 
 osity in North America, excepting Niagara Falls alone. 
 
 Twelve miles south of Mt. Airy is the Pilot mountain. 
 Ascending from the lower hills that surround its base, it rises 
 near 2,000 feet in a cone shape. When near the apex, it 
 seems to have been cleft in twain horizontally and the segment 
 patted up, corn-dodger fashion, into a ball, and then set back 
 again, on lop. I walked round in a well-worn path under the 
 rim of this dome, a circumference of one mile, affording a 
 beautiful view of the surrounding countiy, looked down upon 
 a thousand tobacco farms. To ascend the top of th e dome 
 ladders have to be used, and on the very top is a patch of for- 
 est timber, about ten acres. Half way up the mountain is a 
 bold spring of delicious water, gushing out from under the 
 ledges. On last Easter Sunday I met on the Pilot a large 
 crowd of Surrians, who make it their custom to spend Easter 
 on the mountain. I persuaded some of the young folks to 
 sing "Nearer My God to Thee," as we sat on rocks under the 
 dome, started a club for The Weekly Constitution and prom- 
 ised to write an article about Surrey county for The Constitu- 
 tion. I cannot omit to mention an old time wooden clock, 
 ten feet high, that I saw in a corner of a Surrey dwelling — an 
 inimitable grandfather's clock. To how many generations it 
 has ticked the destruction of time, and to how many more it 
 will mark the passing hour, who can tell? Surrey county, N. 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 221 
 
 C, may have lain in a sort of comatose, or Rip Van Winkle 
 state, in the past tense ; but she has a destiny for the future, 
 abounding in resources of wealth, the best hill lands for 
 tobacco, the finest bottoms for cereals and grasses, with vast 
 water powers for machinery, a great variety of the most valu- 
 able timbers, rich in mineral ores, an upright, energetic people. 
 The Cape Fear & Yadkin Yalley raih-oad is already in her bor- 
 ders, and will reach Mt. Airy in the early part of the coming 
 year, and in the springtime of 1888 Madame Surrey will don 
 a new robe upon her comely form, and with the horn of pros- 
 perity in her outstretched hand and maternal pride beaming in 
 her face, will step out upon the stage and will present to the 
 world her fair and blooming daughter, Miss Airy, whose fresh 
 and genuine attractions will excite general applause from all 
 beholders, and whose real charms will draw a cloud of devo- 
 tees around her delightful circle. D. U. Sloan. 
 
HON'. JOHN B. BENSON, 
 
 Or old " B," as he is familiarly known. 
 Born a merchant, in old Pendleton, South Carolina. 
 Died in the harness at Hartvvell, Georgia, 
 
 His epitaph, or is to be when he shall shuffle off this mortal coil ; and though there is only 
 about one hundred pounds wrapped about him, has a soul big enough for a coil of treble 
 the weight. I\Iy old school mate, and who accidentally killed me with a shinny stick, and 
 for which I afterward freely forgave him, when I learned he was worse troubled about the 
 matter than I was. There are few cleverer men in this world than old " B.'' 
 
225 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW. 
 
 THE JUNIUS LETTERS. 
 
 In my article on old Pendleton, S. C, I referred vaguely to 
 the old-time famous Junius' letters, the authorship of which 
 has, for more than an hundred years, been shrouded in mys- 
 tery, a mystery of the 18th century, and only paralleled in that 
 rreat metropolis of the world by the mysterious murders of 
 Jack the Ripper, of the 19th century. 
 
 My old friend, John B. Benson, has just opportunely sent 
 me a clipping from the Hartwell ( Ga.) Sun, of matter fur- 
 nished by himself through its columns, that throws much light 
 on the subject of the Junius letters. Old "B." says about the 
 very beginning of the present century there came a man, a 
 refugee from England, to old Pendleton, who brought with 
 him a lot of type and printing material that had been used in 
 London in publishing the celebrated Junius letters, and this 
 man, John C. Miller, had been driven out of England on 
 account of his connection with the printing of these letters. 
 
 Miller started the fir&t newspaper at old Pendleton, and 
 called it "Miller's Weekly Messenger — a paper 12 by 14 inches 
 in size ; and one day the old man had gone to dinner and left 
 the forms all ready to be struck, when Tolliver Lewis, a young 
 lawyer, stepped into the office, took out an E from the head- 
 
226 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 ing, and put in an A, making it read, "Miller's Weakly Mes- 
 senger," and the old fellow did not find oat the trick until the 
 whole issue had been printed. 
 
 The name of the paper was some time afterward changed 
 to the "Pendleton Messenger," and its size enlarged to 14 by 
 16 inches, price per annum 13.00, cash, or |>3.50, credit. The 
 press used was one that General Greene had in the Revolu- 
 tionary war, and looked like an old wooden loom, such as the 
 women used in those days, and two buckskin balls were used 
 to ink the type. 
 
 After Miller's death, Dr. F. W. Symmes became editor of 
 the Pendleton Messenger, and 25 years later his son, Seb 
 Symmes, removed the old outfit to Hartwell,Ga., and together 
 with a printer named Hagan, started the Hartwell Messenger. 
 So the same old English type that printed the Junius letters 
 also printed the Pendleton and the Hartwell Messengers. 
 
 Old "B." still has a copy of the original Junius letters in 
 book form, piinted in England, but unfortunately the date is 
 torn from the front of the book with the cover. He has also 
 two copies of the old Pendleton Messenger as far back as 1818,. 
 in good state of preservation, and the type of these old papers 
 and the English book are the very same. 
 
 Old 'B." says that the Rev. T. T. Christian, now of Atlanta, 
 and editor of the Wesleyan Christian Advocate, learned his 
 trade in the office of the old Pendleton Messenger ; says he 
 has seen him in the office with ink on his face, and as full of 
 mischief as a pet coon. " I could tell a good one, too, on Tom, 
 about a speech he tried to make at the old Pendleton Academy, 
 but won't now," says Bob Tiiomson, editor of the Keowee 
 Courier, who has made his mark in South Carolina. Tom 
 H. Russell, who was the best speller in town and who could 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 227 
 
 read anybody's writing, also learned there, and says he used 
 to take orders to the store from John C. Calhoun over to Tom, 
 to have them deciphered, so he could fill out the orders. Mr. 
 Calhoun wrote an awful hand. 
 
 The following short sketch of the Junius letters are so inter- 
 esting that I give it to my readers : 
 
 "Junius" was the signature of an English political writer, 
 the author of the letters which appeared in the " London Pub- 
 lic Advertiser," between January 21, 1769, and January 21, 
 1772. Henry Woodfall was the publisher of the Public Ad- 
 vertiser, and every means were used to induce him to divulge 
 who Junius was, but without success. 
 
 These letters, directed against the ministry and the leading 
 public characters connected with it, contain some of the most 
 effective specimens of invective to be found in literature. 
 Their condensed and lucid diction, studied and epigrammatic 
 scarcasm, dazzling metaphors, and fierce and haughty personal 
 attacks, arrested the attention of the government and the 
 public. Not less startling was the immediate and minute 
 knowledge which they evinced of court secrets, making it 
 believed that the writer moved in the circle of the court, and 
 was intimately acquainted, not only with ministerial measures 
 and intrigues, but with every domestic incident. They exhib- 
 ited indications of rank and fortune as well as scholarship, the 
 writer affirming that he was '' above a common bribe " and " far 
 above all pecuniary views." When Woodfall was prosecuted, 
 in consequence of Junius' letter to the king, the author prom- 
 ised to make restitution to him of any pecuniary loss. The 
 authorship of Junius was the greatest secret of the age. Every 
 effort that the government could devise or })rivate indignation 
 prompt was in vain made to discover it. The Earl of Mansfield 
 
228 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW. 
 
 and other legal advisers of the crown had many consultations 
 as to how this " mighty boar of the forest," as he was called 
 by Burke, could be most adroitly ensnared in the network of 
 the law. The host of enemies whom he aroused in every 
 direction were eager in plotting schemes for his detection. 
 But, aware that his power and perhai)s his personal safety 
 depended upon concealment, he continued to astonish every 
 one by his secret intelligence, and to assail the government 
 with undiminished intrepidity and rancor, revealing his appre- 
 hensions and precautions only in his private notes to Wood- 
 fall. His security was doubtless due in large measure to the 
 forbearance and honor of this publisher, who followed strictly 
 the imperative and precise orders of his correspondent. 
 
 Sir W. Draper, who entered into controversy with this 
 unknown adversary, was in the end overmastered and reduced 
 to mere humble complaint and confession. The Duke of Bed- 
 ford. Lord Mansfield, and the Duke of Grafton, all measured 
 intellectual lances with Junius, but were made to writhe in 
 ignominious defeat. 
 
 Who the person was who thus foiled the scrutiny of his own 
 age has been the subject of more than one hundred volumes 
 and pamphlets. Efforts have been made at different times to 
 identify him with no less than forty eminent Englishmen and 
 Irishmen, and while it may be put down as supported by the 
 best evidence that the author was Sir Phillip Francis, still it 
 has not yet been demonstrated beyond a doubt, and to-day the 
 question, " Who was Junius?" remains unanswered. 
 
DR. H V. M. MILLER, 
 
 Born in old Pendleton District, South Carolina, grew up to manhood in Rabun County, 
 Georgia. Graduated in medicine in South Carolina, completed his study of medicine in 
 Europe. Settled in Cassville, Georgia, there entering politics, he became known as the 
 Demosthanes of the mountains. Was a surgeon in the Confederate army, has been pro- 
 fessor of medical colleges in Memphis, Tenn., in Augusta, Ga., and in Atlanta, Ga. An 
 editor of medical journals, 'and;United States senator. A fine speakei*, a man of great gifts 
 in conversation, and one of tli2 best read, and best informed men in Georgia. 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW. 231 
 
 THE OLD STONE CHURCH, 
 
 About two miles out from old Pendleton, S. C, in the woods 
 near a country road, stands the crumbling walls of the old 
 Stone church, and hard by the entangled vines, the old cedars, 
 and other decaying evergreens, grim sentinels in the dilapida- 
 ted old graveyard, the whole presenting a wierd and desolate 
 «cene. 
 
 This old Stone church was built by General Pickens directly 
 after the Revolutionary war, as a Presbyterian church. About 
 1845 the walls fell in, and the old church has long since been 
 abandoned. 
 
 Many of Pendleton's first citizens are buried there. The 
 father and mother of my old friend, John B. Benson, lie 
 there. The remains of Colonel Bynum, who was killed in a 
 duel by Colonel Ben F. Perry, repose there. 
 
 I have a vague remenior.mce of many strange and thrilling 
 histories, and legends connected with this old Stone church, 
 but am not sufficiently posted as to the facts to attempt to 
 relate them here. 
 
 I would have liked to have gathered many of its histories 
 and ])resent them here, but have failed to do so. Indeed, if I 
 <3ver attempt to write another book I would be delighted to 
 make the whole subject upon old Pendleton, its great district, 
 
232 The fogy days and now. 
 
 and its people, who have lived and died and who have gone 
 out from her borders, making their impress upon other sections 
 of the South, for they are to be found in every part of our 
 sunny land. 
 
 Right here I am reminded of some of old Pendleton's peo- 
 ple, well known in this section, who have not been mentioned: 
 Mr. I. O. McDaniel, the father of Governor McDaniel, Judge 
 Hutchins, the father of the present Judge Hutchins, of Gwin- 
 nett county, and the Hon. W. T. Smith, of Gwinett, Mr. Ed. 
 Werner, of the Georgia road, the printer Bridwell — all came 
 from old Pendleton. So did the great Dr. Lewis, the father 
 of the State road, and to tell of all, would require a book 
 for that purpose alone. 
 
JUDGE WILLIAM LOWNDES CALHOUN, 
 President of the Board of Trustees for the Confederate Soldiers' Home, Lieutenant 
 Colonel Georgia Volunteers, President of the Confederate Veterans' Association of Atlanta 
 ( la., Ex-member Legislature, Ex-Mayor of Atlanta, and the present Ordinary of Fulton 
 County. A man of extra fine executive ability, and one whom the people delight to honor. 
 And whilst Henry W. Grady maybe called the projector of the Confederate Soldiers' 
 Home, President Calhoun has been the perfector of the work; it has been to him a work of 
 love, and to which he has devoted a great deal of his valuable time, without charge. He 
 has superintended and directed every item of tlie work on the Home, and if it is ever used 
 for that purpose, there ought to be two busts placed in the niches, one on either side of the 
 entrance to the Home, one of H. W. (Mady, tlie other of W. L. Calhoun. 
 
THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW. 235 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS' HOME. 
 
 A year or two before his death, Henry W. Grady and other 
 patriotic citizens of Atlanta, conceived the idea of a home for 
 the old and helpless veteran soldiers of Georgia. 
 
 Mr. Grady entered into this noble work with all the ardor 
 of his enthusiastic soul. Others soon caught the spirit, and 
 warmed up to the aid of this most commendable purpose. The 
 first thousand dollars was contributed to the Soldiers' Home 
 from a gentleman in New York. This was followed by several 
 subscriptions of a thousand dollars each from wealthy gentle- 
 men in Atlanta. Then many citizens of Atlanta, and other 
 parts of the State, subscribed smaller amounts, to build the 
 Home for the old soldiers. 
 
 When a considerable sum had been raised, a board of trus- 
 tees, consisting of thirty of the best men, and from different 
 parts of the State, were elected, who purchased 120 acres of 
 land in sight of the city of Atlanta, selecting a beautiful site 
 on an eminence surrounded by a grove of majestic forest trees. 
 An architect was employed, a suitable plan designed, and a 
 contract for the building was let. The result is that an impos- 
 ing wooden structure has been erected, containing 67 rooms, 
 spacious halls and delightful verandas, making a grand and 
 convenient Home for the old soldiers. 
 
 A street car line has been extended to the very doors of the 
 Home. Drives have been graded through the grounds, and 
 orchards have been planted. A force pump now throws the 
 water from a clear spring up into lofty towers, which is con- 
 
236 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW; 
 
 ducted thence into convenient parts of the building.. Laundry 
 and bath rooms have been arranged, and the most convenient 
 pantry and safes. A splendid range and boiler and complete 
 outfit of cooking apparatus stands in the roomy kitchen ready 
 for use (a present); a heating arrangement has also been put 
 in the building (a present); both presents from parties in 
 other States ; a nice organ (a present from an Atlanta firm), 
 and parties from another State offered to put in a gas plant 
 worth $2,000. This last gift, perhaps, is lost, by the delay of 
 the last legislature to accept the property, besides a crop on 
 the land and a year to the old soldiers. 
 
 This valuable property is all paid for, nor has a single incum- 
 brance. During the last legislature the whole outfit was ten- 
 dered by the trustees, as a gift to the State of Georgia, with 
 the single condition that the State accept and agree to take 
 care of her old and helplesss soldiers for a period of 25 years, 
 and after the expiration of that time, the property should 
 belong to the State to dispose of as she thought proper. 
 
 A bill was introduced in the house to that effect, and was 
 referred to the finance committee, where it seems to have 
 nodded a few times, and finally, just before adjournment of the 
 body, to have dropped off on the table into a dead sleep, and 
 if, like Rip Van Winkle, it shall ever awake again, can but rub 
 its eyes and discover that much valuable time has been lost. 
 
 This property, so nobly offered as a gift to the State of 
 Georgia, is to-day worth one hundred thousand dollars, and 
 the best real estate men say at the expiration of the 25 years 
 it will be worth from three hundred thousand to half a million 
 dollars. 
 
 It is also estimated that an average of ten thousand dollars 
 per annum for the 25 years, or two hundred and fifty thousand 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 237 
 
 dollars in the aggregate, will be sufficient to conduct the Home 
 through the period named. Of course, the largest amount 
 would be required the first half of the time, as in the last half 
 their members would greatly diminish, and in the last years 
 there would be few, if a single one, left. 
 
 Thus it will be seen, the proposition is a clear and incontro- 
 vertible one : that the State, in accepting this valuable gift 
 from the donors is presented the opportunity to care for her 
 old soldiers by the mere loan of the money, with the absolute 
 certainty of having the entire principal reimbursed, and the 
 proba1)ility is that not only will the interest be returned in 
 the end, but a handsome profit on the investment. 
 
 Every State, North and Soath, with but one or two excep- 
 tions, have their homes for their old soldiers, and have secured 
 them by an outlay of money, and still the great State of Geor- 
 gia hesitates when she is offered the singular opportunity to 
 provide for her old veterans v.'ithout cost. 
 
 The adjourned session of the legislature meets within a few 
 days. What will they do with the home? This is the ques- 
 tion. Much valuable time has already been lost. If they 
 refuse to accept the noble gift, there is but one legitimate 
 course left to the trustees — to sell the property and return the 
 proceeds to the contributors. 
 
 Can the bill longer sleep in the committee room? Will it 
 not be awakened from its long sleep on that committee table? 
 Will it not be sent back to the house for a hearing? Will the 
 people never know who are its friends and its foes? If there 
 are reasons why this seemingly noble work should die, let the 
 people hear the reasons. If there is argument why the Home 
 should not be received by the Slate, let it be ventilated. Let 
 the people hear. Let the silence be broken. 
 
238 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOAV^ : 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 In winding up this my first and, in all probability, last 
 attempt in the manufacture of literature, I am free to confess 
 the many imperfections in the little book (for indeed I have 
 discovered not a few of them myself) ; and no doubt some of 
 my conceptions may be objectionable to some of its readers I 
 answer, the only trouble on my part was want of better sense, 
 and if perchance I had got the whole thing plumb right, it 
 would not have suited everybody. Even honest people may 
 differ, see things in different lights and shades from different 
 standpoints, and though we may disagree in some things, we 
 can still be friends ; and for the sake of peace, I will go so far 
 as to say that you may be right, and I wrong. I only claim my 
 convictions, and accord the same to you. To a great degree 
 we are all creatures largely influenced by generations, sur- 
 roundings and circumstances; our teachings have much to do 
 with our likes and dislikes, with our prejudices, for or against. 
 
 I have concluded in ray declining years, that whilst I look 
 upon my fellow man as a very wonderful being, and am con- 
 stajitly amazed at his clevernes, startled at his cunning ways, 
 his marvelous inventions, and the vastness of his worldly 
 wisdom, yet I have discerned that there is a limit to his capac- 
 ities, aiul to his accomplishments, as there is to his temjtoral 
 life, and that after all his seemingly big ways and doings, he 
 is, at least, but a very sim])le and foolish creature about some 
 of the most important things, and that some of the very wisest 
 of the world, are to-day engaged in the silly and unprofitable 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 239 
 
 -employn>€nt of trying to stop up the little leaks of life, and 
 leaving open the great bung-holes of eternity; and in summing 
 up the whole, there is very little difference between the worlds 
 wise man, and its fool, and that the history of both may be 
 summed up into blunders, one half misdeeds, and the other 
 half mistakes; and I have even thought it possible that more 
 of the world's fools may be saved in the end than its wise. 
 
 The successful man of the world is, by common consent, con- 
 sidered the wise man, and upon him are the honors and the 
 adorations of the world heaped. Although the very program, 
 in a special sense, is in direct defiance of the written laws of 
 God. 
 
 On the other hand, the same law condemns the sluggard, but 
 the true wisdom is clearly given — given too plainly for mis- 
 takes — and is contained in the little text, "Seek first the king- 
 dom of God." 
 
 How plain; who can mistake its meaning; and shall not all 
 men be held responsible for its infringement. It clearly 
 applies to all — the wise and the foolish, the rich and the poor, 
 high or low. We are all amendable to this commandment; 
 and why cannot all sane men recognize the unalterable fact, 
 that the greatest oE all wisdom, is to seek the greatest amount 
 of good, and that good that will endure for the greatest period 
 of time ; which can alone be found within the pale of the per- 
 manent plan of salvation, as promised in the written word of 
 the allwise Creator, the maker of the heavens and the earth. 
 
 Then as we are all in a common trouble, and the difference 
 in our temporal condition is of such small moment, why should 
 not we all seek to lielp one another; as all shall need mercy, 
 why not be merciful ; as all shall need friends, why not be 
 friendly; why should the humble hate the proud and self con- 
 
240 TFIE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 conceited, for all too soon they will have their clay of reckon- 
 ing; why should the rich and strong despise the poor and 
 weak, for their own day of helpless poverty is but postponed. 
 
 What man with common sense, who will stop a moment and. 
 think, can fail to conclude, from his own earthly observation, 
 that old Solomon was right, when he pronounced the fleeting 
 things of this earth all vanity. We must all leave the world 
 and its folly far behind us. 
 
 A certain hard student in his youth, and an able jurist in 
 his maturity, is accredited with the saying, "That the next 
 best thing to religion is fun ;" and he was perhaps not far 
 wrong, though like the poet who wrote that incomparable song, 
 "Home, Sweet Home," and was said never to have had a home, 
 we have thought this jurist and student must have had large 
 imagination, for in his studious youth he had but little time 
 for fun, and under the arduous duties of the ermine, less time 
 for religion. 
 
 I have thought that the man who loves his God and his fel- 
 low man, cannot be adverse to fun, harmless fun. Tying a tin 
 can to a dogs tail in wanton fun ; to fight dogs and chickens, is 
 cruel fun ; to profane the Sabbath with unrighteous merri- 
 ment, is sacreligious fun ; but to surprise suffering humanity 
 with acts of kindness, and with timely aid, is heavenly fun. 
 The frolics of the lamb and kitten, are innocent fun ; the birds, 
 when they flit so merrily among the green boughs and chirp 
 and sing, are having their fun ; nature itself clappeth her 
 hands for joy, and this is the kind of fun we mean. The 
 Prodigal's brother hated fun. 
 
 The man who hopes for heaven ought to be merry, and the 
 merry man maketh his neighbor merry. A good, genuine, 
 hearty laugh is the sign of a happy man. But there is a wan- 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 241 
 
 ton, wicked chuckle, in which there is no fun, that scorches 
 like fire and nips like hoar frost, a chuckle that sarcasts its 
 hisses from lips of venom. 
 
 I rather think there will be fun in heaven. There is a 
 pleasing sensation of merriment to me in the idea of being 
 freed from all temptation to evil an<l sin ; the very thought 
 sends up a fountain of joy swelling from the heart. I have 
 heard the extatic laugh of the happy Christian, as the soul 
 soared away from the sin-striken world, into the purer atmos- 
 phere of the holy heavens. 
 
 There may be no fun in heaven, but I feel sure that there 
 is none in hell — none of the kind that I think I would like. 
 We get a little foretaste of sweet, innocent fun on this earth, 
 and I think there will be oceans of it above — rejoicing, prais- 
 ing, laughing — lots of fun, eternal, righteous fun. 
 
 I think there is no evil on earth, except by the abuse or con- 
 nivance of man, that all things God allows on earth hath some 
 good purpose and benefit for man. Fire is good, but will 
 burn ; water is good, but will destroy; dynamite is good, but 
 hath the elements of death and destruction ; whiskey is good, 
 but will ruin ; the devil himself is good, to warn men to flee 
 from the wrath to come — to be not of him or like him ; sin is 
 good, to show the contrast from righteousness, that all sensible 
 men may be taught to make their choice between the two. 
 
 Reform is a matter of grace, accomplished through reason 
 and conviction, and consequent upon love, teaching, prayer 
 and waiting. It is not of force or the bayonet ; to be grow- 
 ing and enduring, must become a principle. 
 
 Teach the people to avoid all the dangerous elements in life,, 
 to trust in God, the giver of all good, to laugh and be merry ^ 
 and to love all innocent fun. 
 
242 THE FOGY DAYS AND now; 
 
 Friendly reader, I am j3ossessed of but little of this world's 
 wisdom, wealth, or fame, yet I have managed to keep reason- 
 ably happy, and moderately contented; have had considerable 
 fun in my day — some wanton and wicked fun, and some inno- 
 cent fun. 1 have repented of the first, and rejoice in the last. 
 The innocent will be accredited to my permanent account, and 
 the other forgiven, on account of the over and abundance of 
 grace ever ready to be poured out upon those who ask for it. 
 
 In these unpolished pages, it will be easily discerned that 
 the writer is not averse to fun, but do not claim by any means, 
 that my efforts here will stand the test of innocence ; yet I am 
 consoled with the consideration that as I am of the earth, still 
 earthy, I might have been engaged in some other worse devil- 
 ment than in the writing of these pages. 
 
 Brother and sister, I am daily becoming more and more 
 impressed that we are living in a wonderful age ; I am 
 impressed with the idea that the world is rapidly approaching 
 its last and culminating epoch. First, the dismal, the silent 
 age, then followed the sluggish, the fogy age ; and now in this 
 nineteenth century comes the butterfly age ; and this butter- 
 fly age, I opine, will be the brief age, and then the millenium. 
 
 When the butterfly season is over, then the follies of the 
 world will cease and the people will return to reason and to 
 God. The flow of the two streams will be reversed, when the 
 stream of unrighteousness shall fail from the drouth that shall 
 fall on the mountains of evil, and a great stream of righteous- 
 ness will flood all the valleys of sin. I think the day is not 
 far distant when the people shall become convicted of their 
 high-handed disobedience and ingratitude toward a loving 
 God ; that it will not be long till the veil that now blinds 
 their eyes, will be lifted, and that they will with wonderful 
 
OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 243 
 
 accord seek to serve the only true and living God ; that the 
 day is not far a'vay when they will cry out mightil}', "The 
 Lord, tlie Lord, He is the true God." 
 
 I am im|)ressed that the religion of Jesus Christ is prepar- 
 ing for an amazing forward movement; that there are myste- 
 rious movements about to be executed on earth's chess-board; 
 that the inscrutable hand of Divinity is already quickening 
 his dealings with a long-rebellious world. Ihave even thought 
 that the Sunny South might become the favorite field for the 
 advance of this great and glorious work, and have in my imag- 
 ination pictured our own bright Atlanta as a central or dis- 
 tributing point for the great revolution, the great reformation — 
 as a sort of new Jerusalem, a city set upon a hill. I have 
 also imagined that our women were going to take a prominent 
 part in the glorious work (I don't mean to preach), for I 
 believe we have got more real, genuine Christian women in the 
 South than any other portion of this green earth, and not a 
 few good men; and I believe Atlanta has got more than the 
 average of both good men and women. 
 
 Now learn the parable of the fig tree: " When his branch is 
 yet tender, and putteth forth leaves, ye know that the summer 
 is nigh." "But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, 
 not the angels in heaven, but mj' father only." 
 
 I do not wish it inferred from anything I have said, that I 
 have spoken aught in envy against the rich of earth, for I 
 believe an honest rich man is as good as a poor man, if he 
 loves God. My idea of his condemnation comes from the 
 scriptuies, which says, "How hardly shall a rich man enter the 
 kingdom of heaven." 
 
 I believe there are rich Christians, and that it is scripturally 
 legitimate to make money, but that every man will be held 
 
244 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 accountable for his stewardship, and for the disposition which 
 he makes of liis means. What I mean to say, is, that everjr 
 human being, whether in wealth or i)overty, fame or obscurity, 
 power or imbecility, must subsequently subserve to the will of 
 a patient atid omnipotent Creator ; that he surely will be 
 magnified in the sequel, and that every soul failing to recog- 
 nize this incontrovertible truth, will have committed the 
 unpardonable sin and inexcusable folly of the lost ; and that 
 when the greatest of all days shall come, there will be an host 
 who will be appalled at their own neglect and worse than folly 
 when the decided facts shall glaie upon them that they chose 
 the chaff in the world, and spurned the wheat. 
 
 Money should be regarded only as money, not simply for 
 self-glory, but for God's glory, to honor him with; and in hon- 
 oring God, man is but honoring himself in eveiy true sense. 
 Wealth should aid in advertising the great plan of a world's 
 salvation. To worship the stuff, or its puichase, is worse 
 to-day than the calf worship of the Israelites, and to use it ta 
 crush out God's poor is certain damnation to the oppressor. 
 
 To make money honestly, is right, but to be poor is not 
 necessarily a crime, for the angels of heaven keep company 
 with the righteous poor, and the legitimate heir of heaven 
 watches over them in deepest spmpathy as they pass through 
 the valley of the shadow of death, as he once did himself, for 
 he is acquainted with their griefs and has tasted of their sor- 
 rows. 
 
 I earnestly believe that poverty, afflictions and trials, have 
 been to me a priceless boon, and that they have been sent in 
 love; and I am trying to submit, and even to learn to kiss the 
 chastening rod, and still be happy. I know that he who holds 
 my destiny is good, wise and merciful ; all natuie tells me this- 
 
OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 245 
 
 is truth, and though his ways are past finding out, yet I shall 
 trust him. 
 
 I know in a short ^time I shall be summoned to his presence, 
 to stand my trial before his unerring tribunal, and have 
 already sent in ray plea of guilty, and have placed my case in 
 the hands of an advocate who has never been known to fail in 
 his courts, as far as I have ever heard of, and through messen- 
 gers that I do not dare to doubt. I am promised an acquittal, 
 and a free pardon, and not only so, but I have got word ( and 
 I believe it true ) that there is an inheritance reserved and 
 waiting for me, worth more than this whole world, and that 
 can never be taken from me again, but will endure when this 
 world is blotted out; and more than that, that I am to occupy 
 a social position among the first families of the universe, and 
 shall be allowed in the very i-oyal presence of the King of 
 all Kings. What more can we crave ? 
 
 I shall endeavor to calmly await my summons, and the ful- 
 fillment of the promises. I would neither hasten nor stay the 
 time. I want the Lord to direct the whole matter, because I 
 have made so many mistakes and blunders. I envy no man. 
 his posssessions, his temporal power, or his worldly fame, but 
 I do feel for poor suffering and sinful humanity. 
 
 Wouldn't I make money if I could? Why, yes ; I reckon I 
 v/ould, if I could make it honestly; and if it didn't make a fool 
 -of me, I feel like I would use much of it to alleviate the suf- 
 ferings of humanity — at least, I feel so now. I think it would 
 be to me the greatest pleasure that I can imagine, to help my 
 poor, tottering fellow-man through the world, and on to 
 lieaven. 
 
 In my article on " Prohibition in Atlanta," it reads about 
 the ministers, that " 'twas tho't that some of 'em tore their 
 
246 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ; 
 
 shirts." I want to say now, What if they did? They didn't 
 care. If they thought they were doing their duty, they didn't 
 care if they tore a dozen old shirts. I have no fault to find 
 with them if they did tear their shirts ; and sometimes, when 
 I see what fools some men make of themselves about liquor, I 
 feel like tearing up several shirts myself. 
 
 If I have said anything to offend our colored brother, I 
 have not said it through ill will. I like him, and I claim to be 
 his friend; but I mean just what I say. He can't rule here,, 
 and he nor no other fellow needn't try to write it down on 
 the bulletin board that way. The thing can't be did. The 
 best thino- he can do, is to be content to sit at the second 
 table. He can have good fare, but he's got to take the second 
 table, exceptin' the Lord says so. Let him educate, get all 
 the wisdom he can, make money, christianize, go spread the 
 gospel in his own benighted country, send his young men and 
 women there to enlighten, as they have been enlightened here, 
 and the day came when they will have over there a country 
 even bigger and better than the white man's America. If 
 the chemical composition of his skin has been a little more 
 flavored than ours, the Lord did it; but if he fills his place 
 here, and is received above, I have no doubt he will then be 
 as good as the best. There will be no difference there. 
 
 I have made a few cuts at our brethren across the north 
 line — not in anger nor in hate, but in truth, as I understand 
 it. No doubt they can point out some ugly wrinkles in us, 
 too, which they do not hesitate to do. We all know that we 
 have our faults, so let us forgive and let byegones be bye- 
 gones; let us learn to understand and love each other bet- 
 ter; et them come down to see us again, leaving their guns 
 at home; come in peace, and bring their machines, their 
 
OR, THK AVORLD HAS CIIAXGED. 241 
 
 brains and their money with them. Let them come; we have 
 the country. Our genial sun will warm up their hearts, and if 
 they will so come, we will receive them with open arms. 
 Some folks who read this book may not be democrats. Well, 
 there is no reason for a fuss about that. If I was born with 
 hair on my head and a democratic seed inside, and you were 
 born with or without hair on yours and a republican seed in- 
 side, why let them both sprout and grow. The Lord, who 
 giveth the increase, will select the timbers, when he needs 
 them, from the forests, and use them as he likes. 
 
 Our readers may discover some inconsistencies in our writ- 
 ing. We shall not be surprised if they do, for our whole life 
 has been made up of inconsistencies. We have endeavored 
 to hide them as much as possible, but they would crop out in 
 spite of us. Sometimes we feel one way, then another; some- 
 times we see one way, then another. We hope all such fail- 
 ings will be overlooked, as we were born with this weakness, 
 and have never fully recovered from the disease. 
 
 I did think of having my book inspected by an expert, to 
 have it dressed up so as to make a more respectable appear- 
 ance; but, somehow, I could not bear the idea of showing off 
 in borrovved plumage. I like store goods, and would like to 
 have them tailor made," if my finances would afford it; but I 
 prefer to patch up and wear my old duds, rather than to shine 
 out in the robes of my more fortunate neighbor. 
 
 I might have done the job a little better myself, if I had 
 taken more time and pains; but like the fellow who was going 
 to be hung, I got impatient, and wanted the job over with. 
 So, reader, if you find fault with the grammar or diction, }ou 
 are at liberty to correct it to suit yourself; if the trouble 
 should be in the spelling or the punctuation, tnen you may 
 
1^48 The fogy days and now. 
 
 jum]> on the printer, for he was paid for that part of the 
 work ; but if you find any Avliole-cloth lies in the book, then 
 you may put the bhime on me. 
 
 To the large number of friends who have subscribed so 
 promptly for the book, and to whom I have sold at least half 
 of the one thousand copies before they come from the press, 
 (and I consider this the more remarkable from the fact that 
 the author is entirely without literary reputation,) and for the 
 esteem and kindness of all these friends, I cannot find words 
 adequate to express to them my feelings of gratitude. I only 
 feel mortification at my limited capacity to afford them some- 
 thing more worthy of their attention, yet I feel sure that if I 
 have failed to enlighten them, I have succeeded in furnishing 
 them with a dollar's worth of fun. 
 
 There are other matters I would like to talk about in this, 
 my conclusion, but if I make the book any bigger my printers 
 win not allow me to sell it for a dollar ; so, with my best 
 wishes to every reader, 1 bid each one adieu, with the request 
 that he be good to himself and to his neighbor, love the Lord, 
 and so spin out my last word, as I shall the last moment of my 
 unprofitable life, to an e-n-d. 
 
1). U. SLOAN, Jr., 
 Professor and Proprietor of Sloan's Atlanta School of Telegraphy, Atlanta, Ga.— a compe- 
 tent and thorough instructor in the art of telegraphy. His school is now in its ninth year, 
 and is the oldest continuous School of Telegraphy in the South; and it has sent out its 
 graduates ihrougliout the country, who are to-day occupj'ing positions of trust and profit. 
 Professor Sloan is a young luan of irreproachable character, diligent and conscientious in 
 his efforts to instruct. 
 
D. U. SLOAN, Jr., ) ( D. U. SLOAN, Sr., 
 
 V AND < 
 
 Professor of Telegraphy. ) / Manager. 
 
 ATLANTA 
 
 ■iSCHOOL^ 
 TELEGRAPHY 
 
 Atlanta, .... ga. 
 
 THE OLDEST TELEGRAPH 
 
 INSTITUTE NOW IN OPERATION 
 
 liT THE SOTTTia:. 
 
OUR STUDENTS 
 
 Are instructed in the management of instruments, batteries and 
 wire connections. AVe prepare them to send and receive both Com- 
 mercial and Railroad Telegraph Business, and graduate them when 
 they can copy from the sounders correctly twenty-five words per 
 minute. 
 
 OUR MANAGERS 
 Are experienced railroad men, and familiar with the duties required 
 of railroad employes. 
 
 Colonel D. U. Sloan, our manager, is widely and favorably known ; 
 was Atlanta's first 
 
 TELEGRAPH OPERATOR; 
 "an old-timer," forty years ago, and more recently for a number of 
 years, agent and operator for the R. & D. R. R., assisted by his son, 
 who afterwards was Professor of Telegraphy in *' Moore's Business 
 University " for four years, and since then has been Principal of 
 Sloan's Atlanta School of Telegraphy. He has proved himself a 
 successful teacher of others, as his numerous graduates who are 
 now filling positions of trust and profit, will most cheerfully attest. 
 
 BUSINESS PROSPECTS 
 
 For Telegraph Operators were never brighter than now. The great 
 number of railroads in operation, the many new ones in construc- 
 tion, the rapidly increasing business of the "New South" will 
 employ a vast army of Operators, and from the present outlook, the 
 day is far distant when an expert and reliable Telegraph Operator 
 will fail to command good remuneration for his services. Besides, 
 there is no trade or profession in this land that can be acquired at 
 so little expense of money and time that pays so well. Telegraphy 
 is a good business for the poor boy or girl, and might prove a bless- 
 ing for the children of the rich to fall back upon, in case their 
 wealth should take wings. 
 
 QUALIFICATIONS. 
 
 Any young person of either sex, with bright mind and ordinary 
 English education, is qualified to make a successful operator. 
 
 TIME REQUIRED TO LEARN. 
 
 The average time required to learn Telegraphy in our School has 
 been from three to four months, owing to the aptness and applica- 
 tion of the student. 
 
 If you desire to learn Telegraphy, pay no attention to the boy- 
 cotters, the disciples of the ''Telegraphers' Brotherhood" or to the 
 O. R. T'.s, who are sworn to do all in their power to keep you from 
 learning Telegraphy, by fair or foul means. They are not your 
 friends, and their object is obvious. Come and investigate our 
 school and be your own judges. 
 
OUR REFERENCES. 
 
 • 
 
 Prof. Moore, Moore's Business College, Atlanta, Ga. : 
 
 Prof. Sullivan, Sullivan's Business College, Atlanta, Ga. ; 
 J. M. Stevens, Man'r. W. U. Telegraph Co., Atlanta, Ga. ; 
 
 A. N. Oldfield, Electrician, Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 OUR RATES REDUCED. 
 
 To beginners, first month $ 15 00 
 
 To " second month 10 00 
 
 To " third month 10 00 
 
 To " fourth month 10 00 
 
 If longer time is needed, per month 5 00 
 
 OUR BUSINESS HOURS. 
 
 Nine o'clock A. m. to 12 o'clock m.; 2 o'clock p. m. to 4 o'clock p. m. Besides a NIGHT 
 CLASS OF TWO HOURS, for those who cannot attend the Day School. 
 Rates — $10.00 for first month, and #5.00 for each succeeding month. 
 Board can be had in the city at from $12.5010 $15.00 per month. 
 
 TESTIMONIALS. 
 
 What has been done for the young men signed below, can be done 
 for others. Could give many testimonials, if we had space. 
 
 Belmont, N. C. 
 Professor I). U. Sloan : I take great pleasure in testifying in favor of your School of 
 Telegraphy, where I received my instruction. I will advise all who wish to study Tele- 
 graphy to go to you. I am now agent and operator at this place, with a good salary. 
 
 WILL B. PRUETT. 
 Atlanta, Ga. 
 Professor D. U. Sloan : My sincere thanks for your good teaching. From your School 
 I accepted a position on the East Tennessee road, at Baxley, and already I have been 
 promoted to a better position on the same road in Atlanta, and with increased pay. I will 
 ever hold up your School to those who wish to learn Telegraphy. 
 
 JAMES BARNWELL. 
 Atlanta, Ga. 
 Professor D. U. Sloan: To all who contemplate the study of Telegraphy, I most 
 heartily recommend your School, where I received my training. I am now "Train 
 Despatcher" for the R. & D. R. R. in Atlanta, and receive a salary of $100.00 per month. 
 
 B. F. MARTIN. 
 
 Address, 
 
 D. XJ. SLOAN, IS/Tanager 
 
 lloan s Itlaiiia ichool of f elegraphg, 
 
 Atlanta, - - - Ga,