n 
andersonville violets. 
Copyrighted by the Rural New-Yorker. 
All rights reserved. 
chapter xiv.— (Continued.) 
After a short talk Mrs. Bond excused her. 
self. The dinner was well under way, and 
she was obliged to superintend it. Nellie went 
too, though Mrs. Bond tried to make her 
remain on the piazza. She did not like to 
ask her visitor to work, but Neliie was deter¬ 
mined to help. Most of the children followed 
the women, and Mr. Bond and John were left 
to talk. 
John simply asked a few questions and let 
Mr. Bond talk. He had listened to so many 
different opinions that he hardly knew what 
to say. Mr. Bond seemed glad of the chance 
of telling his story. It had been locked up in 
his heart too long. It seemed to take some of 
the bitterness away to relate it to friendly ears. 
He talked so long and earnestly that both of 
the men were surprised when the crowd of 
children came rushing back with a loud call 
for dinner. The two men rose and followed 
the little army of hungry mouths back to the 
dinner-table where the two women were 
waiting. The baby—of course there had to 
be a baby in such a well-ordered family—was 
staring from the arms of a little negro boy as 
they passed through the hall. David caught 
the little end of the family on his shoulder, 
and carried him in triumph into the room. 
When they sat at the table, baby sat on his 
father’s knee in order to save room. 
The dinner was a very merry one. To be 
sure the table was small and the company was 
a large one, yet the two families were on such 
good terms that a little crowding did not hurt 
them at all—in fact it did them good. The 
little negro boy with one or two of the smaller 
children to help him wash dishes and spoons, 
did nobly as a waiter. The children who 
helped him, sat at the ends of the table in con¬ 
venient places for sliding in and out of their 
chairs without giving a serious shock to the 
whole company. Sometimes they took part 
of their dinner with them and ate with one 
hand while they helped with the other. The 
dinner was a great success. There was noth¬ 
ing elegant about it, but everybody, down to 
the baby, had enough to eat. The guests felt 
that they were being handsomely treated, and 
the host and hostess knew that their friends 
enjoyed themselves. How could a dinner be 
more of a success? Wheu it was finished Da¬ 
vid showed John about the little place. By 
hard work and study the few rough acres 
had been turned into a garden. There was a 
small vineyard, a little orchard, a good garden 
and a pasture for the cow. Below the garden 
fence was a rough hillside, cut with great gul¬ 
lies that seemed to have turned red with the 
blood of murdered agriculture. On the other 
side of the fence was the neat garden. It 
seemed as if some monster had gnawed its 
way up to the feuce and then turned back in 
rage before the careful culture that dulled its 
cruel teeth. The red gullies had been closed 
up and every foot of land inside the fence was 
doing its duty. David pointed out the differ¬ 
ence to John. 
“Five years ago,” he said, “It was all just 
like that laud below that feuce. Now you see 
what a little work and mother wit have done. 
They told me all along that I couldn’t raise 
grapes or apples or peaches in this country. 
They all said this land would wash out. Here 
it is, an’ it don’t look like it was goin’ to wash 
much this year. You can raise anything you 
want in this country. People hang onto cot¬ 
ton au’ won’t touch nothin’ else. They buy 
their meat an’ corn au’ pay three prices for 
’em. They can raise every ounce of meat, an’ 
every peck of corn right in this country, an’ 
they have got to do it or leave for some other 
State where the land ain’t wore out. They 
have got to pick up Yankee farmin’ an’ the 
Yankee style of doin’ things, whether they 
want to or not.” 
As John and Nellie walked back to the hotel, 
they talked over the events of the day. Mrs. 
Bond had told Nellie her side of the life during 
the “Radical rule.” 
John studied away in silence for a moment. 
Then he said, suddenly: 
“Are you sorry we came down here?” 
“Not a mite,” said Nellie, brightly. “We 
shall get along all right, I’m sure—only don’t 
say a word about politics, John. It won’t do 
us any good and it might hurt us dreadfully.” 
They found Mr. Battle waiting on the pi¬ 
azza. 
“Where you folks ben?” he asked as they 
came up. “I’ve sorter lost run of ye sence the 
preachin’—ye orter stayed an’ heard what I 
said to the Sunday school. They ’peared ter 
ke it first-rate.” 
“We’ve ben makin’ a visit,” said John. 
“Where’d ye go?—'beats all how you folks 
pick up friends, don’t it? There was a feller 
like to invited me home ter dinner, but some¬ 
how he didn’t git round to it Beats all how 
these folks sorter hang off an’ never come up 
when ye want ’em. Doin’ to preachin’ agin’ 
this evenin’, I s’pose, ain’t ye?” 
John and Nellie decided to stay at home, 
and after further talk, Mr. Battle went alone 
to contribute his bass to the volume of the 
choir’s music. 
CHAPTER XV. 
As soon as breakfast was over, Mon¬ 
day morning, John went to the livery stable 
to secure a horse. A sleepy negro was the 
only business occupant of the stable, and 
while this individual was caring for the horse, 
John walked slowly up the main street. He 
felt so full of energy that he could not sit 
down and wait. There were very few people 
abroad. The Jews were all in their stores, 
and a few men sat along in front of the build¬ 
ings, smoking their pipes as if the week could 
never be properly opened without an extra 
flood of smoke. They smoked with great 
seriousness and kept their eyes fixed upon the 
ground There was no energy about their 
pleasure. The smoke crawled lazily out of 
their mouths as if caring little what its future 
might be. A melancholy individual was 
standing in front of the store where John had 
talked with the fat merchant—a tall, thin 
man with a yellow face and hair of the same 
color. The face was long and thin—the 
cheeks hollow—and the eyes were small and 
dull with a heavy, boiled appearance. The 
forehead receded as if in haste to meet the 
tangle of hair that looked as if the thin man 
had placed a quantity of poorly-cured hay 
under his hat. The face looked as if this hay 
had been steeped and the water permitted to 
slowly trickle down to the chin. The man 
was clothed in a suit of jean of a most uncer¬ 
tain color. His clothing hung about him with 
about as much grace—as John expressed it— 
as the week’s washing bung on the clothes 
line. A pair of great shapeless shoes covered 
his feet. He had evidently just driven into 
town, and was resting against a rickety 
wagon before which stood two stunted oxen 
leaning against each other for support. The 
man held an empty bag in his hand. 
As John came nearer, this melancholy in¬ 
dividual started from his position near the 
wagon, and walked slowly and despairingly 
into the store. The fat proprietor met him at 
the door and John followed the two, curious 
to see what the mission of such a melancholy 
specimen of humanity could be. After a long 
discussion the customer bought a peck of corn 
and a great lump of salt pork. He looked 
longingly at other provisions which the pro¬ 
prietor temptingly displayed, but they seemed 
to be too expensive for him. He walked back 
to his wagon at last—walked wearily as if the 
rust had gathered on all his joints. After 
packing his supplies away in the wagon, he 
started his gaunt oxen into activity and 
walked down the street at their side cracking 
his great whip as he walked. It seemed like 
a perfect picture of agricultural despair. 
The portly merchant, rendered affable by 
his early sale, smiled as he glanced at John’s 
face. 
“Mighty hard way ter live I reckon,” he 
said, as he nodded in the direction of his gaunt 
customer. “He’ll go out till he eats that meat 
up, an’ then he’ll come back for mo‘.” 
“How do ye git yer pay?” asked John. 
The customer had paid no cash for the 
goods, and John could hardly see how such a 
looking man could secure credit. At home, 
a merchant would not have trusted such a 
man with a box of matches. 
“ Oh that’s all right, I reckon. We don’t 
lose no pay scarcely. Them things is all paid 
for now,ye might say. We jest take a lien on 
his crop an’ when he brings it in we run up 
his account an’ start him off agin for next 
year. Such fellers as him don’t raise nothin’ 
but cotton. We keep ’em in corn an’ meat 
an’ take their crop to pay for it. They might 
raise every pound o’ meat I reckon. Folks 
uster could befo’ the war, -but that ain’t none 
of my bizness I reckon. Them fellers don’t 
never git nothin’ ahead. They ain’t gut no 
pluck, and they won’t never be nothin’. I 
reckon they’ll all have ter move out for Texas 
some day. I’d hate powerful to see ’em go, 
for there’s a heap of money ter be made trad¬ 
in’ with ’em.” 
“Where do ye git yer pork an’ corn?” asked 
John. 
“Right smart of it comes from Chicago. It 
costs a heap ter git it yer, too.” 
“Couldn’t ye raise the heft of it here?” 
^‘1 reckon so. I reckon we cud raise it all if 
folks warn’t so powerful lazy.” 
John walked back to the stable thinking over 
what he had seen and heard. If this farmer 
was a fair type of the men who were to be his 
neighbors he would certainly have very little 
in the way of society. The facts concerning 
the provisions pleased him exceedingly. With 
keen Yankee thrift he saw at once the key to 
the situation. With these thousands of people 
raising nothing but cotton, and buying such a 
large proportion of their meat, the meat pro¬ 
ducer or stock grower would be iu a condition 
to reap an abundant profit. 
Colonel Gray had given John unlimited 
authority. The officer knew nothing of agri¬ 
culture, and he had the utmost confidence in 
John’s wisdom and ability. He stood ready 
to supply any reasonable capital and place the 
entire management of it in John’s hands- 
John was acquainted with but one style of 
farming, and he was not the man to experi¬ 
ment with the property of others. The first 
principle of agriculture as he understood it, 
was to supply as much as possible of the food 
used at borne. On the thin, rocky farm in 
Maine, he had raised almost all the provisions 
needed in the family. Those that could not 
be raised at home were bought with the money 
obtained from the sale of extra hay or stock. 
This was the only style of farming that John 
understood, and the more he saw of the South, 
the more he became convinced that the system 
could be made very successful on a larger 
scale. 
John rode slowly out of town over a lonely 
country road that went crawling’lazily over lit¬ 
tle sand hills and low, level places, as if it had 
been left to pick out its own way. John rode 
slowly. He was painfully aware of the fact that 
he was not a graceful rider. He preferred to 
let the horse select its own pace rather than to 
urge the animal to a rate of speed that would 
betray his own awkwardness. The animal he 
bestrode was of such a very mild disposition 
that the arrangement suited him exactly. He 
went on with the long, swinging walk pecu¬ 
liar to the Southern riding horse, tossing his 
head slowly up and down to show how well 
this pace suited him. 
^ PISO'S CURE FOR 
CURES WHERE ALL ELSE FAILS. 
Best Cough Syrup. Tnstea good. Use 
in time. Sold by druggists. 
I believe Piso’s Cure 
for Consumption saved 
my life.—A. H. Dowell, 
Editor Enquirer, Eden- 
ton, N. C., April 28, 1887. 
PISO 
The best Cough Medi¬ 
cine is Piso’s Cure for 
Consumption. Children 
take it without objection. 
By all druggists. 25c. 
^ PISO’S CURE FOR 
If) CURES WHERE ALL ELSE FAILS. 
Best Cough Syrup. Tastes good. Use 
in time. Sold 1 
. by druggists. 
CONSUMPTION 
THE PEOPLE’S FRIEND, 
And the Farmers’ own Day-Book of Geueial 
Intelligence and Political information, ad% o- 
eating Economic and Honest Administration, 
Low Taxes exclusively for Public Purposes, 
and the Rights of the States and the Interests 
of all Classes Inviolate, and Embodied in 
Three Battle Orders, viz.: 
THAT THIEVING TARIFF MUST GO! 
THE BOYS IN THE TRENCHES MUST 
STAY! 
AND THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY IS 
GOOD ENOUGH FOR DEMOCRATS! 
It was not a cheerful ride The country 
seemed somehow to be covered with a shadow. 
The woods were green and beautiful, the flow¬ 
ers were springing by the road, and the sun 
came sparkling in right good humor—yet 
there was something, it was hard to say what, 
that seemed to deaden and chill what 
should have been a beautiful picture. No 
doubt if John had never seen the hills and 
lanes of New England he would have been 
satisfied with this prospect. No doubt the 
picture was more magnificent than any he 
had ever seen on his gray old rocks at home, 
but he could not appreciate it. Most of the 
land near the road seemed dead and wasted. 
A few scattering fields of corn or cotton 
showed green and beautiful in the sunshine, 
but the vast tract of land stretched back from 
the road, dull and gnawed by great waste 
patches that covered its surface like bandages 
on a bruised face. There was only a rank 
growth of weeds or worthless grasses to cover 
its nakedness. In the great agricultural 
prize fight it had been souudly whipped. 
The fields were not even used as pastures. 
In New England every acre would have been 
dotted with cattle or sheep. Here, the only 
stock to be seen were a few work horses or 
mules, and some angular cows that kept close 
to the houses as if for society. In place of 
the great smile of hospitality that seems to 
light up the front of a New England home, a 
pack of savage dogs came tearing out at 
almost every yard to snarl and bark the senti¬ 
ments of the family. No wonder the country 
seemed dreary and lifeless to John. There 
was no life and bustle of industry. All nature 
lay idle and wasted. There is nothiug but 
work or the evidence of it that can put true 
beauty iuto a landscape. 
(To be continued.) 
The Courier Journal (Henry Waterson, 
Editor) is too well known to require any new 
or extended introduction. It has beyond dis¬ 
pute the largest circulation of any Democratic 
newspaper in the United States. It is the 
largest and best weekly newspaper published. 
Each issue contains (54 columns of live news 
and interesting miscellany. Serial and Shore 
Stories; Talmage’s Sermons; Agricultural and 
Live Stock Departments; Young Folks and 
Puzzle Departments, are special features of 
the Weekly Courier-Journal. 
It is the one great newspaper west of the Al- 
ghenies and south of the Potomac and the 
Ohio, which has bad the courage, the inde¬ 
pendence and the ability to stand and resist 
the flood-tide of monopoly sweeping over the 
laud from the headwaters of Bitter Creek, in 
Wall Street, and to make an upright, disin¬ 
terested and successful defense of the toiling, 
tax-paying masses of the people. Fighting all 
dishonest schemes, the Courier-Journal is 
as a sentinel on the watch-tower, sleepless and 
vigilant. 
Subscribe to the Weekly Courier- 
Journal and learn the truth, and join iu the 
People’s Battle of Resistance. 
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION: 
To Nine Copies at one time, one year, $8.00 
To One Copy one year, . . . 1.00 
To Oue Copy half year, . . . 00 
To One Copy three months, . . 85 
PREMIUMS. 
We offer with the Weekly Courier-Jour¬ 
nal a great variety of useful and attractive 
premiums. A supplement containing our list 
of premiums and a sample copy of Weekly 
Courier-Journal will be sent to any one free 
of charge on receipt of a request for them. 
Liberal inducements to Club-raisers, Post¬ 
masters, and Local Agents. Agents’ outfit 
furnished free of charge. Address all busi¬ 
ness letters and subscriptions to 
W. N HALDEMAN, 
President Courier-Journal Company , 
Louisville, Ky. 
N.B.— The Rural New-Yorker One Year, 
and Weekly Courier-Journal One Year, 
will be sent for $2.75. Subscriptions under 
this clubbing offer can be sent to either paper. 
Great Reduction! 
FRINGE, Hidden Name and Floral 
OU Cards, lOO Album Pictures, New 
Samples and this Ring, all 10 ceil Cm. 
Clinton Co, North Haven, Conn. * 
Hood’s Sarsaparilla 
This successful medicine is a carefully-prepared 
extract of the best remedies of the vegetable 
kingdom known to medical science as Alteratives* 
Blood Purifiers, Diuretics, and Tonics, such as 
Sarsaparilla, Yellow Dock, Stillingia, Dandelion, 
Juniper Berries, Mandrake, Wild Cherry Bark 
and other selected roots, barks and herbs. A 
medicine, like any tiling else, can be fairly judged 
only by its results. We point with satisfaction to 
the glorious record Hood’s Sarsaparilla has en¬ 
tered for itself upon the hearts of thousands of 
people who have personally or indirectly been 
relieved of terrible suffering which all other 
remedies failed to reach. Sold by all druggists. 
$lj six for #5. Made only by C. I. HOOD & CO, 
Apothecaries, Lowell, Mass. 
IOO Doses One Dollar 
U HH p STUDY. Book-keeping, Business 
■ 1 IWI EL Forms,Penmanship,Arithmetic,Short¬ 
hand, etc., thoroughly taught by MAIL. Circulars free. 
DR Y A NT & STRATTON’S, Buffalo, N. Y. 
H0MI? STUDY—ON THE FARM. 
The Inventor’s own system of Phonography: no teach¬ 
er needed: learners mutually aid each other. Instruc¬ 
tion book 20 cents. (Established, 1865.) Address 
PHONETIC DEPOT, Tyroue, Pa, 
General Advertising Rates of 
THU RURAL NEW - YORKER. 
34 PARK ROW, NEW YORK. 
The following rates are invqi'iable. All are there¬ 
fore respectfully informed that any correspondence 
with a I’iew to obtaining different terms will prove 
futile. 
Ordinary Advertisements, per agate line (this 
sized type, 14 lines to the inch).30 oents. 
One thousand lines or more,within one year 
from date of first insertion, per agate line, 25 “ 
Yearly orders occupying 14 or more lines 
agate space.25 
Preferred positions.25 per cent, extra. 
Heading Notices, ending with “Adv.,” per 
line, minion leaded...75 cents. 
Terms of Subscription. 
The subscription price of the Rural New Yorker Is 
Single copy, per year.. $2.00 
“ “ Six months... 1- 1C 
Great Britain. Ireland, Australia t.nd 
Germany, per year, post-paid.£3.04 (12i. 6d.) 
France. 3.04 (1GJ4 fr.) 
French Colonies. 4.08 (2914 fr.) 
Agents will be supplied with canvassing outfit os- 
application. _ 
»nt •»•£ at the Post-office at New York Otty. If, 
ae eaeoBd-etast s&fcii 
