Posts Tagged ‘Georgia’

Civil Service Rules!

March 2, 2012

The Civil Service Doorkeeper.

You must be up on the classics, you must know enough to speak,
As glibly as a heathen, any quantity of Greek;
Must gallop through the Iliad — lead the highest German schools,
If you want to be doorkeeper under civil service rules!

You must pace along through Persian like a native of the soil;
You must run the Gallic gamut, make the Latin language boil;
You must lope through andalusia, on the backs of Spanish mules,
If you want to be doorkeeper under civil service rules!

In short, although it’s funny — your education’s girth
Must be ample — for example, it must belt around the earth!
You must show a good diploma from a hundred thousand schools,
If you want to be doorkeeper under civil service rules!

Learning Rewarded.

“Did Brown stand the civil service examination?”


“Went through the Greek alphabet?”

“Jest a-hummin’!”

“And the Latin verbs?”

“Every one of ’em!”

“What place did they give him?”

“Head coal-shoveler.”

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 16, 1893

THE Atlanta Constitution flings responsibility upon the proprietor of its rustling evening contemporary as follows:

There should be 2487 offices set aside for Georgia, this being her fair proportion. Of course the state will get its full part, else what is the gain in cabinet representation?

Of course hungry applicants from Georgia will not get that many places, whereupon the Constitution will charge the failures up to Smith and ask the people to quit the Journal and subscribe for the Constitution, See?

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Mar 17, 1893


It seems that the Atlanta Constitution has paraded the long list of 2487 offices to which it claims the Georgians are entitled hold has urged Georgians to assert their claims with such vehemence and eloquence that an excursion to Washington by a grand army of claimants is in contemplation. The Constitution took no pains to explain that very few of the places in its list were vacant and that others were places to which the civil service regulations must be applied under the law regardless of state lines. It simply insisted that Georgians were entitled to 2487 fat places and that they should not hesitate to assert their rights to them.  The Washington Post explains that “the Constitution not only boldly proclaims that Georgia is entitled to 2487 offices, but it calls upon the Georgia democrats to come to Washington and demand their rights.” The Constitution denies that it called upon the Georgians to go to Washington and demand their rights, claiming that it actually dissuaded them from seeking offices; but while professing to deprecate plum seeking it continued and still continues to display and count the tempting fruit in a manner calculated to convince Georgians that the plums belong in their mouths and that it is their duty to take them. A projected excursion to Washington is the natural result of a persistent effort to make the people despise Mr. Cleveland for failing to give them 2487 federal offices and to induce them as a matter of right to claim said offices forthwith, yet the Constitution asserts:

The talk about an excursion of Georgians to Washington, for the purpose of applying for office, is worse than nonsense. It is a part and parcel of the extraordinary scheme which northern editors and northern politicians have entered into for the purpose of making Georgia the butt of ridicule and destroying the usefulness of those of her statesmen who have already received the recognition of the administration.

For tempting the people the Constitution should be taxed with a heavy share of the expense of the excursion. In fact, the part it has played in provoking applicants to roll into Washington by the train load to claim their spoils is almost on a par with the work of the colonization agents who sometimes lead dusky clients who confide in them to make a bad break for Africa. Of course, the misguided Georgians will gain nothing but sad experience by thus seeking to carry the war into Africa, but it is safe to guess that they will know better next time. If possible, the Constitution should do something to stop the excursion before it is everlastingly too late to pitch a crop.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Mar 25, 1893

A Serious Matter.

We call the attention of our readers to the fact that the attempt to turn into a joke the demand of The Constitution for a fair apportionment of the offices, so far as Georgia is concerned, has come to a timely end.

It has been discovered that the principle for which we have been contending goes deeper than a mere desire to see the offices fairly divided. The matter rests, indeed, on the broadest possible grounds, and the demand in behalf of Georgia covers the rights of all the states that have been unjustly deprived of their fair share of the public patronage.

The deprivation has been made to work to the advantage of the north, not alone in the matter of office-holding, but in a more substantial manner. Governor Fishback, of Arkansas, in his recent letter to Governor Northen, touches on one phase of the matter that is not specially related to the desire for office.

For thirty years nearly all the appointments to foreign countries have been made from the north and have represented foreign interests. These officials have exercised a powerful, indeed, an overwhelming influence in giving direction to immigration. Moreover, these appointees have been the rankest of rank partisans, and they have lost no opportunity to create a public sentiment in the countries to which they were credited prejudicial to the south, its climate and people.

Governor Fishback thinks the time has come when all this should be changed, and when the south should have a chance to present its advantages through the favored representatives of the government. In other words, the south wants a fair show at home and abroad. This is why The Constitution insists that Georgia shall have its equitable share of the appointments at home, in the departments and abroad — under the civil service rules and outside of them.

Meanwhile, we invite those editors who think the matter is funny to continue their efforts.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 18, 1893

Georgia’s Traitor and the Patriots of Liberty

October 13, 2011

John Zubly, the American Patriot Who Turned Traitor

“A REPUBLIC is little better than a government of devils!” So declared John Joachim Zubly, a man on  whom our country had relied, and whom the Revolutionists had trusted. He was a patriot who suddenly turned traitor at a time when America and liberty needed every true man’s aid.

The colonies had long groaned under British oppression. When they rose against England, in 1775, it was less with an idea of breaking loose from the mother country than of showing resentment by force of arms where argument and appeal had failed. They simply wished to bring England to her senses and to obtain relief from injustice. Even George Washington in later years confessed: “The idea of independence was at first abhorrent to me.”

But soon he and all the rest of the patriots realized that the time for half-way measures had passed. There must be either dumb submission or open defiance. And, should they choose defiance, they must free the colonies wholly from the British yoke and declare our country free and independent.

It was to discuss this that the continental congress met at Philadelphia in 1776.

We are apt to think that congress was a collection of ardent patriots, panting for liberty at any price. This was not wholly true. While the majority of the delegates were firm in their resolve to declare for independence, several of them threatened to balk at so rash a step.

Nor can they be severely blamed for hesitating. They were men of property and importance. They had more to lose than had most Americans. Should the Revolution fail their goods would doubtless be seized by the British government and they themselves would be hanged. As Benjamin Franklin said, in grim jest:

“We must hang together or we’ll hang separately!”

But, to their eternal credit, these wary delegates at last yielded to the popular voice. The Declaration of Independence was drawn up, and on July 4, 1776, was adopted (although it was not signed until the next month). The grave step was taken. The congressmen stood committed. They had “crossed the Rubicon” and were ready to take the consequences.

There was one exception to this band of patriots. He was John Joachim Zubly, a Swiss, who had emigrated to America in early life and had settled in Georgia. Zubly was not only prominent as a scholar and a statesman, but was a preacher as well. He had shown great indignation at the colonists’ wrongs and had both written and spoken in protest against tyranny.

So patriotic was he that Georgia chose him as one of its five delegates to congress in 1775. There he worked hard for the people’s cause and even drew up a petition to King George III, “upon the present unhappy situation of affairs.” Altogether, he was looked upon as an ardent patriot. Indeed, it is hard to understand the sudden and terrible change in the man.

As soon as Zubly found congress was determined to adopt the Declaration, he fought the proposition most bitterly and utterly refused any part in it. He denounced the idea of a republic and did everything in his power to stem the tide of opinion. Had this been all he did no great shame need to have been attached to him. But he was not content with refusing to vote for the Declaration. He actually entered into secret correspondence with the enemy, betraying to the British the patriots’ private plans and giving warning that the Declaration was about to be adopted. What further harm he might have done the cause of liberty cannot be guessed, for a fellow congressman (Samuel Chase of Maryland) found reason to suspect him. A treasonable letter from Zubly was intercepted. Chase exposed the man’s whole black treachery to congress.

Zubly fled in hot haste from Philadelphia to escape punishment. He went at once to Georgia. There, utterly casting away his cloak of patriotism, he sided openly with America’s foes. For this he was banished from Georgia and half of his property was declared forfeit. He rushed to the British for protection.

After a few years of misery and disgrace he died, in 1781, while the Revolutionary war was still at its height.

Adams County News (Gettyburg, Pennsylvania) Aug 10, 1912

The colonial ball, which was given at the Kimball house last Friday evening, has developed the amusing fact that nearly everybody in Atlanta is provided with a great ancestor.

To the strains of old colonial music, which might have soothed the ear of George Washington, when that distinguished patriot was a dashing cavalier, these ancestors in their knee breeches, powdered wigs and fluted shirts, marched out in gay procession before the assembled lookers-on. The customs in vogue before the revolution were revived in all of their quaint and amusing comedy and not a few of the old ancestors, as they skipped about the ballroom, gave refreshing evidence of the fact that age and long imprisonment in their respective places of abode had not impaired their ease of locomotion. In fact, their long retirement had seemingly lubricated their joints and prepared them, as it were, for greater exhibitions of agility.

This ball will serve a beneficial purpose if it kindles a renewed interest in the old colonial era. It is a foolish idea which many have acquired, because of the rapid growth which has characterized this country during the present century, that our fathers were very simple men. There are many respects in which they far surpass us, and we could set at their feet, so to speak, and drink in many valuable lessons of social and political wisdom. After all, we only surpass them in the enlarged development of the inventive faculty, as applied to the practical aspect of life. We have steam engines, electric telegraph and sewing machines, all of which our fathers might have given us had they lived in an age of peace and tranquility, but they had no time for such thinking. From the science of war they emerged, without a moment’s rest, into the science of government, and began to study the problems that would shape the destiny of the new world and promote the happiness of their posterity.

There is much to be gained from the study of past events, for wisdom lies in review as well as in progression, and the prophet’s vision is often clarified by looking backward. Americans have no reason to be ashamed of their simple and patriotic ancestry. A grander federation never met in solemn caucus than the continental congress of 1776, which proclaimed the principles of the American declaration and in the streets of Philadelphia kindled the flaming bonfires of liberty.

An Old Story Reviewed.

To widen the retrospective area thus opened by the social events of the week, it may be of interest to the readers of The Constitution to know that Georgia was entitled to five signers of the declaration.

Instead of this number, however, only three names appear in her behalf on the scroll of independence. The other two have been omitted from the document, which is still preserved in Washington city.

Behind the apparent oversight there hangs an interesting story and one with which only a very few, at this time, are familiar.

The declaration of independence was signed by the members of the continental congress, which met in the spring of 1776. In this congress Georgia was represented by a delegation of five representatives. These were Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, George Walton, John Houston and Rev. John Zubly.

The latter member, although a wearer of the sacred cloth, was guilty of an act of perfidy which has eternally blighted his reputation.

Why Mr. Zubly Fled.

During the early part of the session of congress a few of the members had privately discussed the subject of drawing up a declaration of independence, Zubly opposed the efforts of the delegation, on account of the strong political affinity which bound him to the English government.

Although a member of the continental congress and Georgia’s accredited representative, he was not as ardent in his championship of liberty as the other members of the delegation. He was not in favor of any radical measure by which the colonies would be wholly separated from England.

Finding, however, that his ardor was unavailing, he secretly dispatched a letter to the British governor, acquainting him with the nature of the situation and advising him to adopt, in Georgia, a speedy measure of prevention.

A copy of this letter, by a fortunate accident, was obtained from one of the clerks, and Mr. Chase, a representative from Maryland, openly brought against Mr. Zubly the charge of improper conduct in betraying the interests of liberty. Seeing that his perfidy had been discovered and apprehending the action of congress, which he knew would blight his reputation, he cowardly betook himself to flight.

Mr. Houston, a member of the Georgia delegation and a colleague of the clergyman, who had thus violated the sanctity of his high oath, was appointed by congress to go in search of him and to counteract any evil that might result from his disclosure of the situation.

In addition to the search for Mr. Zubly, which occupied a considerable portion of his time, other important business detained Mr. Houston in Georgia for several weeks, and for that reason he was not present when the document of liberty was signed. There were only three of the Georgia members in their places, at this time, and these were Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall and George Walton.

The protest of Georgia, therefore, against the tyranny of England and her solemn declaration in favor of a total severance, was couched in the strong, manly and characteristic signatures of this illustrious trinity.

In Augusta, Ga., a handsome granite monument has been erected to the signers, and three counties have been named for them, as a tribute to their exalted memory. A braver, bolder or more devoted trio never served the cause of liberty, and their glory, like Orion’s belt, illuminates the misty background of our colonial history.

Button Gwinnett

Image from The New Georgia Encyclopedia website

On the Field of Honor.

The first of these signers, Mr. Gwinnett, was the unfortunate victim of the code of honor.

His antagonist was Colonel Lackland McIntosh. A feud of long standing was the cause of their fatal meeting. The failure of Mr. Gwinnett, in 1777, to be re-elected to the continental congress, after a warm fight, exasperated him no little and the taunts of Colonel McIntosh, who was greatly pleased with the result, prompted him to send a challenge to that gentleman.

The challenge was accepted. They agreed to fight with pistols at a distance of only twelve paces. In exhange of bullets both principals were wounded. Colonel McIntosh however, recovered, while Mr. Gwinnett was mortally wounded and died on the 7th of May, 1777, in the forty-fifth year of his age.

Mr. Gwinnett was an Englishman by birth and for several years was engaged in mercantile pursuits in Bristol. After his marriage he came to America, in 1770, and settled on St. Catherine’s island, near the coast of Georgia.

At first Mr. Gwinnett was not an ardent friend of liberty, because of the exposure of his property. He doubted the ability of the colonial government to cope with England in a fight for independence. When he was afterwards convinced, however, that independence was a possibility, he entered into the revolutionary protest with great enthusiasm. His property was seized and totally destroyed by the British and yet he was loyal in affliction to the cause which he espoused.

Dr. Lyman Hall was a devoted patriot from the beginning of the movement which resulted in the overthrow of English tyranny.

The remaining signer, George Walton, was the most distinguished of this colonial group. He was six times a member of the continental congress, a soldier of the revolution, the first governor of the young commonwealth, the chief justice of the supreme court, and for nearly fifteen years prior to his death a stainless wearer of the judicial ermine. His home is yet standing near the city of Augusta, in plain view of the Carolina hills. Here he entertained Washington and LaFayette, during the days of the revolution, and dispensed his lavish hospitality. Colonel Walton was a man of great genius and his memory is the precious heritage of all Georgians. A subsequent article may touch upon his services at greater length. His grave is on the Sand Hills, near Augusta, Ga., where he has slept, under the overhanging foliage, since the first faint glimmering of the century.


The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 20, 1894

Ruskin Colony: Socialism Fails Everytime it’s Tried

June 24, 2010


Which Will Be Controlled by the People Is the End

To Which Our Business Interests Must Come, Says Herbert N. Casson — An Interesting Lecture.

The few people who gathered at the Odd Fellow’s hall last evening to listen to the social problems discussed from socialistic point of view by Herbert N. Casson were well paid for their time and trouble. Mr. Casson comes from the “Ruskin Colony” in Tennessee, a colony which is run upon the co-operative plan and in which every man earns his own living. His theories are there put into practice and he believes it to be the model way of living.

As a lecturer he is a success. Logical, terse and epigramatic, his words carry force with them. He kept his audience almost spellbound for nearly two hours, while he expounded his teachings. He prefaced his remarks by saying that thought along was mighty. The man who thinks is a power; he who does not is a machine. He said in part:

“America is at one the wonder and disappointment of the world; the wonder, in that in the short space of 120 years it has achieved a richness of civilization whose enjoyments are limitless; a disappointment, in that these same enjoyments are already captured by a few.

“The influences of Europe are already being felt and the abuses which our forefathers left behind when they started in the Mayflower have followed in a Cunarder. America was once the laborer’s paradise; it is now a Paradise Lost, but let us hope, under a different system, it shall be Paradise Regained.

Greenland, with its frozen, almost untillable land, is without a pauper and almost without a criminal. The lazy, indolent inhabitant of the South Sea islands never works and is never hungry. But we, who occupy the grand middle position, with labor-saving machinery and all the civilization, cannot feed our poor and have hundreds who are suffering for want of protection against the cold blasts of winter tonight. In the preparations for civilization labor and capital were on a proper basis; now capital is in the ascendancy and labor suffers.

“It was labor who said ‘let there be cities; let there be railroads; let there be telegraphs;’ and these comforts sprang into existence. But in their enjoyment labor has no share. The relation between production and distribution is inequitable. What ails us is that we have no proper conception as to what should be owned in private and what should be owned by the public. Everything that belongs to the individual comfort should be owned by the individual. What is of public use and for the enjoyment of all, such as railroads, telegraphs and lighting plants, should be owned by the public.

“It is not a fight between the rich and the poor, for the capitalists are as dissatisfied as the laborer. It is a contest to do away with classes altogether and to get into the natural conditions of life. What appears to be our greatest sign of danger is in reality our greatest sign of hope. The trust is the only professional way of doing business; all else is amateur. And the trusts will continue until there is a trust of trusts, when the public will step in and take possession, legally and without force.”

He claimed as a maxim that whatever people got together they owned together. His remarks were illustrated by events of every-day life, which made his remarks exceedingly interesting.

After the lecture, Mr. Casson gave the following information concerning the Ruskin colony, which is located in Tennessee, 57 miles west of Nashville, six miles from any railroad. There are 300 members of the colony and they have 1,800 acres of land. They have no officers, no public officials, have no use for law, issue their own money, have no church, have farms, some factories, and raise all they have to eat and only pay money for clothing and utensils needed. In conclusion Mr. Casson said they published a paper called the Coming Nation, for which he solicited subscriptions.

Sandusky Star, The (Sandusky, Ohio) Feb 14, 1899

Wedded By Compact.

What is spoken of as one of the most remarkable weddings that has ever taken place within the United States was “compacted by mutual agreement” in the little town of Ruskin, Tenn., on a recent Sunday afternoon. Its announcement is of local interest, inasmuch as the groom has spoken here several times. He is Rev. Herbert N. Casson, formerly of Boston, and the founder and pastor of the Lynn labor church. He is now a member of the Ruskin colony, and is editor of its paper, the Coming Nation.

There was no church or religious formula used for the marriage, but in the presence of witnesses bride and groom entered into a mutual compact, each agreeing to the marriage. The mode of “wedding by compact” is in accord with the principles of the socialist co-operative town of Ruskin, and in this case is referred to as probably unprecedented in singularity.

North Adams Transcript (North Adams, Massachusetts) Mar 15, 1899


Sale Takes Place in Tennessee Cave — Many of the Women Shed Tears Over the Failure.

Tennessee City, Tenn., July 28.

The Ruskin Co-operative Colony property was sold yesterday in a big cave near here.

Several hundred people were seated in the cave, including the colonists and their wives and children and farmers from the surrounding country. W. Blake Leech represented the Receiver.

Four tracts of land, containing a total of 784 acres, were first sold to Leech for $11,000. Another tract of a thousand acres, mostly worthless land, went to George Wright for $1,450. He also bought the storehouse and lot for $15, making the whole amount received for land and about thirty houses thereon $12,465.

The land originally cost several thousands more. Growing crops go with the land.

The minority stockholders, who had the property thrown into the hands of a Receiver, were the purchasers. Horses, mules, fine hogs, etc., went for a song, mostly to neighboring farmers.

It is said that the purchasers, will reorganize the colony on a somewhat different basis. Fifty-five majority stockholders already have an agent out looking for a new location. They may go to Virginia.

Today the colony paper, the Coming Nation, will be sold. Its circulation of 60,000 has dwindled to 11,000.

Many of the women shed tears at the sale, and there is much feeling over the breaking up of the new Utopia.

History of the Experiment.

The Ruskin Co-operative Association in Yellow Creek Valley, about fifty miles northwest of Nashville, Tenn., was founded for the purpose of working to a practical conclusion the theories of absolute Socialism — the theories of Fournier and Bellamy.

The concern owned at first 1,509 acres of excellent land, and conducted a number of manufacturing and  commercial enterprises.

It was said at the beginning of the colony’s work that if, with everything in its favor, this enterprise failed, then it might be set down as demonstrated that Socialism by sections — independent of national Socialism — is a failure.

With the exception of the metals the Ruskin Colonists had in abundance the raw material for the manufacture of almost everything necessary to the physical comfort of man, together with the skill, the industry, and intelligence to put it to use.

In the community were men skilled in agriculture and horticulture, machinists, engineers, brick-workers, shoemakers, tanners, printers, bookbinders and authors.

The Bee (Earlington, Ky.) Aug 3, 1899

and the Ruskin Co-Operative Company is Now a Memory.

NASHVILLE, Tenn., July 29.

The property of the Ruskin Co Operative colony, situated at Ruskin, Tenn., 50 miles northwest of here, has been sold by a receiver. The land, 1,700 acres, and buildings brought $12,000.

This means the failure and end of the Ruskin colony, founded by J.A. Wayland in 1895, and which has been looked on both in this country and Europe as the most successful experiment in socialism ever inaugurated. The colony was prosperous, revenues far exceeding expenses, but became disorganized by a faction favoring free love, contending it was sound socialism.

Fort Wayne News (Fort Wayne, Indiana) Jul 29, 1899

J.K. Calkins, editor of The Coming Nation, a socialist paper published by the Ruskin Commonwealth, at Ruskin, Ga., is in the city. The Coming Nation is doubtless the only family socialist paper published in the world. Although Ruskin is a very small community, having only 217 members, the paper has the remarkable circulation of 17,000 copies and its subscribers are in all parts of the world.

“Our success has been something remarkable: said Editor Calkins yesterday. “We have one of the best equipped publishing concerns in the country. Our press is a perfecting machine of late pattern that cost $5,500, and we get out a sheet that is, we think, very creditable from a typographical and literary standpoint.

“The Ruskin colony is now about six years old. Since moving to Georgia, our career has been most successful. We experienced some trouble in Tennessee on account of some members who wanted to ‘rule or ruin’ and who came near accomplishing the latter. This troublesome element has been weeded out and we are now in a very prosperous condition.”

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 11, 1900


Vice President of the Ruskin Community


In Sandusky and Talks Entertainingly of the Socialist Colony in Southern Georgia

Thomas Hickling, who moved his family to the Ruskin Commonwealth in Southern Georgia a few months ago is visiting in the city and expects to remain until the latter part of next week. He hopes to dispose of his property on Prospect street and will make his home permanently in the South which he says has a great future.

In Sandusky, Mr. Hickling was grown as a Socialist leader and the community in which his family now make their home is conducted on the co operative plan. A charge of $500 is made for each family that enters and the profits of the various enterprises engaged in by the members are shared in common, although each family is assigned its own house and the members may take their meals in private or in a great common dining room as they may choose.

The Ruskin colonists own 800 acres of valuable land, much of it being covered with timber. They engage in the manufacture of shingles, brooms, suspenders, cereal substitutes for coffee and other articles, although many of the men are necessarily employed in agricultural pursuits. Mr. Hickling says that when he went to Ruskin there were 200 or more members of the colony. Now there are not quite 100. The colonists have been able to make good livings but their number has been decimated because history has repeated itself and the members of this co operative colony have been unable to agree as to the details of the management. Upon some things however they are thoroughly agreed and one of the rules is that nine hour shall constitute a days work for a man.

Mr. Hickling has become one of the leaders in the colony and has been made vice president of the organization. He admits that the management of the Ruskin colony has not been exactly ideal but says that a re-organization will doubtless be effected in the near future. Mr. Hickling stoutly maintains that the communal idea is a good thing but thinks that the people are not far enough advanced in thought and education to live in that way at present. There is some talk of dividing up the colony so that the members will individually own certain portions of the real estate but maintaining a sort of an organization whereby they will still work together for mutual benefit instead of in competition with one another.

The Ruskin colony has three schools in one of which Miss Grace Hickling a Sandusky High school graduate of 98 has been one of the teachers. A.D. Hickling a young man who went to Ruskin with his parents is no longer in the colony but is learning the machinists trade in the Air Line railroad shops at Waycross, Ga.

The Ruskin colonists have no churches of their own but there lain surrounds a Baptist and Methodist church so that they have ample opportunity to attend divine worship regularly.

Sandusky Daily Star (Sandusky, Ohio) Apr 17, 1901


Property of Ruskin Commonwealth To Be Sold by Sheriff.


They Settled Near Waycross About Two Years Ago — Their Dreams of Happiness Unfulfilled

Waycross, Ga., August 18. — (Special)

The Ruskin commonwealth of socialists, 7 miles west of Waycross, has about gone by the board. Only three or four families now remain, the others having departed for different points north and west. The printing outfit is advertised to be sold by the sheriff on August 31, while the land will go the same way on September 3. This will wipe out the last vestige of the colony which came here from Tennessee two years ago next month. Several families have located near Valdosta, where they have hopes of making a permanent settlement. The printing outfit will be sold to satisfy labor and other claims, while the land goes to satisfy a mortgage.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Aug 19, 1901

Ruskin Cooperative - Strawberry Pickers (Image from Wiki)


Property of Socialists Disposed of by the Sheriff.

Valdosta, Ga., September 1 — (Special)

The printing outfit of The Coming Nation, the defunct socialistic paper, recently printed at Ruskin colony, in Ware county, was sold at sheriff sale yesterday and was bought in by the creditors of the concern. There were mortgages aggregating $1,600 or $1,800 against the plant, among the heaviest creditors being the A.S. Pendleton Company, of this city, and M. Ferst & Co., of Savannah. The Coming Nation was a leading organ of the socialists and at one time had nearly 40,000 subscribers, scattered in every quarter of the globe. The outfit which the paper owned is a large and modern one, embracing a Campbell perfecting press, stereotyping outfit, etc.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Sep 2, 1901

John Ruskin

You can read a biography of John Ruskin at LINK


Most of the images in this post are from this  insightful book (linked below) written by a member of the failed Ruskin Cooperative.  The publisher, an avowed socialist, wrote the preface, which includes the typical “Yes, socialism failed here, but only because it wasn’t implemented correctly,” blather. The failure is never caused by “socialism,” itself,  but by the “incompetent” people trying to prove its awesomeness. Unfortunately , it is still being pushed on us today, and worse, it is being forced on the whole country, not just a little commune in a cave.

Title: The Last Days of the Ruskin Co-operative Association
Standard socialist series
Author: Isaac Broome
Publisher:   C. H. Kerr & company, 1902

Poetry in Advertising

November 9, 2009


Hark! hark! ’tis SOZODONT I cry
Haste youths, and maidens, come and buy.
Come and a secret I’ll unfold,
At small expense to young and old.
A charm that will on both bestow
A ruby lip, and teeth like snow.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Jun 25, 1884


Hie, lads and lassies hie away
Nor brook a single hour’s delay,
If you would carry in your mouth
White teeth, and odors of the south.
Haste, haste, and buy a single font
Of the unrivalled SOZODONT.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Aug 13, 1882

men shampoo 1893


This is the poem, which is hard to read on the above image:

Yes, barber, what you say is true,
I need a number one shampoo,
And came in, as I always do,
Because I can rely on you
To choose pure Ivory Soap, in lieu
Of soaps ol divers form and hue
From use of which such ills ensue.

Well, sir, we barbers suffer too,
From humbug articles, and rue
That we have tried before we knew
Poor toilet frauds to which are due
More scalp-diseases than a few.
I know we are the safer who
Use Ivory Soap for a shampoo.

Carroll Sentinel (Carroll, Iowa) Oct 3, 1893

santa claus soap1890


The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Jun 11, 1890


The Georgia Buggy Co. 39 S. Broad St., 34-36 S. Forsyth St.

In the dead hour of night,
While sleeping with all your might,
The Genii made a sweeping flight,
And took the street cars out of sight.

In this hour of dire distress
The public their indignation express;
You to the courts go for redress
And get a forty-eight hour request.

To our friends we kindly advise,
Let the street cars go in demise,
Buy a vehicle, which is wise,
And show the boss your despise;

If not street cars by the door,
You have carpets on your floor;
To and from work you can go
In a fine vehicle bought low
At the only Georgia Buggy Co.

LAST WEEK the buyers kept us busy from start to finish. Mighty bad weather though for imitators to be left out in the cold. The Georgia Buggy Co.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Mar 8,  1896



How sweet to love,
But Oh! how bitter,
To love a gal,
And then not git her!
And know the only
Reason why
Is because you didn’t
The furniture buy
Of Stowers.

203 West Commerce street.

San Antonio Light (San Antonio, Texas) Jul 25, 1897

This one is my favorite:

Machine Poetry.

Dear friends, we are modest, decidedly so,
But sometimes our pen at random will go;
And we now feel inclined to let the thing run,
And write a short notice abounding with fun.

Our neighbors, good fellows, who are all on the track,
Cry “Hurrah for the West!” and never look back;
And not wishing to linger or fall in the rear,
We crave for a moment your poetic ear.

Our scribbling we think resembles the kind
Once written by Homer, the man that was blind;
But only like his in regard to the eyes;
Not at all Homer-like viewed otherwise.

He wrote with gravity, candor and sense;
We write for the purpose of getting the pence;
And if we succeed, and obtain our desire,
We’ll throw down our pen, make our bow, and retire.

The facts of the case we are willing to tell;
We have a few things we are anxious to sell;
And we take this queer way of letting you know
That you don’t save the coppers if by us you go.

Of Superfine Flour we have “piles” upon “piles,”
To supply all our friends for a circuit of miles;
We sell on commission for a profit quite small,
Believe what we say, and give us a call.

Of Sugar we have not a very small “heap,”
Which we are selling quite fast, for we’re selling it cheap.
One dollar will buy eight pounds of the sweet;
And now the dear children may have cookies to eat.

Of Coffee and Spices we have a supply,
That are fine for the palate and nice to the eye;
Ground or unground, roasted or not,
Cinnamon fragrant, and Black Pepper hot.

If Fremont‘s elected, and for it we hope,
For the disappointed ones we’ve plenty of Soap
To cleanse their long faces and banish their tears,
And keep them contented for at least eight years.

Saleratus and Soda, and Teas you may find;
Cream Tartar in packages just to your mind;
Caps,Percussion, by the box, the thousand or more,
You can have whenever you visit our Store.

In the Furniture line we make no pretensions,
But we have some chairs of ample dimensions,
Which are faithfully made and painted nice,
And are offered for sale at a very low price.

Nails, Sash, and Glass we have always on hand,
For those who are building in this glorious land.
Six cents for the Sash, for the Glass four and a half,
And Nails at a price that will make you all laugh.

Do you want Gunpowder, and a little cold Lead,
To finish old Bruin with a ball in his head?
Come along with your shot gun, revolver, and rifle,
And we’ll fill up your horns and ask but a trifle.

We have Salt by the barrel, and Syrup so nice
That if you trade with us once we know you will twice.
Dried Apples we sell to those who like pies,
And Cheese that would dazzle an epicure’s eyes.

Of Nicknacks and Notions, such as Baskets and Matches,
Warm Coats and thick Pants for those who hate patches,
With Mittens and Gloves, and Cotton and Thread,
We have a few left, and a Comb for the head.

And now, kind friend, we propose to retreat
From the stomach and back and come down to the feet;
Just after our measure, our metre, and time,
And give you some sense along with the rhyme.

When Mother Eve in Paradise was staying,
And ‘midst those shady walks and sparkling fountains playing,
‘Tis said that she revolted, (what a shame!)
Then took fig leaves, made aprons of the same,
Ingeniously attempting thus to cover
Herself and guilty man half over.

Banished from Eden’s calm and blest retreat,
She wandered forth with unprotected feet;
To scorching sand her pedals were exposed,
And, grov’ling in the dust, spread out her ten fair toes.
A flaming sword hung o’er those scenes of sacred mirth;
Barefoot and sad she trod the sin-cursed earth.

How long her children wailed and wanted Shoes,
Is no recorded by our homely muse.
One fact is clear: No longer need they weep,
For Boots and Shoes, nice, strong, and cheap,
To suit the foot and please the eye,
We have to sell just when they please to buy.

We keep on a corner where two roads meet,
And when your faces there we greet,
With treatment kind and prudent pay,
We’ll send you smiling on your way.

Richland Center, November 3, 1856.

Richland County Observer (Richland, Wisconsin) Nov 18, 1856



Let Stutchfield, Hoyt, and all the rest,
Boast of  their wares the very best,
But if you wish to make a trade,
Call at my shop, where ready made,
And made ‘pon honor, you’ll be sure
To find all kinds of Furniture
Bedsteads — the plan best e’er invented —
On which a man may rest contented.
On which bugs, white, black or yellow,
Fleas, dogs or snakes, ne’er bite a fellow
Its match you ne’er saw in your life,
It opens and shuts just like a knife.
My neighbor says, “If I had tools,
I’d make a few to gull the fools,”
But mine, when tried, you’ll surely find
Will suit a very different mind
Come, get a little wife, young man,
And a bedstead made on my new plan,
You’ll want some Chairs, a Table and Settee,
A Boston for the wife, a Crib for the baby.
My prices, too, so very low,
You’ll wonder why you waited so.
Bring your Lumber, or Cash in hand,
Opposite the Old Whyler Stand.


Norwalk, Oct. 10, 1849

thompson acrostic

Acrostic Advertising


jacob leu stoves

Acrostic Advertising #2


The Globe (Atchison, Kansas) Jan 18, 1878


Gresham’s Answer to Queen Lil
When I received your cablegram
I thought I sure would faint
For though I often used Parks’ Teas
‘Tis not for your complaint.
I feared that Mrs. G. would think
Wrong about our connection
Till on her dresser there I saw
Parks’ Tea for her complexion.

Sandusky Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Sep 13, 1894

Frank L. Haralson: Georgia’s State Librarian

October 22, 2009


And Mr. Fry Don’t Wish to be Held Accountable for It.

Mr. Frank L. Haralson the state librarian, was arrested yesterday morning by Patrolmen Thompson and Nolan, and carried to the station house.

The charge entered up the state docket is larceny.

The whole thing seems to have been a blunder, and one of those blunders for which nobody is particularly anxious to be held accountable.

The following statement explains the affair:

The first is that of Mr. Wil Roberts, a son of Mr. W.J. Roberts, the Peachtree street grocer. He says:

“Saturday afternoon last Colonel Frank L. Haralson called at my father’s store, on Peach tree street for some goods. While he was standing in the door with his back to the street, talking to me and laughing, Mr. Abe Fry slapped him on the back and said:

“Frank, I want that colt you won, and I will give you a sixty five dollar watch — gold watch — for him, and you can select it from my show cases.”

“Colonel Haralson said:

“Well, this is a trade is it?

“Mr. Fry said it was and for him to call Monday morning and select his watch.

“Colonel Haralson said:

“I will call Monday morning.

“Mr. Fry went down Peachtree street and Colonel Haralson took his articles and went towards his home.’

Mr. Haralson read this statement last night and says it is a fair statement. He said further:

‘Fry just wanted to back out of the trade I believe I beat him on his own proposition and he just intended to jew out of it. I thought the best way to make him keep his word was to take the watch. But this thing is an outrage. I was arrested in my office for larceny — just think of that. Its a disgrace that such a thing should happen in Atlanta.’

The following is Mr. Abe Fry’s statement:

‘I met Mr. Frank Haralson last Saturday afternoon and he told me that he had a fine colt which he wished to sell. I said, ‘Come around to my store some time and perhaps I’ll trade you a watch for him.’ Yesterday about three o’clock Mr. Haralson called at my store. I was engaged in talking to a friend in a buggy in front of the store. Mr. Haralson went in the store and after looking at the watches in the show case, asked Fritz Allbright, my clerk, to let him look at one. Fritz handed him the watch, when he said, “This suits me I’ll take it –‘ and with the watch he walked out of the store. Fritz tried in vain to get the watch away from him, but he refused to give it up, Fritz told me what had happened, when I said to him “I will hold you responsible if you don’t get that watch.’

Fritz then went before Justice Tanner and swore out a possessory warrant for the watch. I am at a loss to see what right Mr. Haralson had to come in my store and take my property in that manner. We certainly had made no trade. How could I trade with him when I was talking to my friend in the buggy while he was getting the watch from my clerk?”

Judge Tanner said yesterday afternoon:

“This clerk of Abe Fry’s came to my office and said that Mr. Frank Haralson had taken a watch from the store. I made him explain what he meant, and after he did so refused to issue the warrant. The clerk went off and came back presently, insisting upon his request for a warrant. I didn’t want to make myself ridiculous and flatly refused to give him the warrant, explaining to him that his only course was to take out a possessory warrant. He did so.”

The possessory warrant will probably be tried today before Judge Tanner. Mr. Tom Corrigan, acting as the clerk’s attorney, advised this course, and the property was given up at the station house, though against the urgent remonstrances of Mr. Haralson.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 3, 1888


Will be Produced in Police Court This Morning.

Colonel Frank Haralson Assaults Mr. Abe Fry With a Cowhide — Mr. Fry Says “Never Touched Me.”

The Hon. Frank Haralson, state librarian, and Abe Fry, pawn shop man and jeweler in the National hotel building on Peachtree street, will appear in police court this morning. The one charged with disorderly conduct and quarreling and the other with using profane language in the station house.

A small cowhide will put in an appearance too.

Early yesterday morning Colonel Haralson was seen walking restlessly up and down Peachtree street between the railroad and Decatur street. Two or three times he passed through the block apparently buried in study so deep that he took no notice of friends who passed him. None of the colonel’s friends, however, who saw him imagined that he was brooding over his arrest Monday, and was contemplating a revenge.

But such was the case.

About 9 o’clock the colonel entered a store on the block, and in a few minutes came out, carrying in his hand a bright silver-mounted pistol. The gentleman was cool, and attracted no particular attention as he passed along to Fry’s pawn shop and jewelry store, in front of which he stopped. For a second he gazed into the store, and then with a firm, slow step walked into the door. Mr. Fry was standing behind the counter, talking to a young gentleman on the outside, and approaching them, the colonel said:

“Abe Fry, you have told a d–n dirty lie on me, and I have come for my revenge.”

As he spoke Colonel Haralson shoved his left hand under the waist band of his breeches and jerking out an ordinary red cowhide raised it above his head. The raw hide cut through the air with a whistling sound and came down toward Mr. Fry, but whether it struck the jeweler or not only Judge Anderson will be able to decide after he has heard the testimony this morning. However, the cowhide went up a second time and a second time it came down, but its second descent is just as uncertain as the first, likewise the third.

The scene was not accompanied by any boisterous or disorderly conduct and was over with before any one knew it. Colonel Haralson walked out of Mr. Fry’s and re-entering the store where he secured the pistol left it. He then appeared upon the street again and seeing Patrolman Anderson on Alabama street walked across the railroad and up to him, saying:

“I have cow hided Abe Fry and want to give myself up.”

The patrolman then heard Colonel Haralson’s story through, and deciding to make a case against him, asked him to go to police head quarters. The colonel readily consented to do so. At the city prison Colonel Haralson reported to Chief Connolly what he had said to Patrolman Anderson. The chief instructed the station house keeper, Mr. Joyner, to make a case against Colonel Haralson, charging him with disorderly conduct and quarreling, and at the same time requested Mr. Fry, who came in just then, to appear as a witness against him. During the conversation Colonel Haralson was standing on one side of the big counter in the office and Mr. Fry on the other side. Both men were anxious to talk and both talked at the same time, but Mr. Fry’s hardest talk came immediately after Colonel Haralson informed the chief that he had cowhided Mr. Fry.

“That is a lie,” yelled Mr. Fry.

Chief Connolly requested the jeweler to remain quiet, but his blood was up to a boiling pitch and in the severest and profanest language he abused the state librarian. The language used was a violation of a city ordinance, and Chief Connolly turned to the stationhouse keeper, saying:

“Mr. Joyner, make a case against Mr. Fry for using profane language in the station-house.”

The case was booked and Mr. Fry made a bond for his appearance in police court — just like the bond Colonel Haralson made. After the bonds were made the two gentlemen walked away, and all along the street they were asked about he affair.

But their answer was very unlike.

To all who asked him about it, Mr. Haralson said:

“Yes, I cowhided him, and I cowhided him well. I hit him three times, and here is the cowhide.”

The cowhide was concealed down the librarian’s left breeches leg, and only the butt end was drawn out.

To all who asked Mr. Fry about it, he answered:

“No, he did not cowhide me. The coward came into my store and putting a cocked pistol in my face struck over the counter at me with a cowhide but he didn’t strike me.”

The two stories, so unlike, soon became general talk, and everybody wanted to know which one to believe. Mr. Fry was at his store when called upon. He was standing in the door looking quietly up and down the street. He was in his shirt sleeves, and a half smoked cigar was between his lips. As he spied a reporter approaching he removed the cigar, saying:

“I know what you are going to ask me. You are going to ask me if Frank Haralson hit me with a cowhide.”

“You have just saved me the trouble.”

“Well he didn’t. He says he did, but he’s a d–m liar.”

“He says he struck you three times.”

“Well, he is a liar, and here is a young man who saw it all.”

Just then a young gentleman attired in a light-colored spring suit came up. The young gentleman was D.M. Davidson, a grocer at 110 Peachtree, and as he was near Mr. Fry that gentleman said:

“Here, Mr. Davidson, wasn’t you in here when Frank Haralson came in?”

“Yes,” answered the gentleman calmly.

“Now, he says he hit me with that cowhide. Did he do it? Didn’t he just strike at me over the counter?”


“You see, he came in here with a pistol in one hand, and a cowhide in the other, and struck at me across the counter, and he didn’t hit me. Why the cowhide wasn’t long enough. When he struck he had a pistol in my face and I wheeled around and picked up an ink bottle to throw at him. See, here is the ink on my hand. Ain’t that so?” he concluded, turning to Mr. Davidson.

“It all transpired so quick,” answered Mr. Davidson, “that I can hardly tell what did take place.”

“Well, you know he did not hit me, don’t you?”

“I don’t think he did,” answered the gentleman.

“Then when I’d move he would push the pistol in my face. He is a dirty coward and I can whip him, and told him so down at the stationhouse. Why he just wants to bulldoze me like he did, out of that watch yesterday, but the coward can’t do that. He never touched me.”

Colonel Haralson was standing near the New Era saloon talking to Captain Ed Cox.

The raw hide was pulled from its hiding place, as the gentleman remarked:

“Yes I did cowhide the d–n Jew and here is the cowhide and I’ll have it in court in the morning.”

“But he says you never touched him.”

“He’s a liar and I’ll go back and do it over.”

“No, you won’t,” said Captain Cox, “leave him alone.”

“You see,” said the colonel “I said yesterday that I would avenge the insult he heaped upon me in less than twenty-four hours and I have done it.”

“And you are satisfied?”

“Thoroughly. I gave him three good blows.”

“But the young man who was in there says you didn’t.”

“That young man ran out. You see I got a pistol and walked with it in my hand into the store and struck him once with the cowhide. He turned to get a pistol and I raised mine, saying:

“Just stop where you are.”

“Then I put the pistol close to him and struck him twice more and walked out.”

“And you think you hit him?”

“If Fry will look at his back he will find where I put three of them on him, and I will show him the cowhide in court in the morning and dare him to show his back.”

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 4, 1888

John B. Gordon - 1865 (Image from

John B. Gordon - 1865 (Image from


The News in the Various Departments Yesterday.

GOVERNOR GORDON’S ORDER suspending Mr. Frank Haralson, state librarian, was the sensation at the capitol yesterday. It will be found written up in detail in this issue.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 7, 1888



Governor Gordon Issues an Order Suspending Mr. Haralson.

The Library Placed in Charge of Captain John Milledge — The Law Authorizing the Order.

Yesterday Governor Gordon issued an order suspending Mr. Frank L. Haralson from the office of state librarian.

This action on the part of the governor was not a surprise to the public.
Thursday afternoon, a lively rumor was current on the streets, that Governor Gordon had requested the resignation of Mr. Haralson and that that gentleman had declined to accede to the request. A reporter of THE CONSTITUTION interviewed Governor Gordon on the subject Thursday afternoon, when he merely stated that Mr. Haralson had not declined to resign, but was considering the subject.

The following correspondence, which explains itself, was made public yesterday:

EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT, April 5th, 1888 — Mr. Frank Haralson, State Librarian — Dear Sir: I regret that a sense of public duty compels me to request your resignation of the off of state librarian. I shall hope to receive it by 12 m. tomorrow (Friday).

Very respectfully, J.B. GORDON.

Thursday night Mr. Haralson held a consultation with a number of his friends at the Kimball house which was strictly private, and on yesterday morning sent the following reply to the governor’s request:

STATE LIBRARY, April 6. — Dear Governor: Your letter of the 5th instant, has been received and after careful consideration I would ask that you state in writing the reason for your action; and in the meantime withdraw your request, that I may be heard in reply.

Yours very respectfully,

Then Governor Gordon made immediate response:

EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT, April 6th, 1888 — Mr. Frank Haralson, Librarian — Dear Sir: My sense of duty will not permit a withdrawal of my request for your resignation, nor do I consider that a statement of my reasons for such request would be of service to you, or is demanded by the circumstances. I repeat my request for your resignation, and if I do not receive it by 1 p.m. today, I shall place someone in charge of the library.


To this last communication, Mr. Haralson did not reply.

Shortly after one o’clock the following executive order was recorded:

EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT, April 6, 1888 — Frequent complaints having been received at this department that Frank L. Haralson, state librarian, has been neglecting the duties of his office for months past, and the complaints having been recently renewed and enlarged, and having satisfied myself that there is ample cause for them, it is therefore, in the discharge of my duty under the statue, ordered.

That John Milledge and W.R. Rankin, Jr., both of the county of Fulton, he or they, are hereby appointed as agents of the state to examine into and report the condition of the state library to the executive department.

It is further ordered that the said Frank L. Haralson be, and he is hereby suspended from the said office until further order from this department, and that in the meantime the official duties of librarian be discharged by the said John Milledge.

J.B. GORDON, Governor.
By order of the Governor
J.W. WARREN, Secretary Executive Department.

The sections of the code upon which the above order is based are 74 and 122.

Section 74 says, in relation to the powers of the governor:

“He has power to engage the services of any competent person for the discharge of any duty required by the laws, and essential to the interests of the state, or necessary, in an emergency, to preserve the property or funds of the state.”

Section 122 says:

The office of the state librarian is under the general supervision of the governor who may at any time appoint a competent person to examine into and report its condition to him.

As section 114 of the code confers upon the governor power to suspend the state treasurer or comptroller general, for neglect of duty, upon trustworthy information, it is tolerably clear that he has power to suspend the state librarian, a much smaller functionary.

Captain Milledge took charge of the state library yesterday afternoon. What further order Governor Gordon will issue remains to be seen.

Mr. Haralson was approached by a CONSTITUTION man yesterday afternoon, but declined to be interviewed. What Mr. Haralson will do remains to be seen. He received a dispatch from a prominent Georgia lawyer yesterday afternoon to this effect: “Stand firm, act rightly.”

The indications are that Mr. Haralson contemplates making a fight for re-installment — but upon what particular time has not yet developed. The probability is that Mr. Haralson will contend that under the act of 1881 the governor has not the power to remove him. Section 72 of the code of 1882 authorizes the governor to remove the state librarian at his pleasure.

An astute legal gentleman, said yesterday:

“What do I think about it? Well, the governor has not removed Mr. Haralson. He has simply suspended him. Captain Milledge is in, Mr. Haralson is out. To a man up a tree, in the light of that executive order, it looks very much as if a suspension, in this case, amounts to a removal.”

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 7, 1888


Says That He is in the Hands of His Friends.

An Interesting Interview Showing How He Turned Over the Office to Captain Milledge – The Act of 1881.

Yesterday afternoon just before dusk a reporter of THE CONSTITUTION caught Colonel Frank Haralson on the wing at the corner of Marietta and Broad streets. When first seen Mr. Haralson was in the act of picking up a crutch, which had been dropped by an old gentleman — a cripple — who happened to be passing at the moment. He gracefully handed the crutch to the old gentleman, who thank him most warmly for the kindly act.

Colonel Haralson was all smiles, in the best possible humor, and greeted the reporter with his old-time cordiality.

“Hello, old boy; glad to see you!”

“Howdye, colonel; happy to meet you; very man I want to see. Want to get a little talk with you for THE CONSTITUTION.”

“All right; wait one minute,” said Mr. Haralson, as he turned to shake hands with Mr. J.S. Clarke, the lawyer, who said:

“Well, Frank, Milledge is an old schoolmate of mine and a mighty nice man; but I want to say to you that I am sorry you are out. You were always kind, accommodating and attentive to me when I called at the library, and I am really sorry that you have stepped down and out.”

“I appreciate that,” said Mr. Haralson, as returned the warm pressure of his friend’s hand.

“What are you going to do, Frank — practice law?” asked Mr. Clark.

“Yes, I shall open an office without delay, and I think that I will do well. I was retained today in a case which will give me a $200 fee — pretty good start, ain’t it?”

“It certainly is,” replied Mr. Clark. “I hope that you will get many such fees, and larger ones, too. I wish you all prosperity in your profession,” and the lawyer passed on.

“You may say,” said Colonel Haralson, addressing himself pleasantly to the news man, “You may say that I am under obligations to await the action of my friends in this matter. A number of them will come to Atlanta on Monday and talk it over. I have nothing to say until after they meet. But, by the way, I wish that you would print the act of ’81, authorizing my appointment as librarian. It may be of some interest to the public just at this time. You can say, too, that I bear no hard feelings toward anybody connected with my removal.”

“Tell me about turning over the office to Captain Milledge.”

“Oh, yes. Well, after the order suspending me had been issued yesterday, I walked into the library and said: ‘Captain Milledge, old boy, you are a full-fledged state librarian now (I said this laughingly). I want you to understand, captain, that I do not deliver to you these keys as the librarian of the state, but as a man who wishes to do nothing to stain his honor. Governor Gordon is a gentleman. I like him — but I am willing to leave it all to Hopkins and Glenn. I have some private papers and books in the basement. But Willie Rankin and Jim, the porter, know them as well as I do, and they can deliver them to me.’ I then showed Captain Milledge some valuable books, which I told him would bear watching. I said, ‘Good-bye, Willie; look after everything; stay if you please I have nothing to do with that.’ Just before I walked out Willie Rankin, who is one of the best boys in the world, said: ‘Goodbye, Frank old fellow. I want to say before you go that during all the time we have been together in the library you have never spoken one harsh word to me.”

Here is the act of 1881, and to which Mr. Haralson referred:

Section 1. It shall be the duty of the governor of this state to select and present for confirmation by the senate some fit and competent person (who shall be a citizen of this state) to serve as state librarian, whose term of office shall be four years and until his successor shall have been chosen and confirmed in like manner as herein provided and declared.

Section 2. And be it further enacted that so much of section 72 of the code of 1873 as relates to the appointment and removal from office of the state librarian be, and the same is hereby repealed.

Section 72 of the code of ’73, before the passage of the above law, empowered the governor to remove the state librarian at pleasure.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 8, 1888

That Possessory Warrant.

An interesting case will be heard in Justice Tanner’s court this morning at 8:30 o’clock. It will be remembered that Mr. Fred Allbright, the clerk at Mr. Abe Fry’s, swore out a possessory warrant for a watch which it is alleged that Mr. Frank Haralson took out of the store. That watch is in possession of Justice Tanner, and he will decide this morning whether it belongs to Mr. Fry or Mr. Haralson.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 16, 1888



Yesterday morning Judge Tanner delivered to Mr. Abe Fry that watch. Mr Frank Haralson concluded not to resist the possessory warrant which was sworn out by Fred Albright, Mr. Fry’s clerk.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 22, 1888

Abe Fry Advertisement 1884

Abe Fry Advertisement 1884


Frank Harralson Tried in the City Court for Pointing a Pistol at Abe Fry.

A good deal of interest was shown in the case of hte state against Frank Harralson, indicted for pointing a pistol at Abe Fry, which was tried yesterday morning in the city court.

The defendant was in the court with his attorneys, Messrs Sibley and Newman, and Abe Fry was present as prosecutor.

It was proved that the defendant, with a cowhide in one hand and a pistol in the other, went into Abe Fry’s establishment and that he pointed the weapon at Mr. Fry’s head. The prosecutor did not charge the defendant with striking him with the whip, in fact, he stated distinctly that Harralson did not strike him.

Several witnesses explained how the difficulty happened, and they gave the details which were published in THE CONSTITUTION the morning after the row.

Mr. Haralson was permitted to make his statement. He admitted having sought Fry for the purpose of chastising him with a rawhide, and confessed having carried a pistol in one hand and a cowhide in the other. He also admitted that it was his purpose to lash Fry and if he resisted to kill him.

After all the evidence was in it seemed doubtful whether Haralson had actually pointed the pistol at Fry, and this was the rock upon which the jury split.

The jury stayed out two hours, and decided that it was impossible to agree upon a verdict. Thereupon Judge Van Epps ordered that a mistrial be marked on the docket.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 23, 1888

Ulster Overcoat (Image from

Ulster Overcoat (Image from


Frank Harralson, lawyer and ex-state librarian, wears a heavy, long ulster. One night about a week ago he lost that overcoat, and the next day began hunting for it.

For three or four days he kept up the search, but without any success.

All of his friends knew that he had lost the ulster, and every one had an eye open for it.

Yesterday morning the colonel turned up with the big, warm ulster on his back.

Of course his friends were surprised.

“Where did you find it?” he was asked.

“Well, last night,” he replied, “I dreamed I had left it at Snook’s furniture store and early this morning I went there. Sure enough, I found my coat. Mr. Snook had picked it up the day I left it there and put it in one of the magnificent wardrobes of his.”

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Jan 9, 1889



Frank L. Haralson, at one time a prominent attorney in the city, and a man who let the tempter wreck what would have been a good and useful life, was taken from a saloon at the corner of Decatur and Ive streets last night in an unconscious condition and carried to the Grady hospital in the ambulance.

He was suddenly stricken down and now lies at the hospital afflicted with the strange disease known to some physicians as “word blindness.” Some nerve tissue of the brain has given away and when he talks he uses the wrong words to express himself, the same mental disease which it was said had attacked Admiral Sampson. He seems to know what he wishes to say, but when he tried to talk his tongue refuses to articulate the words he wishes to use.

Some fifteen years ago Frank Haralson was state librarian and a man with an education and in intellect bright enough to have made himself a leader in the legal profession. He was warm-hearted and numbered his friends by the hundreds. His convivial nature led him to indulge in drink to excess. He fought for a while against the habit, but it slowly worked his ruin. During his gradual downfall and even now he has never lost his innate goodness of heart, and however he may have harmed himself, he was never known to harm a fellow man. Those who knew him in his better days and those who know him now never express aught save a sincere pity that his life should have been what it is, that his life should be as it has been.

At times he would throw off the habit which had been his ruin, but old associations, and perhaps, a memory of the life he had sacrificed, drove him back into dissipation.

Last night he was standing in a saloon, but was not drinking. He was seen to reel and fall heavily to the floor. There he lay in violent convulsions until the ambulance bore him to the hospital.

The physicians say he is seriously ill and may die. His brain is affected, the mind having given away under the long strain which had been placed upon it. He seems to realize his condition, but when he tries to speak to those about him he utters words entirely, foreign to what his mind would have him say. It is a peculiar malady and one that is rarely ever known. He may recover and he may regain his mental power, but the physician think the chances are against him.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Jan 14, 1902

It seems Mr. Haralson did survive, and evidently recovered from his episode of “word blindness.” He continued to work as a lawyer, and it seems, over time, regained the respect (maybe he quit drinking?) of the people. I found several references to him as a divorce lawyer and other “domestic” type cases.


Attorney Haralson Imprisoned One Hour for Contempt of Court.
Gunn and Negro Fined.

Frank Haralson, an attorney, called Policeman Dobbins a liar in the recorder’s court yesterday morning and he was imprisoned an hour in a cell for contempt of court. He was given the alternative of either serving the sentence or paying $5.

H. Percy Gunn, of Petersburg, was on trial for writing an insulting note to a young woman, and Dave Dorsey, a negro who delivered the note, was also on trial.
Attorney Haralson was defending Gunn.

“I would like to know how you came to be retained in this case?” remarked Policeman Dobbins, who had made the arrests. He was speaking to Attorney Haralson.

“That’s none of your business,” replied the lawyer.

“I understand that you have been hanging about he police barracks,” continued the officer, “trying to pick up just such cases as this.”

“You are a liar,” snapped out the attorney.

Before the policeman could reply, the recorder interfered and find Lawyer Haralson $5 for contempt of court. Later he said he would either collect the fine or imprison the lawyer for one hour. Attorney Haralson decided to stay in a cell one hour and make $5.

The cases against Gunn and the negro were again called in the afternoon. Gunn claimed he was a stranger and the negro got him to write the note. The negro said he only obeyed the white man’s order. The recorder fined each of them $10.75.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Nov 23, 1902

Oscar W. Underwood (Image from

Oscar W. Underwood (Image from


An enthusiastic Underwood [Oscar Wilder Underwood] rally was held at Chastain hall, at Tenth street and Hemuphill avenue, last night.

Frank Haralson, a well-known Atlanta lawyer, with offices in the Kiser building, was the principal speaker at the meeting. The crowd was a most enthusiastic one.
The meeting was presided over by Hon. James L. Hollowell, who introduced the speaker.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 1, 1912

Hugh M. Dorsey (Image from wikimedia)

Hugh M. Dorsey (Image from wikimedia)


A mass meeting was held last night in Norman’s hall, at Lakewood Heights, in the interest of the candidacy of Hugh M. Dorsey for solicitor general of the Atlanta circuit. About 100 citizens of this section were present.

Judge P.B. Hopkins presided and addresses were made by Colonel Frank L. Haralson, Captain Thomas B. Brown, W.C. Mundy, E.G. Nable, president of the Machinist’s union, and H.L. Watts and Mr. Dorsey.

The meeting was most enthusiastic.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Aug 8, 1912




FRANK L. HARALSON, the present efficient State Librarian, a son of Hon. T. J. HARALSON, of Union county, his mother having been before marriage Miss MARY A. LOGAN, of White county, was born in Union county, Georgia, January 8,1853.

He received the rudiments of an education in the common schools of the county, and subsequently attended the North Georgia Agricultural College, at Dahlonega, being the first student enrolled when that institution was established. He subsequently graduated at the University, Athens, Georgia, in 1875.

Mr. HARALSON, after completing his education, entered upon the study of law, and was admitted to the bar in 1875, and entered upon the practice at Cleveland, White county.

In January, 1877, when Gov. COLQUITT came into office, Mr. HARALSON was appointed by him to the office of State Librarian, and has held the position continuously since that time, having been reappointed by Gov. COLQUITT, again by Gov. McDANIEL, and lastly by Gov. GORDON.

On March 26,1883, Mr. HARALSON was married to Miss LULA SMALL, sister of Rev. SAM W. SMALL, the evangelist, a most lovely and accomplished lady. No man who has ever held the position has given more general satisfaction to those having business with the department over which he presides.

Sent Out In Stripes

October 21, 2009



A Burglar on His Own Confession, a Good Record Within Walks, an Early Discharge and an Effort to Wear His Convict Stripe in Peace, in which He Comes to Grief.

This is a hard old world we live in. It has a philosophy which declares it is man’s first duty to take care of number one, and his second duty to go against every poor wretch who especially needs help. It is not at all fashionable to help an unfortunate, and charity is fading into the sickly hues of romance and sentimentality. It is rather hard to say so, but once in a while some little incident comes to light and makes such accusations just. Yesterday we happened on one of these incidents.

The reporter met a negro with not too good a face, but with a dejected, cowed look which at once appealed to one’s sympathies. He was talking to some gentlemen, and from his few remarks we gathered his history for the past three years. It may be worth telling.

His name is Leonidas Lambeck and he is a mulatto of thirty. In May, 1876, he was arraigned in August for burglary. He was guilty, and said so. The judge sentenced him to three years of penal servitude, and soon he was hustled about from one to another of our “model convict camps.” He was made to do his full share of work and managed to get his full share of rations. He does not seem to have been very villainous, for his papers show that he was discharged three months before his time was out because he had behaved so well. His penitentiary record is very good therefore.

Last Tuesday morning he was discharged. At that time he was working on the Marietta and North Georgia railroad, twelve miles beyond Marietta. He was human enough to rejoice in his liberty regained after three years of hard penance, and when he spoke of it yesterday he looked happy. When he left his fellows he went out a free man in a felon’s garb. He had worn a decent suit when he went to put on the stripes, but he had long since lost sight of that. He says he did not like to go out in the convict’s stripes, but no other garb was given him and he had to march out a sort of wandering advertisement of the penitentiary system of Georgia.

It was a hard story he told of his troubles in that disgraceful attire. He started to walk to Atlanta in hope of finding here the means of obtaining decent clothes and transportation to Augusta. But his woes began soon after he left the camp. He was arrested before he had gone a mile and with difficulty escaped even after he showed his discharge. Again and again he was stopped and sometimes rudely. Some of his captors could not read his discharge, and insisted that he was an escaped felon. Everywhere people looked on him with scorn, and jeered at him as he passed, even when they did not attempt to halt him. He had a desolate tramp to Atlanta. Not a kind word fell in his way. After being stopped forty times he reached the city, and here had a hard time. At length some kind-hearted person procured him a decent suit and burned up the stripes.

Yesterday afternoon Mr. Frank Haralson, the state librarian, kindly interested himself and raised enough money to send him to Augusta. He left on the 6 o’clock train.

Is it right for convicts to be set free in their stripes? Can the state provide no better way of liberation than that of sending forth a man without a cent in the world, marked with a badge of shame? It does not seem humane or just. It appears cruel and unjust.

Perhaps this is the custom, but, like many other customs, it is “more honored in the breach than the observance.”

Daily Constitution, The (Atlanta, Georgia) Feb 15, 1879

The Fourth Notch: A Tale of Moonshiners and a Revenue Officer

August 7, 2009

When I first ran across this story, I was searching for news articles about the murder of Marshal William D. Kellett, and seeing his name mentioned, I figured this would be a news article of some sort.  It turns out that is is probably more of a dime-novel type story, printed in the paper.


A “Close Call” for a Smoky Hole Victim.

About the middle of last December Deputy United States Marshal Kellett was murdered by moonshiners in the mountains of North Georgia. An account of his killing, published in a New York newspaper, said that another notch was cut in the big poplar that guards the entrance to Sleepy Cove, the retreat of the outlaws, making five in all, each significant of the death, at the hands of the illicit whisky makers, of a revenue officer. Now, I was until recently a revenue officer, and I think I can say without fear of contradiction that no one is better acquainted with Sleepy Cove and that big poplar than myself. I knew well three of the poor fellows whose epitaphs stand gaping there, silent but awful warning, to all who disturb the lawless men of that lonely cove; the fifth notch is for Kellett, but for whom the fourth was cut seems still to be a mystery to the surrounding neighborhood. Moonshiners seldom make mistakes in their matters of murder, but in this instance I think they have lost their reckoning. That fourth notch was cut for me. I saw it done, with death staring me in the face. It is possible that the outlaws still believe my bones are bleaching on the damp ground in Smoky Hole.

When notch number three was cut there was a great stir in North Georgia. Country people were wild with excitement. Revenue men riding through the mountains had a sort of itching in the back, and were inclined often to turn in the saddle. We laid the murder of W—– at the door of the notorious Cap Hawkins, the daring leader of a fearless band of outlaws in the Cohutta mountains, and as soon as possible we were on his trail with a good pack of bloodhounds. The scent was cold, and when we had penetrated some eight miles into the range the dogs became disheartened. After circling round us time and again in search of the trail they gave it up, and we were forced to retreat without having accomplished any thing.

It was dusk when we got out of the deep woods, and we began to look about for a place to stay for the night. A log cabin of two rooms was not inviting, but the old crone who came to the door said that she could provide for one of the party, and that the others might find accommodations at another cabin a mile down the road. In some way it was arranged that I should stay at her house, and join the party next morning. She made me as comfortable as possible. For supper I had pure corn bread and molasses, with a great tin cup of something hot called coffee. While I ate she smoked a clay pipe, sitting in the chimney corner with her legs crossed and her foot swinging incessantly. When she spoke to me, which she did oftener than I liked, I could not help feeling that she was trying to pump me. She wanted to know entirely too much about the moonshiners and the revenue men, and before I had finished my meal she made me look upon her with suspicion. Once or twice I alluded to her family, for I thought it strange that she should live alone, and even went so far as to inquire about her husband, and ask when he would be at home. She replied evasively, and all I learned was that her old man and three grown boys were up on the mountain tending crops. It did not require much exercise of my imagination to determine what kind of crops they were tending. In thinking of them my hand went instinctively to my trusty revolver, and the touch of the cold steel braced me up. I wondered how the men were getting on down at the other cabin, and if they could hear a pistol shot that far off.

When the old woman had shown me to my room she returned to her chimney corner and her pipe and her foot swinging. My bed was an old-fashioned one, with ropes for springs and bear skins for mattress and cover. I didn’t undress, but crawled just as I was between the skins, and lying on my back, thought I should not do much sleeping. When my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and wandered aimlessly over the open ceiling, I saw something about the size of the bed hanging directly over me. It seemed to swing slowly back and forth. I stood up and touched it, examined it as minutely as possible, and again lay down. It was nothing but three or four bed quilts stretched across two boards supported at the ends by short ropes. IF it grew colder in the night I would reach up to them for more cover.

I intended to stay awake, but must have been nearly asleep when a creaking noise aroused me. The next moment it was repeated, and the quilts above me descended rapidly. IT flashed upon me that I was in a trap. Drawing my weapon, I attempted to spring out of bed, determined to sell my life dearly, but as I straightened up the quilts covered me, and before I could throw them off strong hands were at the corners. It seemed as if a ton weight had fallen upon me and doubled me up. My head was bent so close upon my breast that I thought my neck would break. My breath came short and fast.

With a frantic struggle I cocked my pistol and placing the muzzle close against the quilt I pulled the trigger. I fired at random, trusting that fate might guide the ball into the heart or head of some one of my cowardly assailants. The concussion was awful in that narrow space. The smoke filled my eyes, nose and ears; the shot rang through my brain; I felt that my last hour had come. My God, how I suffered! I remember a derisive laugh that seemed to come from another world, then something heavy struck me on the head. When I recovered consciousness I was lying on my back in a jolting wagon, with my hands and feet securely bound. The pale blue of the sky above me and the hazy outlines of the treetops reaching overhead told me that day was breaking.

“Wal, Kurnel, air ye come roun’ all right?” said a deep voice at my head. Raising my eyes, I saw leaning over me the grizzly face of the outlaw, Cap Hawkins. He broke into a wild laugh at my look of astonishment.

“Didn’t spect ter see me this mornin’, did ye, Kurnel?” he said, tauntingly. “Whar air yer dogs? — ha! ha! — an’ yer horses? — he! he! — an’ yer haw! haw! ho! — an’ yer repytation? Aw, Lordy! Say, Kurnel, whar air ye a-takin’ me this mronin’? Air ye a-goin’ ter lock old Cap Hawkins up agin?”

His laughter echoed through the woods and sounded fiendish as it came back from the mountain side. I knew Cap Hawkins well. Lawless as he was, there was in his composition a certain wild chivalry peculiar to these men of the mountains. Brave as a lion, he had an unbounded admiration for courage in others, cunning as a fox, he respected a man who could out do him in craftiness. Knowing this, I determined to assume a bold air and affect a supreme indifference to my fate, whatever that was to be.

“O, Cap, dry up,” I began, winking slyly at him. “Don’t firghten the revenue men; they’ll be after you again.”

Again he roared as if he would split his sides over the joke. He was immensely tickled.

“Say your prayers, Cap,” I continued, “It’ll be a long time before you see daylight again.”

“Whut air ye adrivin’ at, Kurnel?” he asked, seriously, casting his eyes about him. My shot had missed, but I kept firing.

“Well, you see, Hawkins, now that I’ve got you in my power I’m going to put you out of the way for good. You come along with me to the Cove. There’s a warm hole in the side of the mountain in which you can spend winter, board and lodging free. Come, brace up, Cap; when you see how comfortable it is in there you’ll want to lease the place for life.”

The outlaw made no response to my random talk, nor did he laugh as before. Something seemed to worry him, for he fidgeted about, scratched his uncombed head and ran his bony fingers through his grizzled, tangled beard.

“Look a-hyar, Kurnel,” said the moonshiner, leaning close to me and boring into me with his black eyes “air ye ever been thar?”

“There? Where, Cap?”

“That thar hole ye air a-goin’ on about.”

“Why, of course, don’t I know every hole and crag in the Cohuttas?”

“Then that settles it, I ‘lowed ye war jokin” Waw Patsy, waw Suck, wawp.”

He reined up his horses and stopped the wagon. Taking up an axe he landed it to some person on the ground and said a few words which I did not understand. I tried to raise myself to look out, but fell back helpless, full of sharp, shooting pains. My joins refused to bend, my neck creaked when I tried to turn my head, and the struggle of the night came back to me like a horrible apparition. At the first sound of the axe Cap Hawkins put his arm under my back and forced me to sit upright.

“Cobe air a-cuttin’ yer tombstone, Kurnel, an’ I ‘lowed ye’d like ter git a last look.”

To the right of the wagon stood a giant poplar lifting its shaggy top three hundred feet above the road. In its trunk were three gaping wounds, and a moonshiner in broad hat and big boots was cutting a fourth. Two ill-looking men stood near, their guns in their hands.

“Kurnel,” continued my guard, “do ye want ter write yer epertaph?” The men laughed at their chief. “Them other three Revies didn’t git nary chance ter write theirn. Boys, air any o’ye got a pencil?”

Too well I knew the meaning of that notch from which the sappy chips were flying. My heart quivered as the axe ate its way into the soft wood. My face must have reflected my thought, for the outlaw, giving me a gentle push, sent me on my back.

“Lay down, Kurnel, an’ don’t git so allfired skeered,” he said. “That air mighty comf’table hole up in the hills — board an’ lodgin’ free.” And quoting my own words, he fairly made the welin ring with his coarse laughter.

“Surely you don’t intend to murder me, Cap?”

“That air jest about it, I reckon, Kurnel. Ye air cross the dead line, an’ yer epertaph air done been writ.”

Before I could say more his three companions climbed into the wagon beside me. Clucking to his horses he drove on at a trot through the pass, and as the sun rose over the mountain we entered the precincts of Sleepy Cove. It must have been after ten o’clock, yet into that lonesome spot the sun was just beginning to pour his rays.

By two p.m. he would disappear behind the jagged cliff that formed the western boundary of the retreat, and the long twilight would set in with its spectral shadows chasing each other in the dark wood. Often had I heard the country folk talk with bated breath of the horrors of Sleepy Cove. Goblins, they said, dwelt in the mountain caves, coming forth at dusk to frolic with the fearless moonshiners, and dancing at midnight upon the slippery crags. Ghouls, armed wit the bones of murdered men, kept nightly vigil at the narrow pass, and if any human being approached from the outside they gathered around the giant poplar and beat upon the bark till the frightened man disappeared in the direction whence he came. No man but the moonshiners had ever been known to come from Sleepy Cove alive, consequently one ever voluntarily entered that wild, uncanny place.

These thoughts were passing through my mind when suddenly the wagon stopped, and the four men threw themselves into attitudes of attention, grasping their guns and casting furtive glances at each other. Straining my ear I thought I heard the faint yelp of a hound. Captain Hawkins lashed his horses into a gallop, and we sped on for half a mile, stopping again in the shadow of a cliff. At their leader’s order two of the men lifted me out of the wagon, and half dragged me to a spot where the earth formed a kind of bench against the rock wall. Placing me on the ground they began prying at boulder which gradually yielded to their hand sticks, rolled over on its side, exposing a hole in the cliff. Into this they dragged me for some twenty feet, and tossed me on a bed of leaves. Then one of the men brought in some food, and another water, and another wood. I turned to the outlaw leader and asked how long he intended to keep me prisoner. He laughed at the question, but made no reply. Going to the cave’s mouth he peered steadily out, listened awhile, and came back to me. There was an ominous glitter in his eyes. It looked like murder. My God! Was he going to bury me alive? I begged him to shoot me, cut my throat, hang me, anything but leave me there to starve. But he paid no attention to my appeals.

“Et ye air ‘live when I get back, Kurnel, ef I git back,” he said, “why, me an’ the boys mought put a leetle lead in your carcass. Ye may hev camp’ny ‘fore night, enyhows. The Revies air after us hotter n demnition blazes. They air done cross the dead line. Hyar the moosic, Kurnel?”

“I hope they’ll give you all you deserve, you cold-blooded murderer,” I said, wishing that I could throttle the villain.

“Now, Kurnel, don’t get out o’ sorts. It air mighty comfortable in hyer — board an’ login’ free. Boys, air ye ready? Them hounds air pickin’ us up. Light the fire, Cobe. Kurnel, hyer air a knife ter cut yer loose arter we leave ye. Don’t git skeered o’ the ghosts, an’ ‘member ye air mighty comf’table, mighty comf’table — board an’ lodgin’ free; and yer epertaph air down on the big poplar. Good-bye, Kurnel.”

The outlaws were already placing the bowlder in position, and when Cap Hawkins had squeezed his way out the rock was rolled into the opening. With a crunching sound it settled into place, and I was a prisoner in Smoky Hole. I listened for the baying of the hounds, hoping that they had tracked me to the cave, but not a sound penetrated the door of my prison. The fire burned briskly, and Smoky Hole glowed in the light of the blazing pine-knots. It was the work of a few minutes to cuts my bonds with the knife the outlaw had given me, and then I took an inventory of the contents of the cavern.

The place had evidently been fitted up for the illicit manufacture of “mountain dew” and “tanglefoot” and “red rye,” for there were the worn-out copper still, the worm, the mash-tub, jugs and flasks and other apparatus of the moonshiner. The cave was about the size of a railroad box car, except that the roof was higher and more arched. I jabbed my knite into every square foot of the walls. They were of solid rock. In a vain, mad effort to roll the bowlder from the entrance, I drew the blood from my shoulder. It was all of no use. Unless help came to me from without my doom was sealed. A dull, heavy feeling came over me and I sat down near the fire. The confined air was getting close. Suddenly, on looking up, I was appalled at the discovery of a new danger. The roof of the cavern was no longer visible. The dense black smoke of he pitch pine, unable to escape, was banked above me like an ominous cloud, ever growing denser and blacker and descending steadily, remorselessly upon me like a veritable shadow of death.

Already the asphyxiating gases were causing my brain to whirl. I crawled to the fire and stamped upon the blazing knots until every spark was extinguished, but they continued to send up their stifling smoke. I could feel it ascending, hot and pitiless. Falling flat upon the ground I saturated my coat sleeve with the water the outlaw had left me, and placing it against my mouth secured a few full breaths of strained gas. But they gave me little respite. The high p—–ce of the atmosphere —– my —- swell almost to bursting, my hands and feet were benumbed, and I was soon unable to move a muscle. Then I longed for death.

Suddenly there was a loud explosion, followed by a falling of loose earth and rock and a rush of air. A faint ray of light appeared in the corner of the cavern over the still, growing broader and stronger as the smoke cleared away. With life and strength renewed, I made my way to the opening, where I drank in the fresh air with a swelling heart and a lighter conscience than I had ever hoped to possess. The explosion had torn away some rough masonry with which the moonshiners had stopped up a fissure in the rock. It never occurred to me in my investigation of the cave that there ought to be some way of exit for the smoke of the still. But everything was plain enough now. I had found the chimney, and it was my determination to use it to advantage. In a moment, forgetful of pains and bruises, I was climbing for freedom. It was a tight squeeze now and then, but I made rapid progress, and felt so good over my prospects of escape that I wanted to shout. But prudence restrained me.

Soon the rocky sides of the chimney gave place to wood, and the opening changed from flat to round. Still I climbed on, my spirits rising with my ascent. My progress was made comparatively easy by the imitation of Brer Rabbit’s methods of climbing a stump hollow — that is, by bracing my back against one side of the chimney and my feet and hands against the other. But the opening grew tighter and tighter, like an inverted funnel, and still the top seemed a long way off. I must have climbed some thirty feet in all, when I stopped to rest, propping my foot against a knot-like projection, which, suddenly breaking off, left a hole through which the daylight streamed. Then, for the first time, it flashed upon me that I was in a hollow tree. A glance through the knot-hole proved this to be the case, for there was the ground ten feet below me — the bench of earth I had noticed when the outlaws were making ready for my incarceration.

Escape now seemed certain. The wall of my prison was only two inches thick, and though the wood was dry and hard from age and exposure to smoke and heat, my knife was soon at work enlarging the knot-hole. As this faced the Cove, I could keep a lookout for the moonshiners and stop cutting at the first suspicious noise. Night soon set in, and with the darkness there came peculiar sounds from cliff and woodland. But I paused not to think of ghoul or goblin. It would have taken something far more terrible than ghostly warning to check the steady going of my knife in the weary hours that followed the sunset, for I hope to turn my back on Sleepy Cove ere the dawn of another day. But when the sun rose my task seemed not nearly done. The knife was dulled and my strength had slowly ebbed away.

The baying of a hound reached me. It was repeated, and in a moment the thrilling music of the pack waked again and again the sleeping echoes of Sleepy Cove. Nearer and nearer it came, until a dozen fine bloodhounds burst through the underbrush and dashed up to the bowlder at the entrance to Smoky Hole. Then opening again, they sped away on the cold trail of the moonshiners.

“Dan, here Dan, down, sir!” I shouted to the leader with all my might. The obedient brute, reconising my voice, dropped to the ground. I called him to me, and soon the entire pack was barking playfully at the roots of my novel prison, rejoicing, no doubt, at having treed their master. Hearing a well known signal in the woods, I answered it, and one by one five of my friends crept cautiously up to the cave, carbines in hand. When I spoke to them from my porthole, there was a broad smile on every face. An axe was procured, and, while four of the men guarded against surprise, the fifth cut a window in my jail, though which I crawled, having been a prisoner for nearly twenty-four hours.

When we reached the big poplar that guards the pass to Sleepy Cove, I fastened in the fourth notch a piece of paper bearing these words:

“Cap Hawkins, beware!” The Colonel is on your trail! Go, look for his bones in Smoky Hole!”

Cleveland Leader.

Decatur Daily Republican (Decatur, Illinois) Feb 4, 1887

James McCoy: Notorious Desperado

August 3, 2009


How Marshal Ira Campbell Caught McCoy, the Notorious Desperado.


McCoy Had Murdered Marshal Kellet and Was a Terror to Lookout Mountain.

Campbell’s Plucky Fight.

The death of Deputy Marshal Ira Campbell, which occurred in Royston, Wednesday, recalls one of the most exciting and sensational captures known in the revenue annals of the Northern district.

The capture was made in 1886 — just eight years ago, when Marshal Campbell, in a hand-to-hand encounter with McCoy, the desperado of Lookout mountain, finally succeeded in slapping the handcuffs on the criminal and delivering him over to the law.

For a number of years McCoy had been a terror to the regions about Lookout. His feats of reckless daring and notorious temerity caused the people up there to look upon him with fear and trembling; but the climax of his criminal record was the murder of Deputy Marshal W.D. Kellet.

McCoy had treasured his hatred against Kellet for a number of years. He had sworn revenge against the marshal for making a raid upon a still with which he was connected, and he bided his time in quiet determination. In December, 1885, Marshal Kellet left Atlanta for Lookout to arrest a moonshiner named Young, little dreaming the fearful fate awaiting him. While making his way to the house of Young at a precipitous turn in the road, McCoy stepped out and offered to assist in making the arrest. Kellet thought that something was up and rode on, refusing his aid.

Upon his return down the mountain with the prisoner in charge, the marshal stopped at a stream to water his horse. As he was leaning over to unhitch the bridle rein, two rifle shots rang out from the cliff overhead and at the same time he fell from his horse fatally shot.

Young, the moonshiner, was suspected and arrested for the murder. He stoutly declared his innocence, however, and said that he recognized the face of McCoy just as the gun flashed.

Search then was made in every direction for McCoy, but he had fled and nothing was heard of him until February, when word reached Captain Nelms, who, at that time was United States marshal, that he had been seen in Cherokee country.

Captain Nelms at once organized a posse of his best men and commanding it in person, he started out for Cherokee. The place was reached at night and the posse divided, Captain Nelms heading one squad and Captain Chapman, Marshals Colquitt Campbell and Scott composing the other. Captain Nelm’s squad went over to the house where McCoy’s brother lived, while the other crowd started for the house of old man Simmons, where McCoy was supposed to be hiding. In some way the men got scattered, Marshal Campbell had gone to the rear of the house. He heard a noise at his back and turned around quickly, cocking his gun at the same time. Before he could realize it, a pistol was shoved in his face and he recognized his opponent as McCoy. With the fearlessness which always characterized his actions, Marshal Campbell dashed the pistol to the ground and grappled. In some way the pistol went off, shattering Campbell’s hand. But he held on to McCoy and for some minutes there was waged a furious and desperate fight.

Campbell had succeeded in getting McCoy on his back and was choking his tongue out when the rest of the deputies ran up to the rescue.

In telling of the event yesterday afternoon, Captain W.H. Chapman said:

“That was the only time I ever saw Campbell mad. Naturally, he was always cool, deliberate and self-collected — especially in dangerous places. But it seemed as if a demon was in him that night. He would have choked the desperado to death, I think, if we had not came up so soon. Campbell was one of the best and bravest officers in the service and his death is a sad, sad thing.”

The Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Feb 24, 1894.



ATLANTA, Ga., Feb. 23. — Last night, 12 miles from Canton, James McCoy, the murderer of Deputy Kellett, was captured. Since the deed was committed Marshal Nelms has been working on the case, and when McCoy came into Georgia the Marshal knew it. Last night he organized a posse and started for the home of McCoy.

When he arrived there he found that the man he wanted was at home. McCoy was prepared for intruders, and when his door opened he and his three brothers and a man named Chumly met the posse with pistol shots, and but for the coolness with which Marshal Nelms and his deputies acted, a fatal fight would have taken place. Deputy Ira Campbell was nearest McCoy, and instead of killing, he only knocked him down with his gun. The others, seeing their leader captured, gave up without resistance.

Kellett had been a lifelong companion of McCoy. Ten years ago the two men quarreled, when Kellett shot McCoy. The latter secured the bullet, and declared that he could never part with it until he sent it into Kellett’s body. Of late years McCoy has been an illicit distiller. When Marshal Nelms came into office he made Kellett one of his deputies.

The first work assigned to him was the capture of his old adversary. When in a secluded spot near McCoy’s den in Chattooga County, Kellett was shot down by two men, one of whom was McCoy. Since that time the other man has not been heard from, and the rumor is that he, too, was killed by McCoy, so as to be out of the way.

The New York Times (New York, New York) Feb 24, 1886



The Jury at Ringgold Returns a Verdict of Not Guilty.


How the Verdict Was Received in Atlanta — McCoy Again Arrested, This Time Upon a Different Charge.

Yesterday morning, Captain J.W. Nelms, United States marshal, received a telegram from Ringgold, Georgia, from Hon. George R. Brown, announcing in a laconic way the termination of an important murder trial in Walker county. “The jury finds McCoy not guilty.”


On the 6th of December, 1885, Deputy Marshall W.D. Kellett, was killed on Lookout mountain, while having under arrest one Calvin Young. Kellett was found partly in a creek. At the coroner’s inquest Calvin Young swore that he did not know who fired the shot, but when afterwards arrested for being accessory to the murder, and while under arrest, admitted that James McCoy had made him promise on the night of the killing that he would not tell who killed Kellett threatening to kill him if he did tell.

Young said he saw McCoy and the smoke of his gun. McCoy was arrested and tried in Walker superior court in April, 1886, convicted and sentenced to be hanged. The case was carried to the supreme court, and the court below was reversed on the ground of error in the charge of the presiding judge.

On Monday last the second trial commenced, with an able array of counsel on both sides. For the state appeared Hon. C.T. Clements, solicitor general; Colonel I.E. Shumate, of Dalton; Judge J.M. Bella, of Summerville; and Mr. T.W. Copeland, of LaFayette. Hon. George R. Brown, of Cherokee; Hon. William C. Glenn of Dalton, and Mr. C.T. Ladson, of Atlanta, represented McCoy. The trial lasted until Friday. Every inch of ground was stoutly contested on both sides, and those present compliment the ability of counsel on both sides.

On the second trial Calvin Young testified that he was under duress, by reason of the threats of McCoy at the coroner’s inquest. Andy Young, one of the witnesses, since the first trial had moved to Arkansas, and was not present. The defense proved by several witnesses that at the time of the murder McCoy was four and a half miles from the place where the murder occurred.

The counsel for the defense advanced the theory that the murder was committed by Calvin Young, his father and Young’s brother, and charged the crime on McCoy to shield themselves. They stressed the point that while Calvin Young testified that the killing was done by a single rifle shot, that the testimony of others was that Kellett’s had was riddled with buckshot when it was found.

The jury returned a verdict of not guilty, and McCoy was discharged.


Captain J.W. Nelms, United States marshal, in commenting on the verdict, said to a reporter of THE CONSTITUTION, “You can say for me, that I consider the verdict a gross outrage, there is no disputing the fact that Kellett was waylaid, shot and murdered by McCoy.”

Mr. C.T. Ladson, remarked to a representative of THE CONSTITUTION, “In my opinion, McCoy is innocent. The evidence showed that the Youngs decoyed Kellett that day for the purpose of killing him. The jury was composed of very intelligent men, and their verdict is right.”

McCoy Again Arrested.

Later in the day Captain Nelms received the following telegram from Tryon factory.
McCoy was acquitted and rearrested on the charge of attempt to rape. (Signed) G.B. MYERS

Captain Nelms said he knew nothing about this last charge except that the offense is said to have been committed in Cherokee county some years ago.

Mr. C.T. Ladson remarked that in his opinion it was an old charge revamped to hold McCoy until papers could be served on him for obstructing an officer of the federal government in the discharge of his duty.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Dec 18, 1887



His Confinement at Canton — Captain Nelm’s Experiences There.

A few days ago THE CONSTITUTION chronicled the fact that immediately after being acquitted of the murder of Deputy Marshal Kellett  Mr. James McCoy was arrested on a warrant charging him with rape committed in Cherokee county in 1881. The sheriff of Waller county carried McCoy to Canton, where the prisoner was lodged in jail.

On Monday Captain J.W. Nelms United States marshal went to Canton with a warrant charging McCoy with obstructing a United States officer in the discharge of duty by shooting Deputy Marshal Ira C. Campbell on the night that he (McCoy) was arrested for the murder of Deputy Marshal Kellett. Captain Nelms said yesterday that McCoy’s brothers were all assembled in Canton on Monday making arrangements to give a bond for McCoy but on learning that Captain Nelms was expected at ? o’clock they changed their idea. Knowing that their brother would be detained in jail there by the process of the state courts, they prefer that he should stay there to coming to Atlanta.

Captain Nelms says that previous to his arrival the McCoys were very boisterous, and made threats as to what they should do to Captain Nelms if he came in person, but he passed through them, and they made no demonstrations. From the number gathered in Canton, the marshal feared that an attempt might be made on Monday night to rescue McCoy. So he and his deputy T.W. Kellogg, slept in the jail with the sheriff of Cherokee county. No effort was, however, made during the night.

Yesterday Captain Nelms left the warrant with the sheriff of Cherokee county to execute the moment McCoy gave bond in the other case.

Captain Nelms said, “You can say that I was surprised to see the statement made by Mr. C.T. Ladson that the state warrant was a trumped up charge, leaving the inference that it was done by the federal authorities in order to give time for the serving of the warrant for the shooting of Deputy Marshal Campbell. The fact is that this state case is for an offense committed in 1881, four years before the murder of Deputy Marshal Kellett, and nearly five years before the shooting of Deputy Marshal Campbell. This action on the part of Mr. Ladson is in keeping with his maneuvers in the trial for the murder of Kellett, attempting to prejudice the public mind in favor of his client and depreciating the efforts of the federal officers in aiding the state to convict a man who had murdered a citizen.”

Mr. C.T. Ladson stated in a conversation with a CONSTITUTION man that he believed that there was nothing in the state warrant, as the father of the girl had been a friend of McCoy’s for years, and he did not believe that the federal authorities could convict McCoy under their warrant for shooting at Deputy Marshal Campbell.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Dec 21, 1887


The following image was of poor quality, so there are parts I couldn’t read well enough to transcribe:



His Usual Luck was with Him Yesterday —

The History of the Last Murder Trial and His Subsequent Troubles.

The luckiest man that ever stood a trial in the courts of —– was acquitted yesterday. That man is James McCoy of Cherokee county.

The charge of which he was acquitted was “re—ing an officer of the United States in the —- of his duty.”


Deputy Marshal William D. Kellet was killed in Walker county, at the corner of three states, Georgia, North Carolina and Tennessee.

He had in charge at the time a revenue prisoner named Andy Young. Kellett was on horseback and his prisoner afoot, going to Summerville.

About ? miles from Summerville, in the heart of — and sparsely settled country, he —- —- known as Snake Dam creek. At the time there was a foot log for pedestrians and the prisoner started across this, while Kellett led his horse into the water beside him.

Suddenly — was a rifle shot from a clump of —- rear and Kellett threw up his —- and fell from his horse into the …

[Skipped a large part, hard to read the poor image.]


McCoy had been under sentence of death nearly twelve months.

As soon as he was acquitted in Walker county he was immediately rearrested upon two warrants sworn out in Cherokee.

One charged him with attempted rape and the other with carrying concealed weapons.

Of —- after the other, he was acquitted.


Then this last case came on for resisting Deputy Campbell in the discharge of his duty — the time Campbell was shot.

And — yesterday, McCoy was acquitted.


About eighteen? years ago McCoy was tried in ?artow county for the murder of a negro.

He was acquitted.
But ——- there have been a number — against him for violations of the revenue law.

But yesterday afternoon he stepped out of the court room a free man, no charge against him.


One of the most deeply interested spectators in court yesterday was John Coffee.

The two men are close friends, and Coffee was the first man to congratulate McCoy on his acquittal. The two walked out of court and —— street arm in arm.

Coffee will be remembered as the man recently acquitted of the murder of Deputy Marshal M—– and his case and that of McCoy  —–….

Both  men were tried twice for murder, the second trial in each case resulting in acquittal.


While McCoy has been miraculously lucky in securing acquittals, one after another, it seems that a peculiar ill-fortune has attended others interested.

Judge Branham’s conduct in the case is said to have aroused some unlooked for opposition to his re-election, and this was a factor in defeating him in one of the closest elections ever held in the legislature.

Judge Fain, on the other hand, acquitted McCoy, and his conduct of the case aroused opposition from the other side, and this contributed largely towards his defeat for re-election..

The feeling aroused in each case was purely personal, but was very bitter.

And after all — McCoy is a free man.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 9, 1890


The following are PDF links to related New York Times Articles:





Miss Kelly Kicks

February 21, 2009



Because Mr. Black Walks with Another Lady on Marietta Street.

That portion of Marietta street, near Marion’s bar room, is gloating over a small sensation which happened about noon yesterday. The bar room is not invoiced among the first class saloons of the city, and it has for its customers men and women, both white and colored.

About the hour indicated above, Nancy Kelley, a young woman who resides in the first ward, entered the saloon and called for a whisky straight. Nancy is about twenty years of age, and has a pretty face which is pleasing to look upon. Her hair is of a golden hue and falls in great profusion about her shoulders, but all this does not prevent Nancy from loving rum.

As she called for her drink she threw a dime upon the counter, which the bar tender grabbed with one hand as he set out his vile stuff with the other. With the grip of an old toper Nancy seized the bottle, but just as she begain pouring her drink into the glass she dropped everything and made for the door. This was a departure for Nancy, and so excited the curiosity of the bar tender that he stepped to the door to ascertain what was the matter, but before he had half crossed the floor his ears were greeted with cries for help.

Springing through the door on to the pavement, the bar-keeper saw a man and woman engaged in a rough and tumble fight, while a neatly dressed young lady was standing near by crying as though her heart would break. The man the bar-keeper recognized as George Black and his combatant as Nancy Kelley.

All this his eyes took in at a glance, and then, with a yell for police, he began an effort to separate them, but this was no easy task, for every time he would lay his hand upon Nancy she would turn her attention to him in so forcible a manner as to cause him to beat a retreat. The call for police and Nancy’s loud swearing, as she belabored Black, soon drew Officer Abbott to the scene, and with the aid of other spectators he finally succeeded in separating the belligerants.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Aug 24, 1882


Miss Kelly Kicks.

EDITORS CONSTITUTION: In your issue of the 24th inst., under the above caption, you speak of the difficulty between Miss Kelly and Mr. Black, and connect my place of business with it. I ask that you will allow me a small space in your paper to reply to and correct the error as to myself and employes as stated in said article.

First, as to what class saloon and family grocery I keep the public can invoice it as they choose. It is one that always has paid its bills when due, and gets credit when it asks for it.

As to Miss Kelly calling for a drink in my saloon, it is false. The difficulty with her and Black occurred in the street in front of my next door neighbor, and Black in his retreat run through my house of business and out at the back door down on the railroad, and Miss Kelly followed him in close pursuit. But neither of them stopped to ask you as take a drink.

Respectfully, S. MARION,
No. 282 Marietta street.

Georgia, Fulton County — Personally come before me S.D. Brady, who being sworn, says that the foregoing statement of S Marion as to Miss Kelly not getting a drink at his saloon on the 23d inst. is true.

Sworn to and subscribed before me this day, 25th,
N.P., Fulton County, Ga.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Aug 26, 1882

Americus, Georigia She, Turns He, Becomes Macon Restauranteur

January 22, 2009
A Restaurant in Macon

A Restaurant in Macon

A Woman Becomes a Man.

From the Eatonton, Ga., Star

During the war there was born in Americus, Georgia, a child baby, that became the pet of the town. The girl grew to girlhood, and after reaching her teens was sent off to a prominent female seminary in this state to receive the finishing touches in her education. Of course she associated and roomed with the other girls, and finally graduated. But on her return home, you can judge the surprise of the people of Americus when she donned male attire, and appeared upon the street as sprightly a little dude as you would care to see. She cut the acquaintance of the girls as associates, and went exclusively among the boys, adopting their habits and manner. Afterward this strange being moved to Macon, Georgia, where it opened a restaurant in the carshed, and did business there for several years. It was looked upon and recognized as a man, and indulged in all the dissipations characteristic of the sex. I roomed with him or her for several weeks, and both occupied the same bed. There was no difference in the bearing of my strange partner and any other man. It afterwards courted and married a young lady of Macon, but after living together as man and wife for several months the bride returned to her parents, but gave the world no reason for her voluntary separation. Those facts I know to be true, and I trust they are equally as wonderful as the story that you have just read. I have since learned that there are frequent instances where the sex of a woman has changed to that of a man, but no account is given of a transformation the other way.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Feb 22, 1889