Thursday, February 26, 1920
Dick Smith, the veteran hunter, who found it necessary to give up his business in town in order to devote his whole time to the profitable business of trapping, came on to a veritable mine of fur the other day.
He was chasing a fox, and noticed a place where the snow appeared to have melted away. He knew the sign at once. Digging away the stones and earth, he opened a den where a whole colony of skunks was hibernating. The animals were so stupid that he took them out one by one and gave them a painless death before they knew they had been disturbed. There was a baker’s dozen of them, most of them jet black, and each in prime condition. The day’s work will net over a hundred dollars.
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Porter Kellison, of Swago, asks for the Republican nomination for Sheriff of Pocahontas county. He is a native born and a farmer by occupation. He started poor, but by industry and handling his business well, he has become a man of affairs. If he ever lacks anything of making a sheriff, it will be too few votes…
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Our good old colored friend William Alexander Wilson paid us a visit Tuesday morning. At the county fair last fall he carried off the prize for the best bunch of clover hay. This clover was grown on newly cleared land in the flat woods, land considered practically worthless a few decades ago. The clover grew so long and heavy that it was too thick to be cut by machine and scythes had to be used.
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The Sorrows of Lansing give the opposition press much concern. They want to limit the power of the President in hiring and firing. It is all the part that the politicians are now playing in their effort to deep Mr. Wilson from getting the big head by reason of being President at the time that we sent our young men abroad to pacify the world. Lansing was an expert Secretary of State, but he was affected by conservatism and that is either a fault or a virtue, according to the way that you look at it. He could never see the beauty of the edifice for worrying about a fly speck on the wall.
Most of the penny-a-liners profess to see a subterfuge in the reason given by the President for letting the Secretary of State go. They say that calling the cabinet together to inquire into the state of the union without the knowledge of the President and while he was bed-fast, was a natural and necessary act. We cannot agree to that. It was just one short step from a revolution and an overthrow of a representative government.
It might easily have been the first overt act. If it was not infringing on the powers of the President, it was directed against the Vice-President, who had been elected to act in an emergency. And if there is one mortal that has to watch his step every minute during this term of office, it is the vice-president of the United States. They say that Mr. Marshall was invited to set in at the time and refused as a cautious man who had known authority as a governor of a great state.
To say the least, Lansing did not establish a good precedent for some succeeding secretary to seize the reins of government in South American style when the President’s back is turned. We have got a pretty stable government and there are a lot of mules it it…
The president has been mighty sick. As he struggled back to life… he finds out what an enterprising Secretary of State he has got, and tells the world that he will not stand for any such proceeding, savoring as it does of a way to take the government away from the regularly elected executive.
The old saying is to beware of the anger of the patient man…
If a man has grit enough to be president, there is no doubt an element of anger in his make up, and abused patience turns to fury…
There was an old farmer once whose son got so forward in managing the farm that he insisted on the old man retiring and would not be satisfied until the old man took him around behind the barn and licked him half to death.
Born to Mr. and Mrs. Guy Thomas, of Buckeye, a son.
Born to Mr. and Mrs. Preston Moore, of Spruce Flat, a son.
Born to Mr. and Mrs. George Chappell, of Buckeye, a daughter.
Born to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Higgins, of near Warwick, a son.
Uriah Hevener, aged 32 years, died at the Marlinton Hospital Sunday afternoon, February 22, 1920, of gangrenous lungs following a severe attack of influenza and pneumonia…
Mr. Hevener was one of the prominent and influential citizens of the county, and few men will be more greatly missed. He was a progressive farmer on a big scale, owning the second largest farm in the county…
His body was buried with Masonic rites on his farm, beside the grave of his father…
Mr. Hevener was the son of the late Uriah Hevener, his mother before marriage being Miss Nancy McLau-ghlin. At the death of his father, though young in years, he took over the management of a large estate, and with remarkable judgment and foresight was making a great success.
Like his father, Mr. Hevener was a friend to everyone in distress or in need of assistance, and the deserving man was never turned away empty handed. He was public spirited to a remarkable degree, and any movement toward the betterment of church, roads, school and whatever else was a benefit to the community had his unstinted support.
GONE TO REST
In kind remembrance of Mrs. Caroline Collins, who died at Hosterman, on Tuesday, February 10, aged 78 years, her health had been failing and her death was not unexpected, but she has gone to that Happy Home Above where pleasure never dies. Her body was laid to rest in the Hosterman graveyard.
The heir is in the castle, building castles in the air.
Isabel is a belle, and she is his lady fair.
In a room with room-atism, he can only sit and mope;
And they now are melon-cholly just because they cantaloupe.
A goat owned by a peasant has been stolen from the barn,
If they find the man who took it, he will surely come to harm,
And the language of the peasant it would never do to quote,
For he’s boiling o’er with anger because someone got his goat.
An heiress caught a husband in the European pool,
The “silly ass” had titles, but he proved to be a fool;
So she paid him for her freedom quite a comfortable amount,
And threw overboard her count of no account with no account.
The millionaire’s complaining though just why I dinna ken.
He has made nine million dollars, but he wanted to make ten;
And the poor, downtrodden workmen in the iron foundry shop
Will walk out in fifteen minutes, and “strike while the iron is hot.”
Now the motto of the baby is the motto of the goat:
“Down with everything, regardless, if it will go down my throat.”
And the anarchist, he, likewise don’t stop to discriminate.
“Down with everything” his motto; he would wreck the Ship of State.
“Down with wine and beer and whiskey” was the prohibition cry;
“Down with everything” while the cost of living’s high,
As we’re never satisfied, is life worth living anyway?”
That depends upon the liver, as the pink pill people say. ~ Jonah Vark