The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1892-07-05

| EOuuuS OF Gn0 GnlrQ. AS her children
grew to the estate of manhood and wo-
manhood and left her one by one, she
/ gave to each a piece of this old silver
as an heirloom, or a talisman, as it
were. This writer's share was a pair
of sugar tOngs, which impart to me
from time to time as [ brush the canker
OF age from their surface, the story l
have told, and | enter into the precious
old time of these Democratic sons of
the Old North State, and as [ lock uD
at the painting on my best mantel shelf
| can fancy the melancholy cloud that
shadOWed the handsome brow of my
grandfather's early manhood when he
received that letter at Raleigh and
read In it that the baby was a girl.
But l will tell you what my grand
mother said about it. Out of six chill
! dren this child was more pleasure to
her than all the others. To my own
knowledge she was the only one who
stood by her death, bed side, and
soothed the dying pillow. There were
two other girls, but they had preceded
her to the grave. William Winship,
Jr., was also dead-the eldest of the
SIX. James Cooper, then cashier of
the Peoples National Bank, Fayette-
vile, N. Q. Sally Carson and Andrew
! Jackson-named for "Cld Hickory
survived her. But the latter died
| few years ago. A J. Stedman is
| familiar name to many now living In
North Carolina and Virginia. He is
possibly best remembered as editor of
| Stedn1G1l'S S Magazine, Sale m, n @. He
was also Colonel in the Confederate
| Army. Of his family / know nothing,
except that his wife's name was Susie. :"
This information is gained from a
| beautiful handwriting on the back of
one of his magazines sent to my grand
mother a great while ago from her
loving daughter, Susie Stedman." On
anOthCr page is a poem, Mary Wal
ton, )" on the death of a child, presuma-
| bly, named for her whose maiden name
was Walton.
William Winship, Jr, was pacific
ing physician in Chatham county q
think) and died when this writer was
quite young. He married most ex-
cellent lady, I have heard, a Miss
| Olivia Gertrude Giftson, and they tell
me when | made my debut on the scene
of time, there was consultation among
the elders whether my name should be
| Olivia Gertrude, or Olivia GiftsOn, but
resulted in neither.
| AS a child of nine summers to nine
| teen, | used to sit at my grandmOther's
knees and write letters for her to these
sons when her eyes had grown too dim,
and received as compensation stories
of their childhood days, which was the
Robinson CrusOe" of my outh, and
| the House that Jack built " on top of
it. was delighted to hear them and
she delighted to tell them. The benefit
was mutual. There was only one dis
agreeable thing about it-she always
cried So Especially when she pointed
| to piece of old red wood in the house
upon which was cut with jack-knife,
| the letters, "a J. Stedman." THAT
precious name, she would say, was
cut there the day before he left home"
There was only one bright anecdote in
| the three little lives she told me about,
and this she had to tell every time
| letter was written. Because it always
made her laugh, and this was the best
part of it, In them days" she said
"Children carried molass6s to school
! to sop at recess and a saucer h I'd to
! be put in the bucket to sop it in. Ny
| Winship, like his dear father full of
life, knocked a boys elbow while he
was sOpping his mOlasseE, and his
saucer falling upon the floor, broke.
! When the teacher returned and took
| in school, the boy said: "School mas
ter! School master! William Winship
Stedman made me brake my saucer"
William Winship Stedman, what
have you been doing to this boy Jose
phue?o Made him break his saucer.
sir " he says, and the children laughed
so that the teacher had to turn them
out.
But this story was not finished until
| William Winship Stedman carried
| ooI1ooVs tO anT
| in. For saucers were sauCers in these
days with the little back-wOOds Jose
| plus Of that country.
There is another incident Of this long
| time-ago in which there is centred as
much DathOs as there is humOr in the
above. My grandfather's body-servant
was named Sampson, young mulattO
man of considerable value, to whom all
the family were greatly attached. Mr..
| Stedman. a short time before his death,
seeing a financial crisis ahead, decided
to part with faithful Sampson as the
most dispensable luxury. The NEGRO
speckulator of that day was the
negro terror. Perhaps I can best tell
the story as my grandmother told 1t
to me.
"Sampson's master" she said, "did
not want him to know that he was go
ing to sell him; he knew how sorrowful
Sampson would be to hear it, and be
ing a tender hearted man, he was very
soTrowful himself; yet he did not know
what else to do under the circumstan-
ces, So Sampson was told that he was
going to Norfolk to help a neighbor to
drive cattle to the slaughter pen; and
the poor thing drove the cattle to mar
ket and fell unsuspecting into the
| 50 sneckT1atOr's claws,
NY little Andrew Jackson was sick
at the time, lying in the cradle near
the open door, and 1 was sitting by