The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1893-10-18
BILL ARP.
An Open Letter to DR.. Alexander, OF At
Ianta.
atlanta Constitution.

To my old friend DR.. Alexander
Dear Jim: That is still the name for
me to call you-the old familiar name,
"Jim Alex" and | love to hear you
call me "Bill" as you did in the long
ago when we were boys. We are not
as notable as Toombs and Stephens,
but they called each other Bob and
Alex because they began that way,
and the names grew dearer as they re-
ceded from their youth. Jim is a
good name anyhow and [ do believe
there is something in it. There were
five Presidents named Jim, and sew
eral Governors and all the Jims we
knew at school were boys Of character
strong in force and will, though not
overly pious. You remember Jim
Wilson and Jim Maltbie and Jim
Craig and Jim Smith and big Jim
Dunlap, who still lives as the typical
son Of old Gwinnett. He was older
than our set, but we looked up TO him
and could always hear him before he
came in sight. He was Jim dandy
then and he is yet.
L know nice lady, preacher S
wife, who says she married her hus-
band only because his name was Jim,
and she still calls him MIR. Jim with
conjugal JUNCTION. Jim ought to be q
preachers name for St. James was one
of the twelve and King James gave us
our version of the sacred scriptures.
It was with mingled feelings of
pleasure and sadness that I read your
late biography in the Constitution-of
pleasure because of the well-deserved
tribute that the writer paid you as a
time honored citizen of Atlanta, and
for your long professional service
there. Of sadness because it remind
ed me how few Of us there are lett and
how seldom we meet to talk over the
rosy days of our childhood.
Then I read to-day the charming
Fox hunting story of Joel Chandler
Harris in ScriJner, snd that carried
me back and recalled the times when
ave used to get up an occasional fox
chase, and sometimes go deer hunting
with the old-fashioned long-eared
hounds, and run him for miles and
miles and never catch him. And how
you and [ and Tom and half dozen
darkies used to hunt coons on Shoal
creek, and cut down the trees and see
the fight with the dogs, and how we
used to go digging in that same creek
and shoot the fish by torch light, and
how we used to sein in Yellow River
and jump off the springboard at Mont
gomery's mill pond. We had as much
good fun, I reckon as Uncle Remus,
even if we never caught red fox with
Birdsong dogs. The world was very
beautiful to us all then. We had
jolly companions, too-schoolmasters
with whom We frolicked at recess and
at.noon. Good gracious, how we used
to knock that town ball out Of sight
and play sweep stakes, and rolly hole
and bull pen. How we used to pick
chinquepins and top trees for chest
nuts. How we used to run foot races,
and Jump half hammon and turn sum-
mersets in the sand.
Let's talk about the dear old times
little while, for we are getting lonely,
you and 1 and Tom. Are we all that
are left of the boys we mingled with
in our early youth ? Sad, isn't it =?
We had scores of playmates, but old
Father Time has cut them down, the
old rascal. The Maltbries and Winns
and Craigs and Wilson's and Terrels
and Shaklefords and Youngs and Ram
bos, are all dead. And the boys who
came from abroad to the institute
are there any left but Tom Norwood.
The Lintons are all dead, know ;
Sam and John and Jim, and so are the
two Harris boys, and Ed. and John
Goulding and the Holts, all except
Thad, the mischievous rascal. He is
living yet in Alabama, not far from
Montgomery. Did I ever tell you that
it was Thad and Jim Linton who stole
your fathers bee gum one night and
got stung so bad they had to drop it
and run for their lives ? The Hoyles
are dead, too, and the Allans-
Thomps and Bill-what glorious fell
low was Thompson Allan. Don't you
remember how he licked Martin del
Gardo because Martin licked me ?
Martin was big boy and Twas little
one, and Thomps dared him to tackle
a boy of his size, and he tackled. l
could just 50 on and on and say dead,
dead every time. And all our teach
ers are dead. DR.. Wilson and John
Norton and Cargill, and DIR. Patterson
and McAlpine and John Gray. They
were all good men. Jim, don't you
remember Penelope McAlpine
! What sweet, pretty girl she was and
how she was my sweetheart, and one
day when Tom Skeggs called her Pen
ny-lopeT bounced him and we fit and
tore hair mazing.
What makes everybody die, DR.. Jim
die before they have seen their
three-score years and ten Are there
only. three OF four in hundred who
pass the Rubicon ? Can tyou doctors
do nothing? No, I reckon not, for
the doctors die, too. All the doctors
we knew when we were boys are dead,
and those boys who became doctors
are all dead but you, my friend. May
the good Lord preserve you for many
years to honor your calling and help
the suffering. Just think how many
have gone to join their patients in the
spirit land. DR.. Gordon, who so nobly
braved the yellow fever in Savannah,
and Drs. Winn and Maltbie and Craig
and Wilson and Alexander and my
brother. Dear, good, gentle Tom
Wilson How we all loved him. He
caught me and Bill Maltbie and Over
ton Young playing old sledge in a
gully one day and talked to US kindly,
but never told on us, and we promised
to quit, but didn't. And don't you
remember that Jim Craig had one
short forefnger One day while one
of the boys was carelessly hacking on
log with little hatchct Jim dared
him to cut his finger off, and would
slip it onto the log while the hatchct
was raised and pull it away quickly
before it came down, but he tried it
once too often and left a joint of his
~, +lo 1o-