Among the wounded at the Lovell Hospital was a man who called himself Thomas H. Benton Taylor, a soldier belonging to an Indiana regiment, who was shot through the hand during the Rebellion. At the hospital he received the kindest care of a young lady belonging to this city, who, as he expressed to us, saved his life. The constant companionship of this soldier and the lady finally led to their being united in marriage, and they came to this city to live, but after a short interval he represented that he could better secure a living if he knew the rules of bookkeeping, and wished to go to Poughkeepsie to study.
    Having no money himself, he secured about one hundred dollars from his wife and went on his way. While he was there it became known that he was not a true husband, but probably a bigamist. After a while he came back, flush with money, and was employed as bookkeeper by one of our merchants at a very small salary, and continued in this employ for about one year, when he was employed by another. He had been in his new employ but a few months, when one day he received a telegram which read as follows:
    "SALEM, INDIANA.--T. H. B. Taylor.--Your uncle died yesterday, leaving you $40,000. Come on and get the money."
    The report of his luck immediately spread, and he commenced his confidence operations at once by borrowing $100, as he alleged, for the purpose of going to Indiana. He stayed but a short time away, and returned with some gold pieces which he showed to his friends, alleging that his uncle left $500 in gold which had been divided between the three heirs. Soon after a package came by express, marked with his name and denoting that it contained $3,000. About this time two strange men were seen with him, who stopped but one day, and dined at his house. He soon hired a large house and continued his confidence game by securing costly pictures and other articles to be placed in the house, and as he was now reported rich, had no trouble in procuring watches, jewelry, nice clothes, dry goods, &c., until his credit had secured him goods to the value of over $4,500. He represented that he wished these articles by a certain time, as he was then going to Indiana to get $20,000, and would return on Monday last and pay for them. The day before he started on his journey, he sold all the furniture in the house where he had been living for $200 cash. He then packed all the articles of value that he had received into a number of trunks, and left the city. He did not return as promised, and the following day those who had been made his victims found to their sorrow that he was a black-hearted villain. His wife, who is an estimable lady, was on a visit to some friends in Providence during the whole of his last operations, and first knew of his desertion by the receipt of a letter stating that when it reached her he would be on his way to Europe. It is now some ten days since he left the city with the articles secured, and no tidings have been received of his whereabouts.
The Cincinnati Commercial, August 14, 1867, page 5


    RETURNED.--We hear that Mr. T. H. B. Taylor, whose departure from Newport some weeks since elicited considerable comment, has returned and taken rooms at the Perry House, where he is receiving calls from his friends.
Newport Daily News, Newport, Rhode Island, December 21, 1867, page 2


    Jan. 8[, 1870].--Thos. H. B. Taylor-Florence E. Booker.
"Hymeneal" (list of marriage licenses issued by Woodbury County in 1870), Sioux City Journal, Sioux City, Iowa, January 8, 1871, page 4


    Depot Hotel.--Thos. H. B. Taylor, Le Mars . . .
"Personal," Sioux City Journal, Sioux City, Iowa, May 23, 1871, page 4


    Thos. H. B. Taylor, Woodville, wounded in hand, $18.00.
"Pensioners," Democratic Times, Jacksonville, February 1, 1884, page 2   




    T. H. B. Taylor was in the city from Woodville this week and gave us a pleasant call.
"Local and General," Medford Mail, June 10, 1892, page 3


    Mrs. Thos. H. B. Taylor met with a very painful accident a few days since, being caught by a falling bank while she and her sister Miss Booker were running the giant in her husband's mines. T. H. B. and his son were both sick with the grippe at the time and the two hired men had quit work. Mrs. T. is all right again, able to attend to her household duties or run the giant, as the occasion may demand.
"Local Notes," Democratic Times, Jacksonville, February 5, 1892, page 3


    T. H. B. Taylor and sons of Pleasant Creek are having a big run, with lots of water, and will doubtless make a nice cleanup in the spring.
"Mining News," Democratic Times, Jacksonville, March 3, 1893, page 3


    T. H. B. Taylor and G. E. Roberts are canvassing Yamhill County for the Economy Flour Bin, and report having taken eleven orders the first half day they were on duty.
"Local Notes," Democratic Times, Jacksonville, June 9, 1893, page 3


    T. H. B. Taylor is just completing the largest and finest residence that has ever been built on Evans Creek.
"Evans Creek Chronicles," Medford Mail, November 3, 1893, page 2


Patent No. 509,407 granted to E. H. B. Taylor and J. D. Wimer for Saw Tooth and Means for Securing Same, November 28, 1893.


    DEAR MR. ED.:--I hope you will excuse me for not writing sooner, but the fact is I have been kinder under the weather (so to speak) and you will certainly sympathize with anyone who has been under such as we have had for the past two or three months. I went down to the Pass a few days ago to consult Dr. Kremer. I had a hard time getting there, you bet. I got along all right until I got just beyond the Tuff ranch, where I struck the Grants Pass level, where I run into a bank of fog so thick that I was obliged to get out of my vehicle and literally cut my way through; but as luck would have it, I had a hay knife with me. Just as I got into the edge of town I cut into some other fellow, and he said, "where in Sheol are you going?" I said, "what part are you in?" He said, "S.W. quarter, called Grants Pass." Says I, "there's where I wanted to get, but" says I, "what in Sheol are you doing now." Says he, "cutting some of this fog up into chunks and piling it up in the corner of my garden to use when the dry spell comes next June." Well, I finally got to the doctor's office and told him I was feeling somewhat. Says he, "Let me see your tongue"; then he felt of my wrists a few seconds in a thoughtful attitude. "Oh, I see," says he, "you need a new diaphragm." I told him I had a very good one, but I loaned it to old Mr. Scott last fall and he had never returned it. He said my lumbar region was out of fix, too. I asked him if common rough would do to fix it up with, "for," says I, "I have had considerable experience in the lumber business this fall (that house, you know), and find that it would only take a little No.1, S.P., S4S [first grade sugar pine, sanded four sides] to ruin the whole business." Oh," says Doc., "you are non compos mentis." I told him I guessed he was right. He said he could fix me all right. so he loaded up some blank cartridges he had (about 38 caliber) with powder and told me at early candle light to fire one of them down my esophagus. "Down where?" says I. But let me see, where was I? Oh, yes, I was going to give you the news from Tail Holt and Evans Creek generally. There isn't an empty house in Woodville; all three of them are full, and so was Mr. Whatshisname a few days ago. The Homestake mine has closed for the present. (I don't know whether they will get it or not.) I asked one of the partners, the other day, the signification of the name. He said an old crank located that ledge, that sometimes made a little homestake and he wanted some place to put it, where there was neither moth nor rust, and so forth. Farmers in these parts are jubilant over the prospects of there being rain sufficient to start the plow (with an oar); still some think that eight or nine days more rain would make the ground a little softer. A friend of mine told me, the other day, that while on his way from Gold Hill he was attacked by reptiles, ad libitum--whatever that is--from the most common garter up to the monster boy instructor (boa constrictor). He said the only weapon of defense he had was a "black bettie," which he wielded and slayed them right and left, but all to no purpose, for in spite of all some of them got into his boots. I have another account to give that happened in this vicinity but not this time. Watch this space for the next two or three weeks. But honest Injun, Mr. Editor, don't this weather beat the oldest inhabitant? In a practical mining experience of nigh onto twenty years it is the first time I ever saw it too wet to mine. The farmers in this vicinity improved the fine fall we have had, and most all have their seeding done in grand shape. At the last literary at Woodville they had for debate: "Which is the most enjoyable, happiness or misery." Misery, I believe, got away with it. After all, what is more enjoyable, when one has been in misery with pityriasis or psoriasis, than to lacerate our cuticular system with our own nails? The next question for debate, I believe, is, "Which race of people is the greatest blessing to our country, the Chinese or the Japanese." Let us hope the decision will settle a long mooted (and long tailed) question; and let us also hope that the privilege of the hog-eye-man remaining on our shores and polluting our air shall not be extended to exceed seven or nine times more, "and thereby hangs a tale." "'Tis finished."
Medford Mail, December 7, 1893, page 2


    DEAR MR. ED.:--As I promised you some time ago to give you details of a very nearly bad accident, I will do so now. I have called the following a "Black Bear Story" in order to prevent its being mistaken for anything in the ordinary--and the truth of which can be vouched for by several persons, fully as truthful as is the writer himself--so here goes: It came to pass on the seventh month and the 17th day of the month (about the time the gopher wood boat run aground) as one Wakeman--whose surname was Joseph, a Pharisee--and also a hypocrite--who sojourns on Pleasant Creek--and his mother's name was Joshua. While going forth to provender his camels, [he] heard something having a picnic with some of his pet pigs, so Joseph ran to his house and the first thing that he came in contact with was an ax, so he grabbed it and away to the rescue. The racket was in a clump of brush, consisting of vine maple, buckhorn, manzanita and greasewood (a bad mixture), so Joe rushed right into the fracas pell mell, not dreaming of future consequences. "Hellen blazes," says Joe, "it's a bar!" but it was everlastingly too late to consider now he had got so close he was afraid to run and his only alternative was to fight--gathering all his strength he aimed a tremendous uppercut at the intruder, which struck right where the bear was only a short time before, but it cut a big slit in the air and jerked the ax handle in two right in the middle. At this juncture the bear thought he smelled a rat, so he let the other pig go and give his undivided attention to Joe. Just then Joe made another pass at his antagonist with the stub end of his ax handle, which was parried by bruin with his right and simultaneously he shot out his left and caught Joe on the shoulder with a downward stroke which took Joe's jumper and shirt sleeve and some little calf skin along with the rest. Joe says just then he happened to remember what he had read somewhere, about "He who fights and runs away," and a live coward is better than half a dozen dead heroes, so he lit out for the "dearest spot on earth to me." The bear, in the meantime, having become somewhat bewildered as to which one of them to pursue, had lost considerable time, which Joe was using to the best he knew. Joe had not gone far before he met one of those slick madrona trees, about six inches in diameter and about 20 feet to the first limb; he thought he could make it, but he only got about 15 feet the first jump, so there he was--he says he never before felt as though he would like to rise in the world--he had never in all his life hugged anybody as tight as he did that sapling--he says he thinks if there had been a good coat of grease on it he could have stuck, but he began to lose ground. Joe says when he was slowly and surely sliding down that tree, he looked back over his left shoulder and saw that bear coming red eyed for him, he realized that "This world is but a fleeting show," he saw that there was only a few short, fleeting moments between him and eternity, he says he thought in a twinkling of all the awful things he had ever done, how he kissed Mary Ann Simmons behind the kitchen door at Squire Smith's candy pulling, how he had kept out a few eggs every day for two or three weeks before Easter and hid them up in the loft of the old log barn thereby deceiving his trusting and loving mother, then too, he thought how he had went to the school house and while ostensibly fixing up the fire, he had dropped a little cayenne pepper on the stove just as evenin' prayer meetin' was getting under way, but he thought there was perhaps one chance in about ten million for him so he let all holds go and down he came, and said "farewell vain world, I'm going home," and he started just as bruin made a grab for the most imposing part of his physical system, but Joe was too spry for him and away they went, Joe only a neck ahead. Just then he thought of his faithful dog and he began to call, "Here Tige! here Tige! here Tige!" The bear thought Sheol had broke loose in Georgia and give up the chase and turned in the opposite direction and was soon lost in the dank, dark woods. There was a picket fence in front of Joe's residence but he never saw it, and never stopped until he was in his mother's kitchen. Mother, says he, make me a cup of hop tea, for my nervous system has not had such a shock since old Roan run away with me with that load of pumpkins.
    P.S. Joe says there is no use talking, a durned cat with nine claws on each foot couldn't climb one of those slick madronas.
    Watch this space for the next time and I will tell you about our new house.
Medford Mail, December 29, 1893, page 2


    The Mail is under obligations to Hon. Thomas H. B. Taylor of Woodville, for a complimentary box of fine sea birds (?). Mr. Taylor has notions that are peculiar, and this time his peculiarities tallied very accurately with the one article most desired as a means of sustenance by the pencil pushers of this "once a week" family companion.
"All the Local News," Medford Mail, January 12, 1894, page 3


    I suppose, Mr. E., I might have saved time and trouble by simply stating in the outset that our house was just like Jerry Nunan's. It is in respect that the foundation was built first and it was built outdoors. A foolish thing, you will say, to do, a fall like the past. But here it is: And it came to pass in the eighteen hundred, ninety and third year, after a very remarkable event that Taylor, a Pharisee, in the 50th year of his age, in the month Zip, which is the 10th month that he began to construct his house. And the house which he built for his wife, the length thereof was 24 cubits (Eng.) and the breadth thereof 12⅔ cubits, and the balcony before the house 2⅔ cubits was the length thereof according to the breadth of the house. And he built the house with bull pine studding and the outside he covered with No. 1 sugar pine rustic round about and the whole house he overlaid with Prince Metallic--that is, the top and the floor was overlaid with a heavy coat of raw [sic], and in the 1893rd year in the month Bul, was the house finished throughout, round about. That is to say, 18 years ago, come next cider making time, we landed right here in Oregon. I then promised Huldy Ann (that's my wife) that I would build her a house, and I have kept my word. I always do. Well, when I got ready to build I asked Huldy (I always called her Huldy when I wanted to be sweet) what shape she wanted her house. Says she, a [cross] with all the rooms facing the south. Says I, by God that might be done, but I couldn't do it. He is the only one [who] can do the impossible and says I, if you will read Judges 1 and 19 you will see that God could not drive the Canaanites out of the valley because they were iron clad. Says she, by God your mouth could be made a little bigger, but not without setting your ears back. Radder sargastick aindt it? but she was always a little that way. I remember when courting her one evening, I stayed a little earlier than usual, 2 a.m. I believe, I asked her if she knew "There's No Place Like Home." She said she did, but there were lots of people who did not. So when I got the skeleton up I invited Huldy over to see it. I explained to her that we had faced it sou-sou-east and sou-sou-west (my folks came over in the Santa Maria, hence these nautical terms). I asked her how she liked it. She said she liked the position all right, but said she did not fall in love with the name. I showed her where one part stuck out into the air a little more than the rest and told her that was what an Englishman would call the "hell." She replied that that was what it looks like. Really our house is, main 16x34, parlor L south side main 12x14, joins main 18 feet from east end, north L 14x16 (projected 14x28) joins main 5 feet from east end, all 18 feet wall. Main front room east end first floor 14½x15½, fireplace middle of west side. In this room is a circle top glass front door in northeast corner of east end, middle of east end is a two-light window, each light 25x32, and in south side a double window of the same dimension; a room exactly the size of this above is the east end main bedroom, doors and windows the same except on south side there is a single light 36x48. In parlor L the first floor is the parlor. It is lighted by glass front door in east side and two windows of the same size as in main, one in south and one in west. The room above this same size (12x14) is lighted exactly the same and is parlor bedroom. A glass front door lets you into hallway at the junction of parlor L and main, hallway leads direct through to kitchen and dining rooms. On the left side of hallway is a corkscrew or winding stairway with rather nobby manzanita newels. The west end of main is lighted the same above and below, with two large windows in each of the four rooms. In close juxtaposition to east end main bedroom and south parlor bedroom and west end main bedroom, is situated bathroom looking south. The tub is depressed or inlaid to a level with the floor, fringed all around with about three feet of oilcloth, so as to make precipitation (otter like) slick and easy. There is a balcony across east end main and also one on east side of parlor L, each supported by two insulated pilasters of oak, the base of which are enriched by manzanita plinths. We can have fire in every room in the house. The architecture consists of Ionic, Corinthian and composite, touched off with a little Doric. I might say mostly Doric; there are fifteen I believe. We have a Queen Anne parlor, but a Huldy Ann kitchen. She said she wanted the kitchen built on hygienic principles as there was where there was the most consumption. My boss carpenter said one day he was ready to put the socles on. I told him there wasn't one on the ranch.
    Our house is causing some of the neighbors a good deal of trouble. Some thinks it looks nice but they are afraid it will fall over, it is so high, others say they don't see why we built such a nice, big house on such a poor digger ranch. Well, it is a little strange, Mr. Ed., but the fact is, our house is built partly from an old recipe; the plans and specifications, however, were not the handiwork of Hiram, the widow's son, but it was founded on a rock, just as right, and finally it was built expressly for Taylor & Co., to have and to hold, their heirs and assigns, until Gabriel blows.
Medford Mail, January 19, 1894, page 4


    Editor Medford Mail. Dear sir:--As fasting has--I was going to say, become quite a fad--at least became quite prevalent--I thought I would post you up a little. Perhaps you are not aware that the crow comes home to roost, the foxes can eat sour grapes, and the bear can suck his paw, but man, the son of woman, usually comes into this world at such an early period of his life that he is more helpless than a sucking dove or a kitten before the nine days are up. But I was going to give you some points on fasting. I will say to begin that it is a good deal like hanging--when you get used to it you don't mind it at all. Last winter I fasted 151 days, commencing with Nov., Dec., Jan., Feb. and March. I was working in the mines all the time--Sundays excepted. To find the exceptions: multiply months by days, divide the quotient by 7, cancel the two right-hand figures and multiply the remainder of days I DIDN'T work and the result will be Sundays--neither of those months had six Sundays in them.
    Well, to begin with: the first thing in the morning I said my little paternoster, which I here give in the sweet, flowing language of the native Oregonian: Nesika papa klaxta mitlite kopa sahale; kloshe kopa nesika tumtum mika nem; kloshe mika tyee kopa konaway tilakum; kloshe tumtum kopa illahe kahkwa kopa sahale; potlatch konaway sun nesika muckamuck; pee kopet kumtuks konaway nesika mesahche, kahkwa nesika mamook kopa klaska spose mamook mesahche kopa nesika, marsh siah kopa nesika konaway mesahche. Kloshe kahkwa. [The Lord's Prayer in Chinook Jargon.] Then instead of eating a good hearty breakfast I would go through the motions by partaking of say three soft-boiled eggs, a half-pound of ham, three or four graham gems, two ounces of fresh ranch butter, a pint of good hot coffee--trimmed with Jersey cream--and a piece of mince about six inches square. Instead of dinner I had blinds put on my (miner's) cabin windows and then went through the same farce, a la Williams and Tanner, as I did for breakfast, and through the act of deglutition get away with a quart of baked beans (a la Bosting), a small loaf of bread, a few vegetables and canned goods, tapered down to a green apple pie and sago pudding. For supper I did not eat' anything--just stowed away three or four baked potatoes with not a thing on them except perhaps a little butter and salt, a little white bread and perhaps a bite or two of rice spoiled with cream, a piece of sponge cake and a cup of tea. The above bill was followed, with perhaps some slight variations, for a consecutive period of 151 days. I was at hard labor and I think I can truthfully say I was, if anything, stronger mentally and physically at the termination of my unprecedented feat than I was when I began. Yes, Mr. Editor, it is all in knowing how. I remember the first few years after Huldy Ann and I (Huldy Ann is my wife) were incorporated, if she happened to trim her fingernails with my best hollow-ground or give one of the babies the looking glass and hammer to amuse itself with I would get in a pet and, in fact, I would go off into the bedroom and pout. I would not eat a bite of dinner but walk the floor all the afternoon and occasionally walk through the kitchen and slyly purloin a biscuit and chunk of meat from the cupboard then walk out to the woodshed and stow it away--then come back and walk the floor. When Huldy Ann would come with tearful eyes, lean on my bosom and take the starch out of my Sunday shirt, I would look sour as a cranberry and cross as a sawbuck and tell her that I would starve myself or leave the ranch. But when she would go off into the parlor, seat herself at the organ, pull out the vox humana, and in a tearful voice sing that sweet, though sad refrain, Sta-a-ay at ho-o-oh-ome Tom-om-om-my do-o-oh-nt go-oh-oh-o--that would break me all up. I would then (like Davey's coon) come down and say the most awfullest, sorrowfulest things that even if I had murdered all your mother-in-law's relations. Mr. Editor, you would not ask the Governor to pardon me--you would do it yourself.
    Of course we must admit that we makes some mistakes--(some folks admit it not knowing it). This is altogether owing to--but I want to see the color of a man's hair whose digestive apparatus is in good working order and who after mauling bull-pine rails all day and comes home at night, hyas till [very tired], nika, I say I want to see him walk around a table whereon among other things is a nice baked turkey, stuffed with oysters, and not have a hankering to indulge. Bah! why, a man like that would be a raving maniac in less than three days--to say nothing of forty. I see Dr. Tanner is down in Mexico starting a new generation on his fasting hypothesis. He may turn out a race of centaurs, but more than probable he will raise up a lot of white-livered, half-witted idiots, that wont know enough to come in when it rains. No, Mr. Mail, it can't be did, honest and above board, there has always got to be some shenanigan about fasting unless you fast the way I do. It is like spiritualism with slate work, etc. I am a spiritualist myself, and I must tell you about it some time--not now, this letter is too long already--but watch this space for what comes next. As I have given you "potlatch kumtux kopa mesahche" [gift/understand/evil: warning?] you must take heed.
Medford Mail, February 16,  1894, page 4


    An open letter to the People's Convention March 10:
    FRIENDS AND FELLOW CITIZENS: As the time has almost arrived for the distribution of nominations, I wish to say, generally, I am in favor of letting the office hunt the man, but as I am living away up here in one of the rural districts on Evans Creek, where it is about all a sewing machine fiend can do to find me, I thought maybe I had better notify the office that I am open to propositions. Governor would be accepted and no questions asked, or, I was going to say, county treasurer, but as there is no treasury and the county away behind with Bloomer--and, by the way, Bloomer somewhat behind with me--I wish to be excused on that score. An M.C. would not be bad, or representative--if I only had to represent Jackson County, I think I am competent to do that, as it would not require any extraordinary brain capacity, witness the Bloomer hoax. But I am not going to be particular, if there is any vacancy and the people wishes me to fill it, I am at your service. I see some of my friends have me down on their primaries for assessor, Now that just hits me hard. I have a good horse and cart, and will soon be at liberty to go out among my friends to see who has the biggest mortgage on his farm, and how many are perfectly satisfied that the courts done just the square thing in the Bloomer bondsmen case. Then too, I want to see what kind of a set of fellows there is in this county who have voted that diabolical old Jacksonville ring in for, lo, these many years. There is certainly no excuse for them, unless it is, perhaps, that they wished to perpetuate the absurdities of their fathers. My friends, there is no politics in the panorama now before us, no more side issues will suffice to bring about the result that every taxpayer in this county and country ought to know needs to be. Candidly, my friends, it makes me tired to see a poor farmer work and toil from year to year with the single idea of raising enough grain etc., to barely pay his taxes and to eke out a scanty living for himself and family, and when you try to convince him of his error, to hear him say, "Oh, well, I guess times will change for the better before long." He might as well say, Hell will change while the Devil is still heaving in the brimstone, as to expect a change in the Jacksonville ring. I think it would be humiliating to the voters and taxpayers of this county when they seriously contemplate (if they ever do) the political chicanery that has been going on in their midst for the past twenty-five or thirty years, until the whole county is hopelessly in debt. Just think of it my friends! not a lucrative county office of any kind has been held by anyone out of the ring in the past twenty-five years!! Go to Portland or any other place in the state and ask any business man "Who is county or district judge?" he will say, "Why, let me see? Oh, I can't think who is this year, but it is either So and So, or So-So." Go into Jacksonville, court week, outline any case to Nunan, P. J. Ryan, Kubli, or any old resident there and ask them the result and they will tell you too quick. This is not a political speech, for politics cuts no figure in the outlook for the poor farmers and taxpayers of this distressed community. We are now left to the two alternatives, change or starve, either down political rings or go down with them; it does not (in this instance) matter what money is, as long as we have none of either kind; it is principle we are after. Think of the Bloomer bondsmen trying to shirk the responsibility they voluntarily took to secure the possibility of a failure of the county treasurer, and then think of a judge who would admit of a technical flaw to let them go. I ask all candid-minded people, if they all are not accessories to the theft? Those bondsmen said to the people of Jackson County, "Now, if Geo. E. Bloomer steals all the treasury of your county, we solemnly agree to pay every cent of it back." Now the court raises the question, "Did Bloomer steal!!" Of course Bloomer did not steal anything, he just took it! and as a matter of fact that lets the bondsmen out!! Now, I am not an office seeker, because as some of you know, I am only a common scrub farmer, not capable of holding an office, unless I could hold it by the tail (like some of the Jacksonville folks), but I will say this, if I should ever be the assessor of Jackson County there is some men I will assess for nothing and board myself, and if I ever am the assessor and I ever skipped anyone, it will not be the owner of one among the largest farms in the county (the owner being a rich man living in the East), as was done last year. My sight is not as good as it was, but it is not so bad but what I can see a little speck about the size of 1200 acres of land. No sir, if I skipped anyone it will be some poor fellow, living up on the side of one of these Jackson County mountains where he can hardly walk without the assistance of a Jacob staff, who has a wife and seventeen small children and nothing but a blind hog for next winter's meat. Hoping I have, in a feeble way, conveyed to you where I stand, and also hoping the people may for the time, forget politics and all join in brotherly strength, and once for all, do away with rings, I will begin to close. As I said before, this is not a political speech, and it is not published in a political paper, but that both are laboring in the interest of the taxpayers in this county, I think you must all believe. I should be glad to meet you in convention, but as I cannot, you have my best wish and my prayers also (such as they are).
Woodville, Oregon.
Medford Mail, March 9, 1894, page 4


   
    So Mr. Editor, the above lot are about all the crooks I have in stock just now. I could have crooked some of those crooks a good deal crookeder if I had some of the Jacksonville ring to help me crook them. Hoping you will not get any of those crooks crooked up in your hair so you can't uncrook them. I will close by saying the above crooks are from an Evans Creek crook, the two first letters of his name being,
Medford Mail, April 13, 1894, page 4


    MR. ED.:--I thought I would tell you what is going on up in these parts. Well sir, last evening (Saturday), there was a social shindig up at Pap Wm. Herriott's mill, and it beat everything. Me, Huldy Ann, Mr. Whats-His-Name and wife, and in fact, everybody and everybody else were there; and if we boys and girls didn't have a jolly time, there is no one to blame but ourselves. We danced until we got tired and then rested up and went at it again. I don't know exactly how long we did dance, for the clock got such a shaking up that it stopped, and all the boys who had watches when asked for the time, declared their watches were so excited they could not keep correct time. Several asked we what time I thought it was? I told them it could not be midnight because the rooster always crowed at midnight this time o' the year, and then, too, says I, it's never late until the moon goes down, but I had just got home and got one boot off preparatory to turning in, when the hired girl rang the first bell. Yours truthfully,
Medford Mail, April 27, 1894, page 4


    I had the pleasure of attending one of our People's Party lectures by our Bros., J. A. Jeffrey and Grant Rawlings, who in a pleasant and forcible manner set forth many crooked crooks in the old and unreliable parties, who have for the past forty years been doing their level best to do unto others as they would that they should do unto them, but who have made an ignominious failure. To say that there was a good attendance is hardly doing it justice, for everybody and their wives were there. The house was crowded and to see such a turnout now, where a year ago we could hardly get enough out for a corporal's guard, shows plainly that there is a great change in the minds of the people; they now realize that if they get help they must help themselves. To those who are skeptical, I would say, go and hear the above gentlemen tell you (as Mark Anthony said) what you already know, that you are "depressed and no doubt will be deposed." We must put new strings on our harps and learn to sing new tunes or we will learn the tune the old cow died on. Finally, I say don't be afraid to go out and hear these gentlemen tell the truth and then perhaps it may be so plain to you that you will wonder you did not see all along that the old parties were only telling you lies for their own selfish ends.
Valley Record, Ashland,  May 17, 1894, page 1


    THOS. H. B. TAYLOR, of Woodville, was in Medford one day last week and while here spent a goodly part of his time "joshing" with the Mail men. Mr. Taylor is nothing slow with the pen as our readers doubtless know, who read in this paper a couple of months ago his account of the crookedness in Jackson County. The gentleman is now preparing for an extended visit to his old home in York State, which place he has not visited since his boyhood.
"Purely Personal," Medford Mail, June 1, 1894, page 3


    MR. ED:--I thought you might like to hear how I am progressing. I will say that am progressing about as rapidly as a church and part of the time like a crawfish. I met with nothing unusual until I met the Willamette at Portland. She is now quite unusual, being almost us broad as long. I had to take a boat from Portland to Kelso (50 miles down the river) to get a fresh start by rail. Nothing worth noting occurred until we arrived at Tacoma. There I met another delay of 14 hours. I left Tacoma on the morning of June 12th, and arrived here at 6 p.m., not prepared to see such a country as lies between here and Tacoma. After slowly sliding down the side of the Cascades, we struck a sand and sagebrush desert that vividly reminded of the country the Children of Israel traveled in for forty years and which the Good Book tells us, out of 3,000,000 souls there were only two left. If it really was a country like this I am speaking of, I am not at all surprised. It seems to me that about the only thing that could live here would be death and a mortgage, with perhaps a small amount of desolation. The day was quite warm, and the sand sifting silently, though surely, through the almost airtight cars was anything but delicious. Far away across the plains might be seen sand spouts shooting up into the air like smoke of torment. Every 15 or 20 miles we would come to a little oasis where some poor son of Adam was staying. I asked one of those what in blank nation he was living in a country like this for? He was on the fight in a minute, and said it was none of my blank business. I hardly expected a different reply, for I knew they all had SAND. One fellow said he was going to move out back further, for, said he, "The neighbors are getting too thick. Only last week a fellow moved in right over there only about 15 miles off." About every 20 or 30 miles the engine would give a toot to relieve the monotony and make believe we were coming to a station, but it would only be an extra large bunch of sagebrush and an extra big pile of sand. I heard the sound of but one rooster for a distance of some three hundred miles--and that was only an old tin weather vane on one of the water tanks to tell which way the wind blew, just as though anyone would care a bland cent which way it blew--it would fill your eves full of sand just as right. It seems to me that in a country like this death would be a welcome visitor--or at least life (what little there is) would be given up with but little reluctancy. Now about "Spokane"--it is a compound word with a double accent. The Spoke is accented lightly, then you can come down heavy on the "Can." You say Spo-Kan. The word was derived from what was left over from the Jargon, and signifies "give as little as you can for the money."
Medford Mail, June 22, 1894, page 4


    DEAR MR. ED.:--You will remember I told you in my first letter that I was expecting to leave Spokane that day at noon. Well, when I was just ready to step aboard the train a young man gave me a gentle poke in the ribs and asked to see my ticket. After looking a half second, he says, "You can't go on this train." The ----- I cant, says I, "No sir, you will have to see the N.P.G.P.A. over across the river, and get another ticket." Well, I said some things that now I was sorry for, after I cooled down & little, I concluded to take a more philosophical view of the situation, and as long as I could not do as I liked, I thought I would (as Bob Ingersoll says) "do as I must." You see, in my haste I had not thought of the Spokane Falls--or rather, having seen most all the great falls in the United States of America, and being right on my way to the Great Niagara, I thought the Spokane Falls did not amount to a hill of beans, but having nothing else to do, I strolled down to the falls this p.m., and I assure you I was delightfully disappointed. In all the great falls I have ever seen--not forgetting some great political party falls--I have never seen anything to equal in picturesqueness and grandeur the Spokane. As I stood on the bridge viewing that stupendous cataract, a feeling of sadness came over me. I seemed to realize for the first time how insignificant science was to nature (though nature has done so little for some of us). I don't like to write about these falls as I cannot do them justice. The upper part of the falls are, as the Frenchman would say, magnificent. They are broken with here a fall, there an island, there a promontory and here another fall; they seem to join in a merry embrace, then go rolling, tumbling, seething in a boiling mass, then separate, then re-embrace, then glide smoothly along for a short distance, then make another plunge over the lower fall; for a distance of 150 feet it is one frothing, hissing, foaming, distracted mass of distraction. If I did not like Spokane for anything else, I should like it for its falls. The Spokane are unlike many of the great falls on account of the nearness of view. While the Niagara Falls are on a higher scale, you cannot approach them so perfectly as the Spokane. It don't seem to me now as I ever enjoyed a view of the Niagaras (and I have seen them often) with anything like the satisfaction that I do the Spokane today. I took my pencil and began figuring on the power that could be generated from that fall, and after figuring over all the stationery I had about me I gave it up. I saw the electric light plant that is run by a tiny bit of the power and I said to a gentleman, I should think electric light must be very cheap here. He replied, "I should say so. Why, when it is any way cloudy here they use it all day, for it is about as cheap as sunshine any way."