Since writing for public journals is one of one of the necessities of this progressive age, your correspondent could not well keep silent any longer. Every city, village, and community has a history, and this history should be real and carefully studied. But we commence our history of the sayings and doings of the good people of Tyner City and vicinity, we must first inform you that we are all having a big sweat in the “neck-of-the woods”. From certain unmistakable indications, we are warranted in saying that for a few days past, the weather has been decidedly warm. Old Sol riding high over us poor mortals in the power of his calorific glory and in order to try our morals as well as the tenacity of our mortal bodies, has been, and at this moment is, pouring upon us his scorching rays without any regard whatever to our feelings or comfort.
The fact is Mr. Editor, these dog days are most doggedly hot. But thanks to the changing seasons, they are slowly passing by, and soon the majestic monarch will leave us to enjoy the comforts and luxuries of autumnal breezes.
And now for a few facts and items in regard to Tyner City, and first, so far as I can learn, the health of the city is moderate-a few cases of abdominal derangements giving the patients more uneasiness in the gastric regions, than the doctors have respecting their convalesence.
The saloons are, financially, in a healthy condition-doing well at least for themselves. And yet, Mr. Editor, you must not infer that we all get drunk. No sir, we possess the faculty of knowing just how much of the “critter” our “innards” demand to keep our breadbaskets (stomachs) in a healthy condition and our consciences in good running order. We seldom get out of our perpendicularity, though now and then the hell without and the fire within incet somewhere about the knee joints, where there action conjointly upon the “Synonial fluid” produces a decided weakness of the motor muscles: thence running up the vertical column, terminate in the cerebrum and celebellum (brain) causing what is generally known as the sun stroke by proxy.
Such was the condition of a poor fellow we passed lying on the grass, along the R.R. a few days ago. He had a powerful stroke, and a tolerable sized bottle by his side. He muttered something incoherently and I passed on hoping the stroke would not prove fatal.
The trade in Huckleberries still continues quite actively. I presume most of your readers are aware that Tyner City is the great Huckleberry Emporium of Marshall County, About 3 miles northwest is located what is known as the “Big Marsh”. In this marsh the berries grow and every day hundreds of men, women and children are wading through it gathering the berries. In the center of the marsh is an acre or two of solid ground, more elevated than the rest, on which is a nice grove. This is called the “Stamping ground”. Here the eager multitude comes every evening or morning with their berries and find a real ready market. A kind of eating and drinking saloon is kept here for the accommodation of the “ pickers”.
Curiosity prompted your correspondent to visit this locality. When I arrived at the borders of the marsh, a scion of humanity met me, lugging a basket of berries in each hand. “Anymore left in there?” I asked, “Thunder yes!” replied the sprig, “wagons loads”. “Any snakes in there”, “Snakes the d——“, replied the young hopeful. “Snakes don’t migrate to this locality, but continued he, see here stranger, you’ll find hornets by the millions”.