imes that
were gone. They had but one regret--that the railroad station, four
miles away, had been named Azalia. It is true, the station consisted of
a water-tank and a little pigeon-house where tickets were sold; but the
people of Azalia proper felt that it was in the nature of an outrage to
give so fine a name to so poor a place. They derived some satisfaction,
however, from the fact that the world at large found it necessary to
make a distinction between the two places. Azalia was called "Big
Azalia," and the railroad station was known as "Little Azalia."

Away back in the forties, or perhaps even earlier, when there was some
excitement in all parts of the country in regard to railroad building,
one of Georgia's most famous orators had alluded in the legislature to
Azalia as "the natural gateway of the commerce of the Empire State of
the South." This fine phrase stuck in the memories of the people of
Azalia and their posterity; and the passing traveler, since that day and
time, has heard a good deal of it. There is no doubt that the figure was
fairly applicable before the railways were built; for, as has been
explained, Azalia was the meeting-place of the wagon-trains from all
parts of the State in going to market. When the cotton-laden wagons met
at Azalia, they parted company no more until they had reached August.
The natural result of this was that Azalia, in one way and another, saw
a good deal of life--much that was entertaining, and a good deal that
was exciting. Another result was that the people had considerable
practise in the art of hospitality; for it frequently happened that the
comfortable tavern, which Azalia's commercial importance had made
necessary at a very early period of the town's history, was full to
overflowing with planters accompanying their wagons, and lawyers
traveling from court to court. At such times the worthy townspeople
would come to the rescue, and offer the shelter of their homes to the
belated wayfarer.

There was another feature of Azalia worthy of attention. It was in a
measure the site and centre of a mission--the headquarters, so to speak,
of a very earnest and patient effort to infuse energy and ambition into
that indescribable class of people known in that region as the
piny-woods "Tackies." Within a stone's throw of Azalia there was a
scattering settlement of these Tackies. They had settled there before
the Revolution, and had remained there ever since, unchanged and
uncha