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r J,«r PHOTO
T" K OH API!
W „Unp in « l«»y ton “. in °" 6
»' i ’*™, ,,ul *
lotos rr., lot nnd b» w.fo
life „f such careless happiness
rft relv found out of the attics of
, at Kft y city, where content ard
beerfulnes. are more apt to reign
hrt in the most spacious man
ions. _
V true Parisian was Lomson,
young wife, who understood
o well bow to hide the poverty
{ ,he small attic dwelling by a
, ndre d graceful little devices.
t uo rooms were hardly larger
llft „ closets, but the modest fur
itrt ra was clean and fresh, and
rouped with charming effect, and
„ freshly painted walls were dec
rated with cheaply framed photo
rsphs, ornamental, as well as tes
menials of the skill of the mas
jr of the establishment. In the
mill wiudows with snow white
irt iius stood pots of roses, gern
in,us and pinks, and from a tiny
nlcony hung a cage whero a
right canary sang his joyful
ong. The only room with any
retentions to size was a light,
ry one opening from the sitting
oom, and whi°h was used as the
,i k room of the master,
Charles was a landscape photeg
jpber of unusual skill. He pho
graphed public buildings also,
ut rarely tried his baud at por
aits, not having rnians to cum
i)to with the owners of th" large,
■ pensively furnished studios of
he aristocratic quarter of the
ty, while he felt himself above
he cheaper grade of photogra
hers who furnish miserable exe
ited portraits.
Ha had lived in the capital only
year; during which he had learn
d to know, and aftorvrard married
isbeloved Lauisou, who althougli
et possessed of a son, owned
mch treasures of cheerfulness,
[inability, and good henrtedness
aut Charles was more than satis
ad. The young man could well
ipo that the future held better
jings in store for him, for his un
sual skill must in time win the
lace it deserved; and already his
ileut was recognized by more
mn one of the artists of tho day.
Mj of the best photographs of
arisian buildings seen and idmir
tin the plate glass windows of
ie boulevards came from Ins bum
le studio, also landscapes and
ews of c istles. ch arches, con
ents, etc., in the neighborhood
t present he was engaged on a
triei of views from St. Germain,
tul bad already completed tweu
J two out of the two dozen he in
maed to prepare.
It was the 31st of August, 1877
ae day promised to be bright
ii cl§.ar, and early in che tnora
ig Charles made ready the email
ort able apparatus lie carried on
uch occasions, for the last excur
ion to St. GermniD, to finish the
wo photographs necessary to com
lete the desired nnmber. Kiss
>g l-ouison, he was very soon in
is place in the omnibus going
rom the Place de la Bastille to
ie railway station for St. Gcr
m'n in the Rue St Lazare, after
liioh an hoar’s journey past the
harming snberbs of Ansuieres,
'in ter re, and Xlalmaisou brought
In at ten o’clock to his de6tina
lon ; Springing from the railway
» r mge, Chnrles beckoned to a
Um Coding on the platform,
Q d for the sum of three francs
n g a ged his services for the day
u Carr . v bis apparatus and assist
llin ‘ u an y way he might be re
[Hired,
“It Germain, with its fourteen
°nsand iahabitauts, is a very
'hot town, living like a faded bau
y °Q the recollection of past tri
“Pb*; but, owing to its high,
ea thy situation and its beautiful
Weekly Gwinnett Herald.
TYLER M. PKKI’LRS. )
Editor and Propriktor. f
forests, it is a favorite resort of
the pleasure seeker. The old cas
tie, finished in the reign of Fran
cis I, is rich in historical rerner'
brances. It was tbo birth place
of Henry 11, Charles IX, aud Lou
is XIV, and contains the room
where died .lames 11, of England,
the ban’shed Stuart, who received
the hospitality of Louis XIV, un
til his death in 1701. In the
large court of the castle was
fought, on the 10th of July, 1547,
the last public duel before the
court. In tho year 1579 the cas
tie was used as barracks, and la
ter as a military prison, for winch
purpose it was utilized until Napo
poleon 111, restored it ana estab
lished them the interesting Gallo
Roman museum.
To the east stretches, seven thou
sand feet long, the terrace of
world-wide celebrity—a favorite
promenade, with a view over a
landscape lovely beyond descrip
tion with castles and villas, gar
dens and fountains, hills arid val
leys. Behind the terrace aud the
palace garden is the beautiful for
est of St Germain.
The bright, worm sunitn'r day
had brought many strangers, and
unusual life animated the town,
along the streets and promiuadss
of which strolled countless elegant
j Parisian idlers aud charming la
dies dressed in tho latest fash
ion
»
Charles soon chose a favorite
point on the terrace, and with the
aid of his assistant the two views
were successfully transferred to
his portfolio. \\ hen his work was
accomplished the young man cure
fully packed bis aparatus, and, fol
lowed by his servant protein,
strolled slowly toward the modest
inn in the town where he intended
to dine. His way led him past
the handsome Hotel du Pavilion
Henry IV„ widely celebrated for
its magnificent situation.
As h« approached the house, it
suddenly entered the head of the
photographer that it would not be
a bad idea to add a view of the
popular hotei to his collection, as
the picture would probably be
oought by many stiangers who
had lived there.
Ho beckoned to his follower,
and stopped in the open space iu
front of the house which whs ut.
that time empty, it being the din
uer hour at the horid. In a few
moments he had chosen tho best
posHion for his aparstus and plac
ed everything in readiness. As
he was on the poiut cf beginning
h« whs interrupted by a guest at
the hotel, evidenntly returning
from a promenade on the terrace,
who approaching, stopped beside
the nparatns, which he seamed to
regard with much interest. H>'
was a little old gentleman with
snow white hair, who appeared but
little oppressed by the weight o
years, for a youthful ti r e beamed
in the friendly eyes shiniog thro
gold mounted eye glasses, and his
movements showed an almost mer
curial activity, The expression of
his face was strikingly intelligent’
‘Aha !’ he remarked, ‘the hotel
is to be photographed it seems.
An excellent idea.’
‘Do you think so, sir ?’ respond
ed Charles smiliug. ‘I hope the
idea will be to my advantage; that
my guests stopping here will buy
copies in reinemberance of the
place.’
‘A capital speculation, which
certainly must hove good results,’
said the old man, with an approv
ing nod. ‘Do you belong to this
place V
‘No, sir; I l : ve in Paris. I have
taken a series oftweutyfour views
of St Germain, and as I am here
with an hour to spare, / an adding
a photograph of the hotel. It is
on'y an idea which struck me as I
was passing.’
‘The notion is good. The only
fault 1 Lind id that there will be uj
Lawrenceville, £a. Wednesday June 13, 1883
body to be seen in the picture,
which will give it a lifeless effect.’
‘I quite agree with you, sir ; but
much to my regret there is no
ono at hand. It would be impossi
ble to place my shabby assistant
there on the balcony.’
'No; the man is no doubt a very
good fellow in his wov, and if a
farmyard were to bo photographed
ed, he would do beautifully, but
hero ho is not exactly suitable.
There are two charming English
, ladies in the hotel; perhaps you
could induce them to stand for
you.’
‘I am afraid it would causo some
what of commotion if I were to en
ter the hotel and prefer suck a re
quest.’
‘Very well; if you don’t like do
ing it, I will ask for you.’
‘You are very kind sir; but I
will not give such trouble. As
you nro good enough to be inter
ested in my picture, would it be
too much to ask you to stand for
a moment on the veranda V
‘With pleasure—l will do any
thing to help you ; but remember
lam an old man. M> presence i„
the picture would be no attraction
for fair young purchasers.
‘I aru convinced to the contra
ry, sir. Such a dignified old gee
tleinan would certainly be an orna
ment to my picture. Your kind
ness would be a great favor to
me.’
‘Very well, I am at your dispos
al,’ and the old gentleman mount
ing tho steps, placed himself he
hind the iron railing of tho vorau
da, his right hand leaning on his
cane, hi* left placed on the railing,
while, with a friendly, benevolent
expression, he looked down ou Hie
photographer.
Charles' heed immediately vanish
ed under the cloth curtaining the
aparaius.
‘The head a little more to the
left,; if you ploase. There—that -is
right 1 Mow keep the position for
a few seconds. O ie, two, three,
foul, five,” —and tho operation was
a complete a veess,
At that moment two elegantly
dressed ladies appeared upon the
balcony and spoke a few words to
the old go tlernan, who bowed
pleasantly to the photographer, as
ter which all three disappered into
the hotel.
’Strange ! thong't Ohar’es. ’T! •
old man’s face seemed familiar;yet
I don t remember that I have ever
seen him before.
With tho assistance of his com
panion the apparatus was packed
again, and the photographer went
on to the inn, where he dined, r«
turning immediately afterward to
Puris.
Daring the next jtbree days
Charles was busily occupied with
the negatives taken at St. Gtr
main, and scarcely left bis studio ;
\t tho end of that time he set out
early in the morning wth a com
plete series of the pictures in a
tasteful leather portfolio. Ho turn
ed Ids steps toward the neighbor
ing Boulevard Beaumarchais, in
which was the establishment of a
well known dealer in works of art
with whom he had already some
acquaintance. To him ho intend
ed offering the views of S;. Ger
main. As he went through the
Rue St, Antoine and the Place de
la Bastille, he wondered somewhat
at the groupes of men gathered to
gether about ever corner and in
many of the shop doors, talking
and gesticulating violently, evi
d'ntly discussing something of in
terest. Something of importance
must have taken place to cause
this excitement among the easily
moved Parisians. News boys ran
swiftly through the streets cry ng
in hoarse voices : ‘-Latest from
SL Germain!” \Vhat could it be?
The young man stopped before
a group surrounding the newspa
per column on the Place dela Bas
tille, eagerly scanning a- painted
paper which had done been pos
ted there. Charles could uot ap
proach near enough to road the
placard.
“What has happened? ho asked
a broad-shouldered workman in a
blue blouso, who had succeeded
in getting near enough to real.
“Monsieur Thiers is dud! said
the man, impressively. ‘He died
yesterday evening. It is a terrible
loss for our party, particularly as
It comes just now before the elec
tion. He was the man upon whom
the eyes of the wise and good in
France were turned, p am only a
plain workman, sir. aud don’t pro
fess to understand much of poli
tics, but wo have always trusted
to Monsieur Thiers’ wisdom. He
knew what was host for ns and the
whole laud. Now he is dead, and
there is his place.
That was the starting news of
the day which the electric wire
was flashing through the world
an event of such great, incalcula
bio importance that for tho mo
ment even the Itusso-Tiukish war
and a thousand other interests of
tho day sank into comparative iu
significance. The -octogenarian
had closed his eyes forever, after
playing for fifty years such a brill
iant role in the politics of Fiance
aud Europe, occupying but a few
years before the highest public of
fico in France.
Charles had never busied him
seif much with poli lies, but lie
knew well that this event would
be for France a grave crisis, natur
ally affecting tiado and business
of evorykind. Occupied with
such thoughts lie*entersd the es
tablishment of tho art dealer, and
in a f-w words explained tho oh
ject of his »isit. ‘
‘Ah, my dear dr.’ said the deal
or with a shako of 'lie head, ‘this
jj a bad time fur business. Uni
vursal suspense an ! uncertainty
reign; no one knows what, t ho next
hour wdl bring forth. R-'poruS of
a coupe d’etat aro in tho an - , a!
the Bourse there i« a pmic; rents
jiro falling; business people aro in
the wildest confusion. Thicr's
death afficts everything. I?ut
show me what yon bring to <1 i.v
A series of views of 8t Germain?
I have no doubt of their excel
lonce. Tbiert died at St Germain
that might perhaps aw iken some
interest fir the pictures. Have
you chanced to take a vie wof the
house where ho died —the Hotel
du Pav lion Henri IV?'
‘Yes,’ answered Charles in as
tonishment; ‘by chance I took
such a picture. And Thiers died
there! Good heavens could he
lio the old gentleman whom J
photographed? His face seemed
familiar to me—perhaps because
I saw so many pictures of him
when he was president; and he r«
latod in a few words his meeting
with tho old gentleman at the ho
tel.
‘Show me the picture,’ cried the
dealer his eyes sparkling with ex
citement; ‘this ; s more important
than you think!’
The young man took the photo
graph from the case and handed
it to the dealer, who looked atten
tively at tho small figure in the
picture, represented with wonder
fill clearness and accuracy.
‘Zes, that is Thiers to the life!’
he exclaimed in delight. ‘An ex
cellent likeness! When did you
tako the picture?
•Oil the thirty first of August.’
‘Only four c ays ago! Then this
is the last picture of the great
statesman and patriot, for whom
all France mourns to dux! ’lt»e
portrait is a precious remembrance
which will circulate through France
in thousands of copies. Ourcoun
trys loss is for you a stroke of fort
uqg, my friend nil have the
copyright of this picturo, and it
will be worth to you over a bun
dred thousand franca. Tho figure
of Thiers, with a poiliou of the
balcony, should bo cut from tho
picture and enlarged. Yen can
make three sixes, fur ono, twj and
th/ee francs each. In four weeks
we can soil half a million copios.
At present, in all France there is
no better article of merchandise-
Do you realize this ?’
Charles comprehended now tho
groat prize which fortune had
thrown in his '"ay, aud grew al
most dizzy as he thought of theun
hoped for riches probably in storo
for him.
‘But I cannot possiply print so
quickly such an enormous number
of copies!’ he exclaimed. ‘My atu
di) is far two small.’
‘You are right,’ replied the deal
cr. ‘The largest photographer in
Paris must under take i r , working
day and night. I will manage the
sa eif you agree. We haw no
time to loose.’
Half an hour later a contract
wav made with the proprietor of a
largo studi > in the neighborhood
who agreed to lay all his other
work (.side and devote his ener
gies entirely to the portrait of
Thiers. Tho next day every prom
ineut newspaper in Paris told of
the last photograph of Thiers, tak
en at St. Germain four days before
bis death and tho result exceeded
all ex 'setations. All the adinir
ers of the deputed statesman lias
tened to become possessen of the
last rem tnbrance of the old man
they so revered. There were more
than half a million sold, and 6has.,
received for his share of tho profit
oni hundred and twenty five thou
sand francs. In addition to this,
he was taken into partnership
with the great photographer, and
found in his improved position full
opportunity for exercising his tal
ents.
From tho modest garret ho do
cended with his beloved L mison
into the luxurious suite of rooms
on the first lloor, where L mison
shed about her the atmosphere of
light and cheerfulness which fol
lowed her from the attic, in spite
of the addod cares and responsibil
lbs which came upon her uud her
husband.
First among ail the comforts
and luxuries of their new homo is
prized and honored a picture hung
mg in tlie salon of tho happy pair
—an exquisite co; y in a costly
frame, and surrounded by a laurel
wreath, of tho last portrait of
Adolphe Thiers.
BOYS WILL UK BOYS.
An exchange says a boy will
tramp two hundred and fifty miles
in one,day on a rabbit hunt and
be limber in the evening; when, if
yon ask him to cross the s'riet and
borrow Jones’ two inch augur, he
will be as stiff as a meat block.
To bo Mire ho will. And he will
go swimming all day and stay in
the water three hours at a time,
and sulash and dive, and paddle
>tnd puff, and next morning he
will feel that i n unmeasured is
suit has been offered him when he
is told by his mother to wash his
fuco. And he’ll wander around a
creek bed all the evening piling
up a pebble fort, and nearly die
off when his big sister wants bin;
to please pick up a basket of chics
for the parlor stove. And he'll
spend the biggest part of the time
in trying to coiner a stray nin e
or bare hacked horse for a ride,
and feel that all life’s charms have
tied when it comes tiis turn to
drive the cows home. And he’ll
turn a ton ncre lot upside down
for ten inches of angle worms, ar d
wish for tie voiceless tomb when
the garden demands attention.
But all the same, when you want
a friend who will stand by you,
and sympathize with yell, and be
true to you in ill kinds of weather
enlist one of these same boys.
—• m
6'heek is one of the hardest
worked business capitals in the
country.
—-m • *
Vtr.C few people nowadays suffi r
from suggestion of the brain.
If every dog had bis day, how
long would a bench show last?
jVol. XIII.-NO. 13
MR SI'OOP END YES AND
THE DOG.}
‘Look here, my dear,’ said Mr
Spoopuhdyke. as ho led a huge at.d
shaggy dog into his wife’s room.
Ive got a dog a friend of mine
gave me. What do you think of
him ?’
‘Good gracious !’ ejaculate 1 Mrs
Spoopendyke, mounting a chair in
in dismay. Is ho mad V
‘No. Mrs Npoopondyke,’ rolortcd
her husband, ‘lie not only isn’t
mad, but he isn’t a step ‘ ladder
either, nor a birds eye view. He's
a dog, ami if you don’t got out of
that chair, hell probably bito vo'/r
leg off.’
Mrs Spoopendyka sat down on
her feet and eyed tho brute with
some trepidation.
‘Maybe he has got the liydropho
bia, sbe suggested, by way of a
hearty w.dc >mo.
‘Perhaps he has’ agreed Mr
Spoopendyke; but. if he hat, he
has got it in his pocket. Come
hero, doggoc, dogbee, doggee!
and Mr Spoopendyke snapped his
fingers persuasively.
*\Y hy dont he come when yon
call him?’ asked Mrs Spoopon
dyke, deeply interested iu the pro
ceedings.
‘Because y>u make suen a dud
gasted noise you scare him,’ ex
plained Mr Spoopendyke. ‘Come,
iluggee.’
‘i don t quite like the wav his
tongue hangs out,’ objected Mrs
Spoopendyka ‘lt don’t look nut
ural.’
Maybe yon don't like tho way
his tail hangs out, either. Per
haps you think that is artificial,
too. With your information
about dogs you only need a slat
bottom and a broken bingo to be
a dog ponn 1. Keep quiet now,
while I teach him Homo links.
Como here doggee, sit up. sir 1’
The dug stretched out his logs,
opened a mouth like a fol ling bed
ste ul and growled.
‘What makes him do that? a-k
oil Mm Spoopendyke, sitting on
the hack et u chair with her foot
on tho seat.
•Dod gast it!’ howled Mr Spoop
endyke. ’Who do you suppose
ma lo him do it ? Think ho works
on wire? Got a notion he goes by
Steam ? Ho don’t, I toll ye, he
is alive, and ho does it because that
is the bent of his measly mind.
What are you sitting up there for?
Can’t you see he don't like it?
Mow, you sit still. Here, doggee,
do/gee, go >d doggee, sit up i.n I
beg!'and Air Spoopendyke hold
up an ndmonitary finger.
The dog eyed Mr Spoopon
dyko’with anything but an assur
ing glance.
‘lie's hungry,’ suggested Mrs
Spoopendyke. Dogs do like that
when they want to be taken down
in the yard and fed.’
‘Of course you know,’ grumbled
Mr Spoopendy ke. All you want
is a perfect ignorance on the p .rt
of the police to bo a dog fight.
G )t anything in the home for him
to eat V
‘There is some cold oyster stow
and a pie -e of custard pie— ’
‘That s it! raved VI r Spocpen
dyke. ‘That’s what’s tho matter
with him. Ho wants pie! You’ve
got it. Yon only n ed a commit
tee and a fight to boa bench show.
Where’s tho oysters? Dmt you
see tho dog pining for oysters?
Haven’t ye gut somo cold coffee
for him? tf.ve him a lemon to stay
his stomach ! and Mr Spoopendyke
j imped straight up in the air and
landed on the dog.
Tho dog made for tho open air
with a howl, and Mr .Spoopendyke
githored up twelve baskets of him
self and looked after his prize.
‘Never mind, dear,’ said Mrs
Spoopend) Ice, soothingly, ‘he will
come back.’
‘lf he does I will kill him,’
shouted Mr Spoopendyke ‘See
what you have done. You m idi
me lose in* dog and torn my Irons
ers. Anything more about dog
you dont know ? Got any more in
telhgence to impart about dogs?
All you want is a bucket of bran
dy around yonr neck and a snow
storm to be a monk A St Bei
nard, with which logical conclu
sion Mr Spoopendyke began ex
plot mg his ontljiug districts for
possible bites, while his wife spec
ulatod upon the salvation of the
cold oysters and the mustard pie
by tho sudden and eminently sat
isfac ory disaffection of the dog.
GROWS KITII Kit WET OR
DRY.
Chief Justice Mansfield. | roba
l>'y with ** view to prolong his »>\vn
d iys, was always anxious win n old
w.luessts wue iu court, to know
—AS—
An Adret'l ishtff MuUvm
The HER ADD it nney noted by
reus,;, of il* retentive rirr„lafi„ n and
remark,,h/f low rate*, Hutineti men
should rrmnnhrr thin.
BLANKS! BLANKS! BLANKS
(AM. KINDS NVAVI.T I'RIMKt))
FORSALE ATT HE
UEItA LD JOIt OFt'lVft
tlo-ir customary habits of life. It
*'» happened tlmt two very old
men named Elin were ono day tho
■Ejects of hie inquiry
‘\on are a very o<? man,' said
Ilia Lordship to the elder blether.
T suppose you lmvo lived a very
temperate life"
‘Never drank anything but wa
Ur my Lord,’ arid Elm.
‘Nor you either, I suppose?’
said the Judge, addressing .iim
self to the younger,
‘When I could gat acytliing
else my lord,' was the reply. *1
always took my glass with ray
friends.’
‘Well, then,’ replied his Lord
ship, ‘All wo can say is anJF.lna will
fionri. h, wet or dry.’
——
I (/LG Alt HAH ITS.
Asking q lestions, private and
personal, is a vulgar habit, an l
tolling your own baiue-s, which
uo one wnnts to know, is another.
Asking the cost of a present that
hut been made to yon, loud talk
ing iu public hard staring at table
indolent disrespect to husband,
wife, sister or brother, showing
temper in trifles and racking scenes
in public, showing an embarrass
ing amount of fondness, and ruik
mg lovo in public convert sneers,
of which people can see tho ani
inns if they do not always under
stand the drift; porsistent egotism
which talks forever of itself, and
cannot even feign the most pass
ing interest in another, detraction
of friends, and, it may lie, relatives
husband telling of his unpin mint
nesses, a wife complaining of her
husband a faults, the bold assump
tion of superiority, and the servile
confession of infinite unwortlii
ness—all of these are signs and
evidences of vulgarity—vulgarity
of a far worse type than that
which eats its fish with a stool
knife, and says, ‘You was,’ and
‘Eich of tho men were.’
BREVITIES.
The nrtiir.il alone are pvrma
neat
Words aro the voice of the
heart.
Youth holds no society with
grief.
Ccnruga iu Jdangor is the
battle.
By persuading other# we con
vinco ourselves.
No man is born whose work is
not born with him.
A flirt's heart is like an omnibus
—always room for one more
If you wish to roach the highest,
begin ut the lowest.
The mill will uoxer grind with
tho water that is past.
When the judgement in weak
the prejudice n» *tro ig.
Got leave to work in this worl 1
it is the best you can get.
Measure not the work nntil tho
day is out and the labor is dona
He II a‘. wo l ll not w l »n he
might, shall not when he would.
Any nan may make a mistake ;
none but a fool will stick to it.
In tho greatest straits, and
when hope is small, the boldest
counsel is the safest.
God be tbanke i that the dead
have left good work uuJ. no for
the living to do.
I bit man is worthless who
knows how to receive a favor but
not how to return one.
‘Storied earn and animate 1 bust,'
—telling a lie for a dollar and get
ting drunk on ttie proceeds.
The adjectives habitually use 1.
like the inscriptions on a thermo i
eter, indie *te the theniperament.
A child of seven or eight said
that when the Bible speaks of ‘ehil
dren’s chi'drtn’ it runst mean dolls
No matter if the postage is r-i
dne-d. it. is ju*t as n uch tr mb! •
tc lic.{ a two cent. st. rnp as tLreo
cent one.
‘Vra -i-ms wife,’ said a f t ier a.
lie looke 1 t, his son M’il at n s lor.i
n mst-ic, -get that BdJ itr-eat* I.’