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About North Georgia times. (Spring Place, Ga.) 1879-1891 | View Entire Issue (April 29, 1886)
NORTH GEO iRGIA K * * S. Wm. C. MARTIN, Editor. One Star. One star upon the brow of Night One star, one only gem— Gleams like a jewel rarely bright, Upon a queenly forehead white, In royal diadem. One star upon the brow of Night Is all that greets mine eyes, As, from a lonely mountain height, I sit and watch the crimson light Of sunset leave the skies. —Anna 31. Carpenter in Cassell. Meek Little Simeon Mix “Who was the meekest man?” asks the j catechism, and promptly answers itself by saying, “Moses.” The catechism is wrong. It is proba¬ bly excusable, however, for the man who wrote it was doubtless unacquainted with little Simeon Alix. If this should come to the eye. of the author of that cheerful specimen of orthodox literature, I hope he will revise his work iu this respect. The information as to meekness should he given thus: Question—Who was the meekest man? Answer—Little Simeon Alix. Because there never could have been a man quite as meek as little Simeon was. His name was at the head of the Gra.ss villc Beacon Light as editor, publisher and proprietor, and so he was; but he had no more to say about the way things should be run in the establishment than the tinker’s apprentice next door had. Air. Joshua Boggs, the foreman of the office, was the Beacon Light’s dictator. Nobody ever thought of going to little Simeon to have anything put in or left out of the paper, because they knew that Air. Boggs would more than likely kill the one and put in the other; so they always asked Air. Boggs if so and so could be noticed, or if such and such a thing couldn’t be passed over. Little Simeon never put his copy op the hook with any thought that it would go iu as he wanted it, if it went iu at all, and he never vent¬ ured to put copy out if Air. Boggs was looking. He moved about his establish¬ ment as if lie were an interloper, liable to be ordered out at any moment. He al¬ ways spoke to and of his foreman as “Air. Boggs, ” but the foreman was never more fcipectfui tt> little Simeon than total! him “Sim.” lie generally addressed him as “You sap-head.” Air. Boggs luled the destinies of the Beacon Light with an iron hand, and little. Simeon per¬ formed the functions of editor, publisher and proprietor with fear and trembling. The publication (lay of the Beacon Light was Tuesday, and it was little Sim¬ eon's well-known desire to have the pa¬ per printed on Alonday night. Conse¬ quently, Air. Boggs issued the paper promptly on Wednesday afternoons. A paper dated on Tuesday, and not coming out until Wednesday, did not strike little Simeon as being good journalism, but, of course, he could not think of suggesting such a thing to Air. Boggs. One night an idea struck little Simeon, after he had gone to bed. It was such a bold one that it scared him. Why not change the date of the paper to Wednesday? That was the idea. But to carry it into exer cution was what i eauired the nerve. It would never do to let Air. Boggs know of it. Little Simeon rolled and tossed for hours on his couch, so burdened was he with his idea. Finally ho crept out of bed, dressed himself, stole from the house, and went by a round about way, through dark back streets, to the office of the Beacon Light, He unlocked the door, and, with trembling limbs, tip-toed into the office. It was his own office, but ho felt like a thief. The forms for the paper were made up and on the stone ready to go to press the next day, which was Wednesday. Little Simeon struck a match, and crept up to the stone. “Law!” said he, “Air. Boggs knew this he’d be mad enough to kill me! I’ve a notion not to do it, now.” But ho did. He lifted out the word “Tuesday” and the date, and placed “Wednesday” and the corresponding date in their place. Then he left the office ns stealthily as he had entered, and flew back home as if the terrible Air. Boggs was in close pursuit. Little Sim¬ eon slept not a wink that night, and half dressed himself twice with the intention of going back to the office and undoing tho bold work he had done. The next morning he had no courage to go to the 'office, and sent word to Air. Boggs that ihe was ill. The paper come out all right, dated Wednesday. ^ On Thursday little 'Simeon went to the office with fear and trembling. He expected a blast from •Mr. Boggs, and admitted himself that he deserved it. But he nearly fainted when Mr. Boggs greeted him with a pleasant smile, and said: “Ah! Good morning, Simmy!” Little Simeon was filled with remorse. “Mr. Boggs hasn’t found me out yet,” Isaldhe. It’ll come by and by.” 1 But it didn’t, Nothing was said by I any one about the change in the Beacon SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA, THURSDAY APRIL 29, 18SG. Light's publication day. Little Simeon began to feel better and look upon his little moonlight coup as a master stroke of genius. The next week the Beacon Light’s now publication day came round, but no Beacon Light appeared. Air. Boggs had resented the unheard of effrontery of little Simeon Mix in inter¬ fering with the management of the paper. He brought the Beacon Light out on Thursday, and on Thursday it came out thereafter, dated Wednesday Mr. Bogg’s disapproval of his employ¬ er’s ideas in journalism was so universal that little Simeon was at last forced to use subterfuge and strategem to make his personality felt in the conduct of the Beacon Light. This was suggested to him, however, by Billy Puterbaugh, the devil of the (^establishment. Billy was little Simeon’s confidant. One night lit¬ tle Simeon and Billy werei alone in the office. “Here’s an editorial,” said'littlc Sim¬ eon, “that I’d like to have set double leaded in long primer, but Air. Boggs won’t let me, it isn’t likely.” “Afark it solid nonpareil,” said Billy, without looking up from the exchange he was reading. “W-h-a-tl” said little Simeon with a start. “Alark it solid nonpareil,” said Billy, “and old Boggs ’ll set it double-leaded in primer, an’ I’ll bet on it.” “But, law! Billy,”\said little Simeon, aghast at the thought. ^ “S’pose he finds us out?” Billy shrugged his shoulders and said it was none of his circus, but said that he’ed bet his life that if he wanted anything double-leaded in a. paper of his, he’d have it double-leaded or bust his biler. ’ Little Simeon pondered over the mat¬ ter a minute or two the wrote on the copy “Solid nonpareil,” ran to the hook and clapped it on, and dashed out of the office like a shot. Next day Air. Boggs took tho copy oil the hook. “ ‘Solid nonpareil,’ hey?” said he. AVe’ll solid nonpareil it!” He scratched at little Simeon’s direc¬ tion’s and wrote over it, “Long primer, double lead.” Genius triumphed again Tor the me^st rime- hot l^inTme Mr Borr-s found out m U S strategy some way way after a month or so. Little Simeon was satis¬ fied that lie was discovered by seeing in the Beacon Light one week ■ after his stirring appeal to the people to support Slocum for Patlimaster set in solid non¬ pareil, and a half-column communication on the subject of Heridity from a Psychol¬ ogical Point of View, which he had tak¬ en the chance of getting in the paper to oblige a scientific friend, heading the ed¬ itorial column in double-leaded long-prim¬ er Then little Simeon knew that it was futile to interfere where Air. Boggs ruled, and lie meekly submitted. Little Simeon was deeply in love with the villiage blacksmith’s pretty daughter. She was as meek and quiet and gentle as she was pretty, which is saying a great deal, and she returned little Simeon’s love. One Christmas the girls of Grass ville were getting up a little entertain¬ ment for the benefit of the church, and the blacksmith’s lovely daughter was ap¬ pointed a committee to see that proper notice of the affair should be given iu the Beacon Light. She told little Simeon that very night that there must be a good notice in the paper that week, for Friday was Christmas. Little Simeon said to his sweetheart that she would have to see Air. Boggs about the matter, as he had charge of all such things on the Beacon Light. The blacksmith’s pretty daughter went to the newspaper office the next day. Little Simeon was out. She walked meekly and quietly up to Air. Boggs, and, in her gentle way, told him what she wanted, and asked him if he would give them a good notice. “Alaybe you don’t know me, Air. Boggs?” she said. “I’m Miss Fry, the blacksmith’s daughter. ” “Oh! you are, eh?” said Air. Boggs, turning about and talking very loud. “Well, there’s never been any black smithing done around this office, and there never will be as long as I’m here. You can’t get any notice in this paper!” Weill It was all that Aliss Fry could do to keep back her tears, and she hur¬ ried from the office half-scared to death. On her way home she met little Simeon. Then she could contain herself no longer, and began to boo-boo in earnest. As soon as she was able she told him how rudely she had been treated by Air. Boggs, and what he had said to her. Little Simeon said nothing, but after leaving the blacksmith’s daughter at her house, he walked very rapidly back to the Beacon Light office. People that Ife met turned and looked after him. “What’s up with little Simeon they said. “Ain’t crazy is he?” When little Simeon reached the office, he went up stairs three steps at a time, He dashed through the door, and shut it after him with a bang. He never stop- j ped until he reached Mr. Boggs. Air. Boggs was a six-footer. ! “She can’t get any notice in this paper, eh?” yelled little Simeon, and he sprang in the air and hit Mr. Boggs a thump undf^ heap the the ear floor. that Little dropped him pounced in a on Simeon on him. He hnmmered, and clawed, and kicked. He scattered the astounded Air. Boggs about the floor like a bag of chaff. Billy Puterbaugh climbed clear up on his case, and looked down on the frantic little Simeon with bulging eyes, as he thrashed the hitherto invincible Air. Boggs around. Galleys were pied, frames upset, and gen¬ eral chaos was apparently approaching. Air. Boggs seemed utterly helpless in the hands of the iniuriated little Simeon, and after batting him about like an old tin kettle, until Billy Puterbaugh thought lie must surely bo dead, little Simeon dragged him to the head of the stairs and tumbled him from top to bottom. “Alnybe there’s never been nny black smithing done around this establish¬ ment,” exclaimed little Simeon, ns he camo back and looked about him, “but if he don’t think there’s been a little done just now, then he’s tougher than 1 think he is!” Then little Simeon sat down in Ills sanctum. “I ’spose he’ll come back and kill me, by and bye,” said he, but I don’t care a cuss.” But Air. Boggs didn’t come back. Tire next day little Simeon sat in his office, uneasy in his mind. The door slowly opened, and a head done up in bandages and plasters was thrust through the opening.. Then an altogether broken up individual limped in after the head. It was Mr. Boggs. Little Simeon thought the inevitable had come, and he sprang to his feet to sell his life as dearly as pos¬ sible. But Air. Boggs threw up his hands and said imploringly: “Don’t strike me, Air. Alix!” | “Mr. Alix!” exclaimed little Simeon. “The poor fellow is crazy!” Then Air. Boggs went on to say that ho wanted to go to work; that he couldn’t be happy,outside the Beacon Light office. “Well, ( Boggsy,” said little Simeon, not without aistart, ‘ ‘I guess wc can give you asit - Come around after you get those plasters off. * IhereG loT6T a nronnd this . offico> and ru>pHt ^ >u to sct . ting it up. And say, .Tosh, ?r a a roller to wash, and Billy’s busy. You might tackle that.” “All right, Air. Alix.” said the con¬ quered Joshua Boggs, and he went in and washed the roller! Little Simeon Mix ran the Beacon Light after that. The publication day was changed back to Tuesday, and the paper went to press regularly every Alon¬ day night. Air. Boggs was always Josh or Boggsy to little Simeon, and little Simeon was always Mr. Alix to the de¬ throned dictator. Little Simeon married the blacksmith’s pretty daughter, and Mr. Boggs invested three weeks’ salary in a wedding present for the bride.— Ed. Mott in the Journalist. An Anecdote of Webster. Webster liked a good story even if he was the hero of it. He delighted to re¬ late that while going in a stage from Con¬ cord, N. H., to his home on a certain oc¬ casion he had for a-travelling companion a very old man. The old gentleman lived at Salisbury, and as Captain Web¬ ster—Daniel’s father—had been quite popular thereabouts Daniel asked if he had ever known him. “Indeed I did,” said the antiquarian, “and the Captain was a good and brave man, and grandly did he fight at Bennington with General Stark,” continued the old gentleman. “Did he leave any children?” asked the great statesman. “Oh, yes; there was Ezekiel and, I think, Daniel,” was the simple reply. “What has become of them?” Daniel inquired. “Whv, Ezekiel—and he was a power¬ ful man, sir,—I’ve heard him plead in court many a time—fell dead whilo speechifying at Concord. ” “Well,” persisted Webster, “what be¬ came of Daniel?” “Daniel—Daniel,” repeated the old man, slowly—“why, Daniel, I believe, is a lawyer about Boston somewhere.” It is perhaps unnecessary to say that Daniel failed to reveal his identity.— Cleveland Leader. A Superfluous Female. The surplusage of females in the pop¬ ulation of Alassachusetts is constantly the cause for annoyance. It was at a juven¬ ile party the other day that a mothei noticed her five-year-old daughter had) not joined the march to the refreshment room. “Why did you not go in with the other children, my dear?” “Because I could not find nny littlq boy to hold on to,” was the wail of tho ingenious unfortunate .—Loxoell Citftm. AN’ N ENGINEER’S STORY His Strange Passenger on a * Southern Railroad. As Incident of the War in Which a Prom¬ inent Confederate Figured ■Over in Jersey City one day last week, soys “Halston” in the New York Times, two or three locomotive engineers sat talking over strange experiences, and tlijs was the story that one of them told: ‘I "’as a young man working on a South¬ ern railroad as a fireman when the war broke out. Before the war was over I got an engine of my own; but before I was regularly promoted the engineer of sfiy train fell sick all of a sudden and I was ordered to take the engine out my¬ self. I shipped a brakeman to do my fir¬ ing, nud started away at 6 o’clock in the morning, pulling one passenger and half a dozen freight cars. There wasn’t any fighting along my line, but there was a deal of bad feeling everywhere, and lots of lawless deeds were being commit¬ ted. The track on this road had been t6rn up in two places only a week before, and there was a good bit of talk about trainwreckers and the like. At about 8 d*clock at a way station I got a telegram from headquarters to drop all my cars and hurry right on to the end of the line with only my locomotive and tender. It Tgfas a queer order, but I knew that it asofficial and I made ready to obey or aars, when a little man with a brown slouch hat, who did not look as if he weighed over a hundred pounds, climbed up into the cab and said to me that he wished I would let him ride in there -frith me, he was so anxious to go forward as far as he could. I told him that my orders were to let nobody ride, and ex. plained that I didn’t think I could let him go. ‘Don’t you expect mef he asked. I told him I didn’t. ‘It will be all right,’he insisted, but when I asked him what was his name and what was his business lie couldn’t be induced to *?' hkl mo al * ‘ Then wlthout U ’ s al y°«-’ > U P’’ said Thcn 1 1 h<! T11 8° n S ° n S SU R that, he was willing to p;iy me J*" 1 0l l ^ ttln g 111111 remain aboard, but 1 flKr ‘ * .ary- chapccs, and .1 told hmr so. I was only waiting till my fire than attended lo some business that he had gone down the track about, and then I was going to shoot ahead and leave everybody behind. You ought to have seen the sparks in that little man’s eye. ‘You needn’t wait for your helper,’ he said in that kind o’ quiet tone that had a whole battlefield in its very quietness. ‘You needn’t wait for your fireman. I’ll do his work. Go ahead !” I looked at him, wondering whether or not he was crazy, when he calmly took out a shiny pistol and tapped gently on one of the brass rods of the cal) seat, and he repeated once more, ‘Go ahead!’ I was knocked clean out. What could the stranger mean? That sparkle in his eye grew brighter and and brighter, and seemed fairly to dance like a diamond under the sun. ‘Do you understand?’ he inquired in the quiet tone that pierced me like a bullet. ‘Go ahead, Isay.’ I w r ent ahead. On, on. and on we dashed, through the fields and forests and by the villages, stopping nowhere, my passenger—I felt that he was a madman—ke ping a close watch on me all the while. I was scared. That pistol was still in his hand, and like the little hand of a watch its rat-a-tat-tat on the brass rod kept counting off the scc onds and the minutes till I grew almost crazy myself. I was rattled. A sort of film kept coming before my eyes. He said not one word, but I felt that his search¬ ing gaze was on me all the while. And finally I could stand it no more. There was a rush of blood to my head, I stag¬ gered and fell—with the town I was bound for just iu sight. What I remcm ber next was a buzz of voices over me as I lay in a doctor’s office. Aside from a nervous shock I had suffered nothing. Aly engine had brought me into town all right, and had come to a halt at the sta¬ tion as gently and nimably as any old family horse. The man who had rode down with me had known enough to govern her, but he had waited at the depot after arriving only long enough to tell a bystander that I was in need of help in on the engine’s floor. A week after I learned the reason for the strange order that had been given me to hurry on with my locomotive and no cars, and I learned too the name and the mission of my passenger. A telegraph operator had blundered. Aly dispatch should have read: ‘Take on little man with brown slouch hat; drop all cars and rush for¬ ward with no stops.’ The operator had carelessly left off the first phrase about ‘the little man with brown slouch hat,’ and given me only the last part of the order. The man? He was Alexander H. Stephens, and he had important war information—information that he had been willing to trust to nobody else. He Vol. VI. New Series. No. 12. apologized to me afterward for his strange actions, but he said he felt that only in such a way could he ever manage to make me go on, for he didn’t know what the real text of my orders was and he was afraid to ask for fear that he might find me either unfriendly or untrustworthy. Those were days when everybody was suspected, you know.” IIow Some Artists Live. One can live cheaply or the reverse in New York, as Leander Rich- rdson shows. He relates the fact that ninny unmarried artists have rooms opening out of their studios making arrangements for the sweeping, washing and all that sort oi thing with the janitors of the buildings in which their quarters are situated. The milkman comes in the morning and leaves his little bottle of .he best milk, the bak¬ er comes around with the muffins and the janitor’s boy runs out to get the other supplies for the day. When the man in the house is ready for his breakfast, he simply goes and cooks it, and there isn’t anybody to find fault with for making the coffee too strong or doing the steak too much. One of the profession who makes a large income was found im¬ mersed in the duties of the kitchen, and apparently enjoying himself. He was covered over with a largo white apron, and his sleeves were rolled up above his elbows displaying a pair of brawny and well-shaped arms, while in his mouth was the regulation artist’s black pipe. At that particular instant he was finish¬ ing up the luncheon, which a few min¬ utes later the party sat down to demolish. It wus a very nice affair, consisting of consomme in cups, broiled oysters, a ten¬ der fillet of beef, black coffee, cheese and hard crackers. At Delmonico’s it would have cost $2 or $3. In the artist’s little suite of rooms the total outlay was less than fifty cents, and the host, who has a genuine liking for the preparation of eat¬ ables, enjoyed the pleasure of doing the cooking beside. Richardson says furth¬ er: I was surprished to hear qiy artistic friend tell the other day how many peo¬ ple of high and low degree live in this way in New York. He declared that three out of five of the painters car¬ ried on thi s existence in a more or less . modified form, some of them keeping a servant to run errands and do the menial part of the housekeeping, while many others did it all themselves. Some of have them elaborately ’gotten up flats in which they live in great style, but the bulk of them carry on their existence in sets of rooms opening out of their studios. That, however, is not a fair example of the bohemian sort of thing at its best in New York. Ebcn Plympton, the actor, used to run a pleasant little flat down in Twenty-ninth street, where he. delighted in inviting his friends and treating them to luncheons, dinners or suppers of his own preparation. I never could bring myself to think Eben a good actor, but they do say he is a first-class cook, and perhaps that is the direction in which hi ■■ genius lies. At any rate, his rooms were the resort of lots of people who know what good eating is, and who always appeared to be very glad, indeed, to have an invitation to a feast made ready by their host himself. Hillary Bell, a well-known painter who diversi¬ fies his professional career % writing a portion of the time for newspapers and magazines, also lives by himself, doing all his own cooking and oftentimes enter¬ taining his friends. He was telling me the other day how in the early days of his career, when he used ‘to be sometimes hard up for money, he found he could live in really excellent style upon this system at a total outlay of about $3 a week—this amount, of course, covering only the cost of the raw materials and not including rent. So it will l c seen that a man who enjoys puttering around at cooking and all that kind of thing may combine thorough pleasure with complete economy. Toombs’ Escape. On the day after the last Confederate council, which was held in Washington, Ga., that section of the country was over¬ run by Federal troops in pursuit of the fugitives. A federal cavalry officer dis¬ mounted at the door of General Toombs’ mansion, and was met upon the doorstep by the general himself, whom he didn’t happen to know personally. “Is General Toombs at home?” inquired the stranger. “He is 1 Take a seat and I will and . go tell him.” Alaking his escape thus out of the room, General Toombs told - his wife to go in and entertain the officer, and to gain him as much time as possible for escape. Mounting a horse, which was kept con¬ stantly saddled for the purpose, he rode , away, and after atrip marvelous for itf incidents both on land and on sea, he gained the shores of England__ Atlanta Constitution. The Wonderfnl Weareri There’s a wonderful weaver High up in the air. And he weaves a white matitlo For cold earth to wear. With the wind for his shuttle, The cloud for his loom, IIow lie weaves, how he weaves, Iu the light, in the gloomt Oh! with the finest of laces He decks hush and tree; On the hare, flinty meadows A cover lays be. Then a quaint cap be places On pillar and post ; And he changes the pump To a grim, silent ghost! But this wondorful weaver Grows weary at last; And the shuttle lies idle That once flow so fast. Then the sun peeps abroad On the work that is done; And he smiles: “I’llunravel It all. just for fun!” HUMOROUS. The spring-time of life—When you discover a bent pin under you. Can a man be called a temperance man of long standing who wears tight shoes? “Struck down,” as tho barber said when he shaved the first crop of fuzz fnom a youth’s chin. i A soft answer turns away no wrath from a girl when she is serious on the popping question and means business. The wealth of our language is shown by tho fact that “hang it up” and “chalk it down” mean precisely the same thing. Playwright-Do you think my new tragedy will survive a first performance? Critic—Your tragedy—may be; the spec¬ tators—hardly. It is said that a person who eats onions will keep a secret. But such a person cannot keep secret the fact that he has been eating onions. Uncle George—“And so you go to school now, Johnny? What part 'of the exercises do you like best?” Johnny— “The exercises wo get at recess.” “Yes, gentlemen,” said the barber, “we tiro standing on frccvsoil.” “No, you're not,” said the shoemaker, “you arc standing in shoes not paid for.” There is-iiot, stx-niueh difference be¬ tween r» restaurant and a cattle barn as one would at first suppose. The former has many tables, and the latter has its stables, too. Farmers are pouring into Western Texas so fast that ranchmen have just time enough to move their cattle out and prevent their tails being chopped off by the advancing hoc. A school board recently asked the fol¬ lowing question of a little girl; “What is the plural of man?" “Men.” “Very well; and what is the plural of child?” “Twins,” immediately replied the little girl. During a recent cyclone in the West “a church was lifted to a height of thirty feet.” The members of the congrega¬ tion were deeply chagrined when they miv their edifice become a high church so suddenly. “Oh, mamma, you’d be surprised to know how dumb Bessie Barton isl She took me into what she said was the apiary. What do you think I saw there?” “I don’t know, dear.” “Why nothing but a lot of beehives. There were no apes there; not even a monkey.” Grcck Burial Cnsloms. A correspondent at Athens gives an ac¬ count of many curious burial customs pe¬ culiar to Greece which lately came under liis notice. A piece of linen as wide ns the body, and twice as long, was doubled, and a hole large enough for the head cut out of it. In this the body was wrapped and then dressed in new clothes, and more especially new shoes. Beneath tho liead was placed a pillow full of lemon leaves. In tho mouth was put a bunch ol violets and around the temples a chaplet flowers. These are used only for for the unmarried, and must be white. Both head and feet were tied with bands made for the purpose, which were un¬ loosed at the edge of the grave when the coffin was about to be closed. A small coin (a relic of the fee to the ferryman) was placed in the palm of the hand. At Athens a sou is dropped into the coffin. The greatest attention is given to this point. In removing the body the feet al¬ ways go first. A priest came on three successive days to sprinkle tho room, fumigate it and repeat certain prayers, as for that period after death it was sup¬ posed to be haunted. After burial women are hired to keep a light burning over the grave until the body is supposed to be decomposed. To assist this, the Bottom of modern Greek coffins is of lat tice work. Every Saturday the poor of Athens place the ^ of their on graves friends eatables of the sort they used to like.— Sunbeams.
