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NORTE m \ > * ■ ■ . GEORGIA TIMES -.*>
Wm. 0. MARTIN, i ditor.
Some Day.
life’s “fitful fever will be o'er,”
Aud we shall toss in pain no more:
In peace will hush the breakers’ roar
Some day.
Theee bitter tears will cease to flow,
These piercing thorns will cease to grow,
And there will be an end of woe,
Some day.
Dark clouds will all have drifted by,
Above will smile the calm bine sky,
And joy will fill the tearless sky,
Some day.
And we shall hear each other sing,
The rose will bloom in endless spring,
The frosts of winter will not sting,
Some day.
The time will come when we shall bo
From all these binding fetters free;
Sweet light will come to you and me
Some day.
— Q. W. Crofts in Inter Ocean.
The Undertaker’s Story,
Perhaps I am more .sensitive to the
horrible than most of my fellow men—
am, in fact, more easily wrought upon.
At all events I have fancied that at times,
when I have been telling this experience
of mine, I could detect certain indica
cations that some of my hearers were of
that opinion; but I have not yet so far
failed in charity as-to wish any of thtso
scoffers put to a similar test.
I had run over to Paris, had spent a
couple of weeks in that bright city,
and was on my way home again.
I took a night train from Dover to Lon¬
don, and in the compartment which I
occupied there was but one other passen¬
ger—a sharp, intelligent-looking- man,
with a very grave face. We got into
conversation after travelling more than
half the distance in that silence which is
invariably adopted by Englishmen when
they meet. After discussing general
subjects, a remark of my companion’s
me to say that he seemed to have had a
very wide experience, and among nearly
all classes of society,
“Yes,” he answered slowly, and with
It marked hesitation, “Yes, I am an un
dertaker. I have had a good deal of ex
pcrience, and I have had my share, I
think, of remai-kablo adventures. 1
never take this ride from Dover to Lon¬
don without a very painful recollection
of one such."
We had stdl nearly a half hour’s ride
before us, and his manner, as much as
his words, aroused my interest.
“Do you care to tell it?” I asked.
A quick, involuntary shudder gave
to his voice a slight tremor, as he
answered, “I wish I could keep from
thinking of it, but I might as well tell it
as sit here quaking in silence over the
awful memory of it.” He paused a
moment, drew a long shuddering breath,
and then ho commenced:
“A little over a year ago what I am
about to relate happened to me. I had
established a very good business, chiefly
among the upper class of trade people—
though, of course, I did not decline any
call upon me that promised a reasonable
profit. I received ono day a telegraphic
despatch from Paris asking me to take
charge of a dead body that was to be
sent from Paris to London for burial. I
was to meet it at Dover on the arrival of
the night boat from Calais, and make all
the arrangements for its further trans¬
portation by rail, and I was referred to a
well-known banker as security for my
expenses.
“This looked like good business, so I
lost no time in getting the necessary per¬
mits and wont to Dover in the evening.
I had some details to attend to there in
order that everything might be in readi¬
ness and no time lost after the boat ar¬
rived. Then I had nothing to do but
wait. I set up reading to keep myself
twake.
“It was a beautiful still night in the
late fall, with an almost full moon, I re¬
member; and the boat got in to time.
I received the box containing the body,
and saw it placed in one of the luggage
vans of the train; and in due course ar¬
rived with it at Victoria station. One of
my wagons was there waiting to take the
body to my place, where I was instructed
to keep it until the next morning, when
the proper parties would call to make
arrangements about the burial.
So far of course, there was nothing
specially remarkable about the affair. It
is a little unusual in such cases not to
find some one connected with the de¬
ceased accompany the body: but I hardly
gave that matter a second thought. I
had no doubt but that the right persons
wonld appear later in the day.
“When I got to my shop, it still
lacked two hours of daylight, and, as I
felt no slight responsibility, I didn’t
think of going home, but mado myself
as comfortable as possible in my office for
the rest of the night. You must bear in
mind that all tho sleep I had secured was
a broken, uneasy slumber on the journey
from Dover to London, and when I went
to sleep in my chair, after stirring the
SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA. THURSDAY. OCTOBER 7, 1836.
fire into a blaze, I slept very soundly—
very soundly, that is, for awhile, for it
was etill dark when I woke up in a sud¬
den and startling way.
“Have you ever wondered," theunder
taker asked, turning his eyes full upon
mine for the first time since he had be¬
gun his story, “what mysterious influ¬
ence that is which makes you feel another
presence in the game room as yourself,
though you hear no one and see no one?
It’s a queer feeling at any time, but I
don’t know of any occasion when it can
seem more queer and awful than whon it
comes to a man locked up in tho dead of
night with nothing but black plumes
and grave-clothes and palls and coffins
about him.”
He turned his eyes to the floor again,
and a cold tremor crept through my own
flesh in the brief and ominous pause he
made before ho went on in a lower
voice.
“That was the feeling I had when I
suddenly woke from sound sleep to full
consciousness with a chililng shudder of
horror. I was sitting before the fire¬
place, with my back to the door that led
from the office to the shop. I had pur¬
posely left tho door ajar. The fire had
died down to a dull glow, and it seemed
to me that a breath from the Arctic zone
had penetrated the room. I cannot des¬
cribe the kind of cold it was. My very
bones seemed to be ice. And then I
felt that presence.”
The undertaker seemed terribly affected
even now by his recollections of that
night. It was impossible to resist tho
infection, and my own flesh was creep¬
ing in a very uncomfortable way. He
made a strong effort to recover himself
and steady his voice, but, in spite
of all, it trembled with an ever
deepening terror as he went on,
curdling my very blood in sympatny.
“I had turned the gas out when I sat
down in my chair to sleep, so ' that the
only light in the room camo , from tho
dying fire. I became aware of that pres¬
ence the very instant I awoke. Mind,
sir, this is not a dream. I was as fully
awake as I am at this moment. The
thing.was there! It was at the back of
me. It was between me aud the door.
I had got to turn my head to see it. But
I knew it was there 1 Who it was, or
what it was, I didn’t know; but I was
sure that some living thing was standing
behind me motionless in the dim,
ghostly light, anil was looking at me.
My God, sir! it was awful to sit still and
feel this thing, and try to make up my
mind to turn my head toward it! lam
pretty well accustomed to corpses, but I
can tell you that I did not feel just then
that the corpse out in the other room
was any company for me.
“Well, there 1 sat—feeling that horri¬
ble gaze fixed upon inein utter silence,
and the death-like cold creeping through
my veins—striving, struggling to nerve
myself to look around and to face the
thing, whatever it was.
“Were you ever locked up in a tomb
at night?” the undertaker suddenly
asked me. I could only shake my head
in response; I could not speak.
“I have been,” he said, “but it was
nothing—nothing to those few minutes,
while I sat palsied with terror, with that
thing behind me? At last, in a kind of
nervous spasm, I sprang to my feet and
turned toward the door. The sight froze
me I There is no other word for it—I
was rigid. I could no more stir than I
could arrest the motion of this train now
and instantly. My very heart stopped
its beating. I wonder I did not drop
dead myself, for there—not six feet from
me—with the livid pallor of death on its
face, and its glassy eyes glued to mine,
stood the corpse!
“Then it began to approach me. It
did not seem to walk—it glided; and
not till it reached me did it mike a
single apparent movement. Then—just
stand up, will you? I can illustrate bet¬
ter what occurred.” I did so, and he
rose at the same time, and we stood
facing each other in the compartment.
was dimly conscious at the moment
we were crossing Battersea bridge. The
undertaker, as he went on, repeated
me the actions he described.
“Then this dead thing,” he said to
me, “slowly lifted its arms and laid its
icy fingers on my cheeks and moved
them gently downwards to my shoulders,
pressing hard against me all the time on
either side, as I do now on you, and
wherever the hands lay they seemed to
draw the very life out of the flesh be¬
neath them. Slowly—oh, how slowly—
they glided on downward from my
shoulders to my breast, beneath my coat,
like this. Try to conceive it—try, if you
can. Wherever they touched they drew
something away from me—some virtue
seemed to go out of me. And then the
frightful thought came to me that I was
dying by piecemeal!—that I was parting
with something dear to me as life—bit
by bit I could feel it ebbing—ebbing,
and at last tho horror grew to a oonvic-
iIto is hf ho wl “eiuTiw
wood s owp
my substance! What I lost he gained?
He enriched himself by making me poor,
and it would end-”
“Victoria I" shouted a guard, opening
the carriage door.
“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the under¬
taker, “are we in? I must hurry to catch
my train out.” He seized his satchel, and
was on the step before I could get my
breath to say: “But the story I I want to
hear the end of it. ”
He was on the platform now. “Oh]
there isn’t much more,” he called back.
“The ghoul succeeded—that’s all!” —
and he was gone before 1 could say an
other word.
As I followed a porler to a cab, and
all the way home, I tried to conceive
what tho undertaker could mean IIow
could tho dead man have succeeded?
Here the undertaker was, alive and well,
and telling me the story. It was very
annoying and .dissapointing to be so
baulked after being so wrought upon.
The undertaker had left me no address,
so that I was, apparently, doomed never
to know the solution. *
Only “apparently” however. When I
got out of tho cab at my own door, I
could find no loose chango to pay the
the driver, yet I had some when I took
that train at Dover; my well furnished
pocket-bqok, though that, too, I had at
Dover, was gone as well; and my watch
and chain had followed suit.
Itis painful to lose confidence in hu
man nature in this way .—London Truth.
Does Gold Grow.?
Years ago I wrote and published in a
London magazine an article in which I
undertook to prove that gold grows—
grows tho same as grain or potatoes, or
anything else. I rccKon I did my work
crudely, not knowing anything about
chemistry or even the ordinary terms of
expression about such matters, and so my
earnest and entirely correct sketch was
torn all to pieces and laughed to scorn.
Well, I havo at last found poSitivo
proof of my general statement right here
in these mountains by the Pacific sea.
Briefly and simply, I have found a piece
of peterifled wood with a., little vain, or
thread of gold in it. How did that gold
get into this piece of wood? Was it
placed there by the finger of God on the
morning of crention, as men have claimed
was the case with the gold found iu the
veins of tho mountains? Nonsense!
Gold grows! Certain conditions of
the air, or certain combinations of earth
and air and water, and whatever chemi¬
cals may be required, and then a rock, a
piece of quartz, or petrified tree, for the
gold to grow in, and there is your gold
crop! Of course, gold grows slowly.
Centuries upon centuries, it may be, are
required to make the least sign of
growth. But it grows just as I asserted
years ago; and here at last I hold in my
hand such testimony as no man in this
world will bo rash enough to question: a
portion of a petrified tree with a thread
of gold in it .—Joaquin Miller.
Petrifying Human Bodies.
A New York undertaker and embalmer
said to a Mail and Express reporter that
he believed the time was not far distant
when the lost art of mummifying bodies
would be discovered.
“What struck me with that idea was
tho great state of preservation the body
of Prellcr, killed by Maxwell in St.
Louis, was form 1 when exhumed to un
dergo an examination by the physicians.
The body h .d been buried some time,
and the lawyers for the defense imagined
that it would be so decayed no post
mortem examination could be made in a
scientific way to discover the traces of
disease such as Maxwell said he had.
The embalmer had done his work well,
and the body was in a fine state of pres
ervation. I think some fluid will be dis
covered that will petrify flesh, and thus
the ancient Egyptians will be outdone,
That is my great hobby—-to petrify the
human body after death. It will hand
down to ages yet unknown the exact
features and proportions of the present
race. Our skilled chemists who dream
their lives away over tho retort, it looks
tome, should turn their attention in this
direction. The bones of mastodons have
been preserved for thousands of years,
and why not man’s? Anything the brain
can conceive of I think can, in a meas*
ure, be accomplished in tim
Kind of Ueadwork He Did.
“How is this, Bromley? You told me
the other day that young Cummings is a
fellow of great intellect. Why, he’s a
regular ignoramus.”
“Darringer, I didn’t say he was intel¬
ligent. I remarked that he did a good
deal of headwork.’*
“Well, that’s about the same isn’t it?"
“Oh, nol He doesn’t work with his
own head. He wurks -with other
people’s. He’s a barber.— Gail.
Queer restaurants
Two of New York’s Odd Elat¬
ing Houses Described.
Places with a National Eeputation Whose
Surroundings are Unsavory.
A New York letter to tho Troy Times
says: Moretti’s is a restaurant that has
achieved a national reputation, although
as unpretentious as Oliver Hitchcock's
beanery. It is on Fourteenth street, near
Third avenue. You enter a narrow and
dirty hallway, ascend a dusty flight of
stairs and are ushered into a diningroom
filled with tables covered with linen any¬
thing but snowy in color. The chairs
are rickety, there is little ventilation and
tho rooms are usually filled with the
fumes of gnriic, coffee and tobacco. The
Walls arc lined with pictures of illustri¬
Italians, from Cavour down to Cam
Banin i and Cristadoro. The portraits are
Fisty and musty, the restaurant is stuffy,
the plates aud cups are nicked and
cracked, tho waiters are slovenly and out¬
ward appearances are far from appetizing.
Vet some of the most noted men and wo
men of New York dine there. Moretti
himsclf does the cooking, and everybody
praises and apparently enjoys it. The
proprietor frequeuly loaves his stow pans
and chafing dishes and wanders out among
his guests in his shirt sleeves. He usually
has a cigar iu his mouth. He always
wears a soiled apron, and invariably looks
as though he had just come .out of a
stable. Yet millionaires and literati press
his hand with dolight, and the ladies of
&o haut ton greet him with their sweet¬
est smiles. He has been the rage for
yewA The artist Page first discovered
oear ^y thirty years ago. William
Henry ^’ r y> Charles A. Dana, William
® tuart ’ Ceorgo Arnold, Fitz Greene Hal
leck, William Cullen Bryant, Henry Ward
ficecher, William Henry Hurlbet, Joseph
Howard, Jr., and men of that ilk quickly
itcognized the importance of the discovery
and the cook began to get on his feot.
Politicians, merchants, Brokers and men
aiiout-town took tho cue and followed
amt, .and Moretti became famous. His
Ijce has been thronged for years. It is
almost impossible to secure a seat at a
table at the -6 o’clock dinner hour. All
the dishes are Italian in concoction and
decoction. To the uneducated American
P a ^ e they are simply nauseating; yet
bon vivants revel in them. You get soup,
fish, meats, game, maccaroni, salads and
desserts, all flavored with oil and garlic,
and to a farmer’s boy all tasting alike.
Half the native Americans who drop in
there masticate the food with an imagin¬
ative relish, and arc sick for days aftor
ward. Yet all vie with the bon vivants
in praising Moretti’s provender. Each
man wants to bo thought an expert in
testing cookery, and therefore eats and
commends everyting set before him. Men
cat cheese and game birds at Moretti’s
tables who would pitch them out of the
window if they were served at home.
Moretti is as shrewd in a business way as
he is in the gastronomic line. He makes
no effort to branch out in gorgeous mag
ni fc«“ce like Martinelli and Morulli. He
sticks to his original plant and lets his
cooking speak for itself. He enjoys his
6( l ualid surroundings, and makes no effort
to S ild them - He take3 n0 vacations.
Ho s P ends no mon °y in P leasure - His
life is funded by his cook shop; beyond
its oonfincs th ere is no happiness for him.
Morning, noon and night, both summer
and winter > y ou wil1 fi,ld him stewi “S
8nd seating in Ins Italian kitchen and
ladling out his dollar meals. IIow much
ho is worth is a secret known only to
himself. The figures must run up among
the hundred thousands.
Lately, however, competition has reared
its head. A beetle-browed little Span
iard of the name of Pedro, some years
ago started a small restaurant in Duane
street. It is in a little squatty wooden
building, within a stone’s throw of O’Don
ovan Rossa’s den on one side, and of the
Points on the "Other. Pedro de¬
votes his attention to Spanish dishes,
His table linen is rarely clean, and his
crockery looks as though it had just
come out of a tenement house. Untutored
stomachs would declare the cooking to be
The smell of garlic is about
suffocating, the bread is the color of ma
and the wine as sour as cider
yet William Stuart, Charles
Gaylor and other veteran gourmands
assert that the cooking is perfection it¬
self, and go into ecstacios over his din
Stock brokers give select dinner
in his shanty, and armies of flies
welcome them. Tom-cats scattered among
tin cans littering the yards near by
furnish class music, aud Pedro himself,
in badly soiled garments, dishes
podrida and other choice Spanish
streaming with onions and garlic.
frequently grace the swarthy
Spaniard’s gastronomic sactum, and Pe¬
dro is on the highway of fame, gathering
Vol. VI. New Series.
in a forfcue. He already sells more chnm.
pagne than Moretti, but whether this is
owing to the digestible or indigestible
nature of his dinners is a question. One
thing is certain. It takes a well trained
stomach to appreciate his cooking. A
thorough Westerncowboy would probably
shoot him on sight if confronted by ono
of his dishes.
Making Baseballs.
The interesting fact was learned by a
New York Mail and Express reporter
that the hides of about 1000 horses and
the skins of at least ten times as many
sheep are cut up into coverings for base¬
balls in this city every season. By one
manufacturer alone three tons of yarn
are used a year for the inside t of base¬
balls. The hide and skin used is per¬
fectly white, being alum tanned, and
comes from Philadelphia. Out of one
horse’s hide tho coverings for twelve
dozen balls aro cut, and out of one sheep¬
skin three dozen. Two strips of the
leather are required for each ball, cut
wide and rounding at each end so that
they fit into each other when put around
the yarn ball. Each piece, for a Leaguo
ball, is seven inches long, by two inches
wide at the rounded ends. The pieces
arc cut with a die. Old fashioned blue
Shaker yarn is used for tho inside of a
Leaguo ball, which is wound tightly
around a small rubber ball, weighing
exactly ono ounce. Tho improved
League ball has now double coverings of
horsehido, which is regarded as a great
improvement. It is also stitched with
gut. The balls are mado entirely by
hand and it requires no little skill to
shape them perfectly round. This is
done by placing- them in an iron cup
about the size of the ball and striking it
with a mallet at different stages of tho
winding. Men do this work; they easi¬
ly make ten dozen League balls in a day
and from forty to fifty dozen ordinary
baseballs in tho same length of time.
Their wages are$2.50 aday. Women sew
the coverings together on tho ball; this
requires considerable skill and strong
finger muscle; they can sew from two
and a half to three dozen Leaguo balls a
day, and from 14 to 16 dozen of the
cheaper grades; they are paid by tho
piece, ninety cents a dozen for the
League work and ten cents a dozen for
the others. They earn about $ 13 a week.
The balls are sewed with what is known
as Barker’s flax, which comes in red, blue,
orange and pink colors. The finest balls
are sewed with pink. Horsehide cover¬
ed balls arc made in fourteen different
verities.
Doctoring an African King.
Dr. It. W. Fclkin says in the Scottish
Geographical Magazine: It is no joke to
bo a doctor to tho King of Uganda, for
whenever I took him a new supply of
medicine I had always to take a dose my¬
self, and to administer ono to seven of
the persons who might happen to be pre¬
sent. Should one of these seven unfortu
nates die within a week it would be con¬
sidered that I had attempted to poison
the King. If the King had to take a pill,
I had always to hold two in my hand;
he chose one and I had to swallow tho
other unless I had a friend with me who
kindly undertook the office. I soon
noticed, however, that Mtcsa always
chose the smallest, and so I arranged ac¬
cordingly. One day, Mtcsa played me a
nice trick. I had been to the palace to
take him a lotion, and had warned him
particularly not to drink it. After I had
left he sent a page after me with a gourd
of mwengi, asking me to to tasto it, and
say if he might havo some. I did so,
and said “Yes." It being 'a very hot
afternoon, my friend drank the re¬
mainder; but it soon becamo evident
that the King had doctored the wine, for
my friend became violently sick. It
turned out afterward that Mtcsa wished
to see what effect the lotion would have
upon me.
Carried off by an Eagle.
The Greenvile (111.) Sun contains the
particulars of an att .ck by a bald
eagle upon the 7-year-old son of Wash¬
burn Wright, near Mulberry Grove. As
the boy was on his way to the pasture
(he bird swooped down on him, and,
fastening its talons in his clothes, raised
him in the air, soaring several feet with
him, when his clothing parted and the
child dropped to the ground. . The
youth’s screams brought to him his
father, who was fortunately near-by, and
his presence frightened the eagle away.
Very Much of a Hint.
Dilly-dallying Lover.—Look at those
two birds, Maria. What a chattering
they keep up around the door of that
rustic bird house 1 It. is charmingly rural,
isn’t it?”
Disheartened Maria (crisply)—Yes.
“What do you think they can be say¬
ing to each other?”
“They aro saying: ‘Let us get married
and keep house.’”— Call,
NO. 35.
At Nightfall.
Blow fades the day; beyond the wertem
heights
The sunset ,ires llave ^ ™
moon
lights
With fitful gleams the solitary way.
Down dropping to tbo woodland dim and
lone
As some bright starbeam that the winds have
blown
From the far East, a single glowworm
shines,—
A golden light amid the shadowy pines
Through a soft wilderness of purple bloom,
Where twilight spills her silver moisture
cool
O’er tangled paths, and by the fringed
pool
A lonely traveler in the valley's bloom
Quickens his footsteps, for the wind’s half
sigh
Dimly recalls somo olden memory,—
And through the dusk theglowworm’stwink
ling light
Brings ten visions of a heartstone bright,
And love and rest beyond the forest aisles.
“Welcome awaits me when my journey
ends,”
He whispers to the shadowy night—and so
beguiles
The long, sad hours with dreams of home and
• friends.
—Adelaide D. Rollston, in the Current
HUMOROUS.
A sound sleeper—One who snores.
A crack yacht does not necessarily leak.
Tho acutionocr takes a morbid view of
things.
A Western man has a cyclone cellai
which lie retires to when his wife com¬
mences house-cleaning.
If these professional glass eaters are
not more caceful they will soon havo
panes in their stomachs,
“Those who uso our goods arc very
much attached to them,” is what a porous
plaster company advertises.
He (on horseback)—Shall we take the
highway home? She—No; I would pre¬
fer the bridal-path, I think.
It is always safe to say hailstones wero
as big as hen's eggs. They are never
preserved to confront a witness.
A 25-ccnt hat is rather a common kind
of head covering, but it will go a long
way if overtaken by a good stiff breeze.
Is there anything more excruciating
than the music of a Japaneso tom-tom
orchestra?” asks a writer. Did you ever
hear the music of an American tom-tom
oat?
“Papa,” said a little live-year old,
pointing to a turkey gobler strutting
around in a neighbor’s yard, “ain’t that
red-nosed chicken got an awful big
bustle?”
Little Harry had boen out in the
kitchen with the cook, who was making
cake, and had broken an egg. Running
in to mamma, he said: ‘ ‘See, mamma, I
broke an egg, and got the gravy all over
my hands I”
Suitor—Sir, you are undoubtedly
aware of the object of my visit. Father
—I believe you desire to make my daugh¬
ter happy. Do you really mean it? Suitor
—Unquestionably. Father—Well, don’t
marry her, then.
Johnny was telling his mamma how he
was going to dress and show off when he
was a man. His mamma asked, “Johnny,
what do you expect to do for a living
when you get to be a man?” “Well, I’ll
get married and lodge with my wife’s
pa.” _
A Case of Suicide.
A Boston letter to the Providence
Journal contains an anecdote of Mr.
Somerby, who was counsel for the de¬
fense in the notorious Alley murder case.
It may be remarked for the benefit of
those who do not remember that cause
celebre, that tho body of the murdered
man was found brutally hacked to pieces
and stowed into a barrel which was dis¬
covered floating in the harbor, Soon
after the conclusion of the case Mr. Som¬
erby, who had worked very hard in it,
went to the Isle of Shoals for rest, and
while there sat smoking on the hotel
piazza one evening, in company with
other guests of the house only slightly
known to him. One of the latter, a man
of the sort gifted by nature with the
faculty of making awkward speeches,
suddenly turned to tho lawyer and said:
“We have all had a good deni of curi¬
osity, Mr. Somerby, about tho Aliey
case, and I wish yon would tell us frank¬
ly, precisely, what you think is the
truth of the whole matter.”
“I think,” Mr. Somerby returned
gravely, regarding the other with an air
of the utmost candor, “I think that it
was clearly and unmistakably a case of
suicide.”
The questioner began to frame an in¬
quiry how a suicide could dismember
his remains and bestow them in a barrel,
when a shout of laughter gave him a dim
hint that he had been snubbed, and the
conversation on the Aliev case came to
aa'abrupt conclusion.