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About North Georgia times. (Spring Place, Ga.) 1879-1891 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 6, 1887)
CP I L o J XJl Wm. C. MARTIN, Editor. A Song of Best. O weary Hands! that, all the day, "Were set to labor hard and long; Now softly fall the shadows gray', The bells are rung for even song. An hour ago the golden sun Sank slowly down into the west; Poor, weary Hands, your toil is done, Tis time for.rest!—’tis time for rest! O wftiry Feet! that many a mile Have trudged along a weary way. At last ye reach the trystiug stile; No longer fear to go astray. The gently bending, rustliug trees Rock the young birds within the nest, And softly sings the quiet breeze; “ ’Tis time for rest!-Otis time formtt" O weary Eyes! front which the tears Fell many a time like thunder rain; O weary Heart! that through the years Beat with such bitter, restless pain, To-night forget the stormy strife, And know what heaven shall send Is best; Lay down the tangled web of life, ’Tis time for rest!—'tis time for rest! —Florence Tylee. The Widow’s Pumpkins. It was a brilliant October morning, the grass all sparkling with hoar frost, the trees waving their red-jeweled arms to the sunshine, and Eliakim Ellis was driving serenely down Hay Hill. “I ain’t a poet,” thought he, “but if I was, I could write a lot of rhymes about like this. Why, it’s poetry all the way through, And—eh?—how?- what? Who’s that?” It was the Widow Hepsy Hall, stand¬ ing at the door of her little one-storied <housc, and beckoning with her long, lean arms toward him. The farmer drew his rein. “Hold on Sorrell” he apostrophized his steed. “You ain’t never in a hurry, when I want you to be, so I calcerlate you can stand still a bit now. Wal, Mis’. Hall, what can I dew for ye this morn¬ ing?” I’ve got somo pumpkins that I want to sell,” said the Widow Hepsy. “Drtfful likely ones.” ‘‘Pumpkin s?’’ec hoed Eliakim. “Why, bless pumpkins is a just now. The PF irned out powerful fccd| £.<&;. folks is baows.” Ash | lisappointment crept over the ; i i face, as she stood there, uaeonsc ily picturesque, against the curly ho tv rib. and crimson wood bine IcawM wlanded the doorway. u The team ckme into her dim eyes. “Then I may as well give it up,” said she, in accents of dispair. “For I hain’t nothin’ else to sell; and Bolindy had set such store on my cornin’ down this autumn aforb cold weather set in.” “Eh?’’ said Mr. Ellis; good-naturedly. “You was a-goia’ down down to Belin dy’s, eh?” “I can’t without no money,” said the Widow Hepsy Hall. “And I was sort o’ calculatin’ on them pumpkins. The corn hain’t amounted to nothin’, and the weasels has tuk all the poultry, and the dried berries mildewed that last dog days weather, and the carpet-weaven’ business is awful duil; ; so what be I to do?” “Cau’t ye put off your visit?” said Eliakim, thoughtfully flicking the top off a cluster of saucy ox-eyed daisies, that grew close to his wagon wheels. “Belindy’s liftle boy’s got the croup,” said 3W. Halt, lugubriously. “And her husband has fell off a scaffold and broke his leg. And if ever I’m wanted there, it’s now.” “I swan!” ejaculated honest Eliakim, as he realized what the double meaning of poverty and misfortune was. “Fetch mo them pumpkins; I’ll buy ’em any how,” “I’lllet you have the lot for a dollar,” the Widow Hepsy, wistfully. HMsHmest out in the corner lot.” . i^a't gethered, eh?” iie 1 who’ve Igot together ’em?” filly retorted Mrs. Hall—“and about the place, and me with pi my back.” i Ellis' heart smote him. Who fie, m 'W& to complain of a little extra trouble, when the Widow Hepsy was so much worse off than himself? So he alighted, and led Sorrel labor¬ iously down the stony cart track toward the corn field, where, amid the harvested shodts, gleamed the ruddy gold of pump . kills innumerable. * “Pumpkins!” screamed Mrs. Ellis, when her husband drove into the door yard at noon. “Pumpkins! Why, Elia kirn Ellis, what on earth are you bring ing pumpkins hero for? Ain’t we got the barn-chambers full, and the lots full, and the very cattle won’t eat’em? Be you clean gone crazy?” Mrs. Ellis was a high-cheek-boned female, with projecting front teeth, and hard, greenish eyes, like badly colored masbles. She was ono of those who worship gain ns the fire-worshippers far down before the sun. “Money is SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA. THURSDAY. JANUARY (i, 1881. money 1” was her favorite axiom. And Eliakim felt his heart sink within him as he faced her stern, uncompromising gaz?. “They’re jest a few—” ho began. “A few!” shrilly echoed his wife. “The waggin is heaped full! And we n-throwin’ of ’em away every day! That’s jest a man’s calculatin’!” “Jest a few,” said Eliakim, hitching desperately on the first section of his speech, “that I’ve brung down here to sell for Mrs. Hall. There ain’t much market up that-a-way, you know, Loisy. < ^And,” he ad'ded to himself, “good¬ ness knows how glad I’d be to sell ’em if I had the chance 1 I ain’t lyin’, no¬ how!” Miss Ellis gave a prodigious sniff. “Don’t you fetch that there truck inside of tho door-yard, ’Liakim!” said she. “Jest dump ’em on the roadside and let the neighbors’ hogs eat ’em up ns. quick as they can!” But Mr. Ellis took advantage of a tin peddler coming along on the other side of the street, and engaging his help¬ meet’s attention, to smuggle in the load of pumpkins, “I won’t waste ’em anyway,” said he. “If anybody’s hogs is to cat ’em, it may as well be mine." That afternoon, when he _ name in to supper, a thing happened which had never before befallen him in all his mar¬ ried life. Ho found the tea-kettle cold, the Gra¬ ham gems unbaked, the table unspread and his wife crying piteously. “Eh!" said Eliakim, blankly. “What in-all-creation’s—the matter now? You ain’t sick, be you, Loisy?" “Yes, I be!” sobbed Mrs. Ellis. “Heartsick, Liakim. Ob, what her I done? I’vo sold them old gray pants o’yourn to the tin peddler, and never re. membered how I’d put that there hundred dollar coupon bond you gave me to keep, in the pocket, because I calculated no burglars would take a pair o’ragged old panst. Oh, dear! oh, dear!” For one minute Eliakim Ellis stood silent. A hundred dollars was a hundred- dollars to this hard-working man, who could only save and scrape bv tittles. But he looked at Louisa’s pale,woe¬ begone face, and his great, tender heart rose up within him like the billows of the sea. “Don’t fret, Loisy, my gal,’’he said, cheerfully. “It was only au accident. ’Tain’t wuth frettin’ about.” And he bent down and kissed her forehead—a rare occurrence in their undemonstrative household. “We’ll go to work and make it up as fast as possible, my dear.” “Oh, ’Liakim!” sobbed the good wife, “I don’t deserve you should be so good' to me. I’m a cross, scoldin’ creetur, and—” “Tut. tut, tut!” goodhumorcdly inter rupped her husband. “Guess I ain’t goi«’ to hcv my wife abused this a-way." “And I’m sorry I spoke so short about them, pumpkins,” added Louisa, dole¬ fully. Mr. Ellis whistlod render his breath. Ho was almost disposed now, to regret that he had paid out that dollar for the Widow Hepsy’s pumpkins. “However, it’s done,” he said to him¬ self, “and it can’t be undone. Loisy’d best be left in the dark, I guess, about it.” He was alertly kindling the fire, while 31rs. Ellis moved sadly about, making pre¬ parations for the evening meal, when there was a lively tattoo, played by a very energetic pair of knuckles on the door outside. “Come in I” shouted he. And who should make his appearance but the tin-peddler himself. “Hello, squire 1” said he. “Guess tbeTe’s been a mistake somewhere. I ain’t buyin’ up Government coupon bonds. I’m in the tin trade. I found this ’ere in your old pockets. So I al¬ lowed it was best to bring it back right away.” He held out the folded slip of parch¬ ment. Eliakim looked oddly at it. “Fetch on Diogenes and his lantern!” said he. “I calc’latc here’s the honest man at lastl” “Get out 1” said the tin-peddler. “I don’t want none o’ your four-syllabled fun poked at me. But I tell you what I dew Want. Them there pumpkins that you was cartin’in when I exchanged a sauce-pan and two dippers for them gray pants with your good lady, ni give you fi ve cen ts apiece for ’em.” “fyne !” cried Farmer Ellis, joyfully, “^here’s to be a big dinner up to Stapleses Hill,” went on the tin-peddler, “And they’re goin’ to bake two hundred pumpkins-pies, and all the pork and beans that’s to be 'had. And there’s goin’to be a corner in pumpkins. I’ve got my wagon out here, so I guess we’ll ] oa d upright away.” j And thus the hundred-dollar coupon bond was returned, all safe and sound, by the tin-pcddlcr, wlio, was as honest as ho was shrewd, aud tho Widow Hepsy Hall’s pumpkins were satisfacto¬ rily marketed. So much so, indeed, that Eliakim even purchased out of tho profits a snuff-colored merino gown, whicli he left at the widow's door the very next time he drove past. “It’s a pity she can’t share more o’ the good luck,” said he. Mrs. Hall found tltc gown, neatly wrapped in paper, at he door when site came home front cranberrying in the swamp, and she never knew where it came from. But she made it up, aud wore it to her daughter Belinda’s iu the city. But honest Eliakim has not yet told Louisa, his wife, that ho bought Widow Hepsy’s pumpkins, and paid a dollar for them in good hard cash. “It ain’t best to toll women every¬ thing!” said he.— Helen Horrent Grates. Beds of tho Past. Tho house of tho ancient Euglish gen¬ tleman was not, as a general thing, pro¬ vided with bed rooms, says a writer about the bods of our ancestors in the Cosmopolitan. A chamber or shed was built against tho wall that inclosed the mansion and its dependencies, and in this little cell tho lord and his lady slept. Sometimes there was another chamber of the same kind built for the daughter or young ladies of the house. As a general tiling, tho young men of the house and tho guests slept on tables and benches in tho great hall, when woolen coverlets or blankets were provided for warmth. Servants and attendants slept upon tho floor. Later on, in the time of the Tudors, tho “four poste” bedstead, an immense piece of furniture having a canopy sup¬ ported at each corner by the posts, be¬ came tho fashionable sleeping couch. Somo of tho old wills mention “posted sett-work bedsteads.” These panelled bedsteads were sometimes of elegant and massive architecture. The columns re¬ sembled huge balusters, and rose from square dado bases, and all the frame pieces were carved with decorative mouldings of various patterns. On soma of the earlier bedsteads tho columus ter¬ minated with figures representing the four evangelists. A Ball of Birds. It may, perhaps, be adduced as ono of the most rcmarkablo of the many curious and often inexplicable habits common to the lower animals of widely different classes, the practice of forming them¬ selves into balls or clusters, as is the case with bees, star-fish, some kinds of bats, and at least two species of birds. One of these species is a swallow found in Van Dieman’s Land; the other, the mouse bird of Central Africa. These strange little creatures, according to Le Vaillant, who describes them, generally live in small companies of five or six in¬ dividuals, and generally soleet a densely foliaged tree or thick mass of bushos for their gathering place. Pencaux, who verifies this statement of Le Vaillant, also mentions having seen them clinging to each other while asleep, the first bird holding on to the brauch with one foot, while it supports a second bird by entwining one of tho latter’s logs with its own free limb; this seeond bird in a like manner supporting a third, and so on until they form n chain that often contains as many as six or seven of these living links. Hunting Gnlls. The gulls, and there are millions of them about the mouth of the St. Croix, furnish profitable sport for the Indians. They take their soft, beautiful breasts to the watering places aud sell them at 75 cents to $1.50 each to the ladies for mil¬ linery and decorative purposes. Gulls ate easy game to bag, but for some unknown reason they stay on the Canadian side of the line the most of the time, and tho Canadian authorities have forbidden Americans to shoot at them in the 'Pro¬ vincial waters. This is a great griev¬ ance to tho gull hunters, who have peti¬ tioned the governor of 3faine and his council to take some action in the mat¬ ter. The course of the Canadians is believed to grow out of the fisheries im¬ broglio.— Leieistown (Me.) Jovt'nai. Toughening Wood. It is claimed that by a new process white wood can be made s i tough ns to Tequire a cold-chisel to split it. 'Ms re suit is obtained by steaming the timber and submitting it to end pressure, tech nically “upsetting” it, thus compressing the cells and fibers into one compi.ct mass. It is the opinion of those who have experimented with the process that; wood can be compressed seventy-five per cent., and that some timber which is now considered unfit for use iu such work ns carriage building could be made valHa|!c r by^i ■ Age. SILENT SCHOLARS. - Teaching Deaf Mutes to Talk in a New York School. A Method which Bequires Great Patience ; •and Perseverance. Up in Fiftieth street, not far from Fifth avenue, in otfa of those brown stone fronts that looks like the twin of every other brown stone front on the block, a queer class of pupils meets every 1 day. Some of the pupils are only five I ye , r3 ol .j and 80mo are twenty> but not j J onfre ver makes any fioise, and in point of quietness the class is a model one. Nobody'ever hears schoolboy laughter or schoolgirl jollity ring out from that school-»>om, and the very house itself has not even the conventional door-bell. You caii count every tick of the little clock with- the class in full session while you stand waiting in the hallway. . In this silent house deaf mutes are taught to speak. Two privato classes, with seven pupils in each, meet there day after day, and from 9 in tho morn¬ ing till late in tho afternoon struggle witl) those simple sounds that most of us learn unconsciously in our babyhood, i Miss Sr die W. Keeler is tho teacher. For eleven years she has worked among deaf mutes and given to voiceless tongues tho music of our speech. In this country and in Europe she has learned all that the best schools can of * ur ' But whatever methods different teach¬ ers may have, to the on-lookcr who spends an interested hour or two in her class-room it seems that the only suc¬ cessful method must bo nine-tenths pa¬ tience. One must have the quiet pa¬ tience of a marble statue and persistence os the flowing of a river to perform this modern miracle of making the dumb talk. To make a sound over and over again and then to begin at the beginning and repeat and reiterate and explain and recite; the same thing a thousand times is somewhat a suggestion of the work of a teacher's life. Two boys about seven, another of ten, a f.r'ji'tytgirt of sixteen and two smaller jf'iu about elbveil years old -wpro sitting quietly around a little table. There was a blackboard and a First reader in the room. Miss Keeler was teaching the smallest boy to say “Ah!” She put ono of his hands on her chest so that he could feel the vibrating of the vocal chords, and held the other close to her mouth, so that he could feel the expul¬ sion of her breath. Then she said “Ah!” and he tried to say it after her. Then her lips formed tho word “papa,” and the little fellow, by closely watching, essayed to imitate her, but the only re¬ sult was something that sounded like “mum-mum.” The teacher held the lad’s hand to her lips so that ho could feel her breath as she expelled it in mak tho “p” in “papa.” Tho “in” sound did not bring any breath on his hand; so he tried again, and, holding his hand to his own mouth, changed “mum-mum” into a guttural sort of “papa.” Tho little pupil had hard work getting the letter “e.” The only way he could feel this sound was by placing his hands ono on each side of the jaw of the teacher. The sound of “m” and “w” ho got by placing the fingers of one hand on the teacher’s nose and tho fingers of his other hand in precisely the same way on his own nose. Then ho copied the movement of her lips and tongue ex - actly, and another letter was won. The vowels are taught first, then letters are put together, and the lad at last learns to say “boy.” Then he writes it on a slate, and is told that (ho three letters mean himself or any other boy. One pretty tittle maiden named Min¬ nie, sits just across the round table. She began learning early, and speaks very nicely. Of course, that voice which she herself has never heard lacks the modu¬ lation that we unconsciously learn to look for. “Ilove you,” from those pretty tips has the same measure of affection expressed and the same placid intonation that “I hate you” has. She is a'good example of the double system of teach¬ ing that goes on in this queer school¬ room. She has learned lip-reading. Speak slowly to her and she can tell from the changes in your lips anci tongue witat you say. Make the mere motion J our nioiitb, as if whispering softly, tint do not make the least sound, and she can tell "hat your words would be. course in this combination of ob je^Meaching and lip-reading there needs '® ust str » n ff e mistakes. Take the cast of Dr. Gallaudet, who, speaking in oMrth mutes, tried to explain * dcaqon was. He took his hat passed it round ns though taking up a collection collection in m church—that was a dea cos. , Now did di they understand? Of course. Little George held up bis hand Vol. VI. Hew Series. NO. 48. and was given a chance to air his knowl¬ edge and tell what a deacon really was. “Ho is the monkey that goes round with the organ-grinder to collect pennies.’’ So when he wrote on the board the defini. tionof “consequence”—“that which fol¬ lows,” another bright lad said a dog was it consequence, because he followed the man. Just about a ceutury ago, the plodding, painstaking Germans began to try to teach deaf mutes to talk. They learned it from Spain, and havo been improving ever since. Now nearly all the big cit tes of the civilized world have deaf mute schools. A child should begin at five or ; six years to learn, and in ten years ought j to be ablo to talk fairly well. Most j teachers limit their classes to seven, as it j is difficult to give the desired attention to each member of a larger class. The pujrils are glad to learn, and arc singu¬ larly persistent in trying. But, after all, there is something pathetic in their struggles to talk a language that has no meaning for their cars.— Ncie York World. Voting by Electricity. At tho mechanical exhibition at the Palais de l’Industrio of Paris, there is exhibited a machine for registering votes, which will, it is said, be shortly installed in the French Chamber of Dep¬ uties. Its object is to obviato mistakes, the loss of time, and the necessity of the members leaving their desks t<^ record their votes. The machine, which is the invention of M. Debayeux, is worked by electricity, and the vote of a full house, it is Baid, may bo make known by this means in less than five minutes. The arrangement of the apparatus is as lol- ; j lows; In front of each seat throe con¬ tact makers are placed, the knobs being marked “Yes;” “No,” and “Absten¬ tion.” Only one of tho pushes can bo depressed at one time, and neither of them can be used more than once, until they have been released by the action of another part of the apparatus, which is under the control of the president. The voting is recorded by means of three sets of cylinders, upon which is inscribed in relief the names of the members in al phabetical order, and also the series of figures from one up to the tjpt&l niimbcr of members. These cylififTers rotate uu ddF inking pacts, and after tKti voting; an impression being taken on a band of paper against the name of each member present, is found a number in ono or other of the three columus “Yes,” “No” or “Abstention.” These numbers ap¬ pear perpendicular in numerical order. Hence the total number in each division ip read at the foot of the three columns. The apparatus is necessarily somewhat complicated, but it is said to work with great facility. It will be remembered that for somo time a similar voting ap¬ paratus was exhibited in one of the Con¬ gressional committee rooms at Washing¬ ton, but was finally taken away by the inventor, who despaired of its adoption. —Electrical World. • Fear Does Not Reason, An instance out of my own experience will go to show how fear docs not reason. About ten years ago when I was in Ba den near the Black Forest, I was in the habit of walking alone in the evening till late in the night. The security was absolute and I new very well there was no danger; and as long as I was in tho open field or on the road, I felt nothing that resembled fear. But to go into the forest, where it was so dark that one could hardly see two steps ahead was another thipg. I entered resolutely, and I went in for some twenty paces; but, in spite of myself, the deeper I plunged into the darkaegs, the more a fear gained possession of mo which was quite incom¬ prehensible. I tried in vain to overcome the unreasonable feeling, and I may have walked on in this way for about a quarter of an hour. But there was noth¬ ing pleasant about the walk and I could not help feeling relieved when I saw the tight of the sky through a gap in tho trees, and it required a strong effort of the will to keep from pressing toward it. My fear was wholly without cause. I knew it, and felt it as strongly as if it had been rational. Some time after that adventure, I was travelling at night, alone with a guide in I whom I had no confidence, in the mountains of Lebanon. The daager there was certainly much greater than around Baden, but I felt no fear.— Popular Science Monthly Quicker Than Wall Street, “No, I wasn’t cleaned out in Wall street, ” he replied, as he choked back a heavy sigh. “Wall street was too slow forme. Igot my $7000 on a Monday; onTuesday I invested in a short-horn buti; Wednesday morning I got up and found thathe had been kicked to 0r 8 ’ “D,d „ you have . anyth,ug le tf “Onlv about $15, mid I paid that to a fellow to kill the old horse and haul both bodies to the woods. Wall Street Metes, Delay. Always to-morrow and never to-day. So the winter wears till the bloom of May— Yet what is a month more or lessP’ you. say. But, as May goes over the purpling hilt, You lead before and I follow still From end to end of the months, until My passion wears, with .... the autumn weather. To the very oudof its tender tether; For, never apart, yet never together, We walk as we walked in the bloom of May; But at last your “to-morrow” is my “to-day,” When “ wbat * ra ? r( \ ' _ HUMOROUS. Isn’t a revolving light on the coast a navy revolver, A last farewell—A shoemaker giving up his business. Yoked garments are much worn—By oxen. They are gored. Many a man asks a girl to share Us lot when ho own no lot. A trade union—A marriage between business rivals to promote trade. “I’ll just give you a few points” re¬ marked the paper of pins as the man sat on it. Schoolmarm to little Josic: “Where is the North polo?” “At tho top of the map, marin.” The tailor and dressmaker are the in¬ dividuals who dwell most on the eternal fitness of things. A scientist weut out the other night in a gale to sec what color the wind was and found it blew. The tailors and dressmakers are the individuals who dwell most on tho eter¬ nal fitness of thingi. Frequently the gentleman who lava himself out to deliver a nice, breezy dis¬ course is simply windy. Brown—Did you enjoy yourself while you were away? Green—You bet. Didn’t see a blessed bill ^collector the whole time. “There is something I have just dashed off,” said the poet as lie knocked his would-bc-son-in-law off the door step, j “Nerve food” is advertised. This is the kind of food the m m eats who wauls l4aj>jacupy.J,\yp. seats in a crowd od wrii road car. Lord Churchill makes 00 gestures a minute while speaking, or half as many ns a woman who is describing her new hat to her dearest friend. A little girl calling with her mother at a new house where the walls were not yet paperod, exclaimed: “What a bald-headed house, mammal” A Now York physician says “it is dangerous to go into the water after a hearty mcai.” And we presume if he did go in after ono ho wouldn’t find it. Some western papers look with horror on the uso of tho word “woman” iu re¬ spectable society. One of them recontly chronicled the finding of a “lad’ys skeleton.” “Ah, George,” sho murmured as they drove along tho moonlit road, am I very dear to you?” “And George, as he did a little sum in mental arithmetic, in which a team and his $0 salary largely figured, softly answered: “Very dear.” “Here, you,” howled a customer at a restaurant to the waiter; “can’t you see that I don’t wear lace shoes?” “Yes, sir.” ‘Well, then, what do you mean by bringing me this shoestring in my soup? Take this back just as quick as you can and bring me a plate of soup with a button hook in it.” The World’s Greatest Desert. One-half of tho earth’s solid surface is buried in the abysmal regions of the ocean, and exists at undulating plains beneath a watery covering from two to five miles thick. On this land at the bottom of the deep sea, tho diroctor of the Challenger publications tells us, the con¬ ditions presented are most uniform. The temperature, near tho freezing point of fresh water, does not exceed seven da • grees in range, and is constant through¬ out the year in any locality. Sunlight and plant-life are absent, and, although animals of the large types are present, there is no great variety of form or abun¬ dance of individuals. Change of any kind is exceedingly slow. At the great¬ est depths deposits are chiefly a red clay mixed with fragments of volcanic mat¬ ter, remains of deep sea animals, cosmio dust, mangauese-iron nodules and zeoti tic crystals. No anaiageous deposits have been traced on dry land, although the continents are mainly made up ci rocks which must have formed under the sea ^ thQ coasta . Throughout S all geolo ^ tim0 the dcpoaits of ^ Wering mters appcar t0 ^ up into dry land through tL the con of the earth, while abysmal . , hnve remained , the , most “S 1008 perma nent areas of the earth’s surfac.
