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NORTH GEORGIA TIMES
Vol. VIII. New Series.
Tho Apple Seed.
Come hither and listen; a tale I'll relate
Of a little brown seed and its wonderful fate;
in heart of an apple in autumn ’twas found,
Then was buried deep down in the dark, si¬
lent ground.
The frost soon enshrouded its own little bed,
And snows drifted o'er it, by chilling winds
sped;
The day and the night were alike where it
lay;
Of the pale winter sunshine it knew not one
ray.
The white drifts all vanished one mild April
flay,
And frost that encased it all melted ere May;
It sprang to the surface as soon as 'twas
freed
And raised two green banners—the brave
little seed. - t
It grew and it spread as the fleet years went
by;
It sheltered the cattle, while birds of the sky
Built nests ’mong its leaves and there reared
their young,
And the gay boys and girls on its low
branches swung.
Should you sail to the East—the wide ocean
o’er—
And search every page of its magical lore.
You never will find a more marvelous
H"’ u K
Then the blossoming out of that tree in the
Spring.
And apples grew on it, so rosy and fair
It seemed the red sunset imprisoned lay
there;
Down ’mong the tall grasses they dropped
> from the tree,
Where tho children would seek them with
shouting and glee.
When harvests are garnered at fall of the
year,
The corn-hnsks all stripped from the glossy,
\ gold ear,
This queen of the fruits, that the season had
graced,
In the cellar’s cool darkness was carefully
placed.
in long winter evenings around the bright
fire
The family gathered—from infant to sire;
Then apples were brought and a circular
row
On the hearth stone was placed to roast in
the glow.
A fair, laughing maid, with a keen, glancing
steel,
A ribbon would make of an apple’s smooth
peel,
Then the fresh, supple length would use as a
test,
Of the name of the lover who loved her the
- best.
Around her bright head she would give it a
twirl,
Then a gentle dash downward, with a twist
and a quirl;
And scoffing, but blushins, her shoulder
looked o’er
At the letter it made ns it fell to the floor.
The silver-haired grandma her knitting laid
fl° wn >
And taking an apple, all roasted and brown,
She story on story in retrospect traced,
.As the dear toddling babe she indulged with
a taste.
The provident housewife made marry a dish,
A* luscious and wholesome as mortal could
wish,
Of their rich, juicy pulp, oh, n wonder, in¬
deed,
Is this tale that V ten of thc Rttle brown seel.
—[C. A. M. Webb, in Boston Transcript.
THE GOVERNESS.
“Angeline!” cried Mrs. Duncan, as
she fluttered, into her daughter’s bou
doir, “what shall 1 do? I've just re
ceived a ‘regret’ from Madam Boutelle,
and I don’t kuow what in the world I
am to do with the count.”
“Tou’re sure he is coming?” queried
Angeline, anxiously,
“Oh, yes! He’s all right—the dear
fellow! I had the sweetest note from
him, saying that ha would be charmed.
But now that Madam Boutelle isn’t com
ing, there will be no one who can talk to
him. Angelina, I wish you would give
S little more attention to your French.”
“I have just been taking a lesson,
mamma,” Angeline replied, “Made
moiselle La Fonte lias taught me a new
verb this afternoon.”
Mrs. Duncan glanced at the little
French governess, hitherto unnoticed,
and said, patronizingly:
“I hope you will take great pains
■with her pronunciation, mademoiselle.
I always said that French did not
amount to much without a pronun¬
ciation.”
“There is no language which docs, „
replied tho little governess, quietly.
“Of course not! Angeline, are you
through with your lesson? Those laces
have come from McKay’s, and I do
want to talk to you about this dinner!
Yes, mademoiselle, you may go now;
but you must not forget that you are to
translate my bill of fare into French—
will you?”
“No, madam, I will not forget.”
She quitted the room with a bow and
bearing that showed she had not always
been a mere teacher of French to young
children and giddy girls. Indeed, there j
had been a time when the old La Fonts*
family had stood to all Provence as a j
SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA, THURSDAY. FEBRUARY t), 1888.
type of thc bluest blood of France. But
the Franco-Prussian war had made A
beggar of the once rich family, and left
Valerie with a widowed mother, who
soon died of grief.
“Mamma,” said the fair Angeline, as
she watched the slender, gray-robed
figure out of sight, “why don’t you get
; mademoiselle in the place of the Bou
tclle woman ? ’
“What?” screamed Mrs. Duncan.
“Give the place next to Count de
Beaupre to a governess?”
“You needn’t tell anybody who she
is. She is well-enough looking, and
knows how to behave.”
“ Knew how to behave ? It was well
for the fair Angclino’s plans that made¬
moiselle did not hear her.
“ I shall sit on one side of Hie count,”
said Angeline, airily. “Of course he
W U1 <a lk to me a great deal, and if I <mt
55
stuck, mademoiselle can help me out. On
the whole, mamma, I think that is a very
good plan. Madam Boutelle could prob¬
ably have monopolized him. You know
she is erase after tho men, and especially
| Count de Beaupre. Resides,” concluded
1 Angelino, very forciby, “ it’s too late to
ask anybody else 1”
“I suppose it is,” said Mrs. Duncan,
ruefully.
I And it was decided that they would
have mademoiselle, who was commanded
to accept the invitation on the pain of
losing her situation,
I Angeliue was enraged because thc
j stul) born little governess would not bor
i row a dress of them.
“She will look like a guy, mamma.
She can’t have anything fit to wear.”
“Well, my dear, it is all your fault,*’
Mrs. Duncan declared. “You would
have her!”
■ But mademoiselle did not look like a
| fright. When Count de Beaupro co¬
, tcred the reception-room, his be6Ut.y
| loving eyes singled out at otice a
I slender, curving figure, in antique bro
I cade which had gt own with age,
I but was so unmista >>
j looking that all thc ladies were wild
with envy. Mrs,' Duncan introduced
I him.
| “Mademoiselle,” said the courtly
i young lion, bonding his fine head to
| look at tho lair, sweet face beside him,
I “I am tharmed to meet so lovely a
| j countrywoman iu a foreign laud! Is it
I possible that we have met before? Your
face reminds me of one I have seen some¬
I where.”
j “I think not,” Valerio answered,
! flushing with pleasure at the sound of a
voice that spoke her native tongue so
| perfectly. “I have boon in America for
twelve years, ”
■ “I ini Sorry,” murmured the eotlnt;
■ ‘fine can always claim soMc favor on
thc score of an bid acquaintance.”
Just then Mis. Btincart’s imported
biltlet ciinc iti, with i practised bow
and annobuced:
“Binher is served.”
Count de Boauprc glanced at his card
and saw that he was to take Mademoi¬
selle La Fonte out to dinner. His
pleasure was unmistakable.
They were soon chatting volubly in
French. Angeline Duncan sut next to
Ihcm. She put in a word now and then
at random, for she couldn't understand
j a count’s Word they puzzled Wcrte “Comment!” saying. But (IIow?) the
j
And “Jc vous demaude pardon!” (I beg
pardon!) soon silenced her. /
As for Valerie, she was growing ani¬
mated. Her face flushed prettily un¬
der tho count’s admiring gaze, and she
was quite oblivious to the javelin
glances hurled at her by Mrs. Duncan.
The count had hardly looked at Ange¬
line.
“Who was that pretty girl 1 took out
to dinner?” he asked, later in the even¬
ing.
“Mademoiselle La Fonte,” said Mrs.
Duncan, coldly, “Is it possible you
admire her, count? She is not much of
anybody. We just had her to make up
the party.”
Mrs. Duncan was angry, or she would
not have aaid such a thing.
As for the count, he saw that he had
made a mistake; but Mademoiselle La
Fonte was wholly unconscious.
Shortly after, coffee was served, the
guests departed, and Valerio came up to
the hostess, whpn the party had dis
persed, to ask whether she might not
go home,
“Yes, and stay there!’’ retorted An¬
geline, angrily. “How dared you pre¬
sume to flirt with a guest of my moth¬
er’s? You forget, mademoiselle, that
you are not here as a social equal, We
did not expect you to play any of your
adventuress games upon Count de
Beaupre.”
“Miss Duncan,” cried Valerie, grow
ing deadly pale, “you have not yet ac
quired the right to insult me I”
“Angeline,” said Mrs. Duncan, in a
low tone, “don’t be too hasty, Remem-
SL^L£JS£,Cir i
“I don't care," cried Angeline, burst
log into tears. “She kept Counts
B “r, E&ZT2
erness, with much dignity, “I assure
you that I had no such an intention."
“That will do, mademoiselle!" said
Mrs. Duncan, coldly. “You can ge
now."
So the poor girl hurried out of the
loom, and met the Count do Beaupre,
waiting, hat in hand, in the hall. Sht
saw by his face that he had heard all.
>
“‘I thought you had gone!” sho stam
mcred. :
‘A waited for you,” he answered, in
French. “I thought you had no escort. !
May I have the honor of seeing yon j
home, mademoiselle?’’
“I have no carriage!” faltered poor
Valerie.
“Mine is at the door. Allow me!”
So the little governess found herself
rolling home in state.
“1 ought not to let you do this,” she
said, hurriedly. “I am not one of Mrs.
Duncan’s guests, monsieur; I am only
her governess.”
“Tho natde of La Fonte is vcrydcai
to me,” said the count, gently. My
father’s best friend was a French gen
oral, who was killed at Sedan, and that
was his name. A brave follow he was,
t0 ° •”
“It was my father!” criod Valerie.
“My father was General Gascoigne Lb
Fonte. Oh, monsieur! did you know
him?”
“Know him?” echoed Count de Beau¬
pre. “I should say I did! “Ho saved
my father’s life twice. I was a bit of a
boy, but I remember it wall. Ah! now
I see why your face Scetned so familial
to me. Mademoiselle La Fonte, you and
1 ’ought to bs good friends.”
“I will d* my part,” said Valerie,
warmly.
And the count, having taken her
hand in his, found occasion to hold it
awhile.
Valerie Mas much happier now that
she had found a friend among her own
count rymen. The long evenings slipped
by quite gaily. The count took her to
the opera, and they had many pleasant
jaunts together.
It was one morning in Fobruary that
Mrs. Duncan called upon mademoiselle
to announce to her that her services
would bo no longer required as a gov
j erness.
“1 cannot offer any encouragement to
any young Woman Who behaves as you
do,” snld the lady, finally.
Valerie Was utterly taken back; but
before she coulcl rbply, a tall, courtly
figiire appeared in tho doorway. It was
the count himself.
“Madam,” he said, bowing, “the
future Countess do B -atipre has no fur¬
ther need of your patronage."
“Countess de Boauprc!” was alt she
could gasji.
And Valerie soon found hersolf
standing alone, bewildered, in tho
middle of the room, While the man she
loved Was holding her hand and saying,
tenderly;
“Valeric, darling, you will let me
Verify that statement—will you not? I
love you with all my heart. Will you
take it, and my title and me? I want
you so badly!”
And as for Valerie, it could not have
been “no” that she answered, for two
months later, at the Hotel Valentino, in
Paris, were registered the names of the
Count and Countess de Beaupre --[Sat¬
urday night.
The Sleeping Disease.
A singular and invariably fatal
malady, called lethargus, is reported to
be peculiar to negroes iu certain dis¬
tricts on the western coast of Africa.
Tho patient, usually a male adult, is
seized without any premonitory syrnp
toms, with a sensation of drowsiness,
wliich continues to increase in spite of
all efforts to throw it off, until he sinks
into a profound and seemingly natural
sleep, and which continues for about
twenty-one days, when death comes.
Throughout the course of the disease
tho patient preserves a quiet and peace¬
ful countenance, may bo easily aroused
for a short, time, will take nourishment,
and generally answer a few questions in
a perfectly rational manner; the pulse,
respiration and temperature remain nor¬
mal throughout, the pupil is neither di¬
lated nor contracted to any noticeable
extent-, and the voi dings are compara¬
tively regular; in fact, with the excep¬
tion of the abnormal tendency to sleep,
nothing exists to denote disease. Many
careful post-mortem examinations have
been made by competent men, but noth¬
ing of an abnormal character has been
found, while every remedy that could
possibly be of any avail has been used
without any apparent beneficial effect.
A MEXICAN DRINK,
Pulque, What it is, How it is
| «»* »« How it is Tata.
It is Only the Fermented Juice
of the Century Plant.
t* the course of a few months, writes
Tbc Boston Herald’s Mexico correspon
dent, I have received several letters
from the States inquiring about the
national beverage of Mexico, the fer
taented juice of the maguey plant, pop
ularly known as pulqde (pronounced
pool-kay).
It may be said, with historical ac
buraejr, that pulque, or, as the Aztec
home is, “octh,” was not known to
other tribes than the Aztecs, -and it may
be called their peculiar beverage. How
the discovery of the thirst allaying pro
perries of tho juice of the" maguey
was made nobody knows, but I
cannot help believing that the
plant was destined by Providonce to
furnish the driuk of tho dweiiers on tho
tablelands Where, (or six o’r seven
months in the year, little rain falls, and
where men grow pheuo'miually thirsty
owing to the dryness and thinness of
the atmosphere. Many a time I have
slaked my thirst in country villages
with a huge draught of pulque and felt
immediately refreshed and strengthened,
for that pulquo is s tonic is undis
putablo.
The maguey is a hardy plant, and by a
new process for manufacturing fibres it
is destined to yield as much monoy for
fibre as it now gives for pulque, and
that, too, after its pulque yielding
period is over; It Is a vegetable cow,
or reindeer, with a score of iiseS. The
Indians find in it needles, throad, twino
and fuel, besides drink. What they
would do without this strange octopus
like plant I cannot imagine.
The maguey is nothing more or less
than the “century plant,” which you
See on American lawns, where it is Cul¬
tivated as an exotic, and has to be
housed on the approach of frost. A
great maguey hacienda is a fine
sight, with its miles and miles of
jjftcat plants armed with an infinitude of
spines, and through which you see tho
peons going about like some sort of
queer insects sucking tho juico from the
efflorescent plant by means of the
strange-looking instrument. From somo
of the plantations an annual income of
from $100,000 to $200,000 is derived
by the fortunate owners, who, for the
inost part, live in luxury in gfcat houses
in tho City of Mexico, or are, to-day,
driving in the Bois in Paris, or sunning
themselves on Italian terraces. Buy a
big tract of land, set out 40,000 maguey
plants, wait from five to eight years, and
your fortune and that of your children
is made.
The magucys are set out some five
feet apart in rows, like soldiers on
parade, and the spectacle of a huge plain
filled with giant magueys is imposing
enough. When the hampe or flowering
stalk is formed, the maguey begins to
yield “aguamiel” or honey water, tast¬
ing not unlike maple sugar sap. To be
able to ascertain exactly tho time of
flowering is the great art, and in this
the older Indians of tho maguey hacien¬
das excel. When the maguey is on the
point of flowering, the radical leaves,
which have been lying on the ground,
suddenly lift themselves, and seemingly
endeavor to form a tent-like canopy
over the flowering stalk. The central
bunch of leaves, the heart, or “corazon,”
becomes of a beautiful green color, and
extends itself quickly.
When the flowering stalk begins to
form, the Indian laborers cut the ‘ ‘cora¬
zon” and gradually open the wound,
covering it with the great lateralleaves,
which the y draw over the “corazon,”
tiem in P lace - Thc ma B ue y> un '
able to produce a flower, secretes a great
quantity of the sweetish juice described
a l )ovc - From this artificial well the In¬
dian draws juice several times a day for
two or three months. Often the plants
yield fifteen quarts daily. Out of the
dry, gravelly ground comes this wonder¬
ful quantity of juice. Tho plant, on
flowering, may fairly be valued at $5 or
$6. After having yiolded its juice, the
stalk perishes, but a very great number
of shoots start up, -which may be set out
in new ground to keep up the plantation.
After the “tlachiquero,” or juice
sucker, has extracted the aguamiel, he
takes his pigskin to the point whore it is
emptied into huge casks for fermenta¬
tion. A little sour pulque is added to
accelerate fermentation, and in three or
four days the operation is completed, and
you have the pulque of the shops, an
acid, buttermilk sort of beverage, for
which most foreigners must liked acquire a
taste, although I myself pulque
from the first taste.
“Bula Matari.”
The words “Bula Matari" are known
throughout a large part of the Congo's I
basin, and they have a potent influence
upon the minds of many of the native
tribes. They mean “the stone-b'eaker,”
and this is the name the natives of the
Lower Congo gave to Stanley when they 1
saw him blasting rocks along the banks j
of the river, while building his road tc j
Stanley Pool. The name clung to him |
ever after, and as it became repre¬
sentative in the minds of the people ol
the idea of power and authority, the
name is still made to serve a useful
purpose.
When Governor Janssen of the Conge
State a while a go sent an officer to tell a
certain chief, who had net previously
been visited by the whites, that he must
desist from the practice of making hit¬
man sacrifices, it might net have pro
duced an} serious impression updn the
savage to be told flta* Governor Janssen
or King Leopold ordered hhp. to do thus
and so. Ho probably would not have
known who they were, and
would have sent them word to mind
their own business. The officer did not
mention their names, but lie told his
Majesty that Bula Matari wanted him to
understand that unless ho quit killing
people it would be the worse for him.
The Chief was well acquainted with that
name. He regarded the message as a
threat from a very formidable porson,
and lost no time in making profuse
promises of reformation. In his
tion with many of the Congo natives,
Governor Janssen, who has proved
himself a very able administrator of the
new state, refers to himself only as Bula
Matari
A while ago a party of German travel¬
ers were exploring the region of the
Lower Quango River. One day they
ran across anti a tribe who disputed their
passage, almost before the white
men were aware that danger threatened
they were confronted by a large force of
well-armed savages, who advanced to
attack them. The explorers seemed to
be in for a fight, but a happy thought
which inspired one of the party averted
the threatened danger. He shouted:
“We have come from Btfla Matari, and
we are his men.”
The effect was magical. The leaders
of the mob of warriors called for a par
ley, professed tho greatest friendship
for the strangers and said they would
never dream of attacking the people or
allies of Bula Matari, whom they recog¬
nized as a very great man, and they
wanted to be numbered among liis
friends. The genuine ami only original
Bula Matari had never been within a
hundred miles of these people, nor had
any of his subordinates ever Visited
them. But his fame had traveled far
and wide, his name was an excellent
one to conjure with, and the fact that
tho natives generally are still very
anxious to keep on the right side of
I ul Matari, makes that potcut name an
important feature among the political
expedients of the new state.—[New
York Sun.
Dock Thugs.
A trick of the dock thugs which is
liable to succeed with the shrewdest of
travelers is practiced in broad day. As
he passes tho not attractive approaches
to most ocean steamer wharves, a ragged
and vicious looking youngster runs up
behind him, whips off his hat and is
away with it in a jiffy. The most
natural thing in the world is to turn and
run after him. He leads his victim a
smart chase into a wood yard or rough
corner, from whose recesses in an instant
the gang is out to knock the stranger
down, rob him and, perhaps, toss him
over the edge of the wharf.—[New
York World.
The Reality of Breams.
There are some very remarkable things
about dreams. In the first place, they
are twice as real as reality. Did you
ever fall down stairs in dream? If you
have you must have observed that it is a
much more terrible experience than
when you are awake—except that you
don’t have the bruises to nurse after¬
wards. But the mental experience of
falling down stairs in a dream is some¬
thing awful. There is nothing like ju
dicious abuse of the stomach for the
man who enjoys real exciting dreams
with some plot to them.—[Burlington
Free Press.
A Remedy for Catarrh.
As remedies for catarrh thousands of
persons daily use snuff and other stuff
whose action is to irritate the lining
membrane and thus cause—more catarrh.
There is nothing bettor than common
washing soda diluted in water and
twice a day sniffed thoroughly well
through the nostrils. Many persons use
only salt and water.—[New York Times.
NO, I.
Nursery Song.
Pace, pace, pace:
That's the way the ladies ride.
Foot hung down the pony’s side.
Pace, pace, pace;
Pacing gently into town,
To buy a bonnet and a gown;
Pacing up the narrow street,
Smiling at the folks they meet;
That's ths way the ladies ride,
Foot hung down the pony’s sid»
Pace, pace, pace.
Trot, trot, trot:
That’s the way tho gentlemen ride,
O'er the horse's hack astride',
Trot, trot, trot.
Hiding after fox and hound,
Leaping o’er the meadow’s bound.
Trotting through flie woods in spring,
Where the little wild birds sing.
That's the way the gentlemen ride,
O’er the horse's back astride,
Trot, trot, trot.
Rock, rock, rock:
That’s tho way the sailors rids,
Rock and reel from side to side.
Rock, rock, rock.
Jack Tar thinks he's- on the seas.
Tossing in a northern breeze;
Thinks t hat he must veer and tack,
When he mounts a horse’s back;
Rooking east anil cocking west,
Jack Tar rides, dressed in bis best;
Rock, rock, rock.
Sleep, sleep, sleep:
..kat's the way boy Ned will rider.
Floating on the summer tide.
Sleep, sleep, sleep,
Ont upon the drowsy sea,
Where the sweet dream blossoms be.
Far away to Sleepy Isles
Sails my Ned. “flood night," he smiles;
Sinking down in pillows deep,
little Ned is fast asleep:
Sleep,, sleep, sleep.
—[Ann At. Libby in Good Jfousekeeping,
HUMOROUS*
Concealing the truth—Lying in am
bush.
When the sardine gets caught he very
soon finds himself in a box.
They cnil him Buffalo Bills now, for
he has 800,000 one-dollay ones.
The mother with twin boys knows
what it is to toil from son to son.
What is that which nobody wants,
and nobody likos to lose?—A lawsuit.
When a physician loses his skill it
naturally follows that h® is out of prac¬
tice.
“I’ll take tiio responsibility,’' m Jerk*
said When he held out his arms, for the
baby.
A pretty child smilingly asked
her mothor why ll»h arc so full of
splinters.
Wo soud 1,000,000 harrols apples every
year to foreign nations, and won’t taka
any “sass” in return either.
On seeing a house being whitewashed,
a small boy of three wanted to know if
it was going to be shaved.
It is very appropriate in writing a let¬
ter to a fashionable physician to make
the address; “My dear doctor.”
Clara—“How did you enjoy the opera
last evening?” Lucy—“It was splendid.
I had the nobbiest hat in the house.”
“Jenny,” said a little girl’s mother,
“why don’t you be good?” “Yes,
mamma, but it is hard to bo good, and
1 can be bacl without trying."
” Philosophers tell us that we should
know one thing well. Among the
medical fraternity, however, it pays
better to know many things ill.
The man who moves down life’s path
and finds it strewn with sweet surprises
is ho who knows just how it’s done,
who keeps astorc and advertises.
Miss Noon is tho name of an Ohio
school ma’am. She is quite popular with
her scholars, but would be more so if hei
name were Miss Four-o’clock p.m.
“ We don’t caro for the rain,” said
one Baltimore girl to another, as she
raised an umbrella; “we’re ‘neither
sugar nor salt.’’’ “No,” replied tho
other, “ but we’re lasses.”
silks anti
With winsome manners and grace,
With magnificent eyes and face,
A child of a noble race,
She was the belle of the ball.
A mouse ran over the floor,
And then made a bolt for the door,
A scream, and a shriek, and a roar!
Heard over ten miles or more,
That was the bawl of the belle.
—[Goodall’s Sun.
A Tear-Shedding Tree.
The Kagashi tree of tho natives of In¬
dia is described as a tree that really
weeps. If an axe-cutis made in the bark
of one of these trees in spring, the sap
flows from the wound in a great stream;
and whenever an opening in the bark is
made, the fluid escapes for a considerable
time. These facts are given by a recent
observer, who mentions noticing great
drops falling from one broken branch at
the rate of one a second, the tree having
been in a weeping condition for at least
ten days.
