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About North Georgia times. (Spring Place, Ga.) 1879-1891 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 9, 1888)
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.
