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About North Georgia times. (Spring Place, Ga.) 1879-1891 | View Entire Issue (June 7, 1888)
NORTH GEORGIA TIMES Vol. VIII, New Series. Spring Morning. Swoot the air, Sky how fair! Bay doth break? Misty cloud In a shroud Winds the lake. Mountain peak Heaven doth seek. Crimson tipped; Tis a maid White arrayed, Cherry-lipped 1 Chanticseer Croweth near, Oxen low, Birdlings call, Qn the wall Squirrels go. Sun is up; Full the cup Of our day; Homeward walk, Cheery talk All the way. A STRANGE GUEST. “You’re sure you won’t be lonesome, Jennie?” Farmer John Harmon stood in the glow of tho broad fireplace, wrapped in his great-coat and muffler, his fur cap pulled down about his ears, and his whip in his hand, while the pawing hoofs of his impatient horses crunched the snow outside. Ho stooped as he spoke, and lifted his little daughter’s chin till the clear, brown eyes looked up, with the frank smite which always warmed his heart. “No, indeed, father! How could I be lonesomo with such a little chatter¬ box as Tony? Harkl I do believe he’s waking now, the darling!” “I’m serry that Manda Lawson couldn’t have como to stay with you, but, of course, if Jack’s sick, it stands to reason that she can’t leavo him. But Stevo and I’ll bo back bo fore dark, never fear. Huliol you Were right, Jennie. Hero comes the little gen oral I ’ A chubby boy of three years old ap¬ peared in his night-gown from the ad¬ joining room, with cheeks rosy, and yellow curls tangled from his morning nap. The father caught him in his strong aims, and held him, shrieking with laughter, above his head. “Father’s littlo man! Waked up to say good-by. Ho’11 take good caro of sister, won’t he?" The child leaped into tho young girl’s outstretched arms, and hid his face upon her shoulder. “Well, good-by Jennie 1” He paused a moment, a wistful look creeping over his strong, sun-browned face. “You’re liker your mother every day, my girl.” • “Father 1 Father 1" called a cheery voice outside. “Coming, Stove!” The door opened and let in a great wave of frosty air, and, as it closed be¬ hind him, the sturdy farmer clambered to a seat beside his son, and, with crack of whip and jingle of bells, the laden sleigh slippod cheerily away. Jennie stood at the window, still hold¬ ing the child. She was just fourteen, although her slight, childish figure made her seem younger than that by two or three years. The death of her mother when Tony was but a helpless babe had thrown premature burdens upon her young shoulders, burdens which she had borne with a patient, un selfish courage far beyond her years. She turned away at last, and, taking her place on a low seat before the fire, proceeded to dress the child, making merry game of the task, as she told over and over on his pink toes the story of the “five little pigs.” Then, when she had given him his breakfast of bread and milk, and placed on the floor a box of well-worn play¬ things, she went briskly about her own household tasks. The market-town to which her father and brother had gone, was fully fifteen miles away, and, once there, they must wait for the grinding of their load of grain. “We shall have a long day to our¬ selves, Tony dear,” said Jenny more to herself than to the child; “but there’ll be plenty to do, for sister must bake the bread and cakes for Sunday, and father and Steve will be wanting a good hot supper tonight.’,’ A few feathery flakes came floating down as she spoke, and theso proved to be but the forerunners of a mighty host, as the storm settled over the landscape. Hour after hour passed. There were no longer any tracks to be discerned along the narrow road.way which was the only avenue through the forest. It grew presently so dark inside the cabin that Jennie was fain to place a lighted lamp upon the table, and seat herself to listen for the first sound of distant sleigh-bells. Toney curled him seif upon her lap, and soon lost himself in sleep. SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JUNE 7, 1888 Suddenly Jennie heard the muffled sound of a hone's ho ofs upon the snow. A shadow darkened the window, and a moment later a heavy knock resounded upon the -door. Jennie hastened to open it, with Tony still awakened, in her arms. The visitor, who stood holding his horse by the bridle-rein, was a large, powerful-looking man, dressed in hunt¬ er’s garb, with a brace of pistols in his leathern belt. Some little city-bred msiden might have fainted with fright at so formi¬ dable an apparition, but Jennie was well accustomed to the rough exterior of the backwoodsman. The stranger looked at her keenly, as the firelight shone upon her little figure with Tony’s golden head nestled against her shoul¬ der. “Fve been caught in the storm. Can I stay all night?” he said. “Come in, sir," answered Jennie, heartily. “We aro all alone,—land the baby,—for my father and hrothor are go no to town; but I expect them home every minute, and I’m sure they wouldn’t like me to let any one go on in the storm. You can'put your horse in the stable yonder.” Without replying, the man led away his horse in tho direction indicated, whence he soon returnod, and taking his place in front of the hearth, pro¬ ceeded to dry his wet garments. His face, which evidently had once shown fine lines, wore a hard and bitter ex¬ pression, as tbo flickering shadows played over his bent head and averted eyes. A vague discomfort crept over the spirit of the little hostess. “I wonder if he’s sick, poor man! he looks so miserable-like,” she thought Then she said aloud, “If you haven’t boen to supper, sir, I could take you up some of the pork and beans I’m keeping hot for father and Steve, and I could make you a cup of tea in a minute.” “Idon't want anything,” answered the man, still without looking up. Little Tony, who, by this time, was broad awake, had slipped from Jennie’s arms, and stood with greet, blue, won¬ dering eyes fixed upon tho stranger. It was something wholly new to Tony's short experience to find himself unno¬ ticed by a visitor, and ho was evidently pondering deeply the problem of this unsolved personality. Ho walked slowly up and down the room, at each turn approaching a littlo nearer the grim, silent figure before the hearth. At last ho paused, and stepping yet closer, laid a small, soft hand upon the man’s knee. Still there was no response. The child’s breast heaved, his breath came thickly, and a grieved expression curled his rosy lip. “Man,” he said, with a tremulous baby accent, “why don’t’oo love little boys?” The stranger started, and a spasm of uncontrollable emotion swept over his bearded face. He turned upon tho child, whoso bright hair shone liko a glory about his head, and with a swift, involuntary action, drew him into his arms. Some marvellous change had transfigured his faco and softened tho hard lines like ice beforo the sun. Ho held tho child close, murmuring over him some inarticulate expressions of fondness, while Tony, on his part, accepted most graciously the tardy homage, tugged at the stranger’s watch guard, and laughed so merrily that Jen¬ nie could not repress a soft echo from her own corner. The man looking up, transfixed hor with the same keen gaze as at his en¬ trance, only that now some new element was added,—a questioning almost pain¬ ful in its intensity. Looking at him, one would have said that the man felt all his fate hanging upon tho answer which the young girl should give. “Are you afraid of me?” he said. "Afraid?” repeated Jennie, in gentle surprise. “Why, no, sir! Surely you wouldn’t do any harm to Tony or me.” “No more would I, so help me Godl ’ He rose and stretched himself to his full height, like one relieved from some intolerable burden. “And now, my girl,” he said, cheer¬ ily, “you may give me some of the pork and beans you spoke of,—they’re mighty warming on a night like this.” Jennie sprang up with a pleased alacrity, and having placed a bountiful portion upon the table, drew a chair be¬ side it. “I can’t see why father don’t cornel” she said anxiously. A curious expres¬ sion flitted across the man’s face, which she did not notice. “Don’t you fret, child,” he said, the snow’s drifting so that ’twould be nothing strange if they had to stop all night at some house along the road. But never you mind 1 I’ll do the chores for you—you’ve got the cattle and things to see after, I reckon—and then Til bring in soms moro logs for tbs fire.” “How kind you aro, slrl Tm sure father will thank you a thousand times.” “Thank me yourself, child! Fm not doing it for your father. It’s long sines anybody had cause to thank me, and the sound is sweet.” He opened tho door and went out through the blinding snow. Returning a half-hour later, he replenished tha fire, raking the coals together till a red blaze mounted high in the great chim¬ ney. Then catching up Tony in his night gown, he made him laugh with a story before being carried off to bed. “Your folks can’t possibly get home tonight,’’ ho said, when Jennie reap¬ peared, having left her littlo charge quietly sleeping. It storms harder \ every minute. But they’ll be along bright and early in the morning, so don’t you mind, but go and lie down with tho boy, and I’ll camp hero in front of the fire.” “But you won’t bo comfortable, sir.” Once more tho peculiar expression flitted across the man’s face. “Comfortablel I’ll get the sweetest rest I’ve had for many a long night!” Jennie did as she was bidden. She threw herself, still dressed, on the couch beside her little brother. It was long before she slept, for as tho storm beat against the window panes, she could not repress a sharp anxiety for the safety of those she loved. “What should I have done if this man had not come?” she thought. “He may be odd, but he i3 very, vory kind.” She lost consciousness at last, and when she awoke the storm was over, and the sunshine streamed in at the eastern window. As she sprang up, hardly ablo to collect the scattered memories .of tho provious night, the sound of distant bells came to her ears. “They aro coming 1” she cried, joy¬ fully. Hastily Bho opened the door of the iiving-room. It was empty, and the fire smouldered low on tho hearth. Her strange guest had gone suddonly and unannounced as he had come. “He didn’t wait to see father, and he had no breakfa 1 ”,’' mourned poyj. fieri nie. “What must he have thought of me to sleep so into as this?” J3he ran to tho outer door just as her fmher’s sleigh camo in sight—the stout horses struggling bravely through tho heavy drifts. A cheerful hallo rang out, answered by her own clear, joyful tones. The sleigh reached tho door, and in a moment Jennie was in her fath er’s arms. “My poor little girl I You aro safe. I was afraid—hasn’t anybody been here?” “Oh yes; we haven’t been lonesomo, either, havo we, Tony? A man came— he had been caught in tho storm—and ho was so good 1 He fed tho cattle and made tho fire, but—only think!—I slept so long that ho went away without any breakfast.” “Yes—he only robbed me of my money. I suppose, and spared you. “Well, I’m thankful for that.” “Robbed you, father 1 Why, he wa 3 a good man. Ho played with Tony and did all the chores.” John Harmon picked up a scrap of paper on tho table, on which was scrawled, “Good-by, littlo girl; don’t tell your father that anybody came and always bo good ( to those that aint good themselves.” “That proves it,’’ he said. “I saw that man watching us, yesterday, when we went over the brook, and he must have cut down that tree to prevent our getting back last night. He did it to rob me." John Harmon rushed out of the room, but quickly returned, in a stato of excitement and astonishment. “Why,” he said, “he hasn’t taken it, after alii" Of course, they never could know the whole story, but they guessed a part of it. The farmer had in his house" a con¬ siderable sum of money which he was soon to piy toward clearing the mort¬ gage from his iarm. Tho strange vis¬ itor must have known this fact, He certainly watched John Harmon and Steve as they went away from home. Probably he cut down the tree of which Jennie’s father had spoken, in order to delay his return until he had time to get well away. Then he had come to the house, not because he .was caught in tho storm, but because he had some plan, which no one doubted was rob¬ bery. John Harmon always believed that it was Jennie’s innocent fearlessness and perfect trust in the rough man that changed his mind, and saved him from tho loss of his money.—[Youth’s Com¬ panion. An international Bill—William F. Cody. A SNAKE CHARMER. An American Girl Who Handles Big Reptiles For a Living. An Employment Which Re¬ quires Considerable Nerve. Aina Don Janata, tho snako charmer, is a Now York girl, Ida Jeffreys, off the stage. The following extract con corning her peculiar employment, is from an interpreter with a New York World reporter: The fat men and the lean men luggod back tho rod boxes to their resting place, set them down with much rever ence and care in front of a roaring fire and then hurried away. Miss Jeffreys opened the boxes and took off tho daint y white merino blankets and gray wolf robes that wrapped up the snakes. She tiftod them up, fondled them and handed them over for inspection as she talked. “How did I become a snake charm¬ er?” she repeated. “Why, that isn’t easy to tell. I have always likod snakes. I was born in New York, and this city has always boen my home. I used to love to watch tho snakes in their glass cage in Central Park when I was a little girl They always had a fascination for me. I didn't want to pet them, you know—I don’t see how any sane person can care to do that—but I likod to he around them and watch them. My peo¬ ple are in the show business, and when I grow up I went to work as a high-wire performer ia the circus. I saw tho fa¬ mous Dama Ajanta, tho Hindoo girl who charmed snakes here some years ago. She was tall and litlio and almost as slender as a snake. Whilo perform i|g JwB|* with her pets she almost seemed to n ake. Sho moved and acted liko s- Seeing her act started mo think S (P^hy an American girl couldn’t do • Selling jp'hot to in imitate that way. her, I made up my A but to get up a i > jo 16 I ac bought ^ m four 7 °wn. In tho fall of j little anacondas— ! tfcy^wore only six feot long each—and pr etiso with them. I got ^em used to haring mo around and to being handled. Didn’t it feel creepy Yes, a little, I suppose, but * e ne *rly forgotten about that now. a; n ®*ey wore quite accustomed to TVS handled I began to twine them r | myself. Did I charm them? I don't take any stock in the thc °“ 03 °f so-called snako charmers. I that you can get along vory nicely 8aa kos by merely haadling them g cntl y. You mustn’t make any suddon movements where they can see you, but lct y our hand3 B lido rather than go fi ui ckly towards them. If you always remember that and never lose your presonce of mind, you can handle snakes 6afely enough. “Many people bolievo that the snakos are drugged before being handled in the circus. That i3 not so. They aro quite as lively as ovor, as you can see.” Bo saying, Miss Joffrey handed her vis¬ itor a long, plump boa constrictor. Tho young man felt palo, but pretended to liko the-sport. The sensation was much like that you .enjoy when a proud young mother hands you a three-weeks-old baby and asks you if you don’t think the dear little boy is quite heavy for his age. Boa constrictors and babies are so uncertain. Mistaking tho young man’s hollow, mocking smilo for a sign of real joy, Miss Jeffreys put a forty-pound anaconda into his left hand. He was a cold, clammy cuss and wriggled unceas¬ ingly. Tho snakes eyed each other like roosters who want fight, and the young man handed thorn back very sud¬ denly. “It’s simple enough, you see,” said Miss Jeffreys. “You just take hold of them boldly and you’ll get along very nicely with snakes. I don’t use rattle¬ snakes or cobras, because they aro poisonous. It’s bad enough to risk being hugged to death without running the chance of being poisoned. The anacondas and pythons grow very fast. That long anaconda measures fully fourteen feet. Ho was only six feet long when I got him in 1883. How often do they feed? About once in three Weeks I feed tho snakos in this box. Three eat chickens, two eat rab¬ bits, one eats pigeons, and two cat guinea pigs. I have to experiment with them till I find out their taste. That never changes. Of course, they tako their food alive. The snakes in that other box are Bcrub lot. They come from tho South American coast. They are roughly handled on their way north, and most of them refuse to feed. They simply pine away and die in a year or so. The good feeders were born and raised in Central Park under the care of Hupt. Conklin. “Oh, yes, Igctbiltcn once in a while. ■ You see my hands are full of little scar?. < They are from python and and anaconda teeth mostlv. That tig one on the mid ‘ die right knuckle hand of the made second , by finger „ 11-foot on my j was a python who weighed 100 pounds. 1 was feeding my snakes a few months ago, and tho big python, in darting after a chicken that was getting away, accidently closed his jaws on my ha»l. In an instant he had two cods around my arm and was just about to crush inc to death. I didn't want anybody to kill him, for he was worth $175, and, of course, I was afraid of being killed, and I felt very uncomfortable. Old John Fulton picked up a drum-stick from tho band stand and pried open the python’s mouth. That rattled him and he let go. I’ve had other narrow es¬ capes, but they’ro rather tircsomo to tell about. Do you know we have to bo very careful in handling snakes that have just been fed ? They swallow their pigs or chickens without chewing them, and if they are handled wilhin a few days after dinner tho bones aro apt to como through tho skin and kill Mr. Snake. They are very delicate, poor things, in spite of their great strength.” Uncle Sam's Conscience Fund. A letter signed with initials and mailed at the Washington Post-office was received the other day at tho Post Offico Department. The writer en¬ closed a two-cent stamp, with tho fol¬ lowing explanatory remark for tho ben fit of the Postmas ter-Gcneral: “I received a letter through your offico yesterday; the cancelling stamp failed to cancel tho stamp. I tore tho stamp off and used it. Now my conscience has got the best of me. Youwitl ploase find oncloscd a two-cent stamp to go to tho “Conscience Fund.” As it was not money tho stamp was not sent to the Treasury Department, where there is a special fund for tha . benefit of those who are overcome by tho pangs of conscience. The letter was sent on the official round and ns much ink and good paper was consumed in recording its reception in tho depart¬ ment and its final disposition as if it had been $10,000, instead of a sfckly two c$nt stamp. It was first of all recorded in the book of letters received in the Postmaster-General’s office, and was then sent, as endorsed by tho chief clerk, to the Third Assistant Postmaster-General. When it reached tho latter office it was reforrod by the Third Assistant Postmastor. General to the Finance Division. An. other record was made in tho book ot the offico of letters received and jacket¬ ed. Then it found its way to tha fin¬ ance division. The chief of that divis¬ ion pasted the stamp on tha letter,drew two crossmarks through the stamp with his pon and marked under it the word “cancelled,” and signed his name. This operation was witnessed by a clork who affixed his name as witness, and then tho letter having reached the end of its red tape journey was duly and properly deposited ia tho files, where it will re¬ main ns an evidence to future genera¬ tions that this petit larceny upon the government was regularly and officially atoned for. In case the citizen whose conscience was disturbed wishes to es¬ tablish the fact that lie has made resti¬ tution he can refer to the documents in the case which the postoffici depart¬ ment will kindly preserve for him with¬ out charge.—[Washington Star. How a Horsehair Becomes a Snake. Dr. Pago asked us if we didn’t want to see a horsehair that had turned to a snake. We did, and he drew a bottle from his pocket, filled with wator, ia which was what appeared to be a dim¬ inutive snake, five or six inches long, writhing and twisting, as if anxious to escape from the bottle. When put in the bottle it was nothing moro than a hair from a horse's tail. Dr. Mathews says the hair does not undergo change, but that invisible animalcules that gen¬ erate in the water collect on the hair and make it twist and squirm after the manner of a snake or worm. It is held by good authority that many of the so called animalcules have been shown to be plants, having locomotive powers something like animals; tho motion, however, is not supposed to be volun¬ tary. But the horsehair makes a first clas's snake all tho same.—[Hartwell Sun. A Blowing Well. Looxahomo, Miss., has a blowing well over which the people there are very much interested. It is 120 feet deep and fivo and one-half inches in diameter, and just before a rain it emits a current air that carries the sound of a harmonica 300 yards,— [Clarkviile (Tenn.) Chronicle. NO. 18 . After the Battle. It was after the dm of the battle Bad ceased, in the silence and gloom, w ' hen 1>ushed wfls the **l' s rattl# ’ And quiet the cannon a deep boom, T ho smoko of the conflict had lifted, And drifted away from the sun, While the soft crimson light, slowly fading from sight, Flashed back from each motionless gun. The tremulous notes of a bugle Rang out on the clear aulumn air, And the echoes caught back from the moun¬ tains Faint whispers, liko breathings of prayer. The arrows of sunlight that slanted Through the trees touched a brow white as snow. On the bloody sod lying, 'mid the dead and tho dying, And it flushed in the last parting glow. The dark, crimson tide slowly ebbing Stained red the light jacket of gray; But another in blue sadly knelt by his side And watched the life passing away. Said the jacket in gray, “I’ve a brother— Joe Turner—he lives up in Maine. Give him these—and say my last message Was forgiveness." Here a low moan of pain. Then—"You’ll do me tl) . g f(lvor For you shot me” —and his whispers sank low. Said the jacket in blue, “Brother Charlie, There’s no need—I’m your brother— I’m Joe.” —[V. Stuart Mosby. HUMOROUS. A taking follow—The photographer. The French bawl—“Vive la Bou¬ langer. A watorfall knows how to do the cataract. Professional decorators — Prize fighters. Teacher—In what battle was General Blank killed? Bright Boy—His last one. An old woman may be an incorrigi¬ ble gossip, but when you como right down to facts tho peacock is tho great¬ est tail-boarer of all. It is enough to tako the romance out of the most ardent wooer to discover that his best girl has set tho clock an hour fast when he calls. Miss Travis: I understand that your engagement has been broken off. Miss de Smith, who has boon taking boxing lessons at tho girls’ athletic club; Yes, I havo retired from tho ring. “Pa,” said Bertie tho other day, “why do they call a ship she?' ” “Be¬ cause, my son, sho is always on ths lookout for soma of tho buoys.” “How must I tako those pills, doc to?” asked a patient. “You must tako them in water." “Take them in water? Why, we haven’t got any bath-tub.” A worn-out socioty hello is like old maple sugar. It has a certain kind of sweetness, but has to bo laid on tha shelf when tha now crop comes out. “Isay, Bill,’’said one London street urchin to another, on seeing a dude pass by, “that fellor looks as if ’is ’ead had been fitted to ’is ’at, not ’is ’at to ’is ’ead.” Mother—And do you roally feel so vory bad, Bobbie? Bobby—Yes, ma, I ain’t quite sick enough to need any modicine, but Pm a littlo bit too sick to go to school. Cod liver oil is now adulterated with petroleum, according to a Washington paper. That’s all right, though. Any scheme to disguise the taste of cod liver oil is permissible. A city girl, writing to hor cousin ia the country, said she thought it might be nice enough on a farm in the summer time, but sho didn’t imagine it was very pleasant in tho winter, when they had to harvest the winter wheat and pick the winter apples. A young lady, visiting for the first time in the country, was alarmed at the approach of a cow. Bha was too fright¬ ened to run, and shaking her parasol at tho animal, she said in a very stern voice, “Lie down, sirl lie down!” Lawyer—My client’s present position, Your Honor, has bean brought on him by rum. Rum, your Honor 1 That en¬ gine of destruction which is bringing this fair country to everlasting ruin. (To witness)—What is your business young man? Bartender--I’m an en_ gineer. Tramp (politely)—Madam, will you be kind enough to give me something to eat? Lady—I’m sorry (here isn’t a thing in the house except a crust; but if you want that you can have it Tramp (with a courtly bow)—If it is the upper crust, madam, I will be pleased to re¬ ceive it; otherwise, I hope you will pardon me if I decline. The gloomy winter’s course it run, Up from the earth the daises peep, The base ball season has begun, The umpire’s wita and children weep I
