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
