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NORTH GEORGIA ■■v.. TIM •i r ILi «— n
Vol. VIII. New Series.
Change.
The mom was fair and. promised true,
iA day of sun in summer land;
Hd love was fond, and love was new,
Vith all of bliss it could command;
sweet, I promised unto you
HHlcvcsboul 1 true an Ut.-adfast stand.
Haon sun shone with fervid heat
the land, upon the sea;
Hpnii.il were by my side, my sweet,
not quite the same to be,
had changed—and it is meet
change had come to me.
■■■Hrairie ^^in a sea of geld,
reaching wide;
I would withhold,
& y ~'v, •: :uv bri >;
iiSfllSl ■fue a thousand fold
, morning tile.
gHBEEsSBir - [Times Democrat.
ic”
i £?u PREACHER.
8. ISAACS.
jVy that it was no
1 had the same
■*nair, was of the
UHd tho same
Ha read be
SsHf vVvH’ns ink ful for
a new
iSlHrough some
bunged, lie
p L
■Yd.- i'.-'V.
. , K
. .. K
. . fy ' g§ ' 1 w. |
' v
tho wans, rare etchings
V easel, costly engravings on
a cabinet of coins in ono
corner, aud a poem in marble in another
—it was no wonder that ho felt a thrill
of self-satisfaction as ho glanced in
every direction. And his senso of com¬
fort was heightened by tho roll of proof
sheets on his desk —his latest work al¬
most ready for publication. There was
a long row of volumes since his occu¬
pancy of tho pulpit, but this was to bo
his crowaing effort, and to increase still
further his fame.
There were tho books, tho creation of
his genius, on a long shelf all by them¬
selves. Tho critics spoke highly of
them; tho learned world acknowledged
their merit. History, biography, criti¬
cism, wero h^ special fields. But his
mind was so versatile that ho could pro¬
duce novels as well; and his poems had
also a rapid sale. As a popular lec¬
turer ho always commanded a largo au¬
dience. His travels in the East and hi 3
discovery of the missing tractate of
St. Theodosius had gained him tho
doctorate from threo Old World univer¬
sities.
Yes, ho had been singularly success
ful, and that, too, without stooping to
nny moan tricks. Ho was above syco¬
phancy and self-advertising. Ha had
made his way by hard pushing, by rcso
■j^vgUl^by sheer stamina, he was
Not two decades in tho
Mk long outstripped preach-
1 htfrv
n Vi HilPW^be- ~7i a and
,he
.•r
’
yw
'd
!de
1
w
' ■ ” ’ BP
5 fijr
, .ii.ii'.
, ■ llr "|
H >. over
*fW ;\’inc: -
was just in
■pride was attain
the voice of his
H,do tho heavy cur
“den” from tho
querulous tono from
Purbed in his revery.
ere whom you wished to
■ he asked, in an im
ROG. eracm ber? The boy for
i to secure a situation.
H ely, havo forgotten it.”
B ^■"de of pain in her voice.
come to-morrow, Edith;
^ bothered now. I havo my
iiusy enough with other mat
fcim come—say, this day next
James,” with gcntlo remons
jB- in her tone—“James, his mother
Piestitute; sho must have money.”
“I cannot help it. Why am I always
troubled by that class of peoble? It
■would tax the patience of Job or the
purse of Croesus. Let him come next
week; do you hear?"
The preachir’s wife heard; she sighed
SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA. THURSDAY. JUNE 28, 1888,
as she turned away, and bade ihe boy
come the following week. Then seeing
him to the door, she gave him a triflo
for present needs.
The preacher resumed his revery, but
found it difficult to regain his self
satisfaction. His nature was keenly
sensitive, and the slightest cause would
often produce the intensest jar. And
now what had snapped asunder his
pleasant fancies? What had vexed him
at the moment of his exhilaration?
It was his wife’s sigh—low, tremu
trated lou|, scarcely his audible—which had pene¬
eoul and rankled there, as if
imbued with physical potency. It was
the sigh of his wife, gentle, patient, un¬
complaining, that hod stirred him from
his dreams. IIo rose from his chair.
He paced up and down the room. He
never sighed. Why should his wife
sigh? And why should that sigh pro¬
duce such inward ill? Had he said
aught unkind?. Was ho not always gen
tlo to her?
His wife’s sighl Sho was not looking
so young. Thero wero streaks of gray
in her hair, and her checks were not so
full and round. His wife's sight Was
it not her wealth that gavo him leisure
and independence? Was it not hor in¬
fluence that had spread liD fame? Did
her sigh imply regret at her choico, or
her bitter disappointment?
The preacher had a conscience, and it
was making a sharp light. Jacob’s con¬
test of old with tho wrestling angel
finds its parallel in many an inward
struggle of tho human soul, Tho
preacher’s few minutes of agony seemed
as long as tho hours to tho patriarch,
and ho too prevailed, and his heart was
changed, lika tho narna of his proto¬
type.
“I would liko to seo him so muchl”
The tones of a fresh, strong voico fell
upon his ear as the curtain was drawn
aside and a young man entered.
“Ah, doctor, I could not resist tho
desire to see you. I have heard of you
so often, and your books aro well
thumbed at home. I have so much to
say. ” His eagerness rang out in every
word.
“You know I have chosen tho ministry
for my vocation. Oh, doctor, I fool so
unfitted for the task 1 My doubts aro
not of God, or religion, or the Good
Book, or tho lovely traditions and asso¬
ciations that blend with tho faith. No,
no; my doubts are of myself—my un
worthincss, my littleness, my poverty
of tho Spirit. What can I do to cope
with the task? Ilow can I become a
preacher to humanity? Ilow shall I
drive homo tho religion divine? How
shall I impel men to follow tho Master?
The work is so sublimo and I so insig¬
nificant. What can I do?”
The preacher heard him. It seomod
that his features woro familiar, and his
voice was not strange.
“Oh, doctor, Ido not care for books
when struggling men and weak women
and tender children aro to ho uplifted.
I do not wish for fame. I do not look
for success, measured by a largo con¬
gregation, a princely salary, and a grow¬
ing reputation. I would havo tho
prophet’s idoal realized in my life. Let
tho spirit of God rest upon me, however
lowly my portion tho spirit of wisdom
and understanding. Lat mo not judge
after the sight of my eyes, nor reprove
after the hearing of my ears. These
words of Isaiah always occur to me, doc¬
tor. I mado them tho text of my grad¬
uation sermon at the seminary a few
weeks ago. I—”
“His graduation sermon,” thought the
preacher. “Why, it was my very text
when I graduated l"
“Oh, doctorl doctor!” tho young
man criod, as the tears started in his
eyes, “pardon my impulsiveness. I do
not wish to be faithless to my ideal. So
many start woll and fail. I want to
translate that text into life. There is
so much to be done and so few to do it.
Don’t you recall those lines from Low
ell?
“ ‘The Lord wants reapers; oh, mount up
Before night comes and says, “Too Latel"
Stay not for taking scrip or cup
The Master hungers while ye wait.’ ■
“Thoso lines—thoso lines,” said the
preacher to himsolf; “they were always
in my memory. Why do I hear them
now? Have I waited for scrip or cup
while the Master has hungered?"
“I know no greater curse, doctor,”
continued the young man, with his
cheeks all aflame with enthusiasm,
“than to have my unfulfilled ideal re¬
buke mo as I grow old. To have the
spectre of the unrealized always around
me; to hear the accusing voice of op
portunity misspent and advantages mis
applied; to feel that I have been dis
loyal and cowardly, and bent only on
my own advancement while religion has
hungered—the thought would drive me
wild. And I havo come to yon, good
sir, for kindly counsel. Tell me what
I shall do. You sympathize with me.
You too onco were young like myself.”
“You have come to me—to me—for
counsel!” tho preacher exclaimed, ris¬
ing from his chair and advancing. “Do
you know how iaithless I have been to
my youth’s ideal? Oh, spare me—spare
me—”
The preacher awoke. Was it but a
revery, after all? Had his youth come
back to accuse him, liko in Jean Paul
Richter's dream?”
“Edith 1 Edith 1’’ he exclaimed, tear¬
ing aside the curtain, and folding her,
as she came, in a passionate embrace.
“Edith! Edithl you shall uever sigh
again. It is still day for us. It is not
too late, thank God l 1 ’
He told her of his wrestling spirit and
his victory. And when tho next Sab¬
bath dawned he preached as he never
had preached beforo. People noted tho
difference; he felt it; and with tho soed
of humility planted anew in his soul,
his work grew to lovelier and more on
during proportions.—]Harper’s Bazar
How Ho was Placated.
A friend of mine related to mo last
night his experience in reconciling a
testy old fellow to the marriage engage¬
ment of his favorite daughter. My in¬
formant being a discreet and benevolent
character and intimate with all tho per¬
sons concerned, was persuadod by tho
young people to intercede on their be¬
half. Ho undertook the task with no
little hesitation,aud tho reception which
his overture? met was not calculated to
raise any hopes. Ho began by repre¬
senting to patorfamilias tho exceeding
cleverness of his would-bo son-in-law
and tho brilliant future which certainly
lies beforo him. This, however, pro¬
duced not the least effect, and ho suc¬
ceeded no better when ho fell back upon
the young man’s lino moral qualities and
solid worth. At last tho potential
father-in-law exclaimed: “Now, -,
you have told mo a lot of stuff in praiso
of this fellow who wants to marry my
daughter—bo honest, and say what
thero is to be said against him.”
Being thus taken in flank, as it wore,
tho family friend, a ridiculously con¬
scientious porson, admitted, with soma^
hesitation,that tho matrimonial aspirant
is rather unpopular, that his manners
ore not pleasant, that ho Is supposed to
be sullen at times, etc., etc. “Hum!”
said tho old gentleman pricking, up his
cars, “has he many frionds?” “No,”
the go-between confessed, 1 ‘I am afraid
not.” “AVell," the stern parent de¬
clared unbending at last, “I don’t
know but what Fanny may have him if
sho likes. Ho is evidently disagreeable
enough, but in my opinion, the kind of
man that you describe makes a pretty
safe husband. Your jolly, popular
men aro always spending other people's
money. Fanny is a sensible girl, and if
sho wants to marry this young fellow I
won’t stand in the way,"—[Boston
Post.
A Chinese Courtship.
Another curious feature in Chinese
life is reported in tho native press. A
difficulty having been found by a good
looking humpbacked girl in procuring a
husband, tho go-between discovered
that an identical difficulty prevented a
certain humpbacked young man from
getting a wife. Sho accordingly ar¬
ranged a match; but ns each party was
of very eligible quality in other respects,
each of the respective parents insisted
upon obtaining a surreptitious view of
tho amorous one on either side. Tho
go-between accordingly arranged that
the girl should bo interviewed as she sat
at her spinning whoel with her hump
daftly inserted in a hole in tho mud
wall, while the man was introduced as
he was conducting home a water buffalo
and leaning over its neck with his rain
negligently thrown over his back. Tho
marriage took placo, and it then be¬
came too late for tergiversation, as it
had been indorsed by law.—[San Fran¬
cisco Alta.
A Practical Test
Johnny, who is four years old, was
playing in the yard ono day, and a lady
who lived close by wished to havo tho
eggs if any were laid since her last visit
to the hennery brought in. She said
to the little boy: “Johnny, will you go
to the hennery and seo if there arc any
eggs there? Don’t bring in the China
ones; leave them there; but if there be
any others bring them in.”
Johnny started to do the bidding, and
soon returned with two or three broken
eggs and his pinaforo soiled. The lady
seeing him coming, exclaimed:
“Oh, Johnny, how did yon break tho
eggs?”
Johnny looked at her in surprise and
said: “How could I tell whether they
were china eggs or not, if I didn't try
them. —[Boston Globe.
COUNTRY DOCTORS.
The Busy Lives of Country Phy¬
sicians in the Last Century.
Medical Treatment in the Days
of Our Great Grandfathers.
Tho country physician of colonial
days, and of the years ending with the
last century, led a laborious life. Most
of his waking hours wero spent in rid¬
ing long distances over bad roads. Ho
was obliged to bo hail-fellow-well-met
with every one in tho county, for on his
largely depended his profes¬
sional success. In those toping days
thero was always something on tho side¬
board for tho doctor, of which ho was
rarely loath to taka advantage; conse¬
quently, he generally mellowed with
the years, grew rotund in person, and,
like Hawthorn’s middle-aged English¬
man, “his logs abbreviated themselves,
and his stomach assumed that dignified
prominence which justly belonged to
that motropolis of his system. Ilis eye
contracted a metry twinkle, a chuckle
lurked in his full throat, always ready
for use, and gradually ha grew to bo
known as a peripatetic story-teller, and
often tho best gossip in tho county.
At that time, as a gonoral thing,
chemists and druggists had not vet
boon educated, and established on tho
most prominent corners of tho towns.
Tho apothecary shop of the neighbor
hood was usually wherever tho doctor’s
saddlo-bags happened to bo at tho time.
Drugs wero then takon in largo doses,
their use not being by any means con¬
fined to tho sick. Purgative compounds
wero administered to tho Uoarty and
strong each spring, and it was deomod
necessary that at that scasoa of tho yoar
tho blood of both old aud young should
be purifiod by tho uso of generous doses
of noxious mixturos. Rhubarb and mo¬
lasses were forced down tho throats of
healthy children as a fancied preven¬
tive of disoase, and mercurial medicines
wero used to such an extent as often to
result in tho falling out of tho
patient’s teeth, Powerful tine
turogj loathsome infusions, and
bitter barks wero prescribed in such
quantities as would hardly bo croditod
by physicians of tho present day. Gen¬
tlemen of tho profession, whoa at a loss
to know what to prescribe, wero al¬
ways ready to pull out tho lancet, and
relieve tho patient of copious quantities
of blood, often at a timo when such a
weakening and depleting treatment in¬
creased tho malady and hastened death.
Blood-letting was even resorted to in
cases far gono with consumption, and
by theold-timo physician was considered
tho alpha and omega of all practico
During tho prevalence of yellow fever
in PHiladelphia testimony was taken
as to its manner of treatment. Mc
Mastcr quotes from tho published re¬
port, showing that ono patient was bled
twenty-two times in ton days, losing
176 ounces of blood. From another of
the sick 150 ouncas wero taken in fiteen
bleedings; several lost over 100 ounces,
and from ono child but six weeks old
SO ounces wero drawn. Tho Rev. Dr.
Ashbel Green writes in his autobiogra¬
phy that when a lad of about niuetoon,
and without any modical knowledge, ho
used to be called upon by his father—
who was a clergyman, physician, farmer
and distiller—to prepare medicines, let
Wood, extract teeth and inooulato for
smallpox.
At tho beginning of the eighteenth
century smallpox was still the cnomy of
mankind, as that dread disease had been
from the sixth century, when, in
Arabia, it started on its mission of
death. It was annually committing
fearful ravages—as many as 400,000
dying in Europe in ono year. Tho
East, as if desirous of compensating tho
world for originating this terrible
scourge, gave to suffering humanity its
initial knowledge of how to check its
spread, for it was in Turkey that inocu¬
lation first becamo known. This man¬
ner of fighting the disease was intro¬
duced in tho Amcrcan colonics in 1721
by Dr. Zabdiel Boylston of New Eng¬
land, at the earnest instigation of Cot¬
ton Mather, who had learned of the
success in the Ottoman empiro of such
treatment. In tho face of great op
position, the doctor’s first experiments
were made on his son, a lad of thir¬
teen, and on two negro slavos. Tho re-,
suit was such as to warrant his extend¬
ing the operations, and during the year
240 persons were inoculated. For a
timo Dr. Boylston stood alone. Physi¬
cians, people, and the press were intense
against this new manner of combating
the smallpox. Even Franklin, who
was generally far ahead of the times in
his appreciation of what was valuable
for the community, wrote strongly in
condemnation of tho practice. He al- J
tered his views in latsr life, as h j
shown , . by his memoirs, although long
before that time tho treatment had con
quered opposition, and was generally
accepted as a truo preventive of this
terrible scourge of the colonist.---[New
York Post.
Washington's Modesty.
One trait of General Washington’s
character frequently caused disappoint¬
ment to his guests-—his reluctance to
talk of his own actions, lie was fond
of pleasant, familiar conversation, aud
enjoyed a jest as woll as any man; but
it was well-nigh impossible to “draw j
him out” on tho stirring scenes of his
career, whether political or military.
Even tho members of his own family !
rarely heard him mention any of tho ex- i
'
ploits with which his name was popu- I
larly identified. Miss C'ustls wrote that j
she had heard him laugh hcarti'y at her j
girlish pranks, but that usually lie was j
silent and thoughtful, and “never spoke ;
of himself.” She declared that, though :
sho grew up in his house, she had never .
once hoard him rclata a singlo act of !
his military Ufa. j j
Bishop White, of Philadelphia, bears
similar testimony. He said ho had
never known a man who was so scrupu¬
lous in this particular. “It has occa¬
sionally occurred to me when in his com¬
pany,” said tho bishop, “that if a
stranger to his person wore present, he
would never have known from anything
said by bins that ho was conscious of
having distinguished liiinsolf in tho
eyes of the world.”
Ho really had no vanity, and made
no claim to special consideration. The
incident of liis car rying with his own
hands a bowl of hot drink, in tho night,
to a young guest who was coughing
badly, astonished tho young man ex¬
tremely, but it came as natural as possi¬
ble to Gonoral Washington. IIo has
done similar things a hundred times to
sick slaves.
The same may bo said of hit giving
up liis seat to a poor woman. It was
at Morristown, during tho revolutionary
war, on a Sunday morning, when ser
vico was hold in the open air nntl all the
troops wero present. A chair had been
placed for tho commander-in-chief,
which he, from a regard for the con¬
sideration that placed it there, occu¬
pied. Just as the brief service was
about to begin, a woman with a child in
her arms drew near. Washington at
once rose, seated hor in tho chair, and
remained standing until tho close of tho
exercises.
The best thing ever said of Georgo
Washington tary, Tobias Lear, was a who remark lived of at lm Mount secro- j
Vernon for some years in the closest in¬ i
timacy with his chief. “General AVa?h- |
ington,” said Mr. Lear, “is, I believe,
almost tho only man of an exalted
character who doos not loso some part
of his respectability by an intimate ac¬
quaintance. I havo never found a sin¬
gle thing that could losson my rospoct
for him,”—[Youth's Companion.
How She Endured Dissipation.
An observant aud thinking AVasbing
touinn,says tho Detroit Free Press, while
on tho subject of the hard work which so¬
ciety women at tho capital aro com¬
pelled to undergo, tolls a story of a de¬
butante that is worth a re-rccital in the
Detroit Froo Press. Thero was a protty
girl, Miss X--, just tho girl for
Washington to kill oil in ono season.
Her mother knew- it, and it was that
mother’s knowledge and devotion that
saved the girl. The mother watched
her darling Chloo all winter with the
faithful constancy of a ptout nurse in
the case of a helpless patient. She
sent another (and an elder) member of
the family into society with her, and
sho (her mother) staid at homo and
did heavy work. She kept everybody
still and compelled favorable and
soothing conditions, so that her precious
charge could sleep till noon. Then
she lifted hor out of bod, carried her to
tho bath, bathed her and never per¬
mitted her to make tho least exertion
in her own behalf, Sho rubbed her
with dry towels, clothed her, fed hor
with nourishing food, and in t’till after¬
noon mado tho grand rounds as her es¬
cort. At 5 o’clock slio brought hor
charge home, fed her and put her
carclully to bed. An hour boforo tho
time of setting out for the night's whirl
she gave her another bath and pre¬
pared hor for tho conflict. Sho kept
that girl going by constantly groQming
her with exactly the same caro that a
professional pugilist’s trainer bc6towcs
upon his charge beforo a fight, or that
a jockey gives a race horse; and in the
spring, when everybody else was jaded
out and sick and ready to drop, Chloe
was as spry as a cricket, and sho cap¬
tured the best catch of tho soason.
NO. 21.
To Hie End.
O friend of mine!
Staunch triei-d erf mine!
^ ^ ^ fa yonrg> ani say>
Jhe Jr _ ve ouJ . Jenping from your eyes
‘.y nu have been friend to me always,
God bless you, friend of mine. j
O friend of mine!
Firm friend of mine!
We each life’s bitterness have knot.
And hand in hand have stood,
Ami now I leave you here alone—
God bless you friend of mined
O friend of mine!
Strong friend of mine!
Your love has made iny life seoir*£'
Life goes too swift for love li’ Jfl
Your arm tip. olds mo in
t frieu 1
O friend of mine! o
True friend of mincer
Mv feeble breath is fa)’
Hold close my hands
Good-bye—-yes faith 0 f
God bless you, fp
—lAlgermiu SoAj
IJ
Never Cj
A A crui n\JJ “j
mail,
J.
his
I
alw
%
ing'
AV
while she .
1 Living so 'VF • >r wild
lurely some rapid youths essay toBSB^
the same with a bicycle.
Death of great men all remind us
Thero are great men still about us:
AY pen we leave tho world behind us.
It will get along without us.
Mistress (to applicant)—Ilow old ara
you, Bridget? Applicant (with a sigh'
—Ah! mem, naythe uv us willivcr seo
forty agin.
A dressmaker got mad because her
lover serenaded her with a fiuto. Sho
said sho got all tho fluting she wanted
in her regular business.
Tlio individual who parsed kiss as “a
noun and at tho same timo a conjuac
lion,” was not only a clever grumma
r i an but also a shrewd man of the
world.
Customer—-I would liko a pair of
tronscrs . jeioor walkor-Trouscrs? Yes.
About what price, sir? Customer-Oh,
three or four dollars. Floor walker—
j,,hn,sliow this gentleman to tho pants
counter.
She: “And do you really think that
you would bo happy with mo as your
wife?” IIo: “Oh, I am sure; I have
always been a lucky fellow in garneH
chance.”
“Aiu’t you in, Maria?”
■N s JB fsgjjj
- ■ i ^ijj OD.reb'-.re
A jAS
.
n ‘S
' is
BPS
. f<>Y»>wm|- ’.vTil!... .
A r.ti'.e
0 1 L M 31
jm
to pot tlllJP H
this wi'iins
< arue-uly: “My pa do BH.--''.
iii::bo any smaller. ejAsjjre;:
J.'i-tt's teacher gavo hoH
p . o which, ••little brotjfl ol'PIH
\ it He ate heartily
an ! cake, and was found ri
the bench in tho porch while
children were at play in tho ^H
When askod why ho didn’t join thel
he exclaimed: “Oh, I can’t play; nu
pants choke mo so 1”
Now the milk farmer plugs tho maples and bt^|
to his cows.
Now aspirants presidential fill the papV
with their rows. M
Now Jamaica’s warming ginger antid4P
Bermuda’s fruits.
Now the girls are out n-gaddlng in tho lore’
liest of suit?.
A Timely Correction.
“There seems to be nothing in the
market,” said Mrs. Hendricks, despair¬
ingly, to the widow Jenkins, who had
“just dropped in” for a moment. “I’m
worried to death to know what to got
for—
“Why, ms,” interrupted Bobby, who
was laboriously pencilling his name on
tho wall, “I heard you say that Mr3.
Jenkins was in the market.”—[Bazar,
