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About North Georgia times. (Spring Place, Ga.) 1879-1891 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 8, 1889)
NORTH GEORGIA TIMES. C. N. KING, l 1 ,, rorrutors S. U. CASTER, J My Kingdom and My Queen. My kingdom has no dazzling throne, Ho palace grand upon it, Yet ’tis as bright as e’er was known, Or sung in loyal sonnet. I’ve traveled east, I’ve traveled west, But '.jjfid this scenes of wealth and splendor, one spot I love the best, With all its joys so tender; No place so dear I’ve ever seen, For peace reigns here and Lore is queen. Two subjects in my kingdom dwell; One has an eye of azure, And smiles upon her fair face toll Of pure and perfect pleasure; And one has hair of raven hue And eyes of hazel beauty, And whate’er he may strive to do He always does his duty. And faithful they have ever been To her who is my household queen. And as life yields me newer joy And hope divine and human, I see one now no more a boy And one almost a woman. The bright days come, the bright days go, And each brings some new pleasure, And no spot on the earth I know Is richer with heart-treasure. Nor happier subjects ne’er were seen Than in my home where Love is queen. By no high-sounding royal name Or title they address her, As cheerily, their eyes aflame With love, they kiss and bless her But with a voice of gentle tone, Which joy gives to each other, They call her by one name alone, The hallowed name of mother. A name the sweetest known to man Since time and love their course b->gan. — Youth’s Companion. “I PROMISE,” BY BOSE TERRY COOKE. “Viva, 1 Viva, 1 I must go 1” “You shall notl You shall not. You belong to me 1” Tho beautiful little creature stamped her tiny foot on the turf, as she spoke; her eyos flamed with anger, a fiery flush shot up into her dark cheek. “I belonged to my country before I •ver saw you, Viva,” answered Tom Creighton, in a sad but steady tone. “You shall not go, thol Ahl dear, clear, darling Tom, can you leave your little lassie to die of fear? Don’t you love me?” She gathered the tall fellow’s hands close to her heart and clasped them there with strange passionate strength. Tom stooped and lifted her to his bosom as if she had been a tiny child. “I could not love the?, dear, so much ’ Loved I not honor more.’’ he said, slowly, bending his head to her ear. A splendid head it was, crowned •with close curls soon to fall before the shears, and its symmetry to be hidden by a forage-cap; and the face did not belie the head; its strong, regular fea¬ tures, its cleft chin, and resolute lips all “gave the world assurance of a man,” while the expressive gray eyes revealed humor, tenderness, pathos, passion, aud a possible flash of rage. “Don’t talk to me about honor 1” sobbed Viva, hiding her face on his shoulder. ‘ ‘I shall die if you go away from mo! I can’t—I can’t bear it]” Thero was no heroism about Genevieve L’Estrange; her French descent had given her inexpressible charms of aspect and manner; she was as slight as a girl often years, and no higher than her over’s shoulder, but the contours of her exquisite figure showed the roundness and grace of womanhood, and her ^piquant, glowing face was alight with •.all the fire of an intense feminine nature. ‘There was ( notk|ng childish in the red mobile lips, tW delicate irregular fea¬ tures, tho brilliant dark eyes that sparkled or/Yneltod according to her tnooJ, the ‘ Abundant silky black hair that fell to her feet when it escaped from 1 the heavy coil3 that seemed too weighty , for the lovely little head they covered. ■’sire whs’/polled from her babyhood, I^etng the only child of wealthy parents; jnot a wish had tho wilful creature ever Sheen denied; never had she wanted a luxury,#)! failed to indulge a caprice; indeed,* it was but a caprice that this very summer had taken her to the White Mountains before the great hotels were opened, to a small house near ;the village of Franconia. She wanted to see the spring blossoms of the North, to gather the dawn-pink arbutus she had*so often bought in Broadway, from its lurking-places upder tho pine needles of the forest; she had heard of “the shy Linnaea,” the white winter green, and many another early flower itjiat fades before fashion comes to ex pJore its haunts, from a school-friend who lived in northern New Hampshire; and so, weary of the early terrors of the war looming blackly in the distance, tired ,irom the two years in Europe that fol- SPRING PLACE. GA.. THURSDAY, AUGUST 8, 1889. lo’rtfcd her school days, and the long winter of dissipation in the city, she had intimated to her obedient parents her desire to visit Franconia; and they took her to the Pine Hill House accord ingly. Here she met Tom Creighton; his father and mother lived on a farm near by and the handsome young lawyer from New York had come up to say good-by fo them; for he had enlisted in a volun¬ teer regiment and daily expected orders to the front. Viva had met him often in society, and the two opposite natures, in a meas¬ ure counterparts, had been mutually attracted. Tom Creighton was a typi¬ cal New Englander, strong, obstinate, enduring, with a rigid sense of duty os his dominant trait. He did not entire¬ ly approve of the war, for he was naturally conservative; but he considered that ho ought to go, and go he would. It was a thorough surprise to both the pair, this meeting among the mountains; and it was the last thing Ton Creighton intended, to fall in love with Miss JMSstrange, much less to let her know it, but ho could not help himself; with characteristic impetuosity she lost her heart in these solitude!, where all the real character of tho young man showed itself, no longer overlaid by the customs of society. She saw how true, how r tender, how bravo ho wa3, how superior to the society men who had only bored her in New York. Sho had indeed distinguished him even there from a certain superiority of aspect, but now she knew and loved him and showed it with such naive simplicity that Tom, for all his good resolutions, broko down and fell at her foot. Only a day had their engagement been made known, when tho summons Tom expected, came. Viva was almost frautic, it was the first time in her life that her will had been useless; but now it beat against a rock. Tired with the vain struggle repeated till Tom’s heart ached to its depths, s ie at length recognized that his strength of character must dominate hers; and after a long wild flood of tears and a convulsion of sobs she said at last; “If you will go—if you must—prom iso me to live, to come back 1” “ I promise to come back if Ido live, Viva. How can I say I will livo? That is tho chance of war and the will of God.” “Promise, promise!” sho shrieked. “You must promise me to live 1 I shall die hero, right in your arms, unless you do 1” Hor pallid face, her streaming eyes, the sobs that soemed to rend her slight shape, tho piteous curve of her red lips, took him by storm. The lovely, un¬ reasoning, willful creature, torn by a passion of lovo and grief all for him, shook his strong soul to its center. What man ever resisted such overwhelming passion, or thought it foolish when he was its object? Tom Creighton’s soul blazed in his eyes as he held that tiny figure closer to his breast. “I promise!” ho said. So ho went and she stayod. Tho for¬ tunes of war befell him; but in battle he seemed to dodge the bullets that rained about him, manfully as he fought, for he felt Viva’s imploring eyes upon him. “Creighton’s luck" was the jest of the decimated regiment; but no man charged him with cowardice. The thrill and splendor of this new life had swept off his conservatism; the war justi¬ fied itself by its dash and valor. He rejoiced in the clangor of its trumpets, the roar of its guns, the rush of its charges; and when the miasma of tho marshes where he lay encamped defied his will and seared his flesh with fever, when he lay half-conscious for many a week in the hospital, the will to live, the intent to keep his word to Viva, saved him. Tho nurses wondered to hear but two words in the low mutter of his delirium: “I promise— I promise!” but those words were his talisman. When his heart and flesh failed he seemed to see Viva’s upturned, woeful face, and he said to himself, “I prom¬ ise,” with fresh strength each time; for he had learned faith in himself. At last the war was over; but thoroughly wed¬ ded to a soldier’s life, and become a proverb among men for courage and quick resource, he was transferred to the ranks of tho regular army, given a furlough of six months, and flew at once to Viva. “Viva,” he said to hor, as he drew on his gloves after an hour at her bedside, and as soon as the nurse, hurriedly called in, had loft the room on some needful errand. “Viva, you must tell Captain Creigh ton.” “I will not!” she answered angrily. “But you must!” “I never will! After all these wretch¬ ed years of waiting, do you think I will throw my life away, Dr. Sands?" “If you do not, I shall." “You won’t! you can’t!” “But I shall. It is my duty. If you do not tell him before Saturday—this is Tuesday—I shall.” The doctor’s voice was stern, but the nurse came in; ho said no more. Next day came Tom with startling nows; ho was ordered at once to Fort Stilling; the garrison there was needed in a struggle with the Indians; fresh troops must man the fort; there was not a day to spare. “Viva, will you go with me?” She sprang up from the sofa where she lay, pale and sweet after her brief illness; hero was her way of escape from Dr. Sands. “Yes, indeed, I will. You shall not leave me again, Tom!” So tho next morning early, like a pair of eloping lovers, they were married in tho nearest church and took the morning train for the far West; on and on the rushing wheels bore them; day after day they endured the separation of the crowd, till at last they arrived at St. George one winter night in January. The snow was deep, but Tom must report as soon as possible, and Viva would not let him go alone. “It is too cold, dearest,” he said. “Not with you, Tom.” “Forty below zero, Viva!” “If you can live in it I can. ‘I pro¬ mise,’ Tom.” He could not refuse her after that word with all its memories. Rolled in furs, veils, scarfs, with hot bricks at her feet, they set out on their twenty-mile journey. Warned not to speak, for the air was not fit for delicate lungs to ad¬ mit in all its chill, silently they sped along. The glittering fields of spark¬ ling snow, on which tho moon made a long wake of glory, tho black shadows, tho creak of their swift runners, the snorting of tho horses, whoso nostrils were hung with icicles, all added a strange terror to the drive—a drive that seemed endless; but at last it was over. “Come ini” said Tom, holding out his arms, as the driver- drew up before the officers’ quarters, where the light of a fire blazed through the deep-frosted windows; but Viva neither spoke nor moved. Mad with terror, Tom lifted her from the sleigh and rushed into the door, making his way by instinct to tlio fire. Viva stirred not an atom. ‘ Hasty hands unrobed her; kind hands laid her on the sofa. Her face was set and white, her lips parted, her eyes glazed. The post surgeon hurried in; he lifted one hand, it feliback; he put a finger on her pulse. “My God! she is deadl” ho said, with a look of dreadful pity. Tom beside her. Was it a year? Was it a life-timet Was he in Heaven when he woke out of that trance? She was there, warm, sweet,rosy. “You made mo promise, Tom, 1 would not die.” Tom turned on his very face and wept like a very child; his heaven had come on earth. Post surgeons do not know every¬ thing any more than other men. The fact was that Viva had developed in the last two years a tendency to cata¬ lepsy—the result of an over-worn and over-excited nervous system; and when Dr. Sands told her sho must toll Tom about it, she had just come out of a se¬ rious attack wherein she had lain for hours as one dead; but she would not tell him, having an idle fear that Tom might ceaso to love her. The long journey and tho cold drive had brought on a severe seizure, and she certainly, in appearance, justified the post-surgeon’s opinion; but before morning she had come back to herself, and was heart-broken to find Tom de¬ lirious with grief and as unconscious of her presence as sho had been of his. “Viva," he said, a few days after they were fairly settled in the new life, “my darlingl my wife! think what might have happened if I had nevai known about this. Promise me, Viva, hereafter to trust me. Tell me every¬ thing!” tender She looked up in his troubled, with a divine smile, and softly said over his talisman, “I promise.” “What’s tho matter in the sitting room, Tommy?” “Oh, the usual con¬ test between pa and ma over the speake* ship of the house.” HISTORY OF FLOODS. The Johnstown Calamity Com¬ pared With Other Disasters. The Previous Great Floods In Europe, Africa and India. It may not be generally known, but it is true, that tho great flood of Johns¬ town in Pennsylvania is the most disas¬ trous, so far as loss of life is concerned, that has occurred in either Europe or America for nearly three centuries. Thero have been floods and floods since tho delugo. It has been no un¬ common thing to look for reports of overflows in the Valley of the Nile, with great loss of life. Nor do floods in In¬ dia cause any groat surprise, for the fre¬ quency with which the Ganges and other rivers of India break their bounds is well known. Tho same is true of tho rivers of China, and was once true of those of Spain, in tho older times tho break¬ ing of dikos in Holland carried desolation into many a thousand fami¬ lies. But since James I. sat on the throne of England thero has been no such hor¬ ror known as that caused by the floods in Southwestern Pennsylvania, with the exception of one in China, although even in our own country the Mississippi and many smaller streams have played very serious pranks with the people who happened to live near their banks. Probably the most disastrous Euro¬ pean flood on record within the last 600 years was caused by the failure of the dike in Holland in 1330. A general in¬ undation followed and 400,000 persons are said to have been drowned. The greatest following this was tho floods in Catalonia in 1617, when 50,000 persons lost their lives. There havo, however, been some big floods during tho present century, both in this and in other countries, that wero damaging enough in their way. It was but shortly after tho opening of the cen¬ tury, in December, 1802, that tho river Liffey broke its bounds and did a vast amount of damage in the city of Dub¬ lin. It was even earlier in the sumo year that Lorea, a city in Spain, was destroyed by the bursting of a reservoir, which inundated twenty leagues and drowned more than one thousand per¬ sons. In 1811 tho Danube overflowed at a point near Pesth and swept away twen¬ ty-four villages and their inhabitants, and these floods were followed by oth¬ ers almost as disastrous in the summer of 1813, when whole villages in Austria Hungary and Poland wero swept away. In September of 1813 the Danubo rose and swept away a corps of Turkish troops, 2000 strong, who were encamped on as island in the river near Widner. During the same year 6000 men and women were drowned in tho Silesia and 4000 in Poland. In 1816, in January, there were several floods at Strabano, Ireland, caused by the melting of snow on the mountains. In the same year the river Vistula overflowed and destroyed 10,000 head of cattle and 4,000 houses, beside numerous lives. During 1819 there was a flood in tho fen countries in Eng¬ land, when 5,000 acres of land were inundated. In 1830 thero wero great floods in Wien, and in 1833 came the great overflow in China, when 1,000 persons were drowned in Canton alone. In 1840 Lyons, Marseilles and other towns in Fiance were partly submerged by a break in the banks of the river Rhone. And so the list goe3. Here is something like the chronological order in which various floods occurred: 1846. Overflow of tho river Loire in the west and southwest of France. Damage, $20,000,000. The Loire rose 20 feet in one night. 1849. May—New Orleans flooded by the inundation of the Mississippi. 1852. Floods at Holmfirth in Feb¬ ruary. Overflow of the Rhino and Rhone in September. City of Hamburg flooded by the Elbe. 1856. Floods in the south of France. 1864. Brad field reservoir, England, burst March 11; 250 persons drowned. 1862. Forty thousand acres in Hol¬ land submerged. Inundations in France. 1869. January—Cork, Dublin and other Irish cities wero flooded and much suffering was caused. 1866. September—Great inundations in tho south of France. November— Great floods in Lancashire, Yorkshire and Derbyshire, England. Mills were Vol. IX. New Series. NO. 27 . carried away, mines were flooded, rall rcuds were torn up and many lives were lost. 1870. Rome was inundated and many lives were lost. The King was obliged to relieve the sufferers with money. 1872. In October there wero groat floods in Northern Italy and thousands of persons at Mantua, Ferrara and other towns were left homeless. 1874. The banks of the Thames river were swept and many lives wore lost. May 16, the reservoir near Northampton, Mass., burst much in the same mauncr as did that above Johnstown. Mill River Valley was swept by the flood, 144 persons lost their lives. July 24 a waterspout burst at Eureka,Nevada, and many lives w ere lost. July 26, 220 persons were drowned in Pittsburg and Allegheny by the rising of the rivers in We tern Pennsylvania. 1875. By the rising of <he river Garonne in France a portion of Toulouse was destroyed in June and 1000 lives were lost. From July until November of tho same year Euglaud and Wales suffered from heavy floods. During the same period somo 20,000 persons were left homeless in India by the same causes. 1876. March — Severe floods iD Fiauco and Holland. December— Floods in England. 1877. Now Year’s Day tho water overflowed the piors at Dover, Folke¬ stone and Hastings, England, causing much damage. 1878. —April—London suffered from inundations for several days. 1879. A flood in Szegondin, Ilun gaiy, swept away tho entiro town. Over one hundred persous were drowned and more than Bix thousand dwellings wero destroyed. Juue—Tho rivers Po and Mincio overflowed, causing much damago in the north of Italy. October 16-17—Floods in Alicante and other Spanish provinces destroyed 1,000 lives aud swept aw.iy severa! thousands of houses. December—Hungary was again visited by floods. 1880. The midland counties of Eng¬ land suffered severely from overflows. 1882. In January there wero heavy floods all through tho Ohio aud Missis¬ sippi valleys, aud there was much loss of life and property. 1887. From threo to four million lives lost by inundations in China. General Harney’s Prowess. I havo heard my father say (he served under Harney in tho Seminole war and also in Mexico) that he was tho bigge 3 t, strongest, most powerful soldier that Las worn a uniform since Frederick tho Great. lie was a giant in sta ure, a Hercules in strength. His powers of endurance were phenomenal. In the Seminole war he once went without food for four days and nights, and at the end of the time took Billy Bowlegs, who had caught him in tho swamp3, by the nape of the neck and threw him a dis¬ tance of ten feet. The savage had an old bayonet pointed at his heart at the time. Another time, when surrounded by Indians, he cleaved his way through them with a sword, and when their ar¬ rows had him weakened and almost helpless by loss of blood, ho mado a final rush, and, seizing ono savage, hurled him against another with such force that both were disabled. That same night hoswam threo miles,trudged nino miles through a swamp, and finally reached an outpost in safety. Indians were always afraid of Harney. He could shoot an arrow better than they. Ho was a dead shot with a rifle and when it came to physical violence— something that an Indian has no tast8 for—ho could throw their mightiest athletes about like so many rubber balls. It was no trick at all for him to knock a truculent savage down with one hand and with the other take his mate, lift him clear of the ground ‘ and dance his legs over his fallen comrade. The In¬ dians up about Fort Snelling, when Harney was a captain at that post used to call him “Thunder Bull”—who roared like thunder and was stronger than a buffalo. Tho old General was, even in 1861, when he retired from service the finest looking man in tho army. He was six feet four inches and built like an ath¬ lete. A Jumping Toothache. Effie—Here's an account of a man who threw himself from tho ferryboat because ho had a toothache. Elsie—Must have had the jumping toothache. The Cliffs of tho Hereafter, When wo scale tho highest mountain Of our holiest thought in prayer. Thinner grows the veil between us Amt the souls that overlean us From the cliffs of tho h roafter Who keep us in closest c .re. On the cliffs of the hereafter Seraphim in glory throng, And each yearning heavenward tending, Is an angel reascending That, walked witli us along, For the cliffs of tho hereafter To tho Prince of Peace belong. Have you strayed at sunset’s hour By the anthem-singing sea Without noting with what power He creates eternally Pictures of tho hereafter? ’Tis uo mirage that yo soot On tho clifTs of tho hereafter Garments tlireudod dark with doubt, Woven at tho loom of living, We’ll be utterly without; But though naked Ho will clotho us In the garb of truth about. From the cliffs of tho hereaftei Back and forth the angels g All unseen yet seeing ever Valley dwellers here below, Who but sight their radiant raiment When their dreams are white ns snow. —Augusta Chambers, HUMOROUS. Open for an engagement—Portholes. A figure of speech—Tho talking dolt. A nooso bureau—Tho matrimonial agency. Retired to private life—Reduced to the ranks. New wheat never ruined as many men as old rye. Filing saws—Pasting old jokes in a scrap-book. A current remark—-I must make somo jelly this fall. It must be the spur of tho moment that makes time go so fast. The policeman who is freo with his club keeps law and order on tap. The passion some womon havo for at¬ tending auctions is a mor-bid taste. A counter-irritant—Tho fellow who leans across it and bores tho clerk. “Take your lickin’ without kickin’," is the way that a school boy philosopher couusels resignation to tho inevitable. Husband (entering)—My lovo tho stove smokesl Wife—You wouldn’t have it chew would you, like you, you brute? Dentist—“Shall I give you gas, ma’am?” Mrs. Blobsom—“Yes, you can talk all you please. I reckon It will kinder cheer me up. “Don't interrupt mo till I’m done,” was an Irish bull recently perpetrated by an English spoaker. “But, my dear, what has that old man to recommend himself aside from his riches?” “Heart disease." * Elsie—I am going to marry tho apothe¬ cary. Aggie—Oh! how nice. He'll trust us for vinilla cream soda3 now. The dying statesman raised himself in bed and looked appealingly around him. “I havo only one request to make, ” ha said, feebly. “See that no New York paper proposes a monument for me. ” A gypsy woman laid her curse on an Indiana farmer who refused her a night’s lodging, and within two weeks an uncle of his died and left him $35, 000 in hard cash. lie says he’d like some more of the hoodoo business. Mrs. Youngcouple; “You must havo a very uncongenial husband! Why I heard you ask him as many as twenty questions this afternoon that ho made no reply to whatever.” Mrs; Pertlady— “Okl dear George is used to me! Ho knows that I ask questions simply to amuse myself.” Restored to a Home of Wealth. S. B. Sanderson of Joliet, Ill., came to Los Angeles, Cal., a few weeks ago with his family to settle permanently. Ho is wealthy, and five yenrs ago had an only daughter, Estelle, who at 16 eloped with a handsome brakeman named James O’Brien. The girl wished to be forgiven, but Sanderson turned her out. Her husband was soon killed in an accident, and she supported her¬ self as a governess. She recently drifted to Los Angeles, hut lost her position and began to make ,a personal canvass of housos for work. She rang the bell of her father’s hoifso without knowing the name of the occupants, and mother n»id daughter thus met for the first • time since the estrangement, The prodigal was welcomed and restored from a hungry, houseless wanderer to o home of wealth.— Chicago Herald.
