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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.
