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About North Georgia times. (Spring Place, Ga.) 1879-1891 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 22, 1889)
i NORTH GEORGIA TIMES mm 8.’«!' GARTER, | Proprietors. Meadows of Rest. [ retaember the beautiful meadows And their sweet streams purling clear, With ■ flowers besprent, where my young days were spent, Where the birds their nurslings rear, I was sheltered then in the dear home nest, Where my feet turned oft to the meadows of -te. rest I remembar a grave in those meadows, Where slumbered a laughing-eyed boy; Death found him at play, he lured him away, And with him went half our joy. ' Wa moulded the turf that his feet had pressed And kept his grave green in the meadows of , rest. I remember a silver-haired father, Who walked by the river wave To watoh the reeds grow, or the sweet waters flow, ■ Or to muse by that little grave. He has passed long ago to the home he loved best, To the infinite peace of God’s meadows of rest. I wonder if green are those meadows, If purling and clear are the streams, If the moon shines as bright, if the stars give such light As they did in my youth’s happy dreams. Oh, angels of destiny, heed my request: Give me back, give me back my dear mead¬ ows of rest. —Mrs. M. L. Rayiu. The Hero of Bunker HilL BT JAMES PARTOS. It is still a little uncertain who was in command of tho American troops at the battle of Bunker Hill. There was very little commanding done, it is true, and it is of no great consequence wheth¬ er that little wai done by Colonel Pres¬ cott orby General Putnam. But there is.no doubt that the favorite here of the day was, and is, Joseph Warren, who had the strange destiny to be thirteen years a Boston physician, then three days a major-general, and three hours a soldier in the ranks. He was in truth a most gallant and devoted spirit, worthy of the oause to which ho gave his life. As the Seventeenth of June ap¬ proaches, paisers-by read with renewed interest a certain inscription on a stono cottage in Roxbury: “On this spot stood the house erected in 1720 by Joseph Warren, of Boston, remarkable for being the birthplace of General Joseph Warren, his grandson, who was killed at the battle of Bunker Hill, June 17, 1775.” Another inscription tcstiftoi that Doctor John Warren, a distinguished physician, and brother of the general, was also born in the same “man^jon. ” The writer of the latter inscription used a very inappropriate, word when he called the modest abode of the War tens a mansion. A lady descended from the hero, still living in Boston, has a painting of the old house. It was a farm-house of the plainest possible de¬ scription, two stories high, With noth¬ ing largo about it except the huge chim¬ ney in the middle. It was surrounded by a picket fence of the simplest kind, and had near the front of it a most un¬ compromising shed. It was the house of a Yankee farmer of the last century, who raised vegetables and fruit for the Boston market,—a skilful, enterprising, prosperous farmer, who introduced an apple which for a century boro his name, being called the “Warren russet.” The British soldiers in Boston taunted Joseph Warren with having been “a bare-legged milk-boy,” and nothing is more probable than that all the four Warren boys, each in his turn, carried milk around for their father. If they did not carry milk for their father, they probably did for their mother. When Joseph was a boy of fourteen, ft terrible event took place upon the Warren farm. On a day in October, 1755, when the farmers thereabouts were gathering their later apples, the mother of this family sent her youngest ion, John, a little boy just able to do luch an errand, to call his father and two laboring men to dinner. On his way to the orchard, the little fellow, only two years and three months old, law the two laborers carrying homeward his father’s dead body. He had fallen from a ladder while gathering apples, bad broken his neck, and had died in stantly. Young the V as boy was 2 this fearful sight made an impression on his mind Which the lapse of time did not weaken, and he spoke of it with feeling when he was an old man. The father thus sud denly taken from them, was such a man as we should naturally., expect the father of Joseph Warren to be. One short sentenco which he uttered in his lifo SPRING PLACE, GA., THU)RSDAY t AUGUST 22, 1889. has been recorded. Turning his eye toward his eldest son, Joseph, ho said one day, “I would rather a son of mine were dead than a coward. At this time Joseph Warren, fourteen years age, was about ready to enter Harva^L College. The mother, a wise and vigorous woman, managed the estate so well that no change had to be made in the life of the boys, and their educa¬ tion went on in the way the father had planned before his death. In due time Joseph Warren gradu¬ ated; then spent a year as master of the Roxbury Grammar School; then studied medicine; and by the time he was twenty-three years of ago ho was a full fledged Boston doctor, getting into a good practice, and married a young lady, Miss Elizabeth Ilooton, whom the newspaper of that week described as the “only daughtar of the late Mr. Richard Hooton, merchant, deceased, an accom¬ plished young lady with a handsome fortune.” But now came'on the troublous times preceding the Revolutionary War, and every man had to choose which party he would servo. The fashionable society of Boston, for the most part, sided with the king. Doctor Warren, from the first rumor- of the Stamp Act, adopted the cause of his country, and did this with decision and openness. His politics excluded him from many of the wealthy families of Boston, which led one of the Tory doctors of the town to say, “If Warren were not a Whig, he might soon be independent and ride in his chariot.” His practice, however, was extensive and sufficient. When John Quincy Adams was an old man ho liked to tell of • a service rendered him by Doctor Warren when he was a little boy of seven. It was Doctor Warren’s skillful treatment that saved him from losing one of his forefingers, after it had been badly injured. The doctor attended all the best pa¬ triot families, and thus enjoyed the ex¬ perience which pooplo usually do who embrace noble and unpopular causes; they escape the boros and enjoy the best society. General Putnam, in 1774, drove in from his parish in Connecticut, a flock of one hundred and thirty sheep as a free gift to the town of Boston after the closing of the port. It was Doctor Warren who took the old hero home to his house, whore ho had a continuous reception for some days. When the British troops came to Bos¬ ton, the mere sight of them was almost too much for Doctor Warren’s philoso¬ phy. Ono day ho overheard a group of officers say, as he passed, “Go on, War¬ ren, you will soon come to tho gallows." Dr. Warren walked up to them and said, in a quiet tone, “Which of you uttered those words?” They continued their walk without giving him any re¬ ply. On the great day of Lexington three of the Warren brothers were in the midst of the strife, * Joseph, Samuel and John. Dr. Warren was busy with his patients, when a messenger brought the news to him of what had taken place on Lexington Green. Giving his patients in charge to an assistant, ho rode toward the scene of action, crying to a friend as he passed, “They have begun it I That, either party can do. And we will end it. That, only one can do.” During the chase of the British troops from Lexington he served sometimes as surgeon and sometimes as a citizen cheering on tho soldiers. A British musket ball struck a pin out of his hair close to his right ear. It was said of him, at the time, that wherever the danger was the greatest, there Warren was sure to be seen. When he resumed his duties as a physician, he made up his mind that, if it came to a fight, he would not offer his services as surgeon, but as a soldier, and he made known this purpose to his friends. Accordingly the Legislature of Massa¬ chusetts, over which he presided, elected him, June 14, 1775, “Second Major General of the Massachusetts Army.’’ Three days after occurred the ever memorable battle of Bunker Hill. As he had not yet received his commission, he was not in military command; he was not a military man; but as soon as he knew the intention of General Artemas Ward, who commanded tho army, he declared his resolve to share the fortune of the day at the frpnt. His brother members of the Legisla¬ ture endeavored to dissuade him, es¬ pecially his intimate friend and room mat & El bridge Gerry, who entreated him not to risk a life so valuablo to. *ho State at that moment He only in reply the Roman maxim, “it is nr: dear Doctor Warren could not be ro strained by the entreaty of his breth ren.” And so, on that burning hot summer’s day, after toiling through the night in the service of his country, he did not appear in the chamber at Watertown, when tho hour arrived for opening the session of the legislature. He reached the redoubt on Bunker Hill a few min¬ utes before tho first assault of tho British column. To General Putnam, he said: “I am here only as a volunteer. Tell me where I can be most useful." To Colonel Prescott, who was at the front line: “I shall take no command hero. I come as a volunteer with my musket to serve under you, and shall be happy to learn from a soldier of your experience.” His mere arrival in tho redoubt was equal to a large re-enforcement of mon. The soldiers cheered him, for their was no man then in Boston toward whom they had so cordial a feeling. The ac¬ tion lasted about an hour and a half, and during tho whole of it Warren served with his musket, as he hod said he would, cheering the men around him by his coolness and cheerful confidence When at length the failure of ammu¬ nition compolled a retreat, he was not among tho crowd who ran out of the redoubt, but, as Colonel Prescott remembered, he took long steps, and parried the thrusts made at his person with his sword. Tho final struggle was half hidden in a cloud of dust, during which, as contemporary tradition re¬ ports, he was • recognized by a British officer, who wrested a musket from a soldier's hand and shot him. Ho fell doad . about sixty yards from the redoubt, his hand mechanically cov¬ ering tho wound in tho back of his head. It was not far from this very hour, uMwUt fuul v b-Wil i.1 ill O- IU UirUuuU, LliUi the people of Salem first heard the can¬ nonade from the direction of Boston, fourteen miles distant, and, as darkneis came on, the light from burning Charles¬ town became visible there. Doctor John Warron, brother of the hero, was then just beginning practice at Salem. He heard the cannon; he saw the light of tho conflagration; nnd soon camo news, imperfect and con¬ fused, of what had taken place that day near Boston, ne heard that great num¬ bers had fallen, and that his brother Joseph had probably been in tho engage¬ ment. After a few hours’ rest he started at the first s'roak of dawn, about two in tho morning, and rode to Medford, where he received the certain nows that his brother was amon'g the missing. All that day, and for several days, he went about Cambridge and adjacent places inquiring for his brother; sometimes hearing that ho was alive and well; sometimes that he had been wounded; and, sometimes, that he had fallen on the field. He was almost beside himself with anxiety and apprehension. One day, in his overmastering desire for news of his brother’s fate, ho pressed by a senti¬ nel, who gave him a sharp thrust with his bayonet, inflicting a wound, the scar of which he carried to his grave. Many days passed before he learned to a certainty that his brother had fallen dead upon the field, and had been bur¬ ied where he fell. Nine months after, when the post on Bunker Hill was abandoned by the British, Dr. John Warren, accompanied by his brother Eben, was guided by an Englishman to his brother’s burial place, from which ho was disinterred, and carried in solemn procession, with military and masonic escort, to the King’s Chapel in Boston. Many interesting relics of Joseph Warren are preserved. One is a small psalm book taken out of his pocket by i British soldier on the field. His sword is still in the possession of his family, and there is some reason to believe that the very bullet which pierced his brain has been identified. His father has living descendants, and the family ranks among the inost distinguished yrMassa chusetls, after having given several highly accomplished members to the medical profession.— Youth'» Compan ion. About this time of year the family woodpile becomes so distasteful to the small boy .that he thinks seriously of shipping as a pirate—preferring the sea to the saw. 1$ -* 53 PLUMES. - »*« Articles 01 Adornment - The Work and Wages of 3000 Girls in the Metropolis, Many delicate fingers ply dainty trades down in the old French quarter below "Washington square. There is none daintier than feather curling. Could the ladies that adorn themselves with ostrich foathers see the plumes before they have passed through the deft hands of tho girls that prepare them, the fu¬ ture wearers would, perhaps, look else¬ where for ornament. All the world knows that ostrich feathers come from South Africa. Perhapi all tho world does not know that feathers from the wild ostrich are seldom or never seen in the markets of Europe and America. The cheaper plumes in their natural slate look more like tho tail-feathers of reddish-brown turkeys. Some aro white, some black and others gray, brown and yellow. The commonest are a dirty gray, tho rarest perhaps black. They reach the factories from the Custom House in large bundles, each bundle be¬ ing made up of a small bunch tied with stout twine. The first process is cleans¬ ing. This is done with hot water. They come out much bedraggled, and arc uglier than ever when dried. They next pass to tho dyers. These aro men mostly from France and Ger . many.' Dyeing is a costly and delicate process. Even the block feathers must be dyed, for they do not have in their natural state a uniform hue. The white feathers are bleached by a chemical pro¬ cess. After bleaching and dyeing comps steaming. This spreads tho bedraggled plumes into some semblance of tho graceful form which they are to toko on When they have received tho finishing touches. Once steamed the feathers are ' 'turned the girls. over to A group of feather girls at work is a pretty sight They sit in long rows on each side of a narrow table with great plies of fluffy plumes before them. The tablo is gay with overy color of the rain¬ bow varied in a dozen shades and tints. Most of the girls are of American birth, and every shop has its boautiej. Many are below 15 years of ago and few aro abovo 25. Tho tools are simple. The first process is trimming. This is dono with small scissors. It requires great care, for a snip too much may ruin a costly plume. From the trimmer the plurno goes to the sewer. Single plumes are little used now. Two of equal size are sewed to¬ gether so that the upper side of one is exposed. The result is a stout double plume not easily broken. Curling is the process that brings out the real beauty of tho plume. This is dono with a small, dull, crooked knife of steel. After curling the plume is fluffier than ever, and its tip droops like the head of a half-grown fern. So important is this process that the wholo manufacture is sometimes called “feather curling.” Feathers that are not suitable for whole plumes are cut in two and made into “tips;" that is to say, the upper part is sewed on to the lower, so that a grace¬ ful, curling tip alone is seen. These tips are bunched in threes so as to form tho emblem of the Prince of Wales. Delicacy of taste and deftness of hand are tho qualities necessary to success in feather curling. Two years will make a clever girl expert. Once learned the trade is profitable. In the best days of the business a skilful woman could earn from $50 to $70 a week in the busy season. Even now many women make from $18 to $25 a week. From 1880 to 1884 ostrich feathers were the height of fashion. It was the period of large hats, and plumes were .HLjp wjbter and summer. Then over p5u Jtion cheapened them; they be¬ came commonplace and presently un , fashionable. For three years they were out of form, -and stuffed birds, fancy feathers and what not reigned h} cime their stead. Two years ago plumes in again, but this spring they have again disappeared, and for the first time in seventeen years artificial flowers are fashionable. Of the 5000 girls who oi ce curled feathers in New York scarce¬ ly 3000 have found employment this season. Next fall, however, a revival o plumes is expected, and the curlers w 10 have been working as best they * c uld at artificial flowers, laea making a d the like will return to their old trade. The few ostrich feathers worn Vol. IX. New Series. NO. 29. this spring are sage green in accordance with the prevailing faihion, but it is whis¬ pered in the French quarter that brown, plumes will wave everywhere next fall. The Perfume of Flowers. Boxes of heliotrope, mignonette and pansies, placed in windows, will sweet¬ en the air of all dwellings. Tho seamstress and all of tho laboring classes should have sweet-scented plants blooming in their windows to keep the atmosphere fresh and pure, and act as a disinfectant, We can also uso tho petals of roses, violets, pinks, tuberoses, etc., to produce a sweet perfume for the parlor or boudoir; and by the aid of modern science it can be very easily done. Fill a small, wide-mouthed jar with ether, and use a glass stopper, dipped in glycerine, to thoroughly exclude the air. Fill this jar with tho fresh petals of any fragrant plant, cut after the dew is dry; and only the petals should bo used; but clusters of heliotrope can be cut off close to the stems. Ether pos¬ sesses the property of taking up the fragrant particles from flowers, and every day the old petals must be taken iut and fresh ones added. Quantities of flowers are required, but when the ether is all evaporated, it will leave an essential oil of the flower, and three or four drops of it, added to deodorized alcohol, will give a delicious extract. All delicious odors can be imprisoned in deodorized alcohol, which is made by filtering pure spirits through animal charcoal or bono black in powder. It can be used over many times, and a thick flannel bag, with a wire run around tho top, will mako a good filter Fill it with bone black, and pour in the alcohol, hanging tho bag over a bowl, so that the liquid will drop into it. Take jars as described abovo and fill half full with tho alcohol, and then fill up with peach leaves, lemon peel, slices of pineapple, raspberries, cherries, straw¬ berries—indeed, anything from which you may desire to' extract esscnco, and you will have as lino an assortment of essences as the manufacturer can furnish you.— Household. The Effect of Thunder on Dogs. An interesting story was told last year of a supposed mad dog out in Litchfield county that was killed be¬ cause of its strango conduct, and after¬ ward it was found to have been only frightened by the thunder. It had run 12 miles and then takrn to a strango house, run upstairs, and refused to stir, and so was shot. It was a Scotch col lie, and those dogs aro peculiarly sus ceptiblo to and utterly cowed by thun¬ der. There is one in thU city not quite so bright os sunshine in fa r weather that becomes an ulter imbecile as soon as tho thunder or even a fire cracker is heard. Recently,amid the distant rum¬ ble of a far-rway storm, ho laid aside hii intelligence and ran wildly off lrom home without it. A long search for him proved futile, but in a couple of hours he turned up, all wet and muddy, at his owner’s office, ready to be escort¬ ed home. On the penitential journey homeward they met another dog, not quite so big as this one, and at sight of the large and ruffled collie, tho strange dog dropped flat and lay cringing and trembling, the victim of abject fear, un¬ til tho dog scared by a crack of thunder had walked proudly by. There are all sorts of cowards.— Hartford Oourant. Fen Picture of an Arab Mare. She was the most beautiful mare I have ever seen, of pure Najdblood, grey, with flea bitten spots, eyes too large for her head, nostrils thin and expanded, the throat of a game cock, tho hair o her mane and tail so fine and soft that the most beautiful woman might have been proud of such a texture, and her skin so thin and soft that the thorn bushes through which I rode her used to tear it; and after many of my runs through the jungle I have had her, bleeding from the thorns, looking as if she had been practiced upon with a light sabre. She was what you consider in England a pony, fourteen hands owe and one-half inches high; but she was as broad almost as a dray horse, and her tail was set up so high that as she moved about her loose box you could, stoop¬ ing, walk between it and tho ground. I Her feet were black and hard, vud tho tendons below her hocks and kneyi were like harp strings. Add to this that her her head was so lean that you might have boiled it without obtaining any flesh from it and you have a picture of what this desert horn mare was, Major Shakespeare. —Horse and Stable. The Silent Land. The Silent Land I What undefined da¬ sire Wakes at these words like to the lambent fire Seen over marshland wastes, at dead of night, Flickering afar in weird, uncanny flight! The Silent land, which poots love to name! Mysterious region, where tho presont trams Of all that is, beyond our fancy's range, y i Doth yield itself to supersensual change. The Silent Land, where, dread as olden fates, Vague, sombre shadows guard tha entrance gates, And where glide through tho vapor sudden gleams, As ’twere a spectral day’s sunsotting beams. * The Silent Land, whereon that wan sun glow Spreads, as a red moon-ray o'or the plains of snow, Upon which birch troes lean across ths tracks, Where wolves are wont to race in famished packs. The Silent Land, a broad domain so still That its deep quiet gives the heart a thrill, As when night fowl sail by on noiseless wing A thrill such as no sound hath power to bring. The Silont Land, which stretches on and on, Dim outlined as the mist-veiled hills of dawn; Vistas whero human vision feebly grop-s, 'Midst the long cypress boughs that gloom tha slopes. The Silent Land 1 No breeze; and yet what wafts Are these which play about the portal shaft* Chilling the white-lipped wanderers who wait To pass the boundary of the unknown state! —William Stnithem, HUMOROUS. A branch liou e—A log cabin. Good only when used up—the balloon. The hired girl lives out all ^<LaP “How cool this conscrvnto^*is.” “Yes; papa says there’s nothing like a liot-houso to cool off in.” A young lawyer has taken to bragging ina theatrical way. He says: “My busi¬ ness last season was something fee nom Inul Miss Antique (school teacher)—“What does w-h-i-t-o spell?” Class—No an¬ swer. Miss Antique — ‘ 1 What is th* color of my skin?” Class (in chorus)-— “Yellow. ” Mrs. Popinjoy—What does your hus¬ band think of your now hat? Mrs. Blobson—He hasn’t looked at it yet. The bill has attracted his entire atten¬ tion for the past two days. The difference between missions and home church work is this: At horns ministers live off their congregations, but in mission fields tho congregations live off the missionaries. Omaha Brido— 1 ‘I’m so glad you brought the evening paper. What does it say about our wedding?” Omaha bridegroom—“I can’t say, my dear; I only had time to read the base bal news." Nickelby—“That’s a strange pair of scales you have there. I supposo they are of the Ambuscade kind. ” Grocer— “Ambuscade? What is that?” Nickelby —“Why, they lie in weight, as it were. ” Blobson—“Wo’ve X been grossly treat ed in this one-horse town. I shall shako the dust of tho place from my feet.” Mrs. Blobson—“For pity’s sake, don’t you do it, John. Wo shouldn’t be able to find our way to the station.” The editor who advises his readers “never to climb a tree after a panther” may mean well, but his advice is super¬ fluous. Ho shojild reverse his admoni¬ tion, and advise a panther never to climb a tree after his readers. Two welWfnown clergymen missed their train,,-' bpon which one of them took out his' watch, and, finding it to blame for the mishap, said he would no longer have aay faith in it “But,” said the other, “isn’t it a question not of faith, but of works?” Little Bobby—“Ma, will I go to heaven when I die?" Mother—“If you are a good boy you will.” “Will you go, too?” “I hope so, Bobby.” “And will pa?” “Yes, we will all be there sometime.” (Bobby didn’t seem alto¬ gether satisfied, but after somo thought ’ he said:) “I don’t see how I’m going to have much fun." Customer—How much aro those trou¬ sers? High-Priced Tailor—Twenty dol¬ lars. By the way, how will you have the pockets arranged? Customer (gloomily)—You needn’t put in any. Mauu—So you aro goiog to marry your father’s cashier? Isabella—Yea. Pa says that If ho runs away with tha bank’s funds tho money wiil still be in tha family. —
