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About North Georgia times. (Spring Place, Ga.) 1879-1891 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 10, 1889)
V TH GEORGIA TIMES BSBght shall ah<B| I will be worthy phe golden glory of love’s light Mav never fall on my way; My path may always lead through night, Like some deserted by-way. But though life’s dearest joy I miss There lies a nameless joy in this— I will be worthy of It. —Ella Wheeler Wilcox. A SERENADE “Matty’s got a beau!" said Mrs. Hall, in a sort of stage whisper, as she spread out the various sections of her half completed patchwork bed-quilt before the admiring eyes of Mrs. Peckham, her neighbor. “Keepin’ reg’lar company I” “La mol” said Mrs. Peckham, at once losing all interest in tho “Irish ch.in’’ pattern and staring full in the face of Mrs. Hall. “Who is it?” “I dunno’s I’d orter tell.” “Oh, yes, do! I won’t mention it to a livin’ soul. You hadn’t orter hev mysteries from me, as has been a neigh¬ bor to you so long." “You’re sure you won’t tell?” “Yes, sartin sure.’’ “Well, then, it’s Martin Paley." “Well, I never!’’ said Mrs. Peckham. “Mo and Louisy, we’ve wondered this long time why Martin didn’t marry and settle down, with such a nice farm as he’s got—real store carpets on the floor, and a new cook in’-stove, with a water boiler to the back on’t, and everything. And a nice, good-tempered fellow, too, as ever lived 1" sho added, with a sigh. “I suppose,” said Mis. Hall, with modest pride, “it ain’t every girl would suit Martiu.” “Day set yet?” said Mrs. Peckham, her spectacle glasses all a-glitter with curiosi ty. “Bless me, it ain’t got sq far as that yeti” declared Mrs. Hall “I didn’t say he’d propose, did 1? I only said he was cornin’ Sunday evenin’s.” “Ohl” said Mrs. Peckham. “But of course," added the mother of Matty, “everybody knows what that means. And t:.e next timo I go to Budport 1 shall be sort o' lookin' out for bargains in dove-colored silks." “I supposed it would be just as well,” said Mrs. Peckham, wistfully. “Louisy hain’t no notion of gettin’ settled, has she?” hazarded Mrs. Hall, iu the height of her satisfaction. “Not that I know of.” “Well, you mustn't give up,"said Mrs. Hall. “I’ve known girls marry— and marry well, too—after they was older than Louisy is.” Mrs. Peckham bit her lip. “Louisy ain't so very old.I” said she. “Sbe’jJ^lirty. ain't she?” that dying of 9 so eked 1 SPRING PLACE. GA.. THURSDAY. OCTOBER 10. 1889. Lrhich comported well Jink- and- white beauty, iked admiringly at her ftovs ^Pj^iess likely ho’ll let you have way,” said she. “You al Vu* a great hand to coax. Just fly this 'ere fried cake, Matty. I Bccrtain whether I’ve got enough Vamon into the dough.” Meanwhile, Mrs. Peckham had reached the littie wooden house on the edge of the swamp, where her grand¬ daughter Louisa was hanging out the clothes of the week’s wash—a tall, slight girl, with large gray eyes, rather a col¬ orless complexion, and hair of that bright Rubens gold that Mrs. Peckham had miscalled “red.” “It’s true, Louisy,” said tho old wo¬ man, rather spiritlessly.” “What’s truo, granny?” “About Martiu Paley and Matty Hall.” “Well," with a quick twitch of the upper lip, “why shouldn’t it be true?” “I sort o’ thought one time, Louisy, that ho was partial to you?” Louisa laughed, not a bad imitation of coreless indifference. “Partial!” said she. “He called a few times, that was all. I aiu’t a beauty, you know, like Matilda Hall!” But when she came in to put to boil the frugal dinner, her eyes looked sus¬ piciously red; aud after the dishes were clearol away, she went up to her own room, took a withered rose-bud or two out of her little Testament and flung them out of the window, murmuring to herself: “What a fool I havo been to keep them so long!’’ The pleasant dusk of the next sunset was purpling the hiils when Mrs. Hall called shrilly to her daughter from the spare chamber up stairs: “Matty! Matty 1 there’s one o’ them bothering hand-organ men cornin’ up the ' path. Send him away—quick! Mrs. Deacon Dolby lost one of her grandmothers silver teaspoons last week, and—’’ Matilda, who was ironing out her one embroidered pocket-handkerchief, set the iron back on the stove and ran to obey the maternal behest. The broom, unfortunately, was not in its place, as usual, but the kitchen mop was the next handiest weapon that presented itself. Sho caught it up and brandished it at the door like a mod¬ ern Amazon. “Be off about your business!” sho cried, in a voice to tho full as shrill and sharp as that of her mother. “We don’t want no shiftless loafers about here!” The wandoring musician hesitated, but Matilda brooked no delay. “Clear out, Isay!” she cried, dex trously flinging the implement of house¬ hold skill at the marauder. It whirled once or twice through the air, and finally buried itself in the hedge of gooseberry bushes beyond. The man with the organ beat a hasty retreat. Matty returned to her ironing, and Mrs. Hall laughed aloud from her van¬ tage point above stairs. “I guess you settled his businoss for him, Matty,” said she, gleefully. “I’ve no patience with no such vaga Bttds,” said Matilda, folding up the Hiisn Peckham was working button k a vest—it was tho way she BUer living—by the light of a Brain p some twenty minutes B there came a knock at the Blio should walk in but Mar ig, Louisa,” said he. |fcs I should find you at Hay from home,” said Hsoft flesh-pink, that Homent almost beauti ■ Martin, won’t you?” kit a little while," said ome on an errand. I you will marry me, rr ’ dropped from Louisa’s fin iSfeSC’Br it must seem sudden-like,” Hi Martin, 1 ‘but I’ve made up sudden -liko. A man always W&, I suppose, at the last. Will you marry me, Louisy?” “Why—y<s—I suppose so,” shyly acquiesced Louisa, pretending to search for the missing needle—“if you really mean it, Martin, that is. ” “I do,” said Martin, “with all my >1 “But I thought you was keeping com¬ pany with Matilda Hall?” “I did go there consid’able,” con¬ fessed Martin, “but I sort o’ suspicion she wouldn’t suit me like you would, Louisy. So it’s a bargain, is it?” And when he weut away, he stopped a minute to take something out of tho big cluster of black currant bushes by the gate. “Why, what’s that?” said Louisa, who had followed him out. “A trunk?" “N-no,” confessed Martin, reddening even in the starlight. “It’s a hand-or¬ gan. ” “A—hand- organ 1" “Well,’’ said Martin, laughing rather shamefacedly, “I may as well own up, Louisy. It won’t do for me to have any secret from you, I s’poso, arter tonight. But there was a poor, worn out Italian fellow came to my homo this evening with his monkey, and said the hadn’ had no luck all day. And so I give him s ome supper and a bed in the barn, and I just borrowed the organ fora lit tie while. I thought it would be a good idea to serenade with.” ‘•To serenade! But, Martin, you didn’t serenade me!” “N-no,” said Martin. “I changed my mind. But the tur.es are real pretty, Louisy. There’s 'Annie Laurie,’ and ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ and ‘Twicken¬ ham Ferry,’ and lots liko that. Don’t you want mo to play some for you?” “Do!” said Louisa. “I’m real fond of music.” Out there in the starlight, the old. fashioned strains of music sounded so plaintively that even Grandmother Peckham openod her upstairs casement to listen. Louisa had never been “serenaded" before. She thought it was like a page out of the “Arabian Nights.” And honest Martin did not regret his hospitality to tho poor, tired organ grinder, who, with his monkey, lay coilod up, fast asleep, on the hay in tha barn-loft at Paley Furm. But Matty Hall’s “steady company” did not come back to hor. Sho could not imagine why, when she dressed her¬ self evening after evening, and sat in tho best room by the big lamp with tha silk shade, nobody rewarded her per¬ sistency. And one afternoon Mrs. Peckham came over with a jir of Morelia cherries which she had jait preserved. “I knowed you liko preserves,” said she. “Here’s one of • our’u. By-the way, Louisy was married yesterday.” “Married!” echoed Mrs. Hall. “Yes—quite quiet-like,” said tha grandmother. “To Martin Paley.” Mrs. Hall turned a dull tallowy white. Sho could hardly believe her ears. And all the time Martin Paley was saying to himself: “Haven’t I had a lucky escape from marrying a woman with a temper liko that!" There are soma mysteries which will remain forever unsolved; an l to the day of hor death Matilda Hall will probably never know how it was that she failed to bocome Mrs. Martin Pa¬ ley. —Saturday Night. An Enormous Worm In His Ear. The habit in country parts of stretch¬ ing oneself out on the ground for the purpose of taking a nap is common enough in tho summer time; but from a case that is reported from a village in the Dordogue, in France, a nap on tha grass is not unattended with danger. A farmer residing near the village tired with the heat of the day and with his work, recently laid himself down to rest beneath the shade of aa oak tree in a meadosv. He was suddenly roused from his repose by a sharp twinge of pain in one of his ears, the pain increasing to such an extent that before tho poor fel¬ low reached his home he was half beside himself. For several days he suffered the greatest agony, which neither the doctors nor the remedies they prescribed could allay,and the patient wai brought to such a pass that he made up his mind that he must die. It chanced, however, that a neighbor had the felicitous idea, as the sequel proved, of pouring a little turpentine into his car, the immediate effect of which was to make the patient fall back insensible on his pillow. On recovering consciousness he remarked that he experienced a strange feeling of relief, the cause of which was soon ex¬ plained by the exit from his ear of au enormous worm, which had taken up its quarters there during the farmer's sleep.— London Standard. OSAGE INDIANS. By Far the Richest Nation in the World. Each Member of the Tribe is a Dissolute Nabob, ( The Osage tribe of Indians is by far the richest nation in the world. Tho Osages are five times as rich as the av - erage of Americans, ten times as rich as the average of Englishmen, and the French and Italians are paupers in com¬ parison. There are among the Osages no penniless people, and nono in want except that insatiable want that always wants more. Tho whole Osage Nation consists of just 1501 pe:»ons, aud tho number of children of school age is about 400. But they already have two schools, supported by a magnificent school fund of $120, 000, yielding regularly annual interest of $6000, or $15 for each schoolable child—a larger fund than any other community in the world. Let us see what is tho actual wealth of the Osages. There are 1501 of them according to last year's census. They havo in tho Uuitol Slates troasury $7,- 758,694 of their own money, drawing 7 per cent, interest. This amounts to a capital of $5175 apieco for tho wholo nation—men, women and children. But besides this they havo 1,470, 000 acres of land—equal to just about 1000 acres apiece. This laud is mostly fine and arable and would sell for au aver¬ age of $10 an acre, or $10,000 for each individual’s portion. This makes each individual Osage Indian worth: Cash in United Statos Treasury .$ 5,ire Value of 1,000 acr^s of land.... , 10,000 Wealth of each member of the tribe..$15,1?3 ■ So each O-ago baby comes into the world with $15,000 in its doubled fist. Not only is each member of the tribe worth $15,000, but the property is so protected that he can eujoy only the income of it. He cannot get hold of the principal to dissipate it, and he cannot sell tho land, so absolute pro¬ vision is made for tho most inclement of wet days. Each family possesses $60,000 on an average, and tho head of it, if he bo industrious and enterpris¬ ing, can grow $10,000 worth of crops a year on his 4,000 acres of land. He is raised permanently above want and above fear of want. The Oiage tribo has retrograded ever sinco a big sale of wild land made it rich. Tho population steadily dimin¬ ishes. in 1858 tho population was 6,720; in 1869, 4,481; in 1878, 2,391; in 1889, 1,500. The rich Osages aro running out. Thera were seventeen deaths last year and only three births. Only one baby has been born during the six months of this year, as far as reported, and that is only about one fifth pure blool. The Osages refuse to be civilized, dress mostly in blankets, breech-clouts and moccasins and aro a lazy, ignorant, worthless fragment of tho hutnau race. They are mostly drunken when they can get rum. They will not work, but when they have any work that a squaw don’t understand they hire white men to do it. Tho government tries to train the young without any good results. The fact is that the Osage tribe is a community of copper colored loafers, of profligate, dissolute, lazy, filthy nabobs. They do nothing to better their condi¬ tion except constantly tease the govern¬ ment for more and more money. They scorn and despise civilization, because civilization means work. Like all peo¬ ple who aro supported in idleness, the Osages seem to have lost their manhood and become not merely pensioners, but mendicants. — Brooklyn, Citizen. Expenses of England’s Prime Ministers The present Marquis of Salisbury, says a London correspondent of the Chicago Inter- Ocean, keeps ,kffout” seventy in-door servants, exclusive of dependencies of a higher class, such as private secretaries, librarians and chap lains. All of the servants are only in activity when the marquis is at Hatfield, his London residence not requiring so large a service. I give tho catalogue roughly in the order of importance, First, there is a house-steward, who pays tho other servants, and is charged to a certain extent with their manage ment. He receives $1009 a year, and his assistant, the under steward, $250. The butler is paid $750 a year, and the two under butlers $250. Two French cooks are paid $500 a year each, and a Vol. IX. New Series. NO. 36. valet $500 a year also. Then there are eight coachmen, tho best of whom re¬ ceive $250 a year; eight footmen, who receive on an average $175 a year, and four grooms of the chamber, whose pay is about the same. Of womon servants, there are eight kitchen maids, whose pay ranges from $125 to $75 a year, eight house- maids and four still-room maids, all of whoso pay is on the same scale as that of the kitchen-maids. I have omitted to men¬ tion four larder-boys, whose pay is probably very small, but who doubtless have a good opportunity of getting fat. Then there are a number of workmeu in constant employment on the house, a large number of pensioners, and a long string of professional or educated mon. Sometimes 130 visitors and servants aro at Hatfield at a time. The upper ser¬ vants dress for dinner, though for that matter they are usually in evening dress, and my ex-butler told me that forty servants, male and female, in full dress, often sit down to dinner in the upper servants’ hall. Tiiis includes, of course, the valets aud ladies’ maid3 of visitors. Of course, a very important item in the income of these servants is contribu¬ ted by tips, which they call “veils,’’ a correct but somewhat unusual word. The servants who come most in contact with visitors receive fully half their wages over again in tho form of tip3. Lord Salisbury spends a fortuuo every year among employes at Hatfield in doors and out. He has, for instance, a head gardener, with twenty-five assis¬ tants, and a forester with twenty men under him. The total yearly expendi¬ ture of Lord Salisbury is about $400, 000, and he is by no moans one of tho richest of his class. Facts About Fish. The light has a great deal to do with the color of fish. Small-mouthed black bass caught out of holes six or eight feet deep are dark in color. On being placod in the aquarium they change to a light mottled green. Tho channel catfish, contrary as usual, come out of tho river a pale greenish blue. After they have been exposed to the light of the aquarium they turn to the color of blue black volvct. The famed fish of tho Mammoth Cave show every iudica lien of being catfish for generations ro moved from all light. . Thoy have no color at all, thoir bodies being transparent. Small-mouthed black bass aro by all means the host aquarium pets. Besides being tho most lively and intol ligent, they aro tho most hardy. The large-mouthed bass makes his homo in quiet ponds, and ho is not fitted for tho fierce contests of aquarium life. He is easily wounded and his injuries usually prove fatal. The small-mouthed bass easily recovers from being caught in the upper or lower lip with a hook. A similar wound on a catfish generally festers and often kills. The carp is a pretty good fellow. In the hustle for food he generally gets left. The reason he does not feed on minnows in his natural state is not, as is generally sup¬ posed, because he does not like them, but for the more substantial reason that he cannot catch them. The Persian Shah’s Museum. The Shah of Persia has a museum m his palace that is described as a curious place. It contains jewelry and treas ures of different kinds worth a fabulous amount. The so-called Peacock throne, carried off from Delhi 150 years ago, is alone valued at many millions. In this museum you may also see vases of agate in gold and lapis lazuli, said also to be worth millions; and alongside of them empty perfume bottles of Euro¬ pean make, with gaudy labels, that can be had at four cents apiece. You will see priceless mosaics and exquis¬ itely painted cups and cans and vases which were presented by some Euro pean potentates; and side by side with them you will notice horrible daubs, forty-cent ehromos, picked up no one knows how or where. You will perceive glass cases filled with huge heaps of rubies, diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, turquoises, garnets, topazes, beryls of all sizes aud kinds, cut and uncut; and cheek, by jowl, with these your eyes will see cheap music boxes, jews-harps, squeaky hand-organs. The Shah must also be iu a condition to “bull” tho market on pearls, for here is, for instance, a big glass case twenty four inches long by eighteen inches wide and high, which is more than half filled with pearls (mostly from the Per sian gulf fisheries) of all sizes and do groes of lovelines a “Missing, None!” Comrades, listen! Hear the voices echo from those far-off years:— Old-time voices answering “Roll-call I”—gaps of silence—ringing “Heres!” Hush! the Sargeant is reporting;—hear tha old-time legend run:— “Fit for duty,—sick,—on furlough,—wound¬ ed,—dead.” Hark? “Missing, None!'* Thus, within our hearts the echoes keep the roster, name by name; And tho dear old voices answer to the roll call, still the same, Timo and change and death surviving:—still we hear the legend run:— “Fit for duty,—sick,—on furlough,—wound¬ ed,—dead,”—but "Missing, nonof “Missing, none?’ though ranks are thinning, though the comrades round us fall, Memory’s hosts remain unbrokou, answering each tho old roll-call! Graven on our hearts the record,—“All ac¬ counted for!”—not one Dear old name dropped or forgotten;—still tho legend,—“Missing, none!” Comrades, when the last man lingers on Time’s outpost,—waits alone For the Roveille and Roll-call,—let him echo back the tone, And reporting to headquarters; battles over, victory won,— Wrap our legend in tho colors, —seal the rec¬ ord,—“Missing, none!” —John Howard Jeuiett. HUMOROUS. Huers of wood—House painters. Drawers of water—Marine artists. The riding school is amountin’ resort. Little things that tell — Small brothers. Tho language of the deaf mute goes without saying. We hear of African slaves being bound in Morocco. Is not this a little too luxurious? Bananas, like wedding guests, aro al¬ ways ready to throw tho slipper after the paring comes off. | Entomologists say that bees possess i the power of memory. This is inter¬ l e3ting with the acceut otl the stillg . Tho frisky cowboy gives no thought Unto his tailor’s bill; Yet by experience are we taught, He’s often “dressed to kill.” Ono would naturally suppose that an engino has to bo hot before it can raise j steam, but tho fact is it has to be : coaled. Iu our present school curriculum tha tree of knowledge has so many branchos that the teacher needs a saw more than he needs a spade, Pliasseuus says his best girl reminds him of a silver fork. In other words, sho ia a tin(c)y tbing and frequontly a0 . companied by a “spoon.” “Which shall I we 1?” inquires the dude; Who comes across tho water, “The Bhekel-seasoned lumber maid, Or the gilded iceman’s daughter?" A Genius—“Who is the author of fic¬ tion whose skill you most admire, Mrs. Marriedayear? ’ Mrs. Marriedayear (promptly) “My husband." “Why, Karline, what are you think¬ ing of? You have two candles for youi knitting?" “Ohl no, ma’am, I haven'? but one, but I’ve dut it in two." There is no use in camping out foi the sake of keeping cool. At a recent militia encampment tho heat was in tents, just the same as elsewhere. Mr. Phunnyman—“If a word is a ve« hicle of thought, what would be a vehi¬ cle of love?" Mrs. Phunnyman—“] give it up.” Mr. P.—“A bus.” . If the grass about a residence attains a considerable height and remains uncut, it would seem tolerably safe to assume that the owner of the premises is no mower. Tramp (to lady of the house)—“I am starving to death! Can I die out in the barnyard?" Lady of the House (graciously)—“Yes, if you won’t crawl under the barn.” The man a slave to fashion’s not, But of his courage gives a test; Who, when the day is very hot; Goes out without his vestl Bessie—“I met Miss Shapely out shopping today, and I never before realized what a loud voice she has.” Jennie—“But you must remember, my dear, that she was asking for a pair of No. 2 shoes.” His Expectation, “To put this business on a cash basis, Mr. Peduncle,” said the father of young lady, “in case you marry Irene you must have something to live on. What are your expectations?” “Why, as to that sir," replied the somewhat embarrassed young man, “1 shouldn’t expect much at the start. Though it’s kind of you to ask. May I inquire the amount of life insurance you carry?”
