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?”
