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NORTH GEORGIA TIMES
C ‘ ^'OAKTKR, {Proprietors.
S. B.
- Bake Clean.
Quoth Ralph to his father, the farmer,
‘■Such hay there never was seen.
How shall we care for it, father!”
•Said the father, “My son, rake clean,
Rake clean, rake clean;
Wo have need of it all, I ween.”
“But the ows have not space enough,
father,
‘To hold such abundance between
The floor and the comb of tho building.”
Quuth the farmer, “My son, rake clean.
Rake clean, rake clean;
We can care for it all, I ween.”
Then the seasons flew by (and the harvest
Good service that winter had been),
And again in the field were the toilers;
And still said the farmer; “Rake oleon,
Rake clean, rake clean;
We have need of it all, I ween.”
But the lad gazed distressfully round him;
“Less hay,” said he, "never was seen.
The cattle will surely be stinted.”
Quoth the farmer, “My son, rake clean,
Rake clean, rake clean;
We shall find there’s sufficient, I ween.”
—George Pearse in Young People.
ALICE’S PACKAGE.
’“Good morning 1" said the now
Ration agent.
“Good morning I” said Alice.
They had parted at 11 o'clock last
night, having strolled home from the
eoucert together, and they had found
enough to talk about then. But here,
under the bantering gaze of the ex-sta¬
tion agent, who haunted tho scene ol
his -former labors previous to his de¬
parture for Iowa they were tongue
tied.
“Is there a package for me?” said
Alice, formally.
‘Til see,” said Cary Loomis, explor¬
ing‘with alacrity. ’
But Mr. Stark dived into a corner be¬
fore him, bringing forth a large, squaro
bundle.
“This it?" said he. There was a
twinkle in his eye. “ ‘Miss Alice Ly¬
man.’ Paid, too. But, see here, now
—‘Pittsburg!’ Who’s sending you
presents from Pittsburg, Ally?" His
twinkle was luminous.
“It's not a present,” Alice retorted!
But the ex-agent was not satisfied.
“Pitt-burg,” he mused. “Seems to
me that surveyor fellow hailed from
-Pittsburg, .didn’t he, Ally?”
“Shall I sign here? ’ said Alice to
Cary Loomis over the entry book.
“And boarding next door, too,”
laid Mr. Stark, “w-y, ye3—it’s natural
—natural 1”
“Oh, no, it isn’t heavy, thank you!
Why, lift it,” Alice was saying to
Cary, with a laughing frown for her
tormentor.
“Good-looking fellow too,” said Mr.
Stark. ‘Wal; Ally, you’ve got my
consent for one.”
“Thank- youl" Alice laughed, but
vexedly.
She had meant to say something to
Cary Lopmis over and beyond the con¬
versation about the package—for had
not the pleasant young new station agent
teemed already quite attentive to her?
—-hut now she could not summon a
Word or syllable. If Mr. Stark were
at the bottom of the seal
“I don’t know how Pittsburgh ’ill
luit you, Ally,” Mr. Stark persisted,
mercilessly. “They say it's smoky.
Bpt I-s’pose smoke won’t interfere-”
Alice was gone, and Cary closed the
ledger with a bang.
“Were you joking. Stark,” he de¬
manded, “or is that so?”
Stark eyed him. He had a strong
sense of humor, and he read the new
•gent’s secret.
Without absolute statements, he con¬
vinced his young successor that Alice
Lyman hid flirted outrageously with
the PuUourgh surveyor; that he had
been most devoted; that they were un
doubtcdly engaged, and that the big
package from Pittsburg was proof
of it.- '
.
Cary bad grown a little pale during
the process, but so strong was Mr.
Stark’s humorous sense that he strolled
away finally with a widened grin.
Cary found his dinner saved warm for
him when he went up to his boarding¬
house somewhat late, and Mrs. Davis,
large and cheerful, waiting to serve it
to hjm.. . ...
But today neither his dinmer nor Iklrs.
Davis cheered him. He ate one and re¬
sponded to-the other gl unify.
“Well, now; maybe you ain’t feeling
just smart. I’ve known chunge of air
and water to. make folks real sick, ” she
hazarded in concern.
“Oh, I’m all right,”' said Cary, sar
donically smiling.
“Maybe you need livening up. You’ve
been to the sociables and concerts, to
ibe sure; but may be^something livelier
SPRING PLACE. GA.. THURSDAY. NOVEMBER <» 1880.
—Well, there,” she broke off with
motherly interest, “there’s the musio in
the park tonight; I guess you'll like to
hear that You better step over to¬
night,” said his landlady inspiritingly.
He had no intention of going. He
decided, with a certain melancholy sat¬
isfaction, that he would spend the even¬
ing in his room, and without a light;
that would be the fitting situation for
him and his dejection. She would be
>u the park, and perhaps the Pittsburg
surveyor would follow his package, and
be there with her.
All the same, for such is the power of
pretty eyes and red lips, eight o’clock
found him in the park. Ho would not
go near Alice Lyman. He strolled about
gloomily. All the town appeared to
have assembled. The band was, one
by one, mounting to the band stand.
“Oh, Mr. Loomis 1” somebody ex¬
claimed with a pretty laugh, “I had
almost run over to youl”
It was Alice—Alice with a loose knot
of young men and maidens, not yet
paired off, but well connected.
” He joined them, of course; there was
no other way.
And a few minutes later, when they
had paired off, and the band had struck
up, he found himself on a bench beside
her—they two alone.
“Home, Sweet Home l” said Alice.
“Dear me, Mr. Loomis, couldn’t they
have found somcihing a little newer?’’
“It seems not," said Cary, unsmil -
ingly
“But how they flat!’’ cried Alice,
clasping her ears. “And that second
horn ; is a bar .behind.”
She was in a gay mood. Her derisive
words were mirthful.
“And they’v.e been practising all the
spring. Well, I could do bettor with a
comb and some tissue paper.”
A whiff from the Byringa she wore
was wafted to him.
Her face, iu the dusky light, was
bright and yet soft.
She was thinking about her surveyor,
probably, and laughing in her sleeve at
him. Well, let her.
Poor Cary felt suddenly weary of his
anger. He was in love with a pretty
girl who did not love him—that was
all. She could not be blamed—he
would not blame her. Ho could hate
tho man she did care for, but ho could
hot hate her.
So, while tho band labored unmusi¬
cally on, he bent toward and talked to
her gently.
He told her of tho really fine open
air concerts he had heard at Brighton
Beach. He described the odd, varying
scene—the mass of people who thronged
the walks; the long, crowdod hotel
piazzas; tho circular pavilion from
which the music poured forth; and
bounding it all, the groat stitl water.
He found Alice looking up at him,
as he ended, with a keenness in her
eyes and a softer smi e.
“I have never been anywhere,” she
said, almost in a whisper. “I don’t
know anything. I wonder, Mr. Loomis
—I’ve wondered more than once—that
you care to talk to met I-”
But she said more than she meant to.
He knew that her cheeks were hot and
her eyes confusedly lowered.
His heart thro abed hard. He got up
abruptly.
“That remarkable march they’re mur¬
dering is driving everybody away," he
remarked. “Shall we follow, Miss Ly¬
man?”
“I think so,” said Alice.
Her fingers pressed his offered arm.
A man, who had been listening in his
halted buggy, wheeled about as they
stepped into the road.
He was driving a colt, and a frisky
one.
Was it the marvellously bad music
which made the horse jump as he
turned?
Alice was on tho point of asserting it,
but he swerved so close that she sprang
back with a scream.
Somehow the whirling buggy struck
her. It flew down the road the next
instant, but Alico fay in a prono heap in
the dusty road.
Cary Loomjs groaned as he bent over
her.
“Alice!” he cried. “Alice, darling!
aro you hurt?”
He raised her to her feet, his arms
about her.
“No, no I” sho protested. “That
back wheel struck me as it flew around
—that’s all; it didn’t even bruise me.
Only I’m dusty enough,” she ended,
laughii
“I y I” he murmured. “You
sprung away An me so quickly that I
could mot sav« you. You mutt b*
hurt.”
“I haven’t a scratch,” aha retorted.
“I—I thins I wilt take your arm, Mr.
Loomis.”
In a bewildered way he withdrew
and offered it. Than:
“I owe you an apology, Miss Lyman,”
he said, stiffly, as they went, “I—I
called you something. I was so starred
that I called you -perhaps you did not
hear mol”
“Yes, I did,” she murmured, with
head averted.
“Well,’’ he burst forth, desperately,
“an apology, did Isay! Well, I apolo¬
gize, Miss Lyman. But I only said
what was in my heart—I only said what
I couldn’t help. Miss Lyman. Try not
to blamo me! You will have a right to
tell the man you are promised to, if you
choose, and he will have the right to
horsewhip me—but I couldn’t help itl
Try to forget it!”
“I don’t understand you,” said Alice,
turning toward him at last and squarely.
“What can you mean, Mr. Loomis? The
mau I’m promised to? I’m promised to
nobody 1”
But she was promised to somebody
soon and in short order.
“Stark,” said Cary—ho was too happy
to be sharply discerning and he regarded
Mr. Stark with bland eyes—” Stark,
you were wrong, let me inform you
about Miss Lyman and that surveyor
from Pittsburg who boarded next door
to her. She is not engaged to him.
She never was, Stark, and never will
be!”
“Sho, now!” Mr. Stark’s long
Countenance beamed forth and almost
infantilo blankness.
“Wal, I’m beat!”
“He was fifty or so, Stark, and Alice
hardly exchanged a dozen words with
him.”
“Now pshaw! ’said Mr. Stark, with
a wide gaze of incredulity. ’
“No, sir, not a dozen words! And
that package—ho was going to Pitts¬
burg, you know, and he heard her tell
mg the lady he boarded with that she
wanted a lot of worsteds, and some she
couldn’t get here, and ho offered to get
them for her whon ho got home. And
he did. That’s what that package was,
Stark."
“Wal,” said Mr. Stark, stroking
his stubbly chin, “how I got it into mv
noddle I dunno—don’t for tho life of
met I hain’t been so took back, I
dunno when!’’
But he coughed queerly as he walked
away.
Mr. Stark’s sense of humor was ab¬
normally developed .—Saturday Night.
Antics of a Lemur.
No beast that I ever saw was more
fond of play than the little Malagasy,
not even a lively kitten. From the
moment his door was opened till he was
shut iu for tho night ho often gave his
mind to a constant succession of pranks.
He scraped the beads off our dress
trimmings with his comb-like teeth, aud
he slapped or pulled boo cs or work out
of our hands, and especially liked to
frolic in one's lap, lying on his back
kicking with all fours, pretending to
bite, and turning somersaults or indulg¬
ing in the most peculiar leaps. In the
latter he flung out his arms, dropped his
head on one side in a bewitching way,
turned half around in the air, and came
down in the spot he started from, the
whole performance so sudden, apparent¬
ly so involuntary, and his face so grave
all the time, it seemed as if a spring had
gone off inside, with which his will had
nothing to do.
A favorite plaything with the lemur
was a window-shade. Ho began by
jumping up to the fringe, seizing it and
swinging back and forth. One day he
learned by accident that he could “set
it off,’-’ and then his extreme pleasure
was to snatch at it with so much force
as to start the spring, when he instantly
let go and made one bound to the other
side of the room, or to the mantel,
where he sat, looking the picture of in¬
nocence, while the released shade sprang
to the top and went over and over the
rod. We could never prevent his carry¬
ing out this little programme, and we
drew down one shade only to have him
slyly set off another the next instant.—
Popular Science Monthly.
He Had None.
“I never speak to my inferiors,” said
Reginald de Brokaugh, haughtily.
“No," replied Smith, “I don’t be¬
lieve you ever do. Did you ever meet
any?"
WIZARD EDISON.
He Talks of Inventions He Will
Some Day Bring Out
To Reproduce Images a Thou¬
sand Feet Distant.
While Mr. Edison, tho great inven¬
tor, was iu Paris he was interviewed bv
a reporter of the Courier det ElaU
Unis, a French paper published in New
York City.
Tho reporter asked Mr. Edison if it
was true that he hadiuvouted a machine
by the aid of which a man in New York
would bo able to see everything that his
wife was doing in Paris.
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Edison,
laughing, “that that would be a real
benefit to humanity. Tho women cer¬
tainly would protest. But, speaking
seriously, I am at work ou an invention
which will allow a man in Wall street
not only to tele phono to a friend in the
Central Park, but to see that friend
while he is chatting telophonicalty with
him. This invention would bo useful
aud practical, aud I see no reason why
It should not soon bocomo a reality,
and one of the first things that I shall
do when I get back to America will be
to set up this contrivance between my
laboratory and my telephone workshops.
Moreover, I havo already obtained satis¬
factory results in reproducing images at
that distance, which is only about 1000
feet. It would bo ridiculous to dream
of seeing any one between New York
and Paris. Tho round form of tho
earth, if there wero no other difficulty
in tho way, would make the thing im¬
possible."
Speaking of tho phonograph, the re¬
porter asked if it had reached its high¬
est degree of perfection.
' “Almost, I think, ” said Mr. Edison,
' l‘in the last instruments turned out of
my workshops. You must know that
tho ordinary phonograph employed in
commerce does not compare with the
latest machines that I use in my private
experiments. With the latter I can ob¬
tain a so an A powerful enough to re¬
produce phrases of a speech that can be
heard perfectly by a large audionce. My
last ameliorations wero the aspirate
sounds, which are tho weak points of
tho graphophono. For seven months I
worked from eighteen to twenty hours
a day upon a single sound ‘spccia.’ 1
would say to tho instrument ‘specie, ’
and it would always say ‘pecia,’ and I
couldn’t make it say anything else. It
was enough to make mo crazy. But I
stuck to it until I-succeeded, and now you
can read a thousand words of a news¬
paper at tho rate of 150 words a minute,
and the instrument will repeat them to
you without an omission. Yon can im¬
agine the difficulty of the task that 1
accomplished when I toll you that the
impressions made upon the cylinder are
not more than one millionth part of an
inch in depth, and aro completely invis¬
ible even with the aid of a microscope."
Reporter—Aud what new discoveries
will be made in electricity?
Mr. Edison—Ah, that would be dif¬
ficult to say. IVe may somo day como
upon one of the great secrets of nature,
lam always on the lookout for some¬
thing which will help me to solve the
problem of navigating tho air. I havo
worked hard upon this subject, but I
am very mbch discouraged. We may
find something new before that comes;
but that will come.
Mr. Edison further said that the great
development of electricity will come
when we find a more economical method
of producing it. During his trip across
tho ocean he remained for hours on
deck looking at the waves, and ho says
that it made him wild when he saw so
much force going to waste. “But one
of these days,” he continued, “we will
chain all that—tho falls of Niagara as
well as the winds—and that will bo tho
millennium of electricity.”
How Northwest Indians Catch Fish.
The Indians of the northwest coast,
lays the Washington Star, are all skill¬
ful fishermen. Many of them subsist
almost entirely on fish and neglect agri¬
cultural pursuits. The sea, bays and
rivers, teeming with fish, offer them al¬
ways a rich harvest that can be easily
reaped. The indolent and dirty Indians
of the Quinaielc agency, Washington
territory, aro unusually expert in the
use of nets aud spears with which they
capture salmon and smaller fish.
The drag-net is used for fishing in
narrow streams of water. For using it
two canoes aro neeessary, with strut
Vol, IX. New Series. NO. 40
from six to eight feet apart, with haws
diverging. An Indian site in the stem
of each canoe, each Indian holding one
pole of the net in one hand,
while the other hand holds tight
tho string which keeps the
mouth of the net open. The string al¬
ways remains fastened to the pole, but
whon the Indian relaxes his hold on the
string, as he does in hauling up the net,
the mouth of the net closes, preventing
the fish from escaping. The two canoes
go up the river until 200 or 300 yards
Irom the mouth; the net is then placed,
and one Indian iu each canoe paddles,
while another throws stones to frighten
the fish. Then they paddle down the
river with the current into tho narrow
passage near tho bar. Thm while
catching salmon in the drag-net, as
they proceed down stream, they aro at
the same time driving tho fish toward
other Indians who stand iu tho shallow
water on the bar ready to spear them.
The shaft of the salmon spear is made
of cedar, the fork of the wood of the
salmon berry, and the barbs of wood or
metal. A loop of cord attached to the
spear is held iu tho loft hand.
A surf net is used by these Indians to
catch candle fish and smelt. As the
surf rolls in the the Indian runs rapidly
forward and, bonding down, passes tho
net under the comb of the breaker,
often capturing at once as many as an
ordinary water bucket will hold. The
handle of tho surf net is six feet long,
mouth of tho net four foot by eighteen
inches and depth about three foet. The
Indian holds the bottom of the net
drawn back under tho handlo until he
thrusts it into the water, when ho lets
the point fall. Another net used for
catching tho small Q linaielt salmon on
the river has a handle 14 feet long, a
mouth one by fivo feet and a depth of
four feet. Formerly tho twino used in
weaving these nets was made by the
Indians from the fiber of the common
nettle, but now seine twine is used.
Infants’ Sensitive Eyes.
In an artic.e on “Blindness and the
Blind" in the Journal of the Franklin
Institute, Dr. Webster Fox refers, among
other things, to the need for enro being
exercised with regard to the oyes of
young childron. Tho eyes are more
sensitive to light in childhood than in
adult life, yot a mother or nurse will
often expose the eyes of an infant to the
glare of tho sun for hours at a time.
Dr. Fox bolds that serious evils may
spring from this, and ho even contends
that “the greater number of tho blind
lose their sight from carelessness during
infancy.” From the point of view of
an oculist he protests against the notion
that children should begin to study at a s
very early age. He thinks that until
thoy aro between seven and nine years
old the eye is not strong enough for
school work. When they do begin to
learn lessons thoy ‘ 'should havo good
light during their study hours, and
should not bo allowed to study much by
artificial light before the ago of ten.
Books printed in small type should never
be allowed in the schoolrooms, much
less be read by insufficient light.”
The Curricle.
It is interesting to note the variety of
carri ages which are driven now in the
large towns of America. That light
and humane vehicle, the buggy, has al¬
most disappeared from tho fashionable
drives. It was an easy-riding wagon,
and the lightest of vehicles for a horse
to draw. But it cannot be said that
there is much comfort in the average
buggy for a man of stalwart or heavy
build. Dog-carts, buck-boards, gigs,
mail phaetons, and the like havo pushed
the buggy to tho wall. But, perhaps, the
most recently imported of vehicles, and
one which bids fair to retain a large de •
gree of fashion is the curricle. This
has two wheels, like a cart, but it also
has a hood and a rumble behind for a
servant, and two horses are driven to it
with a polo. Tho buggy is hung on big
“S” springs and drives very easily, and
it is one of tho most convenient vehicles
for long drives in the country which
has yet been designed. Besides, it has
the indefinable but valuable stamp of
fashion to recommend it to the world.
Knowledge Costa Money.
Irato Patron—“Seo here, sir. I
dropped a nickel intd this machine and
nothing came out.”
Agent—“If nothing came ont, that
shows it’s empty.”
“But sir, what do I get for my
nickel!”
“Information,”— Neu Tori Weekly.
Mother and Child.
“Where is the girl that you were?” said th'
child.
And the mother smiled back to her lifUt
eyes.
“She lives where the faded violet? go,
And the old sun shines in the skies!*
_
“Where last year’s birds sing last yearK
songs?”
She caught at the fancy, as children will,
“But if you should meet with the girl that
you were,
Do you think you would know her still?”
“I remember her eyes and her waving hair;
I see them now as I look at you.
My littlo daughter, when one dream dies,
Another sometimes comes true!”
“Mothers are better than girls, I think;
They wipe your tears, and find out the
Pain,
And smile when you smile.—Pray do not go
back
If you have the chance again'”
“Ah! tliore is no fear of that, my sweat.
A mother for evermore and a day
I shall be. Wo will let tho girl tiiat I was
1\ ith your faded violets stay.”
—Harper s Bazar.
HUMOROUS.
The Tailors goose—The Dude.
All up with them—Balloonists.
Something to bo kept ou hand—
Gloves.
Voice: “Catching anything?" Fish¬
erman: “Yes—malaria.”
A baby cuts his teeth before ho is on
upeaking terms with them.
The blue bird makes tho best fight
gainst the English sparrow.
Names exclusively for the fair sex
constitute a no-men-clature.
The average boy leaves no stone un¬
turned, except the grindstone.
Goes without saying—The young man
too bashful to pop the question.
Fish makes brains, it i3 said. Well,
it certainly strengthens the imagination.
“Dil you ever fall in love?” “Yes,
but I got out—with the assistance of
her father.”
Tho mother of the modern girl says
her daughter is like a piece of cheap
calico—sho won’t wash.
When you hear a man give pound
after pound to a door you may be sura
he is trying to lessen bis wait.
Tho women are the ones to settle this
storage battery question. Men don’t
know anything about preserving cur¬
rants.
Father to his son; “I don’t say that
you are an idiot, but if anybody else
Bhould say so, I would not contradict
him.”
Deacon Stubs (from Wayback)—“Pet¬
rified eggs from the ‘eternal city,’ ehf
some of the ‘lays of Ancieat Rome,' ai
it were I”
It would be well for somo base ball
teams to imitate the example of the
unassuming hen, who never
a goose egg.
Sho; Oh! my tooth aches just dread¬
fully 1 I don’t seo why we cannot be
without teeth. He: I think, my
dear, that if you will look up some au¬
thority on that point you will 'find that
most of us are.
“To think that I must leave the world
Reviled by every tongue,”
The culprit said. “I deeply dread
This thing of being hung.”
“I’d like to five my boyhood day%
In harmless games to cope;
To play baseball, but, most of aU,
I’d like to skip the rope.”
Washington Critio.
Doctor: You need more exercise.
Why, I’m steadily en¬
in painting houses, now. Doc¬
Working by the day, I expect!
Yes. Doctor: Well,
better work by the job for a
ONE GOLDEN HAIR.
single shining thread of golden hair
Twined in a graceful coil before me lie*,
hue as olden limners loved to trace
And poets dearly prize.
I gaze spellbound; what head did this adorn?
My thoughts I can’t describe nor feelings
utter,
As 1 behold, gleaming In radiance rare;
This single thread of rubiated hair,
Imbedded m the butter t
Dwarfed for Life by Cold.
There is rather a peculiar case at the
city orphan asylum. This is a colored
girl of eighteen years. Iu infancy she
was abused by her parents, and waa
finally • thrown into a snow-bank one
night. She was foumd and taken to
the asylum, and, though nearly dead,
was so carefully treated that sho lived.
But the brutal treatment checked her
growth, and she is now no larger than
a child of seven years.— Nets Haven