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About North Georgia times. (Spring Place, Ga.) 1879-1891 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 7, 1889)
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
