Funding for the digitization of this title was provided by R.J. Taylor, Jr. Foundation.
About North Georgia times. (Spring Place, Ga.) 1879-1891 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 5, 1889)
NORTH GEORGIA TIMES. f.‘ b! (Sb, l Proprietor*. Otw Their Graves.' Over their graves rang once the bugle*. eafl, The starching shrapnel, and the crashing ball; The shriek, the shock of battle, and the neigh Of horse; the cries of anguish and dismay; And the loud cannon’s thunders that appall. No# through the years the brown pine needles fall, The vines run riot by the old stone wall, By hedge, by meadow streamlet, far away, Over their graves 1 We love* our dead where’er so held in thrall,— Than they no Greek more bravely died, nor Gaul,— A love that's deathless! but they look today With no reproaches on us when we say, “Cornel let us clasp your hands, we're brothers all," Over their graves! THE WEDDING JEWELS. “Two of ’em going to be married at once!” said Aunt Amaranth. “Well, that’s good luck for Emily Jane. Six girls are a dreadtul dispensation of Providence.” “Idon’t think mamma thinks so, Aunt Amaranth,” said Lucy Pond, coloring. “She don’t say so, of course, out of consideration for the feelings of you girls,” said Aunt Amaranth, sourly; “but there’s no sort of doubt but that she thinks so, poordear! I don’t know why you couldn’t, some of you, have had the sense to bs born boys!” ‘ ‘You talk as if we did it on pur¬ pose,” said Lucy, half laughing. “Well, how do I know but what yop did?” retorted Aunt Amaranth. “There 1 you- needn’t bang the dishes about in that way. You’ve cracked more teacups, Lucy Pond, and chipped the edges of more saucers, in the six weeks that you have been here, than I did since I’ve kept home!" Lucy’s lip quiverod; the roses deepened on her cheeks. “I try to be careful,” said she. “No, you don’t 1" said Aunt Ama¬ ranth, iartly, “You don’t try to do any¬ thing, except to curl your hair and fix over your gowns and read poetry books, when you ought to be sewing for me. How do you expect to pay for your board and lodging, else?” “Your black dress is finished, Aunt Amaranth,* and I did up all your mus¬ lin caps yesterday, and every pair of silk stockings is darned so you can’t see the joins l” eagerly speaks up Lucy. Aunt Amaranth elevated her hands. “There you go again 1” said she. “It’s your chief failing, Lucy Pond, to want to argue every question that comes up. I do wish I could break you of thatl” Lucy made no answer, but her com¬ pressed rose bud of a month, the two round red spots on her cheeks, and the mechanical drumming of her fingers on the table near by, evinced the unquiet¬ ness of her spirit. How she would have liked to fling all Aunt Amaranth’s ostentatious patronage back in her face, and return to the little city house where the five other sisters were all happy together I But that was quite out of the question. Mrs. Pond was poor; it cost a great deal to live. Lucy, after all, was only one of six, and it had been considered a fine thing for the little maiden when Aunt Amaranth Jay had given her a grudging invitation to come and visit her. And here were Clara and Bessie to be married to young Dr. Clifford and Harry McVicker—yes, Aunt Amaranth was right, it did seem as if the sun of good luck were rising on the Pond horizon once more. “I suppose,” said Aunt Amaranth, fctill following up the thread of her re¬ flections as she knitted steadily away at or black silk mitten, “they’ll expest lli$s*art of a wedding present, from me." thSc^’ihaj^ll “I don’t expect any¬ thing of the sort, Aunt Amaranth.” “Girls always do. Well, let me see. I’m not rich, but there’s that solid sil ▼er salver of mine, a I could have the initials rubbed oul replaced with ,*C. P.’ for Clara Pond, and I’ve kept i that set of famiiy jewels all the» rears—” “Oh, Aunt Amaranth, don’t.” “Brooch and ear-rings!” authorlt*-. tively enunciated the old lady. “Girl# .1___in.. ways like trinkets. Bessie TI___ is the eat Bessie shall have the pin and Sr “*-**-• "*•' SPRING PLACE. GA., THURSDAY. DE&EMBER 5, 1889. “Aunt Amaranth's opals, indeed I’ said Bessie, a tall,slim, young brunette *•1 wouldn’t hare ’em if you were to give me a thousand dollars, Of all gems, opals are the unluckiest!” “My dear, that’s all nonsensel” said Mrs. Pond, a gentle, dove-eyed little widow, with golden hair streaked with silver. “I’ve been wishing we could afford you a pretty set of topaz, or some¬ thing, and—” “But I wouldn’t wear opals,” said Bessie. “Well, then, Suppose you take the salver, and Clara—” “No, thanks I” said Clara, with a toss of the yellow head that was like her mother s. “I don’t want any sec¬ ond-hand ill-luck, either.” “But what will your aunt thinkl" “What she pleases,” said Clara. “She is so kind to dear Lucy.” “1 am sure that’s no merit on her part,” said Bessie, “No one could help being kind to Lucy.” ‘ ‘What am I to Bay to her!” sighed Mrs. Pond. “The truth, mamma, of course.” Undoubtedly this was good advice, yet the truth is by no means always pal¬ atable. Aunt Amaranth was very angry. “The jewels were good enough for the Jay family,” said she. “I don’t know why the Ponds should turn up their noses at ’em. However, let ’em do a3 they please. Its their business, not mine, if Bessie chooses to do with¬ out her wedding present. What is it, Lucy? the minister again? It seems to me he calls pretty often, don’t he?” “Y-yes, perhaps he does,” admitted Lucy, with downcast eyelashes. “Gl«’t you see what h9 wants?'’ “If®Asked for you, Aunt Amaranth.” “Well, I suppose I must go in and see him, ’’ said tho old lady, • adjusting her cap ribbons. “He’s a very good young man. That last Sunday's ser¬ mon of his was really very good for a beginner.” She went in complacently, but when she came out, she looked reproachfully at Lucy. “Lucy, ” said she, “is this true?” Lucy hung down her head. “Why didn’t you tell me before!” “I—I thought you must surely see it for yourself,” murmured Lucy. . “Weil, I suppose I hive beou blinder than any bat!” sighed the old lady. “It never once occurred to me that you would make any sort of minister’s wife.” “I mean to try my best, Aunt Ama¬ ranth. ” “And he wants you to be married right away. Weil, you’ve been a good girl, Lucy,” reluctantly conceded the old lady, “and we’ll go shopping this afternoon and get you a gown or two, and a bonnet and a shawl. I suppose you’ll want to go home aud be married where Cflara and Bessie are?” “If you don't object, aunt." “Much good my objecting would do,” said the shrewd old lady. “Well, well, young folks will be young folks, .and I must look out for a wedding pres¬ ent for you now.” Lucy lifted her soft brown eyes to Aunt Amaranth’s face. She had pitied the old lady’s discomfiture when the opals had been so ruthlessly rejected by the other two brides. “Aunt Amaranth,” said she, “y° u need not look out for anything new for me. You have spent a deal of money on me already, and you are propos¬ ing to spend more. And if you don’t mind, why shouldn’t I wear the jewels —the old family jewels—that you were going to give to Bessie?” “Would you lika them?” sharply de¬ manded Aunt Amaranth. “Yes.” Yov have no silly prejudice against opals?” “No, Aunt Amaranth?’ “Do you like them!” “I am sure that I shall like anything that you give me, Aunt Amaranth,” Mid she, “whatever it is.” ” said tho old lady. “You it was A 'TOmg and obattering e ea-elect were togeth l-brick city house, f r 7 ■Per own trousseau— Sere poor anddressmak not to be thought of. id shared the best of all, Aunt Amaranth’s unlooked-for irosity. She has been so good I” said Lucy, i sparkling eyes. ‘Oh, Tm so that I ever was cross or unjust to . “For all that," said Clara, “It would take more than Aunt Amaranth’s silk. gowns and pretty embroideries to in duce me to wear those hideous opals of hers.” “I would wear anything to please Aunt Amaranth,” said loyal Lucy. “Suppose you show them to ns,” said Clara. “Oh, I have not come into posses¬ sion of them yet," said Lucy. “Aunt Amaranth is to bring them when she comes to the wedding.” “You won’t wear them to be mar¬ ried in!” “If Aunt Amaranth wishes it, I will.” And to this resolution Lucy bravely adhered, in spite of logic, persuasion or ridicule. It was the night before the triple¬ wedding. Aunt Amaranth, fresh from her journey, was drinking tea and eat ing cold chicken at a corner of the table, and asking innumerable questions. “Only three girls left, eh, Em'ly Jane?” said the old lady. “Weil, if they’re all as good as Lucy here, I almost wish they were mine. By-the way, hero’s Lucy’s brooch and earrings.” Mrs. Pond glanced timidly at the lilac-velvet case. In her secret heart she, too, feared the reputed ill-luck of opals; yet Aunt Amaranth was by far too important a person to offend. “Do you want to put ’em on?” said the old lady, abruptly, to her favorite neice. “Yes, Aunt Amaranth,” said Lucy smiling. “He’s coming tonight, I suppose 1” “Oh, of course I” “ I should like him to see you wear ing them,” said Miss Jay,complacently. “Then I will put them on,” said Lucy, taking ,up the case. “Lot me do it, my dear,*’ said Aunt Amaranth. Two drops of fiery dow, aeross of glittering white stones, flashed at Lucy’s throat and iu her little, shell-like ears. “Oh, Aunt Amaranth!” she cried out. “Diamonds!” screamed Clara. “ But I thought,” stammered Bessie, “that they were opals 1” “So they were once upon a time,’’ said the old lady. “But I got tired of ’em. I never did fancy colored stones. So Ia3t year I changed 'em off, by adding a little to the sum total, and got the diamonds instead. Diamonds are the thing for abride—eh, Lucy?” “But, Aunt Amaranth," pleaded Lucy, “they are a deal too good for me.” “Not a bit,” said the old lady stout¬ ly. “They’re not a particle brighter than those eyes of yours.” And of all tho three brides, gentle little Lucy shone most radiantly, with tho famiiy jewels, on her marriage day. “If we had only known I” said Clara. “Oh, if I” cried Bessie. “If is a big word for a little one!” said Aunt Amaranth. ‘'You took your own choice, girls .”—Helen Forest Graves. Night Sights In New York Street Cars. Late at night one sees many curious scenes in the street cars, says a New York correspondent of the Chicago Herald. Coming from the theatre the other night I witnessed one that im¬ pressed me quite a bit. The car was full of people returning from various theatres. There was a pretty girl snug¬ gling up under the wing of her es¬ cort; the prosaic married couple who stared straight before them; an old German decidedly the worse for baer; a girl with a tawdry, yellow wig and a cheap cotton jersey, and rhino stones in her ears. There entered the dirtiest, weariost, saddest, oldest-faoed little wretch of a newsboy, who of¬ fered his papers. No one heeded the begrimed, entreating paw. He was about to plunge off the car >hen a well-dressed man who looked if he might have been dining out, called the child, and much to his atnazed awe, bought his entire stock. The little fel¬ low, who looked as Moses may when the manna dropped from heaven, sprang from tho car and was lost in the darkness. The swell amused himself by tearing thp paper into bits and cast¬ ing them out into the night. A Great Sensation. “Hello, Penjab,” said one reporter to another, “looking for a sensation?” “No, I discovered one last night.” “How?” “By stepping on * tack while I waa walking with Merchant SPOUTING GEYSERS Making the Yellowstone Park Springs Boil. Soaping the Geysers Causes Their Extinction. Early one morning, a few years ago, a Chinese laundryman pitched his tent close beside one of the geysers in the Yellowstone National Park and supplied himself with hot water from the spring, thijp ting saving himself the trouble of set¬ up a boiler and building a fire. During the day he accidentally dropped a bar of soap into the steaming goyser, and in a few minutes there was a rum¬ bling, a roar, an outburst of steam and water, and the tent and the Chinaman were literally “blown up.” The scald¬ ed Celestial did not stop running until he reached the hotel, and he was then too thoroughly frightenod for utterance. Since then it has been almost impossi¬ ble to induce a Chinaman to remain in the vicinity of the geysers. But the accidental discovery that a geyser could be provoked into spouting out of its time has been turned to ac¬ count by some of the guides and soldiers in the park, and the result is that some of the wonderful springs have become very irregular in their action, and there is impossibility that they will cease to spout altogether. There are 17 large geysers in the up¬ per basin, and some of them at regular intervals send up streams of water from 10 to 30 feet in circumference to a height of 150 and 200 feet. As tour¬ ists rarely remain at this spot more than 24 hours, they, of course, want to see one of the large geysers play. Unless they arrive on the opportune days, the only geyser they are likely to see is ‘‘Old Faithful,” which spouts every 65 minutes. But to see the other geysers spout is the event of the trip, and in this matter the assistance of the soldier who is placed on guard to prevent tour¬ ists from despoiling public property is requested. At every point of interest the tourist finds a soldier watching his footsteps. This espionage is to prevent vandals and “cranks" from scrawling their names on the rocks, and to stop the relic fiends from defacing the beautiful rock formations that surround the gey. sers. But these fellows have learnod about the accident which be foil the Chinaman and his field laundry, and many of them will undertake to make a geyser spout, even if it be not its ex¬ hibition day. The initiated tourist hands to ono of these guardians a five-dollar note. The soldier slices a bar of soap into thin pieces, wraps tho mass in a shoet of paper, and while walking around tho geyser to soe that no one defaces the rocks, throws the paper of chipped soap into the steaming spring. Then he re¬ tires, and he and the tourist await developments. In from half an hour to an hour the spring begins to spout, its action being forced by tho chemicals in the soap. Soaping the geysers makes them ir¬ regular, and finally they become extinct The Bee Hive ceased playing on account of tho s oaping process. It was a very fine geyser and the irruptions were grand. The soap was again tried the other day with success. Just as the spouting began two tourist and a soldier emerged from behind some trees a short distance away and run to a point as near the geyser as they dared go. This spouting was a surprise to all save the initiated, especially as there is a little “indicator” geyser nearby that spouts as a warning that the larger one is about to play. As the visitors did not also treat the little geyser to soap it did not play. The forcing of the water to the sur¬ face by chemical means before the periods fixed by nature destroys the regular flow. The volume of water thrown out becomes smaller, and the grandeur of the spectacle is di¬ minishing. Finally the natural forces which create the spectacle become dis¬ organized, aud the geyser ceases to be a geyser. Thus one of the greatest at¬ tractions of the Yellowstone Park is in danger of extinction .—Nets York Star. About the only tint e small boy thinks of trav * for the benefit of his health is j hells In a farmer’s appie-orcho-cl the owner and a cross dog i aching. Then he travels. find it very un heal; Vol. IX. New Series. NO. 44. A Mean Kan Punished. A well-dressed man, of about forty, was trying to make his dog bathe in the Seine at Paris, but the animal appeared to have little ta3te for aquatic exercises. When, after much hesitation, it refused to enter the water, he seized it by the Deck and threw it into the river. The dog quickly swam to the shore, but as the bank was at that place bounded by a steep wall, all its efforts to got over it were in vain, and his master, in reaching over to help him, lost his balance and fell into the water. Two watermen hastened up, held out a pole to him, and succeeded in drawing out both master and dog safe and sound. No sooner on land, instead of manifesting his joy at being rescued from death, he showed marks of great despair. On being asked the reason, he replied that when he was leaning over the wall to help his dog up his purse had fallen out of his coat pocket, and disappeared under the water. A boy offered to go in and find it. “Go!” said the gentleman; “you shall bo well rewarded. ” The boy took a header, dived several times, and at last, after having roused the anxiety of (he bystanders by his long disappearance, ho showed himself, dripping with water, holding in tr iumph the lost article, which he brought to its owner; but before giving it to him, he stopped and held out the other hand. The gentleman had confided to those present that this purso contained 830 francs. A murmur of indignation, therefore, arose when they saw him take ono franc from his pocket and offer it to the lad. Ho might, perhaps, have accepted it, had not a bystander called out: “He offers you a franc, I will give you two if you will throw it back into the water again 1” The ownor of the purse dartod for¬ ward, but before ho could seizo it, the boy had thrown the purse back into the Seine. “How much will you give now to have it picked up again?” the gentle¬ man who owned it was asked. “Five francs 1” “That is not enough. Give fifty 1" After some disputing the bargain was concluded. The boy dived down again and brought back the purse amid the shouts of laughter and cheers of all present. The miser, much vexed, had then to perform his part of the bargain, but not without many grimaces and much grumbling. — Yankee Blade. Club Life for Young Men. Young men of moderate means, yet able to live above the boarding-houses, find the smaller club3 of this town, says a Now York correspondent of the Pitts¬ burg Post, cheap and agreeable places of residence. A man who would rent two rooms in a lodging-house does very well with one in a club, since he has the use of parlors and library. Com¬ fortable club-lodgings may bo had at from $15 to $40 a month, and club res¬ taurants are as cheap as anything above the degree of the boarding-house or the poorer table d’hotes. An economical man can live in a respectable club at $45 a month, and for $75 a month may have a spacious room and many table luxuries. Rooms at the Fellow Craft Club are occupied almost the year round, and the Authors Club usually has a few lodgers. The same is true of several of the Greek letter clubs. Out of about fifty fully ; equipped clubs in this city, less than a dozen can be re¬ garded as expensive by reason of initia¬ tion fees, dues, restaurant charges, or general standard of living. Among the other forty almost any presentable young man may find at least one suited to his purse, pursuits and tastes. The smaller clubs admirably illustrate Mr. Depew’s observation, that a club is an institution to which a thousand men pay dues that a hundred may have cheap dinners. A9 a matter of fact, the proportion of dinners to membership is usually even smaller than this. He Could Spell. During the Franco-Prussian War, a corporal came to the doctor with one of his men who was unfit for the saddle, Thejdoctor examined him, and found him suffering from rheumatism. The corporal proceeded to fill up the requis ite form for tho man’s admission to the nearest military hospital. “Can you spell rheumatism, corporal?" said the doctor. “I thinjfc^Iean, doctor, thank you,” replied saluting. The cor pond leading was jonp ’oris. b one of the The Forest Flower. Life is sweet; O forest flower! In your leaf encircled bower, Gentle breezes sing tq thee; Bird and bee are company, As, with song or noisy hum, In the summer days they come; Morn or even brings its dew, Priceless bounty unto you. Safely guarded, hour by hour. Life is sweet, O forest flower I Life is pure, O forest flower! When the rain drops are your dower, Dropping, dropping, one by one, Till their blessed work is done; Winds bear on your sweet perfuma; Outward from the forest gloom, Where the grassy meadows are, Over hill and mountain far, *Tis your gift of soothing power, Lite is pure, O forest flowerl —J. B. M. Wright in PioayunA HUMOROUS. The railroad tie is no four-in-hand. The waiter girl is different from a poet. She is not born; she is maid to order. The highest grade of impudence—to wait in an umbrella shop for a shower to pass over. Be not quick to anger, but if yop are ohased by a mad bull take of-fence ita.-* quickly as you can. It makes no difference whether or not bad poetry is written on both sides of a sheet of paper. Guard—Sir, if you want to smoke In this carriage you must either get out or throw your cigar away. Little Annette—“Mother, do please buy me a new doll; my old one is quite ashamed when asked its age.” Teacher: What great event occurred in 1878. Small Boy (after a pause); Please, Ma’m I was bom then. It is instinct that prompts a girl who knows nothing of the world to ask to drive when you strike a lonely road. A sure sign that the door bell is go ing to ring: When you are the only on* in tho house and are in the bathtub. Young men hunting heiresses should remember that “Miss Fortunes never come singly.” You have to marry’em. Tho man who kicked a collector out of his office remarked that if he couldn’t foot his bills one way ho would another. If you save one cent a day, Ebene^er, you will not have to lose a friend at the end of the year by trying to borrow a dollar from him. Reginald—“I have a vague idea—” Grosvenor (interrupting)—“What, that is a positive improvement! Let me congratulate you.” Rather Rough.— “You are gowiugt It seems to me that my society is not enough for you.” “On the contrary, it is too much for me." Author—I always tost my sketches by reading them to my wife. Friend —Ah, yes—and you use those she likes! Author—No, those she doesn’t. The lay of the poet and the lay of tho hen differ in several important features, and none more signalljr than in the readiness with which the lay of the hea is convertible into hard cash. “Do you remember how ten yean ago in this very place you offered your, self to me?" “Ob, yes, and you re fused me.” “I have been reconsider, ing the matter.” “So have L” Mesmerism in Surgery. There may be more in mesmerism-— now called hypnotism—than the medi¬ cal fraternity generally aro ready to ad¬ mit. Medicine under modern develop¬ ments, says a London journal, has been ao engrossed with the fascinating theory that mind is a function of matter that it has quite forgotten to discuss the possi¬ bility of the converse and equally fas¬ cinating hypothesis that matter is a function of mind. A severe operation has just been con¬ cluded in Paris on a young woman dur¬ ing a mesmeric trance. In the Hotel ®‘ ou t5w > P ationt was subjected by a Paris surgeon to a painful cutting oper¬ ation “of tho class called dangerous ’■ and requiring great delicacy of manipu lation,” she being at tho time “wholly insensible to pain, showing no sign of suffering, and awakening”—not from an anmsthetic of the ordinary kind, but from a mesmeric sleep—“wholly oblivious of what had taken place.” These andlike experiments are untrue takable evidences that the medical pr*. fession is awakening to the possibility of establishing under the banner of the nineteenth century science the of the ancient doctrine of the ;
