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NORTH GEORGIA TIMES.
C. N. KING. I Proprietor
s, b. (Darter, i
My Lesson.
"Yon hare only two?” the lady said,
As she glanced at my babes at play,
And I answered her, “Only two on earth.”
And then I wept to say,
As my grief came surging back again,
My grief so deep, so wild,
“Alas it was only a month ago,
I lost a little child.”
A dear little girl with bright, black eyes,
Unlike the other two,
The one with eyes of hazel brown,
The other with heaven’s blue;
A dear little girl with a laughing face,
And sunshine in her hair,
Whose lisping voice and pattering feet
Made music everywhere.
And I grieve when I miss a single note
From the music of baby feet,
And I weep for the tangle of sunny hair
That is lost lrom my cluster sweet;
For the prattling lips, the clinging touch,
The hand upon my knee,
"When the chord was full, and the group
complete,
And my children numbered three.
And then I noticed the room was still,
That the children stopped their play,
That they looked at each other, and then
at me,
In a wondering, sorrowful way.
Then the oldest one, with the hazel eyes,
Came to my side in tears,
She was only five, with a tender heart,
And thoughtful beyond her years.
“What is the matter with mama's child?"
This was the answer given:
"You said that youlcsed a little child,
I fought she was gone to heaven?
And why don’t, you look for her every day,
Until you find her again?
And not sleep a wink’till you bring her
home
• Out of the cold and rain?”
Then I hushed my grief for the little child,
Lying under the sod;
1 had learned a lesson from baby lips:
“Not lost, but gone to G<xl."
—Ida J. Hall, it i Atlanta Constitution.
The Mother of Marius
“And there's an end of it!' said
Marius Gray, letting his hand fall de¬
spairingly ou the table.
He had just returned from his weary
day’s work, which had stretched itself
far into the night—ho was engaged on
a newspaper, and was beginning to earn
good wages as assistant foreman in ono
of tho departments—and had perused a
letter which had laid ou the table at
his lodgings.
“Au end of what?” asked Harold
Morse, his room-mato and companion.
‘'Ol my three years’ work,” Gray
answered—“of all that Iv'o been toiling
and striving for so long.”
“You don’t mean,” said Morse,
that you would lot this mako any differ¬
ence with your plans?”
“It must make a difference. Hall.”
“In the name of common sense, what
Ut difference?”
“Don’t you see? Now that my good
bid grandfather is dead, I’ve got to
bake a home for my mother. I’ve got
to support her and see that life is made
easy for her in her old age.”
“Oh, I see!’said Morse, shrugging
his shoulders. “Alice won’t relish the
idea of a mother-in-law—is that it? ’
“I shall not ask her, Hal. My first
duty is to my mother.”
“But tho little house you’ve bought,
and the furniture you’ve been selecting
piece by piece, and tho carpet that
you've laid up for yard by yard, and
the vory mossrose-bush by the door
stone—”
“I hope my mother will enjoy them,
Hal,” said Gray, with something like a
quiver on his lip. “But I once heard
Alice make some laughing jest about
the terrors of a mother-in-law. It
wasn’t much. I don’t think she at¬
tached any particular importance to it,
^ but still it has stuck to my memory.
In the recollection of that, I can’t ask
her to share any divided empiro in my
heme.”
“Oh, hang it!” cried Morse, flinging
his paper on tho table. “What do
women want to be so cranky for? Why
can’t they bunk in together a3 com
fortably as men do? I 11 go bail Alice
Ardley would go through fire and
Water for her own mother. Why should
she feel differently toward the mother
of the man she loves?"
“Thero’s all tho difference in the
World,” said Gray, sally.
And so he went to bed to ponder over
this new complication of events; and
when ho fell asleep he dreamed that he
had just brought a bride home to the
little cottage where the white muslin
curtains rustled in the wind, and the
mossrose-bush was in full blossom, and
somehow Alice Ardley’s blooming face
was frilled around with cap borders and
decorated with an immense pair of sil¬
ver spectacles.
“Of course, Gray will do as he
pleases,” said Morse; but if I were he
SPRING PLACE. GA.. THURSDAY. JUNE 12. 1690.
I’d see this old lady further before I
allowed her to upset all my life-calcula¬
tions iu this sort of way. Why can’t
ho get her boarded out somewhere? or
admitted into a respectable ‘Horn/ or
Refuge,’ or something of the sort?”
••I suppose,” said tho man who
worked next him in the wall-paper dc
signing factory, “because sho is his
mother!”
“Haag sentiment!” was Morse's re
ply.
To Marius Gray’s credit be it spoken
that he never for an instant hesitated as
to what decision to make.
He wrote an affectionate letter to his
mother, telling her of tho little home
which was now at her disposal, and
offering to come to Montreal and bring
her thitber at any time which sheshou d
fix.
And this letter safely dropped into
tho nearest mail box, he next begau to
consider the forthcoming explanation
with Alice Ardley.
He went to seo her that very evening.
Sho was a music teacher, and lived iu
one of those genteel, comfortless hoard¬
ing-houses which afford so poor a sub¬
stitute for real home*, and sho came
down into the parlor, where tho gas was
economically lowered, and the scent of
the vegetable soup that had been served
for dinner still lingered.
“Oh. Marius 1” she said, with a little
gurgle in her voico, 1 d’ve been wanting
to see you so much."
“Havo you, Alice?”
He stood holding both her hands in
his own.
“I've got such a favor to ask of you,
Marius—and oh, I don’t know how to
do it, after all tho hateful things I’ve
said about mother-in-laws, and that
sort of thing!” faltered she.
Ho stood still listening, and after a
short pause, Alice went hurriedly on:
“It’s my Aunt Alcthea. I’ve got to
take her home and take care of her, for
the cousin who ha3 supported her all
these years can’t do it any more; aud
oh, Marius, we can’t ho married unless
—uuless ou will bo very good
and l t-u and let old Aunt
Alethea como and live with
ut. I’m sure she can’t be a great deal
of trouble and I’ll keep on with my
music lessons to furnish her with
clothes. She’s a very nice, quiet old
lady, and—but if you’d rather not,
Marius, say so at ones, and of course
tho engagement will be at au end.”
Marius Gray’s face lighted up.
“Alice, forgive met” he said. “You
have shown g eater confidence in me
than I have done in you. As far as 1
am concerned your aunt will bo most
welcome in any home that you and I
are to share togother. But, Alice, I
had come here to ask you to release mo
from our ong igement.”
Alice gave a little start.
“Marius!” she cried. “Oa, Marius,
you don’t mean it? ’
“For the reason,” he went on, “that
it is now incumbent on mo to support
my mother, who has heretofore lived
with her fathor. I didn’t like to ask
you, dear, knowing your opinion on
the subject of—well, of mothers-in
law, to share your home kingdom with
any one else; and thero was no other
home to bring my mother to. But
now—”
“Marius," cried A’iee, “it’s quite
true what you say. You have put no
conficuce jp me. If I could trust you
to be good to my poor old aunt, could
you not have been sure that I would
love your motherl”
“I am sure of it now, Aide," said
the young man, still holding her hand
tenderly in his.
“And I won’t roleaso you from your
engagement," declared Alice, disguis¬
ing her emotion under a very effective
pretence of gay badinage. “l’vs been
taking lessons at a cooking school ani
making up household linen, and I mean
to show your mother and my Aunt
Alethca what a capital housekeeper I
cau be. And oh, how proud I shall he
when they eat the first dinner I cook in
my own house P
“Alice, you are an angel P asserted
Gray.
“No, lam not,” said Alice. “I’m
only a silly, chattering girl, who says
lots of things that she is sorry for
afterwards. But I know how good
and forgiving you ore, and you shall
seo how dearly I will love your
mother for your sake until I have
learned to appreciate her for her
own.”
So Alice Ardley aud Marius Gray
wero quietly married, and on their wed¬
ding trip they went to Montreal to
bring the old mother home.
Mrs. Gray, Senior, wa3 a trim, creel
little woman, dressed in black serge,
with her rosy old face surrounded by
the neatest of cap3.
She came back to tho cottage with
them.
“I shall be glad to see how my chil¬
dren live,” said she.
And she took a great fancy to Aunt
Alethca, who was waiting on the door
stip to receive them—a meek, soft
voiced old Quakeress, who moved
noiselessly about and looked liko a
human dove in gray plumage.
“I wonder,” she said, “how Friend
Alethca—for she won’t let one call her
'Miss Ardley'—would like a situation
as companion and reader? She reads
aloud charmingly. That bit of the
daily paper she read us yesterday, A'iee,
I declare 1 thought I could seo with my
own eyc3 everything that happened! ’
“I think she would be delighted,
mother,” said Alice. “It’s a dreadful
trial for her to be dependent ou any one
for a living; but there are no such nice
places to be found.”
“I know of one, ” said Mr3. Ardley.
“Where?" asked Alice.
“Iu Montreal.”
‘ But I couldn’t trust Aunt Alcthea
with any one but a very kiud lady.”
“Well, this lady is kind. At least
she'll try to be. For sho is myself,
daughter Alice.
“You, mother? But I thought you
were going to live with us l’ 1 exclaimed
Alice.
“My son Marius and you seem to
take that for granted,” said the old
lady, with a twinkle of her bright,
bltc'.i eyes. “But you aro wrong,
nevertheless. No, I am not going to
live with you. I’m very glad to havo
caught a glimgse of you iu your happy
little home, my dear; but I’viS an idea
thnt young married people aro better by
themselves—for a year or two at least.
And my father loft mo somo real estate
in Montreal which has increased vory
much please iu now. value, Some and day I can it will live all as I
yours; but in the meantime I shall take
Friend Alethea back with me, and
wo’ll be compauy for each other.
Once in awhile we’ll come ani visit
you, and mind you both take excellent
care of each other.”
So vanished Mrs. Gray and quiet lit¬
tle Aunt Alcthea from tho scene.
“And here we arc, just where wo
originally planned to be,” said Marius,
as he and Alice stood at the door, whero
tho mossrose was in bloom, watching
tho wheels of the hack that bore the
two old ladies away.
1 Y-esI” faltered Alice with a tear in
her eye; but I never thought I could ho
so sorry to sco a mother-in -law go out
of the house.”
Wedding Rings.
The latest thing in wedding rings
comes from England, and is a narrow
but thick circlet of 22-carat fine gold.
This has como in fashion in America in
the course of the last year, replacing
the old style ring, which is both heavy
and wide, being sometimes half an inch
broad. These latter have been in use
as far back as I can remember. The
Germans always buy two plain gold
rings, tho lady giving ono to her be¬
trothed and he one to her. The “al¬
liance” ring is sometime called for, and
often manufactured to order. It is
made of two circlets fitting into each
other and coming apart something liko
a puzzle, and is a revival of a very old
style. The ordinary wedding ring
costs from $7.50 to $15, although the
English ring is somewhat more expen¬
sive. In engagement rings individual
taste is the only law, but set stones are
great favorites. A novelty is a ring of
three circlets, almost as narrow as
wire, each set with a band of different
stones, such as pearls, turquoises and
conch-shelis. — St. Louis Globs Democrat.
Splendid Horsemanship.
The finest seated riders as a class are
the stockmem of Australia. Their
horses, when yarding cattle or heading
a fugitive bullock, gallop like race
horses, and turn of their own accord
as short and as suddenly as a sheep,
dog. Three of these horses will put
1500 wild fat bullocks into a yard
with the rein loose on their necks and
untouched the whole timo. They
watch and chase each fugitive like a
sheep dog shases a stray sheep, the
stockmen merely sitting on their backs
and using their twenty-foot stock
whips. The sudden drops, step, and
turn of one of theso horses would un¬
seat, and dangerously unseat, the best
horsemen in an ordinary huntimg field.
THE SLAVE-SHED.
Hapless Wretches Captured in
African Forests.
Many Become Victims of Cer¬
emonies in Congo Villages.
Frcm E. J. Clave’s article, “The
S ave Trade in the Congo Basin,” pub¬
lished in tho Century, we quote as fol¬
lows: “These hungry creatures form
indeed a truly pitiable sight. After
suffering this captivity for a short time
they become mere skeletons. All ages,
of both sexes, aro to be seen: mothers
with their babes; young men and
women; boys and girls, and even babies
who cannot yet walk, and whose
mothers died of starvation, or perhaps
were killed by the Lufembe. Ojc
seldom sees either old men or old
woincu; they are all killed in the raids;
their marketable value being very
small, no trouble is taken with them.
“Witnessing groups of these poor,
helpless wretches, with their emaciated
forms and sunken eyes, their faces a
very picture of sadness, it is not diffi¬
cult to perceive the intense grief that
they are inwardly suffering; but they
know too well it » of no use to appeal
for sympathy to thoir merciless masters,
who have been accustomed from child¬
hood to witness acts of cruelty and
brulality, so that to satisfy their insati¬
able greed they will commit them selves,
or perm't to be committed, any atrocity,
however greak Even the pitiable sight
of ono of these slavos-shcds does not
half represent tho misery caused by this
traffic—homes broken up, mothers
separated from their bnbios, husbands
from wives, and brothers from sisters.
When last at Masankusu I saw a slave
woman who had with her ono child,
whoso starved little body she was
clutching to her shrunken breast. I
was attracted by her sad face, which
betokened great suffering, I asked
her tho causo of it, aud she told me in
n low, sobbing voice tho following
tale:
“ ‘I was living with my husband and
three children in an inlau l village, a
few milei from here. My husband was
a hunter. Ten days ago tho Lufombe
attacked our settlement; my husband
defended himself, but was overpowered
and speared to death with several of the
other villagers. I was brought hero
with my throe children, two of whom
have already been purchased by tho
traders. 1 shall never see them any
more. Perhaps they will kill them on
the death of seme chief, or perhaps
kill them for food. My remaining
child, you see, is ill, dying from star¬
vation; they give us nothing to eat. 1
expect even this one will be taken from
me today, as the chief, fearing lest it
should die and become a total loss, has
offered it for a very small price. As
for myself,’ said sho, ‘they will sell me
to one of tho neighboring tribes, to
toil in the plantations, and when I be¬
come old and unfit for work I shall be
killed.’
“There were certainly 500 slaves ex¬
posed for sale in this ono village alone.
Large canoes wero constantly arriving
from down river with merchandise of
all kinds with which they purchased
these slaves. A large trad3 is carried
on between the Ubangi and Lulungu
rivers. Tho peoplo inhabiting the
mouth of tho Ubangi buy tho Bololo
slaves at Masankusu and the other mar¬
kets. They then take them up the
Ubangi river and exchange them with
the natives there for ivory. These na¬
tives buy their slaves solely for food.
Having purchased slaves they feed them
on ripe bananas, fish and oil, and when
they get them into good condition
they kill them. Hundreds of the B«
Jolo slaves are taken into the river and
disposed of in this way each month.
A great many other slaves are sold to
the large villages on tho Congo to sup¬
ply victims for the execution ceremon
iea.
‘ ‘Much life is lost in the capturing of
slaves, and during their captivity many
succumb to starvation. Of tho remain¬
der, numbers are sold to become vic¬
tims to cannibalism and human sacrifice
ceremonies. Thero are few indeed who
ire allowed to live and prosper.”
J
Ills Progress.
Dashaway—You say you are going to
call on Miss Palisade. "What 1 in that
shabby outfit!
Cleverton—My dear boy, I’ve got
’way beyond the point where she notices
what I wee-
Vol. X. New Series. NO. 19.
John (’hiHainan's Diet.
There is a time-honored impression to
the effect that ihe average Chinaman
can live on next to nothing, can cat
anything and can grow fat on a diet
that would starve other men. It is
almost cruel to upset old traiitions, hut
if a local merchant speaks Iruly
there is very littlo iu this particular tra¬
dition.
‘•It’s all bosh, this talk of Chinamen
living on a bit of rico or something of
that sovt,” said this gentleman to a re
porter.
“It is true that the Chinese are fru
gal and that they do not throw money
away. But it is not true, however,
that they starve themselves. I have
had a good deal to do with them, and
I am free to say that they are better
customers than a good many of their
critics. Chinamen liko good food as
well as other people, and if they cm
afford to buy it they have it. They aro
so constituted that they do not rcqu’re
as much of certain kinds of food as do
Americans, but do not for, a moment
imagine that they do not know what
good food is or that they cannot enjoy
it as much as other mm. What is
more, when John buys he buys the best
article of its kind in tho market and
pays tho best price. He has his own
dainties, which he gets at the Chinese
groceries, but ho is also partial to some
of the goods sold in American storos.
1 ’I am of the opinion that the
Chinese, as a rule, havo better food,
and perhaps moro of it, than most of
our ordinary laborors, for mo3t China¬
men have money and most of them
spend it more freely than the general
public believe.
“No, sir,” continued tho speaker,
“John Chinaman is by no moans
giving to starving himself, If he
hasn’t the money to buy rich food, of
courso ho can only take what comes
cheap, but when he has tho money, he
attends to tho demands of his stomach
quite as chceifuily as do other men.”—
Mail and Express.
Facts About Watermelons.
The watermelon appears to bodividod
into two distinct classes —ono adapted
to vory hot localitae3 and the other not
able to bear well moro than a limited
degree of heat. As a rule, large
melons hear large scods and vice versa,
but there aro exceptions. Tho most
delicious melons, generally speaking,
are those with thin rinds and pink or
deep red flesh. Such melons, howevor,
do not bear transportation very well.
Large, tough-rinded melons of good
quality, which havo the additional
merit of carrying well and being good
keepers, aro now produced in large
quantities in the southern states. Wo
now produce a greater variety of largo
wntermolons thau over before, somo at¬
taining to 100 pounds and over in
favorable seasons and localities.
Formerly our melons wero mostly
long and oval in form and dark green
or striped, and bore large black or
brown seeds. Seeds from Spanish
melons produced our first thin-rinded
melons. The French gardeners, when
they want to keep melons a long time,
cut thorn with long stems, These
stems are coiled up aud covered with
brown sugar to prevent them from dry¬
ing up by exposure to tho air. Melons
from Spain and Italy thrive hero, but
there are not many varieties worthy of
cultivation.— N. Y. IKrld.
A Wise Clerk.
A stylishly dressed woman was re¬
cently brought before a New York city
magistrate on a charge of stealing rib¬
bons in a store. Tho chie f clerk had
observed her talking freely with her
counsel, and was puzzled when she
looked at him blankly when he asked
her name and residence, aud replied
with a shake of her head.
“She is French,” explained tho law¬
yer, “and doesn't understand English.
Put it down ‘Marie Latouche. J »»
The clerk frowned incredulously.
“What ago is she?” he asked.
“Twenty-two,” replied the lawyer.
Then the clerk's eyes twinkled os he
said softly: “Thirty-two?”
“No, twenty-two!” snapped the fair
prisoner.
“Umphl” said the clerk. You can
speak English, if you don't under,
stand itl”
Little Encouragement
Softas—Do you think Miss R. would
marry me if I should ask her?
Van Riper—Wall, she looks like a
smart sort of a girl—still, she might —
Lfe. —_
At Milking Time.
At milking time, when shadows climb
The pasture bars, and sheep Mis chime
High up along the sunset hill—
’Tis sweet to wander where he will
And take no thought of care or time.
The heart of boyhood in its prime
I.'ghts up with joy the check of grime,
When katydids come out and trill,
At milking time.
There's not in any land or ciiiae
An hour so sacred, so sublime.
As that when patient Uine distil
The wines of life in many a rill
Of rippling and resilent rhyme,
At milking time.
—James -V. Matthews.
HUMOROUS.
A business dono on tick—Telegraph*
ing.
Where everything is a miss—In a
girl’s boarding school.
The lovesick maiden is most always
too small for her sigh 9 .
When Columbus first appeared upon
the stage he made his egg-sit.
“lie’s a chip of the old block.” “Is
he? What a stick his father must be!”
Sword-swallowers ought to try saws
for a while. They would be more
toothsome.
“IIow long was Be arson’s speech?”
“I don’t know. I didn't have my gas
meter with me.”
Ferocious—A term applied by man
to those animals that object to servi ng
him in the capacity of food.
Lady (calling on friend)—Oh, isn't
it splendid? I havo mile six calls,
and you are tho only one I'va found at
home.
“Do you think I look pretty in this
habit, Jack?” “Pretty? You're as prettj
as a picture—and I’d liko to take the
picture.”
“That cigar you smoke has its ad¬
vantages.” “Like it?” “No; that’s
just it. A friend docsn t feel hurt if
you don't offer him ono.”
McCormick—1 want two poached eggs
on toast. Waiter—Yes, sir. “ And be
sure and have them fresh laid.” “Yes,
sir; I'll have ’em laid on the toast,
sir.”
G:rl (weeping)—I’m so sorry you
have to go on the road again. It al¬
most breaks my heart. Drummer—
Don’t cry, Fanny, I'll manage to pick
up another girl somewhere,
A young man a 1 vertisos for a place
as salesman, and says he has had a
good deal of experience, having beon
discharged from seven different whole¬
sale houses within a year.
Sho (just gone into housekeeping)—
How did you like tho shirt I ironed for
you, Alfred? Didn’t I do it beautiful
iyf lie—You do nothing by halves,
my dear. You did it up brown, of
course.
First Young America—Why wusn’t
yer up to do fire las’ night, Chimmy?
Second Young America (extremely dig
gusted)— I wus; but, just my luck, it
wus put out do minit I got dare. 1
alius wus a Jonah on afire, anyhow.
Cross-Examining Counsel—Isn’t your
husband a burglar? Witness—Y-c-s.
Cross-Examining Counsel—And didn't
you know he was a burglar when you
married him? Witness—Yes; but I was
getting a little old and I had to chooaa
between a burglar and a lawyer, so
what else could I dof
I’m the European cloud of war;
I’m never out of sight;
I don't know what they keep me for—
They never have a fight.
But I’m forever on the list;
At every passing hap
They tell me I’d be sadly missed
If I were not on tap.
California’s Remarkable Soil.
“The soil of California is so fruit¬
ful,” said a native of the Golden State,
“that a man who accidentally dropped
a box of matches in his field discovered
the noxt year a fine forest of telegraph
poles. ”
That’s nothing to my etate," said a
native of Illinois. “A cousin of mins
who lives there lost a button off his
jacket, and in less thau a month he
found a brand-new suit of clothes bang¬
ing on a fence near the spot.” — Teoxu
Siftings.
Yaluable Scrapings.
The roof of tho Philadelphia Mint
was recently painted at a profit. Me¬
chanics proposed to paint it for $800
but the superintendent authorized the
work to be done by the employes.
They scraped the roof, and from the
scrapings recovered $1450 in gold and
silver. The painting itself cost only
♦160.
