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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.