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NORTH GEORGIA TIMES . 1
C. N. KING, {.proprietor
S. B. GKRTEE, f
Where Summer Bides.
Dovrn through the mountain’s silver ha js,
Down through the song-thrilled wooded
wavs.
And ’midst the meadow’s drenched grass,
The feet of Summer swiftly pass.
“Stay! stay!” the yearning mountains cry,
“Stay! stay!” the drowsy grasses sigh
But on and on the sweet guest flies,
With wind-blowu hair and wide still eyes,
On, on, until her eager feet
Abide amidst the yellow wheat.
—[Lucy E. Tilley in Harper’s Weekly.
ONE IN A THOUSAND.
BY MAY KENDALL.
It was a lovely May morning, a
morning on which even the life of an
omnibus conductor seemed endurable.
Besides, the particular company for
which Archy Johnston worked had
become infected by socialistic princi¬
ples, to the extent of only employing
their hands from 7 a. m. to 10 p. m.,
and giving them, as a rule, tho alter¬
nate Sundays. So that, as things
went, he might be considered well off.
Better oil - , at all events, than tho
pale young man who, as Andy com¬
pleted his arrangements before start¬
ing, watched him, with a melancholy
air, from tho curbstone. For this
pale young man, whose name was
Warner, by special permission of the
company, to whom a benevolent cler¬
gyman had appealed on AYarner’s be¬
half, came every morning at 7 o’clock
to see if there was a conductor off
work, and, if there was, to take bis
place on the omnibus.
For tho last, mouth he had presented
himself regularly, and tho men had
come to know and have a kindly feel¬
ing toward him; but in that month he
had only been on duty seven days.
This fact inevitably raised the ques¬
tion as to what Warner did with him¬
self when no vacancies occurred. He
did not look as if he did any tiling very
remunerative.
Archy’s omnibus started ln6t, and he
had two or three minutes to spare; so,
being a sociable young fellow, lie
crossed over to speak to AVarncr, who,
for his part, responded with an anx¬
ious good-will in which, if Archy had
known, there was a certain undercur¬
rent of penitence. Tho fact was,
\Varner had just been thinking, as he
saw tho omnibus roll away, and real¬
ized with a sigh that ail men ivcre on
duty—“AVliat if one of them were to
die, and he were taken on as a per¬
manent hand?”
He did not in any way appeal for
pity, and yet the few facts Archy drew
from him were an appeal to any one
conversant witli tlie city. He lived a
mile away, 24 Dilk street, an address
that lingered curiously in Archy’s
memory. He had boon a carpenter,
and comfortably off; but now he was
hopelessly out of work, and, with his
wife and their young child, had been
living liow he could.
“AVc feel it most, you see,” ho said
in his patient way, “for the eliild.”
Then lie cheeked himself, as if ho had
said too much, and added quite hope¬
fully, “But it’s a long lano that has no
turning, isn’t it?”
No move passed between them just
then, for the conductor’s time was up.
But the next morning, as his eye*
encountered the depressed-looking
figure, again, a sudden impulse seized
him. «
“Can you take my place today?” he
said, accosting AVarner; “I’m awfully
anxious to have the day, but I can’t
risk getting sacked.”
AVarner’s face beamed. “I told
Janet this morning,” ho said, as lie
followed Archy, “I’d a feeling I
should be in luck today.”
“It’s just here,” said Archy, staring
straight before him. “I’m thinking of
going down into the country for a day
—or two—or maybe more—I can’t ex¬
actly tell, not being on the spot, how
long I may require to stay. And it
would be a load oft - my mind to know
my place wouldn’t be snapped up.”
“I’ll keep it for you,” said AVarner
energetically, “and give it up to you
when you come back; for it’s a queer
thing, as I know, to be thrown out of
work. And I’m sure I hope you’ll
have a pleasant journey. Beautiful
down in the country this timo of year,
ain’t it? ”
“Ah!” said Archie. “Yes, the
country’s a fine place, especially, as
you say, about this time of the year.”
He grasped AVarner’s hand, and
turned away. Af er all, he had dona
nothing remarkable; and yet, such
Mas the serene benignity of his tone
SPRING PLACE. GA.. THURSDAY. AUGUST -29, 1890.
and manner, that for a moment War¬
ner stood stock-still on the pavement,
staring after him.
Arctay went back to his lodgings;
but he could not rest there, and soon
he went out again. He found himself
wondering what Warner’s wife and
child were like, and it struck him,that
as he had nothing else to do, he would
go round by Dilk street.
It was a small street of tiny, jerry
built houses, with their numbers in¬
scribed very legibly on the doors, so
that Archy had no difficulty in recog¬
nizing 24. There was a brown blind
over the lower half of tho window;
but Archy’s tall head rose above it,
and as he passed he glanced furtively
in, as if it were a crime. It was a
small bare room, with no furniture
but a deal table, a box or two, and an
old rockng-cliair drawn up to tlie
hearth, whose fireJiad gone out. On
that rocking-chair a girl was sitting,
with a baby in her arms, rocking
slowly to and fro, and singing wearily,
over and over again,
“There is not In the wide world a valley
so sweet.”
A mere girl she looked, but very
wasted, and her cheeks had not a tinge
of color; and yet it was one of the
sweetest faces, Archy thought, that ho
had ever seen. If this was Warner’s
wife, perhaps he was a lucky fellow
after all.
He wondered if there was anything
to eat in the house. She did not look
as if there was. But, for the life of
him, he dared neither ask her, nor
order anything to be sent from tho
nearest provision dealer’s; and though
he thought of all kinds of expedients
for getting a shilling inside tlie door
that should look as if it belonged to
one of them, and had been mislaid,
none of them were feasible. If it had
been dusk, lie thought, scanning the
water-spoilt with a critical eye, lie
might have clambored on tlie roof and
dropped the shilling down the chim¬
ney. He was nearly as tall as the
house already, and lie could climb like
a sailor. But it was broad daylight;
and at last—ho had been lounging all
this time in front of a small grocer’s
shop close by—he turned away in de¬
spair, reflecting that, after all, Warner
had had a day’s work on Monday, and
it was only Wednesday. Ho would
go now into some other quarter of the
city, and look for work himself. For
work? Well, yes. It was hardly that
lie consciously made up his mind to do
so. But that was what he did.
It was a month later, and Archy
had not gone back to his old position.
Neither, however, had he found regu¬
lar work, if he had gone to the right
quarters, it may be said, of course, he
might have found it. Archy stood,
indeed, for a moment outside tho
doors of tho general relief committee,
but there the beautiful probability of
his story of having a placo as omnibus
conductor that he had not been dis¬
missed from, and yet could not go
back to, owing to having heard a
white-faced girl through a window,
singing the “Meeting of tho Waters”
—as related to a credulous relief com¬
mittee, struck him so forcibly that he
broke into a loud laugh as he turned
away.
But it was not a cheery laugh.
Though he had given up his old lodg¬
ing and been sleeping where lie could,
the few penco he contrived to earn
Were not enough to keep him, and for
weeks lie had not had a hearty meal.
A dull despair was creeping over him;
but he tramped blindly on, asking for
work, till lie fancied that tlie officials
at different establishments were look¬
ing on him with suspicion, ns one
whom iliey had refused before. And
ail the time he kuew that he might go
back to his old place. Warner would
give it up without a murmur, or a
grudge; he was that kind of fellow.
Then he fancied Warner going home
to tell his wife the news, and then he
fell to wondering how they; were get¬
ting on. He fancied he weuld go and
see,
That day, when AVarner’s omnibus
stopped at the end of tlief route, at 1
o’clock, every passenger had left it.
They had a quarter of an hour to wait,
and the driver slipped hastily across to
ids favorite pfcblic house, which was
conveniently jptuated. i AVaruer looked
eagerly up and down he street, as if
expecting some oue, hill it was almost
deserted. There was a policeman a
little way down; there was a shabby
lookiug fellow standing at the corner,
against -a lamp-post, with hi* hat
slouched over his eyes—no one clso.
Warner’s face fell, but it lightene
again in a moment, as a girlish figure
emerged from a street nearly opposite
and ran lightly across to the omnibus.
Warner held out his hand and sho
sprang in.
“Here it is,” she said proudly, un¬
packing the small basket. “You
can’t guess what I’ve made you for
dinner today, and, if you eat it now, I
do believe it will be hot.”
“Meat pie, Janet!” said Warner.
“Well, you are a cook and no mis¬
take. I’ve twelve minutes—blest if
there ain’t that uufortunate old lady
who always comes a quarter of an
hour before we’re timed to start.”
“She’s a long way off,” said Janet,
with a look of disappointment. “Go
ou with yonr pie, Will; she won’t be
here yet awhile.”
“Very well then,” said Warner re¬
luctantly. “Hang tho old girl—look
at her umbrella!”
They kissed each other hastily in
tho omnibus, thinking that no one saw
them. Least of all, the aimless vaga¬
bond at the corner, with hat slouched
over his eyes, who was looking at
nothing. He—ah, no! Then Janet
sprang down again; and presently tho
old lady mounted the step, and "War¬
ner ate his meat pie furtively, between
maintaining a conversation ou the
drink traffic, a subject in which his
passenger seemed to take an absorbing
interest; but then she had had her
lunch before she started.
Yet AVarncr had also time to reflect
pleasantly on how much better Janet
was looking, and what a color sho had,
and wondered also if the young man
who had gone into the country would
be back tomorrow, and couldn’t help
hoping not. Then more passengers
entered, and the driver hurried back
at the last moment, stuffing a largo
fragment of bread and butter into his
pocket; and the omnibus rolled away.
But that night, when Warner re¬
turned to tlie small house in Dilk
street, ho found a note thrust under
tlie door, that no one had noticed. It
ran thus:
I) car Mr. Warner: I leave this note in
passing to say I have given up my place as
conductor for good, and therefore hope you
will stick to it as long as it suits you. I
have made up my mind to stay down in the
country. Yours, with best wishes,
Archy Johnston.
Hens ns an Aid to Peach Raising.
Level-headed fanners in Connecti¬
cut have for several years past been at
work reviving an old industry_the
growing of peaches for market. Fifty
years ago the peach crop of the Nut¬
meg State was an important item, but
tho trees ran out after a time, tho
Orchards were cut down, and apples
and other small fruits took their place.
After giving the land a long rest, tho
industry was revived again about ten
or twelve years ago, and each succeed¬
ing year tlie peach premiums at the
several agricultural fairs has been in¬
creased in importance until they liavo
drawn out some of the finest samples
of tho fruit raised north of Mason and
Dixon’s l.ne.
As to cultivation, there are as many
methods as there are individual grow¬
ers. The simplest was that practised
by AVilliam Platt of Newtown, a for¬
merly very successful grower, but
who is now an inmate of tlie Middle
town Insane Retreat. Mr. Platt used
to spade up a circle around each tree
of perhaps three feet in diameter.
Inio this he planted or sowed very
sparingly corn, oats, buckwheat, and
other cereals. Then he turned his
large flock of hens into the orchard
and let them scratch for their living
Ho claimed that by this method he
kept the earth about the roots of the
tree loose and easily permeable by
rain and dew, and the hens, besides
gathering the corn and oats, acted as
insect end worm destroyers, keeping
the tranks of the trees free from bor¬
ers and other pests, which would oth¬
erwise have to be looked after with a
sharp eye. Mr. Platt used to raise
peaches the size and flavor of which
gained him a wide fame.—[New York
Sun.
Insulted the Wrong Man.
“You say the brother of the young
lady pulled your nose?” inquired Chol
Jy. “AVliat did you do? Did you re¬
sent it?”
“AVesent it?” said Fweddy,the veins
in his forehead swelling with indigna¬
tion. “Didn’t I? Bah Jove. I told
him if he evahdid it again, bah Jove,
I’d have him abwestcdl”
BIG PANORAMAS.
Painting Scenery on an Im¬
mense Scale.
Many Men at Work on the Great
Circular Canvas.
“As I wanted to see how pa' o
ranias are made,’’writes a press corres¬
pondent of tlie Picayune, “I went to
the spot were Philpot is at work, up
by the place de la Bastile. The place
is in disorder, tlie space between can
vas and spot where tho public will
stand being crowded with scaffoldings,
ladders and barrels.
“One painter, as high up as tlie
fourth story of a house, was making
sky by laying on large daubs of blue;
another was whitewashing buildings;
lower down, on the first and second
Philpot, landings, were two collaborateurs of
MM. Du Paty and Sabatticr,
wljo were painting in the characters.
I Was as nothing standing before the
impienso circular ca on which so
many thousand per e pencilled,
though they have ,;et received the
baptism 4When of paint brush.
tlie plan of my panorama is
definitely decided on,” said Philpot, “1
go pi search of ail possible informa¬
tion, for later it becomes of great as¬
sistance. If the subject is one that
takts place in the present time, 1 leave
town with my two collaborators and
proceed to the very spot, where \vc
takf views of the place as carefully as
thojigh tliejaction we were making a picture. If
passes in olden times, as it
dorp in the panorama now being
painted, wo go to the Carnavalet Mu¬
seum or to the National Library to
coi suit engravings and books of the
peijiod. After this, dresses are pro¬
em ed and placed on models in my
stulio. The first thing is to mako a
ser es of small pictures containing all
the scenes that are to form tho pan
orajna. That done, a small panorama
is constructed, about one-tenth tlie size
of tho real panorama, and this is, so to
speak, tlie model.
The small panorama being finished
in all its details, is photographed in
parcels, which operations are done in
the studio, and then the artists carry
tlieij- necessary working materials to
tlie place where tlie panorama is to be
constructed, where tlie virgin canvas
is ready. This one contains 5850
square feet, and if we recommenced the
designs already executed on a small
scale on til's canvas we should not be
ready in several yeai'3. AVIiat we do
is this: The photographic stereotypes
are put in a magic lantern, which pro¬
jects them on the canvas to the re¬
quired size of the real composition.
“Before this, however, the canvas
has been divided into squares like on a
checker board, and the stereotype
plates correspond exactly with these
divisions. A counter-drawing of tlie
composition is afterwards made, so
you see the matter is very simple. The
task of producing a panorama is thus
rendered easy, and what could not be
done in less than a year without pho¬
tography, is designed within a forf
night. Tlie design finished,each pain¬
ter begins his task and finishes it with¬
out ceasing. One man paints the sky,
exactly similar to that of the small
panorama, another paints tlie houses
with the personages.
“The panorama once painted in its
entirety, I go over it again completely,
and give it finishing touches, so that
the public will not see that it has not
been done by one hand. The canvas is
held in place by hooks at the top,
weights being suspended to the bottom
so as to prevent any creases. The
perspeclive is obtained first of all on
the small panorama, aiul it is theu
faithfully reproduced on the large
canvas; and what adds to the illusion
is that the public, at a certain distance
from tho canvas, do not know where
it commences or where it finishes.
The space where the scaffolding is
now placed, and which is 45 feet wide,
will be filled up with real objects that
will stretch from the public to the
canvas without any cessation, and in¬
stead of the panorama having a gilded
frame like pictures, it will have a
framework of natural ai tides, The
illusion is thus complete, the more so
as the public is in the shade under
velum, while the canvas has a full,
almost blinding light thrown op }f,
AU Amefipau bi^mark—$.
VoL X. New Series. NO. 3
Stopped His Shooting. j
Now and then you will find a man
who will bully and light at the same
time. Such a chap was “Lop-shoul¬
dered Bill,” as we called him in Mon
tana. He was ugly, quarrelsome and !
a ten braggart, but ho would have fought j
men as soon as one. Lor two ;
years lie had a revolver where he
could drop his hand on it in a second, j
and tlie half dozen chaps who were
looking to get the drop on him had to
keep on waiting. One day, however.
Bill’s shooter got out of repair and he
gave it to a miner to be fixed. In¬
stead of waiting for it lie wandered
down to a saloon where the hard ’uns
congregated, and it wasn’t a quarter
of an hour before ho set out to pick a
fuss witli a new arrival. He just
ached to kill somebody, and when ho
nettled tho stranger into “talking
back” he reached for his gun to pop
him. His gun wasn’t there. When
Bill realized it he turned while as
snow, thinking his time had come.
The stranger had drawn on him, you
see, and he carried a wicked look in
his eyes.
“Well?” he asked, as Bill raised his
hands.
“I haven’t any gun.”
“I see. Leave it somewhere?”
“Yes.”
“Very careless in you. I’ve got the
call.”
“You hcv.”
“You aro a bad man, and I ought to
shoot you through the head, but 1
don’t like this cold-blooded business.
Hold up your right hand and spread
out the fingers.”
“Stranger, don’t do it.”
“Either that or I’ll put six bullets
into your heart! Spread!”
Bill held up his right hand and three
reports followed each other like the
ticking of a clock. Each finger was
shot oil' at the first joint.
“That’ll do,” said the man, as he
lowered his weapon. “You can’t pull
trigger with nothing on that hand, and
before yon can learn to shoot left
handed somo one will bury you.”
He went out and away, and Bill
sent for a doctor and sat there and
cried like a boy. Next day ho left
without a word to any of us, and we
always believed lie jumped off Horse
Clift - into the creek, which was then
on a flood.—[New York Sun.
A Patagonian Child Doctor.
AVlien a child in Patagonia is sick, a
messenger is despatched for the doctor,
and never leaves him until he comes
with him. As soon as tho doctor ar¬
rives, he looks at the sick child, and
then with much ceremony rolls it up in
a piece of skin. He then orders a clay
plaster, and by this time the child has,
ceased crying, soothed by the warmth
of tlie skin, and so rendering still more
solid his reputation as a wiso man.
Yellow clay is brought and made into
a thick crcnin with water, and the
child is painted from head to foot,
causing him to cry again. “Tlie devil
is still there,” says the doctor sagely,
and undoes two mysterious packages he
carries, one contains rhea sinews
(ostrich) and the other a rattle made
of stones in a gourd decorated with
feathers.
Ho then fingers the sinews, mutter.
ii«* something for a few minutes, then
he seizes the rattle and shakes it vio¬
lently, staring very hard at the crying
child. Then wraps it. in tlie skin again
r«*ul it ceases crying. Again it is
painted, rattled at and stared at, and
again it cries. This is done four
times, and then the cure is considered
complete. Tlie doctor leaves the child
quiet, enfolded in the warm slcin, and
goes his way, having received two
pipefuls of tobacco as a fee. Strange
to say, tho child generally recovers,
but it it does not, the doctor gets out
of the difficulty by declaring that tho
parents did not keep the medicino
skin tightly around the child, and so
let the devil get back again. This is
the only treatment sick children in
Patagonia are ever known to receive,
— [Ladies’ Home Journal.
Every-Day Tragedies.
“These affairs of the heart sometimes
ornl in tragedies, don’t they?”
“Yes, indeed. I’ve seen hundreds
of men who were dead in love.”
It Mas the Cat.
Bobby—“How did you manage to
get tho bowl of cream?”
Tommy—“Told ma I saw the ca>
put her nose i 1 ,”—[Epoch,
Wild Plum.
Overhead is the hum
Of the wind in the gloom
Of the sentinel pines;
And below the wild plant,
Where the slanting sun shines.
Shows its snowy white bloom,
Flings its subtle perfume
On the breeze
To the bees.
How they hover around,
Tiny bandits and bold,
Making thefts honey-swet
With a murmurous sound!
, And the psyches they meet,
Little atoms of gold,
Join the frolic, and hold
Jubilee
Bound the tree.
Where is Mab? where is Puck?
Is that Ariel sings
From the crest of yon bough
That no mortal should pluck?
O but list to it now!—
Rcvellings, rapturings;—
Then a glimmer of wings
And away
Like a ray.
How the bloom and the balm
And the bee and the bird.
In the depth of the wood,
To the heart bring a calm.
To the spirit some good.
3fore than music or word!
Every fibre is stirred
By tlie hum,—
And the plum!
— [Clinton Scoliard
HUMOROUS.
A clothes carriage—Tho launij I
wagon.
Base ball men do not beliovo
rough diamonds.
All plain sailing—Navigating
prairie schooner.
A howling success—The dog H
locked out all night next door. ■
“Do you think base-ball is ] id
on the square?” “Nope. On the dia¬
mond.”
Tlie reason most poets think to no
purposeis that their thoughts are idyl,
thoughts.
It is not the man who grinds his
teeth over trifles who has got tho most
grit In him.
Sowing-circles are sometimes gath¬
erings where dresses are sewed and
characters ripped.
A teakettle can sing when it is mere¬
ly filled with water. But man, proud
man, is no teakettle.
Men are “driven to drink” in differ¬
ent ways: some fellows simply go to
the club in a carriage.
Boston ladies attend base ball games
in large numbers. They are on the
lookout for a good catch.
Nothing suits a cross man more than
to find a button off his coat when his
wife has not time to sew it on.
A small Boston girl of three, after
a visit in the country, remarked wist¬
fully: “I wish wo had a house out of
doors.”
Young Tom (who has come to ask
to be allowed to go fishing)—Now,
mamma, don’t say I can’t, because
you’ll just mako me disobey you.
“The sphere of woman is certainly
extending,” said Mrs. Lashington to
her husband; “every once in a while
some woman goes into the lecture
field.” “Yes,” said her husband,
wearily, “every married man knows
that.” ,
“‘Wanted — reliable men,’” read
Mrs. Bascom from the advertising col¬
umns of tho paper. Then she raised
her glasses upon her forehead, looked
severely at her husband and remarked:
“And the world’ll wait a considerable
number of centuries yet before it gets
’em.”
A Trout as a Bird Hunter.
“I was sitting on my front porch
Sunday morning,” said Mr. Tift to a
reporter, “reading the News, when I
was startled by a noise and fluttering
sound that came from the side yard,
1 jumped and ran to the end of tha
porch just in time to see what was the
matter, and I witness^! one of the
miracles of my llfq#^I have in the
pool surrounding my fountain several
fish, trout taken from the creek, and
on the edges of the pool tho grase
grows thick. An English sparrow
had alighted on the grass to get soots
water, and one of the fish seeing tha
bird swam near him, made a snap an$
eaught him. The bird screamed and
fluttered, but it was too late. When I
reached the end of the porch the fish
swallowed the bird and went swim¬
ming around tlio pool in thp most
satisfactory >vay.”—[Albany £Gq.)
Now*.
i
