Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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