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NORTH GEORGIA TIMES.
C. X. KINK. l Proprietor
8. B. CARTER, t
••Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.**
In the quiet nursery chambers,
Snowy pillows yet unpressed,
Bee the forms of little children
Kneeling, ivhite-robbed for their rest.
AH in auiet nursery chambers.
While the dusky skadows creep,
Hear the voices the children—
“Now I lay me down to sleep.”
In the megdow and the mountain
Calmly shine the winter stars,
But across the glistening lowlands
Slant the moonlight’s silver bars
In tbe silence and the darkness,
Darkness growing still more deep,
Listen to the little children
Praying God their souls to keep.
“If we die”—so pray the children—
And the mother’s head drops low
' (One from out her fold is sleeping
Deep beneath the winter’s snow),
“Take our souls;” and past the casement
Flits a gleam of crystal light,
i Like the trailing of His garments
Walking evermore in white.
Little souls that stand expectant.
Listening at the gates of life,
Hearing far away the murmur
Of the tumult and the strife;
We, who fight beneath those banners,
I Meeting ranks of foemcn there,
Find a deeper, broader meaning
In your simple vesper prqyer.
When your hand shall grasp the standard
Which, today, you watch from far;
When your deeds shall shape the couflict
In this universal war,
I Pray to Him, the God of battles,
Whose strjng eye can never sleep,
In the warring of temptation.
Firm and true your souls to keep.
When the combat ends, and slowly
Clears thc smoke from out the skies;
When, far down thc purple distance,
All the noise of battle dies;
When the last night’s solemn shadows
Settle down on you and me,
May the love toat never fai'.eth
Take our souls eternally.
—[Hartford Times.
MT MANICURE.
“The Northumberland,” New Yovk,
Oct. 1, 188-. Dear Mr. It. C-:
Will you kindly send one of your as¬
sistants to my rooms Saturday, at 12
hi., aud oblige,
Yours truly, E-S-
Such were the contents of a letter,
sent by me one memorable Saturday,
to a well known manicure establish¬
ment. I was in the habit of having
my nails treated at home overy Satur¬
day. Having a large flat, it was not
only convenient, but eminently proper.
Besides, the manicures were only too
pleased to come ,knowing that there
was a double fee to be gotten.
I had lmd thin manicures and fat
manicures, manicures (euder and man¬
icures tough—blonde, brunette, stupid
and fascinating manicures—but had
aiwavs found them to bo essentially
vulgar,with an eye to the main chance,
fond of flattery, able lo give and lake
in a game of chaff, in short, young
women thoroughly able to take care of
themselves, and, unforiunately, show¬
ing it in every line of the face and in
every curve of the figure.
So when at breakfast my man an
nounoedMiss J-, the manicure, I
arose with my paper, crossed over into
the library, dropped into au easy-chair
in the lordly fashion so common to
New York club men, with an absent
minded “Good morning!”
A tall figure in gray arose, greeting
me in a low tone, and immediately
proceeded to wheel a low chair up to
mine. I held out my hand mechanic¬
ally—a soft hand took it. I can feel
that touch now! I was startled!
Ridiculous! I, an old society and
•club man, who had made love to every
woman who bad ever crossed my path.
I, whose love-making had always been
of the eyes and lips, never of the heart,
I feel a tin ill? Most certainly aston¬
ishing!
My hand must have trembled, for
*he looked up a moment, with a quick,
>but penetrating glance.
For an iustaut only—down went the
head again over her work.
After awhile I regained sufficient
composure to scrutinize her more close¬
ly. All I could see was a white and
rosy cheek, and a mass of short curl¬
ing auburn hair—not the dyed auburn
Which I so heartily detest, but the nat¬
ural auburn of a person of sandy com¬
plexion.
“My very color,” thought I. I be¬
gan to long for a fuller view of her
face. She should look up.
“Do you do much of such work,
Hiss J --?”
“Oqly on Saturdays,” was the dig¬
nified response. No change. Rather
.exasperated, 1 assumed my most ele¬
gant manner:
“Can not I have the honor of your
■ompany some evening to dinner?”
SPRING PLACE. GA.. THURSDAY, OCTOBER 1890.
knowing the average manicure's weak¬
ness.
“That will fetch her!” to myself.
It did, but not in the way expected.
“Thanks; I never go out at night!”
“But may I not call on you then?”
persisted I.
“I beg your pardon. I don't re¬
ceive, socially, gentlemen whom 1 meet
in business.”
“I beg yours!” I managed to gasp
out.
“Whew! What a cold plunge that
was,” mentally. Completely routed, I
resigned mvself to an awkWiird silence.
Something I had accomplished, though,
and that was a glimpse of a large but
handsome mouth, tilled with lovely
white teeth, and a pair of bill' eyes
that I shall not forget to my dying
day.
And what a superb hand 1 Large
and white, with nails beautifully trim¬
med and polished. “Badge of her
profession,” was my cynical comment.
And how deftly they wielded the
spiderlike scissors, on which were en¬
graved the initials “M. J.!”
But she was finishing now. I be¬
gan to feel nervous about paying
money to such a superb creature.
She arose, packed up her instru¬
ments and put on her liat, which the
had laid aside.
I handed her double the usual
charge, my hab t always. She took
it calmly, thanked me and passed out,
with a bow and smile, I holding the
door open for her, and speechless as a
sixteen-year-old boy.
1 was consoled by thc thought,
however, that I should see her again
the following Saturday. Judge of niv
disgust, to find another .sent in her
place, who knew nothing of Miss
J— at all. ■
The following day I called on Mrs.
C-. Madame did not even know
Miss J--’s address—sho was not one
of her regular operators, but had been
sent to her,' her otvii staff being pre¬
viously engaged. So sorry, etc., etc.
Months rolled on. I had contracted
the bad habit of promenading the
streets, in the hope that Fortune would
be kind to me—that I might meet her
accidentally.
I never did.
“Delighted to seo you, Mr. S-.
To whom shall I present you? Oh! I
know. My niece. Awfully clever
girl. Supported her motlier and her¬
self for a long time after her father's
death. Au uncle left them a legacy a
month or two ago, sufficient to enable
them to resume their rightful place in
society. Where can she be? Don’t
tee her anywhere. Never mind. I
will later.” Thankful for my escape
from this paragon, I left my hostess
to receive her guests, and threaded my
way through the crowd of gay mask¬
ers, at last gaining tlie shelter of a
friendly door-way leading into a con¬
servatory, against which I loaned with
a sigh of relief. 1 had come to this
“bal masque” of Mrs. W-’s princi¬
pally to escape from my own company.
My spirits were not in keeping with
this gay assemblage, and I soon found
my thoughts wandering when
“How do you do?” a soft voice at
my elbow said. “You do not seem to
recognize old friends,”
I started. Where bad I hoard that
voice? There was the self-same troinqr
again I Was I in my dotage? Could
not a lady speak to me without my
losing my balance? Truly, it seemed
not.
“Yon have rather the advantage of
me, with that mask on,” said I, con¬
fusedly, almost falling over a plant
standing near. I clutched the door¬
frame to steady myself, breaking a
finger nail in the effort.
Recovering somewhat, I took the
outstretched ungloved hand—striving
all tho while to penetrate the disguise.
There was something familiar about
the large white hand, with thc well
polished uails, about the curly auburn
hair, but—that was all.
The tall figure was so draped that
it was au utter impossibility to tell
anything regarding it. The eyes
were hafid:ome, but the mask prevent¬
ed their color from being detected.
“You have broken a nail,” examin¬
ing it critically. “Allow me to trim it
for you,” all the. while retaining my
hand.
“Certainly,” I helplessly stam¬
mered.
Then qam# forth a pair of scissors.
Snip! snip! tho rugged edges were
trimmed.
Are those initials engraved on them f
Yes. What arc they ? Ye gods! “M.
J.” 1!!
“My manicure!”
“And Mrs. W-"s niece!”
I married my manicure. AVc have
two little manicures, whose nails tiro
personally treated by their motlier.—•
[Chatter.
Mrs. Hayes’s Goat,
The telling of a joke upon oneself
m l uires more self-denial than the ma
i 01 >ty of persons care to exercise. It
has thc advantage, however, of hurting
“°body s feelings, and of affording a
Ticld for legitimate exaggeration. Ihe
^ ls ‘ Tuev Webb Hayes was
especially fond of recounting her own
defeats and mishaps, as this anecdote,
which she told one evening at a dinner
at the White House, will show:
It was at our home in Fremont, one
evening in November, when without
any warning the thermometer began
falling and snowflakes filled the air.
1 was alone in the house with my
youngest children and their colored
nurse, Winnie. The men servants had
gone to their homes before dark.
Suddenly l thought of poor Chris¬
topher Columbus, our long-hair .’dpug
nacious Angora goat, out iu the pas¬
ture. It seemed cruel to leuve him
there without any shelter, so presently
1 went and asked Winnie to get a lan¬
tern and come with me.
At the barn we found a great box,
into which we put some straw, and
together wc rolled and pushed and
carried that box across (ho road and
into thc pasture.
Christopher saw tlie light, and came
toward it. Wo retreated behind the
fence, and tried to coax him into the
place of shelter. Imagine our senti¬
ments when he mounted to the top of
tlie box, and there took up his abode
for the night!
A Muslin Shrine.
A heavy door of carved timber is
thrust open by the klmdim, and you
stand in a Muslin siirinc, where only
two colors are required by tho artist
who would endeavor to depict it—the
blue of thc enrooting sky and tlie sil¬
very white of the surrounding alabaa,
ter. AU is sapphire and show—a
sanctuary without any ornament ex¬
cept its own supreme aud spotless
beauty of surface and material. Three
milky cupolas crown this place of
prayer, approached by white steps
from the white enclosure, in thc mid¬
dle of which opens a marblo tank, in
the waters of which tlie fifty-eight
white pillars of tho cloisters glass
their delicate twelve sided shafts and
capitals of subtle device.
Passages from tlie Koran are in¬
scribed over the doorways and en¬
grailed arches in flowing Arabic,
wrought of black marble, deftly in¬
laid upon tho tender purity of tho ala¬
baster. The delicate stone Itself has
here and there tints of rose eolor, pale
amber and faint blue, and is carved on
many a panel and plaster into soft
fancies of spray and flower, scroll and
arabesque. In 1857 this divine re¬
treat was used by the European ref¬
ugees as a hospital, and one would
think that the wildest delirium of the
sick or the wounded must have been
calmed into peace there by an asylum
so quiet aud solemn.
Keep Off of White Sidewalks.
If a man wants to avoid being pros¬
trated by the heat, he needs to be care¬
ful how he walks over a white side¬
walk with the sun on it. Iu very hot
weather people wear white or very
light clothing because it repels the
heat, while dark clothes absorb it. It
is just so with these white pavements.
They never get so hot as dark ones,
and are easier on the feet in conse¬
quence, hut they reflect the heat on the
person who walks over them. It is
better to walk in Hie street than on one
of those white heat reflectors when tha
sun is shining on it.—[St. Louis Globe
Democrat.
Blowing the Horn for Lost Children.
Distracted parents who lose their
children in tho crowds at public resorts
on holidays would be glad if a curious
Berlin custom were adopted. At the
Berlin Zoological Gardens any keeper
finding a lost child takes the littlo one
in charge and blows a trumpet. Hear¬
ing the note the mother or father in
search of the missing youngster at
once makes for the spot and the searot)
is ended.—[Chicago Herald.
VICTIMS OF VODKA.
Most of the Russian Peasants
are Slaves to Drink.
What an American Correspond¬
ent Saw in Russia.
Undoubtedly the lower strata of the
Russian population are the Urunkencst
people under the sun, Looking back
over our road, as the thought occurs
to me, says Thomas Stevens In a letter
from Russia to the New York World,
I remember no village, save Volosovo,
in which drunken people were not
very numb in evidence. At every
wavsido traklir where we stayed over
night the fore part of the night would
be more or less of a pandemonium,
from the shouting and singing of rovs
tering moujiks (peasants) filled with
( an alcoholic beverage made out
of rye. i have seen gangs of grav
haired old men, sec-sawing, flinging
their arms about and making fools of
themselves generally in the sight of
the whole village, yet not attracting to
themselves so much as the curious or
reproachful gaze of a single woman.
On Sunday all the men seemed to
- -A" drinking and carousing and all the
%omen were silting in little circles in
front of tlie houses gossiping. The
one sex seemed to bo absolutely ob¬
livious of the proceedings or even the
presence of the other. The drunken¬
ness was sad enough, but the indiffer¬
ence of, the women to it was the sad¬
dest of all.
Sometimes, but not often, were
drunken women. Near one village we
met a crowd of drunken men and
women, as merry and picturesque a
set of subjects as Bacchus liimscif
could wish.
Hand in hand they reeled along and
sang; now and then they stopped to
dance and to express their joy in wild
laughter. They halted and sung for
us a melodious bacchanalian song,well
worth listening to, as we rode past.
The men were in red shirts, black vel¬
vet trousers and top boots. The
women were in all the colors of the
rainbow, with red well in the ascend¬
ancy. Arriving at the littlo old di¬
lapidated inn by the wayside the
merry-makers, one and all, removed
their caps and crossed themselves de¬
voutly, then proceeding on their way
struck up another bacchanalian re¬
frain.
Soon wc reached the groggery. It
was a cheap loj house, roofed with
tin, and with a littlo porch at the door.
On the porch stood an old moujik
with a gallon demijohn of vodka, from
which he was filling glasses holding
about a third of a pint. lie seemed
to be treating the crowd. One of
these portions costs 15 copecks, or
about eight cents. The best vodka is
made from rye, the worst from pota¬
toes. A moujik can get howling
drunk for 15 conts.
On Sundays and holy days the vodka
shop is the rallying point of the male
population. Ilia rags may be insuffi¬
cient to cover his nakedness, his house
may be tumbling about his head, his
family may be upon the verge of star¬
vation, but the improvident moujik
hands out his last kopeck for the
vodka, then runs in debt. He pledges
his growing crops, his horse, his only
cow, engages his labor in advance at a
fearful disoount. He bccomos Insol¬
vent and is unable to pay Lis share of
the mir’s taxes.
Thus far, my informant said, the
government had been inclined to deal
len’ontl^ wiih him. If unable to pay
his direct taxes, it was because he bad
drank vodka, and had thereby paid
them several times over. So reasoned
a paternal government that had deliv¬
ered him from serfdom, a weakling
to be nursed and borne with patiently.
So had it borne with him for twenty
nine years, wavering between the duty
of teaching him the lesson of a little
self-reliance by hard experience and a
reluctance to resort to extremes. Be¬
ginning with the present year, how¬
ever, the moujik who fails to pay his
taxes is to be flogged. From twenty
to thirty stripes may be administered,
and a fine of five kopeck goes with
every stroke.
A Correct Statistician.
“A French statistician claims that
the human race gets shorter every
year.”
“He’s dead right. I had $10,000 a
year ago.. Now I’ve only got $5000.”
Vol. X. New Series. NO. 35
Fogs in Newfoundland.
There is one subject upon which
find St. Johns people to be touchy—
fogs As everybody knows, the Arc*
tic current sweeps through the Atlan¬
tic from the Pole directly past the east
coast of Newfoundland, and that its
chilly waters, meeting those of the
warm Gulf Stream, cause thc frequent
fogs which prevail for many miles at
sea off Newfoundland. Some parts of
the coast are never free from these sea
clouds, and many a poor fisherman in
his dory has been separated from lits
companions and lost in thc heavy fogs
which hang over that great submerged
island known as the Grand Banks, the
home of the cod and the great fishing
grounds of thc world.
Whether or not it’s because the fog¬
gier the weather, the belter the fishing
—and everybody in St. Johns is in -
tercsted in tho fisheries—1 don’t pre¬
tend to know, but it is certain that
the good citizens of St. Johns will
never admit that it is foggy in the
city. A fellow passenger on tho
steamer, Mr. Bowers—a truth-loving
Newfoundlander—assured me that I
would observe as a striking meteoro¬
logical phenomenon when 1 reached
St. Johns that a dense fog frequently
hung over tho ocean and around the
cliffs at the entrance to the harbor, but
never—no, never—did the fog reach
tho city. “It is most remarkable, sir,”
lie said.
And so it would have been. But,
alas! when 1 stumbled against my
friend Bowers on Witter street iu a
fog so thick you could cut it he assured
me that it was not a genuino sea fsg,
hut only a slight mist. —[New York
Herald.
Literal Obedience.
An old English gentleman who had
risen from the ranks, and, after mak¬
ing his fortune as a charter-master,
lnul retired, fell ill, and summoned a
doctor. The doctor was a great imi¬
tator of Abernethy, and cultivated an
iispect of uncouth honesfy.
“I shall give no medicine,” lie said.
“You’re blowing yonrself out with
beer; give it up. Drink port. AValk
or ride, but don’t hang about the
liouso in this idle way. No more boor
—drink port. I’ll call again in a
month.” And away went the doctor.
At tho appointed time ho returned.
Tlie patient was much better and grate¬
ful, but grumbled at the expense to
which his cure had put him.
“I cawn’t stand it. Look thee—it’s
downright rowination—nothin’ less.
Yo’n find me in the workhouse if
things go on i’ this way.”
The doctor cried,—
“Nonsense! A wealthy man like
you? How much do you drink?”
The old man answered, iu perfect
simplicity of heart-;
“About the saam as I used to drink
o’ beer—two or threo gallin a day.”
The Rose Bath.
The rose bath is a luxury far off, de.
siraBle but unattainable, so says tha
practical mind, but not so. The lux¬
ury of tho ancients can be obtained by
the nineteenth century maiden at a
cost second to nothing. The bath of
roses can be made as follows: The
warm water, in quantity amounting to
the usual requirement of tho bath, is
first softened by stirring into the tub
finely sifted oatmeal, into which also
is added half a pint of glycerine; lastly
put into it two drops of attar of roses.
If the massage treatment bo available,
use it by all means; if not, let a coarse
towel and hard rubbing servo the pur¬
pose of the massage system. This
is simply flue, as it softens the
skin and blends perfumo into each
Uneof the body. After all, to ob¬
it is a simple thing, too, the two
of the attar of roses being the
expense of all,—[St. Louis
L'oncernin? the Wind’s Variations.
A scries of observations for a hun¬
consecutive days has been made
the top of thc Eiffel Tower on the
of thc wind. Speaking gen¬
thc velocity at that elevation
three times in the average greater
nearer the ground. Much of the
of force and speed is no
due to the chock given by
and other objects near the sur¬
of the earth. The observations
many curious details as to the
at various times of the day
night, due to changes of tempera¬
The Happy Man;
By day, no biting cares assail
My peaceful, calm, contented breast;
By night, my slumbers never tall
Of welcome rest.
Soon as the Sun, with orient l>eaiiis,
Gilds the fair chambers of the Day,
Musing, f trace the murmuring stream
That wind their way.
Around me Nature tills the scene
With boundless plenty ami delight;
And, touched with joy sincere, serene,
I bless the sight,
T bless the kind, creating Power,
Exerted thus for frail mankiud;
At whose command descends the shower,
And blows the wind.
Happy the man who thus at ease.
Content with that which Nature gives;
Him guilty- terrors never seize;
lie truly lives.
•—[Chambers’ Journal,
HUMOROUS.
The bridal path—Up the aisle.
Blow their own horns—Musicians.
Music for the million—Millionaires.
A slight of hand — liefusing to
shaft £.
Something that alw^s takes sides—
Laughter.
In a joint debate the speakers should
articulate well.
It is the early edition that catches
the bookworm.
The boot-black's anxious query—
“liain or shine?”
There is no sense in weeping over
spilt milk when it is two-thirds water.
Among tlie products of the Samoan
Islands are sugar cane and hurricanes.
Energy may bring suceoss; but
there’s nothing like success to bring
one energy.
Even the patent, labor-saving, self¬
binding reaper goes against the grain
during hot weather.
Jack—Pshaw! money doesn’t always
bring happiness. Ethel—Well, I’m
sure poverty doesn’t.
Will—llello, wliat’s the matter?
Bill—Got a cold, “Taking anything
for it?” “Yes, advice.”
“Struck (he right note at last!" ex¬
claimed tiio persistent author, when ho
received his first live-dollar bill from
the publishers.
We never know the full value of
any thing until we have lost it. This
applies especially to baggage smashed
in a railroad wreck.
“The new assessor is a very honest
man.” “You don't say sol What
has be been doing?” “Why. he told
me Jie often taxed his own memory.”
Mrs. Gazzam—“All through his
works Shakespearo shows his an
tipathy to dogs.” Gazzam—“Yes. I
remember he advised throwing physic
to them.”
“What a splendid wife Downey
has 1 She’s got such a sunny disposi¬
tion, you know.” “Sunny disposi
tion? Yes, they do say she makes it
hot for him.”
“1 hardly know how to take you at
times, Miss Ophelia,” remarked young
Mr. Lummix. “Why not take me for
better or for worse?” suggested Miss
Ophelia, shyly.
Mr. Blase—“You have no fortitude,
Marie; yon can endure nothing unless
it is agreeable.” Mrs. Blase—“You
judge me harshly, Adolphe; are yoa
not my husband?”
Sweet Girl—If it's just the same,
Mr. Mashuer, you needn’t trouble
yonrself to call any more. Mash e,
(earnestly)—Oh, thanks; it’s
trouble at all—1 like to call.
It is hard to say in which case a
public officer shows the most lofty in- •
dignation; in arranging a prisoner
who may be innocent, or in denying
charge against himself which may be
true.
Fair Tourist—Ah, what an ideal Ir¬
is that of the peasantry. In clo.
communion with nature; no sordid!
cares, no dues to pay to the exactions
of society. Practical Mamma—Nor
to the laundry.
Jones, during his last visit to Paris,,
read over the door of a cheap restaur¬
ant that had been in its glory nnder
Louis Phillippe, “This establishment
remains open Sundays, holdays, and
during revolutions.”
He—And so your answer is final?
You will not be mine? She—Yes, ab¬
solutely. But pray don’t go and blow
your brains out. He—It would be an
idle attempt.' People say if I had any
brains I never would have proposed to ■
you.
