Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.