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About North Georgia times. (Spring Place, Ga.) 1879-1891 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 26, 1891)
W£$k NORTH GEORGIA TIMES C. X. KiNli. I Proprietor S. B. OARfBR. ) Bells Bing- Sever Twice the Same. Be not think that yonder bell. Bong responsive in tile tower, Minds not whether funeral knell Or a happy marriage hour It shall .next with peal proclaim— Bella ring never twice the same. Sever twice the same bud blows, Though the plant may blossom oft; When the wind dies no one knows If it sinks or soars aloft— Or If yet the new breeze may Be the breath of yesterday. Tender grow the apple-trees, One blooms pink and one blooms white; ( There In May the honey-bees Bum a chorus of delight; But no bees one sees or hears On the blossoms of past years. And when youth departs, none dream They can find it; yet they go Searching up and down the stream, By the paths they used to know, Through the meadow, up the hill— Their lost youth evades them still. Breezes come to greet each day, Bells ring glad and mournful strains, Apple-trees bloom still in May Only this sad fact remains; Our lost youth, its flowers, its chimes. Were the sweets of other times. —[Mary A. Mason in Frank Leslie’s LITTLE WHITE STONES; It wag in a lonely little fishing ham¬ let that poor little Ruth was born, on a night when a storm raged along the coast and made Bad havoc amongst the shipping near the shore; on a night when more than one great steamer Was wrecked at sea, aud on the night when her father’s little fishing-smack went down with all on board—all men of her kindred—father, grandfather and uncle. The old grandmother knew the worst, as she held the new¬ born babe upon her knee before the drift-wood fire. The mother never knew; at dawn her soul had passed away, and tire old woman of seventy and the babe of seven hours were alone left of the family that had filled the little cabin the day before. A happy, healthy, loud-voiced lot they had been, and a strange silence settled down upon the place where they had been. The old women could nofeven weep. “I’m too frightened!” she said, in a trembling voice, and shaking like an aspen—she who had been firm of step and loud-spoken as the youngest, a few days back. “I suppose I must have been left to mind the child. Maybe til live to bo terrible old— ninety or a hundred. It’s awful to think of! Awful! Awfull” But she did live, and the child throve* She had the cabin and a boat. The hire of the boat was about all she depended on. Somebody planted her little garden. Neighbors sent in little gifts of food. Some fisherman always had her dinner in his basket. And after a while, the baby, with its cunning ways, its creeping, its walk¬ ing, its first little babbling words, gave hor an interest in life. The baby changed into a little girl, flaxen-haired,- bltfe-eyed and rosy. The grandmother was still the tremb¬ ling creature with terror iu her pale old eyes that that awful night had left her, hut she grew no older. She was never ill, and she loved little Ruthy With a.love approaching idolatry. By and by* Ruthy began to mako friends of her own age. When the sloop he sailed in was in port, Jack Palmer, the cabin-boy of tho Dancing Jennie, was nearly'always with her. Little parties of boys and girls used to play upon the sand, or sail about, the shore, or catch crabs and pull the little shell-fish from the rocks. « Before they were more than children Ruth and Jack loved each other dear¬ ly, and when she was fifteen he had asked her whether she would be his wife when he had wages enough to marry on, and she had promised before he sailed next time. lie had given her a little blue-bead ring, and she had eat off a lock of her flaxen hair and wrapped it in her only hit of ribbon, wMch he wore next his heart through¬ out the voyage. Once when he came home he brought her another present. “Nothing much,” he said; “only some little white stones that I found in some oysters I was opening for the captain’s mess. I said they are pretty and Ruth w’d like them.” Ruth thought them beautiful, and made a little blue silk bag to keep them in. She bad a few pretty t ♦HWs. SPRING PLACE. GA.. THURSDAY. FEBRUARY 26. 1891. longer a little girl; and at last Dancing Jennie went upon a longer voyage than usual, and time wore on without news of her. Rath’s old grandmother was taken very ill and soon died, and Rath was left alone. A few debts had been con tracted, and at all events a girl could not live alone, and should be in the way of earning something, people said. The cottage was to he sold with all in it. What with her grief for her grandmother and her anxiety about Jack, Ruth was well-nigh broken¬ hearted. She accepted the fiat of her neighbors, that “now she must go to service,” and she asked for the vacant place at Captain Bright’s and got it. After the funeral she sat in the little cottage, and watched the sale at auc¬ tion of the poor old woman’s pots and pans, big feather-beds and old wood stove, of the long settle that had stood in the chimney-place since she was horn, and the eight day clock that had ticked out every moment of her life. Then when the house was empty slje took her little carpet-bag with her few clothes, a.black paper silhouette of her mother when a girl, and the little bag of old blue silk in which she kept Jack’s last gift—the pretty white stones, and went to her new master’s home as sad a little maid as ever crossed a stranger’s threshold. She had no time for sighing in the captain’s brand-new red brick dwell ing. She washed the dishes and pol ished the spoons, and waited on the door and the* table, and carried the big baby about, and blacked the cap¬ tain's boots, and at night climbed to her garret-room and sobbed herself to sleep, thinking of young Jack lost at sea and the old grandmother lying in the little church-yard. No one cared for her tears now—no one knew of them. The boy who would have kissed them away, the old dame to whom she had ever been a darling child who must bo soothed and watched over, wore both gone, and so the autumn wore away. Winter came and Christmas-tide was near. “Go to the store, Ruth, and tell them to get me ten pounds of raisins and five pounds of currants and a pound of citron,” suid Mrs. Bright pne evening, just before dark. “Run, Ruth, or the store will be shut and old Simon away home. 1 must begin my pudding. It is Christmas-eve and a pudding is nothing without stirrirfg— nothing at all, and tell them I shall want a little keg of lard the first thing in the morning, for the crullers and to send it by Sam, for you will be busy enough without running errands. 1 like thing* fresh. I’ll not make my crnllors days before, as some do. Now, run like wild, Ruth. I don’t see how I forgot I hadn’t the fruit; aud be back as quick as you can.” Ruth obeyed. Her light feet took her down to old Simon’s store in the shortest possible space of time. She had given hor order, and had the fruit in her basket, and was hurrying to¬ ward the door, when some one opened it and burst in. “News! News!” he cried. “News! The Dolphin is just in, and brings three men picked up at sea on the wreck of the Dancing Jennie, all that were left of the crew—Captain Parker, old Sam Gill and young Jack Parker. There’s very little left of them. They were starving to death, and nearly frozen. They’re just skeletons. Not a man of them can stand on his feet ; but they’re alive, and dootor says they’ll get well. Mrs. Parker is al most crazy with joy! Old Gil’s daughter, too! As for little Jack Parker, he hasn’t any kin, as far as we know; but the boys’ll give him a -welcome.” Old Simon’s store was empty in a twinkling. The loungers hurried up the road toward the dock, but before them flew a little figure that seemed to have wings. It was Ruth. She had forgotten all about the basket of fruit which she had thrown from her into tlie road without knowing it. Raisins aud currants lay scattered in the dirt, and the chickens -were making short work of them. The citron was trod¬ den under foot. Ruth’s little black hood had it to a branch and hung there, an, of her old shoes had dropped i e never knew where; and so sh t ip the old house by - the dock i^ey had brought the feeble sh, ‘ <s£ three men: where Jfe kissed her husband’s ;*»d little Annie Gill ricked f hysterically; and passing inrough the crowd 6s one who had a right, stood looking down on Jack. Wss it Jack? Could he grow SO pale, so-thin? Could his curly hair hang so lankly about his temples, his fqll throat shrink to this? Oh! yes, yes, it was Jack, for the big brown eyes turned toward her, and a . little sigh of “Ruthy” faded on his pallid lips. “Are you kin of his, lass?” asked the eaptain of the Dolphin, kindly. “I never knew Jack had any one.” “Pm his sweetheart, sir,” said Ruthy, simply ; “and he is dearer to me than any kin—t guess because we are to marry each other some time.” “You came near missing it, lass,” said the old man. “If the Dolphin hadn’t met that wreck when she did, those thvee souls would be in heaven this day, or Pm no sailor.” Then Ruthy took his hand and kissed it, and thanked him and Heaven silently, v “ Where on earth have you been?” cried Mrs. Bright, standing at the door, as Ruth approached the captain’s home. “Where’s the raisins and the currants; where’s your hat; and, good gracipus! your shoes?” “Ob, I don’t know, Mrs. Bright,” answered Ruth, amidst her tears. ‘Jack has got home—Jack Parker.” “The cabin-boy of the Dancing Jen¬ nie?” said Mrs. Bright “H e used to be a cabin-boy; he’s a sailor now,” said Ruth. “Oh, Mrs. Bright, if you could see him!” “I see him, indeed!” cried Mrs. Bright. “And so because a cabin boy or % common sailor before the mast has come home, you’ve forgotten Captain Bright’s pudding. It’s my belief that’s mutiny!” With which exposition of maritime law, Mrs. Captain Bright boxed her poor little maid-servant’s ears, and sent her off to bed, without a candle. It was a Christmas-day, and Ruth sat with Jack. She would Idas her place for it, but she could not stay away, lie could talk to her a little, and ho said over and over again that if he had hut the means to buy a little placo that he could farm, he would leave her no more. But that could not be. They were too poor. She must go to a service place, he to sea, for no one knew how long. It was on a bed in the infirmary of the poor-house that he lay. The other two man had gone to their homes, but he had none to go to. But it seemed to him that after all fate was kind. When he grew well he would work hard to rise. Ruth was fit to be a captain’s lady. Poor little Ruth! Her bundle was put away in a cupboard hard by. Mrs. Bright iu her wrath had bade her “take it and go.” But Ruth, too, had a hopeful heart, and certainly might find a kinder mistress. “I can’t even give you a Christmas present, Ruth,” said Jack. “I have your hair over my heart now. It would have gone down with me.” “And I have your little ring and those preity stones,” said Ruth. “What stones?” aBked Jack. “Those you found in the oysters,” said Ruth; “a handful. Don’t you remember?” wft ‘•Iliad forgotten,” said Jack. “I comes back to me now. Ruth, do you know, I believe they are pearls. I have seen some since, and they are found in such shells.” Ruth ran to the closet and got out her bundle aud the two were looking at them, when the doctor made Ms rounds. f The good man heard their story, and examined their treasure. “Pearls, of course,” he said; “and, Jack, there are not many men in tMs place able to make such a Christmas present. These pearls are worth a little fortune.” It seemed too good to be true, but true it was, nevertheless. The doctor wrote to the proper persons, and s jeweler came from New York to ex amine the pearls, pronounced them fine, and bought them. ■ ; There was no more sea-going for Jack, or serving for Ruth; and the dream of (lie little farm became a reality, and Ruth and Jack lived upon it, as nappy as the king and the queen in a fairy tale, forever after.—[The Ledger. ’ ■ y _ ; _ When it comes to a question of so cietv the best is not always the cheap est. THE THIRD EYE. It is Situated Near the Middle of the Head. Other Rudimentary Organs of the Human Body. “There is a kind of lizard found in Virginia and Maryland that has three eyes—one of them on the top of his head,” said a man of science the other day to a representative of the Washing¬ ton Star. “It is generally supposed that they are very rare, but, on the contrary, they are quite common. You can find plenty of them if you take the trouble to look. They are green and about three' inches long.” “Are there any other animals in the world that have three eyes?” “Lots. For example, you youraelf have a third eye, (hough it has become rudimentary through disuse.” “Where is it?” “Just in the middle of your head, as nearly *ns its location can be de¬ scribed off-hand. Anatomists know it as the ‘pineal gland,’ but it is actually an eye that has become rudi¬ mentary. Place the tip of your finger just above the bridge of your nose and on the level With your eyes. Di¬ rectly behind that point about five inches, at the base of your brain, is this gland I speak of, which the an¬ cients used to imagine was the centre of consciousness and the scat of the soul. “Its structure has hit all resem¬ blance to-that of an eye, but you can find it retaining more of its original development in some turtles and other reptiles. With them/this gland has still, though in the middle of the head, an actual eye socket*, an optic nerve connecting with the visual tract of the brain, and even the pigmentary inner coat, the object of whichiir all dyes is to absorb light. There is no retina, but it is an eye for all that In the case of the lizard I mentioned this pineal eye actually appears at the top of the head and is useful for seeing with. “There are quite a number of ru¬ dimentary organs in the human body which have become so because nature has no longer any use for them. For ex¬ ample there is the ‘thyroid gland’ in the neck, the only usefulness of which seems to be in occasioning the disease known as goitre. People in Savoy and the Tyrol are worst afflicted with tMs complaint. It is supposed that the water they drink, derived from the melting of the glaciers of the Alps, causes , the hypertrophy of tho thyroid gland, the re¬ sult of which is an enormouB swelling, so that sometimes the unfortunate comes to have a bag-like appendage hanging down as far as the waist There is no known cure for the trouble after it has got well started, though the swelling may be a trifle reduced by injections into its substance. It is a very curious fact that if a human being or any other animal is deprived of tt)Js apparently useless gland by cutting it out, there always follows a general degeneration of all the tissues of the body. “Another seemingly useless organ is the ‘supra-renal capsule’ attached to each of the kidneys. Its only purpose in a human being appears to be to oc¬ casion wliat is known as ‘Addison’s disease,’ in cases where it gets out of order. In such cases, which are hap¬ pily rare, the akin of the body loses its natural color and becomes of a muddy brown hjae. This ‘capsule’ is presum¬ ably the remains of what was once a secretory organ. ••Then there is the mystorious ‘ver¬ miform appendix’ attached to the small intestine. Once in a while an apple seed or some such thing gets into it, aud cauBeB inflammation. Until with¬ in the last four or five years Buch cases were always fatal, but now they are usually cured by cutting open the stomach and removing the appendix. Until very recently operations requir¬ ing the cutting open of the body in this way almost invariably resulted iu death, for the reason that germs could not be prevented from getting into the wound aud creating subsequent inflam¬ mation. “But the bacteriologists have taught, through their researches, how such germs may be killed by spraying with antiseptic solutions. The vermiform Vol. XL New Series. NO. 4 appendix has considerable usefulness among the lower animals. With the cow and other beasts that chew the cud it is a large sack attached to the stomach, and it is utilized as a storage reservoir for food that is not needed for immediate consumption.”' Tire Bine-Grass Horse. Said a Kentuckian, speaking of horses in New York and of the late horse show: “There is no genuine love for a horse where a livevied coach¬ man intervenes between horse and master. No man can know and love a horse without having had that com¬ panionship with him that is only en¬ in its fullness by a boy reared on a farm, whose intimacy begau with his first long-legged appearance ag a colt; his whinnying after the mother; his early gentleness when propitiated by the kindly hand; his struggle when first won from the .freedom of the pastures, scorning the saddle and the bit. Your Vanderbilts may know horses after a manner, but they have novev chased Rob Roy or the coy Mary Jane over a forty-acre field, with the halter behiud his back, only to delude them at last with a soothing and confi¬ dential ‘Whoa, boy, whol now,’ and a handful of salt. They have never be strodo a sack on the way to the mill, or had lively experiences with a ca¬ pricious animal and a sagging gate. “These men may admire a horse because be is a high stepper, or travels well in a coach, or moves rightly in a tandem, or sustains the family dignity in a carriage, or disdains the dust of a plebeian on a Seventh avenue drive, but they do not know him, and love him and honor him for his friendly services or the useful part he plays in the common life. That time he sped for the country doctor, that time he bore you on love’s own mission, when your ‘bosom’s lord sat lightly on his throne.’ The friendly intercourse be¬ lt oeu neighbors, the exeitemont of the county court day, the church and the wedding—in all these your Blue Grass horse, God bless him! has a part. There, or in any country made for him, he is not the mere slave of his master’s vanity. He is a real cit izen, enjoying the franchise of the tufted fields, and knowing the caress of his owner’s baud.” What could you say in reply to such a tribute as that?—[New York Star. A $60,000 Dinner Set. The Astor family possess a gold din¬ ner-service that is tho envy of every woman who has ever seen it. It is one of the most costly in this country. It is valued at $60,000, and is now the property of Mrs. William Astor. It has been in the family’s possession a long time. It would be hard to de¬ scribe, as it was made in different parts of the world, and was picked up on odd occasions. The larger dishes consist of an immense plateau aud centre-piece, end pieces, candelabra, wine-coolers and pitchers. In the de¬ sign is represented fruit of all descrip¬ tion, together with the unicorn and lion in repousse work. Mrs. Astor uses a white linen table-cloth of the finest texture, made especially for her, with a wide lace border, showing a lining of pink satin. Her table is al¬ ways decorated with Gloire de Paris roses', their exquisite shade of pink matching exactly the satin underneath. —[Ladies’ Home Journal. Ants That Defoliate Trees. Travellers in Brazil have met in forests a stream of apparently moving leaves. But under each leaf was an ant, bearing his store to his subterran¬ ean home. The Sauba ants form ex¬ tensive underground galleries, and when portions of thege galleries fall in or are iu any way rendered useless, they immediately extend them in an¬ other direction. These underground galleries have been traced twenty yards. The innumerable hosts of these ants are unceasingly occupied in de¬ foliating trees. Their labor is regu¬ larly divided, some stripping the trees and cutting the leaves in regularly rounded pieces the size of a shilling! others carrying them away as they fall; others deposit the spoils in a heap close to the mound, and others store them away.—[New York World, He was Hit Hard. Teacher—Wliat is a famine? Small Boy (who has been to the oouutry)—Miles an’ miles of apple trees an’ nothin’ ou ’em.—[Good News. The Croakers. Some people talk blue, and feel so, toe, To them life is all a grind; They sigh and start, work the watering cart. And troubles galore they find. They see nothing sublime in the present time, With its hurry and bustle and strife, For the men of today sre but pigmies at pi«y, And soon pass from the scenes of life. So, mournfully placid, with temperaments acid, Their vision obscured from the sun, They work with a rake in the muck that they make, And will till their sorrows are done. — [New York Herald. HUMOROUS. Inn-dustrious—A hotel chamber¬ maid. The stuff that dreams are made of— Mince pie. “Cat-nipped,” squeaked the mouse as Tabby got the grip on him. Man always likes to have his in¬ nings; but he also enjoys his outings. A living dog is better than a dead lion. You can’t make sausages out of the king of beasts. Walter—Do you object to cigars, Miss Perte? Miss Perte—Never, un¬ less they are lighted. A man no sooner getg old enough to know how to talk well than he also learns the value of not talking at all. Mr. Askin.—How did you get rid of that odious little fellow, Book wright, who talked shop? Miss Playfair—I talked shopping. “What a dear little craft that wife of yours is, eh, Dobson, old boy?” “Dear? I should say so. I call her my revenue cutter.” Miss Hysee—I was encored three times, wasn’t I? Mme. Logee—Yes; the company seemed to recognize that you neoded practice. Squeers: How do you suppose it is that Brandie, who led such a fast life, is so well preserved? Beers: Perhaps it is because he has been in so many pickles. Merchant—Can you manage to make yourself understood when French or Spanish customers come to the store? Would-be-derk — Certainly, if they know how to talk English. Ethel—How can you manage to dis¬ tinguish the men who wish to marry for money from those who really love you? Maud—Those who really love me make such awful fools of them¬ selves. erished. Dr. Squibb—Your ‘ shall blood is prescribe impov¬ I have to some iron for you. Mr. Waterbury— Don’t, doctor. My wife says I look rustier than any other man In town al. ready. Constance—“I care not for your poverty, George. Let ns wed at once. We can live on one ineaba day, if necessary.” George — “Can you cook, love?” Constance—“George, 1 attended a cooking school for two months.” George—“Then we will wed. I think one meal a day will answer.” Lives of all great men remind ut What a sinecure ’twill be For the widow left behind us Selling our biography. Beggars’ Code of Signals. A gentleman who makes it a point always to carry a few nickels in Ms pocket for any apparently worthy mendicant whom he meets during Ms day’s wanderings started to’cross City Hall Park from the Park Row side yesterday afternoon when he was ap¬ proached by a seedy individual whose face was almost blue from the cold. “Excuse me, Sir,” said the seedy one, “I have been down here for two di^s from Boston and I haven’t eaten —Oh, thank you, Sir, you’re a gentle¬ man,” Ms smudgy fist closing over the nickel. The gentleman turned after taking a dozen steps and saw the seedy one drop his handkerchief. Instantly an¬ other beggar sidled np and also got a nickel. Like the firet, he wag profuse in his thanks and emphasized them by dropping his handkercMef. Then came a third with the plausible tale of a long and weary walk from Philadel¬ phia. “See here,” said the gentleman, “I’ve just been held up by two of your pals, and I think you are a gang of professionals. Skip!” Number three took the advice, but ■
