Newspaper Page Text
Vol. XXII—No. 1072.
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ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, SEPTF^ER 5, 1896.
Price, #2.00 Per Year
THE GRJzJIT SOUTH.
Its Magnificent Attractions in Agriculture,
Horticulture, Fruit Culture, Minerals,
Water Powers, Truck Farming,
Railroads, Churches, Public
Schools, Literature, and
the Hospitality of
the People.
mountainous and the track shows a fine sec
tion of rock-ballasted roadway. The freight
train heading towards Birmingham, is a
sample of the heavy traffic over this line,
which, however, is strongly built with steal
rail and iron bridges. This is a fine timber
section of Alabama, and a number of large
sawmills are located along this route. It is
also a fine agricultural and mineral country.
The picture is a typical one along the Colum
bus and Western branch of the Central Rail
road of Georgia.
P^'.< BRILLIANT SHORT STORIES
COMPLETE IN ONE AND TWO ISSUES.
it is a long lane that has no turn. For a
time, the gaze of the homeseeker and the
capitalist was steadfastly fixed on the West.
N >w their gaze has been turned toward the
South, the genial South, the land of the
mocking-bird and the magnolia.
The press of the State is experiencing an
industrial awakening. Most every paper in
the State now contains, from issue to issue,
some reference to local or State resources,
and inducements offered homeseekers and
apital in search of profitable investments.
The West Point Forum of this week contains
the following, which can not be too widely
disseminated :
“Because the South
is confronted with new
conditions is no rea
son why she should sit
idle or inactive. She
jpust address herself
oi t-
•7 ' '•-‘J
and go on to the gi^ater
glory in them than
ever in the old. ‘The
paramount duty of
every Southerner to
day is to lay his shoul
der to the wheel and
aid in the development
of the South on the
new lines that have
been made for her. ’
This is the duty of all
Southern patriots.
There are forests to cut,
mines to dig, fields to
be made fertile and
productive, factories to
be built, sparce dis
tricts to be settled. To
do these things will re
quire much outside
capital and population.
The object of the hour
in the South is to at
tract capital and popu •
lation.
“There never was a
more opportune time
nor better field for the
investment of capital
than exists to-day in
the South. Opening
up and improvement of
the farms, development
of mines, erection of
mills, etc., has created
an increased demand for money in large and
small amounts. The laws of the South are
favorable for the investor, and the rates of in
terest are reasonable, as will be seen from the
following table by States, showing the in
terest laws, both legal and rate allowed by
contract: Alabama, legal eight per cent,
contract eight per cent; Georgia, legal seven
per cent., contract eight per cent. ; Mississip
pi, legal six per cent., contract ten per cent. ;
North Carolina, legal six per cent., contract
eight per cent. ; South Carolina, legal seven
per cent., contract eight per cent. ; Tennessee
Jegal six per cent., contract six per cent.
Oden’s Mills, Ala.
Our cut on this page this week is a strik
ing scene on the Columbus & Western Rail-
road, in Alabama. The creek has been
dammed up at this point to furnish power
for a large lumber mill. The railroad winds
around a rocky ledge on the banks of this
watercourse. The country is rough and
We have never yet discovered any section
of country where the farmer could maintain
himself, or his farm, without work. It
always, and everywhere, seems to take work
and abundance thereof to make money out of
a farm or plantation. But does it not stand to
reason that a country where the farmer habit
ually secures two crops the same season, from
his land, must give much belter returns for
the labor and better interest on the cost
thereof than a farm in a section of country
where he can raise only one crop and that
one frequently cut short by frost? Two crops
THE LOYE OF LILLIAN,
OR.
A ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE, AS TOLD
BY A LITTLE BLIND BOY.
BY J. M. BARRON.
1 DID not know he was blind.
His big blue eyes, as they glanced
in my direction, gave no indication of
the great affliction that had been visited
upon him.
I had been lolling in the shadows of
Signal Mountain, whose majestic crest rose
one thousand feet above me.
SOUTHERN VIEWS—ODEN’S MILLS, ALA.
each season is the regular rule all through
that section of the Middle South, of which
Somerville, Tenn., is the centre.
The Middle South <s the border-land be
tween the two extremes of the country. It ia
the Northern line of the cotton, and Southern
line of the corn and wheat. It possesses and
offers to the immigrant all the good and de
sirable qualities of each. It has neither the
blizzards of the North, the hot winds of the
West, the northerns of Texas; the malaria of
the regions further South, the drouths of all
of these sections, with the dire consequences
of the attendant failure of crops. It allows
the laboring man to work comfortably out of
doors six days in the week and fifty-two weeks
in the year, and costs him less for fuel, cloth
ing and food for himself and stock than
further north. It offers the homeseeker more
of what makes life worth the living than
any other portion of our common country.—
Middle South.
At the foot of this giant hill was a magnifi
cent spring, from whose liquid depths the
thirst of many weary travellers had been
quenched.
Within a few steps of this spring was a
beautiful dancing pavilion, where ever and
anon the young people tripped the light fan
tastic to their heart's content.
The grounds are very popular with pie-
nicers, and few days pass in a season when
the excursion train does not unload a happy
crowd at this beautiful resort.
On this particular occasion, however, no
picnic was “on,” and I had the pavilion to
myself.
A few ieet from where I was sitting stood
a cottage organ, which was open to the on-
slaughs of any one who might wish to finger
the ivory keys—and they were many.
I had been alone with my thoughts for an
hour, undisturbed by any sound, save the
sighing of the wind through the pines and
the monotonous croak of the frogs in the
marshes below me.
My reverie at this ^point was'broken by the
entrance of a young boy, who came straight
toward the organ. I saw at a glance that^he
was a typical country boy, differing, how
ever, from the average rural lad, in that his
skin was as fair as a lily, while his hands
were white and soft as a girl’s.
He was a handsome youth. I thought
nothing of it when he took his seat at the
organ and began to play without speaking to
me.
How his tapering fingers did fly over the
keys! His whole soul seemed to be in his
placing, while his blue eyes sparkled and
danced with an animated interest which told
plainer than words that music was his pas
sion.
He ceased suddenly, and raising his eyes,
looked up at the roof of the pavilion, while
his fingers mechanically toyed with the key
board.
He was a splendid
performer. I had en
joyed in silence three
exquisite pieces and
determined to speak to
He started, and
blushing like a school
girl, looked in my di
rection.
“I did not know any
one w'as listening,”
he said, apologetically,
I thought, while his
cheeks turned a deeper
crimson.
“Hadn’t you no
ticed my presence?”
I asked, astonished, for
I had attributed his
silence to bashfulness.
“No, sir,” he said,
simply.
Then his hand
went to his vest and
he pulled out a lead
pencil.
“Will you please
trim my pencil?” he
asked.
“Certainly,” I an
swered, and as he made
no move toward me I
arose and went to him.
He held the pencil
up between his fingers
and, athough I was by
his side, he did not
offer it to me as I held
out my hand for it.
This struck me as
very strange. Then I looked at him. In
stinct must have told him that I was wonder
ing, and he said :
“You knew I was blind i”
I was shocked. This beautiful boy blind—
this simple little country lad, who had come
to the pavilion alone and who had played on
the organ so sweetly, and whose big blue
eyes seemed so full of intelligent expression
-.—it was impossible i He must be mistaken 1
But no. When I offered him the pencil his
eyes seemed fixed on something in front oi
him. He made no move to accept it, and I
had to place it in his little white hand.
“How long have you been blind?”
“Seven years,” he answered, “and I wili
soon be fifteen.”
I was so sorry for him. I had never had
one’s affliction to appeal so keenly to me.
Somehow I felt that it was not right that
such a bright, handsome boy should be doomed
to a life of utter darkness. I was anxious to
know his story and he told it to me in a
Continued on Fourth page.
hU.
