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About The Crawford County herald. (Knoxville, Crawford Co., Ga.) 1890-189? | View Entire Issue (April 1, 1892)
In a recent address in Chicago, W F. Cowling slated that a street rail¬ way in that city beginning a few ago with a capital of $30,000 and gift of the right of way, was enabled without further investment to pay large dividends for years, and to finally sell out its stock above par, and capitalized at the enormous sum Of $12,000,000. T. Butterworth says, in his Western Agriculturist, that ownership and use of good horses add to the dignity of the farmer as well as to the success of the farm. And he quotes a thought¬ ful observer as having learned the same fact from personal experience: “When I take the style out of my team I take more than the pro rata amount of style out of their driver, and in a few days he and the team will have a striking resemblance.” Chicago is going hereafter to paint all her lamp-posts and iron bridges yellow instead of black. The com¬ missioner says: “if the people gener¬ ally would only consider how far first impressions go with strangers they might he willing to co-operate in this brigbtening-up process before the World’s Fair opens. They might paint their houses—sucli houses as need painting—so as to look cheerful and make a good impression on the multitudes that will come here from all parts of the globe.” California is importing Danish dairymen. A large colony of them is being established in the Walker River Valley. Its full quota will he 1000. The tract on which they are to settle is one of the most fertile in the state, but has hitherto been held at low prices. The Danes are said to he the most practical of all dairymen, con¬ verting the lacteal refuse, after mak¬ ing butter and eheese, into an excel¬ lent grade of white sugar. Two cream, eries have already been built in the Walker River Valley, and to these the Danish farmers will send their milk. Sun Francisco will receive most of the benefit of the new industry, although distant 200 miles from the valley. One of the most extensive efforts in to he set on foot in connection with the World’s Fair, to ho held in Chi¬ cago in 1893. The movement em¬ braces an organization of a national body with branches in every state and county throughout the country. Mrs. -John Lucas, who is the head of the woman’s committee of the World’s Fair in Illinois, is one of the prime -movers in the new organization, and •she is now devising plans with a view •of having it brought prominently be¬ fore the women of the United States through their representatives from the various states when assembled in Chi¬ cago during the progress of the expo¬ sition. The movement proposes the organization of training schools for servants in all the large cities wherever practicable. These diplomas will be similar to the diplomas issued by the training school for nurses, and will be a guarantee to employes that the hold¬ ers are skillful domestics. Just at this time, when an effort is making to raise subscriptions for the preservation of the Hermitage, “Old Hickory’s” homestead, the discovery of some humble relics of the bsttle of Calebce, which General Jackson fought with the Indians during the Creek war, is of more than usual in¬ terest. J. C. Shauffer, who is em¬ ployed on the Western Alabama Rail- joad, lias found near Shorter’s Station what arc supposed to he the graves of chiefs who fell on the battlefield. The graves had been exposed by a freshet. Among their contents, lying with the bones of the red men were ear-rings, beads, pipes, bullets, and a pair of rusted scissors. The bullets undoubtedly had fallen away from the hones of the dead, and it is sup- posed that the manufactured articles were obtained in barter with traders. The last survivor of the battle of Calebee, the Rev. John Dennis, died a few years since, at the age of ninety- four, in Dallas county, Ala. He was a native of Georgia, and a mem- her of the command of Floyd, one of Jackson's lieutenants. Dennis was • hot through the right arm during the engagement, aiul drew a pension from the Government up to the time of his death. A Woman’s Temple. Unconsciously a woman builds A temple in this world below, And day by day a stone is laid Of little things that come and go. So it doth slowly rise above The tide of years, until its dome Has reached the glory clouds of heaven, A world within itself, a home — She wisely builds upon the rock, Far more eternal than the years, The pavement is of solid truth. Untouched, unworn by falling tears. The walls are innocence and grace, Fair virtne makes them high and strong, Within they shine with purity, Resound with muse and sacred song; The gates are pearls of truth and love, Whence issue forth bright gleams of light, Each stone a little sai-rifice, And kept in place by truth and right. The pillars are of gentle acts, That bear the weight of golden beams Of life, and bound by cords of love, And braced by faith’s undying streams. Each nail a heart-beat set in place. Each blow her very centre shook; The steps are trials, stepping stones Where patience climbs with upward look, Tlie throne, her grand eternal soul, Her king, the one she loves best; The altar where sweet incense rise. Docs hold her greatest and her best. So clay bv day a stone is laid, Until the white-capped dome Is hid among the clouds, Aucl she has reached her heavenly home. —[N. B. Fowles, in Inter Ocean. IRS UNLUCKY PLANET. BY CLARA. GREF.NL “Oh, Yes, I know it’s all my own fault,” Charley Cleve said. “Whose else should it be? But I m disinhei’it- ed, all the same. I’ve no more chance of coming into that fertile farm land than—than yonder Italian organ- grinder, who is turning tlie crank so peseveringly under deaf Squii'e Ho¬ mer’s haek kitchen window.” “Oh, Charley,” said Bess, clasping her hands dispairingly together. “I didn’t expect much else,” went on Mr. Cleve, in a rollick ing, light hearted sort of way. “1 was horn under an unlucky star, Saturn, or Mars, or sonxo one of those planets that never bring a fellow any good. You em't expect a star to reverse its order on my account, can you?” “But, Charley—” “Just wait until you hear the full account of my atrocitltes.' I wasn’t so much to blame for treading on the cat —any one might have done that. 1 don’t think she laid that up against me. And when I broke down the old cherrywood chair that had belonged to her grandfather—that was a mere question of weight. And I mended it for her, too. But when tlie broiled ham for breakfast had such a queer tasie to it—and I had to confess that I had been smoking-iip the chimney where it hung—” “Oh, Charley!” “How was I to know that she made a storehouse of the back-room chim¬ ney? Folks in Philadelphia don’t do that sort of thing. And she wouldn’t tolerate tobacco in any shape—she let me know that, at the very outset! The next thing I did was to upset her whole churning of cream. It hung half way down the well, don’t you see, and when I came home, famished with thirst, and jerked the bucket down—well, the first thing I heard was Cousin Sarepta screaming like mad. ‘Is it bu.glara?’ said I, seizing my blackthorn stick, ‘or is it fire?* And I had plunged into the house, and put mv foot—literally, not metaphori. cally—into the old lady’s baking of custard pies, that she had set on the cellar fioor to cool, before she could make me undei'stand. But the last straw that broke the camel’s back was the old gray goose.” H « The old gray goose,’ Charley! Surely, nothing ha3 happened to that!” Mr. Cleve shook his head. “The very worst has happened,” said he, “I’ve shot it!” “On, Charley!” The young man laughed bitterly, and spouted the lines: “ “Why look’st thou so? With my cross¬ bow I shot the albatross!’ Yes, I did. Out wild-duck hunting in the murshes. I thought it wa* rather a mammoth specimen, when I leveled the trigger; and when Don brought it to me my heart sank to the very soles of my boots. I had half an idea of burying the creature out among the salt grasses, and saying never a word. But that would have been a sneaking sort of a dodge. The Cieves can do plenty of shabby thing*, hut they never lie outright. So I brought it home witli the string of wild birds. ‘I’m very sorry, Cousin Sarepta,’ said 1, ‘hut I’ve shot your old goose. I ll replace it with the finest pair to be had in Salt Inlet.’ ‘Replace it!’ says she; and then, to he sure, theie was a scene. She set a good deal of stoirn by thal^old gray goose, you know.” “Yes, I know,” said Bessie, re¬ signedly. “It was nearly twenty years old. She raised it herself, in a basket by the kitchen-fire, and it ate corn daily out of her own hand. She wouldn’t have taken twenty dollars for that old goose. No, nor fifty, I do believe.” “So,” added Charley, with a par¬ ticularly expressive shrug of the shoulders, “she has turned me out of doors. She called me a loafer and a shiftless ne’ei’-do-weel, and I dare say she was right. I couldn’t contradict her, so I didn't try. She recom¬ mended mo to go about my business; so I did. And here I am. I've tele¬ graphed io Philadelphia for the taxi¬ dermist. That was all I could do. Do you suppose, Bess, your father would take me to board for eight days? I’ve iust eight days left of my vacation, and there’ll he such a lot of questions asked if I came home in advance of time. I wouldn’t advise you to have a word to say to me. I dare say 1 shall set fire to the house, or poison the family, or shoot some¬ body by mistake. What can be ex¬ pected of a fellow that was horn under an unlucky planet?” Bess Warden laughed cheerily. “Father will risk it, I am sure,” said she. “We haven’t a great deal of spare room, but mother will make you up a eot-bed in the room witli the boys, and if you can put up with our plain way of living—” He stopped her mouth with a kiss. “You are an angel, Bess!” said lie. The kindly Warden family did their best to console old Miss Sarepta Smith’s discarded relation, and to make the last portion of his vacation a trifle pleasanter than the first had been. But Doctor Warden shook his frost-white head. “I don’t like long engagements,” said lie. “And Bess can’t marry a man any tw'elve dollars a week.” 4 on “But, father, Charley will do belter in time.” “If it pleases the unlucky planet,” interpolated Charley. “Well, wait until the better times come.” “Oh, wc don’t mind waiting!” cried Bess. “Speak for yourself, if you please,” murmured Charley. “We’ve a lifetime before us,” as¬ severated Bess; “and, in the m^n- time, Charley, we’ll go out duck shooting tomorrow, and I’ll row you through the Silver Channels to the best ground on all the coast,” On the night before Air. Cleve’s time was up, the lovers, talking to each other late in the autumnal star- starlight on the porch, saw a red glow in the sky above the privet hedge. “It’8 a bonfire,” said Charley. “It’s Miss Sarepta Smith’s house!” shrieked Bess. “Help! Help! Fire! Water! Oh, why don’t somebody come!” “Call your father and the boys!” said Charley, flinging off his coat. “I’ll jump the fence and take the short cut. She’s all alone in the house, poor thing.” At Salt Inlet they had neither steam fire engines nor patent extinguishers. By the time the volunteer company had dragged the rickety old engine and hose-cart out of their shed, and hoisted them up the hill, the ancient house where Sarepta Smith had been born was in ruins; and the oid woman herself, carried in a big chair over to the Warden house, was lamenting that she, too, had not gone also. “Seems like T coul In’t live nowhere else,” said she. “And I’m an old woman—a very old woman.” B«ss Warden gave up her own room to Miss Sarepa. Every one did what lie could to make her comfortable, hut the only sign she evinced of pleasure was when Charlie Cleve brought in the old gray goose, stiffly mounted on an imitation of mossy ground. Her dim eyes lighted up. “I am glad you saved that, Charles,” ♦slid she. “I found it among a heap of other things,” said Charley, “and I thought you’d Jike to have it. See, here are your spectacles, too, and the old Bible. with the leaves all right, and the cover only a little charred!” Miss Sarepta looked feebly from one relic to another. “I’m glad,” said she, “very glad. It was thoughtful of you, Charles. I’m sorry I called you them names. I take ’em all back.” “Oli, never mind the names,” said Charley. “At all events, you can’t lay this fire to me!” “No,” said Sarepta, “it was the mice playin’ on the closet shelf where I kept the matches. I’d laid up to set a trap, but I forgot. And I should ha’ been burned in my bed, if it hadn’t been for you, Charles. I allays dreaded a death by fire!” Old Miss Sarepta lay very quietly for a day or two, with the gray goose folding its wings at her bed head, and ihe Bible and spectacles on a stand beside her pillow. “Charles shall have the gray goose,” said she, one evening. “It'll help fur¬ nish his house. And it’ll show I don’t bear no malice on account of liis shootin’ it. And the specks and the Bitle Bess must keep. An old Bible brings every one luck!” She died before daybreak. If there was any will—and Miss Sarepta was always believed to he a well-to-do, businesslike woman—it was destroyed in the flames. The old place—tliree- and-forty acres—went to a cousin nearer of kin than Charley Cleve. < « My unlucky planet again,” said Charley, with a grimace. “Well, never mind, Bess; it’s only waiting a little longer. We’ve got a Bible and a pair of spectacles, after all.” “And a stuffed gray goose,” said Bess. “Oh, hang the goose!” said Char, ley. “It’s neither useful nor orna. mental. Let’s shy it out into the orchard,” and he seized it by one leg. “Oh, slop, Charley!” cried thrifty Bess. “Let’s save the feathers for a pillow.” “They’re full of arsenic and such stuff.” “All the hetler for keeping ou* moths,” retorted Bess. “I’ll pack them into a hag, and— Oh, Charlie, what is this?” A piece of the old gray goose’s epi- dermis had come off with the first handful of feathers. Underneath it was something like dull-green paper, packed in layers. “Hello!” said Charley. “Why— they’re hills! They’re—money! Look here! Am I dreaming?” It was true. The old gray goose was stuffed fuil of new crisp green¬ backs. Sarepta Smith’s eccentricities had not ceased witli her death. 'There had been method in her words when she gave Charley Cleve this memorial of his own blunder, as a peace offer¬ ing- “Five hundred dollars!” said he. “I say, Bess, isn’t it almost enough to get married upon? We’ll do it very quietly, you know.” ‘•Don’t talk nonsense, Charley.” “But look in the old Bible, Bess. Wlxo knows what may be hidden there?” Nothing was hidden there. Ap¬ parently Miss Sarepta had confined her savings bank idea to the old gray goose. Charley Cleve considered deeply. “Five hundred dollars won’t go very far in the city,” said he; “and in the Trust Company, where I'm clerking it, a follow may grub away for 20 years without any chance of promo¬ tion. I’ll cut city life, Bess, if you say so, and invest this money in the first payment on a little fruit farm out here at Salt Inlet.” Bess’s face lighted up. “Close to my old home!” she cried. <• Oh, Charley, I do ‘gay so!’” And 10 years after their wedding- day, when the great l'ailway vein had throbbed through their land, and the “little fruit farm” was cut up into village lots, the thriving young farmer- looked at his wife with a smile. “It all comes of the old gray goose, Bess,” said he. “The unlucky planet was a lucky one after all,” laughed Bess.—[The Ledgei’. Men who are seeking an opening, and waiting for something to turn up, might try the old-fashioned way of putting their hands to the plough to open and turn up the soil. The benediction arouses awakcx.ed interest. GOLD IN THE STARS. [A meteorite recently found go.d in its composition. Several men of considerable note consider thr proof positive that there is gold i n the star Ho, poor folks all over the oarth! Have you heard it, the beautiful newi To relieve you from poverty’3 dearth And to save you from poverty’s blues? A meteor feli in the West That was striped with auriferous bars, And scientists therefore have guessed That there’s plenty of gold in the star* Then away with all hunger and woe. And away with all sorrow and want, Let your spirits exultingly flow While you join in the glorious chauut. Oh, why be with sorrow oppressed!' There is gold in Arcturus and Mars, In the Dipper, the Twins and the rest— There is plenty of gold in the starsl O, ye toilers with sensitive souls, Who are chained to a tedious grind, Now the burden away from you rolls And is left in the distance behind. Cast the shackles that bound you away And forget the disfigured soars— You can soar as you will from to-day. There is plenty of gold in the stars. Ob, ye slaves to the rigors of fate, Who live but to strnggle for bread Whose love has been curdled to hate Till ye sigh for the peace of the dead; Bid good-by to the era of wrong, Bid good-by to the pitiless bars Behind w.dch ye have struggled so Jong, There is plenty of gold in the stars. Let us hear of injustice no more. Nor of riot surrounded by dearth; God is merciful now as of yore, And has never forgotten the earth. Ye who grovel in poverty’s ditch, Look to Jupiter, Venus and Mars; They are nearer by far than the rich, And there’s plenty of gold in the stars! - —George Horton, in Chicago Herali HUMOR OF THE DAY. When the tired mother asks her j band to take the baby he is apt to swer, “I don’t mind.’’—Union C'js S tandard. Police Captain—“Did yon catch ti murderer last night?” Detective—“J but I dreamed I had a clew.”—N York Weekly. Bjenkins—“Isn’t Bjohnson—“Yes; Bjones I a don’t very libej knl man?” how many times I have heard him d himself awaj’v’—Lowell Citizen. Jack Spratt took anti-fat, His wife took anti-lean, \ And so betwixt them both ' They struck a happy mean. Tresl I —Detroit Free Nothing Like a Change: She—“Si my return from the south of France! another woman.” Sarcastic Fries! “IIow delighted your husband must —Fun. Bilious—“I sleep in feathers, lieve it’s not healthful.” “What’s that; look at your chicken—see how tough he is.’’—if York Herald. Everybody knows a woman is hardl please. She likes the matrimoi harness, but doesn’t like to be hitci up with a man who is strapped.— Bij haniton Republican. Gave It Up and Guessed It: does a volcano do with lava:” Freddy. “Give it up,” replied Frcdii father. “That’s right,” said Harper's Young People. The proposed fast mail trains fi New York to Chicago will have serious drawback. They will land London comic papers here several b* earlier.—Chicago Times. Cora—“Why destined do you become think Attoij Su; rj .Timpson is to a ba> Judge?” Dora—“He says he eided I am the prettiest girl he q saw.”—New York Physiology—“Whatl Herald. Teacher of gredieat which of is the highly human essential body inj composition vol sugar possess?” Pupils (in one Era. I —“Sand.”— Pharmaceutical Haughty Lady (who has stamp)—“Must I put it on Stamp Cleric—“Not necessarily, probably accomplish more if you on the letter.”—New York Herald, “Sir, you have insulted me. I by challenge you to a duel with My name is Hare.” “Indeed! you’ll have to wait till I have a shooting license.”—Kolner Passenger (in a railway car) — “S you make room there? All the seats are full.” Twos eats—“Go can’t you see that I am sick?” ger—“What's the matter; —New York Sun. Serious Artist—“I think you the model for this figure —poor deaf and dumb.” Light-hearted F>w “I know— used to sit at corner of >t! H Deaf and dumb! By Jove, you've \V ■ a ‘speaking’ likeness of him! full”—Punch. Johnny—“Where are you Tommy—“Home. Don't you nothin a callin’ me?” “That’s called you two or three times b e “Yes, cuttin’ but she’s oil out ultimatum.’’—I at the peacb^B cJ ^B now an polis Journal. H “There go the Spicer Wi‘ f mamma! I'm told they're trying call?" to us. Hadn't wc better dy^^B tainly not, dear. If they’re know us, they're not worth knu** The only people worth our knowiolB. the people who don’t want to kuu#B —Punch.
