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COUNTY HERALD
VOL. IV.
The Four Winds,
Wind of the North,
Wind of the Norland snows.
Wind of the winnowed skies and sharp,clear
stars—
Blow cold and keen across the naked hills,
And crisp the lowland pools with crystal
films,
And blur the casement squares with glitter¬
ing ice,
But go not near my love.
Wind of the West,
Wind of tho few, far clouds,
Wind of the gold and crimson sunset lands—
Blow fresh and pure across the peaks and
plains,
And broaden the blue spaces of the heavens,
And sway the grasses and the mountain
pines,
But let my dear one rest.
Wind of the East,
Wind of the sunrise seas.
Wind of the clinging mists and gray, harsh
rains—
Blow moist and chill across the wastes of
brine,
And shut the sun out, and the moon and
stars,
Aud lash the boughs against the dripping
eaves,
Yet keep thou from my
But thou, sweet wind!
Wind of the fragrant South, -
Wind from the bowers of jasmine and of
rose—
Over magnolia glooms and iilied lakes
And flowering forests come with dewy
wings,
And stir the petals at her feet, and kiss
The low mound where she lies.
— [Charles Henry Luders.
LOST ME. GREYLAND.
BY HERO STRONG.
She was a proud woman always,
and just now she was a very angry
one.
Her fine figure was drawn np to its
utmost height, her brown eyes flashed
so they looked black, and a vivid
crimson burned on her check, whose
brightness no oriental rouge could
ever hope to rival. Imogene Leigh
had always been handsome—tonight
she was magnificent.
Charles Greyland could not help
admiring licr, even while her glanco
of scorn burned into his soul and
crushed out the deep love ho thought
he bore her.
He was rich and she was poor, and
in that fact lay the cause of the trou¬
ble. Some kind friend—everybody
has these kind friends, you know—
had insinuated that Imogene was
marrying Mr. Greyland for his
money; and Greyland, in a moment of
pique occasioned by Imogeue’s danc¬
ing twice with a handsome cousin of
her own, had let fall something of the
kind in her hearing. Of course Grey¬
land avas a fool, but not so much of a
one that he was not sorry for his folly
the instant the thing was done, but lie
was too proud to say so. He did not
for a moment believe that Imogeue’s
love for him was influenced by his
fortune; he had only spokon thus be-
eause he was angry, and angry people
are generally idiots for the time be¬
ing.
Never would he fo?-get the flash of
Imogene’s eyes, or the keen sarcasm
of her tone, as she answered him:
“You are free, Mr. Greyland. A
man with a soul so small that lie deems
a few paltry thousands of more conse¬
quence than himself, should seek a
mate from among his own kind. Take
back your ring. It is a diamond, aud
as such no doubt valuable to you.”
He set his heel on the bauble and
ground it into the carpet; then he
said a few angry words, for which he
would always be sorry, and left her.
• They wont their separate ways, aud
tried their best to show their faces to
the world bright ami gay.
Imogene succeeded admirably, but
Mr. Greyland overshot the mark, and
people said be was getting frivolous,
and the pastor of his church “labored’’
with liim, and won tho everlasting
dislike of his wealthiest parishioner
by so doing.
About this time Marge Atherton
came to the city where our disunited
lovers dwelt, and here was a field of
labor just suited to her. She had been
gome years in pursuit of a rich hus¬
band, but the man she desired to honor
was slow in making his appearance,
and there was a strong prospect that
Miss Atherton, in spite of her mani¬
fold attractions, would have to die an
old. maid, or emigrate to Oregon— a
country where it is generally supposed
they do not raise women.
Mr. Greyland was the very subject
for her. She set herself to work at
once to conquer him. She flattered
“We Seek the Rewnrd of Honest Labor.”
PICKENS COUNTY, GA„ THURSDAY, JUNE 4, 1891.
him, she deferred to him, she asked
his opinion on every trifling thing,
and poor Greyland’s heart was so sore
that lie was glad of anything by way
of balsam.
The very day that he had made up
his mind to propose, fate stepped in
and did q good stroke of business for
him.
A great financial crisis occurred, and
swept away every dollar he possessed,
and in twenty-four hours the news
was all over the city; and when, a
day or two afterward, Greyland,
aching for sympathy and love, went
to call on Miss Atherton, she was
“not at home,” though ho could have
sworn he heard her at the top of the
stairway.
And that ended their acquaintance
Miss Athertou married a sovonly-
five year old millionaire, who willed
all his property to a home for old wo¬
men when he died; and Greyland be¬
came misanthropic, and took to keep¬
ing dogs and smoking cigars innumer¬
able.
Things with him were not so bad as
at first suspected. They never arc, at
least in stories, and he had after all,
a few thousands left. He went into
business on a small scale, but the
confinement of the counting room in¬
jured his health, and sometime in the
summer his physician sent him to the
White Mountains to recruit.
Meanwhile Imogene Leigh had be¬
come an heiress. A great aunt of
hers, after living fifteen years beyond
tho age of man, and tormenting the
lives almost out of everybody who had
anything to do witii her, had died re¬
spectably one night in her bed, and
when her will was opened, her greedy
relatives found that she had be¬
queathed everything to a grand-niece
they had scarcely heard of.
But it was no use to get angry, and
so they were all very sweet and affec¬
tionate when Imogene came and took
possession of Beechlawn.
But the girl found the great house
very lonely, and so in July she joined
Airs. Judge Kendall’s party and went
to the mountains.
And so it happened that at the
Crawford House the names of Imo¬
gene Leigh and Charles Greyland
stood one above the other on the
clerk’s register.
They met at breakfast. Imogene in
her crimson morning robe, with her
silky black hair rippling down over
her shoulders, and her white hands
8 parkling with diamonds—not his dia¬
monds, however—looked very fair
and queenly as she sat opposite to him
and sipped her coffee, and carried on a
brilliant fire of repartee with Judge
Kendall. To have seen her and Grey-
land, nobody would ever have dreamed
that they had once been all the world
to each other.
Two or three days passed away.
Somebody introduced Mr. Greyland
and Miss Leigh, and they bad ex¬
changed a few well-bred platitudes
and drifted apart. That night Grey¬
land tossed until morning in his bed—
audibly anathematizing the mattress
for his restlessness—and Miss Leigh
nearly succeeded in making herself
believe that the winds in the corridors
were keeping her awake.
Next morning Greyland started off
alone for Mount Washington.
Everybody told him to take a guide,
and spoke of the danger of going into
those mountain wilds alone, but he
laughed at them. Ho was not going
to convert himself into a hero by
getting lost—not he 1 lie should dine
at tho Tip Top House, and be back in
season for stewed partridge at the
Crawford.
Imogene sat on the piazza doing
some trifle in green Berlin wool, and
heard every word. Of course it was
nothing to her any way, but after Mr.
Greyland disappeared in the scrubby
evergreens which clustered around the
entrance to the bridle path, she was
conscious of a feeling of something
lost out of the brightness of the day.
Clouds began to gather over the
summit of Mount Willard. A party
who had ascended early in the morn¬
ing came down drenched; and by and
by the equestrians who had gone up
to Mount Washington just after Grey¬
land’s departure returned cold and
blue.
A hard storm was in progress on
the mountains—the nffst and fog were
almost blinding—and Mr. Greyland
had not been seen or heard from.
Grave apprehensions were entertained
for his safety amonsr those who under-
stood tho danger of being lost on the
mountains, and the gentlemen stood
apart in knots, and discussed tho mat-
ter with serious faces,
The night of storm and gloom wore
slowly away, and the morning broke
cold and wet. Imogene sat by tho
open window, just as she had sat all
night, listening to tho wild howl of
Rudolph, the beautiful pet bound of
the missing man, which had been left
chained in his master’s room.
With tlic first gleam of dawn a party
of guides and a half-dozen friends of
Greyland sallied forth to search for
him.
All day they scoured tho mountain
paths, only to return at night as they
went. No traco of him had been dis¬
covered.
Another dismal night, and another
misty morning, and again tlioy went
forth on their quest—this time with
little hope of finding him alive; but,
as one of the guides remarked:
“It looked unchristian not to find
tho body and give it a decent burial.
Imogene beard what the man said,
and for a moment her heart stoppod.
She knew now that in spite of all the
scorn she had tried to feel for Charles
Greyland, she had never ceased to
lovo him.
And now lie was dead.
No, no, she would not admit the
thought! He must be living! God,
who was so good—who loved all his
creatures—would surely suffer her to
find him, to ask his pardon for the
past, to tell him that in spite of every¬
thing she loved him still!
She threw a shawl over her shoul¬
ders and went to thqjroom he had Iasi
occupied. The key was not tliore, but
her own key fitted the lock, She
went in aud released the dog, which
sprang into her arms with a cry almost
human in its sorrow and despair.
She hugged the wretched animal tr
her breast, for had he not lo" -
caressed Rudolph 1
She said not a word to any one, but
preceded by the dog, she took the path
she had seen Greyland take.
Rough and stony, full of mud-holes,
barred by brushwood, and obstructed
by gullies, she found the way, but she
followed the dog.
All the long forenoon she went on,
faint, almost despairing, and so weary
that it seemed at each successive step
as if she must sink down.
At last they found him!
The glad barking of the dog a little
ahead sent joy to Imogeue’s heart.
She leaped forward and sank down
helpless by the side of Charles Grey-
laud. He was sheltered by a rock and
he was smoking a cigar, and altogetlier
seemed quite comfortable for a man
who had been two nights lost in the
mountains.
Imogene would have fallen back on
her pride even now, but it was too
late. Greyland had her in his arms,
and was kissing her cold lips in a way
that made all attempts at remonstrance
useless.
“You did love me after all, darl¬
ing!” he cried; “and I thank Heaven
for being lost; and 1 don’t mind tha
cold and wet, and hunger, a bit. Put
your arms round my neck, dear, and
tell mo that you forgive my hateful
conduct of a year ago, aud tell me
that you lovo me.”
And she obeyed him meekly enough,
while Rudolph capered around them,
and expressed his satisfaction in a
series of joyful howls, which woke all
the mountain echoes for miles around.
The party out in search heard the
dog, and were guided to tho spot, and
by sundown everybody was safely
basking in the warmth of the great
wood-fire in the drawing-room of the
Crawford.
Two weeks afterward Charles Grey¬
land and Imogene were married, and
a happier home than theirs I do not
think you have ever seen. Neither do
I think that a more contented, self-
satisfied-looking dog than Rudolph ex'
ists.—[New York Weekly.
Music from Afar.
Frank White, a ditch-tender for the
South Yuba Company, who makes his
headquarters at Crystal Springs, is
handy with the violin. Frequently
these stormy evenings the people at
the various stations along the line get
him to rosin the bow and give them
telephone concerts. They hear tie
music 20 or more mile3 away as plain¬
ly as (hough they were at the player’s
side.— [Nevada Transcript.
THE SWANETANS.
A Curious People Living in the
Heart of the Caucasus.
Poor and Degraded, Yet Occu¬
pying Magnificent Castles.
Before the Anthropological Society
of st> p otei . 8blu .g | tt mom ber, Dr.
Oldorogge, read recently an intorcst-
, j n ,r p tt p el . 0 „ q 10 results of his oxplo-
rations in tho heart of Caucasia. lie
had penetratod whore few explorers
had been before. Ho came to Swaneta,
a long but narrow valley at tho foot
of tho Elburz Mountuin, through
which the river Ingoora winds. For
most of the year Swaneta is isolated
entirely from the world, and even in
the summer season the mountain passes
loading to tho locality are made ex¬
tremely dangerous by water currents,
avalanches, and falling rocks. There
is a strange semi-savage people in tlio
valley numbering about 9000 fam¬
ilies. They subsist on their chase
for wild animals of which there
is an abundanco in the moun¬
tains, and in tho mild season of the
year plant just as much grain as is re¬
quired for their immediate necossity.
Every now and then a Swauetan will
wander away from kis secluded homo
into a more civilized neighborhood to
sell a few hides and to get in exchange
a few things that lie misses in his na¬
tive valley, such as cloth, cotton fab¬
rics and some articles of apparel. But
this he does very seldom and with
great unwillingness, for his needs are
few and his native valley has made
him love isolation. They speak a dia¬
lect the principal elemeut of which is
Georgian, with Persian and Kirguese
ns of speech strongly intermixed,
are of a pacific nature and ex-
ly shy of strangers. Dr. Oldcr-
ced himself to them as a
er, and, trying to trade with
drew them into conversation
made his studies aud obperva-
tions.
The dress and manner of living of
the Swanetans present a striking con¬
trast to the divelliugs they occupy.
They cover their bodies with hides in
the winter and go about half naked in
the warm season of the year; of clean¬
liness and comfort they know noth¬
ing, aud there are no luxuries among
them. But (hey live in ancient castles
of magnificent construction, though
more than half ruined. There is quite
a numbor of such castlos in tho moun¬
tain that encircle the Swauetan valley.
The Swanetans have a sort of writing,
and their folk loro is rich in curious
traditions and quaint legends, point¬
ing to a time when their intercourse
with the world was more frequent
than at present, and when they
ranked among the strong and civilized
peoples of the region. But all this is
dying out with them. They worship
four divinities nnd sacrifice animals
unto them. Their conceptions of those
deities are strikingly suggestive of
corrupted notions of the Trinity and
the Virgin, and indicate that they
wore once Christians, but lapsed into
heathenism before Christianity took
deep root among them. They arc
strangers to all that we accept as so¬
cial morality. There is a terrible per¬
centage among them of lunatics, idiots,
epileptics, and those stricken with
cognate, physical and nervous dis¬
eases.
The physical deformities of the
Swanetans are commensurate with
their moral deterioration, and show
that they must have lived as they live
now for many generations. Their
heads are flattened at the back and
abnormally elongated in tho temples;
they are marked with strong progna-
tism and with diasthem of both the
upper and lower teeth. Nearly all the
Swanetans have goitres, which begin
to develop at a very early age. It is
interesting to notice that a branch of
the same people living more southerly
in the district called Didian-Swaneta,
more accessible to the influences of the
outside world, presents a more normal
element, both morally and physioally,
than the Swanetans here described.
[New York Sun.
It takes a long while for a man to
wear out a grindstone by holding his
nose against it.
“All’s fair in love and war and on
street cars,” said the conductor as he
counted up his fares.
The Unniham Industrial Farm*
At Canaan Four Corners, N. Y., it
an institution chartered by.the State of
New York,designed to furnish a home
and Christian training for unruly and
homeless boys. Its methods are
unique, but the results obtained have
fully justified them. W. M. F. Round
and his wife devote,without remunera¬
tion, a considerable portion of their
time, enorgy and money to this work,
and their benevolence has been recent¬
ly supplemented by the gift of $10,.
000 for tiro construction of the new
Gilpin memorial building. Mrs. Mary
Sophia Gilpin, late of Wilmington,
Del., during her lifetime expressed a
wish to leave some of her property for
the purpose of assisting in the educa¬
tion of moral improvement of boys,
but at her death no will was discover¬
ed. Two of her sisters, Miss Sarah L.
Gilpin and Mrs. Elizabeth Maury of
Morristown, N. J., decided, however,
to appropriate a portion of the pro¬
perty coming to them from their sister
in furthering her expressed wish.
They presented accordingly the sum
of $10,000 to the Burnham industrial
farm to be used in tho erec¬
tion of somo permanent building for
the enlargement and better accommo¬
dation of the institution’s work. The
proposed building is to be situated on
the most prominent part of the farms,
on tho high ground overlooking Lake
Qucechy to the north and commanding
a wide view of hill country to the oast
and south. The building will include
the boys’ department, quarters for the
matron, accommodations for visitors
and the director’s home. Only about
one-half of the hoys now at tho farm
are to have quarters at the building,
tho rest living in cottages near by,
each cottage to accommodate about
ton boys and to bo in charge of ono of
tho brotherhood. Tho building of tho
Gilpin memorial is only one of the
steps in tho process of enlarging tho
institution from its present capacity
until it shall be able to accommodalc
from 1000 to 1200 boys. The institu¬
tion depends entirely upon voluntary
contributions for its enlargement and
support, and it take3 boys from all
parts of the country. Six states arc
represented by the present member¬
ship.— [Boston Transcript.
Making It Rather Personal.
This is credited as ono of General
Lew Wallace’s Turkish jokes: There
lived in Stainboul, Turkey, a well-to-
do Turk named Ismail Ilassam. lie
did not have tho imagination of a
Rider Haggard, but he was endowed
with a ready Oriental wit that stood
him well in hand when lie was in a
tight place. A neighbor called on
Ismail one day and wanted to borrow
his donkoy to use an hour. Isinail
made a low salaam and said:
“Neighbor, I am sorry, but my boy
started on tho donkey an hour ago to
Scutari. By now he is gayly trotting
over the hills far from the sacred pre¬
cincts of Stamboul.”
Just as Ismail finished his speech,
a donkey’s loud bray was beard in tho
stable, which was under tho same roof
as Ismail’s house, but in tho rear. Tho
neighboY said:
“Ah, I hear your donkey bray.”
Ismail protested that his neighbor's
ears wore deceived, and that the noise
was not a donkey’s bray. Then tho
donkey, which was supposed to ho
jogging along toward Scutari, brayed
twice loudly.
It was loo much, and the neighbor
cried:
“Oh, that is your donkey, Ismail;
Allah help me, I can now borrow
him.”
Then Ismail said: “Which do you
believe is lying, tho donkoy or me?”
The neighbor had to give Ismail the
benefit of the doubt, and went away.
Making Fishhooks.
There is a little machine which
turns out fishhooks in six strokes.
Stroke No. 1 bites off' a morsel of
steel wire; No. 2 makes the loop
where you fasten your line; No. 3
hacks the other end; No. 4 flattens
and bends back the barb; No. 5 makes
tlie point; No. 6 bends the wire and
your fishhook drops into a little bucket,
ready to be finished. Then it is either
japanned—these are the common?
biack fishhooks—or it is tempered to
the delicate blue you sometimes see in
cutlery. For this finish it is heated
rod-hot and then cooled in oil.—[Chi¬
cago Tribune.
NO. 31.
Now I Lay Me.
"Now I lay me,”
Lisps our baby,
As she bows nt mamma’s knee.
Nightly heading,
Her ear tending,
To all things, to hear and sec.
“Down to sleep,
My soul to keep."
Baby’s thoughts do take a leap;
“I pray the Lord,”
Is the next chord
That in her mind is buried deep.
“If I should die,"
She breathes a sigh,
On mamma’s knee her head doth lie.
"Before I wake,
My soul to take.”
Thus prays our pet, to IHm on high.
"God bless mamma,
God bless papa,”
She sweetly adds, “for Jesus' sake.”
The little head
Then falls like lead,
As in her arms mamma does take
The baby dear,
Whoso voice sounds clear
In “Amen,” said close to her ear.
In snowy gown
Wo lay her down,
And pray the augels to be near.
— [Fannie W.Butlerin Cincinnati Enquirer
HUMOROUS.
An opou-faced watch—The yawning
policeman.
Temptation always wears its best
bib and tucker.
It is easier to hold a dollar than it is
to hold a nickel.
Old people arc continually indulg¬
ing in new wrinkles.
The contented thief takes things
philosophically, of course.
Worldly wisdom is a perfect knowl¬
edge of the failings of your neighbors.
Mrs. Guggins—IIow do you buy
your beef, Mr. Cleaver? Butcher—
A la cart, Mrs. Guggins.
He—So Jack isn’t devoted to Kate
anymore. Did they fight? She—Yes;
they had an engagement.
Preceptor—You have used the
phrase, “an open secret." Give an
example of an open secret. Pupil— A
yawn. Nobody knows what it really
is.
Sarcasm is an effective weapon, but
it acts like a boomerang when it is ap¬
plied to his landlady by tho young
man who is two weeks behind in pay¬
ing his board.
The man who thinks he could write
a poem if ho should try speaks vol¬
umes for his wisdom, and enables
himself to retain his self-confidenco by
deciding not to try.
Extract from a bride’s letter of
thanks: “Your beautiful clock was
received and is now in the drawing¬
room on tho mantlepiece, where we
hope to see you often.”
i t Like John Jinks? I hate him,”
exclaimed the widow. “He has said
more unkind things about me than any
person in town. But I’ll get even
with him if I have to marry him.”
Hero is an illustration of truo Hin¬
doo politeness from Lady Dufferin’s
Journal: A judge who was a yery bad
■hot had been out for a day’s sport,
and on his return the man who went
out with him was asked: “Well, how
did the judge shoot today?” “Oh.” he
replied, “tho judge shot beautifully,
but God was very merciful to the
birds-.”
New England’s Largest Apple Tree.
The largest apple tree in New Eng¬
land is in the northwestern part of
Cheshire, Mass., and it stands in the
dooryard of Delos Hotchkiss. Its ago
can be traced by a family tradition to
140 years at least, and it may be
twenty or tweuty-five years older. It
is now of symmetrical shape; the
trunk is nearly round, without a scar
or blemish; there are eight large
branches; five of them have been in
the habit of bearing one year, and the
remaining three the next. Mr. Hotch¬
kiss has gathered in one year from the
live branches eighty-five bushels of
fruit,and his predecessor has harvested
110 bushels from the same five
branches. By careful measurement,
the circumference of the trunk one
foot above the ground, above all en-
argements of the roots, is thirteen
feet eight inches. The girth of the
largest single limb is six feet eight
inches. The height of the tree is sixty
feet, and the spread of tho branches
as the apples fall is one hundred feet.
The fruit is rather small, sweet and of
moderate excellence. — [Boston Tran¬
script.