Newspaper Page Text
She JEoiifpmetg Jitonitof*
D. C. SUTTON, Editor and Prop r.
The Doctor.
The doctor is a useful ruan,
O'aistruaiod oa a noble plan;
He's sometimes fat and sometimes lean
And sometimes Just half-way between,
Rut none codft-rs more blessings than
i’he dot tor.
The doctor goes on 1 lingers where
Men’s meanings tissight the fetid air;
Where'er he can No gives relief
To sickness and as well to grief.
Ah, ill could we poor mortals snare
The doctor.
Ho may some stately palace own,
All silk inside and outside stone;
But still, in counting human woes,
Like some base-burner stove he goes
And never sleeps—so far as known—
The doctor.
We may not know him when this shell
Os clay befits the spirit well,
But when the spirit doth protest
Against the clay that doth invest,
Our grief in confidence we tell
The doctor.
The doctor is a generous man.
Rut people cheat him when they can:
Tiiev have their health restored on “trust,”
|
And pay him sometimes when they irffhst,
And swear uo bill is bigger than
The doctor’s.
—[Columbus News.
A BRAVE COWARD.
I remembered I woke up very early
that morning, with that dim sense of
something important being about to
happen which so often inserts its df into
the brain of the partially-aroused !
sleeper.
Without opening my eyes, I began
drowsily wondering what it was. Did I
expect my commission? No; that ar
rived three months ago. Was Ito join
my regiment? No; I had already done
that, and was now settled ia barracks in
a small Irish garrison town with an un- I
pronounceable name. Then I remember |
I dozed off again, only to start up and |
wonder what on earth it was.
Tiie start did it. 1 opened my eyes,
and knew it was the 24th of June, the
day our fellows had arranged to give
their picnic in Arrangounick Wood.
Os lourse 1 had gone to sleep thinking
of it, dreamt of it, and now all my plans
rushed into my brain; how that I, Lieu
tenant Eric Maurice, 11. 31. Forty-eighth
Koyal Blues, stood pledged—at any rate,
in my own mind—on that day to gain
for my own the kindest little heart, the
merriest blue eyes, the rosiest lips in all
the Emerald Isle.
That all these belonged to Norali
O’Cregan I need not tell you; for if you
have ever heard of that military town
of Iloustgoron, you have heard, too, of
Norah.
Once I had fully comprehended all
that was before me, I jumped out of my
bed into my tub, singing, whistling and
shouting, as is my wont during tha pro
gression of my toilet. Walls in barracks
are notably not of the thickest, and I i
received masy interruptions to my song: j
“When and how shall I earliest me-e-et her? f
What are the word- she lir-r-st shall say?’’ !
■“Bother you!” shouted Tompkins j
from the room on the left, and crash
came a boot hurled viciously against
the wall.
“By what name shall 1 lear-rn togree-ether:
“You idiot!”—this from Williamson
the right, accompanied by tapping, a-?
of a brush. “Can’t you let a fellow
sleep?”
“I know not now, but shall kno-ow some
day.”
At this juncture my door was burst
violently open, and in came Tompkins
himself in an unbecoming state of un-
M dress and another boot held menacingly
■ pin the air. This, however, lie drop- 1
■ stt when he saw me already dressed and i
* sing a crimson rose-bud in my coat the •
act shade of the silk handkerchief !
5 note corners showed knowingly from j
I y pocket.
1/ P v hew l —whew!” he calmly re
s .aiked, seating himself on my bed. “Is 1
that it? Poor fellow!” And he slowly j
inspected me from head to foot. “Don’t
you think,” he continued, “that flower
leans a little too much to the left? It
might fail out, you know, and then all
the heavy work would fall on the hand
kerchief; you can’t expect it to do the
business unsupported. But stay, dear
boy; alter nothing. As yon are, you j
are—”
But here I left the room. This man \
always irritated me almost beyond en
durance, and I never could understand
how any one in this wide world could i
find amusement in Ins foolish remarks.
I looked at my watch, flood gra
cious! It wanted -'till three hours to the j
time we were to start. Breakfast might
lie made to last one, but what to do w ith
the other two ruth' r puzzled me. I
went outside and walked up and down,
but was soon driven in again by seeing
Tompkins' ugly face watching me with
a broad grin from hi- window.
How. wr. the time u;i- j ed somehow.
and I saw no more of Tompkins, and be
gan to hope that after all he was not
coming with us. This hope lasted until
I was seated on the drag, when sudden
ly I heard his loud voice as he mounted
the steps to the top.
“Never know if I feel most like a cir
: cus or a bank holiday ou this thing,” he
was saying.
And as his head appeared over the
seat opposite me, and his eye caught
mine, he paused, put up his eye-glasses
and slowly surveyed me from my feet
upward, until his eye rested on my rose
bud, when he gently waved his hand to
iutimate that it inclined too much to the
left, burst into a loud guffaw and sat
down.
This added to the annoyance 1 already
i felt, and declining to take any part in
1 the fun that went on during the drive, 1
arrived at the scene of tire festivities in
anything but an enviable frame of mind.
But soon I saw fttrah standing with
some friend in tbz shade <»f the trees,
i and the sight of her sweat face
seemed to act like magic on my spirits,
and blow all the cobwebs away. Heed
less of the impudent smile on Tomp
kins’s face that greeted my start of
pleasure I made my way quickly to lier
ide, and the shy. sweet smile that wel
comed me more th in repaid me for iny
late annoyance.
“They start at once for tire ruins,” 1
; said. “Will you come, too?”
“I want first to finish my sketch,”
j she answered. “1 want to put in some
cattle, and hear there are some fine oxen
near. Could you show me the way?”
Now, I think, if Norali had asked me
anything else in the world I should have
jumped ut the chance of doing it for her
sake; but to face bullocks! From my
infancy I have had an inborn dread of
! tlie whole race; even the homely and
! succulent cow of commerce is not ex
! empt from my dislike; while the mis
; named “monarch of meadows,” the un
mitigated bull, fills me with a feeling
that hardly falls short of absolute terror!
I did not answer; I could not.
“Please do not. come, if you would
rather go with the party to the ruins,”
Norah continued. “I will ask Captain
Tompkins.”
It was enough. Hardly considering
the consequences, I exclaimed, “I will
come with pleasure.”
We started.
“What magnificent creatures 1” she
; cried, when she reached the field. “Oh,
and what a number. ”
There certainly was, and more than I
cared for. Behind, before, on either
hand they stood, grazing, or lay down
chewing the cud.
“Oh, do come closer! 1 must get
that lovely group!” exclaimed Norah.
It was a group of four ferocious-look
ing beasts, ime standing, the rest lying
in various attitudes around. One, a
i great black animal eyed us steadily, and
' slightly altered his position the better
to see us. Norali sat down; I reluct
| antly did the same.
“Would you sharpen iny pencil?” she j
asked.
She was looking at me curiously. I
fancy she half-suspected my nervousness;
so, putting the best face of matters, Igot
out my knife an 1 held out my hand for
the pencil, and, as she held it toward
me, I forgot all but her own sweet self
and seized the little hand tenderly. She
snatched it. hastily away, and 1 think
now she thought, as doubtless my atti
tude suggested, that J was about to pare
her nails.
“I think, Mr. Maurice,” she said
gently, “I could manage better if you
j would not mind going the other side of
; the bullocks and attracting the notice of
that black one in the other direction.
' They are looking the same way and it
1 looks so stiff. If you held out some
i
grass to linn or switched your stick
about, it might keep his attention
, fixed.”
I rose slowly, and cautiously found my
way to the other side.
It was quite needless to do anything j
to attract that monster's attention; his j
eye was on me. As I moved, so did he; j
and, as I sat down, he turned his head I
right around, the better to watch me. j
I was turning hot and cold by turns.
“That will d > nicely, thanks. Keen !
I . ' !
j him in that pmitio.i for a few minutes/'
. called Norah.
Then came a silence, broken only by
the beating of my heart. The suspense
, grew unbearable, and the perspiration
I began to pour down rny face. I drew
| out my handkerchief to wipe iny heated
j brow, when, with an angry grunt, tue
animal began to rise. I saw my fatal
error; the handkerchief was red!
Rapidly the brute gained his feet and
with head bent i.w advanced toward
me. It was too much. All, all was for
gotten but the fi.t that seemed before
me. I sprang up - I idn-h to own it—l
turned around and I rau!
MX. VERNON, MONTGOMERY ( ()., GA., WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1887.
Thud, thud came those hoofs behind
me. Nearer came that snorting breath
till I almost thought 1 felt it hot upon
my neck. Faster and faster 1 flew— j
nearer and nearer came thet irunris
beast!
Just then I thought aught .1 faint
voice on the air—“ Pray drop your hand
kerchief!” I did, for 1 found in my ter
ror 1 have been waving it from side U
side as 1 ran. Almost immediately the
I tramping of hoofs ceased; but without
I pausing to look behind l made straight
; for a fence just in front of me, which
having vaulted, 1 found myself safe ut
iast.
Then the whole absurdity o/ my post
j tion burst upon me. The ridiculous
I figure I must have cut before Norah, th*
! contempt she must feel for mv coward
j 1 .
| ice! Oh, what would 1 not have given
to be able to wipe the last half hour out
j of my life!
After a great deal of consideration as
to my future conduct, I deterwh ed to
face the party at lunch, when I could
judge if my lute exploit was kuowv
When I joined them, they were all seated
on the grass. 1 noticed a decided pans.
in the conversation as 1 approuchet'J.
Tompkins was busily helping Norah to
some strawberries. 11 is head was turned
away from me, but when he saw me up
went that detested glass, and the usual
inspection began. When his eye gained
the level of my pocket, where the hand
kerchief so lately had shown itself, ho
looked suddenly full in my face and,
calling to the carver, said: “Brett. Mr
Maurice will take some beef.”
A roar of laughter followed this sally
and I felt that all was known. I felt
mortified, humiliated, and, without
power to face it out, rose hastily and left
them, returning at once to barracks.
1 knew 1 had lost Norali O'Cregan.
How could she ever care for a man
whose conduct must have appeared so
contemptible ?
My life after this incident was not a
happy one. As far as I could 1 passed
the time alone, pondering how to re
trieve the lost ground, and bailing with
delight an opportunity which soon after j
offered itself of changing into another
regiment, which was ordered abroad on I
immediate active service.
* * * *
Time passed and once more 1 was ou
my native soil. We received a perfect
ovation when we landed in dear old
England.
Tel-cl-Kebir was the subject of every .
one’s thoughts, and sick and ill as 1 was
my cheek flushed with hottest pleasure I
as handkerchiefs were waved uiul wel
comes shouted.
I was faint and dizzy; my arm had
been amputated at the shoulder and i
suffered acute pain, but it was a proud
moment to nr, all the same.
I was invalided directly after, and
weeks were passed in the sick ward of
Brighton barrack-.
One day the door was suddenly thrown
open and some of oui ! . lows burst in.
“Cheer up, cheer up, old man!” cried
i one. “Hear this, ” skimming through a
paper he held in his hand. “ 'Conspic
uous bravery, V. GV Why, it’s worth
dying for!”
And as their cheery congratulations
poured in upon me I felt it was worth
living for.
1 began to mend rapidly at this, and.
was soon able to go down to the se t in r,
chair.
One morning, as I was lazily lyiii£
back drinking in the fresh salt air, 1 be
came conscious of a ligur.; standing b j
my chair. I opened mv eyes.
“Norah 1” I cried—“Norali I”
Neither of us spoke for a few mo. j
ments as I gazed fondly on her blushing
face.
At last, she s;iid, “Oh, J am so sorry,
and yet, so very glad, so very proud 1”
“Then tell me you do not think me s
coward now!” f cried eagerly.
“llow could I { Oh, do not ask mu
such a question!” she faltered.
And as her eyes rested on the empty
| sleeve that was pinned across my breast
I saw they were full of tears: and sc
I were mine, but they were tears of joy,
! for as my hand closed on her-, I knew
that for all time Norah was my own.
Curiosity.
Mr. Popinjay—Woman’s curiosity
amuses me
Mrs. Popinjay-—Aha, by the way.
what’s the stain on your hand ?
Mr. Popinjay—Paint, I was coming bj
Blobson’s fence and ju t touched mv (ir,
ger to it to see if it was dry.—jßurling
ton Ftee Press.
Not Missed.
“And so your father has gone to f
missionary station ?”
“Yes; we are , ii'.< alone now.”
“Don’t you miss tin directing hand o'.
| your household?'’
| “Oli. mother didn't go!”
“SUB DEO FACIO FORTITER.”
A COTTON FIELD.
Cultivating and Harvesting the
Useful Plant.
Seeding, Caring for and Picking
the Cotton.
lu Harper’s Weekly of August there
was au illustration of a cotton ware*
house. Ticr on tier are piled the cotton
bales, ready for shipment to all parts of
the world. Mr. Horace Bradley in this
number presents a cotton field in full
bloom, with the hands hard at work
picking the snow-white product, and so
is shown one of the most important of
all textile substances in its various
I stages. The steeling of cotton begins
in March and April, according to the
locality, and at the close of July or be
ginning of August the real lucking sea
son begins. This year in Georgia the
first bait of cotton was forwarded to At
lanta on the Jth of July. From the time
the seed first sprouts until thu plaut is
mature, work is constant. Iu such
fruitful soil and with a semi-tropical
climate weeds groiv apace.
The cotton has to be gone over fre
quently with the hoe to kill out the
parasitical growths, and to loosen the
soil and give the plant air. Sometimes
excessive toil is necessary in order to
clear the plant of its greatest enemy, the
cotton worm. There lias been many a
cotton field, presenting one day fair re
turns for the labor expended on it,
which on the morrow has shown hut a
wide expanse of sickly-looking yellow
stalks, the caterpillars having stripped
every plant of its leaves. Early blooms
are visible in June, and impatiently do
the planter and his hands wait uHi'
there are sufficient bolls to begin with.
The flower of the cotton is very beauti
ful, sometimes of a delicate straw-color,
and varying with the sun, being at mid
day of a snowy white, and of evenings
j taking a pinky shade. When the flower
: falls, at once the boll begins to form,
and the cotton is mature and rendy to
l pick when the boll bursts. Cotton
ready to be picked appears on the plant
»t. the same time with flowers, and both
are continuous until the first frost ap
pears. In September and October cot
ton-picking is in full blast. All hands
start out early to work, and all provided
with baskets, sometimes with bags. Ex
pert cotton-pickers work with
great rapidity, ns they are gen
erally paid by the pound. They
carry a bag, which they soon fill, and
then they transfer the cotton to huge
baskets. There is always a wagon in at
tendance, and the contents of the bas
kets are dumped into the wagon. From
the field to the storehouse or the gin,
backward and forward, the full wagons
and the empty ones are always in move
ment. it is hard, hoi work at times, and
under a broiling sun. As celerity is
everything, sometimes any animal that
can haul is pressed into service, and a
mule and an ox are occasionally attached
to the same wagon. Men and women
seem to enjoy the work, and through the
cotton fields they sing as they pick.
There have been many inventions devised
for the mechanical picking of cotton,
out nothing, so far, has proved as ef
fectual or economical as the hands of the
colored people. While the blooms show
their snowy fleece it is the object of the
planter to secure all the cotton he can.
Days of rain render picking difficult, as
as the cotton then does not come readily
from the boll, and even when pulled is
likely to be slightly colored. The high
est grades of the staple, those bringing
the best prices in the market, can only
be picked in fine weather from the per- j
feetly dry and mature cotton boll.
To the ‘ ton-house first, and then
through the gin, passes all the cotton. I
Before Eli Whitney’s time all cotton was I
picked by hand, so as to clean it of its
seed and trash. This was very slow and j
laborious work, for with certain long- J
staple cotton the task of a woman was
not more titan one or two pounds of
clean cotton in the eight hours. Eli
Whitney was bom in Westborougb, !
Mass., in 1705, Ktudying law in Savan
nah, lie resided in the house of the
widow of General Greene. Observing 1
the time anti labor nece-.5.-iry to clean
cotton, he at once s t to work to i vent
a machine which would accompli ,!! the
task, and the gin v. the result. There
has keen no invention v/iiirh has been of '
greater benefit to the world in general
than the Whitney gin.—[Harper’s;
Weekly.
Candor.
Foci—A penny for your thoughts.
Beautiful maiden—They are not worth
it.
P. What were you thinking oft
B M.—Of your last poem.—[Berlin
Courier.
Advancement rs 'hi nee
Probably tlu most interesting nndjtl
structive meeting of the American tyb
social ion for th • Advancement of Sci.
etice was the one jure, closed in New York.
There was an attendance of from six to I
eight hundred, and the papers were par
timlarly able and vnlinihl*. Prof. Geo.
F. Barker read an intensely interesting
paper prepared bv Mr. Thomas A. Edi
son on his new “Pvromagnetie Genera
tor,” i:t which is advanced the novel
idea of the couvet <i > i of heat into pow
er by means of magnetism, and, by the
same principle, the conversion of heat
into electricity. Os his discovery, Air.
Edison says;
Since whenever magnetic field varies
in strength in the vicinity of a couduc- -
tor, a current is generated iu that con- j
doctor, it occurred to me that by placing |
an iron core in a magnetic circle and va- .
lying the magnetizahilityof that core by ;
varying its temperature, it would he pos- j
sitile to generate it current; in a coil o(
wire surroundiug this core.
Acting upon the idea, Mr. Edison ;
placed eight electro-magnets iu a cirtls,
all their positive poles in contact with
one iron disk, and their negative poles
in contact with another. Passing
through the disks and joining them, ho
placed an equal number of rolls of thin I
corrugated iron, each roll opposite the |
two poles respectively of the electro
-1 magnets. lie wound the eight iron
roils with insulated wire. When this
simple apparatus was placed over it fur
nace so that hot air passed through the
tolls, they became straightway non
magnetic. Then lie fitted a semi-circu
lar plate below tho lower disk to shut
off the heat, from half the rolls, so that
they became magnetic, and half, being
hot, were non magnetic. By revolving
this .semi-circular pinto the rolls were
first heated nud then cooled, and by
.!• ■' !! ■ was generated in
the coils of wire surrounding th iEi -.
Mr. Edison thinks that this devise can
bo so modified as to furnish electric
lights fora whole house by means of tho
heat, from an ordinary furnace, and he
will pursue his interesting experiments
in that direction. The next meeting of
the association will be held at Cleveland
on the fourth Wednesday in August,
1838. ________
Too FI j-.
“Say! lemme use your telephone a
inir.it 1” lie exclaimed, as he rushed into
an office on Griswold bt.reet.
“Certainly. K
“Hello! hello! Give me 8205. Is
that you, darling?”
(“Yes.”)
“Say, pet, 1 left my wallet on the
dresser with $250 iu it. Did you find
it?”
(“Yes.”)
“Good I 'Fluid I’d lost on the street, j
Big load off my mind. Hindi I bring up
those shoes?”
(“Yes.”)
“I’m dend broke, you know, but per
plinps I can burrow $5 until after din- I
m-r, so as not to disappoint you. Good 1
by, darling.”
(“Good-by, sweetness. ”)
“Bay,” lie said to the man at. the desk,
“perhaps you overheard what I said, and
will lend me the $5 ?”
The occupant pointed over Iris shoul
der to the door.
“What? Skip?”
“Yes.”
“Too old?”
“Yes.”
“Been caught before?”
“Yes.”
“I skip! Good by!” -[Detroit Free
Press.
How Fatigue Operates.
After a study of some years, Prof.
Mosso, of Turin, finds that when fatigue
i- carried beyond the moderate stage, at
j which it is decidedly beneficial, it sub
! jeets the blood to a derornposing process
| through the infiltration into it of sub
j stances which act as poisons, and which, ;
when injected into the circulation of
j healthy animals, induce tinea iness and ’
| nil the signs of excessive exhaustion.
I When within the resisting pow r of tho
subject, fatigue has its pleasures and
: even joy h, tin • being ti c expression of
! the organic consciousnvs that bodily
j loss of li-sue is being I alane -1 by re
construction. Mosso'* experiments were
1 performed on Italian cohliers, and they I
proved, among other results, that the
stature and power of the modern wai
tiorare fully equal to those of the an
cient Romans.—[Arkansaw Traveler.
Opposed to a Third Term.
Judge—This is not the first tiros you
have been before in*.
Prisoner—No, Judge, I’ve been here
once before.
Judge—l’ve a good mir*: 1 . to ( ml yon
lip for a year.
Prisoner—M >ke it ten Uavi, Judge.
-’ n • (
You'll never -ce me again. I’m against
a third terra.—Tid-Bits.
VOL. 11. NO. 39.
Here are three person* bo old a* to de
mand attention. Nicholas Rabo, born in
Lorraine in 17112, a member of the grand
army of Napoleon, now living near Belle
ville, 111,, and so vigorous that h«
walks the street without a cane,
reads v ithout glasses and shaves him
self: Stephen Withington, of Hud
; son, if ass., nearly lot years old, blind,
and last losing his mind, and Mrs. Mar
garet Arnold, of iVew Holland, Ohio,
who on July 4th was 110 years old, and
who while bodily quite well is failing
mentally.
The European wheat crop, according
to our Government reports, promise*
more than an r.v rage. The Russian
i and Austrian crop especially are of fine
promise. That of Spain is mediocre.
In Germany, France and England re
; ports are generally favorable. The
■ India crop, harvested a few months ago,
will he 20,000,000 lm liels less than the
; preceding—say 21ib.000,000 bushels,
i Australasia will produce probably 15,-
000,000 bushels more than pn 1085-80,
or 37,000,000 bushels. The product of
the world promises to be quite as much
as for each of the two preceding har
vests.
I “Two principal cm es have led to the
decline in matrimony among fashionable
or would bo fnshio: able circles in New
York, and to a less though still to a con
siderable degree in some of the other
large cities,” says a w riter in the Epoch.
“The first is the increased comforts and
diminished expenses of bachelor life;
(lie second is the over-worship to which
wo have nemstorned our women. The
avidity with which suites were secured
in the first bachelor apartment house in
New York soon led to the erection of a
largo number of similar structures. In
those suites of two, throe or more rooms
> can he had :■( n i<4 little exceeding
what a man used to have to pay for one
large furnished room in a well-situated
lodging house. Some of these houses
have restaurants attached, and in others
Ihe occupants can arrange with the jan
itor for the supply of a light breakfast.
The number of clubs has increased al
most, proportionately with that of tlm
apartment houses. At his club tka
i member finds an amount of comfort,
often of luxury, that only tui enormously
rich limn could niruian iu U .u.
Here ho can dine or lunch at a price
which little more than covers tlifc cost, of
the provisions. Many of the clubs have
sleeping-rooms over the public ones and
thus oiler exceptional advantages to
bachelors/’
Tlic Mocking-Hird’s Hong.
All along the churming gulf-coast
from Mobile to Bay Bt. Louis, or, in the
other direction, to Ht. Mark’s and Talla
hassee, there is not a cot, no matter how
lonely or lowly, provided it has a fig
tree, that there is not a pair of mocking
birds to do it honor. The scuppernong
vineyards, too, are the concert-halls of
this famous singer. Near the home of
Mr. Jefferson Davis, and. I believe,
upon th(! estate of the cx-C'onfederatc
chieftain, 1 sat in the shade of a water
o ik and heard a mocking-bird sing,over
in n thrifty vineyard, the rare dropping
song of which naturalists appear to have
taken no notice. It, was a balmy day in
March; the sky, the gulf, the air all
hazy and diimrnering, the whole world
swimming in a purplish mist of dreams,
ar.d 1 felt that the song was the expres
sion of some such sweet, passionate
longing as exhales from Keats's “Ode to
it Nightingale.” Under the low-hang
ing boughs, and over the 'ovel. daisy
sprinkled ground, I gazed upon the
sheeny reach of water, half convinced
that i was looking through
“Magic casements, opening on the foam
Os perilous seas, in fairy lands forlorn,”
and the very tones of the bird's voice
accorded with the feeling in which the
day was steeped.
Genuine bird-song is simply the high
est form of avian vocalization, by which
Instinctively, if not prem ditutcdly, the
bird finds expr don of pleasure. The
absence of true rhythm probably is sig
nificant of a want of [lower to appreciate
genuine made, the bird’s comprehen
sion compassing no more than the value
of sweet sounds merely as such. —[Scrib-
ner’ s Magazine.
A Big Establishment
A New York drummer in Texas was
bragging about the magnitude of tho
firm he represented.
“I reckon your house in New York is
a pretty big establishment,” fid the
Texan.
' ‘Hi"if You can’t have any idea of its
dimensions. Last week we took an in
ventory of the employes and found out
for the first time that three cashiers and
four bookkeeper* were missing. That
will give you some idea of the nagut
tilde of our business.”