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THE DARLINGTON
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••FOR US PRINCIPLE IS PRINCIPLE—RIGHT IS RIGHT—YESTERDAY, TO-DAY. TO MORROW, FOREVER.’’
VOL. XII. NO 15^
DARLINGTON, S. C., THDRSDAY, APRIL 15, 1886.
WHOLE NO 588.
mi nmiiiT.
• : •• •
Ourjob department Usupplied with ever^
facility necessary to enable us tocompele
both as to price and quality of work, w ith e \ e£
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faction in every particularor charge nothing
for our work. We are always prepared it
till order* at short notice for Plank*, 1 ill
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Heads, Letter Heads, Cards, {laud Ljlls
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Posters. Circulars, Pamphlets, &c.
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Cash on Delivery-
When Shadows Fall,
When shadows fa’l and light wiais die.
And parole bills against the sky
Stand up amidst the glowing gold
And paling amber that entbld
Their western ridges, from on high
Young night cplifts one shining eye
far off. with Herat harsh cry,
A flight of crows seek perch and fold
When shadows fall.
Along the chill beach, drratilj
Ibe dull g- ay waters apse and sigh;
The sun-warmed sand dunce grow a cold,
The dank air bears a scent of mold:
On tb* silent wings the night draws nigh
When shadows fall.
—J. 4- Bit chit, in the Current.
A Woman’s Atonement.
BY IDA ROWLAND.
lie was called to preach in the
little stone church at Bayside, and
ghe sang in the choir. That was
the beginning of it- 4-8 to how it
would end, people held various op
inions, although ou one poiut they
all agreed. He was sure to fall iu
love with her. It had so loug been
the fashion for everybody to auore
the beautitul Miss Sturtevaut, that
it was generally accepted as fact uo
masculiue heart could resist her
fasciuatious. Fop leu years nearly
all the marriageable young njen ot
Bay-side bad in turu laid their
hearts at her feet, had goue through
a brief season ot mad despair as
she refused them, and than married
elsewhere, and learned as the years
went by to look into her lovely eyes
with indifference. All but oue.
There was one dark spot iu Violet
Bturteyaut’s lite of which she did
cot love to think. Sydney Kent
had seemed to her only a boy,
pleasant to have for a devoted slave,
aud although she knew he was
madly iu love with her, she ke| t
him at her side for mouths, aud
wheu at last she .could uo longer
keep back the declaration of his
feelings, she made light of his love,
failed it a boyish passion, and when
he vowed to end his lite, she only
laughed aud gave him a year to loi-
.get her. But the boy was insane
with giiet, and within an hour from
the time he left her side died b.‘ his
(Owu baud. This was more of a
shock to her than she cared to own.
Bhe had been cruel aud unfeeling,
but all throuuh thoughtlessness.
Jler pride, however, was great, and
she gave uo aigu of sorrow or re-
^ pe«t»*nee. His widowed mother
.carried her broken heart away from
Bayside, aud the sad occurence be-
.came a thing of the past.
The shadow ot it uever left Vio
let’s life/ Other suiters came, aud
.and it was strange that the heart
.that drew all otheis toward it uever
felt a thrill ot love as the old, old
story was repeatedly whispered to
her. She enjoyed her power over
Xheiu. She could uot live without
tryiug to wiu every heart thrown
Jn her way, but the sweet unselfish
ness ot a true woman’s love was to
ker an enigma.
The year preceediug the time ol
which I write bad been a quiet one
for Violet compared with the ex-
.citemeut of her previous life. She
had beeu iett alone iu the world
with the exception of a maiden
.auut, who shared her home. Posses
sed ol au abundance of means aud
a’beautiful country home, there
were uot many girls whose lives
were so unfettered ami free There
had been a dearth of young men in
,tbe village fur aoipe tipe, and just
as life was begjuuiug to seem rath
er tame audnnju terest iug, the young
.minister came, aud brought with
him ripple of excitement iuto the
fluiet village, which had uot for
twenty years possessed a y oung un
married clergy mau.
*****
The church bells bad ceased ring-
jog, and Miss Martha Sturtevaut,
iu her best black silk, was pacing
nervously up and down the long
veranda, waiting for her ueice. The
old coach that had arried three
generations of Bturtevants to aud
from divtua service had been at the
gate for ten minutes, aud still Vio-
,< Jet lingered iu her room, if there
was * uy oue ihiug this amiable
.spinster disliki d it was being late
for church; but there was some-
tbiug else ou hep mind that increas
ed her nervousness.
“I wonder if she will wear her
new dress f 4-»d y.et, what does it
matter f She will slid te the sa me.
Perhaps if J should speak to her,
warn her a l^ttle—I wouder if I
dare-—*•” , : .
dust thep she heard a light step,
and< turning, saw Violet iu ibe door
way.
It was not the new drees-—but a
creamy nun’s vailiug, made very
pimply, with oasuaden of lace arouud
ibe w hile throat, and instead of the
new bonnet w itn its maiding plumes,
with a simple white straw with
eiouds.ol lace—no flowers, uo rib-
bous; aud yet, as Miss Maitha look-
/j ed, she wished she had worn the
dress
nfcw dress Her 1^$® se«-a»ed to
/ead bet tboujjUtsAg^^jjjhed a j are aud admiration ;
0. Nortneu
little defiantly, as they seated them
selves aud were driven rapidly into
the village.
“Vou are displeased, aunt, and
there is something you wish to say
to me. Pray be quick about; it.
James is driving fast.”
‘ Not displeased, Violet.” said
Aurt Martha gently; “bet there
is something I wished to say. It
may do no good, but I must speak.
I pray you have some respect for
this young man’s sacred calling.
Do uot try to gain his love, ouly to
throw it away.”
“you mean the minister, I sup
pose. Any one would think to bear
you I posse sed an ‘evil eye.’ What
if lie falls in love f—I can’t help it.
His sacred calling will help him
bear bis disappointment, if it is to
be that. Aunt Martha,” she cried,
passionately, “have I uo heart, I
wonder f Perhaps my hero has
come iu the person of this parag
on.”
“Oh, my dear, I should be so hap
py !” and the old lady ’s voice trem
bled with emotion.
“You are a dear old goose, auntie.
It might be wise to wait and see
him before we rave iu this manner.
If he has red hair and wears glasses,
my simplicity is wasted.”
They reached the church then
and Miss Martha went into the wide
family pew, while her niece flitted
up the qarrow stairs to the gallery.
It suited her to sing iu the choir.
It gave her something to do. aud
some one to rule ; tor uo one iu the
village had received as good a
musical education as bersell.
The music was indeed a credit
to her, aud many a chance visitor
from the city turned iu surprise, as
the gloi ions old anthems rol edover
their heads Mo e than one heart
felt a little flutter of expectancy as
a tall, slender man lose in the pul
pit to address them.
He did not preach a dry sermon
about the old patriarchs, or some
ki otty pr< Idem iu theology He
talked to them as if he knew each
ouei’s secret grief, aud by his deli
cate sympathy healed the sore
heart. He pictured what a true,
beautiful life they upght lead, until
Violet found herself thinking ot
the past—;.er frivolous, useless lite.
The old wound re-opened, aud sln-
wildly wished site could tiling back
to lilt* the one son ot that widowed
mother who eight years before
had blotted out his life for her
sake
She had a solo in the closing an
them, and many turned to look as
her mellow voice floated upward.
It seemed to have a new tone, that
touched the heart like a prayer lor
forgiveness.
Ralph Armstrong, as In’ sat in
the pulpit, looke<f -cross the tittle
church into a face that seemed like
the face ot an angel.
There were several matters to
S|>eak about to the organist alter
church, and it was some little time
belore Vioet descended the stairs,
where, to her surprise, she found
her aunt with the ministers hand
iu hers, while she seemed almost on
the verge of hysterics. Hastening
to her side, >1 e heard her say :
“To lhitik that vou are the son of
my old friend, John Armstrong!
Such a surprise and pleasure.
Violet, do tell him he must come
to dimfer \i itfi us.”
“Bray introduce me, aunt, and I
cert, tuiy will,” said her niece, laugh-
tug, for Aunt Martha certaiulv look
ed veiy tauuy, half embracing the
y oung man, whi'e a score of people
looked on iu wonderment.
Violet’s repentant tunod was gone.
It vanished as she saw a glance of
ad mi ration iu the dark eyes the
young mau turned upon bet. Dur
ing the homeward drive aud the
dinner toltnwihg, Aunt Martha
would have liked to label her dan
gerous. She certaiuly had never
seemed more attractive, aud the
young mau would ueed to pray
for strength if he wished to re
sist.
’’Violet,” said her auut, sternly,
as she looked into her room to say
gcod-iiight, “that young mau is the
son ot the dearest friend of toy
youth, I will have uo trifling with
his heart”
*****
Iu the year following, I think
Yiolet Styrtevant received ali the
puulshmeut she deserved Jt was
gi oROe the happiest and inu*t
wretched year ol her life. Hap
piest, because she bad at last h-aru-
ed to love, and hung with rapture
ou every word uttered by the one
who bad won her heart. The most
wretch erf, because although she
tried every fascination iu her pow
er, be seemed perfectly indifferent
to her. At times her heart would
exult over some-little attention,
only to grow cold as, peib.ips the
same day, she would see the same
attention offered some one else.
She could not accuse him ot being
a flirt. was simply courteous
to all alike. He came often to see
Auut Martha, as bis lather’s friend,
aud Vioht could not complain of
lack ot opportunity to win his re
gard, Feeling him baid to please
only made her the more anxious to
succeed. Bbe would see him some
times lookiuu'at her as one might
at a beautiful pioture, with pleas
but through
it all a subtle coldness that chilled
her heart. He was not engaged ;
she learned in a thousand ways that
be was generous and warm hearted;
but the year went by, mid he was
still cool and indifferent, paying
n ore attention to the village maid
ens than to herself; and, as she felt
that her case was hopeless, she suf
fered more than even Aunt Martha,
who watched her closely, imagin
ed.
Once she thought, “he thinks me
too gay,” and forthwith donned a
simpler attire, and sang softer airs,
only to see him study ing her with
au amused curiosity that nettled
her. A dozen times she vowed to
overcome this foolish infatuation,
and avoided his pieseuce; but it all
ended the same way. Alter decliu- i
iug to come down and help Aunt
Martha entertain him, she won d
kneel at her window iu the darkues-
just to hear his footsteps as he ett
the house, murmuring “Ralph
“Ralph!” over and over. If be
couhi only have heard the passion
and despair iu that taint cry !
At last she felt that she could
bear it no longer. She would go
away until she could conquer her
self, when something happened
that seemed to reveal the cause of
his indifference.
At a party, one evening, some
one was speaking of an event w hich
happened in the village twenty
years before, when Mr. Armstrong
remarked:
“1 remember it well. I was visit
ing my aunt, Mrs. Kent, at the
time.”
Violet heard no more; she
thought they spoke of Sydney and
his unhappy late, and imagined she
saw a look of scorn on the lace of
the man she loved. How he must
despise her, for Ids auut had un
doubtedly told him all about her
before he came. He had been lote-
warued, and, alas! forearmed.
She found her aunt, and entreat
ed her to leave, as she was ill; and
very ill she looked as she lay back
in the carriage, saying over and
over to herself; “His cousin, and
{ killed him.” Her youthful folly
seemed fated to mar her whole |
life
“You do look sick ; I hope you j
are not coming down with fever,” I
said Aunt Martha, anxiously. “We
inust go away at once. They say j
there are a dozen eases hi town, j
and they tear an epidemic like the ;
one here four years ago. V- e must
leave to-morrow, if possible.”
Violet was passive that night, !
and let her aunt plan out their sum
mer without any opposition, but as
she lay and thought during that
long, teirible night, she planned hei
lite anew.
iu the morning she said : “You
can go, Auut Martha, but I shall
certainly stay. We can be iu no
danger here. Our spring water is
so pure—mt like that w hich* sup
plies the village—and they will
need all the help they can get to
care tor the sick. So many who
are able will leave the poor and sick
to their fate. I shall invite a num
tier of t hose who ate unable to leave
to come out here and stay until the
danger is over. There are many I
could name now whom it would
benefit, even if they were not threat
ened with the fever. Oh, Aunt
Martha, do you think if 1 could
save a life it would atone tor the
past T”
In that bitter cry her aunt read
the story ot that poor suffering
heart
“We will both stay,” she said,
gently. “I was only thinking of
you when I urged going. My life
is soon over. It does not matter ”
The old mansion was lari e and
surrounded by a (arm teeming with
plenty. The old looms, unused so
long, were opened aud aired, and
soon iu every one were one or more
occupants. There were delicate
cliildten, |»oor, tired school teachers
and several old ladies, into whose
pinched and sorrowful lives this
visit came as a heavenly vision.
The village was indeed plague-
stricken. Many w ho were able tied,
but among those who remained the
death-rate ran high. Doctors came
irom other places, and Ralph Arm
strong staid slid nursed and com
forted all in his power. His face
flushed as he learned of Miss Stui t-
evaiit’s guests, h r aunt taking care
that he should know to whom the
credit was due. He soon heard of
her iu other ways, and met her more
than once beside the dy ing. She
was pale, quiet and courageous, but
never more beautitul. There was
oue young girl who, iu days past,
she had believed had won the heart
she would have died to possess.
She had hated her tor her simple
beauty then, and now when she
heard she was very low with the
tever, with no regmar nurse to at-
teud her, a fierce struggle took
place iu her soul, which ended iu
her going to her bedside, prepared
to stay and battle for the life iu the
poor fever racked frame. For days
she watched her, taking but little
rest heiself. Ralph had been tn
with the doctor, aud pressed h^r
hand gratefully as he found her
there. There seemed no hope, ami
! the doctor said, oue day: “1 can
1 do no more. If she lives she will
owe her life to you, Miss Sturte-
vant.”
AH that night she sat by the lied,
gave nourishment and medicine,
bathed the fevered brow and pray
ed for her life, and as the day dawn
ed she knew her pra\er was crant-
ed. Some one came in to relieve
her, and she slipped out into the
fresh air. She went through the
garden to avoid meeting the doctor
and Ralph, who, she knew, were
coming at that hoar. Very pale
and worn she looked, as she leaned
against a rustic seat; but there
was an exultant look iu the face
lilted toward heaven.
At last she saw Ralph come from
the house, looking around as it seek
ing her, and as he drew near, she
cried :
“i have saved a life. I have
made atoreinetil. Go to her 1
saved her far you.”
“No, not did you not know f—
she loves a ml is to marry her co 1 sin.
My place is here, if you will let me
stay. Here at your feet to ask for
giveness for my doubt of you. To
think I could have doubted such a
noble heart! 1 feel that I am uu
worthy to ask you to love me.”
“And you know the past I”
“All; this week has blotted out
the past for ever.”
•She turned to him with a look that
told him, more than words could do
of the fit-ry furnace through which
her soul had passed, and stretching
out his arms, he lifted her away
from it all—to his heart.
The Last Ditch.
During the war the “last man”
and “last ditch” were common
phrases, and str.yige as i may
seem, says an exchange, they were
located at the end of the w r. On
Fourth of July morning, istifl, fif
teen months after Lee’s surrender,
the secretary of war, who had plann
ed a fishing excursion to the tails of
the Potomac received a telegram
from the provost marshal at Rich
moud, Ya., stating that a squad of
Confederate soldiers were at his
office ready to deliver up their arms
and be arrested Knowing that
joking of that description would
subject the perpetrator to court
martial, he made a bee line to the
White House to consult Piesideiil
Johnson, which resulted in a tele
gram to the provost marshal : —
“Who are they and where did they
come from T” The answer was di
rected to the point. “S < r g c a u i
Tew ksbury aud guard trom Dismal
Swamp. Did not know the war
was over.” After a good roat ot
laughter the provost marshal was
ordered to receive their capitulation.
Tewksbury, a Virginian, ordered
a couple of Georgians to come for
ward. give up their shooting irons
aud stick their lists to the “doev
nient,” resolving himself as the last
man anil old Dismal Swamp the
last ditch. Tewksbury’s descrip
lion of how he ascertained the war
was over was amusing. He and
his companions had been pos ed ou
the edge of the swamp to watch
movements of Yanks from Norfolk,
with orders to remain until relieved.
He never was relieved, and had
subsisted ou game aud fish for three
years. He met an old negro who
told him that the war had been
over about a year, which tickled
him better than it he had been ku-k
ed by a mule, as he facetiously ex
pressed it.
The Courage of Hifi Convictions.
In an address at Reading tbeoth
er evening ex-Governor Curtin hu
morously said : “Who ever knew an
old soldier to refuse eoigmiss.i ry
whiskey f” To his surprise a tall,
gray-bearded man arose and an
swered : “Here’s one.” The gover
nor was not sp much surprised but
that he could exclaim: “Then you
mast have been as dry as a graven
image.” The old soldier who was
not afraid to make known his tem
perance principles is William H. K.
ol Resiling. He served as sergeant
lour y ears in the war and was iu
twenty two battles. He was a tern
perauce man first, last, all the time.
He organized A temperanoe society
ot twenty-eight members in bis com
Free Tuition and the S. C. College.
A REPLY TO OBJECTIONS.
[W. J. Alexander in Baptist Courier.]
5. “The State College’s the rich
Only the sons of
man’s College
the rich can attend it; or at any
rate, the sons of the rich constitute
such a large majority of those w ho
attend it, that it is altogether wrong
to tax the poor to support an insti
tution whose advantages are chief
ly for the rich. Let *he rich pay
their piivileges.” I am pot sure
that I have seen this objection in
The Courier, but 1 am quite sure
that 1 have heard it trom some
pioniinent Baptists, and my object
is to meet not only those injections
which have been stated in the pa
pers, but those also which, so far as
I know them, are privately enter
tained.
The answer to the above objec
tion falls into three parts:
(1.) The very way to make this
the rich man’s college is to do away
with free tuition. Make the Col
lege expensive, and tin- poor man’s
son cannot attend it. The higher
the tuition fees, thegpire difficult
it becomes for the poor man to send j
his son to it, and the more it tends
to become exdus vely the rich man’s
college. Those, therefore, who ob
ject to free tuition mi the ground
that tiic State College is the rich
man’s college are advocating the
only policy which will lend to make
it the licit man’s coLege. I have
presented this answer to several
gentlemen who have urged the
above objection, and the only re
sponse I have ever received has
been a blush of embarrassment and
contusion. There may, however, he
an answer to this criticism; if so,
let us have it.
(- ) Grant, for the sake of argu
ment, that this is tin rich man’s
college (and I grant it only for the
s4ke of argument; nothing is furth
er from the fact), still, even in this
case, the free tuition policy of the
College could, i believe, be vindica
ted. For what are the facts ? The
rich and the poor alike are taxed to
support free schools. But w ho de
rive most advantage ftom the free
common school! Not the rich, but
ti e poor, fiie rich man who aims
t send h sson to college finds that
his son cannot be prepared for col
lege iu the live s-bools. I mean no
disparagement to the te. chers of
the free schools when 1 say that the
compensation to such teachers is so
meagre tha', as a general thing,
first rate teachers cannot afford to
teach such schools. Of course this
remark does not apply to graded
schools, w hich are chiefly support
ed by local taxation. The school
tax will have to be greatly increas
ed before we can hope to seenre, as
teachers of the ftee schools, men of
first-rate scholarship. I hope that
the people of the State will soon see
that it is to their highest interests
that the school tax should be great
ly incteased. 1 hope Hint they will
soon demand this of the Le islature
It is a false notion that half-educa
ted people can teach elementary
schools well A man who has uev
er gone bey ond his English gram
mar aud ariltime ic cannot teach
grammar and arithm-tiu as they
ought to be taught. There is such
a thing as penny wise end pound-
foolish, and that is the mistake we
are now making about- pubic edit
cation. Where is the common Iree
school that can prepare a boy for
college f There are a few, but they
are very few. The rich man,therefore
who desires to have his sou prepar
ed lor college finds that he cannot
avail himself ol the Iree schools.
Therefore, it he lives in a neighbor
hood in which there are others who
have similar aims in regard to their
sous, he unites with them in em
ploying a teacher at their own ex
pense; otherwise, ho sends his sou
awav from home, at great expense,
to some good school. Ami yet,
though he derives no personal ad
vantage from the free school, he
pays ten < r twenty times as much
to its support as the poor tu.iu who
does derive ad vantage from it. This
puny, but after he returned from i state of thing* existain almost every
two mouths’imprisonment at Belle
Isle he found Uiat four had bro
ken the pledge. He at once reor
ganized ihe society aud built it up
to sixty-eight members. Once there
came an order that every soldier
should have two doses ol quinine in
whiskey every day Sergeant Bush
marched his company up to the
surgeon’s tent at “sick call” and the
surgeon said : “Pour out a big one
for the sergeant.’’
But the sergeant answered : “1
swore allegiance to Uucle Sam to
tight, but uot to drink whiskey/
The surgeon was inclined to make
afnss, butthe colonel backed up
the sergeant aud others ot his com
pany who refused the whiskey.
“When the governor asked that
question,” said Mr. Bush, “I
thought it my duty to stand up, and
up l went.”—N. Y. Sun.
Children o ten wake iu the night
with a^buruing fever, aud the par
ent is at a loss to divine the cause
Worms! wot ins! are at work. A
dose of Shriuer’s Indian Vermifuge
is the ouly remedy.
neighborhood. Now I ask wlietb
er it is not simply just aud fair :hat
there should be some one school, at
least, of higher education in which
the rich mau might educate his sou
free of tuition f As he derives nq
personal advantage from the free
common schools, ought there not to
be some Iree school of higher educa
tion from which he can derive some
personal advantage. The South
Can lina College is such a school,
aud common justice demauds that
>t ought to be as free and open to
the rich as it is to the poor. The
nob have their rights as well as the
IMmr, and the poor are as much
bound to respect the rights of the
rich as the rich are bound to res;>eet
the poor. If the rich mau does not
complain that he has to pay $10
to support elementary schools from
which ouly the poor derive personal
advantage, shall the poor man com
plain that he has to pay live cents
to support a college even if only
the rich derive persoual advantage
from it If he does complain, be is
a “poor” siiecimeu of manhood iu
more seusea of that word than one,
and “I have nothing agin him,’’ as j
Mrs. Poyser said of Craig, “only if j
is a pity he couldna’ be hatched
over and hatched different.”
(3.) All this is on the supposition
that this is the rich man’s colie e.
But theie never was a supposition J
more unfounded If, indeed, by a
poor man we mean a man so poor
that it is impossible (or him to send
his son to college, and if by a rich
mau we mean one to whom it is
possible to send his son to college,
however great the difficulties, then
of course, tliis is the ricli man’s col
lege, ns is also every other. But if
by a rich man we mean one who
can send his son to college without
feeling it to he a heavy burden, and
if in the class of poor inen we mean
those who can, indeed, send their
sons to college, but to whom it is a
heavy burden to (Jo so—a burden
so heavy they have to make painful
sacrifices in order to sustain it,—
then, at least nineteen-twentieths
of the patrons ol the State College
are poor men. There are not a doz
en students in onr college whose
education is not 4 heavy burden to
their parents. Let it be understood
that when we speak ot poor men we
do siot. mean exclusively obscure
men, or men of humble tamily. Tlie
war impoverished many of the best
families of the State. The aristoc
racy of South Carolina is by no
means a plutocracy. On the con
trary, many ol the best families in
the State arc among the poorest of
her citizens, and have to exercise
the most painful economy to edu
cate their children. It serves the
purpose of the enemies of free tui
tion in the State College to pooh-
pooh poverty as if it were a spectre
of the imagination rather than a
hard, cruel fact. I would it wi-re
so, but it is not. If pooh poohing
and bow-wowing could drive j-over
ty out of actual existence, or at
least beyond the borders of qur
State, l for one should make pooh-
poohing and bow-wowing my exclu
sive busiutss until the last demon
ol Poverty’s gaunt brood had leap
ed into the Savannah River or
plunged into the Atlantic Ocean
1 have now fli ished my examina
tion of objections to the free tuiti'in
policy of the State College. Tin s
object ions are:
1. That to uy are opposed to this
policy, and that it is unjust to tax
people to support a policy or au in
stitutioii to which they are opposed
The answer to this obj. ctio 1 was
that it proved too much ; for, ac
cording to the objection, only those
should be taxed to support a policy
w ho approve that policy ; which is
absurd, as I demonstrated.
2. That tiie tax to support the
free-tuition policy of the Stale Col
lege was such a heavy burden on
the tax payers. The answer to this
was that the average voter pah I ou
ly five cents to support this policy.
3. That free tuition detracts Irom
the manliness aud independence ol
those w ho are the objects of it, and
creates a class of citizens who ha
bitually look to the State for help.
It W4' admitted that there was force
in this objection; but it was replied
that the difficulty of paying for his
board, books and other expenses
sufficiently tried and developed the
manhood of out youth to counter
act whatever enervating influence
free tuition might exert. I further
showed that the very men who are
now condemning this policy of free
tuition were the lirst to inaugurate
and applan I it.
4. That free tuition in the State
College is an injustice to the denom
inational colleges, iuusmtioh as it
gives the former an advantage in
the race of competition. The an
swer was: (1.) It is a low view of
our colleges to regard them as ‘ run
ning a race of competition ” (2.) It
is narrow and selfish for the denom
inaUonal colleges to object to the
State giving cheap higher education
because they cannot do so. (3.) The
implied belief that if free tuition
were abolished many students now
attending the State College would
attend Furman University was
shown to be groundless.
3. That it is the rich man’s col
lege. The present article is au an
swer to this objection.
These are the leading objections,
so far as I know them. If there are
others, I should lie glad to have my
attention called to them. Of all
these objections, the third is the
ouly one which seems to me to have
any force. At one time it seemed
to me to have so much force that
I was rather disposed to favor
the abolition of free tnitiou. All
other considerations are strongly in
favor of the free-tuition policy of
(the State College; but this one, it
seemed to me, was of more impor-
[t.ince than all the othera combined,
and if it were true, ought to out
weigh them all. If I were persuad
ed that It. was true—that the man-
liuess and self-reliance of our yi ung
meu were degraded by tree tuition
—I should certainly denounce it.
I am convinced, however, that this
is uot the case, but thpt the condi
tion and circumstances are such as
to neutralize any such demoralizing
influeuco. But if oue iusists that
such a policy is damaging to the
character of onr young men, 1st
him be cousisteut and begin at once
a crusade against the common
schools. 1 assert it boldly, and I
challenge criticism of the assertion,
tb t every argument which proven
that free tuition given to young
men at college injures their moral
character tells with even greater
force against the free schools than
it does against the free college l
shall, however, ret uni to this sub-
ji-ct and consider it at greater length-
In my m-xt article I shall consider
certain objections which have been
urged upon Baptists against^afrorj-
izing the State College.
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Fashion Notes.
Bonnets are small and hats higfl.
Red everywhere and in every
thing.
Cats’ eyes figure largely in new
fringes. ■ ‘ ' ' ' * ‘ •
All the new cotton dress goods
are thin.
Black crape is used to coyer crim
son satin.
Plush continues the favorite fab
ric for mantles.
Homespun come jin great variety
4ml is popular-
Now is the time tq buy and make
up wash goods.
Bold ami silver tinsel is seen iij
all the new ruchings.
Skirts are either plain or laid it)
perpendicular pleats.
Hats in two shades of brown are
becoming trimmed with gold beads
in heads in pale aud deep tones.
Kinoked pearl ornaments are seen
mixed w tli dull lead ami steel
heads, making a novel
meul
arrange.
Brown is the most used of any
color, and “studies in brown” are
occupying the at'ention of even the
tailors.
Caps for elderly ladies covering
the top of the head, aud without
strings or tabs, are made of lull
ruchings of illusion lace.
Black bonuets are most favored
for evening wear, and jet is the fa
vorite garniture, lighted up by abR
of color, red, yellow or blyc.
Cross bar silk gauzes with lus-
troustbreads, gauze witl) moss rose
buds scattered qvey it, and French
crapes iq white or creamv hues, arq
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t
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The Knights of L ibor are aim
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A yearning for pa,usage will now
and then pop up iu even the most
poetic br.east.
It is seldom that a 41 ae is suffi
ciently color bln; I to be able uot to
tell a green back when he sees it.
A woman bates to pa«s a pretty
bonnet in a store w indow, bnt shq
is always willing to buy it!
There in an art in putting 00
gloves, says a fashion paper. Com#
to think .qf it, you have to get your
baud iu. as it were, in pqujug on a
glove properly.
She—“What a man yon sre,
George; always m d
ladies’ taper waists.” n»—
kimr Inn of th^
He—“And
what should I do with a taper, but
to make light of it 1”
An old-fashioued oormr clock
stood so loug iu one pi^ie that its
wooden feet decayed, and it- fell
across the dining najl w hile a Lit
tle Rock family wejre iR tijuuer, se
verely injuring two grown person*
and a chfld. What time was it!
The clock struck three.
“I can certainly say th&L Hughes’
Tonic is the best Ch.ill remedy I
have ever seen or heard of. 1 used
only a part of a bottle, without any
quinine, and it cured me.” P. W.
Wither*, deputy sheriff, Jeff. Co.,
Arkaueas.