Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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~ W- . v’— SL—. r* :.V ' TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. U. JANUARY 6.1883. ESTABLISHED 1847 THE PICTURE. A bit of lovely cout, Da&hed by a fiamlng sea, Tba*. ne might see bo more In far-off Sicily. A figure, dumb as death, Prone on the yollew sand, Beside nu useless craft, * Shattered up in the strand. And a fair fisher girl. Watching with sad, wild eye The breaker's seething foam And dun, tempestuous sky. Crouched on the broken bow, The glare of sky and sea Shone oh the sweet, dark face And wild hair mournfully. A simple picture hung On the wa uscoted wall, And yet the proud man’s heart It held with solemn thrall. uui was the prostrate form Lying upon the sand, And his the true eyed girl Who watched upon the strand. Be lived; but she alas I In sea-lale Sicily Slept in a louely grave Beside i he moaning sea. He broke her untaught heart By silence cold and long; In vain would tate remorse Atone her grief and wrong. Bor wife nor child had he To cheer his lonely hall; Only that painted bit Hung on the dreary wall. HUB RELATIONS. “I fkope, my CLw, you won’t object to Jolin’a folks?” said the bride, timidly. “John’s folks ?” repeated the tall, i>lack-eyed young man, who had just been made happy, and was now sitting lieside Mrs. Frederic Fane, in the rail road train steaming t)wards Hastings, which was their nearest station to Lau rel Farm. “Not in the least, my love. Why should I object to them ?" “Oh, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Fred eric Fane “Some people do, yon know. “But of course it seems hard to turn them out, after all these years, and ” “StopJialf a minute, my dear,” said • Mr. Fane. “1 am not quite sure that I under stand you.” “Who are John’s folks? “And who, if I may take the liberty to ask, is John ?” Mrs. Fane turned pink, and Eaokad hesitatingly down at her laoe-bordered pocket handkerchief, as if uncertain whether a tear or two would not be ap propriate. “Oh, Fred, said she, “what a qttea- ti m I “just think a moment. “And of course they always expected to have a home with me.” “Oh !” said Mr. Fane, making up his lips into a whistling position, as he re membered that Mrs. Fane’s first hus band had been named John Quincy Adams Larkins. “Yes, I comprehend. Are there many of ’em my dear?” “Well,” hesitated Lilias, again color ing, “there’s John’s stepfather—a dear old gentleman, but a little peculiar, He’a an escaped Mormon ” “A what?'’ said Mr. Fane. “A Mormon,” explained the bride. “He joined the community, and then he didn’t like them as well as he thought he should, so he ran away and married John’s mother. “And after she diet), nothing eould induce him to leave the scenes endear ed by her presence.” - “Ah!” said Fane. “A sentimental old party.” “He's very agreeable,” added Liias, “it only you will let him have his own way in everything.” “Do you know, my dear, that is a oharaoteribtio. which I have observed in others?” gravely remarked Mr. Fane, “Than there’s aunt Grace,’' went on Lilias. “She’s an excellent housekeeper—in fact she is cleaning neatly all the time. ••It does get a little uncomfortable now and then; but it’e aunt Grace’s way, and so I put up with it. “And John’s two sisters, Dorcas and Keturah, are water-cure people. “They like the place because there is a cascade at the back aud a river close by." “Ah 1” said Mr. Fane, “And cousin Ferdinand—that’s all 1“ added Lilias, with a sigh of relief. “That s all, eh ?” said the bridegroom. “Cousin Ferdiuanu is very agreeable,” she said. “He’s waiting.” “Waiting?” echoed Mr. Fane. “Yee." “What for ?" “For the millqninm,” explained Mrs. Fane. “He’s been waiting these years.” ; ‘Oh P' said Mr. Fane. “He’s crazy, eh ?” “Well,” confessed Lilias “he is little peculiar. ‘•But wo : re used to it, and we dou’t notice it now.’ , _ “And are these people all to live with us ?” asked Mr. Fane, a little gloomily. “It you don’t object,” Lilias timidly said. “Not in the least, my darling,” said the young husband. “Your will is law to me," “Bo &iud of you, dear,” said Mra. Fane, apparently mnoh relieved. Aud then the train stopped at Hast ings and the yonug pair got oat. But during the long drive to Laurel Farm—Larkins Faim it had been wneu Lilias first came there, bat ebe had adopted the more euphonious name— Mr. Fane turned matters over in his mind. His mother, a shrewd old prophetess, bad warned him that he couldn’t ex pect to marry a nob young widow, who was pretty and attractive into the bar gain, witnout some return of annoy ance or trouble to balance hit bliss. And here it was, the first thing. fastened to the old farm like limpets to a rook, barnacles to the hull of a ship I And Lilias evidently expected him to adopt them into his aflectiouR, and tol erate their various eccentricities even as ahe had done, Lilias was such a pretty, dove-eyed, confiding little thing. She should not be tormented at all events, he resolved. if “John’s folks” were to be met and conquered m single combat, he would do it aloue. Aud so he looked down with a smile on her innocent face, and replied pleasantly to her timidly-hazarded ob servations, studiously veiling the cur rent of his thoughts; for as they neared the old home, Lilias was evidently growing nervous. It was a flue old brick house, as Mr. Faue Could see, iu the cold December moonlight, surrounded with alterna.e rows of leafier maples and evergreens, with lights gleaming in all the windows, and “John’s folks” were all assembled at the dour to welcome the new married couple. First and foremost stood the “es caped Mormon,” a tall venerable gentle man, with a flowing beard and a suit of pepper and salt, with a red necktie and turnover collar. Welcome, my children, welcome,'” said this relic of the past, with a patron izing air, as if the whole boose belonged to him. I shall use my every effort to render your stay at Laurel Farm agreeable. “You’re a little late,” glancing re proachfully at the clock, “and I'm afraid the roast fowls will be spoiled. “It always disagrees with mo to eat overdone poultry; but of course this will uot happen agai i. ” “Oh, no, indeed, pa !” Lilias eagerly said. Aunt Grace stood in the background, a grim, bony female, with her face tied up iu a handkerchief, and a dress of badly dyed merino stuff, made in a most outlandish fashion. “You’ll have to sleep in the garret- chamber to-night, Lilias,” she said gioomify. “I’ve had yours whitewashed and cleaned, and it ain’t dry yet." “But it was cleaned thoroughly only last fall, aunt Graee.” I can’t help that,” said aunt Groce, with a sniffle. cried “Cleaidiness is next to godliness, and I ain’t one to live is the dirt. You wouldn’t ask me or your step father to turn out of our rooms, would you ?” “Oh, no !” cried Lilias. Dorcas and Eetnrah sat knitting on either side of the fire, evidently in a T CA J 111 UUUAUa. \ We were invited to tea to Miss Plumbago’s to-night,” said the eldest sister. “But Keturah thought we’d ought to stay and welcome you fust,” said Dor cas. “And the tra’n’s late, and we shan t be iu time to go there now," moodily added Keturah. But some folks don’t care how they inconvenience other folks,” said Dorcas, sue extended a flabby, mitteued hand to her new cousin-in-law without looking at him. “lam veiy sorry’” with a troubled f ice. “Well, then, Grace,” said the Bee ond . ent mau—a stout, rubicund little felloa. with a red nose, and hair as white as sliver—“let u* have supper served a*, once. “What are you waiting for?” And Mr. aud M s. Faue were com pelled to seat themselves without loss bf time at the tab e. without an oppor tunity to remove the dust of travel, or to relresh themselves alter their jour ney. pleaded Lilia*, Mr. Fane had indeed ventured to say someihiug about towels aud fresh water, but Lihas whispered— “Never miud just now, dear. “Pa will be so put out, aud Grace and Ketuiah like punctuality. For this once, do oblige me ?” Mr. Fane looked around iu some sur prise. Here were he and Lilias, the right ful owners of the house, placed in the position of second-rate guests, of no great importance one way or the other, while “pa,” aunt Grace, the resentful sisters aud the Second Adventist reigned supreme, and Lilias hardly dared to express an opinion of her own in their presence. But he made no comment, to Lihas’ great relief, and endured everything with tne serenity of au Aristotle. Early the next morning he descend ed into the cellar, where aunt Grace was skimming milk, aud looked sharply about him. “My dear aunt Grace,” he said cheer fully, “will it inconvenience you if I use some ot these shelves for my chemi cals?”' “Your what? ’ said aunt Grace, drop ping her crjam-spoon in amazement. “I intend to use this cellar as a lab oratory," blandly explained Mr. Fane; “and and is owe ol the ohemioMs are explosive •' “I had better move the pans out to the spring-House,” gasped aunt Orace. “But Dorcas and Keturah are very timid, and—” In that case,” said Mr. Fane, “per haps they had better remove themselves to the spring-house, too. I really cannot exist without my sci-ntifio studies.” Aunt Grace sat down and thought it over. , t Was she, after having lived for sixty odd years in peace anil quietness, to be blown up like a turpeuo at last? Thera was cousin Yorke, iu Wales, t would not, perhaps, be such a coni' fortable home bs tuis, but there would be u'' chemicals. Ai.. Bogle the recreant Mormon, was cozily reading the paper by the fire, when his stepson's successor blandly requested him to ‘move a little.” “Move.!” said Mr. Bogle, dropping his kl&saes. “Where? and what for?” “I am endeavoring to attack electric “Chemical experiments! Here the ex-Mormon. “•But I dislike chemistry, aud I don’t approve of electricity. “in my opinion it is a trifling with the gifts of Providence. ”< “Electro-chemistry is a wonderful agent,” serenely remarked the bride groom. “I am thinking of charging all the boards of the floor with electricity, in order to observe the effect produced by the footsteps of diflerent members of the family.” “Sir,” cried Mr. Bogle, involuntary lifting his feet up on the round of his chair, “I will not tolerate it, “I—I am not a lamp, to be lighted by electricity, nor a battery, to be charged.” “My dear sir,’’smiled the bridegroonl, “in less than three days I shall have made a convert of you,” “Never 1” roared Mr. Larkins’ step father. In the meantime oousia Ferdinand was dubiously eyeiug a pair of superb blood bounds which were chained up in the stable. “I don’t like dogs,” said cousin Fer dinand ; “amt I always used this par ticular stall for my pony Grub." “I have ordered Grub to be changed into the stall beyond,” said Mr. Fane. “And you nesd not be afraid of Star and Planet; theyarechainedcarefully.” “But suppose they should break their chains ?” croaked cousin Ferdinand. “In that case, your life would not be worth five minutes’ purchase,” said Fane. But my wife and I are very fond bf the dogs ; they know us.” “I’ll leave the house 1” roared cousin Ferdinand, retreating as far as the barnyard fence would permit him. “I won’t be made a martyr to hydro phobia." “Pray reconsider your determina tion?” said Fane politely. But cousin Ferdinand was away like a shot. Lilias came to her hnaband that even ing with flushed cheeks and brilliant eyes. “Fred,” she cried, “they’re going!” “Who are going, pet?” he asked. “John’s folks—to-morrow nuruing.” “Impossible 1” said Mr. Fane tragic- ally. How should we ever live without them ?” Every one of them,” whispered Li lias ; “and oh, I am so glad, because they had lived here so Jong that they had become exaotiug aud cross, “I didn’t observe it so much in the old times, and I think we shall be so much happier by ourselves. a jwl Gf asSuAfli. Kurils don’t like electricity, and oousin Fer dinand has a horror of dogs.” “I am very sorry/' Mr. Fane solemnly said. Fred,” cried the little bride, looking up with a sudden light in her eyes, “you have done it on purpose I” “Done what ?” said the bridegroom innocently. * Wasn’t I always an amateur chemist aud electrician V .“And are uot Star anu Planet my in separable companions win fever I go ? “How can I help it if my tastes are antipathetic to those of yonr deceased husband s relatives ?” But Lilies shook her head and laughed merrily. “Fred,” ahe said, “I have penetrated yonr mystery. “But I shail not sold you, dear, for it la so nice to have the house all to our selves.” So you will not mourn hopelessly for John’s folks?” misonievously asked Mr. Fane. “No,” said Mrs. Fane, “I do not think I shall." For it was as she bad said—“John’s folks" had become chronic; and people of a History and Cost of a Tannul. The recent opening of the St. Goth- ard Railway through the Alps has moved Consul Byers, of Zurich, to write a sketch of the great tunnel. The pass of that name is over the highest moun tain chain in Europe. Tne old post road, commenced iu 182(1, 7,000 feet above the sea iu places, was 18} feet whle; it crossed gorges, clung dizzily to steep mountain sides, and was roofed over n here most threatened by avalanches. When the first railway was opened, in J84C, from Baden to Zurich, it was proposed to ask conces sions to enable the company to attack one of the high passes, and in 1803 a union or society for the') r u> pose was effected, upon the basis of an estimated cost of 807,400,000. In December, 1871, the St. Gothard Ruin ay Com pany was organized, 86,800,000 stock and 818,600,000 of bonds were issued, a contract was made calling for comple tion iu eight years, with a forfeit of 81.000 for each additional da/- and a bonus of 81.000 for eaoh day gained upon tire contract time. Work began in the summer of 1872, and it was soon discovered that tne estimates were wrong, and that 857,800,000 would be needed to carry out the plan; a crisis followed, and the enterprise seems to have been saved only by #hat had al ready been Invested in it, leaving no way out but to push ahead. The rail way property extends 113 miles fror- Immensee, in Switzerland, to Chiasso, in Italy, and more fhau 6ae-dfth of the whole Hue is in tunnels-fifty-six in num ber ; many of these are hot straight, but actually spiral, accomplishing heavy ascents in short distances, and there al» also many lofty vbiuots, bridges, and complicated rcilcnes. The total length HI tumieiiOg is 23 miles, The maiu or great tunnel is miles long, although others, exceeding 6,000 feet, might be thought noticeable else where. The great tunnel is 26 feet wide and 19 high. Tne modern boring machines were worked by air com pressed by Iqrge turbine wheels driven by the rapid river Reuss. The air was carried from the compressors outside to the borers withiu the tunnel in iron pipes of six inches in diameter, end the escaping air served an i’ dispensabie purpose iu ventilation ; 3,000,000 feet ot compressed air were daily thus de livered and set free, pushing back and oat of the tanuel the bad natural gases, with those set free by the dynamite and thrown off from animals alii workman. Fifty drills were worked; the usual daily advance was 21 feet, working l.om both ends, and the whole excavation Ttf UU incaes thick. Tlie workmen were principally Italians, who worked eight hours a day, receiving 60 cents to 81.20 per day (mostly the formar), boarding them selves, and living chiefly on meal por ridge ; yet most of them are reported to have saved and sent home to their families a part of this pitimce. The tunnel cost 810 of thtir lives, aud wounds were indicted upon 877, Tne final actual cost of the tunnel aud rail way, exclusive of lolling stuck, is now reported at something oyer 840,000,- 010. • another Great Lake in Afrloa. The existence of another equatorial lake in Central Africa, far to the west of Albert Nyauza, rumors of which have reached Europe from time to time since Sir Samuel Biker’s first Journey, is again reported, this time in a much more defloitr form. Mr, F LuptOu. Governor of (he Egyptian province of Bahr el Gbazal, writes to us from his station, Dehm Sioer, on the 27 h of July, to the effect that Rafai Aga, an employe under his command, on bis return from au expedition toward tne Uelle, told him that he and some of the member* of the expedition had seen a great lake la the country of the Birboa, a powertul copper coUgjMjtnbe clo'hed with a peculiar grass cloTnpf which Mr. Luplon sends a speci men in his letter). Mr. Lupton gathered that the position of the lake was in about 8 dog 49 min. north latitude, and 23 deg. east longitude, and that it was quite as large as Victoria Nyauza. When the weather permits, the Barbosa cro-a the lake in large open boats made out of a single tree, the voyage taking three days, and they obtain from the people living on the western side (their own country being east of the Lr-kt t articles of European manufacture, inch as blue beads aud brass wire. Mr. Lupton adds P.ifai Aga’* own account of his route ic the lake: Started from Dehm Beaeer, marched six days southwest to Zenba el D mleb, then four days south southwest to Bengler; four days southwest to Zeriba Warendema; six days southwest by west to the Bahr el Makwar, which be crossed after visiting several veiy large Islands inhabited by a people who call themselves Basango. The Mikwar is called by the Arabs Bahr el Warsbal, and joins the Uelle, but is a much larger stream; both flow in a west southwest di rection. After croeemg the Makwar Kalai marched ten days south soutewest and reached the residence of the •'Sultan” of Barboa, by whom he was well received; the lake is situated four day’s march to the southwest of the Sa tan’s residence.” Mr. L ipton concludes by saying: ‘ I feel I should not be doing right in keeping dark this information, whton. when looked into by competent persons, may throw some light on the famous Congo and Uelle rivers. I believe that the Uelle flows into the lake discovered by K»fai Aga, and that the s ream which is and to flow out of tne lake probably joins the Congo.” Mr. Upton further informs us that he is en gaged in preparing . map of this province, and that he was about to start in a few days on a journey to a country called Um- hungu,, some fifteen days’ march to the west of Dehm Siber. The Baby’s Bauk. A Larjje Owl. are olwaya glad chronic ailment. to be relieved of a A Coujuk*! L< s»on. In deciding an interesting question growing out of an ante-uuptiaf contract the Supreme Court of Iowa haa given an opinion which may prove a sugges tive lesson to a good many husbands and wives as well as those who may pro pose to take one another for “better or worse.” It appears that John York of fered to make a specified pecuniary pro vision for Susan Mosier if she would marry him. Susan consented, the con tract was duly made and the marriage followed. In less than two months after their wedding the bnde aban doned her husband and refused to live with him. Her r 'ason for this was his drunkenness. Subsequently John died, whether on account of the loss of Satan or the cause for which she had left him does not appear. After his death the widow claimed the benefit of the con tract and sued to enforce it. The Su preme Court decides against her. It finds that John’s intemperate habits were no worse after his marriage than they were liefore and that Susan knew as much about them before as she did after. Under these circumstances the Court holds that she was not justified nn leaving him aud had not lived up to icr part of the ante-nuptial agreement. Renee she was uot entitled to the bene fit of it. “She chose a drunkard for her husband,” says the opinion, “and she ought to disoharge the duties of a drunkard's wife. Sne does not show that her personal safety or even her well-being required her to leave him. She doubtless would have lived more comfortably in the society of a sober man, but she ought to have considered, and d mbtless did consider, the discom forts of a drunken hnsbaud when she married the iuteatate. But she urges be promised reformation before mar riage. His failure to keep this promise did not justify her in deserting him. All the world knows that such promises made by a drunken man are always broken. In a few words, as she know ingly married a drunkard she must be see him but to content to be a drnukard’s wife.” This 1 come all the way pointed lecture doubtless left Busan a sadder if not a wiser woman. Not the ghost of the dear, departed ■ wires here/’said Fane. Larkins—that he tuought he eould have I -*•! am getting up a ■meD endured—bat five substantial bequests, ^ assist m my ohemieal experiments. There is no more eoBUBeudable trait than the find deterannatien te pemerde in the right dtreetion. gome two months ago a hunter over in Mammoth Bark, Colorado, shot a large owl. tie rushed up with the expectation oi Unding it struggling in the agones of death, but was somewhat surprised and startled to find the b rd standing erect aud apparently anxious to have revenge out ot some one for the injuries he he had sus tained and the pain He w s suffering. He made a dash for the hunter, but it wa« evident that he was winged and could not make much progress. Tne hooter secured a long pole and determined to make a cap tive ot his large e>ed bi/hness if it was p >8Sible, with Ait killing him. This, aftei borne 'rouble, he s icceedvdjn doing, but uot until he was foiced to club the obsti nate bird into partial subiuhiiun. Be An ally pinned mm (town to the earth and then tied hie legs together. A rope with a run- aing noose was thrown over his bead, so that when he became obstreperous he could be choked into submission. In this way the hunter succeeded in dragging his rap- live to the road, where an ore wagon soon passed and he si-cured passage for himself and captive to the city. Oa arriving there the bird, of course, attracted great alien lion. He meat ured nearly ten feet from tiy to tip of each wing. He would snap as viciously as a mad cur at the approach of any one, and the only way one could get neat was by first choking him down. What to do with him was the question. The hunter had about decided to take him out side the corporate limits and round up his career with a rifle shot when Alexander Corstens, the saloon man, proposed to pur chase tbe wild fowl aid attempt to tame him. The cap:lve was taken to the rear of Mr. Carstens' establishment and chained in the middle of a store room. Carstens then went te work to civilise him, and, remark- able as it may seem, he accomplished all that he set out to do. Tbe broken wing at first aggravated the captive, but this gradually got well and in the course of three weeks was in as good condition as the other. For nearly a month he would permit no one to‘come inside of his prison and it waa necessary to throw food in to him by stealth. He soon learned to know Carstens’ voice, however, and gradually his owner was permitted to open the door and throw meat to him. In this way the captor and captive made friends and in tbe end the gr„at bird took delight in hav ing Mr. Carstens come in and pat him on his great head. Carstens always used en dearing words and sentences, such as “Goad old boy/' “Does you like your old boss Aleck’ ” “Kiss your dada,” and all that kind of thing. The fame of that bird went all over the State, but Mr. Carstens would not part with him. He had determined to keep him, uu il • tew davs ago agentlemau came up from New Mexico, not only to purchase him. Hs had come all the way Horn Santa'Fe to have that bird. They wanted tt for a museum which was now traveling, but ulumatety would become a fixture in CtUQJgo. After some bantering Mr. Q rsUas agteed to take 8100 for hu pet, and the bargain was tfloeed and the aaeeey paid. “ No/' said the engineer, as he closed one valve and onened auotlu>r _“T anything for a long time- I had the knowledge in my head all the while, but it was lost under a heap of rubbish. What fools meu are when they are left to themselves sometimes! Now look at me. Would you say I w.ia ever a tramp?” A tramp! His white, muscular throat—white aud wholesome under the coal dust—his strong, well-knitted irame, clear eye and firm hand denoted a man of pluck and courage—a practi cal worker; not the idle, nerveless, re laxed object which is denominated a tramp, aud which is a blight on the face of nature. No; tills man, guiding the good engine Mohawk, was never a tramp, and we told him so. “But I was, gentlemen,” he said, coolly sighting a long stretch of road over the backbone of his engine, and letting her out a little for a dead level he it, “ l was not only a tramp, but the meanest kind of one, aud i worked harder aud suffered more to get into that condition than 1 ever did to reach thix,” aud he looked proudly at the polished trimmiugs of his flying steed. I’ll tell you how it was,” he said at last, as he slowed up to round a curve, aud tueu went easily on past the iieida clad in their summer verdure, post woods that were pauoramio in a flash of beauty, aud away iuto the open country, i was a tramp—uo matter how 1 came to be, or why. I loat home, frtends, self-respect, ad that makes manhood— but I didn’t wear a red-ribbon at my watch charm then, and my brain was muddied—there were more like me— and I went from bad to worse, but I had never broken the laws; wronged any one but myself, when I fell in with some fellows who thought they bal found a tool, and they had. They say every man has his price, and they offered me mine; it was the price of my soul, too, and 1 agreed to take the money and do the work, “It waa this—to sneak around and get acquainted with the inside of a house—the house of the richest man in the place, and to show them the way; they said I looked the most respectable for the purpose. Gentlemen, you wouldn’t trust one of the gang with a ten cent bit, least of all me as I looked then, bnt I felt almost proud of the compliment, and that afternoon I was to go up to the house to look for work or to ask for food, just as it happened to strike me, when there wae no one home but the women folks, and look around to see how we coaid get in that night—for robbing, and perhaps mur der was what they meant -“It was just such a pleasant, peace ful afternoon ae this, aud all the doors and windows open, and not a soul saw me as 1 lounged in through tne gtrdeQ and up the veranda. The gang I had fallen in with had made one mistake— (they had kept me sober for the work, not clear-headed, bat sober enough to make me feel that I was doing a mean, dastardly trick, to make me for the first time in many a day ashamed of my own company. But I d gone so fpr I must go on. I had walked up the steps and into the honee without seeing a soul, and 1 stepped iuto a long, cool room, and there i saw on the mantel, in a great gold-framed glass, a white face and two red, blood-ebot eyes—my own; but what a fright they gate me; and then 1 sayr something .ejse, * small iron bank, such bs children keep peomee in. It was made of latticed bars of wrought iron, ami between every bar was the gleam of quarters and hail rioUme, end smaller eoiu, I hadn’t a penny to my taken. It came over me like a flnoh that I could take this money and get out of the gang; it would be a dishon csty, but uot such as this they bad planned. I reached out my hand and stop jied. There at my very feet, on a white pillow, aud all white and flaffy like an angel, lay the loveliest baby I ever saw in all my life I She was asleep, but as I looked at her in startled won der, she opened her eyes as wide and bright as daisies, held up both pretty hands, laughed like a bird singing, and said “ Joe, Joe/’ which wasn't my name at all. I didn’t touch the baby’s hand, and I didn’t touch the baby. While I stood there a little pale woman came out of her room and nearly fainted when she saw me, and I sat down there and told the whole story, and asked her to have me sent to jail for protection for myself and others; she sent for her hus band, and all the time we were talking the baby laugned and cooed, and called me by tho name she gave me, “Joe,” aud the rest of the gang were waiting at the turn of the road for me to come back to them. “I didn’t give them up—it wasn't worth while, when I bad to put tbe people they bad designed to rob on their guard, aud left the town that night; I didn’t go to jail; the man whose house was to be robbed gave mo some work, but I didn’t reform all in a minute, aud he never could have reformed me at all —it was the baby did it. She trusted mo; when I felt the old boy getting the better of me I went to the baby and she smiled at me and I grew strong right off—it made a man of me. I never could tell what that baby saV iu my face to make her help me in that way, but it wasn’t of this world. She knew she could save me, and she did it. Tuat was ten years ago, gentlemen, aud I am more of a mau to-day than I ever was, and it’s her doing.” “ She must be quite a large girl now,” we said, inquiringly. “ Maybe so! 1 don’t know how that is; some folks say they don’t reckon them by months aud years ! I’d like to feel she’s the same sweet, smiling baby, bolding out her hands in that confiding way aud calling me that same name—but I never wanted anyone else to use the name since she said it the last time. Bhe was going to sleep, never to wake up, the doctor said ; ttiey told me she wouldn’t know me, that I would disturb her. I went in on my knees, I crawled up to the bed aud looked at her; dear saint, she was as white as the sheets, and her pretty curls never stirred a hair, and her sweet eyes closed, and I groaned in my heart, for I thought she WUS gffpe fl.ru! Uu.™ — ^ oto— for breath; aud oh, my God, I’d have died to help her, and she just looked at me and put one hand up—I fancied she pointed up there—and she smiled on me, aud say^ she, all at once, ‘Joe! Joe!’ aud then she made her mother understand that she wanted something. It was the little bank, and she wanted me to have it. I took it to humor her aud thought I’d give it back to her when she got well. And then she smiled again, aud I listened to boar her say: * Joe!’—and all was still You see I could never go wrong now; but bow did she know about that little bauk and my wicked thoughts ? Aud she forgave aud loved me, too, pretty dear. The smoke makes me cry. There’s our depot at the next station, and we’re running on schedule time, as you see, gentlemen.” 1876. 1882. F. W. HABENICHT, Proprietor of the BarDsr* and surgeons. It must be recollected that in early times there waa plenty of need of the Burgeon’s art, and comparatively little for that of the physician. Taking Into account the big wars and little wars, crusades, rebel lions, the tree exercise of the “right of private war” by persons of noble birth, and ordinary brawls and squabbles, it seems to have ’wen long odds on cold steel against allotber aliments whatsoever, an 1 there was little fear 6f a gentleman's life being piotracted to the prejudice ot bis heirs by a correct observance o f the lawaof Hygria. Tbe chaocea were all in favor of being knocked on tbe head at a comparatively early age; but it Is well known that in the hand to-hand conflicts with sword and buckler, for instance, many more were hurt than killed. Tho wounded sought either the monks or the Jews, who em ployed as their assistants the barbers of the! period, an alliance whence arose the fa mous (Jom pany of Bar ber-Surgeons. How closely tbe two callings were at one time knit together is shown by tbe sign which surgeons have abandoned altogether, and which barbers nowadays but rarely hang out. Thu well-known p.le is an imitation of one formerly held in the hands of pa tients during the operation of phlebotomy —now abolished altogether—end the stripes represent the tap or bandages used for fastening tbe arm; both pole and up being In older times hung up outside the shop as soon as done with, to announce that there was a vacancy for a patient wishing to be “blooded.” The founda tion for the Company of Barbers is as cribed to as early a date as tbe reign of Edward of Oarnarvan, but the first Royal charter was granted to the Barber Sur geons by Edward 1Y. and bis amiable orother, the Duke of Gloucester. For some unexplained reason the barbers and surgeons did not pull very well together, and the surgeons severed the connection; but so much inconvenience arose from the jealousy of the two companies that they were teuniied by the Act>88, Henry Fill., under the name of Mailers or Governors of the Mystery and Commonalty of Bat- berti knd Surgeons of L <ndon. This doc ument bound the associated crafts firmly together lift the year 1746, wheu the sur geons finally departed to the Old Bdley. aid subsequently. In 1800, formed the body now* well known as the Riyal Col lege of Burgeons In Lincoln’s inn fields. I respect lully call the attention of the pnblic to my superior facilities for sup plying everything is ncy line, of superior quality. Starting business In WLms- boro in 1876, I have in all this time given the closet attention to my busi ness and endeavored to make my estab lishment FIRST-CLASS in every par ticular, I shall in the future, as iu the past, hold myself ready to serve my customers with the best articles that can be procured in any market. I shall stand ready, also, to guarantee every article I selL I invite an inspection of my stock of Wines, Liquors, Tobacco, Cigars, etc. F. W. HABENICHT. IMPORTED. Scotch Whiskey (Ramsey’s). A. Bin Laubert and Marat Cognas Brandy. Jamaica Rum. Rotterdam Fish Gin. Ross’s Royal Ginge,- Ale. Jules Mumm A Co/s Champague. Cantrel A Cochran’s Ginger Ale. Apollinaris Mineral Water. Angnstora Bitters. Old Sherry Wine. Old Port Wine. DOMESTIC. Ginger Ale. Soda Water. Sarsaparilla. vrftt bdhd/uaimy0~wmskej. The Honorable Rye W)“«key. Old Golden Grain Rye Whiskey. Renowned Standard Rye Whiskey. Jesse Moore Vollmer Rye Whiskey, Old N. 0. Sweet Mash Com Whiskey, Old Stone Mountain Corn Whiskey. Western Com Whiskey. Virginia Mountain Peach Brandy. New England (French’s) Rum. North Carolina Apple Brandy. Pure Blackberry Brandy. Pure Cherry Brandy. Pure Ginger Brandy. Boston Swan Gin. ! SUNDRIES. Rook and Bye. Osceola Bitters. Hostetler's Bitters. Bergner A Engel’s Lager Beer, in patent stopper bottles and on draught. New Jersey Sweet, Sparkling Older. Tolu, Rock A Rye, Lawrence A Martin. Stoughton Bitters, Book and Corn. 23k f. ' Cigars and Tobacco Syndicate Cigar, 6 cents. The Huntress Cigar, 2} cents. Madeline Cigar—All Havana—10 cents. Don Carlos (N nb)—all Havana—10 cents Minerva Cigar—Havana filler—6 cents. Cheek Cigar—Havana filler—6 cants. Our Boast Cigar—Havana filler—6 cents* Lucky Hit Cigar—Havana filler—6 cents. The Unicom Self-Lighting Cigarette, (Amber moath-piqoe to every ten packages.) « The Pickwick Club Cigarette, fShnok mouth-pieces. J '1 ho Richmond Gem Cigarette, (Light smoking.) same. 1 was hungry, tired, footsore and disgusted with what I had under- Choose for yonr friend him that is wise and: good, and secret and just, iugouious aud honest, and in tnose things which have a latitude u*e your owniiberty. & Men speak too much about the world. Eaoh one of us here, let the world go now it will, and be viotorious or. not Tictorrous, has he not a life oi his own to lead? The world’s being saved will saTeofi, We Humid look to ourselves. Tts call BilW ai Pool Par lor ii Ton. ICE! ICE! ICE! An abundance always on hand for tho use of my customers. I wil also keep a supply of FISH, OYSTERS, &C., for my Restaurant, which is always open from the first of September to the first of April. . * I shall endeavor to please all who give me acalL Very respectfully, F.W. HABENICHT. OPPOSITE POSI V \ "4*Nr%’ -mu ■ ' ■I