The Fairfield news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1881-1900, June 02, 1883, Image 1
TRI-WEEKLY EDITION.
WINNSBORO. S. 0.. JUNE 2, 1883.
ESTABLISHED 1848
SOMEBODY’S WAITING FOR ME.
"When the sunlight slowly fading
Proclaims the dying day,
And across the fields and meadows
I homeward take my way.
Just down the turn in the pathway, .
’Neath the shade of that tall oak tree,
There’s Somebody, mild and gentle,
Who watches and waits for me.
She stands in the waning sunshine,
With the lovelight in her eye,
And her wind-swung tresses tioating
O’er m check of eri!n<«*n dye.
With a smile of joyous welcome,
To meet me she gayly trips,
And a tender kiss awaits me
Prom Somebody’s loving lips.
I name not her age or station,
If humble or proud she be;
Aut. of all the Heaven-given treasures,
The dearest and best is she.
Too kind for a thought of evil,
E’er willing my cares to share, -
The Queen of my heart’s deep centre
is she who is waiting there.
So, whatever of ill befall me
Through the weary and tedious day,
As the evening shadows lengthen.
And I homeward take my way,
My step and my heart grow lighter
As 1 near to that old oak tree.
For 1 know my darling’s watching
And wail ing to welcome me.
MY I.ADY COQUET.
“Going abroad, Fred?” Why, what
does that mean? When I last saw you
such an idea was furthest from your
thoughts, and here you give me twenty-
four hours’ notice of your departure on
an indefinite tour.”
And the speaker, a tall, splendid-
looking man. oi>ened his dark eyes in
unfeigned wonder as they rested on the
face of his friend.
“I’ve hardly given mvself more than
twenty-four hour’s notice, Max. Of
course it’» a sudden notion, but to you,
the oldest.and best friend I have in the
world, I may as well own the truth,
though you need imagine it no secret.
A very large i>ortion of the fashionable
world thoroughly understands my mo
tives. I’m hard hit, Max, and I’ve got
to go away. I want to feel an ocean
rolls between me and the woman who
has jilted me.”
“Jilted you?”
“Yes, jilted me. It’s not a pretty
word, but I’m not in a frame of mind
to look through the dictionary for ano
ther that means the same thing. I loved
Nora Fielding with a love you caiumt
even dimly comprehend—you, who have
lived for more than thirty years un
moved by any woman's beauty, un
thrilled by any woman's voice. I had
some reason, God knows, for deeming
my love returned. She smiled on me,
as only soulless women can smile; she
seemed glad when I came, sorry when
I left her. Yet when, moved to mad
ness, I put my love into w’ords, she
smiled still, and told me that my love
was folly. Of course, I should in that
moment have scorned, despised her. So
1 did, perhaps; but it made my love
none the less, my suffering no whit the
easier. I can’t describe her to you,
Max. I think she might entrap you in
her meshes.”
“A coquet entrap me? No, no, my
boy! Forewarned, forearmed. Supi>ose
we have a little trial of skill—I and this
slayer of men’ffhearts. You’ve left her
at the lieach, have you not? I was just
contemplating a little trip seaward.
What do you say, old fellow? Suppose
you put your revenge in my hands?”
“You may make the attempt, Max,
right willingly; but don’t let the flame
scorch you, in breasting it for my sake.
Make her suffer, but see to it that she
entails no i»ain on you.”
“You forget, my boy, that you have
bequeathed to me your scorn, but carry
your love with you. Bury it at sea,
Fred, and start fresh on the other side.
I’ll take care of my Lady Coquet on
this side.”
The next afternoon, standing on the
pier, Max Elliott watched disappear
down the bay the brave ship on which
Fred Ronalds was a passenger for the
Old World—a self-made exile for a wo
man’s sake.
An honest bitterness welled up in
Max Elliot’s heart as he turned away.
Better than he had ever loved a woman,
he had loved this man, who had been
the plaything of a woman’s idle hour,
who had had his honest love tossed back
to him as though it were the foam upon
a wave, and who had been driven to
other lands to find the cure of absence
perchance forgetfulness.
When his brougham stopped in front
of his club, he glanced at his watch. It
was a sultry afternoon in July. The
city was growing unendurable, and
there would be barely tinle to hastily
pack a valise and catch the 6 o’clock
l)oat which would transport him to cool
breezes, the promise of a sea-bath, and
—his revenge 1
Such a thought was worthy to be
acted upon, therefore, the next morn
ing, Max Elliot’s name appeared upon
the Ocean House register, to be greeted
by an approving chorus of welcome from
the dear five hundred friends already
gathered there.
As by natural instinct, he found his
way to Mrs. Redfern’s side. Great
friends as he and George Redfern were,
he and George Redfern’s wife were bet
ter.
“What lias brought you here?” she
asked, with a little quizzical smile.
“Is not your presence a suttieient
magnet for a less attractive place?” he
answered, gallantly.
She shook her head.
“Of course; but I’ve been moping
here for a fortnight, and have sent you
numberless messages by George, all of
which you have repudiated. Youdon’t
deserve that I should offer you any
kindness in return, and I’ve a great
mind not to present you to Nora Field
ing to-day. Ah, you see how easily I
have guessed your secret. I saw Fred
Ronald’s name, this morning, in the list
of passengers on the Scythia. Of course
he told you how badly he was cut up.
It was a great shame, and I told Nora
so frankly, but the gjjrl is so pretty and
so clever that I suppose she really is not
wliolly to blame because men choose to
detach their scalps, hang them at their
belt, and then go about the world moon
ing over their loss.”
“Trust a woman to defend a woman,
when jealousy is not possible to either,”
answered Max. “For my part, I re
gard Miss Fielding as utterly heartless
and a flirt.”
“Judge not, that ye be not judged,”
replied the pretty little matron. “Yes,
that is she,” she added, noting how the
man’s eyes suddenly dillated, as a tall,
slender figure, draped in close-clinging
white swept out of the open door on to
the piazza. “There’s no woman like
her here. Of course she is conscious of
her power, and uses it. But look in her
eyes, Max, and tell me, if you dare,
that Nora Fielding had no neart. No
man has ever touched it, that is all.”
“The idea of a woman’s eyes betok
ening soul,” was the cynical rejoinder.
But there was no timq for more, for
he and Mrs. Redfern hail approached
close to where the girl stood, and ere
either of them was aware of her inten
tion, they had been formally presented.
He would carry on no slow warfare,
detennined Max; and in that moment
he liegan the campaign.
“Beware, Nora!” whispered Mrs.
Redfern, tliat evening, in the little,
shell-tinted ear. “He is Fred Ronald’s
dearest friend, and be sure he knows all
regarding that little episode there is to
know.”
But the only answer the girl vouch
safed this friendly piece of advice was a
shrug of the white shoulders, gleaming
through the black lace of her gown.
A fortnight passed, and the hotel gos
sips again found food in Miss Fielding’s
latest conquest, for, by this time, so
Max Eliot was deemed.
He understood now the infatuation
which had possessed his friend, not by
experience—for he told himself that
each day he learned to scorn this woman
more—but listening to the low, musical
inflections of her voice, and looking into
her eyes, which sometimes softened to
a marvelous softness, he acknowledged
her acting perfect.
Only to him who knew it to be acting
was there involved no danger. But was
he, intrenched in his own fortress, mak
ing the girl feel? Was he gaining the
power to make her suffer? Once his, he
would employ it ruthlessly, but first he
must know that he possessed it. Some
times he turned in a moment from
warmth into coldness. She made no
comment on his change of mood. Some
times he feigned indifference to her
presence—indifferent still, when the
other moths, kept in abeyance by his
superior stronghold, fluttered round the
candle; but, save by a little, tired look,
lie saw from his covert and distant ob
servation in her eyes, she welcomed his
return to her, all unquestioning his all
spice. He found himself growing irri
tated, almost angry.
“Will you drive with me this after
noon?” she asked me, one morning.
“Yes,” he answered.
And at 5 o’clock, the perfect Jittle
trap stood waiting its mistress’ occu
pancy—tlie horses pawing impatiently,
while the groom held their heads, ana
h elonging near, waiting Miss Fielding’s
advent.
Fifteen, twenty minutes passed, and
she did not come. The half-hour had
struck before, with a hasty apology for
her delay, she took her seat, and gather
ing up the reins in her little gloved
hand, gave the ponies an impatient-touch
of the w hip, which made the groom’s
scramble for his place behind almost a
Waterloo.
Max, quickly observing her, noted
that her face was unusually pale, and
although there was no redness about
her eyes, he could have fancied there
had been recent tears there. However,
she talked merrily and brightly, as was
her wont, and soon the sea air brought
back the color to her cheek, and chased
the latent look of sadness from her eyes.
“What a lovely sky,” she exclaimed,
as a sudden turn in the road brought
them in full view of sky and ocean, and
at that moment the sunset gun boomed
from the fort.
The horses made a sharp swerve. The
road was very narrow, with large boul
ders on either side. Almost before any
one could realize how or when it w'as
done, the wheel of the phaeton had
struck one of these, and the girl, totally
unprepared to- resist the shock, was
thrown heavily to the ground. Almost
as rapidly, Max was beside her.
For the instant he thought her dead.
Her head had struck a small stone, and
a tiny stream of blood was trickling from
her temple, making her pallor more
ghastly. The thought tliat she might
lie dead came to him with a sickening
awfulness. Death and this bright,
beautiful being seemed so wide asunder;
and yet in a moment, perhaps, they had
been united; but almost with the dread
ful fear came its relief.
She opened the lovely qyes, and the
white lips quivered, while she made a
feeble motion to rise. He drew a bran
dy-flask from his pocket, and made her
drink; then, when she liad grown a
little stronger, he lifted her into the
carriage, and supporting her with one
arm, drove slowly home.
As they approached the hotel, she
called strength and will intp action, and
gaining the first entrance, escaped with
but little assistance into the house. By
mutual consent they made no mention
of the accident.
For a day or two die was confined to
her room; but when she reappeared,
save that she was a trifle paler, she haa
never before looked more lovely.
“I thank you so much, Mr. Elliot, for
your kind care of me,” she said, as
they stood together on the moonlit pi
azza.
“Do not mention it,” he answered,
ifoldly.
These past three days had been filled
to him with a strange exiierience. His
revenge hail grown distasteful to him,
he told himself. It could not mend
Fred's broken heart, and his own could
only harbor scorn.
The next week he saw but little of
Miss Fielding. He avoided her wher
ever he could do so, although he noted
that she was growing wan and pale.
“What are you doing, Max Elliot ?”
asked Mrs. Reidfern, one morning, as
she came upon him seated by an open
window of the long drawing-room. “I
told you once that Nora Fielding’s fault
lay not in her non-possession of a heart,
but that no man had touched it. I
could not say that to-day. Have you
no scruples, no remorse?”
“None. If what you tell me be true,
I should only exult. What could I fee.
but scorn for a woman who could lead
a man on to wrecking his life at her
feet? But you need have no fear. Miss
Fielding is a capital actioas, tliat is ail.
“Mark what I scy—you will recall
those words,” prophesied the little mat
ron, sweeping angrily away.
“Never!” mentally ejaculated the
man, vaulting through the low window
to the piazza with a sudden feeling that
the house stifled him, but not prepared
to find himself face to face w r ith Miss
Fielding’s self.
Site had been silting with an Open
book disregarded in her lap, her eyes
gazing seaward, and she had heard of
necessity every syllable which had been
uttered.
“Yes, I have heard all,” she said, in
reply to his questioning look, “You
came here to revenge your friend, Mr.
Elliot. Well, your revenge shall be
complete. You say he suffered. So
you have made me suffer. Why should
I seek to conceal what is acutest pain
to confess? Was it my fault that I could
not love Fred Ronalds? Was it my fault
that his own love made him blind? If
so, I have been punished, and my pun
ishment is your reward. To it I add
the humiliation of this avowal.”
Never had she looked more lovely,
never more proud, than when she
stepped from the throne to the level of
suffering womanhood. His scorn, his
triumph—where were they? Swept
away as by a mighty flood, and revealing
the naked truth, of all which yet might
be, of all which so nearly he had lost.
Before she liad divined his purpose,
he had gathered her two liauds in his
strong grasp.
“Nora! My darling, forgive me!” he
murmured. “I love you, and my love
has made me blind indeed! Oh, my dar
ling, I came to mock, and I stayed to
worship! I give up my revenge to you.
Will you, more generous than I have
been, refuse to take it?”
“Not that!” she answered; and now
the bright eyes were filled with dimning
tears. “But in taking it, it is to give
in return my love, my heart, my life!
Ah, Max,” she whispered, softly, a
little later, “is it always the woman’s
fault that men say she has no soul?
Shall we expose our one priceless jewell
to the gaze of every curious by-passer
on life’s journey?”
And he, with the jewel forever his,
safe-locked in his stronghold, is fain to
admit her words are true, even while he
thanks God its radiance has never
dazzled another’s eyes—not even those
of his dearest friend.
AMtnnMote Dm* Han tar.
Sunflowers.
That the sunflower follows the sun in
its westward journey is well known, but
when doefljt turn its face back again to
the east to greet the morning sun? Mr.
0. A. White, of Washington, in a letter,
relates an incident which throws some
light upon the subject. One evening,
he says, during a short stay at a village
in Colorado in the summer of 1881, I
took a walk along the banks of a long
irrigating ditch just as the sun was set
ting. The wild variety of Helianthua
anuus, Lin. (H. lenticularis, Douglass)
grew abundantly there, and I observed
that the broad face of all the flowers
were, as is usual in the clear sunset,
turned to the west. Returning by the
same path less than an horn' afterward,
and immediately after the daylight was
gone, I found, to my surprise, that much
the greater part of those flowers had al
ready turned their faces to the east in
anticipation, as it were, of the sun’s ris
ing. They had in that short time re
traced the semi-circle, in the traveresing
of which with the sun they had spent the
whole day. Both the day and night
were cloudless, and apparently no un
usual conditions existed that mightliave
exceptionally affected the movements of
the flowers.
I doubt not, adds Mr. White, that
many persons like myself have supposed
that sunflowers remain all night with
their faces to the west, as they are when
the sunlight leaves them, and until they
are constrained by the light of the rising
sun, to turn to the east again. It is not
my purpose to offer any explanation of
the cause of the phenomenon here re
corded, but it seems to me improbable
that it could have been an exceptional
instance; and I could only regret that no
opportunity has since occurred to me to
repeat the observation.
Recreatiou lor the HlUion.
It 18 not given to every one to cross the
ocean and make the tour of Europe; to
revel in the halls of dazzling light of New
port or Saratoga; to repair to the sea-aide
or the mountain top, and there tor five dol
lars a day to drink in the life-giving air.
The spirit may be willing but the means
are wanting. And yet the same need for
recreation exists in the life of those of mo
derate means as in those of the ilcb. This
larger class, however, will be glad to know
that the Pennsylvania Railroad Company
rr ooees to continue during the season of
1883. its popular daily excursions between
Jersey City and Newbuigh, a route f am
is’ung many objec-s of interest, and an
infinite variety of scenery. The magnifi
cent steamer, Richard Htockton, under tbe
command of Captain Lawrence F. Fr&iee,
wilt leave the Pennsylvania Railroad
docks, Jersey Citv. every morning at 9
a m., (excepting Thursday at 9:30 a m.)
and arrive at Jersey City on the return tnp
about 6:30 p. m. This steamer is sub-
etantially built, fully equipped and with a
capacity tor 2500 passengers. On the
route such points ot interest as Weebaw-
ken. Ft. Lre, Yonkers, the Palisades, Tar
ry town. Bing Bing, Sleepy Hollow, Stony
Point, West Point, Iona Island and New-
burgh, with a privilege of remaining at the
three last named for a tune varying from
one to two hours. The tickets are put at
very reasonable rates, and we know of no
way in which a day can bo so pleasantly
spent, with s trifling expense as on one of
these trips up the Hudson on the Btocktea.
Dr. Siemens has expressed the opin
ion that is the near future steel will
take tbe piaoe of wood and iron in the
construction ot buildings ot all kinds,
where it ean be need. He claims that
steel is without a rival where strength
tud magnitude are both required, be
sides giving more security than wood,
and ooabng less.
A blind man should not judge of col
ors.
A Wandering; Jew.
A Western Editor writes while hunt
ing in the pineries of Minnesota I once
met an old half-breed who taught me
more in a few days than I ever learned
before or since. It was when I compar
ed my scanty superficial knowledge with
his sound practical lore tliat I discover
ed the lamentable extent of my ignor
ance and how much I had to leam.
This old veteran was about fifty years
of age, and he had hunted deer for more
than thirty-five years, making it a spec
ialty. It can be readily understood that
his advice was worth taking, and I am
only sorry I did not prolong my hunt
with him, as every de&. brought out
new stratagems, and every mtnrc wu*
checkmated by this unepiug, steady old
Nimrod. He Was a re&dkl nouud, and
cOuld find more game than three ordi
nary hunters; but, what an anomaly! he
could not shoot. Actually, if a deer
moved, or even wagged Lis ears, the old
fellow would quietly wait, till he was
stock still, and then blaze away. Some
times be would kill, but that was by no
meaii8\sforegone conclusion; and as he
w’ould insist on using a single barrel
muzzle-loading rifle, of course the deer
was off before he could “do it some
more, ” To miss with him seemed rath
er a matter to be expeoted than one to
get mad about, so, nothing daunted he
would reload his rifle, sit on a log, light
his pipe, soliloquize and ascribe reasons
for his maladroitness, and make wise
resolutions for f\e future, and having
put in about haJ an hour, go ahead,
take up the track of the doomed deer,
and eight times out of ten get another
shot, witli varying results, inside of an
hour.
How he did it I could never tell! all
tliat I know is tliat I have followed hifh
for days from morn till dusk, and have
seen him shoot three or four times at the
same deer in a day, and generally bag
him in the long run. When we became
better acquainted, it was mutually
agreed and understood that he would do
the finding and I the shooting; and by
that means we generally had the pleas
ure of hanging up a deer or two a day
without his firing a shot. At first I
ascribed his finding the deer merely to
good luck, but I soon got over that.
He would follow a fresh track a short
distance, and without giving any reason,
and guided by an unerring judgment,
which was simply supernatural, would
leave it or strike out at right angles and
shortly come upon the same track or
else point out the deer, periiaps fifty or
one hundred yards away, sniffing and
watching his back track, while his foot
were either on his flank or rear. On
such au occasion it was merely a matter
of target shooting with me'and not in-
terestiug, being uatirel? ,
so that I frequently purposely made a
noise to start the unsuspecting stag es
give him a chance.
This conduct on my part was sure to
be followed by a blessing from the vet-
erau, wiio recognized no rules or laws
governing such shots, dud as I seldom
missed, it was difficult to make him per
ceive the difference, as in any case the
deer was “venison.” One day I missed
clear and clean, and as the doe kept out
of my sight I could not shoot again.
The old man, in a fit of rage at my
blundering in having made the deer run
before I fired at him, threw up his rifle
and, without taking any aim, let fly.
Down came the doe, all in a heap, shot
through the neck, and dead as a nail.
The funny part is that to this day the
old fellow thinks I did the killing where
as I only fired one shot and that was
away high.
This man’s antipathy to a breech load
er amounted to actual hatred, and it
was only after repeatedly showing him
its advantages that he so far condescend
ed as to allow me to hunt with him
while carrying my repeater. I shall
never forget the queer expression ou his
tough, weather beaten countenance
when at last I convinced him of the
superiority of the repeating rifle.
Homa of tbe tbe Blue Crane.
\
Mr. Dunlap has returned from a
hunting expedition in Spencer Co„ Ky.
The only trophy he brought back with
him was a gigautic blue crane, which
measured five feet from tip to tip, and
was exactly six feet in height. Mr.
Dunlap tells a very curious story of a
resort of these cranes. About two
miles from Taylorsville is an island in
Sayre’s creek whdse area is perhaps ten
acres. The island is a favorite haunt
of these peculiar birds, who annually
resort there for the purpose of rearing
their young. Notwithstanillng the fact
that the crane is a wading bird it
builds it nest in the tallest tree it can
find. The island is not cleared up, but
is covered with gigautic sycamores tow
ering eighty or ninety feet in height
and the loftiest of these are selected by
them for their nests. One of the trees
has twenty-eight nests upon its topmost
branches and another has twelve. The
nests are rude, ugly structures, built in
a slovenly manner of sticks, leaves and
twigs, and are guarded jealously by the
birds throughout the breeding season.
Tbe cranes have been in the habit of
resorting to this island for p. term of
years beyond the memory of the oldest
inhabitant. Here they have been left
undisturbed, until it has become a royal
domain on which nothing else of the
feathered
leuce of
meval
ping of the!
chance
man. The
,re iutrude. The si-
broods over the prj-
okeu save by tlie Aap-
, or it may be the
wandering sports-
four miles around is
frequented by flocks of the birds who
here seem to lose, at least for a time,
their solitary instincts, and become
sociable and gregarious. They leave
annually about the 1st of September,
returning the 1st of April, and have
been doing so for years and years.
Their number upon the island is al
most incredible, and old citizens of that
country say it must be fully 10,000,
perhaps much mure.
For a number of years past the people
in the southwestern portion of Con
necticut have been mystified by a man,
clothed in tattered leather, who appears
at regular intervals, something like
Scott’s “Old Mortality,” and passes on
without divulging his origin or destina
tion. Our Orange correspondent
writes as follows: “That strange char
acter, the ‘Leather Man,’ takes in the
towns of Woodbridge and Orange in
the retrular course of his travels, and
was last seen passing through here
March 9. lie has been over the sapie
route for many years, appearing reg
ularly after an absenut of about six
■weeks, always going south In the direc
tion of Bridgeport. When in this vic
inity lie spends tlie night in an old bam
standing alone by the roadside. It has
lieen his habit since the beginning of
his travels through this region to stop
for breakfast at the house of the writer,
who had become accustomed to his reg
ular comings as to recognise his pecu
liar rap on the door, even when it was
not known that he w r as near. Several
times attempts to enter into conversa
tion with him were made, but with in
different success, and on one occasion
when we told him that ‘they had been
w'riting about him in the newspapers,
the information did not seem to interest
him very much. However, since we
have been the owner of a large dog who
sometimes greets his appearance with a
lusty bark, he no longer stops at our
door, but coolly trudges by on the other
side, without even deigniug a glance.
Notwithstanding the little interest he
evinces in tlie world and its goings on
he has been seen seated by the roadside
with a newspaper in his hands, appa
rently deeply absorbed in its contents,
and at another time near a brook, wash
ing some article of—we will not say
underclothing, for tliat would spoil tlie
tradition, but something that closely
resembled it. Without ins wonderful
suit of leather he would be an object of
curiosity, appearing as lie does at regu
lar intervals and always traveling in one
direction. Whatever his aim or purpose,
he trudges along as if he had tlie most
important business in the world to per
form, and if it was a matter of life and
death tliat he should reach a certain
destination at an appointed time. This
strange creature’s life in its unbroken
silence and stated goings and comings
closely resembles tliat of tlie veritable
‘Wandering Jew.”
Rare fun In court.
Pulling hi* MuHtache.
“There he sleeps as peacefully as an
infant,” said an old maniiointingto the
sleeping figure of a slender-built, heavv-
mustacheiT young man across the aisle
of the train, “and no doubt he dreams
of the innocent days of childhood, be
fore he had fallen into the depths of
crime.”
“What’s the matter with him ? Who
is he?” a§ked several passengers ex
citedly, eying tlie sleei»er with suspi
cion.
“He sleeps as calmly,” continued the
old man abstractedly to himself, “as
though he had never murdered hLs part
ner, forged his name to a check for
$50,000 and skipped to Mexico. He
thinks, probably, that no man can pene
trate his disguise, but I should know'
him in the dark with a mask on. Ah,
Miles Gashwell, now I can confront you
with proofs of your villainy!”
Quite a crowd had collected around
the two by this time. “The idea, ” con
tinued tlie old man, turning to tlie awe
struck bystanders,” of his trying to
disguise himself by a false moustache
and wig. One of you fellows jerk that
moustache off and see how it changes
his expression.”
Nobody seemed disposed to unmask
tbe villain until a strapping six-footer
pushed his way into the midst of tlie
group, and taking the mustache by
both ends, gave it a yank that fairly
lifted the slender young man to his feet.
The latter let off a yell that would have
paralyzed a Comanche Indian ana
struck out wildly in the air with his
fists.
“Great Scott!” he shrieked, “are you
trying to jerk the top of my head off?
Let go of that, will you,” and he kicked
the six-footer vigorously in the pit of
the stomach. “What the deuce do you
want of me, anyway ?”
“Why, we thought you had on a false
mustache,” ventured one of the crowd
timidly. “This old man said so.”
They all turned around to see what
the old man would say, but he didn’t
say. He had gotten off when the train
slowed up at the last crossing.
’What I* thS nse of Snakes?
Persons who dislike snakes continu
ally ask, “What is the use of them?”
That they are not without a use, will,
I hope, appear in the course of this
note, were it necessary to preach that
all things have their use. But in one
habit that offended Lord Bacon, namely
of “going on their belly,” lies one of
their greatest uses, because that, to
gether with their internal formation,
and external covering, enables them to
penetrate where no larger carnivorous
animal could venture, into dark and
noisome morasses, bog jungles, swamps
among the tangled vegetation of the
tropics, where swarms of the lesser reb-
tllee, on which so many of them feertj
would otherwise out-balance the harmo
ny of nature, die, and produce pesti
lence.
Wondrouslyand exquisitely construc
ted for their habitat, they are able to
exist where the higher animals could
not; and while they help to clear those
inaccessible places of the lesser vermin,
they themselves supply food for a num
ber of the smaller mammalia, which,
with many carnivorous birds, devour
vast numbers of young snakes. The
hedgehog, weasel, ichneumon, rat,
peccary, badger, hog, goat, and an im
mense number of birds, keep snakes
within due limits, while the latter per
form their part among the grain-de
vouring and herbivorous lesser creat
ures. Thus beautifully is the balance
of Nature maintained.
—Canning oranges is the latest Flor
ida idea.
—A Denver Indian has been convict
ed of forging a check.
Tlie preseut Judge Hutchins, of the
Sinsirior Court, of ■ the north pa stoni
judicial circuit of Georgia is the son of
i Nathaniel Hutchins, so well known by
many of the older citizens of Elbert as
one of the cleverest men and ablest
jurists in Georgia. He was the pre
decessor of his son on the same bench
now occupied by Colonel Hutchins, of
Gwinnett, and was popularly known all
through the upper portion of the State.
During the progress of the Superior
Court at Carnesville last week'this
amusing incident occurred, which was
related to a New South scribe by Sena
tor Phil Davis: Colonel Thunnond, of
Athens, an attomey, had an instrument
of writing in court, the validity of
which needed to be proven and which
could only be done by the owner of the
signature found tliereon swearing to tlie
same. The witness was called and an
old gray-haired man, who had lived
over his three score and ten, took the
stand .iud Colonel Tlnuinond handed
him the paper and asked:
“Is that your signature, sir?”
The old gentleman looked at tlie pa
per closely, and said;
“Wa’al, I’ll, fell yer, Ize gitting old,
and my eyesight are not so good as it
wunst was, but if someluxly will loan
me a pair of specks, praps I kin ciplier
it out.”
A pair of glasses were furnished him,
and he scrutinizingly gazed at the
document again.
“Well?” said tlie lawyer.
The witness continued to jieer at th
pajier.
“Very well,” Colonel Thurmond
said again, waiting for tlie witness to
decide.
“Wa’al,” said the old man, “that ar
is my fist.”
“You can come down, sir,” said the
lawyer.
But instead of “coming down,” the
old man turned his byes on the Court,
and after gazing at him for some time,
he said:
“Jedge, is you old man Nath Hutch-
in’s boy?” '
“He was my father,” answered the
Cou.it.
“Wa’al, give me yer hand, Jedge,
kaze I loved yer daddy, and I is awful
glad to see his boy followin, in ids foot
marks.”
Tlie Court gave tlie old man bis band,
and affor shaking it heartily, the wit
ness stepped from the stand and stalled
out of tlie court room. When he liad
gotten out of the bar, and was about
midway tlie hall, he turned abruptly
alxmt, and said in rather a loud tone
of voice:
“Here—here’s them at sneoks. if any
of youns wants ‘eni.”
The court room was in an uproar of
laughter, but tlie old man never
smiled, as lie returned the glasses and
left the house.
Tbe Bunko Game.
A man who tlunks that, without any
familiarity with tlie swindle that sud
denly confronts him, he can cope with
its operators who have devoted much
study and practice to perfecting it, fool
ishly overrates his own shrewdness. It
struck me, for instance, tliat if I should
be taken into a bunko den, and tlie
gamblers should accept my check for
the amount of my loss, I would not be
at all concerned about it, because I could
go straight to the bank and stop pay
ment. When I said this to a detective,
he replied, “You wouldn’t do any such
thing.” Why not? Simply because
that important point in the swindle has
been looked after by the bunko men.
I have never seen this feature of their
work described in print, and you may
care to use it. When the rascals get a
subject who has a" bank account, and
lead him into making a check, they
know very well that he yvill lose no time
in stopping payment on it, unlessthey
manage by some clever device to pre
vent hiifii This is the way they do it:
A newspajier lies folded on the table, as
though carelessly thrown down. When
the check has been made out and signed,
the operator who receives it places it
between the folds of the paper, and in
that way blots it. Then he seems to
take it out and hold it up before his
eyes to examine it, but tbe real check
has been left concealed in the paper, and
he has taken out a blank one, previously
placed there. Atrthis instant the stool
pigeon, who is stilvguring as the inno
cent friend of the victim, exclaims,
“This is a swindle, and we won’t stand
it.” He snatches the sham check from
his confederate’s hand, tears it into very
small bits find scatters them on tlie floor.
“Now let us go but,” be says. There
is a pretence of barring the way, but
be and the victim'are soon in the street
—the latter profuse in his thanks for
having been rescued. Of course, he
doesn’t go near the bank to stop pay
ment on the check which he believes to
have been destroyed, for he is not anx
ious to expose his verdancy needlessly,
and the swindlers thus gain time to go
and get it cashed.
The End of a Hermit’s Career.
The remains of Jesse E. Williams,tlie
“hermit of Chester county, Pa.,” has
been recently interred in Philadelphia.
He lived in a small shanty on land known
as “The Barrens.” in West Nottingham
township, in the county whose title was
a jiart of his surname. He was gener
ally thought demented, but it is known
that years ago he was one of Philadel
phia’s most prosperous and honored
merchants. He is said to have often
entertained Henry Clay, Daniel Webster
and other eminent men of their time at a
sumptuou home. He formerly owned
a farm ne. . Consliocken, but he prefer
red politics to business and failed finan
cially. With his fortune went his friends;
his wife became divorced from him and
he was deserted by his children. For
years he wandered over the State and
finally settled on the spot where he died,
which is on tlie edge of a large pine for
est. Poultry was his hobby and all he
cared for in life was an improved breed
of chickens, about which, it is said, he
at one time or other wrote a book.
Live-Stock In Midsummer.
A IiAwybb is not anything like ss
great a curiosity as the champion thin
man, bat it costs mare to see him.
Tlie latter part of summer is often
very tryiug to live-stock. Pastures are
short, old grain is high, the new not yet
fit to feed. Milk may be in great de
mand and the farmer loath to cut in
upon his corn-fodder, intended for cur
ing, to feed off the aftermath; he is
lucky who can tuni his young stock of
cattle and horses into mountain or high
wooded pastures, where they will have
water and may make at least lialf a
living upon underbrush, etc. Early
sown fodder com comes in well now
for milk cows, and there is really no
other good use for it. If cut for curing
it is bard to dry without molding and
decaying, and if left to stand until after
the middle of September, when it will
cure well, it will be as woody and tough
as “corn stalks.” When fed to milch
cows, fodder com ought to be cut short
and sprinkled with two to four quarts
of corn-meal per cow each day. There
will then lie no complaint of the quali
ty or tbe quantity of the milk. If these
{ye fed without the meal, the milk will
surely lie thin, and the cows are ex
hausted by the increased flow, and soon
fall off in yield.
Horses in pasture are often extreme
ly annoyed by flies. If they can stand
when not in use in dark, sweet stablax,
by all means turn them into the pasture
only at night. Gnats and mosquitoes
are of little annoyance to horses, but
the larger day flies, and the (Estrus or
Bot-fly, set them almost crazy.
Ewes and lambs are usually separated
in August and while none of our domes
tic animals is more often used as a type
of maternal affection than the ewe, yet
the agony of separation will be of short
duration, and not esi>ecially painful if
the two flocks, dams and lambs, can bo
pastured so far apart as not to hear each
other’s calls. It is well to put with tli
lambs a few withers as flock-leaders, or
a ram or tw r o if there is danger of an
noyance by passing dogs. The ewes
should be penned and their milk drawn
enough to relieve their udders several
evenings in succession after taking tli»
lambs away. Wounds on any kind j'
animals are liable to be fly-blown aufo
very annoying. The best treatmeri
that we know of is an application
strong carbolic soap. Tliat w'hich is
sold as sheep dip is very good; but be
careful not to use the arsenical sheep
dips or anything of that kind. Soft soap
or semi-solid soap, strongly impregnated
with crude carfiolic acid, is good, and
anyone can make it. It will be round
good for all kinds of raw sores, galls,
bites, scratches and the like on man or
beast.
Tlie place for pigs at' this season is in
tli£ orchard *, tbA* «it *
wormy, unless, indeed, a gale shakes off
sound fruit, and the pigs unconsciously
slay thousands of injurious insects.
How to Breathe in Reading.
M. Legouve tells the anecdote ot
Talma watching the actor Dorival from
tbe prompter’s box until he had dis
covered his secret, which consisted in
always taking a fresh breath before the
last one was quite exhausted, and in
doing bis best to conceal the beginning
of each phrase by starting whenever he
could on au a. e, or an o,—“that is to
say, at the point wrhere the fact of the
mouth being already open makes it
possible to take breath lightly, without
tlie action being perceived,” Again,
Delie Beuie, the celebrated singer, could
run up aud down the scale in front of a
lighted candle without the flame waver
ing. “How is tins done? It is because
he employs exactly the quantity of
b.e th needed to carry the Bound of the
uott s, If yon or I were to try it we
should simply waste our breath.” In
thq, chapter on “Pronunciatien” M.
Legouve insists, and the point can
hardly be too much pressed, on the
valne, the absolute need, in fact, of clear
articulation as opposed to mere exertion
of voice. This he illnstrates by a story
of Bouffe, when he was ploying Pere
Grandet in the “Fille de TAvare.”
When he came to the most touching
scene of the piece, when the old miser
fends that he is robbed, the actor began
to scream out the words as he was ac
customed to. At the end of a few min
utes the sound died away on his lips,
and he was compelled to continue in a
murmur. What happeneu? That he
was a thousand times more true and
more touching than before, because he
was obliged to make up for weakness of
voice by force of articulation. It ia
true that one cannot speak without a
voice, but voice alone has so litt.e to do
with diction that there are readers,
orators aud aoion to whom the very
extent of their voice is a drawback.
Unless they are skilled in articulation
the volume of sound devours the sense.
Roadway Con*trucUon.
In a paper recently couunuaici.ted to the
Society of Engineers, London. Mr Cop
land described the principal systems of
roadway construction now In vogue aud
pointed out the extent to which he consid
ered they met, or failed to meet, the re
quirements of a well-adapted roadway—
namely, safety, easy traction, nuiaelessness,
freedom from dust and mud, durability,
facility and cheapness of construction,
maintenance and repairs to itself and to
the gas and water mains, etc.
He also explained the principles upon
which with a lew to avoiding the defects
of other systems, he had designed the ae-
phaltic wood pavement, the use of which
is now increasing. This pavement con
sists of a bed of concrete, with a layer of
asphalt over it, and upon this are laid
transverse course, of red (due blocks with
intermediate spaces; the latter are filled
in partly with heated manic asphalt, and
then with coarse lime and gravel grout,
flushed with hot air, to the surface of the
roadway; about an inch ot coarse gravel
is then spread in a uniform manner over
the whole surface of the roadway thus
prepared, aad left to be worked la by the
traffic. 7 '
In regard to the expense of construeticu
and msinienance of the various systems of
roadway, tbe author concludes that tfaougC
for town roads, macadam ia tbe cheapen
m original c tat, it is by far the moat ex
pensive ovsr a term of years—whereas,
although the asphaltic wood pavement co»ta
more at first, it la cheaper, over a length
ened period, than macadam, or moat other
roadways,