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4 - "-Wm< '' wag I . ii : r f ’If ' fF;'! ■. il 11 ilajlil'i .•I v J TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. 0.. JUNE 14. 1883. ESTABLISHED 1848 A SUMMER SONG. Good morning, O sweet morning, Kiss me with sun and wind, And without word of warning, Drive winter from the mind. Then let the heart be taken W'ith many a happy sigh, To hear the songs awaken From out the bluebird sky; The robins’ silver fluting, Upon the maple tops, The sparrows’ gay disputing, In every hedge or copse: The lark's long, mellow whistle Where fields are cool and moist; The finch upon the thistle; The wood dove, echo-voiced; The phcebe softly calling; The warblers’ bidden choir, Where apple flowers are tailing, And darts the oriole’s tire. The swallow builds her dwelling Of clay from sunny pools; • The doves their loves are telling— The scolding wren o’errulos, Up starts the golden flicker, And hurls his notes about; The bluejays tilt and bicker— The cuckoo’s a sly scout; But hark: from last year’s stubble How cheerily pipes the quail, And bobolink notes upbubble, From yonder grassy swale; The blackbird free from trouble, Pours out a gossip tale; Loud laughs the crow at pillage, On fields of planted corn; All drunk with spring’s distillage, V AH mad with joy this morn! Good morning, O sweet morning, Good cheer unto my songs; Come ye in thronging measure; As sprifig birds come in throngs. HARRY. Miss Abigail Burr was a little brown old maid, who lived in a little brown old house with her cat, Debby, and her woman-of all-work, Prudence, sharp of toague, long of visage browner and older than the mistress herself. There was nothing of grace, nor beauty, nor sweetness about Miss Abigail’s life; everything was dry. and hard, and husky. Indeed, some i>eopfe were so uncharitable as to say that her heart was like a very much dried-up kernel in a nut-shell, and would rattle if she were to be shaken hard enough. But 1 never quite believed that. I always said there was a soft spot in Miss Abigail’s heart, to be found when the time came to find it. One spring twilight a boy opened Miss Abigail’s garden gate and walked up the path between the rows of strag gling lilacs. He was not a boy who lived about Caperstown or he would not have dared venture, I am sure, for Prudence’s sake, besides having noth ing to venture for. He was an un kempt, starved-looking little specimen of humanity. His coat w as a world too long and patched at the elbows; and his trousers were a world too short and patched at the knees, iiis hat guiltless of brim, and through a hole in the crown bobbed a little tuft of hair which had once been brown, but was now wofidly faded. He went straight up to Miss Abigail’s porch steps. Miss Abigail was silting on the porch in her high-backed rocking-chair so intent on binding off her stocking-heel that she heard neither the click of the gate-latch nor the footsteps on the hard-trodden path, and she did not look up until the boy’s figure interposed itself between her work and the fading sunset light. He doffed his tattered hat-crown. ‘Tf you please, ma’am, will you— may I have something* to eat?” It was not at all a tramp’s manner of asking; there was a manliness in the voice which Miss Abigail could not help but notice. Perhaps that was the reason she looked at the boy sharply for a moment before she answered. In that moment, Prudence, tall and angular, stood in the door, with a shawl thrown over her head, and her right hand swath ed with soft cotton. “I’ll have to git Jonas Barrow’s man to do the milkin’,” said she. I can’t. •I’ve burned my hand that bad.” The boy looked up quickly. “Can’t I—could I milk for you?” As I liave intimated, Prudence did not like boys; and that she sometimes expressed her dislike in a very forcible manner many of the village urchins could testify. Now, she surveyed this boy, standing by the porch steps, from his bare brown feet to his brown head, not forgetting the faded little tuft, in dumb astonishment. “You might let him try, Prudence,” said Miss Abigail, thinking rather dubi ously of the nervous, mouse-colored Al derney in the yard. “I chored on a fann all last summer,” explained the boy, eagerty, glancing from mistress td maid. “I want some supper, and I’ll be glad todosometliixig to pay for it.” “Well, you kin try it, ” said Prudence, after a momentary deliberation. It’s better’n begging a favor, anyhow.” She led the way to the kitchen, and took a shining tin pail from the dresser. “Here’s the milk-pail,” she said to the boy, who stood waiting; “an’ the cow’s in the yard yonder. Pay-day comes when the work’s done.” And Prudence smiled grimly as she went about setting out a lunch of bread and butter and cold meat. She felt morally certain that the flighty Alderney heifer, used only to woman-kind, would be much more likely to spread a pair of l>ovine wings and fly away than allow herself to be milked by a boy. “He can’t do it,” she said to Miss ' Abigail, who presently brought her knit ting work in the kitchen. “The heifer’ll send him sky-high.” But he could and he did. Soon lie appeared in the doorway, his pail brim ming with snowy foam. ‘‘Well I never” ejaculated Prudence. “You didn’t think I could?” said the lioy, smiling.brightly. ‘ No, I didn’t,” admitted Prudence; and straightway, in hoa astonishment, she added to his fare a segment of rhu barb pie. “Wasn’t there a bit of cheese left from tea?” asked Miss Abigail. Prudence thought there was, and while she was fetching it from the cel- | lar the lioy gave himself a healthy scrub bing at the pump, coming in from his ablutions fresh and ruddy as a rase. He was very hungry, there was no doubt of . that. He looked at Miss Abigail with a [ deprecating smile as Prudence carried off the bread-plate for a third replenish ing. “I’m pretty hungry,” said he. “This is the first bite I’ve had since morning and it tastes good.” To lie sure it did. Miss Abigail thought of a little brother who died years and years before, ere his tender feet began to feqj the pricks in life’s path. How strange that the sight of this little vagrant, satisfying his crav ing at her kitchin table, she..Id bring to her remembrance the child who had so early put off the mortal for the immor tal. Presently, when the boy hid lin- ished his repast, he laid his knife and fork across his plate with a methodical precision which it pleased Miss Abigail to see and then he glanced from Pru dence, standing near her with arms akimbo, to Miss Abigail. “Thank you for my supper,” said he. ‘ ‘May be I’d best be getting along. You don’t want a boy to work, do you?” “A boy—work!” echoed Prudence. “Did I ever!” “No we don’t,” said Miss Abigail, shortly. And then—it was strange enough that she could not help thinking again of that frail little life which had blighted in the bud so long l)efore. “How far are you going?” she asked. “I don’t know, ma’am.” “And where have you come from?” proceeded Miss Abigail. “Trescott, ma’am. Mother died there three months ago. ” There was a pathetic quaver in his voice. And then, with little questioning, he told his simple story. His name was Barry Olmstead, and he was twelve years old. He had lived in Trescott a long time—he and his mother; they were very poor, but they had kept a little home together. His mother had taken in sewing, and he had worked for the neighboring farmers summers, and gone to school winters. And he had Iteen happy, for all they were so poor, until —mother died. “Then 1 stopped with Deacon Staples a spell; he said he wanted to try me. But they were going to bind me out to him, and so I ran away.” “None to blame, nuther,” interposed Prudence, with a great deal of emphasis. “I’ve seen old Staples, down to Trescott. He’s that mean he’d skin a mouse for the hide and taller!” “I’ve been trying along for a chance to work,” continued the boy, smiling faintly. He was very near to tears now, but he held them,back sturdily. “But there don’t anybody seem to want me.” Miss Abigail was moved more than she would have cared to own by this recital. Even to her, who had lived for self so long, there was something inde scribably pitiful in tiie thought of this little wanderer battling alone with the world, buffeted by fortune, drifting here or there, as chance might dictate. It had grown dark nnw—tbp inmns hud long since been lighted; and there were mutterings of distant thunder in the air. “It’s going to rain,” said Miss Abi gail. “You needn’t go to-night: you may sleep in the stable loft.” Barry thanked her. The storm broke with great violence. And while Miss Abigail listened to the sharp peals of thunder and the pouring of the rain against the windows she thought of the lonely little wayfarer in the stable loft with a new, strange throb of pity. Morning came, merry with bird song and glistening with myriads of rain drops. Prudence was up betimes, but, early as it was, she heard the sound of dn*ax in the wood-shed; and when she opened the door Barry smiled at her from his past by the chopping-block. “I don’t think I paid enough for my road, and sent a long, quavering cry after Barry. “B o-o-y!” But the little figure they were watch ing plodded steadily on. “Gimme the old tin horn out’er the kitchen. Miss Abigail” called Prudenc*, excitedly, “quick.” * Miss Abigail, staid spinster that she was, without a thought of the ludicrous ness of the proceeding, ran to the kitchen, snatched the horn from its nail, aud ran out with it to Prudence. And’ Prudence put it to her lips and blew a blast so long, so loud, that it startled the birds into silence, and set the echoes ringing from hillside to hillside. “He c’n hear that if he c’n hear any thing,” she muttered. He did. He stopped. Prudence flour ished the hom in frantic excitement. There was a moment of suspense; and then Prudence turned to Miss Abigail, standing by the gate. “He’s a-couiin" liack,” she said. When Barry, breathless with the haste he Imd made, reached the cottage, Miss Abigail was waiting on the porch. “We made up our minds to keep you,” said she, “so long as you don’t give too much trouble.” “O, thank you, ma’am!” cried Barry, “Indeed, I’ll try to please you.” I am sure he has succeeded; for the lilacs have been in bloom three times since that morning, and he is with Miss Abigail yet, growing tall and strong and manly as the years go by. He tills the bit of a fann, which had so long lain unimproved and in whiter attends school at the village where he is in ex cellent repute. He is, withal, so faith ful hnd helpful and kind that Prudence is fain to apotliegmatize the horn after this fashion: * “Hamsome is as hamsome does; {in’ you’re deservin’ of a bed o’ velvet, old horn, for the good deed you done that dav.” Poetry In Patchwork. A Remarkable Story. supper—I eat such a lot;” he said, “so I’ve split some kindlings, and I’ll milk for you this morning if you want me to. ” Prudence brought the milk-pail with out a word. But when she had prepared Miss Abigail’s morning meal, she made ready a good substantial breakfast for Barry, also. When he had eaten it he took up his hat crown. “Go out the way you came in,” said Prudence, “ ’r else you’ll bring bad luck.” • Barry gave a little incredulous laugh, but he went out to the porch. Miss Abigail was there taking deep breaths of the fresh air, aud she bade him a kind “Good morning” as he went off the step and down the path again be tween the lilacs, exuberant in growth but meager in bloom. “I wonder why my lilacs do not flower more freely.” This Miss Abigail said to Prudence, who had followed to the door. “I dunno,” answered Prudence. Barry heard and turned. “I guess it’s l>ecause you leave the old blossoms on,” he said, hesitatingly. “Mother used to say 1 must pick the blossoms off one year, if I wanted any next.” And then he went out of the gate, closing it carefully behind him, and along the moist, brown highway. “That is a very uncommon boy,” said Miss Abigail, looking after him with serious eyes. “Yes,” assented Prudence “he’s a clever ’nough little chap—for a boy. ” “To think of his knowing about the lilacs,” continued Miss Abigail medita tively. “I must eut off all the flowers this spring,” “An’ he got as good a mess o’ milk from the heifer as 1 could ha’ done my self with a well hand,” Prudence went on. “Yes, he would have been handy alnnit milking and getting the wood for yon,” said Miss Abigail. “An’ bringin’ the letters from the post-office,” proceeded Prudence. “It’s a good piece over to the village in muddy walkin’.” “So it is,” said Miss- Abigail. She gazed reflectively along the road whkh wound, serpentine, to the little hamlet a mile away. Barry was climbing the hill, a mere, pitiful, lonely speck, in the distance, sis he was a mere insignificant atom in the great body of humanity. Miss Abigail s eyes filled. “We might have kept him,” she said. “Tain’t too late yit!” put in Pru dence. The two women looked into each others eyes. “If you could make him hear,” began Miss Abigail. For answer Prudence strode to the In the Surrogate’s Court, of New York, on the 6th of May; much excite ment was created by the development of a peculiar, interesting and romantic story. The principal actors are young men of high social standing and wealth. The story is as follows: In 1869, Win. Tilden, a relative of Samuel J. Tilden, died, leaving an es tate valued at $2,500,000. He divided it equally between his four sons—Wil liam, Milano C., Marmaduke and Bev- erle B. Tilden—aged 20,15,12, and 9 years. Josiah M. Fiske, Wm. T. Blod gett, Davis Dows, Charles Tracy and N. C. Ely were appointed executors. In 1870 the executors employed an Italian named Biazzi as tntor and manager for the boys, aud they were sent to Europe. In Paris they occupied the rooms form erly occupied by the Prince of Wales and other members of the Hoyai family of England. They then proceeded to Berlin and lived in sumpthous style ex pending in' sixteen months about $70,- 000. The eldest of. the four, William, pur chased a palace in Coburg for $40,000 and with it the title of Baron. While in his palace he became very much in terested in the wife of the former owner and very soon was under com plete control of her husband, to whom he gave a power of attorney and permit ted him to purchace all the furniture for his palace. In 1872 the executors discovered the condition of affairs abroad, and by the payment of a very large sum of money, the young man was extricated from his difficulties. The four then conceived the idea of a ball in honor of Americans in Germaney. They hired an immense hall at great expense, and gave the ball,- which was widely commented on. When they returned home the execu tors footed up their expences for two years and lour months at IlSiqOOO. They were sent to Harvard College, but did not remain there. William was made an executor of the estate, and in 1877 a partner in the business formerly carried on by his father. This he was compelled to give up owing to his in ability to manage it. Many account ings were had for which large counsel fees were paid. In 1877 Gustavus G. J. The baud was api>ointed guardian of Beverie B. Tild en. He received $1250, and afterward it is alleged, was locked up in Ludlow Street Jail for eleven months for misap propriating $16,000 belonging to another estate for which he was th§ attorney. From the accounting now m progress before a referee it appears that the two eldest sons have been paid $175,000 more, than their share. It is als* i charg ed that a mortgage for $160,000 on Jersey City property, with the interest, was collected by the executors, and that one of them deposited the money to his private account. The estate is in a bad condition and will yield but $100,000 to each of the youngest sons. The executors are charg ed with procuring ratifications of then- acts by threats. Beverie B. Tilden now seeks to have the various accountings opened on the ground that the expen ditures were foolish and rash, unneces sary and contrary to his father's will. He also claims that the executors should be charged with the unnecessary exjienditures. The executors make a general denial, and declair that they have accounted for every cent they spent, and that the boys, when they came of age, ratified their acts. Glovei. Gloves have the honor of sharing in the censure of modem medical dictators, who declare that they injure the skin, and by being worn very tight check the circulation of the biood. There is little fashion can do—it tries to prevent ^he imitation of the vulgar by declaring sometimes for sac gloves which reach the shoulder, or with the same length in an innumerable number of buttons; now that they shall be worn on the dress, and now on the bare arm; and now that they shall be painted, then beaded; now tha* they shall have ruffles or insertion. One- never knows a man until he refuses him something and studies the effects of the refusal. One never knows himself until he has denied himself something. Mrs. MulforB, wife of the clerk at the Arlington Hotel, Washington, has finished a patchwork qUilt that is not merely a quilt, but a work of art. ' It is a poem in patches—a symphony in samples of silk and satin. It is seveh feet square and is composed of forty- nine different blocks, arranged in rows, each row separated by a division ribbon of dark red satin, ana eacn block divid ed from each other by a ribbon border of the same texture and hue. Around the whole is a border of drab brown satin., traversed by seven rows of stitch ing in various silks. The pieces are chiefly silk, with maajt qf satin and a few of velvet. There are about 1,000 pieces in the quilt, aud every piece has a history. There are in It samples of silk from a wedding dleess, made hun dreds of years ago in England, when the looms wove silk as enduring as time. There are in it specimens of the latest styles of gentlemen’s cravats. And between these two epochs are hun dreds of pieces of different times and all imssible shades of color arranged in blocks of a general arabesque pattern, the whole presenting a unity of designs that is marvelously symmetrical, and a blending and shading of colors that is artistic in the highest degree. Only an artist, with a firm, bold hand, a quick, accurate eye, and a true perception of the harmonies of art, could have made it. Some of the pieces are mere shreds m size, and none of them are large. With these materials are displayed taste and judgment, and the result is not merely a guaint guilt but an arabesque in art. I i . g ■ ? *. ? The blending of the colors is the most admirable feature' of the whole work. The arrangement of the pieces is equal ly satisfactory. The general result ob tained is consequently artistic. Two of the squares containes a piece of brocade silk, of the now fashionable color, crushed strawberry. It came from the wedding dress of Mrs. Mul- ford’s great grand-mother, and is 110 years old. Another square contains a fragrant of her own wedding dress. Still another holds a small section of her husband’s wedding vest, one of those patterns in light silk which were fashionable before the war and which having gone out of fashion, has l»een replaced by nothipg half so elegant either in texture or in style. Again, another block has a piece of wedding dress of Mrs. Mulford’s bridesmaid. Miss Sherron, with her initials worked in it. This is the only block in the wiiole. quilt which Mrs. Midford did not work with her own hands. Hun dreds of these pieces were sent to Mrs. Mulford by her friends. One block is called the Beach Block, because the wife of Hon. Lewis Beach, of New York contributed most of the pieces in it. The predominant colors htp purple, crimson, black, light blue, green and others. In one corner a crescent Inoon, attended by stars, gleams out from a field of blue. In the centre a cluster of leaves are beautifully worked. Very much of the work is difficult needle work, done by Mrs. Mulford-. Many of the pieces have various designs painted ou them by the same lady, whose abilities as an artist are highly appreciated by her friends. Another block contains a piece of Thos. Jefferson’s carriage Uning; which despite that Presedent’s well, know de mocracy, was of silk. The Japanese embassy sent another block* On one of the pieces tn this block is painted the minister’s name in the strange, uncouth Japanese chaiacters. Mrs. Mahone sent some pieces, which were arranged in a handsome blbck. In this occurs one of the few pieces of velvet in the quilt. One block contains a piece on which is scratched a lifelike sketch of the fox and the stork at the famous dinner where the fox was worsted. The ex pression given to the expectant but dis appointed fox is perfect. He is sitting on his haunches, licking his chops,while the stort^ with his bill deep into the norrow-nedked jug, seems to say briskly and hospitrbly, Help yourself, Brother Reynard! In another square the saga cious starling is dropping into the pitch er the pebbles that will enable him fin ally to take a drink. In one block is a piece of silk from the curtains of the White House. Some of the-blockshave in them pieces of silk which are not made in this country. Mr. Lambert the silk manufacturer of Paterson, N. J., in importing patterns from England has sent samples to Mrs. Mulford to be worked in the quilt Mr. Lambert was so struck by the crushed strawberry silk of 110 years ago that he manufac tured a quantity exactly like it. In one of the squares Little Boy Blue is blow ing his hom, in all the glory of the Ken sington stitch, and in another a little jirl on a stile seems to be in doubt which side of the fence to come down on. A very elegont block contains a piece of imported English silk, in which a perfect strawberry, with a cap still on appeals to the eye for approval of its perfect shape. Oue block holds a num berof elephants. Another has pieces sent by Senator Platt’s son, a part of his cravat, in which little pigs, with a ring in their tails, are ambling along with a larger ring on theit- / backs. But the quilt; to be fully described, would require far more space than this article can afford. It has been seen by Minle & Proctor’s decorators, who proneuhee it the finest piece of decorative work they have ever seen. It has been seen by a favored few at the hotel, who are in raptures over it. It is really a su perb affair. Mr. and Mrs. Mulford left Washington on Saturday for their home in Salem N. - J-, and took the quilt with them. table heat when the heat from a system of pipes is often oppressive, and some times stifling? Because of the great dif ference between the ways in which the fire pnd the hot pipes dis;tense their heat. The heat rays from an open fire pass directly through the air with out much heating it; they heat any solid object in their way, whether it be the walls and furniture of the room or the person of the sitter, but they leave the air itself cool until this is heated in turn by radiation from the walls. The occupant of the room does not have to wait for this secondary radiation; he is impartially and promptly warmed, like any other solid object in the room, by the direct glow of the fire, while the air around him may remain comparatively cool. It does not. ‘u point of fact, get to be quite as warm as the walls aud furniture, while by choosing a less or greater distance from the fire, or by the use of screens, you can adjust the heat of direct radiation exactly to your per sonal comfort. This is not the case with any other system of heating. Warmed pipes, a stove at anything short of red heat, and a hot-air register directly heat the air itself, leaving the walls comparatively cool. The room is full of hot air, which you can not temper instantly to your comfort as you can temper the radia tion of the open fire, while the walls re main cooler than the air when these heating appliances are used, and ab stract heat from the occupants of the room instead of supplying heat to them, as they do when warmed by the open tire. The cheerfulness of the o)hmi tire re quires no eulogy. But the open flame, whether of wood, soft coal or hard coal, is a costly luxury. Soft coal is with us one of the most, expensive kinds of fuel; but it is worth remembering that one good lump of it upon a hard-coal tire will till a room with cheerful flame for hours. For these reasons the open tire is the most comfortable way of heating. As to its virtue in producing ventilation, an open tire “is powerful enough to draw into the room all the air it wants, and for this purpose will use indiscrimin ately all openings, whether inlets or outlets, if necessary.” If, as often hap- )K?ns, when this is cold and the house is not tightly built, the lire may easily cause too much ventilation, so that the feet liecome chilled, and the temperature of the room does not reach a comfortable degree of warmth. In such a case a register supplying wanned air from a furn&ce below is a necessary supplement to the oi>en fires; a similar compensa tion is needed in large buildings where hot pipes arq used to warm the halls. The open fire, indeed, is often, in our climate, a luxury for a single room, rather than a sufficient me. ns of heat ing the house; but the open tire is a great comfort, v/tner sources of heat may usefully supplement it; but no other, at whatever expense of money aud scientific contrivance, can take the place of it. I have known more than one builder of his own house -who lias found out that its winter comfort was by no means wholly decided by the height of the thermometer. Of the heat furnished by an ordinary open coal fire only about one-eighth is utilized in a room. This waste has led inventors to contrive various means for retaining a part of the heat that escapes directly up the chimney. The principle is to warm an ascending current of air in proximity to the tire, but not to an excessive degree, and to disengage the air near the top of the room. Galton has devised one of the best of these contrivances, but it is little known in this country. In any fire-place the forms and materials employed make a good deal of difference with the amount of heat saved. .Brick and tiles are bet ter than iron for the backing; the grate should project a certain distance into the room, and a projecting chimney- piece absorbs and radiates a consider able amount of heat. The fashion, now going out, of concealing the mantel piece with a board, suitable trimmed and decorated, was thus a thrifty as well as a pretty one, the fringes and other coverings of the false mantel piece serving to retain and distribute the heat of the fire beneath. The hob is an attachment that should lie found upon the grate of every open fire. Any one can make a good hob in live minutes. Take a piece of stout wire one-fifth of an inch in diameter and twenty to twenty-four inches long, bend it into the shape of a long capital U. five or six inches broad, put the points of this U between the two upper grate bars and bend down the loop of it until it stays level, aud you will have a convenient movable hob, and quite as good a one as can be bought, for money. The hob and kettle are very serviceable for evaporating water, according to the plan I have recommended for keep ing the air moist. A hob thus makes the grate fire in the parlor more health ful, while ’the tea-kettle simmering upon it adds its own element of domes tic comfort. •Nary a Stick, Sir. Ignorance of Common Mailer*, l 'Open Elree. // Whether it is of wood or coal, the virtues of an open flr«f are these: By itp ‘peculiar, heat action it warms the air of ^ room .leas thaq its walls and less than the occupants of the room, producing a comfortable warmth. It gives th«b ‘most thorough venti lation, and. it. U the most cheerful as well as comfortablesouroe of heat. Its faults are its expen&ive- ness, and the greater trouble required in taking care of it, .f«i r hyd There are some peculiar qualities of the Mexican mind which will, for a while, stand m the way of quick pro gress., Thus, very few of them will buy their railroad tickets until the train is in full view of the station, and, until a short time ago, preferred paying their cash to the conductor. They have an inoompreheusble itc “ng to defer any enterprise, or even ti .vwl work, until the morrow. Where these defects of their disposition a d training are under stood, and patience and m&navem-nt are exercised, a fair service* can be got 4 out of them. As exemp iLing how little Mexicans know of the rights of common carrier^, the other day, when Gen. Diaz. atoj ped here, the company,’ as h courtesy tendered the municipality the use of their cars for the General s party. Ther vponttv city authorities undertook to let everybody have a free ride, and. until the matter * was legally explained to them, threatened trouble, to the railway pioplo. These mistakes of the Mexicans in their dealing with our people spring not so much iron a “No, sir, stranger, I wasn’t driv out by the overflow of the river,” he an swered as he patched away at the old harness on his rack-ribbed mule. “ Land-owner close you out ? ” “No, sir. You see, I didn’t exactly till any sile, and had no crops to fail.” “Been cutting steamboat wood, may- lie?” “ Nary a stick, sir.” We looked him over and none of us could make him out. He was tall, gaunt and ragged. His mule was old, poor and discouraged. His cart had been cut out with an axe and dressed down with a hoe. He halted in front of the old-fashioned Arkansas tavern, apd it was the landlord who put the questions: “Maybe ye lost yer family by swamp fever?” “Never had a family, sir.’- “ Kinder prospectin’ fur walnut, eh!’’ “Nary a prospect.” the landlord in a ‘maybe you’ve no objec tions to tell this crowd jist how ye cum to he in sich redooced sarcumstances ? You sartinly don’t look purty, and I don’t lielieve ye’re rich.” “Gentlemen.” said the stranger as he turned his back on the mule. “I’d jist as soon tell ye all about it. I’m a living proof of the fact that old Arkansaw is no place fur a high toned gentleman or a fust-class mule, and we are on our way into Tennessee. This is a purty good kentry fur a mule with a stiff knee or a man with a scrub eddication, hut when it comes down to Greek and - Latin aud eatin’ with three-tine forks Arkansaw is fifty years liehind the world! Momin’, gents—morn in’, in three different lan guages.” Sport tiniuiig/ami ChilUrpii. THE VERDICT —OF- Stranger,” said vexed tone, “ They-Weren’t Sninluir.hr*. Among the score of us who rushed into a railroad eating house in Missis sippi at the call of “twenty minutes for dinner,” was a chap who had his mind up to say something unpleasant when he came to pay for his meal. He was growling when lie went in and he jawed all the while he was eating, and when he slouched up to the desk to pay his seventy-five cents lie broke out with: “Them sandwiches are enough to kill a dog!” “What sandwiches?” “Why, them on the table.” “But we have no sandwiches on tie table, sir, persisted the landlord. “You haven't? Well, I should like to know what you call them roasted brick-bats on that blue platter?” “You didn’t try to eat one of those?” “Yes, I did!” “Then, my friend, you had better go for a doctor at once! Those are table ornaments, made of terra-cotta, and were placed there to help fill up the space! Land o’ cats! but you must have lived in a cane-brake all your life!” The traveler rushed into the car and began to suck at a brandy-flask, aud he didn’t get over looking pale for three hours. And they were sandwichas after all —real good ham sandwiches made that day. The landlord had adopted that particular style, instead of using a club. The Aurora In Miniature. Why does an open fire give a comfor- desire to annoy aa from ignorance, Laboratory experiments liave fre quently been resorted to produce the aurora in miniature, and the resemb lance to the original lias been extremely close, but an artificial aurora on a large scale and with no electrical machinery has lately been effected by Professor Lemstroem. He selected a station just within the Arctic circle, in North Fin land, where there were two mountains close together, and having altitudes of 2,600 and 3.600 feet. In accordance with the well known fact that electri city gathers upon iioiuts, two hills hav ing clearly defined conical summits were selected. He believed that aurora was the result of an endeavor on the part of certain forces to establish an equilibri um, aud assumed that electricity was Iiassing from one hill top to the other. Reasoning that if by any means the in terchange could be hastened the effect would become visible, the summits were connected with their bases by a network of copper to serve as a conduc tor. Immediately an arch of the aurora appeared, estimated to be at least 360 feet above the top. An examination of the currents produced in the w.res showed them to be positive. The spec troscope dearly revealed the well known lines of the aurora. Although the dis play was only of short duration, there could be no doubt of Its genuineness or of the success of the experiment. .THE PEOPLE. BUY THE BEST! Mk. J. O. Boao—Dear Sir: I bought ttie drat UaviH Machine sold by you over five years ago for my wife, who has given it a long ami fair trial. I am well pleased with it. It never gives an / rouble, and is as good as when ttisi bought. J. W. Boucx. Wlnnsboro, s. C., Aprl. 1888. Mr. Uoad : Yon wish to hnow what I hare to say la regard to the Davis Machine bought of you three year* ago. I feel I can’t sav too much in its favor. I made about fso.OV within five mout.is, at limes running *t so fast that the needle would r ;t perfectly hot Irom friction. I feel confident could not have done the same work with as much ease and so well with any other machine. No time lost in adjusting attachments. Tne lightest running machine I have ever treadled. Brother James aud William's families are as much pleased with their Davis Mach ties bought of you. I want no beiter machine. As I said before, I don’t think too much can be said for the Dav.s Machine, llespectfnlly, Klmsn Stkvsnsok. FalrlleM county, April, 1883. Mr. Boao : My machine gives me perfect satis faction. I tind no fault with it. The attachments are so simple. I wish for no belter than the Davis Vertical Feed. Respectfully. Mr* R. Milling. Fairfield county, April, 1S83. One day says a writer, I saw some of the children playing at “breaking hor ses,” One juvenile demon was leading a hand of four or five others, in the pursuit of a big bristling boar. Lasso in hand, the little fellow watched his chance, and twirling the flexible cord once or twice rapidly in the air, sent it like lightning toward the head of the boar. The latter made a desperate dash only to run his snout and forefoot into the coil, which, held by the com bined efforts of all, quickly precipitated him, in a succession of entangling somersaults, into the shallow river. In an instant another lasso was dexter ously thrown over his hind feet, and his captors, regardless of mud and water, wild with vociferous glee, lie- straddled him and held him down. The leader tore off oue of the legs of his trousers, aud with this he bandaged the eyes bf the squealing animal, w rap ping another piece around his snout so as to smother his cries. Tims equipped, the hog was set at liberty. Two of the little wretches jumped astride him, while the others prodded him behind and at the sides. Thus guided, the poor beast ran uncertainly in all direc tions, into corrals, over logs, headlong into deep holes, precipitating his ad venturesome riders; not, however, to their discomfiture, for thev would im mediately scamper up, drive, push, lead, or haul him out and mount him again. The last I saw of them w r as toward evening; they were ruefully re garding the dead carcass of their novel horse. Mr. Boao: I bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from you four years ago. I am delighted with it. It never has given me any trouble, and lias never been the least out of order. It is as good as when I first bought it. I can cheerfully recommend it. Respectfully, •Mrs. M. J. KIRKLAND, Monticello, April 30, 1883. This is to certify that I have been using a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for over twoyears, purchased of Mr. J. O. Hoag. I haven’t found it possessed of any fault—all the attachments are so simple. It neverrefuses to work, and is oertatnly the lightest running in the market. I consider it a first class machine. Very respectfully. Minnib M. Willingham. Oakland, Fairfield county, 8. C. Mr Boao : 1 am well pleased in every particular with the Davis Machine nought of you. I think it a first-class machine in every respect. You know you sold several machines of the same make to dillerenl members of our families, all of whom, as far as 1 know, are well pleased with them. Respectfully, Mrs. M. H. Mobley. Fairfield comity, April, 1883. This isto certify we have had in constant use the Davis Machine bought of you about three years ago. As we take in work, and have made the nf tt aoYu 1^11 Flmoa nvor wa rfnn’f want •> better machine. It is always ready to do any kind of work we nave to do. No pnekeringor skipping stitches. We can only say we are well pleased and wish no better machine, . CATUBKINK WYLII AND StSTBR. April 85, 1883. I have no fault to find with my machine, and don’t want any better. I have made the price of it several times by taking In sewing. It Is always ready to do Its work.. I think it a first-class ma chine. I feel I can't say too much for the Davis Vertical Feed Machine. Mrs. Thomss Smith. Fairfield county, April, 1883. Mr. J. O. Boao—Dear Sir: lives me urich pleasure to testify to the merits of the Davis Ver tical Feed Sewing Machine. The mai bine I got of yon about five years ago. has been almost In con- siaut use ever since that time. I cannot see that it is worn any, aud has not cost me one cent for repairs since we have had it. Am well pleased and don’t wish for any better. Yours trn'y, Kobt. Crswford, Granite Quarry, near Winnsboro, 8. C. We have used the Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for the last five years. We would not have any otiier make at any pnee. The machine has y iven us unlsiundeu satisfact ion. Very respectfully, Mrs. W. K. Turner and Dauiihtkrs) Fairfield county, M. C., Jan. 81,1883. Having bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from Mr. J. O. Boag some three years ago, and it having given me perfect satisfaction In every resi>ect asa family machine both for heavy and light sewing, ami never needed the least re pair in any way. 1 can cheerfully recommend it to any one as a first-class machlm- in every particu lar, and think It second to none. It is one ot the simplest machines made; my children use it with all ease. The attachments are more easily ad justed and It does a greater range of wark by means of its Vertical Feed than any other ma chine I have ever seen or used. Wlunsii >r Mrs. Thomas Owinos. F airfield county, 8. C. We have had oue of the Davit Machines about four years and have always found it ready to do all kinds of work we have had occas on to da Can’t see that the machine Is worn any, and works as well as when new. Mrs. W. J. Crawrobd, Jackson’s Creek, Fairfield county, 8. C. My wife is highly pleased with the Davis Ma chine bought of you. '8he would not take double what she gave for It. The machine has not been oat of order since she had It, and she can do any sind of work on It. Very Respectfully, Ja& F. Fkkk. Monticello, Fairfield county, s. C. The Davis Sewing Machine D simply a treni- ure Mrs. J. A. Goodwtn. K dgeway, N. 0., Jan. 10, 1883. J.O Boao, Esq., Agent—Dear Sir: My wife has been using a Davis Sewing Machine constant ly for the past four years, at)d It has never needed any repairs an I works Just as well as when first bought She says It will do a greater range of practical work «nd do It easier and better than any macliine she has ever use* We cheerfully recommend it as a No. 1 family machine, 1 our tru_y, Jab. Q. Davis. Winnsboro, 8. C., Jan. 3, 1883. Mr. Boao : I have always found my Davis Ma chine ready do alt kinds of to work I have had oc casion to do. I caanot see that the machine is worn i* panicle and it works as wed as when new. Respectfully, Mas. R. Cl Goodino. Winnsboro,«. C., April, 1883, Mr. Boao : My wife has been capstantiy using achine bought of i on about five the Davis Machl ago. I have nev-r regretted buy*** R, always ready for any k lad of fai iilty' heavy or light repairs. yeara aa it la . sewing, either It i« never out of *x or needing Fairfield, 8. a, March, IMS. • i m .v, - ,... '■ ■ J ;r \.'a.- ' « ’► ' A l ■ ;> : Wm&na ■