Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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V r ♦ TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. tt. JUNE 16, 1883. ESTABLISHED 1848 THE BONO OF THE SWINO. Climb Into my lap, little girl, little girl, Since you wistfully-gazing stand; Climb into mv lap of gray old pine, Lay hold of my-hempen hand. A wonderful trip, little frirl, little girl, We will take in a wonaerful way, From the wonderftri earth toward the won- derful skies On this wonderful summer’s day. Softly, and slowly, at first, we’ll stir, As the shy, wild creatures pass, Scarce bending the tops of the clover blos soms, Or moving the feathery grass. Then up—up—up—where the blossom-clouds Shut close ’round the robin’s nest. Peep quick! Can you see the deep blue eggs She hides 'neath her soft, warm \)reast? Now you can tell why the bobolink When from meadow-grass he springs, Carols with joy as he feels the air Pass under his outspread wings! Ah, down—down—down—with a sinking swoop That makes your heart stand still! Look up—at the arching apple-bough! And out—at the distant hill! It may be, the trout with the self-same sigh Drops down to the depths of the pool, Leaving the sun-bright ripples above For the shadow's safe and cool. A bird or a fish or a butterfly, Or a bee in a bed of thyme— You shall know all their joys, little girl, little girl. If into my lap you’ll climb! UNA. For the first time in my life—nearly seventeen years and a quarter—I was all alone in the wide, wide world, to be precise, in that bit of it which lies be tween the Paddington station and Bath. I had all but missed the train, so that my uncle had only time to hurry me into a first-class carriage, wherein a so litary lady was already seated, and to give me a solemn injunction to get Aunt Margery to telegraph when I “turned up all right,” before the train dashed away. “All right I” Of course I shall be all right! I should think, at seventeen and nearly a quarter, I might be trusted to tctRe care of myself during a three hour's journey; the more so as my uncle had “put me in at one end,” and my aunt would “take me out at the other.” As soon as I had arranged myself and my belongings comfortably in my comer, I took a survey of my fellow passenger, a grim, iron-gray old woman in an exasperating bonnet, who was looking, not daggers—that is much too pointed and brilliant a simile—but rusty nails of the jaggedest description, at my poor little bat; such an attractive one as it was, too, with the most piquant little wiig-wiiig irwaginnhle brooding over it with outstretched wings. For my part, 1 think, when one has a pretty face, it is wicked to spoil it by a dowdy hat. 1 should have attracted much more attention if 1 had worn an exas perating distinguisher like my fellow- traveler's, with an aggravating bow at the top, and, besides, Tom would not have liked it. I was rapidly losing my temper—it was too provoking. Here was some body evidently just as ready to find fault and take care of me as anybody at home. My only comfort was a hope that she might get out at the next sta tion, or at all events, at some distance from Bath. Ah, how little I knew what was coming, or I should have felt glad to have had her glaring twice as grimly from the opposite seat l “Traveling alone V” “Yes.” What a very unnecessary question I thought. “ 1 ou are too young and too pretty to be permitted to do so.” I meekly answered that my youth and prettiness were ‘ faults” over which 1 had no control, and hinted at the pos sibility that time might be expected to cure both, if only I lived long enough. She smiled—yes, really; not a bad smile, either. “While waiting for that, you should have somebody to take care of you.” “Take care of mel” I exclaimed, with a little shudder of disgust. “I am quite able to take care of myself—in deed, I am tired of being taiken care of. 1 am almost worn out. Besides, I have been at two garden parties, and liave long since left the school-room,” (with dignity). “My dear, the school room would be the best place for you for the next half- dozen years. 1 must leave you at the uext station, but I will tell the guard to look after you. You will learn in time how good a thing it is to be cared for. U ua without her lion would never get safely through the world.” The train stopped ; I helped her to gather all her bags and rugs. “Good-bye, my dear'; your little face has made the day look brighter to an old woman; so you have my leave to keep it unchanged as long as you can,” and she actually patted my cheek with a kind old hand as she passed out. 1 watched her take her place in a little basket carriage that was waiting for her—watched the old bald-headed man servant stand, hat in hand, evi dently giving her all the story of life at home in her absence—and felt sorry, as 1 returned her good-bye nod, when the carriage moved out of sight down a shady country road. 1 followed her in fancy to a flowery country home, where I felt sure that she lived cosily with old rvants, quaint furniture and old pet ogs, cats and birds. Howlittle I then ' ought that one day I should But forget; we must not anticipate, as real authors say—that must come in its own place. I had not wen seen Tom then. The train had stopped at a quiet little itftion, and was just beginning to move n past the roses, 4ollyhocks. when the ooi s.Kldeniy swung open, and a man umped in. Uue glance satisfied me t he would uot improve ou acquaint- ice. Tom has told me since that he a “cad,” and, if a “cad” is an odi- ua, vulgar, red haired person, with washed hands covered with coarse dogs, a sky-blue satin tie, and an over- iwwermg odor of bad tobacco—I know ihe difference quite well, for Tom never Imokes any but the very best M^niiaa^ and I quite enjoy the smell—then most decidedly he was rightly designated. 1 saw all this at a single glance, as one does sometimes, and bent steadily over my book, wishing that the hour which would bring me to dear Aunt Margery was over. Presently I was reading something so amusing that I had forgotten everything beside. The train had left the little station, far be hind, and was going at full speed, when suddenly a horrid voice close to my ear made me start, and 1 looked up to see the “cad’s” hideous face close to mine such a wicked, leering face I “Take off that veil, miss: I’m sure a whiff of fresh air would do you good. This carriage is awful muggy”—that was the creature’s very expression— “muggy!” “Besides, its desperate bad for your eyes to read through that spe- kled stuff.” Without replying, I bent my‘head lower over my liook, but the letters were getting confused, and my heart was beating with fright. “Poor little tiling! Deaf is she?” and he took the seat opposite, and leaned across, so that I had to shrink into my corner to avoid his touch. Poor little Una needed her lion now. “Bad for the eyes, miss, and such pretty shiners as yours, are too good to be wasted on that stupid book. Give a fellow a peep at them.” And a great red hand advanced to ward my veil. I could only cower into my corner with a great cry of terror—one helpless call on “Uncle,” knowing the while how far away he was, and how uncon scious of his poor little Polly’s trouble. In putting up his hand to my veil, the man touched me, and the touch, slight as it was, roused within me a fury of anger such as I had never felt before, and I hope never to feel again; it gave me back my voice. “You shall not! How dare you! You must not touch me!—uncle will kill you!” The man laughed at my puny rage. “Kill me for taking care of you! If he does not wish others to fill his place, he should look after you better, and not let you out alone. You had better be civil or ” He drew out a large clasp-knife as he spoke and began deliberately to open it looking at me all the’while. It was come at last; I should never, never see home again! One flash of thought, which seemed in a second to take in all my past, witli its little discontents, naughtiness and great happiness—my aunt’s anguish when she found me ly ing dead—uncle’s opening of the tele gram which would bring the news—the darkened home, the broken hearts which they would surely carry till they died, the remembmiice of the dreadful fate of their wilful, but oh, the loving darling—all this occurred so vividly to me that, with a great cry for help to Heaven, I fell at the man’s feet, and entreated him not to kill me. “Kill you! I thought it was your uncle who was to kill me! Bless your little heart, I am going to take care of you. You look pale. Now didn’t you come off in too great a hurry to have time for breakfast? Have a bit of lun cheon”—stopping to take a black bag from under the seat. “I always go about provided with something good. I’m a soft-hearted boy, I am, and never see a fine young woman r her, if I can help it. Peck a bit now—do; you have a hungry look.,’ What should I-must I-do? I sat up, and said as steadily as I could, choking back the tears—for I would not cry be fore him: “I am not hungry; I will not eat. Do not speak tome any more. You must not—I am a lady. ” “A lady! I know that. Do you think I’d be so good to you if you were not? I know a lady when I see her—and a hungry lady, toe—I knew you was. Come, peck a bit. Don’t be bashful.” By this time he had unlocked the bag and taken from it, yes, it may appear improbable, but oh! it is dreadfully true —a turnip—a great unboiled turnip, a turnip still covered with the soil of tne field from which the wretch had taken it! He began to scrape and pare it while I looked on. Was he mad? I would try to please him and do as he wished, and then per haps he w’ould not hurt me. I should soon be with my aunt now, and at that thought I felt the tears coming again, but opened my eyes widely and bit my lips hard—the tears did not fall. I crushed them back, and sat watching my companion till, Saving peeled the turnip to his satisfaction, he cut off a thick slice and handed it to me. Raw turnip! And touched by those fingers. “Come, take it, my beauty—a peach ripe and downy as your own cheek. Peaches is dear too, this season; but I give no heed to that. If so be as I find a pretty girl to eat ’em I don’t grudge the money. Come, peck away; or do you want me to feed you? No, you shan’t have it without ‘thank you.’ After all my trouble that ain’t man ners,” with a significant look at the knife. “Thank you!” I said, eagerly. I took the slice of turnip—and began to eat—yes, I ate it all, every mouthful making me feel more ill. Another slice was offered, 1 took it and began to eat, but my throat seemed to be closing—I could not swallow. “Come, finish it. Good, isn’t it? The ladies are always fond*of a bit of fruit. Don’t be bashful—I’ve something here for you to wash it dowq. N otlfing like a drop of brandy to make it agree with you,” and he touched the ueck of a black bottle which stuck out of his pocket. What would become of me? I had once seen a dreadful woman for a few moments at home—a new cook she was —who was, oh! so frightful. Nurse told me she had taken brandy and was drunk. I had thought her toad. If he had made me drink it, and if, when Aunt Margery found me, I—but no, this I would not do; he might kill me first. I went on eating the turnip, and all the while I prayed earnestly for res cue. Was my poor prayer answered ? The t. dn began to slacken its speed— it stopped; but there was no station in sight. I think it was a siding or some thing of that kind. At the side of the carriage where I was sitting, there was a steep bank which shut out all hope; at the other side were several lines of rail; beyond was the open country. In an instant my torturer was at my window. With an oath he commanded me to “be still, and stay where I was.” I heard some one pass, and in reply to a question, I suppose, say that we had been shunted to allow a special train to go by—it would pass in three minutes. I called, but very faintly, I am afraid, for no one answered, and the “cad” turned on me so fiercely that 1 dare not try again. The special train swept by, but I hardly saw it—my eyes, my whole soul, were fastened on the figure of a man who just then came down the green bank which was at some distance. I pressed my face to the glass. Which way would he take? He stood up for a moment, and then slowly, lazily saunt ered toward me. The glass was up— my only hope was that he would pass close and see me, for I was past calling or moving now. I noticed every trifling detail of his figure and dress; he was a tali, broad -shouldered gentleman, dressed in light gray; young, and with a long, golden beard; even the carnation in his button-hole I observed, and the strength and careless ease of his figure as he lounged along. He stopped to whistle his dogs and then again strolled on idly twirling his cane. I do not know what kind of face was pressed to the glass on my side—it was a wild and scared one, I am sure; but in another minute a pair of great merry blue eyes carelessly glanced up in pass ing, and were startled into earnestness by the eyes they encountered: the whistle sounded, but even as it did a strong hand was on the door-handle, the door wa* wrenched open, the train moved on—he was beside me. I was safe! I don’t know what happened then. My deliverer says that I cried, and held one of bis hands tight in both of mine; but that I don’t believe. In the first place we never had been introduced, and in the second, two of his fingers an about as much as my two bauds can contain at once. I know when I grew calmer that I found him taking care of me, and that I didn’t dislike it%s much as one might have expected. 1 don’t remember how I told him all; I suppose the turnip and knife, which still lay on the seat helped me a little; but I do know that he told me “not to be fright ened, for he would not throw the scoundrel from the window, as he de served”—and that he looked so fierce and so strong that I could quite im agine it was a habit of his to throw scoundrels from windows, and that he rather liked it. What he did was to take the creature by the collar, and force him down on his Knees, in spite of his piteous protestations that “he never meant to hurt, the lady—it was only a lark; he would not have done it for a ten-pun note, not if he had known.” “Hold your tongue. Swallow this, and think yourself lucky to escape six mouths on the treadmill. For the lady’s sake, I will not prosecute you, and I’ll not break every bone in your body, as I should like to do, as it might annoy her to see it done. But you’li eat this, to the last morsel—mud aud all! I should say it is not the only dirt you will have to swallow in your life I Down with it!” Aud when the last atom had disap peared, my deliverer, with a parting shake, fiung the creature in a comer, where he lay till the train stopped, and turned to “take care” of me again. I almost shrank from the stern face to which I now raised my eyes, but it softened in a moment, aud I lay back in a corner and rested silently and thankfully, while he interposed .his broad shoulders between me and the other end of the carriage till the train stopped, and I saw Aunt Margery’s dear old face on the platform. I am sure she wondered at the eager ness of my clasp and at my face, which I felt was still white and scared. I made a little motion toward my deliv erer, but could not speak a word. He said a few words aud gave his card to my aunt, who accepted it and the situ ation as graciously as she does every thing, and looked rather anxious to get me safely to the carriage and home, and in five minutes more we were driven away. “What did he do for you, darling?” “Oh! he was so strong and good to me—and he made me eat the whole tur nip, auutiet” “The whole turnip! You must l» ill, Folly? Come, we won’t talk or think of it now.” And she quieted and petted me, evi dently thinking that I had lost my wits, until I was lying on the sofa in her drawing-room able to tell her all. Well that was my first and only at tempt at “taking care of myself.” I never wanted to do so again. Tom takes care of me now—of course you understand that it was he who came to my deliverance. Aunt wrote to him that very evening, and m; father came down from London next morning on purpose to thank him, then Tom called, aud so—and so—the end of my story, or, perhaps, 1 should say the real be ginning of it is that I am his wife now. At first I did think it a pity that my husband shonld be only “Tom,” when I had always intended to marry at least three syllables, as I am merely “Polly;” bui now I think Tom the most charm ing name in the world, and would uot change it. I have only one thing more to tell. The old lady with the disagreeable bon net is Tom’s aunt. I am writing this in her house, which is just what 1 had fancied it, and ^ie is the dearest and kindest woman in England. “Una has found her Lion,” she says. I don’t think 1 am much like Uua; but Tom is a darling old Lion, with lus tawny beard and splendid strength, on which his wife loves to lean. I hear him calling “Polly!” from the lawn, where he lies, lazily puffing his cigar under the cedar; and as he can growl on occasion if I keep his majesty wait ing too long, I had better go. , “Owning, Lion!” MMrehaum and Amber. “The world buys Its meerschaum at Vienna. The crude material is a sort of clay, of delicate texture and very white color, which is formed by the sed iment of sea foam. It is fished from the water close to shore, and is general ly found in lumps varying in quantities from the size of an egg to that of a half bushel measure. Small pieces are some times found ashore, where they have been washed by the waves. It is caught and raised by a sort of dredge, and is soft, pliable and pulpy. It goes at once to the dressing-shops, where the imper fections are clipped off, after drying the piece is polished smooth. It Is then packed in boxes, about as large again as a peach crate, and placed upon the market. Each case contains 100 pounds and is worth from $100 to'$200, accord ing to the size of the pieces, the largest onts commanding the premfum, because they are generally of the better Quality and make less waste in the manufacture. We endeavor not to disturb the original texture any more than is necessary, so that the larger a piece is, the less par ing there is to be done, because several pipes can be taken from one block.” “Then you do not crush and mold the material?” “Oh, no, sir. That would destroy the texture by closing the natural pores, the very thing that is undesirable. It is that that distinquishes pure meer schaum from the imitations. The material, as it comes from Vienna, is sent to the manufactory and placed in cold water. In the course of a few hours it becomes soft, resuming its primitive condition, and is about as pliable as soap. The cutteis then take it, dissect the blocks, and with their thin-bladed knives, cut out the pipes, and if the design is fancy, carve the imitations. The green pipe is then placed in an oven where currants of warm air flow freely, and it is thorough- dried, resuming before it is taken out e hard condition in which we receive it.' The cutting is very difficult work, and no Americans have ever been able to become adepts at it. All our cutters come from the old country. They earn about $35 a week, and are always able to command situations, because the opportunities for learning the trade are so limited that the supply caunot be come greater than the demand. “After the green pipe is hardened it goes to the dressers, who remove the false mouth-piece used to keep the pipe from shrinking while in the oven, and smooth the surface with a sort of sandpaper known to the trade asschach- telhain. The polishers, who are gener ally girls, take the pipes, flbver them with melted beeswax, and rub them with soft flannel until the surface shines. The stems are then placed in position, each being made for a particular pipe. The case-makers take the measure, and make the cases in which the pipes are presented to the public. It generally requires about a week to make a pipe, because the processes of softening and hardening are dangerous if they are hastily conducted.” “How are imitation meerschaum pipes made?” “The shavings of the good pipes are mixed with plaster of paris and other such substances, making a pliable com pound that is taken through the same process as the genuine material. You can distinguish the genuine from the imitation by its texture and color, the latter having a yellowish hue and a more solid appearance. It cannot be colored as prettily as the genuine be cause the process of pulping which it passes through in mixing closes the natural pores and kills the substance.” “You also manufacture the amber stems?” “Yes, sir; and that is an art in which even more skill is required than in mak ing meerschaum ware. Amlier is a product of the Prussian coast, and js procured from the same source, and by the same methods as the meerschaum, although in much less quantities. It is carved while it is soft and is dried grad ually. The polishing is done by immer sing the dressed ware into a liquor mix ture of alchol and beeswax, and rub bing with soft flannel until it glistens.” “And it is very expensive?” “Much more costly than any goods we handle. This piece, which is about eight inches long elegantly polished and carved, as you see, is worth about $200. It was made for display, and would be too heavy for convenient :e.” Oar Garden Capital. hat part of the process in amber requires the superior skill?” “The bending. Until a short time o, it was necessary in getting a curv- piece of amber to cut it out of the block, but there are a few men who cau bead it. They hold the straight piece over a heated jet until it begins to soft en. They cannot let it out of their fingers, and the heat is such that it would be impossible to retain it iu one position, so that they must bend it while fumbling it, and have to do it vsry quickly. They have no opportu nity to measure or survey, even by tlieir eyesight, the curves, so that they must be so skillful tliat they can tell by the weight of the goods at the various an gles when the bends are completed.” A correspondent of the Scientific American u York, Pennsylvsuia,“sug gest* tut) ouruing of petroleum for re- pjRiag hosti'e fl from harbors like those oi Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York. A hundred thouaaud bar rels of oil pour rid npou an out flowing tide Tould cover a large area of water, and when set oa tire wod d sweep a fleet with a torrent of destruction that nothing could resist.'’ Another plan is virtually a modification of the fire ship. He proposes' to link logetner long lines of raits of oil bsurels, and send them against the fleet bv small, swift, steam launches that could be steered by elec tricity from the shore. Tne barrels could be exploded and the oil fired by the same agency at the proper mo ment.” It is stated that the gram ordinarily growing oa low, marshy ground near salt water famiaiice an excellent mater ial for paper.aod contains aearlyasmooh mmol fiber to a ton as straw. The report of the Park Commission shows that there are nearly one hundred and twenty miles of trees in the city of Washington, of which about one-half are maples. The remainder includes poplars, box elders, elms, lindens, but tonwoods, willows and firs. Of maples of every variety there are 21,150; box elders, 4,945; elms. 4,570; lindens, 5.- 675; buttonwoods, 3,475; American asn 1,381; catalpa, 829; horse chestnut, 117; miscellaneous varieties, about 2,- 000. Now, these include only the work of the Parking Commission and represent the fruits of about ten years’ labor. The young trees thrive well and give promise of making the city more and more attractive as yearly they in crease in size. The stately giants in the public parks, also numbered by thousands, are included in the grand army of nature’s ornaments under the charge of the Parking Commission. To the Superintendent of Public Buddings and Grounds, Colonel Rockwell, who is an officer of the army, is assigned the care of the government grounds. The Propagating Garden, the nursery of all the parks and gardens, is also under his charge, and is one of the three special points of interest to the student of botany. The garden is on the banks of the Potomac, beneath the shadow of the Washington Monument and near the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. Long rows of buildings with their glass roofs are seen as the visitor approaches the place across the monument lot. Here to-day, ready for planting, are 125.000 bed plants, including every var iety that will endure in this climate. A month hence the entire lot will be trans ferred to the parks, circles, squares aud reservations. Coleus, with their varie gated leaves in endless variety; gerani ums innumerable, vincas, dusty miller, dragon plants, lantanas, fuchsias by the thousand, are awaiting the time when, from the hotbeds of sand, they will grow aud bloom in open air. It has been found by experience that the 10th of May is as early as the climate will permit outdoor planting. The force of gardeners and laborers employed by the government is now preparing the soil for the reception of the new plants. It will perhaps be regarded as strange that so large an area can be ornament ed and the flowers allowed to flourish without injury from the childreu who throng the public gardens of the city. But it is to the credit of the people that such ornamentation can be made, and that but very few complaints are heard of wanton destruction. The tempta tion to remove the young plants is al ways great to those who are too poor to purchase them, and yet who have ground to beautify. The coleus ready for planting are kept in tiny pots, and as ranged in the hothouses present to the eye the velve ty appearance of the finest carpets. They form the bulk of the park orna mentation. Take, for example, Thomas Circle, where tne statue of General Thomas stands. It is as open as a town lot, and yet for the next seven months great beds of coleus, garaniums steiras—a new plant to this climate- will flourish as though the ground were enclosed and the place private property. But the Propagating Garden not only furnishes the plants, but the gigantic palms, pandauas and other trees of these species. In fact the law of Congress forbids anything being grown at^ the garden that cannot be used in adorning the public grounds. So these, too, will in a few weeks be removed to Lafay ette and Franklin squares, to make those enclosures more beautiful. Those who remember the little forest of palms and the great sago plants which grace the parlors of the President on recep tion nights, the walls of green which skirt the vestibule, will hardly believe that they are the same plants distribut ed throughout the city during the sum mer time. The conservatory at the White House is never stripped of its beauty to garnish the East Room, or the Green, Red and Blue parlors. It is the democratic park ornaments, care fully housed in winter, whicn are brought into requisition on all state occasions. Not only plants and palms, but the seedings with which the parks are re cruited are grown at the Propagating Garden. The trees on government ground are mostly matured, Occasion ally in happens that one lias to be cut down, but for every one destroyed there are three planted to replace it. Now during the winter, when Washington is shone of its floral decorations, the aver age member of Congress looks over the list of articles he is entitled to. The new membet reads about the the Botan ical Garden, the Agricultural Departr ment and tne nursery for the public grounds. He finds upon injuiry that the Committee on the Library has charge of the verdant tilings of nature. Orders for bouquets are eagerly sought. During the session of the House, and even the Senate, it is not unusual to see the desks of members covered with floral designs. The sweet simplicity of the stranger in the gallery would lead him to believe that somebody liad paid for the tributes, Not a bit of it, unless you call the giver your Uncle Samuel, for as sure as flowers are fragrant ana fair to behold so sure they came from the government hothouses. And throughout the season the parlors and sitting rooms of members and their families are redolent of the perfume of nosegays from our uncle’s conservator ies. An ordinary citizen may smell, but he cannot possess these fregrant gifts during the term Congress is in session. The grounds about the different pub lic buildings are evually as attrartive as the garden spots in the public thoroughfares. The Treasury has its own conservatory, in which are houfed during winter the rare plants used in beautifying the space between the mam- entrances to the building. The front of the State Department presents a pleasing appearance during the summer months, where every variety of the rose is in bloom. The grounds about the President’s house are dotted with flow er beds, but the grandest of all the flosal displays is at the Agricultural grounds, the forty acres of which grad ually slope toward the city, forming a lawn of most exquisite beauty. On the plateau fronting the building, with its broad walls and decorated owners, a legion of tulips and hyacinths are in flower to-day. They look to the eye as though eudles pennants of red, white aud blue had been laid about the ground. The air is redolent of the sweetest of perfumes. Two hundred stately willows adorn the walks in front of the grounds, while interspersed over the lawn are every variety of hardy trees that will grow in this climate. Eastward are the Smithsonian grounds, with their grand array of monarchs of the forest, the ivy-clad tower of the in stitute vividly recalling some ancient castle. Here, too, the taste of the land scape gardener will be displayed as the season progresses. Still further to the east of the Mali is Armory square, which in point of attraction is hardly less than the garden at the Agricultural grounds. The public reservation ends with the square occupied by the Botan ical Garden, where are collected the rarest aud finest palms aud ferns that can be found in any conservatory of the world. The Bartholdi fountain is one of the attractive features of the place. KUh of all Nations. The International Fisheries Exhibi tion was opened on the 12th of May in London, with great eclat by the Prince of Wales, in the presence of a distin- guished company. The ceremonies on the occasion were in accordance witli the programme heretofore announced. The Prince of Wales iu his remarks expressed regret at the unavoidable absence of the Queen, and conveyed the thanks of her Majesty to all the coun tries participating in the display and to their representatives for their untiring exertions in the work of ensuring the success of the Exhibition. To the phlegmatic Dutchman belong s the honor of having inaugurated fishery exhibitions, for one of the first, if uot the very first, was held at Amsterdam in 1861. The programme was suffi ciently comprehensive, and was evi dently drawn up with care; but the novelty of the exhibition was most likely the reason of its being, compara tively speaking, scantily patronized, though at the time it was accouuted a success. For the next four years things were at rest, but in 1865, on the 1st of August^ fisheries exhibition was opened at Bergen, the programme being nearly a counterpart of that at Amsterdam, and included, besides the apparatus of all sea fisheries, from the whale to the siirimp, models of curing and swoking- Uouses. The next year there was an other exhibition on a small scale at Arcachon, and later in tbe same year still another at Boulogne, on a grander scale. The next year witnessed three exhibitions—one at the Hague, another at Aarhuus, in Denmark, and the third at Vienna. June, 1868, saw the open ing of the Havre Exhibition. Pickled mackerel was snown, it is believed, for the first time, and was then looked upon as more or less of a novelty, as alsy was the aquarium, which was the most popular feature iu the show. Nor- way and Sweden had zealously taken part in all exhibitions down to 1867, but they were unrepresented at Havre. In 1871 there was an exhibition at Naples. Promoters had then an easy time till June, 1878, when the Pisci- cultural Exhibition was opened at the Westminster Aquarium, London. In 1878 proposals were set on foot at Berlin to hold a fisheries exhibition there, and after two years of prepara tion one was opened iu April, 1880. It was under the patronage of the Crown Prince; the Emperor aud Em press, several Archdukes, aud the King of Saxony being among the givers of prizes. The last-named monarch pro pounded a veritable riddle. His prize was for the best solution of ths ques tion how to render sewage, etc., in nocuous to the fish in the hver into which the sewage flows. Eleven Gov ernments took part in the exhibition. The American display was chiefly re markable for life-saving appliances. There was an apparatus for fixing to a fishing-rod to enable an unskilled liand to make long casts when spinning; and there was also a fearful arraugemeut of spring hooks, far more deadly Uian the English snap tackle, which ren dered unnecessary all delicacy of hand ling ou the part of the gentle fisher. He had nothing to do but drop his bait, and if a fish touched the engine with his head or tail, the spring was released and the fish hooked somewhere. But perhaps the most wonderful tiling in the exnibition, as it was thought at the ime, was Wickersheimer’s fluid, a colorless preparation that would pre serve for months fish or skeletons soaked in it, so that examination and dissection might take place at afly time. Another feature of the Berlin exhibition was the collection of archives sent by the fishing associations of Germany. It appeared tiiat in former days a number of fishing- guilds existed, and these in course of time gave way to more moden associa tions, about fifty of which sent books, tackle, and insignia; the books of the Berlin Association contained a list of masters from 1637 to 1824. These angling associations appeared to have worked with a will, for it was said that in 1878 over 6,000,000 of fry had been distributed in the German rivers. The interest in the fishery exhibitions was now complete, and the Exhibition at Norwich, England, opened by the Prince of Wales on the 18th of April.' 1881, was a great success. In April last year Lord Rosebery, in the Absence of the Duke of Edinburgh, the Presi dent opened the Fisheries Exhibition at the Waverley Market .in Edinburgh. Even Siberia was represented, while the Swedish department was so com plete as to draw from Lord Rosebery the remark that the Swedes had “traced the life of a fish from the cradle to the dish.” At Edinburgh, as at Berlin, there was a good collection of works upon fish and fishing. Lovers of the curious were gratified by a sight of the fish-eating hug, and one of the features of the exhibition was the collection of stuffed fish shown by the London fish ing societies. THE VERDICT -OF— THE PEOPLE BUY THE BEST! Ha. J. O. Boau—Dear Sir: I bought tbe flrst Davis Machine sold by you over Bve years sgo for my wife, who has given it • long end fair trial. I am well pleased with It. It never gives any rouble, and is as good as when flrst bought. J. W. UOI.IOK. Winns boro, 8. C. t April 1883. Mr. IIoao : You wish to know what I have to say In regard to the Davis Machine bougnt of you three years ago. 1 feel I can’t sar too much In Us . I made ‘ favor. Je about $90.00 within live months, at Uoies ruuuirT it so last mat tne needle would f it '.erfectlj hot from friction. I fesl confident could not have done the same work with as much ease and so weU with any other machine. No time lost In adjusting attachments. The lightest running machine I have ever treadled. Brother James and William’s families are as much pleased with their Davis Macb.nes bought of you. I want no better machine. As I said before, I don’t think too much can be said for the Davis M -'.bine. Respectfully, Kllin Stevenson. Falrfleld county, April, 1883. Mr. Boao : My machine gives me perfect satis faction. I And no fault with It. The attachments are so simple. I wish for no better than the Darla Vertical Feed. Respectfully. MRS. R. Mii.umh Fairfield county, April, 1898. Mr. Boao: I bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from yon four years ago. I am delighted with It. it never has given me any trouble, and has never been the least out of order. It is as good aa when I drst bought it. I c_ t cheerfully recommend it. Respectfully, Mae. M. J. Kirkland. Monticello, April so, 1883. This Is to certify that I have been using a Davis Vertical Feed Sewln purchased of Mr. possessed of any 1 simple. It never refuses to work, and is oenalnly the lightest running In the marksL I consider It a first class machine. Very respectfully, Minnii M. Wilunoham. Oakland, Falrfleld county, 8. C. Mr Boao : I am well pleased in every particular with the Davis Machine bought of you. I think it a flrst-olaas machine In every respect. Yon know you sold several machines of the same make to different members of our families, all of whom, as far as I know, are well pleased with them. Respectfully, Mas. M. II. Moslbt. PatraeM county, April, 1883. i nis is to certify we nave nad in constant ns# the Davis Machine bought of yon about three years ago. As we take In work, and hare made the e rlce of tt several tlmea over, we don’t want asy stter machine. It la always ready to do any kind of work we have to do. No puckeringor skipping stitches. We can only say we are well pleased and wish no better machine. CaTHIRINK WVLM and 8I8TBR. April», 1898. I have no fault to flud with my mach ne, and dou’t wait any iietter. I have made the price of It several times by taking In sewing. It Is always ready to do Us work. I think It a first-class ma chine. I feel I can t say too much for the Davis Vertical Feed Machine. Mrs. Thomas Smith. Falrfleld county, April, 1883. Mr. J.O. Boao—Dear Sir: It gives me m<ch pleasure to testify to the merits of the Davis Ver tical Feed Sewing Machine. The machine I got of you about five years ago. haa been almost in con stant use ever since that time, i canuot see that it la worn any, and has not cos» me one cent for repairs since we have had it Am well pleased and don't wish for any better. Yonrs tru'y, . Host. Criwpobd, Granite Quarry, hear Wlnnsboro,3. C. We have used the Dana Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for the last live years. We would not have any other make at any price. The machine has given us unbounded satisfaction. Very respectfully, Mrs. W. K. Turnir and Dauohtcsh^ Fairfield county, 8. C., Jan. 31,1888. Having bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from Mr. J. O. B >ag some three rears ago, and It having given me perfect satisfaction In every respect see family machine both for heavy and light sewing, and never needed the least re pair In any way, I can cheerfully recommend It to an; one as a first-class machine In every particu lar, and think It second to none. It la one of the simplest machines made; my children use U with ail ease. The attachments are more eaaiiy ad justed and It doe i a greater range of work by means of ita Vertical Feed than any other ma chine I have ever seen or used. Mrs. Thomas owinos. Wlnnsboro, Falrfleld county, B. C. We have had one of the Davis Machines about four years and have always found it ready to do all kinds of work we have had occasion to do. Can’t see that the machine Is worn any, and works aa well as when new. Mrs. W. 3. Crawford, Jackson’s Creek, Falrfleld county, 8. C. My wife Is highly pleased with the Davis Ma chine bought of yon. She would not take doable wnst sae gave for It. The machine has out been oat of order since she had it, and she can do any kind of work on It. Very Respectfully, Jas. F. Fas*. Monticello, Falrfleld county, 8. a —England last year imported enough German beer to pay custom duties of $30,000. The Davia Sewing Machine is simply s treas ure Mrs. 3. A. uoodwtn. Ridgeway, N. c., Jan. 10, 1b88. Agent—Dear Sir: My wife ivta Sewing Machine ooastam- , and It has never nee led J.O Bo AG, has oeen using si ly for tbe past four years, i—... — — any repairs an i works just as well as when Aral bought She says It wiU do s greater range of practical work »nd do tt easier and better than any maculae she has ever used. We cheerfully recommend tt ta a No. I family machine, ~~~ lour trmy, Jas. Q. Davis. Wlnnsboro, S. C n Jan. 3,188$. I have always, found my Davis Ma le of to work I have had oo- Mn. Boao : chine ready do all kind* < CASion todo. I cannot see that the machine la worn a particle and tt works as wad si when new. Respectfully, Mbs. R. C. Goodins. Wlnnsboro, 8. C., April, lags. «: My wl the Davis Machine bought of you about firs yean haa I have never regretted baying It, as u Is always ready for say kind of 1 _ seavy or light It ta sever out of hx i repalra. Falrfleld, S. (X, March, 1 v * , ~TPKw - V •, "'T$' ^ CT* TV*