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-. . »5ESSt w - "Y- -Jlf ■ a ' A i- i TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. 0.. JUNE 19. 1883. ESTABLISHED 1848 SLANDER. ’Twas but u breath— And yet the fair, good name was wilted; And friends once fond grew cold and stilted And life was worse than death. One venomed word, That struck its coward, poisoned blow, In craven whispers, hushed and low— And yet lie wide world heard. ’Twas but one whisper—one That muttered low, for very shame, The thing the slander dare not name— And yet its work was done. A hint so slight, And yet, so mighty in its power, A human soul in one short hour Lies crushed beneath its blightl THE NIGHT VISION. In tbe Japan Sea, a sudden squall came whooping and whizzing through the rigging of the merchant ship “Rainbow,” sending her down on her beam ends, with everyth w.g cracking. The officer of the deck gave the order to reef and furl, and the active tars sprang to obey. The sea was white with foam, but the night was dark. Blacker than the night above the tops of the masts, a huge object was seen rolling and rushing swiftly along, It was the squall cloud. “Lively there, men!” shouted the second mate. This was Henry Brandon, a hapd- some young fellow of twenty-five—as good a sailor as ever spliced a rope. But he had not been prepared for the squall, which, unseen in the darkness, and with terrible swiftness, had pounced upon the ship. Now away w r ent the main top-gallant sail, tom to shreds, the other canvas rattling all over the vessel, the sheets whipping and snapping about the masts with the noise of thunder. The vessel’s crew being short handed, Brandon moved forward, intending to go aloft. A hand clutched his arm, how'ever, and he turned, to discern, by the lantern’s ruddy light, his in tended wife, the captain’s pretty daugh ter, Martha Weld. Her face was deathly pale, and her long, black hair, streaming on the wind, gave to it an unearthly aspect. “For God’s sake, Henry,” she said, “don’t go aloft!” “You here!” he exclaimed. “Go below, Martha—quick! quick! This is no place for you!” “Oh, Henry! such a dreadful dream as 1 liave had! I dreamed you were lost overboard, and ” At that moment the ship lurched heavily; there was a vivid flash of lightning, revealing the men aloft clinging to the yards, and vainly en deavoring to clutch the slatting canvas. “I must go,” said Brandon, as soon as the heavy peal -of thunder following the flash had subsided. “Go below, Martha, and have no fear.” He broke away from her, and ran up the rigging to the fore top-gallant yard. Two boys were endeavoring to haul up the sail. As the sec6nd mate clutched the canvas, the lifts and hal yards suddenly parted, and down went the yard, carrying Brandon with it. There was a wild cry as the yard, striking the bulkwards, fell with its burden ino the sea. The boys, who, having been in-board, contrived to save themselves, set up a frightful yell of “Man overboard!” Martha’s shriek was then heard. “I knew it,” she cried. “Oh, Henry! my Henry! Save him! save him!” Her father, who had, ere this, come up, ran and looked astern. Another vivid lightning flash shot down from the squall cloud. It lighted the white, hissing wake of the ship, and in that wake the skipper saw for an instant something which looked like an arm lifted above the sea. “No use, Brandon is gone!” he gasped. “We can’t lower a boat in " such a blow.” “But you must, you shall lower!” cried poor Martha, her wild eyes gleaming upon her father. “Come, I will take charge of the boai. Oh! save him, father, save Henry.” Her appeal was useless; no boat could be got down in such a gale. It blew a perfect hurricane, and the whole ship was shrouded in clouds of flying, blind ing spray. The captain forced Martha into the cabin; then he returned on deck to at tend to his ship. The efforts of the men aloft had been useless. The sheets had parted like pack-thread, and the tom sails were carried away and whirled off in huge balls to leeward and aloft. So the captain, putting his craft before it, tried scudding, which were the only way to save his vessel. In about two hours the squall had passed away, leaving behind it, how ever, a heavy sea. The moon broke through the drifting clouds, and soft silver showers of light fell upon the upheaving waves, there farming, with the breaking waters, many strange, fantastic shapes. One of the men sat on the windlass keeping a lockout; the others were get ting up spare canvas, that they might be ready to “bend on” new sails the first thing In the morning. Every face wore a solemn look, for Brandon had been a great favorite. Moreover, the moans of Martha was out thought he could hear another moan, very faint, and apparently com ing from the sea. His superstitious fears were excited, and he shifted uneasily on his seat. Suddenly, the ship, having been brought nearer to the wind, under the temporary foresail and mainsail, which had been put up, began to pitch heavier than before. Once, down went her head almost in a trough of the sea. Then the lookout man uttered a horrible cry; for, right before him, protruding over the bulwarks, he be held for an instant, a white face with disheveled hair, and fixed, staring eyes, the tongue protruding. It was the face, or, at least, a sem blance of the face of the lost officer— Henry Brandon! “My God!” gasped the lookout. The face, however, now disappeared, but not before a strange, guttural, un earthly cry had escaped his lips. To spring from his post and rush aft, w r as the work of a moment with the lookout. “I have seen it!” he gasped, hoarsely, as all the men stared wonderingly. “Seen what, Tom?” cried one. “Brandon’s spirit—aye, aye—the face of the lost—the drowned man!” gasped Tom. “Nonsense!” “But all exchanged glances, and there was a perceptible shrugging of shoulders as Tom described where and how he had seen it. All eyes were turned towards the bow, but the vision was no longer there. “You are a shaky fellow,” said the first mate. “Your imagiuation!” “I swear it was not im My God! there it is again!” he added, pointing forward. A w r ild cry of horror burst from the men, as a face was, indeed, now seen for an instant protruded above the bulwarks, forward! As it again disappeared, the wind, with a strange, hollow moan swept through the ship, and a dark cloud passed over the moon. The mate called the captain who was below trying to soothe his child. He might have doubted the story told him, but that all were ready to swear they had seen the vision. The skipper, shrugging his shoulddrs, and like the rest, not a little imbuded with superstitious feeling, walked slowly forward. He was more cautiously followed by the others. But ere he could reach the bow, the ship made another violent lurch, and up again came that terrible face, pro truding over the bulwarks, every linea ment with ghastly distinctiveness, lighted by the moon. “Brandon, sure enough!” gasped the captain, staggering back, while a low cry ef horror broke from the other men. The vision disappeared again, and the men stood still, exchanging glances. The steward, a Portuguese, ran into the cabin, fell on his knees, and cross ing himself, began to pray. Martha hear! enough to send her running wildly on deck. “Where is it?” she screamed. “Alive or dead, I cannot fear Henry!” Even as she spoke, the face again rose over the bulwarks. She was near enough to see it, and with a wild cry she staggered towards it, her arms outstretched. But ere she could clasp it, it disap peared as before, and with a moan of anguish, the girl staggered forward against the bulwarks. Instinctively she then peeped over them into the sea, when a cry of strange joy escaped her. “Saved! saved!” she cried, pointing downward; ‘‘Quick, father! Oh, quick! Come here!” He did so, and the mystery was ex plained. There was Brandon, hanging to the broken spar, one of the ropes of which, when he went overboard, had caught in a hook which was driven into this part of the ship, near the water line. This had held the spar through the gale, and, there, during all that tim j, Brandon had remained. Subsequently, the occasional heavy pitching of the ship, causing the head to go far down, had brought the poor fellow’s face in sight above the bulwarks, as shown. He was soon hauled abotud, when it was discovered that he was very weak, and that he could not speak. He had been severely bruised by knocking against the ship, and could not use his hands, which had also been hurt. In this condition he had only been able to hold to the spar by clasping it with both arms. His tongue, badly cut in his fall, protruded, preventing speech; he could only utter now and then a hoarse, guttural moan. The captain also noticed that only half of the spar remained. It had broken in two when it fell against the bulwarks, and it was the other half drifting away which the skipper had seen protruding from the sea astern, and had mistaken for Brandon’s up lifted arm. We have to add that Martha went almost wild with joy over her lover’s safety. Under her kind treatment, Brandon in time recovered the use ol! his limbs and tongue, to eventually marry his pretty nurse. heard coming up from the cabin, the poor girl having alffiost lost her senses. Russian.—Prey to Uol, but continue Now and then tbe man ou the look- ] to sow to the shore. An Indian Tala. It was about the middle of the after noon one day ip the summer of 1867 that we arrived at the Forks of the Trinity and Klamath Rivere Our arrival at the river was soon noticed by the owner of the ferry, which plies across the river, the river being too deep to ford, but sooner by numerous indians, who, much to our surprise, seemed on perfectly good terms with the whites. Here at this ferry three men were stationed, surrounded by a wild tribe of Indians. It seemed the hight of rashness. However, I felt the greatest desire to have a nearer view of them, when on turning around, I found several Indian boys quite near, gazing at us with the most intense curiosity. As we entered the ferry boat—which was moving across by pulling upon a strong rope fixed firmly at either side of the river—these boys very sily crept on to cross at the same time, but perceived by the ferryman and ordered to get off, they lightly leaped onto the shore, and ascending a high rock, which hung over the river, boldly threw themselves into the deep and rapid stream. Swimming with remarkable rapidity, they gained the opposite shore first, where they stood laughing at their exploit. We found the log cabin of the ferry man surrounded by a swarm of naked Indians and squaws who seemed to have no hostile inclinations and no mis trust of our peaceful intentions. Though not large, they were finely formed, and evidently possessed great powers or en durance. Their faces expressed consid erable intelligence and kindness of dis position—but, back of all, there was a look of native ferocity and coarseness, which characterizes all wild Indian tribes. However, at this time they were per fectly gentle, and we did not hesitate to mingle with them. They were ex tremely observant of dress, and every article a person wore was subjected to the most rigid scrutiny. The ferryman —Mr. Durkie—said that though we found him leving in such apparent con fidence among these Indians and though they seemed so gentle and harm less, he would not trust himself unarm ed in their company a moment; that should he happen to have a knife, or a leather belt upon him, or any trifling article that had previously taken their fancy, they would probab’y kill him, as the readiest means of getting possession of it. So, said he, my pistol and my knife are always at my side. I watch their every action, and it is this consiant watchfulness that prevents their taking a thousand liberties here. But I found the Indians had Ahe greatest veneratian flfl^Mr. Durkie. He had always treated them well and had • tsk-trstv* 4-V*s\m nvtsl 4-1-./-»»▼ V.~ AAW VV/A VAV/Vy VA * VX* MAAVA VAAlyJ AACftVA greatest confidence both in his surpris ing powers and in his good will. He hsd had occasion once to send an Indian some distance upon the trail of the lackers, alone, and, fearing that the [ndian might be shot if met by any traders, he wrote a note for him to carry, which simply said “the Indian was peaceable ” This note he was to show should he meet any whites on the way. He did, indeed, meet a man, who, alarmed, leveled his rifle, and was on the point of firing, when the Indian drew the note from his belt. The white, immediately lowering his gun, approach ed, read it, narrowly watched, mean while, by the Indian, who, probably, could have no idea of the power of com municating by writing. The man re turned the note and patted the Indian on the back, who, delighted as its mysterious effect, continued his way unharmed, fully believing in the super natural powers of the ferryman. It was by such means as this that he won their good will, but they were nothing but untutored savages, and the slightest cause might excite their rage against him. But he had lived among them for six months, and from his past experience he had nothing to fear. He had little idea that danger was then hovering over his head, threatening him and aU of us with a terrible death. Our jour ney on the next day was but ten miles, and feeling no urgent hurray to start, we had determined not to, till the mid dle of the forenoon, which gaye us an opportunity of learning the hdbits and customs of the Indians. A larger num ber than had visited us the day before collected about us on that dav, but all perfectly well disposed, and we carried on with them a very unsatisfactory but highly amusing conversation by signs. It was while thus engaged that our at tention was attracted by the appearance of a single Indian on an eminence near by, who uttered a loud and piercing cry. He then said a few words in his unknown language, which had an in stant and powerful effect upon the In dians about us. I never beheld such looks of terror, rage and grief as then- countenances exhibited. One moment of indecision, and they all turned and fied to this solitary Indian. The ferry man, who was usually able to interpret their singular actions, was perfectly at a loss in this instance, but to be on the safe side, he advised that we all—eight in number—retire within the log cabin, through the cracks of which we could see all that was going on and be govern ed accordingly. • It was only after repeated efforts that he was able to get one Indian suf ficiently near to address him) and being acquainted with their language, he ask ed the Indian why they had left us so hastily. The Indian made a short re ply, which almost bewildered the ferry man. To our anxious inquiries Mr. Durkie said: “We have no time to talk, we must act. Bar the door; have every rifle and pistol loaded. We shall be attacked.” As be said this, we perceived the In dians were really approaching, their numbers greatly increased. There was a terrible significance in their painted and wild countenances, in their bent bows, their shining knives, and their full quivers of arrows. MeanwhLe the squaws, approaching, seated themselves about tue log cabin, where they began a deafening nut affecting lament. As soon as be could spare a moment of time, Mr. Durkie informed us of the cause of this perilous state of things, and to show you how good cause the Indians had for their hostile feelings, and how shamefully they are often treated, I will narrate the circum stances to you: A few weeks before this time, a man, who bad been wand ering about in the woods in a famishing condition, having lost his way, chanced at last to find this cabin, and, being in a suffering condition, he was obliged to remain here till he could recover nis strength. Feeling, at length, able to go on, he wished to continue his journey down the river. But this seemed im possible, aione and ignorant of the rosd as he was. Besides tais, his route would take him through several Indian villages and his unproteeSednesB would expose him to a thousand dangers. At length two Indians volanteered to escort him down, and they promised again and again that the man shonld receive no harm. The man consented to take this escort, being well armed, and on his guard against surprise. The route, as I have said, lies along the banks of the river through several Indian villages. As he passed through these, he not only received no ill-usage, but, by the faith fulness of his guides, the greatest atten tion—though rude enough—was shown him. He at last came in safety to Blackburn’s Ferry, his destination. No sooner had the red forms of these faith ful Indians been seen by Mr. Blackburn as they were ascending the slope from the river to the cabin, than he leveled his rifle and shot one of them dead. The other would have shared the same fate had he not ran to the river, plung ed into the deep stream, and escaped among the dense bushes skirting it. This was cold-blooded, deliberated murder; and one cannot but ask why did he shoot down a harmless Indian who had just performed a friendly, noble act? The cause was this: On stepping from the threshold of his cabin one morning, he found, but a little distance off, his own father lying on the ground, with the fatal arrow still in His breast. This was the first intima tion he had of his father being in Cali fornia. He vowed that he would wreak his revenge on every Indian who came in his way, and this guide fell a sacrifice to it. The other, escaping, re turned to his tribe, and it was he whom we had seen upon the eminence, and who had brought the sad news of the death of his comrade. Upon the In dian’s approaching our log cabin, they collected together a little distance from the door to hold a council of war; and as one after another came forward, and with frantic gestures, with eyes of fire and voice of thunder seemed urging on the tribe to some retaliating act, we felt our only hope of safety lay in a success ful and we feared bloody resistance to the jgpected attack. We regained watching them, thus exciting each other to revenge, till the ferrymen, noticed wnen there was a little pause among them, induced one of them to listen to him. He asked a parley of the Indians which was finally granted, and without leaving the cabin he tried to reason with them that we should not suffer for what wrong our brethren had done; that he himself had always treated them well; there was no reason why the good feeling that had existed between them should be destroyed. These were new principles to savages. They heard all with perfect silence, but when he had spoken they grew more excited than ever, and the chief came forward and said that his brother had been killed; that he must make war upon the whites; that were his captives; but that we should go free if we would recover the dead body of the Indian and lead his tribe against the “bad man”—meaning Mr. Blackburn. Mr. Durkie replied that we promised to do so, and that, would they allow us to go away and get many men and guns, we would return to-morrow and lead them to war. So great was the confidence they had in his word that they promised us a free de parture, drove down our mules from the neighboring hills and offered not the slightest resistance as we came from our cabin. But we were strongly arm ed and ready to pour a murderous fire upon them should they prove treacher- to their, word. With many misgivings as to the sincerity of their promises, we saddled our mules and took up our line of march, half expecting a momentary attack; but though some of them look ed ready to send an arrow through us, we left the place in safety. You may rest assured we did not return there on the next day, though I doubt not a hundred canoes were impatiently await ing our coming to attack the “bad man” down the river, as they termed him. ape Cod Eros*. Thirteen Time* at the Altar. To the most esthetic Bostonian the change from salt codito Cape Cod fresh trout must seem considerable. But, after trout, Boston now rejoices in frogs —there a newly discovered delicacy. A few years ago, frogs’ legs were a com paratively rare dish in Boston. They were indeed. In fact, owing to the onslaughts of Boston boys upon the inhabitants of the pond on the Com mon. the frogs were rare—they wisely made themselves scarce. The classic Common is the original scene of the spelling book story, the moral of which is that what was fun for the boys was death to the frogs. It was more fun; for the small boy took no thought for the table, or even of tanning the slaugh tered frogs’ skins, but only of the keen pleasure of the killing. But now frogs are.paught, skinned, sold and subse quently served in Boston hotels, restau rants, and even in private families. Of course, the best come from that neck- or-nothiug strip of sand, Cape Cod. One enterprising Capecodder makes a business of it and sends from 50 to 100 dozen pairs of legs a week. Other sup plies come down from Maine, shipped alive in crates packed with wet moss or seaweed, and they are killed as needed. Cane da has furnished considerable sup plies but lively competition in home proauc^’on and catching has driven the Canadian shipments to New York. While the northern frogs are larger, it is claimed that the Massachusetts frogs are livelier, and better eating, and they sell at from 30 to 50 cents per dozen, according to size and quality. Every where else frogs’ legs have long been an accepted delicacy. Boston is just beginning to eat and enjoy them. Yes, 1 have had a delightful experi ence,’’said and old gentleman yester day. “ My last birthday, which occur red on the 5th of this month found me seventy-five years old, and in those near ly four score of years I have proposed to thirteen young’ladies and was promptly and cordially accepted each and every time. Was never rejected, never, sir in my whole life. They invariably blushed, smiled, fell into my outstretch ed arms and murmured ‘yea ’ as soon as I had asked them. Ah, my dear sir, the young men of the present day are not like we old fellows must be. My first wife, a charming brunette, died one year after marriage. I remained single two years, and then again sought the friendly aid of a minister of the gospel with another blushing, beautiful young lady on my arm, hope in my heart and a greenback in my hand. Death carried off this prize within three brief months of the day I fondly pressed upon her eager, willing lips the ecstatic marriage kiss. She died from typhoid fever.” The third wife assumed the official domestic robe within seven montlis thereafter. “ It was rather quick that time,” exclaimed the old gentleman, while a tear shone in his worn, dimmed eyes; “ but she was a sweet, sweet girl. It was, however,” more cheerily, “an exception to my general rule. That is,” explanatory, “I mean by that my hasty marriage then, not that particular wife, for they were all sweet and good; every one, sir!” Seven years she shared his joys and sor rows, and then the touch of the great destroyer rested upon her and she was no more within the walls of this world. A bad cold, or what some people ele gantly and concisely term “gallopping consumption,” killed her. “After a brief interval of mourning I attenttive- ly regarded with interest heart still an other facinating young lady. She could not resist my honorable and energetic manly blandishments, and at an early period after our introduction at a sun- day senool picnic, during one balmy summer day, she carefully packed her huge Saratoga trunk for a bridal trip which only came off at the advertised time. I got money by her as well as a lovely young lady,” promptly said the old gentleman. “She was worth $25,- 000 in her own name. But I lost it all within a year of our marriage specula ting in them devilish stocks,” he sadly and reflectively continued. This wife lived nine years after the marriage. Then one day she suddenly and unex- pectly died at the dinner table: ‘T be gan to think my marrying days were certainly over,’’meditatively remarked turf did gbutlenfSll. “I was never so surprised, sir, in my life, never, as when that dear wife nf mine so sudden ly died—that particular one, sir.” he carefully added. “My next legal housekeeper and lawful social partner in this especial life drama was a lady more noted for the spirit of desposition than for the beauty of her face or the elegance of her form. I will frankly confess to you, sir, that she was as ugly as a Maryland mule, and I am sorry to say it, because it once caused me a heap of trouble, almost perverse,”—admitted the old gentleman. “Why, sir, would you believe it, she got the war fever during the early days of the war. She came from Georgia to Baltimore, and I met and married her here. Got it so bad that against my commands, sir, she left my house and went and became a spy for General Lee. She was red-hot, sir; bom and raised far down south. Loved her particular country too well, sir. But, as you know, it is born and bred in all southern women. I didn’t get a divorce, because I knew if I did and she ever lived to get back to Balti more I would have to move out west immediately upon her arrival. She died, sir, from exposure during tbe Pennsylvania campaign of General Lee. There, sir, is an autograph letter from the old general himself commending her devotion and bravery to the southern cause. I am proud of that wife, even if she was ugly and stubborn! Indeed I am, sir. The succeeding wives, like the acts in a two-an^-a-half-hour society play, according to the old gentleman, follow ed each other and disappeared on the stage of domestic happiness in rapid succession. None of them lived long after they had uttered at the altar the most important and significant words of all their life verbal remarks. “I be gan,” exclaimed the old gentleman, “at this time of my life to consider myself unlucky. No sooner would I have a wedding than it would kind of creep into my heart much against my will, yes, indeed, sir, much against my will, that I would have to begin preparations for a funeral. It seemed awful hard. Bride in my house one month, corpse in my house the next month.” This sad state of affairs appears to have constantly and persistently con tinued until the thirteenth blushing bride of this moral hero was transferred from this vale of activitv to the great future. “When I married thirteen, or, rather, I should say my thirteenth wife,” quietly and firmly remarked the old gentleman. “I said to myself, ‘John, fliis is the last time you will ever stand in this kind of company at this kind of an altar.’ 1 made up my mmd decid edly at that time, sir. You see, I have lost so many wives in quick succession that I began to get afraid myself. And then, tell you the truth, sir, I am a great home body, as you may now im- asrine; don’t travel much, never did; and the single girlsaround my neighbor hood began to become afraid of me, too. Actually began to shun me, sir. I hardly think I couid have got anoth er wife if I had tried. Rather a hard thing for me, a man who had been so lucky this way, to aayj but I promised you, if you would positively not put my name in your newspaper, that 1 would tell you nothing but the truth, and I am a man of my word, sir. You know honest confession is good for the heart,” and then the old gentleman laughed the feeble, cracked laugh of the aged. This life is not ordained in vain; it is constituted for a grand purpose, if threugh the lessons of experience we beccme convinced that this life is not »U One of Washington'* Odd FUaee. Recently in a stroll on Pennsylvania avenue we noticed a couple of Congress men entering a little saloon directly op posite the National Theatre. It was a low wooden building, old and weather worn, and on the lintels of its door I noticed the words. “John Hancock, founded 1840.” Directly over this en trance was the sign “Old Curiosity Shop.” I entered a long, narrow room, with a ceiling so low that the hand of a Slade would scrape it. The bar, fitted out as elegantly as any in Washington, covered the wall at the right of the en trance. Back of it hung pictures and relics of the crimes and -honors of the past, and the walls of the rest of the room were covered with articles which would make any museum rich. The old, gray-headed negro who tend ed the bar was in himself a curiosity. He told, as he filled my glass, that he had been tending the same bar for thirty- five years, and that his saloon was the chief resort in former times of the states men of the capital. Said he: “I have often seen Clay, Webster, and Calhoun drinking here together. Henry Clay and Daniel Webster used to be here night after night. Clay always drank brandy juleps, and his spirits rose rapid ly under the influence of liquor. Web ster drank considerable, and the only observable change in him was that his eyes grew brighter and his talk became, if anything, more measured. Calhoun seldom drank strong drinks, and usually took lemonade or sherry, and often nothing. He would come in|to talk. They were lively fellows in them days, and they liked their fun just as well as the big men do now. They often play ed cards here.” “Did they gamble?” I asked. “No, not for money, but generally for the drinks. I remember a game of cards Clay and Webster and two other men played here one rainy night. They played here for the drinks and smells. The men that won drank, and those that were defeated paid for the drinks and were forced to smell the glasses of their opponents. They started in at ten o’clock and they played until two. Luck was against Clay, and I don’t think he won a drink during the whole evening. ” I spent a very pleasant half hour ex amining the curiosities hung on the walls and put up in cases around tne room. In one place there was a pair of shoes worn by Washington. No. 10s, I should say, witli broad, flat soles and commonsense heels. No aristocratic instep had the father of his country,and this pair .looks more like the slipshod pair of a cobbler tlian those of an F. F. Y. Next to this was the seediest-looking white plug liat I had ever seen. Large, old, and fuzzy, its nap worn off, and its ooloi changed by the diri ot several de cades, it was labelled as the hat of Gen. Zach Taylor, and the card stated that it came from the battle of Palo Alto. An autograph letter of President Lin coln stood near by one of John C. Cal houn’s, the great Secessionist and the great unionist almost kissing each other. A picture of Charles Guiteau was ap propriately made a companion to one of J. Wilkes Booth, and on the other side of the room was a theatre bill, giving the play at Ford’s the night the assas sination of Lincoln occured. Bills of fering $100,000 reward for Booth arrest, the extras published by the Washington papers the morning after the tragedy, and one containing a special telegram announcing that the assassin had been shot, and calling for rejoicing, made up mrt of the collection. A Ran. Fait. THE VERDICT i -or- A dangerous Raft part recently took place at Lachine on the St. Lawrence river. The tugboat “John MacDonald” had towed a valuable raft of timber from Chateaugauy to the head of the Lachine Rapids with the intention of leaving it in the South channel. How ever, just as the raft had neared the channel in question the current, which here takes a sharp bend, swept it around with terrib’e velocity towards the more dangerous and rocky South channel, whence escape is rarely made. The strain was so great that the hawser parted and the raft dashed down the tortuous rapids at lightning speed. The men on board, 13 in number, assembled on the front of the raft perfectly power less to save themselves from their im minent peril. They had not preceded far, however, before a terrible shock was felt, the raft having struck a reef and parted in two pieces. The men still escaped unhurt and managed to raise a sail with the intention of steering the raft through the rocks, which arose on every side. The waves swept over the hardy raftsmen, threatening them with destruction every moment, and finally the whole number took refuge by climb ing to the top of the mast. The raft struck a rock the second time, smashing it into fragments, and the men were precipitated into the water, butstil held on to the mast for dear life. They had nearly reached the foot of the rapids by this time, and soon drifted out into still water. An Indian passing in a large boat, seeing their perilous position, came to their assistance and rescued them in a half-drowned condition, sev eral of the men having nearly succumb ed from exposure to the icy water. The raft, which is of oak, is the property of Mr. John Calvin, of Kingston, and is valued at $0,000. A Dynamite sore. A gentleman of Saginaw Michigan, who wrote a friend in England, the en velope bearing his business card as fol lows:—“If not called for in ten da;”S re turn to H. H. Thomas, dealer in nitro glycerine, dynamite, giant powder, and high explosives, Bay City, Mich.,” Mr. Thomas being engaged- in the business of torpedoing salt wells and handling dynamite for stump-pulling purposes. The result was that the excitable Brit ons jailed his friend, thinking him to be an Irish Fenian, Land-Leaguer, Phre- nix-Parker, or something of the kind, and that he was in league with an aw ful Saginaw house for materials with which to demolish every Clerkenwell jail and Parliament building in the United Kingdom. A brief explanation, however, was sufficient to let the pri soner go free and to call in the extra guards. THE PEOPLE BUY THE BEST! Ma. J. O. Boao-Dear Sir: I bought the first Davis Machine sold bj you over five years ago for my wife, who haa given it a long and fair trial. 1 am well pleaaed with It. It lie®— elves any rouble, and la as good aa when am nought. J. W. bouck. Winns boro, 8. C., April 1888. Mr. Boao : You wish to know what I hare to say In regard to the Darla Machine bought of you three years ago. I feel I can’t sar too much In its faror. 1 made about $80.08 within fire months, at times running It so fsst that the needle would f it perfectly hot from friction. I feel confide -. could not hare done the same work with as much ease and so well with any other machine. No time lost in adjusting attachments. Toe lightest running machine I hare erer treadled. Brother James and William's families are aa much pleased with their Davis Machines booghtof yon. I want no better machine. Aa I said before, I don’t think too much can be said for tbe Daria Machine. Respectfully, Ellkn SnvkNSox. Fairfield county, April, 1883. Mr. Boao : My machine gives me perfect satis - faction. I find no fault with It. The attachments are ao simple. 1 wish for no better than the Darla Vertical Feed. ReapectfnUy. Mrs. R. Miu.ihu. Fairfield county, April, 1883. Mr. Boao: I bought a Darts Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from yon four years ago. I am delighted with It. It never haa given me any trouble, and baa never been the least out of order. It is as good as when I first bought it. 1 can cheerfuUy recommend It. Respectfully, Mrs. M. J. Kirkland. Moutioello, April 30,1888. This Is to certify that I have been nslng a Dana Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for over two years, J. O. Boag. I haven’t fonnd It purchased of Mr. J. D. Boag. possessed of any fault -all the attachments are ao simple. It never refuses to work, and la uertalnly the lightest running in tbe market. I consider it a first-class machine. Very respectfully, Minnir m. Willingham. Oakland, Fairfield county, S. C. Mr Boao : 1 am wen 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 ditferent members of our famlMge, all of whom, aa far as I know, are well pleaaeu with them. Haspeotfully, Mrs. M. H. Mobley. Fairfield county, April, 1888. This Is to certify we hare had la constant use the Darts Machine bought of you about three years ago. As we take iu work, and hare made the price of It eereral timet over, we don’t want aay better machine. It la always ready to do any kind of work we nave to do. No puokerlngor skipping stitches. We can only say we are well pleased and wiah no better machine, Cathirinb Wylie and Suter. April 88,1888. I hare no fault to find with my machine, and don’t want any tietter. I hare made the price of It several times by taking In sewing. It Is always ready to do Us work. I think It n first-class ma chine. Ifeelloan'tsaytoomncn for the Darts Vertical Feed Machine. Mrs, Thomas Smith. Fairfield county, April, 1883. Mr. J. O. Boao—Dear Sir: It gives me mich pleasure to testify to the merits of the Darts Ver tical Feed Sewing Machine. The machine I got of you about five years ago. baa been almost in con stant use ever since that time. I cannot see that it Is worn any, and haa not coat me one cent for repairs since we hare had it Am well pleaaed and don't wish for any better. Yours trn'y, Hon. Criwbord, Granite quarry, near Wtnnsboro,8. C. We hare used the Davis Vertical Fee 1 Sewing Mschine for the last fire years. We would not have any other make at any price. The machine haa given us unbounded satisfaction. Very respectfully, Mrs. W. K. Turnir and Daughter*! Fairfield county. 8. C., Jan. 81,1888. J.O Boao, Agent—Dear Sir: My wile worn n particle and it works as wed as when new. Respectfully, Mbs. R. C. Gooding. Wlnnaboro, S. C„ April, 1888, m . J ''3 Raving bought a Darts Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from Mr. J. O. Boag some three yesrs ago, and It haring given me perfect satisfaction In every respect aa a family machine, both for heavy and fight sewing, and never needed the least re pair In any way, I can cheerfully recommend it to any one as s first-class machine in erary particu lar, and think It aecond to none. It la one ot the simplest machines made; my children use it with all ease. The attachments are more easily ad justed and it dost a greater range of work by means of its Vertical Feed than any other ma chine I hare ever seen or used. Mbs. Thomas gwinoa Wlnnsboro, Fairfield county, 8. C. We hare had one of the Darts Machines about four years and have always found It ready to do all kinds of work we hare had occasion to do. Can’t see that the machine Is worn any, and works as well as wnen new. Mbs. W. J. Crawpobd, Jackson’* Creek, Fairfield county, 8. C. My wife Is highly pleased with the Davis Ma chine bought of you. She would not take doable wnat she gave for it. The machine has not beer oat of order since she had It, and she can do any kind of work on 1L Very Respectfully, JAB. F. Fkbb. MontlceUo, Fairfield county, & C. The Darts Sewing Machine U simply a treas ure Mba J. A. Goodwtn. Ridgeway, N. C., Jan. 10, 1888. - - haa been using a Darts Sewing Machine constant ly for the past lour years, an.fit haa never needed any repairs anJ works just as well as when first bought. She says It will do a greater range of practical work end do it easier and better than any machine aba haa ever used. We cheerfully recommend It as a No. l family machine, — loir trajr, Jaa q. datia Wlnnaboro, 8. C., Jan. 8,1881. ' ..'H Mm. Boag : I hare always]foaBd my Deris Ms- bine ready ao aU kinds of to work I hare had oo- csalon to do. I cannot see that the machine la Kb. Boao: Mr wife has been constantly i the Daria Machine bought of yon about are ; ago. i have never regretted beymglt, m always ready for any Kind of family sewing, heavy or light It is never o« of fix or m Fairfield, 8.0.(1 ""■'’"IS