Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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am ■rtifflWIMa* mm V-- ^>“1 ^ ■ *i*Aimi tiiniiii >MMb ■a * TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. C.. JUNE 21. 1883. ESTABLISHED 1848 XUE NIGHTINGALE. There Is a bird, a plain, brown bird, That dwells in. lands afar, Whose wild, delicious song is heard, With evening’s first white star. When, dewy-fresh and still, the night 8te ils to the waiting world, And the new moon glitters silver bright, And the fluttering winds are furled. When the balm of summer is in the air, And the deep rose breathes of musk, And there comes a waft of blossoms fair Through the enchanted dusk. Then breaks the silence a heavenly strain, And thrills the quiet night With a rich and wonderful refrain, A rapture of delight. All listeners that rare music hail, All whisper softly: “Hark! It is the matchless nightingale, Sweet-singing in the dark.” He has no pride ol feathers fine, Unconscious, too, is he That welcomed as a thing divine Is his clear minstrelsy. But from the fullness of his heart His happy carol pours; Beyond all praise, above all art, His song to heaven soars. And through the whole wide world his fame Is sounded far and near; Men love to speak his very name; That brown bird is so dear. BY THE MIDNIGHT TBA1N. There was a tiny circular garden, filled to overflowing with pansies, ge raniums and roses; a house which look ed like a magnificent pepper box, com pletely hidden from view by masses of hop vines, honeysuckles, and the red blossoms of some flower beans. The noon sun poured its-hot beams over everything, making the dusty leaves sparkle as if some benevolent fairy had powdered them with diamond dust. In contrast to the outside heat and glare, Ruy Blasmont, samitering along the shaded piazza in^liis spotless white linen suit, seemed a perfect miracle of coolness. He was a slim, handsome man, about thirty, with regular feat ures and a light olive complexion. His hair and the small black moustache he wore vied with his eyes in intense black ness. Such eyes 1 they spoke when their owner’s eyes were silent, and expressed whatever he intended. He putted lazily at a cigar, and taking his stand where the shade fell dark, looked out on the sun-beaten road. “Parbleau!” he muttered. “What care I for heat? Heat is my element. It is well—for doubtless I’ll have enough of it some day.” And he laughed sar donically. “I think I’d rather enjoy a war with his Satanic Majesty.” He paused an instaht? ' tT Ah T^here iie comes—the young farmer. "What brings him at this hour?” A young man had just rounded the corner of the nearest house, and was coming toward the Blasmont garden. A stalwart, brown-faced man with a frank, open look He nodded slightly to Buy Blasmont, and said: “Is Miss Hose at home?” “Mademoiselle Blasmont is not at home,” her brother answered, slightly raising his eyebrows and playing with his moustache, to show the large dia mond ring that glittered' on his right hand. John Brightly hesitated. He did not believe Ruy Blasmont’s assertion. He distrusted him too greatly to credit any thing he might say ; besides, he did not feel inclined to retrace his way through the hot fields without accomplishing the end for which he had come. His hesitation did not last long. A petite figure, clothed in some airy fabric of pink andjwhite, came hastily through the French window. It was Rose Blas mont. “Oh, Mr. Brightly!” she exclaimed, smiling and ottering her hand. “I thought Lheard your voice.” “I understand from what your bro ther said that you were not at home.” “Why, he knew”—she began, but she had too much tact to continue. “I meant,” said Ruy Blasmont, with an insolent glance at John Brighlly, “that my sister might not be at home to this—ahem!—gentleman. ” John Brightly’s face flushed, but he took no other notice of the insult, for Rose laid a hand on his arm, and whis pered: “Poor Ruy isn’t well. He is—what do you Americans call it?” “Insolent,” John Brightly could not help saying. “Oh, no. ho, no. Only a little vexed —cross. • Come into the parlor. It, is much cooler there. ‘Que vout etes bon! Ces tieurs son magmtiquesl’ ” she exclaimed, catching sight of the larg< clusters of water-lilies that Brightly carried m his hand. “You forgot that I don’t understand French,” he said, smiling for the first time, as he followed her into the parlor. “Ah, oui! What a pity! Hut I am so thankful to you. I must sing at Mrs. Moreland’s garden party to-night, and these are the veritable flowers I love most to wear.” “You told me so last evening.” “And therefore you walked through the hot sun to bring them. How good you are!” “It is not such a sacrifice. This is my dinner hour you know. We far mers are extremely busy just at present, so I snatched sufticient time to pay you a visit.” “Then you will lunch with us. Ex-- cuse me for on$ instant, and I will pre pare—” “No, I wish to speak to you.” “Strawberries and cream! Can you resist the temptation?” she said, laugh ing, and trying to escape. . “Besides, you never tried my sponge cake.*\ “Rose,” he said, gravely, “give me a few moments. I have something to say to you.” Ruy Blasmont drew near the -win dow. and arranged himself in a com fortable position for bearing all that might be said. Rose resumed her seat, her eyes cast down and the color varying in her face. “I have a question to ask yon, Rose. Will you be my wife?” Buy whispered through the lace cur- “I don’t know,” she faltered. “I cannot yet tell.” The eager look on the young farmers face gave way to deep disappointment. “I have been abrupt, but I thought that perhaps my actions have given you reason to expect that I might ask this question.” Rose was silent. “You think I am too impatient. I have waited a long time for this oppor tunity, and it may be my last chance for mouths. I start for New York by the midnight train.” Rose gathered up all her courage. “Yes, John, I promise. I will be your wifewhenever you choose. Ruy Blasmont angrily overturned the rustic chair on which he had been sitting, and entered through the win dow. “Ah, mes amis,” he said, coolly smil ing, “I have been an involuntary list ener to your conversation, and pardon me if I interrupt it, to correct a slight mistake. Monsieur Brightly, the young lady who has this instant promised to marry you is already pledged to an other—the rich proprietor, Moasieur Wills.” John Brightly looked inquiringly at Rose. Rose seemed astonished—and then her color heightened, and she cried indignantly: “It is false!” “It is true. I have promised Mon sieur Wills that you shall become his wife within the year.” “You!” exclaimed Rose, with a ges ture of utter scorn. “By what right?” demanded Bright ly- “By my right as the young lady’s guardian and only relation.” “I deny that any such right exists,” cried the young farmer, passionately. “Take care Ruy Blasmont—take care. If you attempt to force your sister— uow my promised wife—into a marriage with another, I will disclose that which will place you where your interference will be useless.” “Indeed!” sneered Blasmont; but his countenance fell. “Good bye, Rose,” said Brightly. “Be true to me. 1 will return as soon as I can. As for you, sir,” he contin ued, looking at Blasmont, “1 advise you not to try to coerce Miss Blasmont. No doubt you read the papers. There has been a new forgery. Good-day.” And with another good-byq to Rose, he left the room and walked down the garden path. Ruy Blasmont went to his room, murmuring imprecations in an under tone. Rose sat down in the parlor, lost in thought. Ruy on his fete day. Yes I will pay him every sou. He shall not remain poor, even one day, for my sake. I will take the jewels to-night by the midnight train to New York, and on the morrow I will meet John Brightly with the whole sum.” Rose was thoroughly aroused. She was naturally high spirited and proud, although those qualities were seldom shown in her ordinary life. The knowl edge of her brother’s baseness, was probably the bitterest exi>erience that could have come to her. She felt the hope of becoming John Brightly’s wife must be given up. She would not take to him a tarnished name. She hastily wrote a note to Mrs. Moreland, by whom she had been en gaged to sing that evening, and excused herself. Then she went up to her room and did not reappear until in the dark ness she stole to the railroad station. Rose was as impatient as she was im pulsive. The few minutes of waiting in the railroad cilice seemed as many hour’s to her. With the knowledge of her brother’s crime weighing on her heart, action seemed the only thing that could give her relief. At last the midnight train started. Just as the last car left the station, John Brightly appeared running at full sliced. The locomotive weiit on; he was left behind. He had spent all the evening in. ‘tempt ing a letter for Rose. So absorbed had he been in his task, that he had not no ticed the flight of time, and lienee his lateness. The next train would be in at 4:30. The farm was at least four miles from the station, so John Brightly concluded that he might as well remain where he was. He entered the little office, which at present was occupied by a dimly- burning oil lamp and a sleepy employe, and gave himself up to thought. He looked back on the years of long strugg ling he had passed, in the endeavor to buy that farm upon the hill; and when his object was almost, attained—when the last instalment of the purciiase money was to be paid to the owner— Ruy Blasmont had to step in, and, by a few strokes of his pen, swept it all away. It was very hard. “And yet she shall never know it,” he thougut. “I will save her from disgrace, if it costs all I have.” Robin Hood and tbe Beggar. Robin Hood, one day, met a strange looking beggar in the road. The fellow was covered with many thicknesses of rags, in fact, his cloak was so patched and repatched that, in its thinnest part, It was more than twenty-fold His hat was really three hats put together so as to form one Heavy covering for his head. He carried a sack of meal swinging from his neck by a leather strap, fastened by a strong buckle. It was near night-fall when Robin stepped out of the woods, and called to the beggar to stop and talk awhile with him. But the cloufcetl vaid «« heed to his words, add walked right on as if he had not heart. “Stop when I speak to you!” cried Robin, growing angry. “I won’t do it,” responded the beggar, quite boldfy. “It is some distance to where I lodge, and I don’t care to miss my supper.” “Lend me some money.” jeeringly cried Robin. ‘I must have supper, too.” ‘I’ve no money for you,” responded the beggar, gruffly. “You are as young as I, and you seem lazy and good-for- nothing. If you wait for your supper till I give you money to buy it, you’ll be apt to fast the rest of the year!” This last speech made Robin very an gry. “If you have but one farthing,” he exclaimed, “I’ll take it from you. So you may as well lay aside your ragged old cloak and offer no further resistance. Untie your sack, and let me see what is in it, and, if you make any noise, I will see what effect a broad-headed arrow c&n have on a beggar’s hide!” But the beggar only grinned at the outlaw, and very quietly said: “You’d better let me alone. I’m not afraid of your bent stick and little pointed shafts, which are only lit for pudding-skewers, If you offer me any harm, I’ll baste you till you’ll be glad to let me go.” Robin at once flew into a towering passion, and bent his bow to shoot the beggar; but, before he could draw an arrow, the clouted tramp struck at him with his oak staff and knocked his bow into splinters. Robin drew his sword; but, before he could use it, the beggar struck his sword hand, disabling it, and knocking the weapon away. Poor Robin was in a bad fix. The sturdy vagrant now fell upon him, all defense less as he was, and belabored him might ily. He basted his head, his shoulders, his back, his legs, till at last Robin fell down senseless. “O fie! stand up, man!. Don’t lie The Blasmonts, brother and sister, ^ fiMpr^h^dfor ^TilewrSL uaw 4-aginmg-t&tutarsister wseAu All that afternoon Ruy Blasmont re mained in his room. He wanted money, and a large amount, too. The only means to obtain it would be to marry Rose to a rich man. Old, pompous Mr. Willis, the wealthy man of Moor land, was the person he had selected for Rose’s husband. Rose had rejected him once, and then he applied to Ruy tain a sibulaut “no.” Rose heard the word and turned pale. r tb her, her brother’s will was la\y. kmAmm previously, and taken the small cottage not far from Moorland. T) - r**- 4-**^ t — 4-Y. ~ XfcVSOV A. AV/AJ.VA1 Ml HA 111 U.31U ill A11C neighboring families and in one or two boarding schools in town. She had made herself a general favorite; her mu sical education had been thorough, and her services were in demand and well remunerated. She was a pretty, true hearted little lady, who did her duty, and tried to make every one around her happy. She regarded her brother as a hero. He was her ideal. For him she would have worked until she died; and he would probably have made no objec tion. People wondered where his fast horses and champagne suppers came from. From his sister’s earnings, per haps. Some of them, but not all. He had no visible means of support. Moor land people hoped that Rose would get married soon, if it were only to rid hef- self of that scamp, her brother. Ruy Blasmont had been cast on the world by the death of his parents, when very young. While he dissipated his fortune in Paris, his sister had remain ed in her convent. One day he found himself penniless. He needed somebo dy to support him. He accordingly withdrew Rose from the convent, and the two started for the United States. Rose could see no flaw in the charac ter of her immaculate Ruy, until she met John Brightly. Comparing the two men she was forced to acknowledge that her brother was not perfect. That he was selfish and insincere she had dis covered, but that he was so utterly base as to sell her to old Mr. Wills, whose offer of marriage Ruy knew that she had once refused, she could scarcely be lieve. And yet he had admitted it him self! Hot tears dropped from her eyes as she thought of it. Stooping to pick up the water lilies which had fallen from her lap, she no ticed an open paper on the floor. Half idly, she picked it up and read the words written on it: “Dear Sir.—The man who forged your name to a check for one thousand dollars has been traced. He is a neigh bor of yours—Ruy Blasmont. The proof is certain. If you desire to have the matter hushed up, come to New York at once. If you don’t come, will have him arrested without delay. “Thomas Richards, “Private Detective.” “To John Brightly, Esq.” Scarcely knowing what she was do ing, Rose turned the note in her hand. On the back she saw written in lead pencil: “Telegraphed to Richards—Dont’ proceed. Will start for New York by the midnight train. J. B.” Rose Blasmont paced the room, pale and tearless. She rememberea how this note came there. The stems of 1 the water lii'es were wet when John Brightly brought them in. He had pulled out his handkerchief to dry them, and Rose recollected that a scrap of paper, as she thought, had fallen to the floor. “He shah not impoverish himself for my sake,” she said passionately. “He is poor already. I know it. I will pre vent this sacrifice, even though I hand Ruy over to the law. I will pay him every cent yes!” And taking a small book from her pocket, she ran her eye do wn a column of figures. ‘ ‘ Yes—there is something. I can pay John Brightly a part of this money my brother has stolen.” A shiver ran through her as she spoke the word stolen. “I have my mother’s jewels which Ruy so often wanted me to pawn, and three hundred dollars, my savings, that I promised pose his all-powerful will. Ruy Blasmont hau found that T?o < « 1 had a will of her own. Brightly was hi the way. Brightly, doubtless, knew more about the forgery than was agree able for the forger. Brightly was a dangerous person. Brightly would leave Moorland by the midnight train. Parbleu! What can oue do with a dan gerous person? Ruy Blasmont showed his white teeth, and closed his eyes as if he were afraid that they would tell the evil thought showing through them. He was not aware that Rose had left the house. Shortly before midnight he stood on the side of a steep embankment, on the railroad, about two miles from Moor- ' ,nd. His hands were torn and bleed ing. He had just succeeded in rollmg a huge rock on the track. On either side of the embankment was a narrow path. Fifty feet below on oue side was the river; on the other were rugged masses of clay and rocks. Running aiong the embankment until he reached the field to the north of it, he crouched between the fence and the trunk of a willow tree, and waited the coming of a train. “Parbleu!” he muttered “Monsieur le diable will thank me for the cargo I’ll send him to-night. Bali! they’ll die sometime all the same.” And he shrugged his shoulders. The light of the locomotive grows larger and larger. In another moment the train will be on the embankment. It passes the field at lightning-like speed. The moon is at its full. The engineer perceives the obstruction; but too late. The locomotive strikes it, leaps back, crushing in the nearest car, and plunging down the embankment. There are sluieks and groans from men and women, and crushuig timber. The locomotive, followed by the train, plunges in among the clay and rocks. At last it falls over on its side, and all who are alive pour from the cars. There are many wounded and many dead; but Ruy Blasmont does not see John Brightly. He sees another, however, and that is his sister Rose. With her pale, still face upturned, she lies among tne rocks, near the dismantled locomo tive, the light from its reflector forming a halo around her. Ruy Blasmont kneels by her side, His tace becomes rigid. “A mistake,” he says, cooly taking a revolver from the breast-pocket of his coat. ‘ T’vfe killed the wrong one. This time I will be sura.” He points the pistol at his own head and fires. The ball passes through his head and he falls back a corpse * * # * The news of the disaster travelled quickly to Moorland. John Brightly was the first to reach the spot. He exerted himself nobly, tenderly caring for the wounded, and reverently remov ing the dead. Approaching the spol, wnere the locomotive lay, in search o ! more unfortunates, he received an im presron of iforror tliat never left him until his dying da£. He saw Rose Blasmont. He staggered and almost fell. “Rose! My Rose!” he gasped. “John!” she cried, joyfully opening her eyes. “Where am 1? Is it really you John? Then I am safe!” She was safe and unhurt. She only fainted. In a dark clump of cypress trees, near the Brightly farm, there is a marble slab. It bears the name—“Ruy Blas mont.” Mr. and Mrs. Brightly have forgiven him. The remem urance of his terrible crime is the only cloud in the sunlight of their happiness. A Kentucky Vendetta. go out into the the matter. On hallway, before shot was fired. John; Much your tavern and be merry!” shouted the beggar, in derision;find thinking Robin Wod dead, lie trudged Ou Ilia way, not caring a whit for what he had done. Shortly after, Little John, Much, and Scathelock came up to where Robin lay. He was moaning and writhing, the flood flowing freely from his head. They poured cold water on his face, hafed his hands, and finally restored him to consciousness. “Ah!” he exclaimed with a deep sigh, ‘I never before w;is so thrashed. It is liorty years that I have wandered in the greenwood, but no man ever so mauled my back as has that beggar whom you see trudging away up the hill yonder. did not think he could do me any harm, but he took his pikestaff and beat me so that I fear I never shall get well again. If you love me, you will run and catch him and fetch him back to me. Jut beware of his staff; get hold of it first, or he’ll pound the life out of all of you.” “Never fear,” said Little ‘Scathelock and I will take him. may stay and take care of you.” So the two seized their bows and ran after the beggar, who was leisurely pur suing his way over the distant hill. They did not go along the road, how ever, but took a route through the woods, and, running very fast, got ahead of their victim and hid on each side of the road, When the beggar came on they sprang out, Little John catching hold of his staff and Scathelock molding a drawn dagger lief ore his breast. “Give up your staff, or I’ll slay you on the spot!” cried Scathelock. The begger let go his staff, which Little John, stuck in the ground hard by. “Don’t kill met” cried the beggar in whining voice. “I never did you larm.” “You have nearly killed our master, who lies back yonder by the road,” ex claimed Little John. “Come along with us. that he may give you your sentence!” “Now,” said the beggar, assuming a different tone, “I know you are honest fellows, and do not wish to harm me for acting in self-defense. If you will let me go, a will give you a hundred pounds in good money which I have in my bag.” To this proposition Little John and Scathelock agreed. It was a wicked thing; for they intended to get his money and then take him all the same. So they bade him count out the money. The beggar took off his cloak and spread it upon the ground. Then he unslung his meal-oag and put it in the middle of the cloak. Little John and Scathelock drew close, to see him count out the good money. As they did so, the beggar thrust his two hands into the bag, and taking up a lot of meal in each he dashed it into the eyes of Little John and Scathelock. They were blind ed so tliat they could Go nothing but dance about and rub their faces. The beggar quickly seized his staff and began thrashing them terribly. He rapped them over the head, he basted their backs, he belabored their broad should ers till the woods resounded with the heavy blows. As soon as they could escape, Little John a^d Scathelock took to their heels and ran. It was with great shame that they re turned to Robin and reported the result of their adventure. The chief laughed at them, and they pll three felt in their hearts that they bad got no more than they had deserved.. They had broken their rules in attacking a poor man, and had been soundly punished in turn The law7ers in the late Thompson— Daviess case in Kentucky were no ap prentices in criminal proceedings. The career of Thompson senior embraces not alone victories in desperate murder cases. His own hands are not blood free. Ten years ago, within these same walls, Thompson senior and Theo dore Daviess were at suit over a prom- sisory note. The suit was full of spirit and heat. Crowds flocked to hear it, and among those who went were the three sons of each of the litigants. The Daviess boy who bore his father’s name, Theodore, proposed to young Fhil Thompson that they court-yard and settle the way out, in the reaching the yard, a Every man’s hand in the court room reached for his hip pocket. The Thomp sons and Daviesses all drew and fired and old Theodore Daviess and his son Larue fell dead. Sharp work, mean while, was going on in ihe yard, where young Theodore Daviess had clawed young Phil Thompson’s scalp like a tiger. Old Phil, his pistol still smoking, looked through the window at the com batants and, seeing his boy’s face be smeared with blood and supposing him to have been knifed or shot, sprung over the sill. Young Theodore ran out of the yard and started down the street. Thompson chased as far as the gate, when he fired at the retreating figure and the undertaker made three coffins instead of two that week for the Daviess family. The preliminary heal ing satisfied the community that every body had had a fair chance and the grand jury refused to indict. The blood and thunder stories told of Toe Blackburn may be mythical, except as illustrative of Kentucky principles, but mythical or not it pleases the natives to relate how, when he was young at the bar, it fell to him to prosecute a case that had enlisted public sympathy. The evidence went in and they say Blackburn got as the argument .when he was warned to quit under penalty of trouble. The next day he apiteared in court and began the argument. He had not proceeded far when there was a suspicious noise from the rear. He wheeled to find confronting him a sym pathizer with the accused in anger and about to strike. Whether Blackburn fired through his pocket or not mythol- agy doesn’t say, but an instant later the would-be assailant was ready for an in quest and Blackburn turned coolly to the jury with “and now, gentleman, as I was saying.” No one seems to locate this story as to time or place or to have personal recollection of its occurrence, il-. io -^r 1 — tradition. It runs suspiciously current with a well-authenticated experience of Colonel Denny of ennowel for the pro. secution. When attorney for his county some years ago it became his duty to prosecute his uncle. Certain members of the family objected and threatened him with violence, even in court. The situation becoming critical when the argumentative stage of the proceedings was replied, Denny care- liilly laid a pair oi revolvers on the uable in front of him and saying mildly, “I shall now argue this case,” proceed ed without interruption through a snorting argument. The closing day of the trial was not more eventful, except in its consumma tion, than had been the most ordinary day. Thompson leaves for Washington where he says he intends to spend most of the summer. His daughter, a child of thirteen years, is at the Georgetown Convent and is in utter ignorance of the events of the past pionth. He will infonn her of everything and then they will plan for the future. Mrs. Thomp son is at ths Garnett homestead, ad joining the i esidence of the Congress man’s parents . She declares her inno cence of the ch. r^e against herself and Davis. TheCoiytvSsman’sson remains with his mother. He holds out the pleasing prospect of another murder trial growing out of tliis case by declar- The Pity. “Do you know there are more bald heads in Chicago than any place I have ever been in, and, I believe, than in any city in the United States?” queried Mrs. McGlashan, scalp surgeon. There are numerous reasons for this, she con tinued, “promment among which are fast living and dissipation, excitement, worry, indoor work, and the excessive use of tobacco.” “Do you mean to say that smoking causes the hair to fall out?” “J ust exactly. It is exceedingly in jurious, not to the hair alone, of course, but to the whole body, drying up the blood, and thus sapping away the very life or the hair. The first question I ask a male patient is ‘Do you smoke?” “What do you consider the most fruitful source of bald heads?” “The barbers! the barbers! Only stick to them long enough, and I don’t care how fine a head of hair you have, they will ruin it. If you wish to hasten the departure of your tresses, say ‘yes,’ every time your tousorial artist asks you if you will ‘have a little tonic on your head, or will take a shampoo.’ The last mentioned is sure death to the hair, for some of them use a preparation, the ingredients of which contain am monia and animal oil. Now, the hair is a vegetable, more like a grajie-vine than anything else it can be compared to. The ammonia in time sucks out all the life-giving power, leaving it dead ened and faded, and after such a wash has been applied, if you examine one of the hairs under a microscope you will see that the oily substance in the centre has been entirely dried out. Then your barber, when your hair commences to fall out from the frequent doses of poi son applied, recommends cutting it close, or even shaving the head ent ire ly.” “That certainly Is beneficial?” “Beneficial? Why don’t you know if you cut a grai*eviue close to the ground it will die, but that occasional pruning is good? The same truth applies to the hrr. But it is far better never to cut it at all.” “ You do not advise all the yomig men to cultivate Byrouic locks?” “Oh, certainly not; but I never out my patients’ hair. I burn it off, think ing that far preferable. I take a light-fP ed taper, and, gathering up a combful of hail - , run the fire along the edges, burning it off evenly, and 1 assure you it is much more beneficial. ” “Why is it that there are so many more bald-headed men than women?” The reply came with a hearty laugh. ‘ ‘There are not. You see you are not posted. 1 treat just as many women for bald IuwIjj oil t aou aem WelL 1 uwrTKnow as 1 have nanny LatU us many who were glassy bald, but they are very nearly so. A short time ago a young lady, who is well Known m Ghi- cago—in fact, she is a north side heiress —who moves in the very best society, came to me and Complained tliat she was not only losing her hair, but tliat her mind was going. She could not re member from one day to another, and was also unable to sleep. I examined her head and tVund it terrible diseased. The hair had fallen off in spots as large as a silver dollar, giving her a singular appearance. I put her under treat ment, and in a short time removed from her scalp parasites many of which were a quarter of an inch long.” “Do the parasites cause other diseases than those of the scalp?” “In my opinion they certainly do. A diseased head of any kind will de velop other ailments, for the brain is a sensitive organ. THE VERDICT -O’” THE PEOPLE BUY THE BEST! Mh. J. o. Boao—Dear sir: I bought the Orat Davis N.achlue nold by you over five yean ago (or my wife, who haa given it a long and fair vrlaL I am well pleased with It. It never gives any rouble, and la as good aa when a rat bought. J. W. tiOMCK. Wlnnsboro, S. C., April 1883. Mk. Uoao : You wish to Know wnat I have to say In regard to the Davis Machine bought of you three years iigo. I feel I can’t sav too much in Ita favor. I made about $80.0# within 2r>: months, at limes ruanlog it so fast that the needle would f it perfectly hot from friction. I feel conOdent 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 and William's families are as much pleased with their Davis MacD nes bought of you. 1 want no belter machine. As I said before, f don’t think too much can be said for the Davis Machine Respectfully, Ellbn Stevenson. Fairfield county, April, 1883. Mk. Boao : My machine gives me perfect satis faction I find no fault with It, The attachments are so simple. I wisu for no better than the Davis Vertical Feed. Respectfully. Mrs. R. Miixuro. Fairfield county, April, 1833. Mr. Boao: I bought a Davis Vertical Feed sewing Machine from yon four years ago. I am deligh ed with it. It never has giveu me any trouole, an ) has never been the least out of order. It. is as good as when I first bought it. I can cheerfully recommend It. Respectfblly, Mrs. M. J. Kirkland. Monticello, April 30,1883. This is to certify that I have been using a Dans Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for over tw i years, purchased of Mr. J. O. Uoag. I haven’t found it possessed of any fault—all the attachments are so simple. It ucver refuses to wont, and is uertaimy the lightest running in tbe market. I consider it first-class machine. Very respectfully. Minnik m. WnxmoHAif. Oakland, Fairfield county. 8. C. Mk Boao: i am wen pieasea m 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 families, all of whom, as far as I know, are well pleased with them. mobl*,. FairfleM county, April, 1883. VWS * . i - * ~ — — —4-i V. „ -t Im *** M MflA. A It 13 la IrVS V/UiltAJ n U uavo At* vn^L*3A«aiAW -bw the Davis Machine bought of yoa about three years ago. As we take In work, and have made the pi ice of It several times over, we don’t want say better machine. It is always ready to do any kind of work we have to do. No puckering or skipping stitches. We can only say we are well pleased and wish no better machine, Catherine Wylie and Sister. April 2», 1883. Artistic Footstools. The foot of the fashionable woman Is just now on exhibition, like a rare thing at a fair, and we need hardly say that it is made to look its possible best. In the first place, somebody discovered that footstools might be developed from clumsy clmnks of dull carpet into art is tliat I have do fault to find with my machine, and don’t want any better. I have mide 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. Fairfield county, April, 1883. objects. The consequence is that the __ _ rooms in fashionable houses have been ing that he wiFkfll jSsie Buckner'lo I decorated with quaint, novel, and often whom he attributes the scandal and its 1 t:,km < r th * me up, you pestiferous itiner- said the broker, in a hoarse^ un- results, on sight, whenever and wher ever he may meet her. “Two OI ’Kin.’ “I want just a minute of your time to look at a new book which I am introduc ing It was the busiest time of the day with a LaSalle broker to whom these words were spoken, and with a wild cry of fierce, ungovernable hate, he sprang at the throat of Ins detested enemy, the book agent. “All, would you now,” said the agent, tossing his sample-case to one side; “here’s business from the word ‘go.’” And he caught the arm of the broker and twisted it up behind his neck, held his head over the cuspidor, while the broker breathed in short, intermittent gasps. “Let anti” natural voice. “"What’s that you say?” Here the book man puddled the broker a few times in his delicate ribs. “I’ll call for the police.” “If you do I’ll shut your wind off. I am selling the Double Concentrated and Triple Extract Condensed Compendium of all Human Wisdom, or World Wide Encyclopaedia of Universal Knowledge from the Epoch of tbe First Glacial Feriod down to the Discovery of Spots on the Republican Administration, together with a short treatise on insan ity, and how to cure a balky horse, a remedy for preventing boots from run ning down at the heels, every man his own boot-black, directions for ringing hogs, two twin articles on how to dig bait, a sure cure for tapeworm, and sun set on the Upper Mississippi. Y ou want a copy of the work and you want it right off.” Here the agent threw the broker on his back and pat his thumb in his eye ‘Lemme up.” gasped the broker. “Buy a book?” said the agent. “Two of ’em,” faintly whispered the throttled financier. beautiful articles taking the place of the old-fashioned foot-rests. The covers are either of costly woven mater ials or are elaborately embroidered. Im ported French footstools are mounted in frames upon four light feet, which Mr. J. O. Boao—De-tfSlr: It qrves me in'icli plenume to testify to tne merits o', the Davis Ver tical Feed Sewin* Machine. The machine I got of you about five years ago. has been almost ‘ji oon- siaut use ever since that time. I cannot see that It is worn any, and 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, Host. Crawford, Granite quarry, near Wlnnsboro, S. C. We have used the Davis Vertical Fee l Sewing Machine fo • tne last five years. We would not have any o.'.ter make at anv price. The machine has given us cnboundeu satlcfaction. Very respectfully, Mrs. W. K. Turner and DadohtemJ Fairfield county, 8. C., Jan. 21,1888. Having bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from Mr. J. 0. Boag some three years ago, and It having given me perfect satisfaction In every resiiect asa tamtly machine, both for hea^y and lig ' **■“ ’ ‘ — simplest machines made; my children use It with all ease. The attachments are more easily ad justed and It doe i a greater range of work by ineniia of its Vertical Feed than any other ma chine I have ever seen or used. Mrs. Thomas Owinos. Winnsh >r >, Fairfield county, 8. C. Wo have bail one of the Davis Machines about four years and have always fonnd It ready to do all kinds of work we have had occasion to da Can’t see that the machine is worn any, and works as well as when new. Mrs. W. J. Crawford, Jackson’s Creek, Fairfield county, S. C. My wife is highly pleased with the Davis Ma chine bought of you. She would not take double what she gave for It. The machine has not been out of order since she had it, and she can do any kind of work on it. Very Respectfully, Jas. F. Free. Monticello, Fairfield county, 8. C. —The city of Newark, N. J., contains 1299 lactones, with 29,232 workmen. The capital invested is $23,919,115, and tike sales foot up $66,234,525. .gut sewing, and never needed the least re pair In any way. i can cheerfully recommend tt to . . , any one as a first-class machine in every partlcu- are covered with plush, and ujion winch jar, a nd think it second to none. It la one of the rests a cushion upholstered in jute plush satin velours, silk velvet, or a combina tion of different fabrics. The cost of some of these new toys is sometimes pretty high, for the covering is often of as good quality as the choicest parts of a ball-dress. They have applique work of exquisite Eastern designs, on deep- toned plush or velvet, outlined witli gold or silver. Footstools tliat purport to be relics are prized as treasures, though some of these are of extremely doubtful authen ticity. We know of one which—so its owner declares—came from Father Hyacintlie’s chapel in Geneva, where lie used it to kneel on before his lecturn. Another is proudly exhibited as having been brought from Wagner’s audience- room. Heirlooms and mementoes in the way of fabrics are ruthlessly cut up for footstool purposes. A piece of For rest’s “Kmg Lear” costume, bought at the recent sale of the tragedian’s ward robe in Philadelphia covers the stool of a leading New York actress. An artist’s wife has sacrificed a figure out of his most cherished specimen of Gobe lin tapestry, and we suppose she would liave as readily cut a cherub from an original Raphael if it had been within reach. A favorite stool lias no legs at all, but is in the form of a double cushion, wiU rings of gimp and heavy tassels at the comers. In contrast with these soft ones are stools flatly covered with em bossed leather, studded with fancy- headed nails, and depending for beauty and value o-\ the fineness of the carving of the the mahogany, ebony, or othet wooden frames. The shapes are square, round, octagonal, an<} irregular. Paint ed covers are also in vogue. A bunch of flowers on light satin or a few sprays scattered carelesly is a usual design. A fancy style is made in miniature imita tion of a camp-stool, the seat being in plush, embroidered in raised work, and the stool of gilt in sticks so slender that a little weight would inevitably break them down. Tfie Davis Sewing Machine U simply s treas ure Mrs. J. A. Qoodwtm. Ridgeway, N. C., Jan. 10, l»83. J.O Boao, Esq., Agent—Dear Sir: My wife has neen using a Davis Sewing Machine constant ly for the past four years, and It has never needed any re pans an I works Just as well as wnen first bought. She says it win do a greater range of practical work *>nd do it easier and better Oxan any macblne she oas ever need. We cheerfully recommend It as a No. 1 family machine, ~~ low troy. Jab. Q. Da via. Wlnnsboro, S. C., Jan. 8,1883. MR. Boao ; I have always found, my Davis Ma chine ready do aU kinds of to work 1 have had oo- casiun to do. I cannot see that the machine la worn a parUcle and It works as wexl as when new. i Respectfully, Mrs. R. C. Gooding. - Wlnnsboro, H. c., April, 1888, Mr. Boao : My wife has been const*utiy using the Davis Macblne bought of you about Ure years azo. I have never regretted buying it, aa u is always ready for any kind of family sewlni or bgnt. It l« never out of fix or neavy oi repairs. Very respootfnfly, Fairfield, & CL, March, 1888.