Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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a anil flcfaliJ. TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. 0.. AUGUST 21.1883. ESTABLISHED 1848 ii THE VERDICT —or— THE PEOPLE BUY THE BEST! Mk. J. O. BOAO-Dear Sir: I bought the drat Davie Macblue aold by you over five years ago for niy wife, who has given it a long ami fair Inal. I am well pleased with It. It never Rlvea any rouble, and la as good aa when drat bought. J. YV. UOLICK. VVlnnsboro, S. C., April 1833. Mr. Boao: Ton wish to know what I have to say In regard to the Davis Machine bought of you three f ears ago. I feel I can’t say too much In its favor. made altout |80,iK) within dve mouths, at times running it so fast that the needle would get per fectly hot from friction. I feel eonddenl I could not have done the same work with aa much ease and ao well with any other machine. No time lest In adjusting attachments. The lightest running machine 1 have ever treadled. Brother James and Williams' families are as much pleased with their Davis Machines bought or you. I want no better machine. As 1 said before, I don’t think too much can be said for the Davui Machine. Kespeet fully, Kllkn t tkvknson, Fairfleld County, Aprl', l&fii. Mr. Boaq: My machine gives me perfect satis- faction. 1 and no fault with it. The attachments are so simple. 1 wish for no better than the Davis Vertical Feed. Respe tfully. Mrs. k. Millimo. Fairfield county, Aprl 1 , 1883. MR. Boag: t bought a Davis Vertical feed ewmg Machine from you four years ago. I am slighted with it. It never has given me any rouble, and has never been the least out of order. It Is as good as when 1 Drat bought it. 1 can cheerfully recommend It. Respectfully, Mrs. M. J. Kikki.and. Mouticelio, April 30, 1883. This ts to certify that I have been using a Davis Vertic d Feed .Sewing Machine for over i w >ye irs, purchased of Mr. J. O. Hoag. I haven't found 11 p issessed of any fault—all the attachments are so simple. It ueverrefuses to work, and is oeriainly th ' h^htesi running in the market. I consider it a first class machine. Very respectfully. Minnik M. Willingham. Oaklan 1, Fail-Held county, 8. C. Mr Boag : 1 am wru pieasM m every particm with the Davis Machine nought of you. I think a ursi-class maculae in every respect. You knsw you sold several machines of the same make to diderent members of our families, all of whom, as far as 1 know, are well pleased with them. Respectfully, Mrs. M. 11. Moblky. FairUeld county, April, 1333. Tblilsto certify we have hat m constant nss the Davis Machine bought of you about three years ago. As we take in work, and have made the price of It several times over, we don’t want anv 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, CATBKRINK WVI.IK AND SISTER. April 85,1338. I have no fault to and with my macb ne, and don’t want any better. I have made the price of It several times b> taking in sewing. It is always ready to do its work. I think it a Orsl-dass ma chine. I feel I can t say too much for the mvu Vertical Feed Machine. Mrs. Thomas smith. FairUeld county, April, 1333. Mr. J. O. Boag—Dear Sir: It gives me Its of t numb pleasure to testuy to the merits of the Davis Ver tical Feed Sewing Machine. The ma nine 1 got of yon about live years ago. has been almost in con stant 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 lor any better. Yonrs truly, Robt. Crawford, Granite Quarry, near Winnsboro s. C. We have used the Davis Yerllcal Feed Sewing Machine for the last flve years. We would not have any other make at any price. The mac sine has given us unbounded stttlsfaction. Very respectfully, Mrs. W. K. Turner and Daughters) FalrUel I county, S. C., Jan. 8i, 1333. Having bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from Mr. J. O. Boag some three years ago, and It having given me perfect satisfaction in every respect as a family machine, both for heavy and light sewing, and never needed the least re pair In any way, I can cheerfully recommend It to any one as a flrst-class machine in every particu lar, and think It second to none. It Is one of the simplest machines made; my children use it with all ease. T he attachmenu are more easily ad justed and It does a greater range of work bv means of its Vertical Feed than any other ma chine I have ever seen or used. Mrs. Thomas owings. Winnsboro, FairUeld county, a. C. We have had one of the Davis Machines about four year-, and ttava always found It ready to do all kinds of work we have had occasion to u& Can’t see that the machine la worn any, and works as well as when new. Mas. W. J. Crawford, Jackson’s Creek, FairUeld coumy, S. C. My wife Is highly pleased with the Davts Ma chine bought of yon. She would not take doable 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. Montlcello, FairUeld county, 3. C. The Davts Sewing Machine U simply a treas ure Mrs. J. A. goodwyn. Ridgeway, N. C., Jan. 10, 1383. J, O Boag, Esq., Agent—Dear Sir : My wife has been using a Davis Sewing Machine constant ly for the past four years, and it has never needed any repairs an i works just as well as when flrxt bought She savs It will do a greater range of practical work end do it easier and befer than any machine she has ever used. We cheerfully recommend It aa a No. 1 family machine, Your tru.y, Jas. Q. Davis. Wlnnsb »ro. S. C., Jan. 8. 1883. UNBELIEF. There Is no unbelief; Whoever plants a seed beneath the sod And waits to see it push away the clod,— He trusts in God. Whoever says, when clouds are in the sky, “Be patient, heart; light breaketh by and by,” Trusts the Most High. Whoever sees, ’neath winter’s field of snow; The silent harvest of the future grow,— God’s power must kuow. Whoever lies down on his couch to sleep, Content to lock each sense in slumber deep, Knows God will keep. Whoever says, “To-morow,” “The Un known,” “The Future,” trusts that Power alone He dares disown. The heart that looks on when the eyelids close, And dares to live when life has only woes, God’s comfort knows. There Is no unbelief; And day by day, and night, unconsciously, The heart lives by that faith the lips deuy— God knoweth why! DID SHE DESERVE IT? Mr. Boag : I have always found ray Davis Ma chine ready do alt kinds of to work 1 have had oc casion lo do. 1 cannot see that the machine la worn a panicle and it works as wed as when new. Respectfudy, Mrs. R. C. Gooding. Winnsboro, S. C., A pul, ls83. The month was May, and through my half-open window came stealing a soft wind, filled with summer warmth and summer fragrance. The trees in the garden were full of blossoms. The early roses were in bloom, but of all this 1 saw nothing. My gaze was fixed upon two figures slowly walking down the garden path— a man and a woman. The man was tall, and strong, and masterful, yet tender as a mother with her first-born, gentle as a girl in all the little acts and courtesies of life. The woman was young and very beautifu'., with a figure slender and swaying like a reed as she walked, and dark, lustrous eyes, which brought to many a man his heart’s undoing. 1 fancied the light in them now, as she lifted them to Hart Sidney’s face. He was her guardian, and he loved her. She was but my half-sister, five years my senior, and so I was not entitled to her confidence. She had never told me of her lo\ r e for Mr. Sidney. Indeed, only a little month ago I had returned from school, with my educa- tiau completed, in the fashionable sense of the term, and since then I had been very ill. Overworked, the doctor said, but I knew better. To my own soul I could whisper the humiliating truth, could pour out the cruel confession, with a sort of savage pleasure at the self-inflicted torture. It was my heait, uot the body, that suffered, the heart that had for ever passed into Hart Siduey’s unconscious keeping. If 1 had nwer suspected it before, I should have known it by the new light in her eyes, the new radiance of her beauty, as it burst upon me on the day of my return. And what could be more natural thau that things should be as they were? Did uot guardians always love their wards, and wards their guardians? 1 have never read a book which trea ted of such a relationship iu which such Yvas uot the sequel of the tale. And yet—and yet, did it make it easier for me to hear? I turned my gaze away from that other picture, and lifted myself up from the depths of the great chair in Yvhich I lay, until I could catch a glimpse of my own face in the mirror opposite. What a contrast! My eyes, the only beauty I possessed, looked many a time too large for the thin, dark face and my hair, was close cropped to my head. They had cut it off as I lay delirious with fever, and crying that its weight hurt me. I sank back with a groan. At tliat instant my sister, returning, entered the room. “Aline!” she cried, “Aline, child, I am so haupy!” And rapidly sank down on chair. The contrast was too great. Never had I seen her half so beauti ful. “Don’t tell me don’t!” I hastily ex claimed, and lifted up my hand as if to ward off a blow. “I know,” I con tinued. “I congratulate you; but don’t nay any more.” “You know dear?” she answered, a look of surprise sweeping over her face. “How is that possible?” “Don’t ask me. Only, I know, I >» •- ’ But I could say no more. My weakn&ss conquered my strength, and I burst into bitter weeping. “Poor child! Dear little Aline,” she whispered tenderly. “Do you love me so well that you hate to lose me? But you will not really lose me, dear. When 1 am married ” “Hush!” I interrupted. “I won’t hear any more.,’ And sobbing bitterly, I buried my face iu my hands. Of course no heroine would have done such a thing, but I was no her oine. 1 Yvas only a foolish girl who had lived but eighteen years, and who could only look forward to a long, long life of lonely misery—for 1 loved Hart Sidney. He had not meant to make me love him—I knew that, but when I had come home for my Christmas holidays, Alice had been away on a visit, and so 1 had seen him every day. We had ridden and driven, and Yvalked together, and, as 1 have said, this manner held that unconscious and inherent tenderness towards things weaker than himself which had charmed my heart into recklessly pouring forth its unheeded treasures at bis feet. My excitement in repressing ail this, and setting the seal upon my misery, brought its own punishment. For a week my life was again des paired of. Then, because I did not wish the blessing, strength came slowly back, At last, when I grew better, the phy- ~ sicians said I must have a change, and crossing the floor her knees beside she my so they sent me to the seaside, to visit an aunt who had a cottage by the sea. I was glad to go, Had I stayed at home I should have gone mad. Alice and Mr. Sidney went with me to the train. I had bade her good-bye, and the train was just about to start, when he put ids head in through the window. “You will let me come and see you? he said. And I only had time to answer—“No, no—you must not come!” Only time tor this, and to note the swift look, so like pain, which swept over his face, ere we moved away, and my last glimpse was of them both standing side by side, as they would henceforth stand through life. Not withstanding my injunction to the con trary, he came. I had been in my new home a fort-night, and some of the col or was stealing back into my cheeks, when one afternoon, as I sat alone upon the piazza, dreaming as I dreamed all my idle hours away, a step sounded on the walk, and looking up I saw the face which a moment before had floated in my fancy. For an instant I was happy—supremely happy—and, spring ing up, 1 held out both hands with a rapturous cry of welcome, then I sank back, cold and stern again. But that cry had brought him close besine me, and my hands were so tightly held iu his strong clasp, while his great brown eyes looked into the very depths of mine, that I trembled and was still. Merciful Heaven! what was it that 1 read there? Could it be that lie loved me, and that he had wooed and won Alice for her gold? I should ha\ r e said before that my sister was an heiress. I had no power—not e\ r en that of beauty; but Hart Sidney, I would have sworn, was not a man to be bought or sold, to buy or to sell. I don’t know just Yvhat came to me in that hour, that moment, but though I realized, or thought I realized, his baseness yet I could not snatch from my lips the cup whose sweetness slaked their thirst. We spoke no word of love, but every day found him hy my side. I was no longer listless; 1 was brilliant even merry. I laughed and sang as one might laugh and sing at the feast of death. These few days were all that were given to me to satisfy the hunger of a long, dreary, empty life. Once lie was about to speak to me of Alice. But 1 stopped him. I would uot be reminded of the wrong I was doing her, for day by day and hour by hour told me that, though she would share his life and have his name, she would never share his heart, That \Yas mine! Another fort night passed, and still he lingered. But his return was fixed for the morrow. On the last evening we wandered down upon the beach, silvered by the moon light. Standing in its rays, he turned and faced me, clasping his hand over mine as it lay upon his arm. “Aline,” he said, “1 love you, child. You are but a child and 1 am a man who has outstripped you in the race of life by twenty yean. But will you give yourself to me, bear? Has it been my own blind fancy which lias given birth to the sweet hope that I alone might make your happiness?” He paused then, waiting for my an swer. Only a minute passed, but I had wakened from my dream. I had not thought his baseness ever could fiud words—had not thought my sister would kuow his perjury. Her goodness to me, her loviug kindness to the child who had been her pet and plaything always, and who thus requitted it. Only a minute; but I had torn out my heart and trampled it beneath my feet. I turned upon the man with hot, fierce passion. I forgot that I had led him on. I forgot my own business, my own love, as I hurled my scorn at his de feuoelessuess. Wliat burning, scathing words I used I know not, but when I had finished he offered me again his arm, from which I had withdrawn my clasp, and he walked back in silence to the house. Yet as he left me, still without a word, 1 felt, strange to say, only my own guilt. He had not borne himself like oue convicted of a wrong. The next week I went home. Alice was the first to meet me, and that night she crept into my room and Knelt down beside me as she had done before. “Darling,” she whispered, “next mouth 1 am to be married, and you are to be my only bridesmaid.” “I cannot 1” I answered, “Don’t ask me, Alice, it would kill me !” “ Do you really love me so well, dear? But you will uot refuse me this ? It would mar all my happiness, Aline, and 1 am so happy. When you have seen Harry—when you learn to know and love him for himself—you will better understand.” “ Harry !” i gasped. “ Who is he ?” “ Harry—Harry Stratton; the man I am to marry. Why, Aline, you told me you knew it all. Is it possible you did uot know ?” And then she told me of the engage ment which had been entered into dur ing her Christmas visit—an engagement finally ratified and approved by her guardian whilst 1 was so ill. It had been this siie had been about to tell me—this I had refused to hear. Oh, the burning shame with which 1 listened at last! And then a wild impulse seized me to tell her all the truth. She should not believe me better thau I was She should know how mean, how piti able I had been, even though 1 bought her hate and contempt, as doubtless I had bought Halt Sidney’s. I did not spare myself as I told the story. In sileuce she iieard it through, and then she sealed my lips with the kiss of love and pardon. All uight 1 battled with my misery and remorse. Alice expected her lover the next day. 1 felt 1 dared not meet him. In the afternoon she came into my room. “ Some one wishes to see you in the library, dear,” siie said. “ Will you go dowu ?” She spoke so quietly that I suspected nothing, and asking no questions, went down stairs, and crossed the hall to the room designated. I thought it empty for a moment as I closed the door be hind me. but at the sound some one stepped from the window recess—some one who advanced one step and then stood with wide open arms, waiting to close about me. No need for me to tell the story, as I hih my face upon his breast, and felt hid kisses rain upon tny hair. Alice, my noble, darling sister, had told it all. No need for me to ask for giveness. Already it was mine. Did I deserve my happiness? Per haps not, but it was mine—mine at last, as was the great noble heart of my sister’s guardian. Alice had her wish—I was her only bridesmaid ; but after the ceremony was ended which made her Harry Stratton’s beloved wife, I took her place beside the altar, no longer bridesmaid, but bride. Henceforth my sister’s guardian was miue ’ / * -K Now Styl— Fain. Actors’ Homo*. 1 As a rule, only the small fry actors are left lounging around the lamp-posts and bill boards of Union Square. The better people—perhaps no better than those who remain, but the people who earn the better salaries at any rate— have found rest and recreation in many shatly nooks around about the country side. It is only necessary to visit some of these actors’ retreats to realize how trite is the notion that actors are all Bohemians, living from hand to mouth without visible means of support. Why along the New Jeisoy coast from Sandy Hook to Ocean Grove there are two dozen actors’ homes as eleitauL aud> comfortable as anyuaan iu would wisn to-seeu W 4BtHe Highfamlsof NaVe-' Who that has attested the circus, link, looking rwrtr upom.the boundless itening to the stale gags and jokes of three dr four JFthem liave es- listening to the stale gags and jokes of the painted clown, while the hand blares and toots out “My Mary Aim,” but has heard the melodious voices of of the boys that sell fruit, candies and peanuts on the seats as he yells out, “Wave-coolers, only a nickel’ apiece— the palm-leaf fan. Buy one ?” Fans are common now, yet there are many uncommon fans. The styles have greatly clianged for the better since the days when the huge peacock-feat her fan and palm-leaf were known at every colonial settlement anti camp meeting. Dropping into one of the largest dry goods stores in Chicago, while the mer cury was steadily climbing from the middle of the box clear up higher than the price of butter, and the counter where the collection of fans were spread out was thronged by fair buyers, when a lull in business permitted the neat looking lady saleswoman to talk to a reporter, she remarked: “\ r cs, the hot weather is making sales lively. We began to feel discouraged when the weather was so col«l, and there were few sales except ‘party fans,’ or Yved- ding downs. ’ There are a feYV new styles in fans, but I think they are mostly very home ly. A new thing is a Japanese fan, only to tell you the truth, it is made in tliis country. It is a long handle, has a black silk center, with hideous hand- painted Map’ scenes, and with small bangles all around the edge. Some of the old fans used to he ones with hand- painted portrait of Garfield and mourn ing fringes. “ Here is a crape mourning fan, and here a Yvhite point lace and down fan lor Yveddings. This one is worth 115. Here is the highest priced fan iu the store. It is mottter-of-pearl sticks and point lace body, with itearl-dust on the lace. It is imported from Paris. But Yve had one fan here for a Wabash- avenue lady that was specially ordered for her from Paris, and cost f 125. It YY’as of point lace, with antique designs, and was a beauty. Noyv here are some nice little fans that will be all the rage among young girls for street and theater use. They are long handles, fully eighteen inches long, with an oY r al body of black silk, some having hand-painted flowers and ferns in the center; others little birds of genuine feather. Some miniature pea cocks, others gold-plated monograms iu the center, while black lace fringes en circle most of them. Now, you would think that these fans would be very costly, but they ain’t. It is surprising how cheap these fans are manufactured. It only takes about 50 or 75 cents to possess these fans. “There are some cheap fans here in this lot, ranging from 15 cents to 25 cents. Here is one, a nice little con ceit in straYV. It is braided finely, ami then turns and folds up. Here is a cheap fau, a regular Chinese make, with odd figures on the rice pajter, and little bells. Here is a fan of swan’s down, far some fair belle, that will cost her parent something like $20. It has diamond dust strewn over it. “ Here are the palm leafs that are almost given away. They come in ship loads, packed in crates, to New York, and are then sent over the land. An old idea at the seashore last year was to have your sweetheart’s portrait painted on silk of light tints, with odd couplets at the bottom. Oh, I could tell you of many funny points iu fans, hut 1 must attend to these ladies,” and the fair saleslady moved away, while the re porter swam out. The IiuuKiiiatlon of a Had Boy. “I don’t think you are reforming very much. It is wicked for a boy of your size to argue about such things. Ytour folks liad better send you to col lege,” said the grocery man to the hail boy. “ Wliat do I want to go to col lege for and be a heartless hazer and poor base ball player? 1 can be had enough home,” said the bo:*. “The more I read, the more I think. Some boys can take things as they read them and not think any for themselves, but I am a thinker from Thinkei ville, and my imagination plays the dickens with me. There is nothing 1 read about old times but what I compare it with the same line of buHii.ess of the present day. Now, when I think of the fishermen of Galilee drawing their seines I wonder what they would have done if there had been a law against hauling seines, as there is iu Wisconsin to-day, and I can see a constable with a warrant for the arrest of the Galilee fishermen, snatch ing the old apostles and taking them to the police station in a patrol wagon. 1 know it is wrong to think like that, but how can I help it? Say, suppose those fishermen had been out hauling their seines, and our minister should come along with his good clothes on, his jointed rod, his nickel-plated reel and his silk fishline and his patent fishhook, and put a frog on the hook and cast his line near the Galilee fishermen and go trolling for bass? Wliat do you sup pose the lone fishermen of the Bible times would have thought about the gall of the jointed rod fisherman? Do j you suppose they would have thrown stones in the water where he was troil- ! ing, or would they have told him there , was good trolling around a point about a half a mile up the shore, where they • knew he wouldn’t get a bite in a week?” Iowa and Ulmoia report poor corn prospect. In s»uie looelibes the com i u rotting in the groud,and ocnsiderable replanting is necessary. tabltshed their lares and penates. Joseph Wheelock was the pioneer here. He has a plain little cottage, but in definitely comfortable and cosy. But within a stone’s tliroYV there is the more pretentious and more modern home of the Websters—John of that ilk and Nellie McHenry his Yvite, the cleverest of soubrettes—and beside this again is the still larger place of W. R. Hayden, manager of Tom Keene. The house, Yvhich Yvill be a large one, is not yet finished, and Yvill cost altogether some $20,000. The vieYV that is to be obtained from the front stoop of these three houses is not to be surpassed in all America. Half mile inland is the beautiful house Neil Burgess is building. Four or five miles over the coast there is the Queen Anne band-box of Oliver Doud Byron. It runs from the road right down to the spacious beach, and Byron is inner tired of putting additional bits to this house, aud by the Yvay, though seldom spoken of because lie runs to a Ioyv order of art, Byron is one of the wealthy actors. He lias three or four lots ou Monmouth Beach, and half a dozen houses in Brooklyn. All tliis has been obtained at the price of great frugality; but at home Byron is “oue of the boys.” Driving down Ocean avenue a little way further on there is a tract of land fronting on the sea, belonging to little Maggie Mitchell. It is worth $75,000. Beyond the Uuited States, oue of the handsomest cottages seen on the great drive is Theodore Moss’s. But lie has routed it of late years aud lives uear Red Bank, on the Shrewsbury, Yvith his family. Frank Maeder’s aud N ate Sals- jury’s little places are ou Pleasure Ba>. Beyond the West End Hotel there is the famed Actors’ Row, beginning with John Hoey’s magnificent place. Further on there is Mary Anderson’s pretty estate, which she acquired from Matt Canning, the manager. It is about eight acres in extent and increas ing in value every year. Next door, so to speak, is John YV. Albaugh’s place. It is comfortable and pleasant, but one of the smallest of all of them. Almost opjtosite is the house and ex tensive grounds belonging to Mr. William Henderson, late the manager of the Standard Theatre, and the gen tleman Yvho thinks tliat, by process of laYV, he can prevent Lillian Russell from singing in London. Mrs. Hen derson is the wife of Mr. Henderson, but Ettie Henderson is more. She has written at least one successful play, aud some years hack Yvas a star actress of renown. She has a charm ing daughter. Further up the road there is the Chaufrau, among them all the most homelike ami beautiful. The old house stretches over a good area of giouud. From the low porch we euter the plain suite of rooms, in the princi pal of which an ample sideboard is full of hospitable reflections. No kin der host, no more beautiful hostess than rule this charming home. A side road running toward Elberon leads to Maggie Mitchell’s home. Nature, too, has beautifully endowed the place with its old aud rare trees, its beautiful shrubbery and its general .Old World air. It forms oue of the most pleas ant to visit of all these actors’ homes. Diagonally opposite here is the old Wallack estate, where the prince of all the Wallacks, James W., Had his home. Here he died. Here Mr. William Wallack passed away some two years since, and the estate went to Miss Fanny Prestyr, a distant relative of Mr. Wallack. Its last noted tenant was Mr. John Russell Young, just before be YY’as appointed Minister to China. Looking down the coast and leaving Actors’ Row behind we find no further hemes of them till we come to Ocean Grove, but then we are well rewarded. Here Lewis Morrison lias built him a house that is as pretty as anything along the whole coast. Here his wife, Rose Wood, passes an almost ideal life between her two charming daughters, from Yvhom Mabel-Rose villa derives its^uame. This is the newest of the actors’ homes along this coast, but several more are going up this coming year. It may be worth while to devote a few pages by and by to other actors’ homes in other places, for this list does uot include one-quarter of them •■Close the Clrinst.’* A telegraph operator in Chicago recently said about the strangest thing I remember was when 1 was working nights at a little station on the Chicago, Burlington and Q’tincy R tad. The wire was pretty busy, for it was a had, sleety night, and the trains all got off their time and had to get orders from the train dispatcher at almost every station. At about one o’clock m the morning the line was opened—that is, the circuit was broken—for a little while, and then I heard the word “Help’’ come over the line several times. The dispatcher be came very angry aud when the line closed an instant he would make a figure 8, which means for everyb ody to close the circuit and keep off the line. That word ‘help’ came a dozen times or so, and then ithe Jlae^wm leit open. Somehow I was ' awffliy frightened. 1 could* feel chills runmog down myback. ’aad fett as If there was something standing right behind me. We all had to switch our instru ments to another wire and finish up the work that needed to be done at once. Then we set about locating the break by means of our ground wires. While this was going on 1 became very nervous and was sure something terrble had happened; and that same feeling that something was behind me grew until I was almost afraid to look. Then the door right behind me opened, and the day operator stood a mo ment and said ‘Help’ in a strange, weird kind of voice, and went away with not another word, closing the door as he went. I was so frightened I did not follow at once, but when 1 went out Frank—Frank Jefferson was lus name—was nowhere to be seen. 1 felt strange, kind of bewil dered, as if it was half dream an I half real. When I went back in the office the dis patcher bad located the break between my offi :e aud the next one east, about six miles away. Iu those days the oi»erator.s were all supplied with climbers, aud had to go out and repair lines under such cir cumstauces, but 1 wouldn’t have gone out over the line lhat night for the whole rail road 1 was ordered to go east until 1 met the operator who would go out from the next station, but I didn’t do it. I said i would, and then I lay down ou my lounge and waited for something to turn up; and 1 knew it would lie some thing terrible. 1 thought of Frank’s strange way of coming to the door and saying “Help ’ in so agonizing a tone, and then going away aud uotcoming back, and i came to the conclusion there had been a smash up and Frank had run off to it. But if 1 had known i ought to xro I couldn’t have done it, for I was as weak as a cat. Iu about half an hour the line was closed, aud in another half hour a mas sage was received from the next station s lying the break was at a bridge between our stations, and that Frank Jefferson lay there with both legs cut off, dead, and wiih one end of the broken wire In his hand. We afterward learned lhat Frank had been over to the next town to a dance, and was coming home on a freight when he fell off unseen ou the bridge aud was run over. Then, with his In tie l&maitiing life, he cm w led to the edge of the bridge, where tne telegraph wire was strung, aud breaking the wire telegraphed tbe word ‘Help,’ tliat we beard by touching the ends together. If you can tell how it was I saw Frank in the doorway at the time lie lay there dead, or dying, you can do more than I hope ever to do. Any way, 1 shall always think be died at just the minute 1 saw him in the iltorway; aud, moreover, 1 shall always Hunk there is something true behind some of the ghost stories. KverE;reeii» on the Farm. During a recent visit to a farmer re siding iu the neighborhood of Miuueapn lis, Yve became more impressed than ever that evergreens mid more to the beautiful appearance of a farm home than deciduous trees. They are not only ornamental, but they are useful as wind-breaks. The picturesque appear ance of evergreens when tastefully set out around the buildings and in the lawns, causes an enjoyment to everyone who visits the neighborhood, and what is interesting to those who set them out on their premises is that, besides the beauty they iiiqtart, they are |ier- fectly handy. The Norway spruce, Scotch, Austrian, 'white and native pine, red and white cedar are in most grounds as hardy as the oak. We fine these and other varieties of evergreens iu the hands of all our nurserymen, so it is in the province of all to purchase them at a small expense. age, might prove that in one State old men and Yvomen could lie more easily grown than in another, and might re veal the best soil for such mature crops. Boundaries are not Yvalls. Emigration is a mighty factor in this problem. Young men and women have been go ing out of NeYV England into other States, and especially into the West. Old men and women have returned to New England to pass their last days Yvhere they were horn, by the side of other old men aud women who have passed all their lives there. Aud so we fiud that the young are comparatively few while the old are many iu the States of New England. The figures Yvhich relate to other Eastern States should he accom- pauied by tha^auie explapatiou. and hy Ahera YVfii® wllT •dfcur to^every UiouglitfulperMl. • And why should Yve expect to find aged men in Colorado or in the other States which YY r ere almost uninhabited a few years ago? There has not been time for them to grow there, and very few of them have gone there from other parts of the Country. The same state ment can be made concerning other States, hut Yvith less and less force as we approach the Atlautic coast from the YY’est. The subject grows as Yve ex amine it, many explanations—the in fluence of foreign imigratiou, the vary ing attractions of one’s native soil, mortality in the late war, a thousand and one causes for movements of the young and middle-aged—crowd the mind. Figures, it is said, do not lie, hut sometimes they deceive those who handle them Yvitli the best intentions. Long life can be more easily attained it is true, in some places than it can be in others, hut the figures quoted above throw but little, if any, light upon the subject of the inquiry. iiarriRon Lltv. Tepid milk and water cleans oil cloth without soajj, Long LIIV in IlieMtuloH. A student of the reports of the tenth census has compiled a table for the pur pose of showing iu what State or States oue has the best chance for a long life. New Hampshire seoius to him to be the favorite refuge of green old age, for he finds that oue-seventy-fourth of the in habitants are at least 80 years old. The proportion among native white males is 1 to 80, hut the environment iu Ncyv Hampshire seems to have been eY r en more favorable to preservation of life in the other sex, for the proportion among native white females is 1 to 58. Other Nerv England States do not con tain quite so many old persons, the average proportion for the six being 1 in 1.44. Coming to New York he finds that for one person who has reached tlie age of 80 there are Id who have not been so fortunate, aud in the three Middle States the average proportion is 1 iu 182. As lie goes southward he discovers a greater preponderance of young blood, for in six South Atlantic Stales Hie average proportion is 1 in 20.4. The Gulf States afford a less at tractive shelter for the aged, for the average is 1 iu 300. Iu Texas, where so many worthy persons die with their hoots on in the prime of life, only one octogenarian can he found in a group of 407 citizeus, The average rises again iii the interior States east of the Mississippi, hut iu the great lake States it falls to one in 203, a good old age being attained with the greatest difficulty iu the wealthy aud prosperous State of Illinois. In seven States west of the Mississippi River the aged rarely appear, for the average proportion is oue in 453. In Iowa a crop of 3:14 persons yields only one who has reached the age of four score. In Minnesota, Nebraska and Kansas only one of these aged citizeus can be found in a group that would yield two in Iowa, and in Colorado 1150 inhabitants must pass in review before an octogenarian comes in sight. The ole are even more rare in Nevada, but iu California and Oregon the proportion is nearly one iu 500. If the inhabitants of the whole country could he assembled in 227 groups it would he possible to place at the head of each group one patriarch of 80 or more years. So our student, assuming that long life is the inalienable right of those who reside iu New Hampshire, Vermont aud Maine, cries: “Flee to the mountains of New England for health and longevity!” But these figures, although they may have been carefully compiled, are mis leading. If the boundaries of our States were walls so high and so thick tliat no one could get over them. and if these walls had secure ly shut in the inhabitants for eighty or ninety years while they were coming into the world, growing and dying, an enumeration of each segregated State 1 group, with a statement of each person’s In the great war forts of our country Reveille roll-call is sounded at sunrise. Then all the enlisted men of the garri son form iu front of their respective company quarters or barrack-buildings and answer to their names, which are called by the First Sergeant. The First Sergeant reports the result of the roll- call to his company officer, who in turn reports it to the Offieer-of-the-Day, who standing in the centre of the parade ground, receives the reports, which he iu turn hands over to the commanding officer later on, during office hours. Directly after reveille the men have stables and then breakfast. 0 a. m. goes sick call, when the lame, the halt and the blind not already iu the hospital, and who are in need of medical attendance, report to the sur geon iu charge and have their several ills attended to. At 7 o’clock A. m. fatigue call is sounded, and the different working parties are assigned to their several duties, and at 8 o’clock is heard the lirst call for guard mouut. This Is a beautiful ceremony, aud iu reality iuauguartes the new military day, as an entire change of the guard details, is made, the new men marching on duty and relieving the old guard of its tYventy-four nours of watching. After the mount there is a drill for two hours. All the officers aud all the men who are not ou duty at this time attend the drill. The ju ivate soldiers are instruct ed iu the mauual of arms, tactical movements and the general use of the service rifle. Recall from all duty is announced on the bugle at 11 o’clock, and the men rest themselves until I o’clock, when fatigue call is again heard and work resumed. Recall is given at 4 o’clock, and supper soon af ter. Precisely at sundown is heard the first call for retreat and ten minutes later the assembly. The men again fall in ranks to answer to their names, aud an undress parade is gone through with. Sometimes this is varied be dress parade, which is oue of the fiuest ceremonies known to the military ier- vice. Tattoo is beaten at ‘J o’clock Ji., wheu all must be present ouce more to answer to jlieir names, and fifteen minutes later the sound of tlie taps is Iieard, all lights are extinguish ed aud sleep becomes the business of the hour. This ends the reutiue of duty for the enlisted men. For tlie officers, their time is as con tinuously occupied, hut iu a different way. At least one officer of each com pany must be present at every roll-call reveille, retreat and tattoo, and oue must go ou duty with tlie new guard every morning as officer of the day. All attend drill who are uot engaged iu other duty, with tlie exception of Hie Commanding Officer, Adjutant, Quart ermaster and Instructor of Musketry. For two hours they superintend with great care the instruction of the men, instilling into the soldier a proper sense of his duty . There are general aud garrison courts martial, Boards of Sur vey, and other innumerable duties which demand time and attention until the retreat gun is heard. It is a mistake to suppose that officers of the army statioued on the frontier spend the major jKjrtion of their time in gambling, drinking and card-playing. Many Eastern papers have udvauced this idea, but it is untrue tliat time hangs heavy on their hands from any Yvant of duty to perform. Those officers of the army who have lately brought discredit upon the service are uot examples by which the entire line aud stuff are to be judged; they are exceptions to the rule. No civilian in the Uuited States can feel the pointed disgrace as keenly as the officers do themselves; and that they are not partial in their judgment, but administer justice with couscien- tious fidelity, witness the result of tlie court-martial in ex-l'aymaster Wasson’s case. With one or Iyvo exceptions, every army officer iu the United States service would suffer almost any degree of puu- ishment rather than bring dishonor up on t e straps he wears. To prevent the hair falling off horses’ manes aud to restore tue growth mb the skin or the part with the following mixture, vis.: One pint of alcohol and one dram of tincture of oantharidee. Give the horse a does of salts (twelve ounces) and feed some wheat bran, which will allay the irritation of the to w) i«h the loss of hair is duo, skin,