Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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4 * l rs j ^ *1.4 '■ ^ M i — 1 TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. 0.. OCTOBER 9. 1883. ESTABLISHED 1848 A MKMOKY. \ ’ ' 7 ■ i f f t i . V i V ^ fc Jl ' y <1 “ #■ Oue ulght be danced with me, And the roses in my hair W hispered secretly That a kiss fell ’mongst them there. Perhaps ’twas for the flowers; They touch the heart, you know; They move with mystic powers Hearts that are cold as snow. Or perhaps ’twas for the tresses; Surely they warmer grew; With nestling soft caresses They thrilled me through and through. Was’t for Love, that welcome comer, Young Love, so strangely sweet? Oh, it seemed all the wings of summer Upbore my floating feet. Ahl well—but the dance—it ended, And the blush of the roses fled; Gray locks are with the brown locks blended; And the kiss—the kiss—is it dead? BKKHZK BKt,TON’S TRIAL. !> “He isn’t coming,” said Breeze Bel ton. “How provokiugl I’ve almost a mind—not quite, but almost—to lock the house and go up the lake to where Uncle Ben is building the new house. How would he like it then, I wonder.” Breeze Belton had been born and brought up among these wild and soli tary forests. Her mother had been a beautiful Indian girl who had given her heart to a pioneer hunter, and who had died when Breeze was only four years old. Hugh Belton was a quiet, silent man, but he loved his young wife with a passionate fervor, and did not long survive her, and Breeze had been brought up by her uncle, a hardy, brown skinned old bachelor. The house on the edge of the forest was only of logs, its rude floor carpetless, and the windows guarded by shutters instead of glass, but the spirit of true love had brooded there, aud Breeze had never missed the tender care of her dead parents. Uncle Ben was but a rude nurse, but Uncle Ben loved the child, and Breeze had grown up tall and beautiful as a lily, with dark melt ing eyes, a skin just touched with creamy-brown, and movements as full of unconscious grace as those of a fawn. She studied now and then the New York fashion books which drifted across the frontier, and tried, in her wild, artistic manner, to imitate their grace ful drapingsand bold contrasts ol color —she read of far away worlds across the mountains, aud strove to imagine what cities could be like—and then she went out into the forests, to gather masses of purple wild grapes, to look at Uncle Ben’s traps and bring home wild ferns and finally come to the conclusion that Mayonac Falls was the nicest place after all. But love tinds its way even into the wildest recesses of the forest deeps, and one day Harry Blake, the young engi neer, came out to survey the route of a new railroad through the lonely woods, aud Breeze discovered, all of a sudden, that she had a heart. “Wal,” remarked Uncle Ben, as he put a square of chewing tobacco into his pocket, “1 don’t doubt as this ’ere railroad-line between Mayonac and Little Cascada will be a tine thing for the farmers, but it just spiles the ground for huntin’. 1 hain’t seen a deer, 1 dunno when. Aud as for foxes and other wild creatures, why, they’re clean gone.” “All these things must give way before the march of civilization, Mr. Belton,” said Hairy Blake. “And no body knows the grand future that is in store for Mayonac Falls ” “1 dunno nothin’about your futures,” snorted Uncle Ben. “It’s the present I’m most interested in.” “The new railroad, however, went bravely on. Gangs of workmen with shrewd brown faces and red flannel jackets arrived—huge masses of rock were blasted away, aud mountains of rich brown soil rose up to level the swampy stretches aud raise the deep hollows of lonely glens to the regula tion height of “the line.” Old hunt ers looked solemnly on, as if not quite certain that all this was not the work of the Evil One—settlements sprung up like Jonah’s gourds along the route of the improvement—and a class of people whom Mayonac had never before known now began to swarm in all di rections. The one log tavern which had been the resort of all the neighbor hood for miles around, where cheap tobacco was sold, and the traditional barrel of whiskey was propped on two logs behind the bar, found itself sup plemented by innumerable “Restau rants,” “Retreats,” “Old Houses at Home,” aud “Refreshment Gardens;” and beautiful Breeze Belton, who never before had known what fear was learned to dread the whoop of.drudken revelers, and shut herself up in the old cabin when the noisy workmen were going by, And so, when the trains began to thunder back and forth twice a day on the New Road, Uncle Ben gave his trousers a hitch. “I can’t stand this,” said he, “I’ve been used to a quiet life, and this sort o’ thing don’t, suit me at all. I’ve built a .house on that there piece of land up the Lake—an’ I hope to good ness it’ll be one spell before Modern Improvements comes there.” “But Breeze cannot come here with you, Mr. Belton,” said Harry Blake, with a mischievous sparkle in ins eyes. “What’s the reason she can’t come thar with meV” said the old hunter, gruffly. “Because I have a house down by the station,” said Harry. “Aud be cause she lias promised to come with me.” Uncle Ben’s lips twitched. “Breeze,” said he, "is that soV Why, ’tain’t no longer ago than yesterday that you was a little gal, playing with a corncob doll And now,—you’d leave your old unele, would youV” Breeze flung both her arms arount his neck, with a sudden burst of tears and smiles. ' “It isn’t that I don’t love you jast as well, Uncle Ben,” said she. But. —but,— “1 understand,” said the old man smiling sadly. “It’s what come to your mother afore you, Breeze! Wei h’its ’nman natur. And I don’t s’pos I’ve any call to complain. Blake’s clever feller enough, I’d ought to be willin’ to trust you to him I” So, upon this balmy August evening- Breeze Belton was waiting for her lov, er, and still, like the. traditional hero of song and story, “he came not!” “I declare,” said the girl, quickly, “I won’t wait any longer. Harry ought to know that the woods will be too dark to go up to the Mountain Point after 8 o’clock. If he.cared to walk with me (if, indeed! Ah, sly little Breeze!) he would have been here long ago!” And in a momentary flash of pique she tied on her scarlet ribboned hat, locked the house door, and went out into the dim, delicious fragrance of the twilight woods. Down the laurel shaded path across the wild ravine where the azaleas blos somed so luxuriantly in summer to the river shores she went, pretending to sing softly to herself, yet secretly chaf ing the while at what she fancied the unwarrantable neglect of her lover. Until, all at once, as it were, she found herself on the line of the new railroad, its steel veins glistening weirdly in the purple twilight, its brown embankments forming a curious contrast, to the fresh green of the woods aud meadows that surrounded it on either side. She glanced up at the sky, her only horologe. A single star had sparkled ts way out of the violet gloom and hung brightly above the horizon. ‘Past eight,” she said, aloud. “The train must be along soon. I should like to see it lush past!” At that instant, however, she stoop ed over the cliff and gazed more in tently at some dark object below. “I thought so,” she murmured. It is something on the track! A man’s body lying across the rails. Wild Abner, most likely. Well, ” with a slight shudder of repulsion, “let him ie there. He has courted this sort of eath many aud many a time—now let him meet it.” For Wild Abner, one of the rude hunters of the neighborhood, was a notorious drunkard, aud of all the sins in the calendar, Breeze could least tol erate that of inebriation. Nor did the' fact that in addition to his other fail ings, Wild Abner had once aspired to be her husband, detract from this esti mation of hers. She hated the man, as she would have hated a hissing cop- jerhead snake, and there was something in her untamed Indian blood which suggested to her that it would be best 14) leave the senseless wretch there to await his doom. But then there dawned in her heart sweater and more womanly light of mercy. “God forgive me!” she cried aloud, “what is this thing that I would have done?” And, hurrying down the steep pine- fringed declivity, she flewHo the rail road track, and with a cry of terror, dragged the senseless form off the rails into the deep gully beyond, where tall ferns waved their banner-like head aud sweet wild lilies bloomed. As the train rushed shrieking by, she saw the white, marble-like face—it was that of lairy Blake! “Yes,” he said, when revived by the cold water of the nearest spring he was able so sit up, with his back propped against the rock. “I had hurt my foot badly,—I’m afraid it’s a sprain, Breeze, darling.— ut I thought I should be able to nobble home in some way. But when I was on the railway track, a sudden dizziness seemed to come over me, and I can remember nothing more, until I saw your sweet face bending over me. Oh, Breeze, my guardian angel, you have saved me/” And when Breeze comprehended how near she had come to the sin of murder, the murder of her own lover, too, a dreadful pallor crept over her face, and she breathed an inward thanksgiving or the Divine Mercy which had pro tected her from so direful a crime. She saw Wild Abner the next day. Like the afflicted wretch of Holy Writ, he was at last “clothed and in his right mind.” • “I’ve turned over a new leaf,Breeze, ” he said with rugged fervor, “I’ve got engaged to little Hetty Simpson, down at the grist mill, and, Heaven helping me, I mean to be a different man. Just you see!” “I wish you all good luck, Abner,” said Breeze with simple kindness. “Every man has his chance in life given to him, aud 1 believe that this is yours!” And once more in her heart she thanked Heaven. Rich but Unreflued. Resouad I .ad a. In the large parlors of the Grand Union Hotel, Saratoga, there is ou ex hibition every evening a most remark able old lady. The old lady’s name is Crouse. She is from Syracuse, N. Y. Her husband was, in early life, a grocer in a very small way. He worked hard aud became rich. The latter part of his life he has devoted to his money, so that it now amounts to several mil lions. The husband and wife were un educated, and used to manual labor at the outset of their me, and so when their money came they enjoyed its pos session as few do who love money. For forty years they have been rich, without losing for one day the keen zest of the possession and power of much money. Let us look at her enthroned m the grand main parlor, a little to the left of the main entrance,. peering with her keen black eyes at the passers-by. She looks like a great lay figure for the ex hibition of jewelry, laces, aud silks. Her face is coarse-featured, heavy lined, and highly rouged. Her eyes are clear and bright. Her nose is large aud straight, inclining upward. Her mouth thin, and curved toward her double chin, sinking down to a figure that is perfectly shapeless, hidden in billows of fat. The face is a kindly one, wearing an almost childish look of pleasure. It is made up as if for the stage. The lips are tinted, the cheeks rouged, while the layers of fat under the jaws are powdered. Above this mask of artifi cial bloom is a heavy jet-black wig of curls, coming well down upon the fore head. The eyebrows, too, are artificial, being perfectly curved and jet black. Upon the black wig is a great wreath of artificial flowers so glaring in color as to attract as much attention as an electric light. Back of this crown of color is a purple-trimmed lace cap. In the ears of this strange old lady blaze great solitaire diamond ear-rings, price |8,- 000. Around her neck is a gold cliain twice as heavy as any dog-collar ever made. In the middle is a bar of huge diamonds. From this descend other chains over a surface of black satin and point lace to a girdle, where a watch and charms encrusted with diamonds repose. The left hand is loaded from the knuckle to the first Joint of each finger with diamond rings. Her hands are bony, and show the evidence of the hard manual labor of her early life. But the large joints hold on the rings better than a more supple hand. The right hand is adorned with only one ring, but it is a great, blazing opal en circled with diamonds. Her black satin dress, stiff enough to stand alone, is covered with black thread lace. White duchesse lace is about her heavy wrists, and fairly swaddles her short neck. This is the way she looked the even ing I first saw her. But I understand she has a dress for nearly every even ing. By her side sits her husband, her opposite in everything so far as mere appearances go. He is a tall, handsome old gentleman, with snowy-white hair and beard. There is not the simplest indication of display upon his part. But he heartily sympathizes with his wife, aud admires her as artists do the reali zation of their loftiest ideals. He is al ways ready to talk about his wife. He will say, with an amiable smile upon his peaceful face: “How do you think she is looking to-night?” “Splendid!” you say. “Well, she is splendid. She has all the money she can spend. How do you like those diamond ear-rings? I paid $4,000 apiece for them.” “Beautiful.” “Beautiful, you say. Well, yes; but they won’t compare with that bar of diamonds at mother’s throat. I paid $15,000 for those.” Mr. Crouse will gc lovingly over every item of his wife’s wardrobe and check off the price of each bit. He re gards her as the toy figure of the shop window of his life. He is constantly thinking of something that will cost much money to hang upon mother. Mrs. Crouse is equally free with her information about the cost of articles of her wardrobe. A few days ago a niece of hers was here on a visit. _The old lady introduced her niece to one of the ladies of the hotel, and said: “Look at the lace ou my niece’s dress. There are fifty yards of lace in that trimming, and it cost $71 a yard.” Five days after the disastrous earth quake at Casamicciola two youths aged 17 and 18, were taken out alive from the ruins of a demolished house. They were in a room on the ground floor, and the floor of the room above being sustained by a chest of drawers and a sewing machine—one of the lad? was a tailor—had confined them, as it were, in narrow cavities ofa few square feet. The day before their rescue a photograph of this particular heap of rums had been taken, and the men below heard the nciaes above them, aud called out in vain.. The next da> a brother of one cf them, who had es caped, began digging in the search for the body of his father. He heard a voice from bek>jr, and the engineers’ after working for six hours, brought out tjie' first ‘of the survivors. For tunately, the twtf.lads had within their seach a quantitypf fruits, tomatoes and a bottle of vinegar, arid with these they had sustained life, though exposed to the stench of ■ the same apartment rescued told that there person alive, and the work In a couple ef hours his ' covered aud restoratlv One of his feet was fast awf that had to be Cut in bis-release was effected, first rescued aided in the body in rst boy another umed. was un iiistered. er a beam, two before The youth ch and rescue of his companion in misfortune, having entirely recovered from the ef fects of his confinement, but the other had to be removed to the hospital in an (exhausted condition. The Clove. The Clove tree is one ot the Myrtle family ot plants. The tree attains a heittht of some forty teet, and in its native island lives to an age of from one hundred to two hundred years. The Clove tree is now cultivated on many of toe Islands of the Indian Ocean, but it nowhere grow ? so la r ge or lives so long as on the small group of islands where it was originally found. It has a trunk quite straight, with a light, olive-colored bark, ami at about half its blight the branches put out almost at right angles, and (tear a heavy mass ol foliage; the leaves are narrow aud resemble those of the Laurel The geueral appear- aace of the tree is quite formal, being that of almost a perfect cone, supported by a straight stem. The trees in the planta tions are set in regular rows, from ten to fifteen teet apan each way. The flowers are formed in termin' 1 ! clusters of a dozen or more. The flower buds are picked when fully formed am’ before tney open, and are spread out thinly in the shade anl dried without allowing rain to fall on them. They are dried partly by the natural heat of the air and partly by wood tlie-% When first picked they are of a reddish color, but turn brown in drying. Tae fruit is a berry, an 1 this it gathered while green and dried; .he trait is theu known as Mother Clover and is sent to some extent to this country and Europe, but it ispnncpaliy Us^din China and other eastern countries. The ripe fruit in • z* and shape resembles a small olive, and la of a ban* red color and contains one tw two seeds. It has the Clove flavor in a mild degree, as has also the bark, the wood, and the leaves, none of them however, being equal to the buds in this respect. There is no prospect that tnis ires will ever be cultivated more generally than at the present time, or, at least that Its cultivation will be extended to other parts of the world, since it de mands climatic conditions only to be found in the region of its home. a showy shell and are found in Ceylon. Another East Indian shell, known as “the I^eopard,” shifts and changes its color like a monster opal when turned before the light. He produced an East Indian scallop shell which he said was the finest specimen in this country. A double rainbow was marked ou its inner surface, aud the blending of the colors was simply wonderful. In another drawer were sea-urchins,marling-spikes, starfish, sea-ships or nautilus and many other curious shells. In a comer of the room, apparently neglected, were two baskets from the Garden of Pam- i w yrj* piluezo, Island of Maricu, arid brought ...jTjz to New York by Captain Godwin of the brig Charlotte. ^ the . a ! r ’_ In ^ *aid S the fca^ 1 “and 0, ^ U mrflow P er^ ‘•God BlMMtb* Boy.” When you see a boy coming'down the street with a ball of cord in his band aud a look on his serious face like that worn by the picture of au early Chris tian fattier standing in the arena await ing for the new Hun to be called to dinner, it is a sig r . that if you just cast your eyes upward, you can see that boy’s kite daucing nimbly in the air to the lascivious pleading of a-whole colony of telephone wires. When you see a boy going along in the merry merry sunshine with his hat in his hand, shaking his liair pine stick to get it dry, now and leaning his head on one sidA, pounding the other side with his hand and practl basket froinr Hawaii, shell-basket in this $100.” It is the finest city, and worth perate efforts to get the water out of his ears; or when you see him holding a warm stone to his ear for the same less when his mother asks him how lits - u ve ‘ m cas ®' banded it shirt came to be wrong side out. You must not run down tbe street in the direction of his borne under the impres sion that the boy is being basely murd ered. You cau’t kill a boy with a skate strap. And in hoc signoes you wd| know that boy has beeu hi sw iminiug when he should have been at school, learning that “twenty-six prepositions are followed by the accusative,” all the way from ad to ultra. * c When you see a boy about 5,45 p. M t with iuk on his nose and the grime of e reporter, saying: “That is the Chflst flielL” The reporter opened the case and saw the shell, which is small of size. The back is a pale emeral green of indescri bable tint, while on the white under- surfacoappears a perfect reproduction of the Saviour’s face, wearing the crown of thorns, the stigmata being distinctly marked by crimson lines. As the reporter liauded him back the ease in silence, the dealer said: *lt is found in the Indian Archipel ago, and is extremely rare. 1 believe “Officer, ” said a richly-dressed lady to Policeman Moran on South St., New York, “can you tell me where the man who sells shells keeps his place?” “First door around the corner, ma’am, up-stairs,” answered the officer, aud as the lady moved away be continu ed: “A man wants to be a walk ing directory to stand on this comer. That’s the fourth one this morning wanting to buy shells. It’s the latest craze.” Soon after a reporter foond the shell dealer iu his office, the walls of which are lined with shelves, supporting trays containing specimens of almost every kind of deep-water shells. He said: “Yes; I know something about shells —iu fact, I think I am the largest pro fessional dealer in this cofin try, if not in tbe world. I was born and brought up under the shadow of-Fulton Market, so to speak, and have been collecting shells since 1 was a boy.” He wheeled over a mahogany cabi net to where the importer was sitting, and said: “This is my own collection, and I do not think it can be equaled in this country. I value it professionally at $3,000; but I would not sell.it. Two of my customers—one a leading Bap tist Clergyman in Brooklyn, aud the -other a wealthy widow lady who owns a great deal of real estate in this city, including two or three hotels—have flue collections; but not so complete as mine. Just look it over aud judge for yourself.” The first and second drawers of the cabinet were devoted to coral specimens of every conceivable color and formation. The dealer explained that they came from tbe East Indies, Ceylon, Cuba, tbe Australasian Islands, tbe Mediter- anean, and the Pacific Islands. -The third drawer was filled with specimens of the conch family of beautiful form and shades, and the fourth drawer was resplendent with varieties of pearl shells. In the fifth drawer some very rare shells were seen. There were nerikramocs with hazel bodies covered with dark si ota and convoluted edges. They are the second, owned by the Brooklyn clergyman; the third, which was pur chased in Europe by Mrs. S., and the fourth, which is in the possession of Mr. Pierre Canouge, a distinguished French gentleman living iu New Or- leaus. Mtne is not for sale. ” In further conversation, he explained thdt tile fashion (if collecting rare Shells was on the increase, and was wholly confined to persons of refinement and taste. Many of them notified him to call at their houses with any new speci mens he might have. There was act ually uo fixed price on shells, for custo- mers on finding a rare specimen which they had not in their collections, would bid far more tbau its market value to possess it. Ladies far outnumbered gentlemen in securing collections. “Where and how do you get your shells?” asked the reporter. Well, really now. I’ll tell you that some other time,” was the answer. Severe un tue Baden chalk on his hands his bair disheve^ iu the and the two upper buttons of his jacket €ouutry mj J which von have seen- gone, his collar rumpled aud necktie W, V C “ i 0 " ““Y® ^ eeu > twisted away, aud a suspicious looking flush and two or three scratches adorn ing his face, you may know that he was “kept in” after school, and was taunt ed for the same by another boy when lie came out; aud if you want to know the rest of it, it will not be necessary to go into particulars, but just ask him “which whipped!” If a Joyous look of triumph dances in the exultant eyes, you will know that just around the cor ner you will find a boy with a bleeding nose and a generally demoralized facade. But if the lad you question hxiks down cast, multisss cum iachrymis begins his oration, like piuatiacus, by saying: “Well, be was a great deal bigger’n me,” you know that your boy got “licked.” When you see a boy With the pockets of his pantaloons bulging out until be looks like a great bumble bee, laden for the hive, while he walks along-trying to look as thin as a split lath, and wearing a profound expression of super natural innocence, you know, without referring to the code of signals, that boy has been lingering ^somebody’s orchard, and doesirt care to have undue publicity given to facts that only con cern him personally. When you see a boy on the distant hillside, suddenly leap up into the soft summer air, bolding one foot tenderly but firmly in the wedded fingers of both liands, while he hops around in irregu- ar but excited orbits at tbe same time voicing his grief with wailing snneks mellowed by the sunny distance, then without going to the telephone, yon may know that bare foot boy has trod on the busy bee that nestled in the per fumed clover. And wherever and whenever you see him, in mischief or out of it—that is, just coming out of it or just ready to get into some more; awfully bad, or with many tearful failures and disgrace ful stumbles trying to be good; forget ting your commandments which thund er upon him by the hundred, well nigh as readily and repeatedly as you forget tbe teu that infinite wisdom lias laid upon yon; in all his noise, his poor little snuggles, temptations, triumphs aud and failures, his piteous little troubles and his tearful, honest penitence, in all the lightness of a boy’s life, your heart must grow mellow and tender for tbe little germ of manhood, so full of won derful possibilities, so rich with seeds of strength that will ripen by and by, for good or for evil, as you walk and live before the boy; ever as you look at him, remember what you were thirty or forty years ago, and say, “God bless the boy.” Rare Sea-Shells. Although there are Romany tranquil, intellectual, and really distinguished persons here, they are but fe\y compared with the multitude. Newport is, even apart from its solidly rich folk, the centre and home of dudedom. 1 might name scores of young men who are nothing but the sons of wealthy New Yorkers, and woo do nothing exept imitate English stupidities, personal and social, try to be fast and blase, and assume to be superior on the sole, presumable ground of inferiority. It was them who made that disgraceful disturbauce at the Casino the other night, and who are continually guilty of conduct they have not the sense or grace to be ashamed of. A more brain less, idle, impertinent, characterless, would-be vicious set (1 say, “would be,” for they have not sufficient energy and force even to be profligate), it wOuld be bard to discover. Their fathers are often selfmade, and generally engaged in active business but they disdain work and talk of “fellows in trade;” ridicule in their feeble way all earnest ness and enthusiasm aud talk boast fully of experiences they should blush to avow. Not one of them ever had au idea. If he should have one it would peiish from predestined lone liness, though not before it bad prob ably caused uucerebral congestion by occupaucy of a vacuum. They are eternally talking about what is gentle manly and about being a gentleman. N incompoops that they are, they have no more conception of tlie character of a true gentleman tlxan they have of the nature of integral calculus or the neb ular hypothesis. They do not even understand that one must be a man be fore oue can be a gentleman. To be a gentleman the chief requisites are, in tiieir estimation, to have clothes made in London, to be a judge of Burgundy, to regard labor as vulgar, and to be a member of the Knickerbocker Club. Dudes are commonly thought to be between ‘20 and 30, but there are dudes of 50 aud 00 aud upward. A number of this ancient order may be opserved any day at tne Casino, on the polo grounds, ou Ocean avenue, or iu certain marine villas. They are worse, far more offensive, than their juniors, to whom oue might be lenient ou account of youth. But there seems to be no valid excuse for a man of advanced age and numberless opportunities to be an extraordinary combination of fool, cox comb and tuft-hunter. All the sum mering places in the Republic would not, iu tbe aggregate, produce so many and so aggravated cases of dudedom as tins little island wilL Iu A. ivunee. Last year the old man Hastings set tled down iu a village ou the other side of tbe Hudson to enjoy old age and lend mouey at 12 per cent, but tie has closed out business, so far as tbe lend ing goes. He lent $350 at 12 per cent, per annum for four months, and when the note fell due and the man came to pay it Hastings was alone iu the house, lie called up all his knowledge of arithmetic, got out a shingle and a lead pencil, and, afjer figuring away for half an hour without any satisfaction, be called out to a man who was pas sing in a buggy; “Hey, you! How do you figger at!2 per cent, interest?” “1 take $20 off the capital,” shouted the man as be drove on. Tne old man fig- uied away on tbe new theory, and by-, and-by he wiped the sweat off nis brow, and said: “See here, Smith this comes out mighty queer. You’ve had my money for four months at 12 per cent., and yet I seem to owe you $4. Here— take your okl note and give me $350. and we’ll call it square, and if I lend any more money around nere I’ll bar gain for a calf or a bog, for the inter est and drive the blame brute home in advance,” “Summer Squash. “Take a square look at me!” he ex claimed, as he halted in front of a policemen on Michigan Ave. The policeman looked him all over. He was a pretty good chunk of a man, carrying a florid face, a prominent nose, and an air of general innocence. “I don’t see anything wrong about you’’ said the officer. “Do my clothes fit? Do I wobble when I walk? Do I wipe my mouth ou my coat-tails? Does the sight of me remind you of cabbages and other green things?” “Well. no. You look to me like an honest, good-natured fellow.” “Then,” said the stranger, as lie brought his fist down with a thump, “there’s going to be bloodshed in the town. I came in this morning with an excursion. We had scarcely landed when a man called out: ‘Did you bring along the keow?’ ‘Did you mean that for me?’ says I. He said he didn’t and I passed on.” “He might not.” “Then, as I was going up the street, a chap in a door says he: ‘AllI smell the carrot crop!' ‘Do you mean that for me?’ says I, as 1 walks up to him. He says he didn’t, and I passed on. ” “I presume he didn’t.” “Well, 1 got up to Griswold street, and I was looking for the Post-office, and a man calls out: ‘I’ll bet be brought along raw onions and turnips for his dinner?’ ‘Do you meau that for me?’ says I as I walks up to him. He says he didn’t, and 1 passed on.” “He must have referred to some one else.” “Well, I walked through the Post- office and started for the City Hall, and I was almost there when a young fellow in the door of a barber shop call out: ‘There goes the biggest cabbage-head of the season!’ ‘Do you meau that for me?’ says I as I walks up to him. He says he didn’t, and I passed on.” “He could not have meant you.” “Well, as I was walking through the City Hall a great big overgrown chap sings out through his nose: ‘Behold the second crop of dandelions! Oh, myl’ ‘Do you mean that for me?’ says I as I walks up to him. He said lie didn’t and I passed on.” “That’s right.” Mebbe so, but you look a-herel I’m going down to tbe ferry dock. The first man or boy who calls out carrots, pumpkins, ouions, turnips, scare-crow, green-horn, pig weed or huckleberry bio som to me won’t have no chance to lie about it. I’ll turn on him and rend him and slay him and hammer him stone blindl Mebbe nobody meaus anything and mebbe it’s simply their way, but I’ve got my dander up, and if you hear a roaring sound like a cyclone you may know that I’m climbing for a man who has called out ‘summer squash’ to me.” Jerry Aberntiaw. The Abershaw public house at Ken- ninglon, London, lias recently been torn down. This famous old tavern was named in honor of the notorious highwayman, Jerry Abershaw. Ken- nmgton Common, Hounslow Heath, Bagshot Heath, and indeed all the commons and roads for several miles round London were the scenes of the predatory depredations of Abershaw; and such a degree of terror had his re peated acts of robbery and brutality inspired, that the post boys, coachmen, and all whose duty compelled thorn frequently to travel over the theatre of bis exploits, trembled at his name and dreaded bis visitation, Abershaw was finally arrested at the Three Brewers’ Inn, in Southwark, killing one officer aud wounding another before he was overpowered. He was a most unmit igated ruffian. In jail and court room his effrontery made a perfect show of him. When the judge appeared in the black cap, the emblem assumed at the time of passing sentence on convicted felons, Abershaw clapped his hat upon bis head and pulled up his breeches with a swagger; and during the whole of the ceremony he stared full in the face of the judge with a malicious sneer and affected contempt, and continued this conduot till he was taken—bound hand aud foot—from the dock, venting curses and insults on the judge and jury for liaving consigned him to “mur der,” as he termed it. Ilis bravado continued to tbe last In tbe interval between receiving sen tence of death and the execution, hav ing got some black cherries, he amused himself with paintiug on the w.ute walls of the cell in which he was coa- fined, sketches of various robberies which he had committed—one repre senting him running up to the horses’ beads of a post chaise, presenting a. pistol at the driver, 'with the words, “D— your eyes, stop,” issuing out of his mouth; another, where he was firing into the chaise; a third, where the parties had quitted tbe carriage; several, in which he was portrayed in the act of taking money from the pas sengers, and other scenes of a similar character. He was executed on Ken- nington Common', on the 3d of August, 1795, in the presence of an immense multitude of spectators, among whom he recognized many acquaintances and confederates, to whom he bowed, nod ded and laughed with the most un- feeling indifference. He had a flower in his mouth, and his waistcoat and shirt were unbuttoned leaving his bosom open in the true style of vulgar gayety; and talking to the mob and venting curses on the officers, he died, as he had lived, a ruffian and a brute. He was left tianging in chains until his skeleton was actually carried off piecemeal by his admirers for souvenirs. After the gallows were taken down a public house was built upon its site, and remained for many years a popular resort of the worst criminals of London. At a meeting of the academy of me- diciue in Ireland, Dr. O. A. Cameron read a paper showing that a potent cause of deaf-mntiam is the marriage of near blood relatives. It ie indisputable that consanguineous marriages have ever had a tendency to produce a degen eracy of the race. Insanity is not onfre- qnently the reanlt of marriage between prmaina. THE VERDICT -or— THE PEOPLE ♦ . J . BUY THE BEST! Mr. J. O. Boao—Dear Sir: I bougnt the nrst D»vl» Mactilue sold by you over live years sgu for my wife, wbo haa given It a long and fair trial. I am well pleased with it. It never RlVea any rouble, and la as good aa when flrat bought. J. W. uoucx. Wlnnaboro, S. C., April 1883. Mr. Boao: Ton wish to know what I have to aay In regard to the Pavia Machine bought of you three years ago. I feel i can’t aay too much In its favor. 1 made about $80,00 withiu live moutlia, at time* running it go fast that the needle would get per fectly hot from friction. I feel confident I could not have doue the same work with as much ease and so well with any other machine. No time lost 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 of you. I waul no better machine. As I said before, I don’t think loo much can lie said for the Davis Machine. Respectfully, Kl.I.KN STB VINSON, Falrfl»ld County, April, 1883. Mr. Boao : My machine gives me perfect satis: faction. I dnd no fault with It. The attacbmeuts ate so simple, i wish for no better than the Davis Vertical Feed. Respectfully. „ Mas. R. Milling. Fairfield county, April, 1883. MR. Boao: I bougnt a Davis Vertical Feed ewing Machine from you four years ago. 1 am elighted with it. It never has glveu me any rouble, and has never been the least out of order. It Is as good as when I first bought it. I can cheerfully recommend it. Respectfully, Mrs. M. J. Kirkland. Montlcello, April 30,1883. This Is to certify that I have been using a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for over twjyears, purchased of Mr. J. O. Boag. I haven’t found It p issessed of any fault—all the attachments are so simple. It never refuses to work, and Is certainly thsughtesi running lu the market. I consider it a first class machine. Very respectfully, Minnie M. Oakland, Fairfield county, s. c. WlLLINUHAM. Mr boao: I am wen pleased in every parttcui with the Davis Machine nought of you. I think a first-class machine In every respect. You knew you sold several machines of the same make to different members of our families, all of whom, as far as 1 know, are well pleased with them. Respectfully, Mrs. M. H. Mobi.ky. Falrlleld county, April, 1883. This Is to certify we nave nad in constant use the Davis Machine bought ot you about three years ago. As we take In work, and have made ttis price of It several limes over, we don’t want any better machine. It is always ready to do any kind of work we nave to do. No pnckerlngor skipping stitches. W’e can only say we are well pleased and wish no better machine. I'ATHIHINI W’VUI AND SlgTIR. April ah, 1883. I have no fault to find with my machine, and don’t want any lietter. I have made tbe price of It severe times by taking In sewing^ It Is always ready to do lu work. I think it a nrst-class ma chine. I feel I can t say too mnch for tbe Davu Vertical Feed Machine. Mrs. Thomas Smith. Fairfield county, April, 1883. Mr. .I. O. Boao—Dear Sir: It gives me m ich pleasure to testify to tbe merits of the Davis Ver tical Feed Sewing Machine. The machine I got of yon about five 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 bail It. Am well pleased and don’t wish for any better. Yours tru'y, Kobt. Crawkord, Uranlte Quarry, near Wlnnsboro S. O. We have used the Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for the last five years. We would not have any other make at any price. Tbe machine has given ns unbonndea satisfaction. Very respectfully, Mss. W. K. Turner and Daughters! Fairfield county, S. C., Jan. 1883. Bavmg bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from Mr. J. O. Boag some three years ago, and It having given me perfect satisfaction In ' as a tai every respect and llgf' amlly machine, both for heaiy ht'sewing, and never needed tbe least re pair iu any way, 1 can oheerfally recommend It to anyone as a first-class machine in every particu lar, and think It second to none. It Is one ot ths simplest machines made; my children use It with all ease. The attachments are more easily ad justed and It doei a greater range of work by means of iu Vertical Feed than any other ma chine I have ever seen or used. Mbs. Thomas Owinos. Wlnnsboro, Fairfield county, S. C. We have had one of the Davis Machines about lour years and have always found It ready to do all kinds of work we have had occaeton to da Can’t see that the machine Ie worn any, and works aa well ae when new. Mrs. W. J. Crawkord, Jackson’s Creek, Fairfield county, S. C. My wife la 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,' Jab. F. Free. Montlcello, Fairfield county, 8. c. The Davie Sewing Machine la simply a treas ure Mss. J. A. UOODWTN. Ridgeway, N. C., Jan. 10. 1883. « J, O Boao, Esq., Agent—Dear Sir: My wife has been using a Davis Hewlag Machine constant ly for the past four years, and It baa never needed any repairs and works Just as well as when first bought She says It will do a greater range ot practical work *nd do it easier and better than any machine abe has ever used. We cheerfully recommend It a* a No. 1 family machine. Your tru.y, Jas. Q. Davis. Wlnnsboro. S. C., Jan. 1,1883. I have always found my Davis M»- of to Mr. Boao : chine ready do all kinds of to work I have bad oc casion to do. I cannot see that the machine Is worn a particle and It works aa wed as when new. Respectfully, Mbs. it. C. Qoooino. Wlnnsboro, S. C., April, 1883, Mr. Boao : My wife has been constantly using the Davis Mac tune bought of yon about Mve years ago. I have never regretted buying U, as u ie always ready (or any kind of family sewing, either Heavy or light. It Is never oat of fix or needing Fairfield, S. a, March, 1881.