The Fairfield news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1881-1900, October 13, 1883, Image 1
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Some day, some day of days, threading the
street
With idle, heedlsss pace,
Unlocking for such grace,
1 shall behold your uu:e I
Borne day, some day of days, thus may we
meet.
Perchance the sun may shine from skies of
May,
Or winter’s icy chill
Touch whitely vale and hill,
What matter? I shall thrill
Through every vein with summer on that
day.
Once more life's perfect youth will ail come
back,
And, for a moment, there
1 shall stand fresh and fair,
And drop the garment care ;
Once more my perfect youth shall nothing
lack.
I shut my eyes, now, thinking bow t’will
be—
How face to face, each soul
Will slip its long control,
Forget the dismal dole
Of dreary Fate's dark, separating sea.
And glance to glance, and hand to band in
greeting.
The past with all its fears,
Its silence and its tears,
Its lonely, yearning years,
Bhall vanish in the moment of that meeting.
plied Kittie,
l ier
“Obi he’s DickI Well, I guess I
know pretty nearly to/wse Dick he is.
There, there, Kit, you needn’t blush
quite so deeply. Come, tell me all about
it.”
It is good to have a friend into whose
ears one may pour one’s heart anguish,
liut a person must needs look far and
wide ere a friend can be found, (itting
to become the recipient of one’s love
affair. Kittie and Claire had Iteen
chums at boarding school; they had con
fided much to one another then; and
Kitlie, timid iitiie creature, she did not
take into consideration the fact that
Claire might have changed since “com
ing out” and entering the gay circles of
society.
DICK FOSTER'S LOVE AFFAIR.
Pretty Kittie Winthrope pulled the
vines apart and gazed anxiously out of |
her chamber window. It was a lovely
picture. The window half concealed
by green ivy; the sweet, young face
peering through this nature’s framing.
And, to Dick Foster, as he laid his
hand upon the gate-latch.—the picture
was doubly charming,
Kittie had heard his merry whistle as
he swung through the meadow grass,
with long, easy stride. She knew the
whistle, and it made her heart beat a
Dick looked his very l>est when he
came to call that evening. His splen
did figure was finely arrayed in a neat
fitting suit. He bore hlmseif with good
manners, and his conversation was up
on questions interesting to the ladies.
In all Miss Claire Forney was modera
tely prepossessed with the bumpkin.
After two or three visits on his part,
Claire became interested in him, and
after a two weeks’ time hail passed she
had learned of the sterling qualities
which were manifest in his actions and
conversation—she loved him.
Claire Forney was not a scheming
person at heart, but she was in love.
The one great passion of her life, as it
now seemed, would be to draw that big
hearted, handsome farmer to her feet.
Heaven seemed to have revealed itself
to her as she pictured that bowed head,
those honest eyes and lips, all before her
liegging one, small hojie, one sweet to
ken; but what of Kittie?
Claire was a woman, and if she did
forget her sweet faced friend, she must
be excused upon the plea—that others
have lost what others have won. And
so, she liegau to try the effect of her ar-
trifle faster than was its wont. _
The good people of the old red farm.) ra y Jf charms upon innocent Dick when
house had retired with the sun, and had | nex t | te ( . aiue
these two horn's been wrapped in slum
ber. All but Kittie, however; she ex
pected Dick, hence she had not retir
ed.
“Dick,” exclaimed she in a low tone.
“Yes; it’s Dick, Kittie.”
The face at the window disappeared;
and in a few minutes a side-door open
ed, and Kittie tripped down the walk.
The pair passed through the garden,
and went into a small rose arbor.
Rather a peculiar proceeding, is it
not? Yes, doubly so, when it is well-
known that the girl’s parents look with
«wnr upon Dick’s attachment for Kit
tie.
. Love is a .strange proceeding through
out all its wondrous changes. What
if “open day light” love be allowed,
and under the eyes of the watchful? Is
there not more “honey-sweet” in a few
stolen moments with the veil of romance
cast over them? And so, Dick Foster,
the good-looking farmer’s son ( took an
occasional opportunity to 'engage Kit-
How captivating her charming grace
with what a spell of flattery did she
cast her lovely eyes upon him.
Dick trembled all over. Was it fear?
Was it guilt? He knew but little of
women, outside of Kittie and his moth
er. Kittie’s eyes bad never sent such a
thrill through him. He had never gaz
ed upon Kittie’s face so fervidly, as he
now sits and gazes upon this, the face
of an angel, but an angel of mystery;
not a calm, sweet-intiuencing face, but
an enchanting one, a fascinating one.
He must, however, be allowed the cred
it of loving, honestly ami purely as ever,
me one fair oujeci oi uia ire*»n, Kittle.
This other one troubled him sorely.
His heart was never lost for an instant
from its beloved. But be was a roan—
and being a man, was human. He felt
flattered and intoxicated with the citv
woman’s spells.
The people have retired, with the ex
ception of Kittie, who is seated at her
tie’s attentions by moonlight. Kittie c {^ aui ^ er window; and Claire, she too,
—well, she was not averse to this. She
knew that she loved the handsome,
manly fellow; and she little bethought
herself that aught of harm might arise
from the stolen love chats in the arbor.
It matters not what may have been the
subject of their conversation. How
ever, when Kittie came down to break
fast the next morning, her eyes were
brighter then usual, and the lovely
hue upon her yretty cheeks was warm
er.
“Hellol what’s all this? Look, moth
er, our Kit is just like a pictur',” said
good natured farmer Winthrope.
Kittie hid her blushes behind the cof
fee-pot, aud was thankful that her
mother did not join in.
“Kit, what train will your friend
come on?” asked farmer W inthrope as
he rose from the table, after finishing
his breakfast.
“Nine forty,” responded Kittie.
all unconsciously to Kittie, is seated up
on a low stood, gazing out upon the
beautiful expanse of landscape, bathed
in the glorious silver of moonlight. A
soft, low note is wafted across the
meadow; it startles Kittie, and she
leans out. Claire also Ileal's the whistle,
but it does not disturb her; for to her
it is only the whistle of some belated
traveler. To Kittie it has a different
meaning. A form draws near, halts at
the gate, and then a voice utters
“Dick.”
“Its Dick,” responds the lover at the
gate.
Claire Forney saw her way clear; saw
how she could win her heart’s idol, put
Kittie aside aud step into her place.
She witnessed the greeting between the
lovers, and saw them pass down the
garden walk and go into the little ar
bor.
The next evening, after the three had
gained nothing. Claire Is moved to ex
plained the matter to Kittie ere leaving
but she is proud aud cannot act the
penitent now that it’s too late.
Dick Foster calls at the Winthrope
farm house as before; but Kittie never
apiieai's the same as of old. It puzzles
Dick. What is the reason? What has
he done? Better have it out than suf
fer this suspense, he thinks; and so
about two weeks after Claire Forney’s
departure, lie calls and asks in particu
lar to see Kittie. And she was first to
greet him; but now he must ask for her.
It is very strange to him; but he’ll have
it all cleared up this night. Kittie
comes into the room, takes a seat near
the window and gazes out.
“Kittie,” commenced Dick, “for
some time back, I’ve noticed that you
received me very coldly.”
Coldly! What do you mean?”
Yes, coldly. Oh, Kittie, my pre
cious love, don’t you see that this sus
pense is killing me?”
She gazed at him fairly, for the first
time in weeks. Strange how haggard
he does look, how wan his face is. She
had no words to offer in response, aud
he continued:
“Don’t be cold toward me, my little
Kittie. Remember the words 1 whisp
ered to you in the arbor before Claire
came. Do you remember your words?”
A shudder passed over the girl’s form.
How false, how utterly false he is.
How dare he talk of their love, now tliat
he loves another? “I’ve tried to forget
all about that,” replied Kittie. with
cold tones and white, tremulous lips.
“Kittiel You don’t, you surely can
not mean that!” ejaculated he.
“Yes; for the sake of what once was.
I am trying day by day to forget you
aud your false words,” said she as she
rose from her chair and confronted the
now thoroughly astonished young man.
He gazed at her in silence. Is this
the sweet, patient Kittie? Is this
aroused woman who speaks in ringing
tones, the once dove-like Kittie, pride
of his heart? he asked himself ere speak
ing, and then he said:
“I do not understand you, Kittie.
False words! What do you mean?”
T consider them false; for—for •”
and she broke down in a torrent of
tears. The strain had been too great;
this was most unnatural to her usually
timid nature—such a stand; and now
she is once more soft-hearted Kittie
Wiutkrop.
After the tears ceased to flow, site
seemed to recover her composure, aud
turning to him she said: “Dick, Dick
—how could you? You knew I loved
you. Oh, how could you?”
“Explain, Kittie; how could I—
wluitt”
'Meet—Claire that night at the gate,
go into the arbor with her; fall in love
with her. That’s what I mean, Dick
Foster!”
'Eh!—well now, Kittie, but there—
it did look very mysterious. I’ll ex
plain;” aud then he told her how Claire
requested him to return for a package
which she wished him to express for
her. And he said that Claire asxed
him to step into the arbor while she
gave him directions concerning the
package.
“Perhaps she had some reason for do
ing that,” asked Kittie.
“What?”
“She may have wanted me to be a
witness of it; for Dick, she did try to
win you. 1 could see it.”
“Nonsense!”
Thus the clouds were driven away
from the lovers’ skies. In due course
of time they were married, which is
the only proper culmination of a love
tale—either in life or romance.
“Here is your watch,” said the iew-
er, as he tore off a small white tag
from the ring of a well-worn silver
watch aud handed the time-piece to a
reporter one day last week. “If it
breaks inside of a year you can bring it
ack aud 1 will fix it for nothing. I
don’t think it will trouble you though,
for it was very thoroughly repaired by
one of our best workmen.” “I hope
not,” replied the reporter as he paid the
. eweler $3 aud left the store with the
watch ticking loudly hox-hie - iMektsl.
b’or nearly a week the watch was a
model of regularity, recording the tune
even to the minute with the great, yel-
ow-faced clock in the City Hall tower.
One morning, however, when it was
drawn from under his pillow, the re
porter discovered to his dismay that
the hands were pointing to the hour of
o’clock. It couldn’t be afternoon so
early in the day. He rubbed his eyes -
and looked at the dial again. Surely
there must be some inatake about it.
i le examined the hands. They were
stationary. He placed it to his ear. it
was as silent as a clam. The watch
had stopped inside of the tirst week and
in spite of the three-dollur charge and
the year’s guarantee. He shook it. A
few feeble ticks responded to the jar.
The stubby second hand moved slowly
about one quar ter around its short cir
cuit aud then stopped ps before, ile
pounded it on the bed and mtule some
uncomplimentary remarks about the
watch-maker. This evoked another
semi-revolution, which was again suc
ceeded by the same silence.
After breakfast the unfortunate
owner stepped into the nearest watch
maker’s, a seveu-by-nine shop, in upper
Broadway, aud asked the proprietor
what was the matter with the watch.
The jeweler took the time-piece, pried
open the inside cover with a small can-
opeuer, aud peered into the works.
After a cursory examination he handed
it back to the owner, “it needs clean
ing,” he said.
“Cleaning?” ejaculated the reporter,
in astonishment; “why 1 paid $3 only
Jast week for having it thoroughly
cleaned.”
“1 can’t help that,” Replied the jew
eler; “you were very 'foolish to take
such a watch to a sec •nd-class work
man. The reason it don’t run is be-
“Do you want one of the horses hitch- passed a couple of pleasant hours, and
he
ed up?”
“N— no; Dick
“O, Dick’s going to meet her, is he?
Well, you’d better look out or she’ll
steal him from you; he might fall in
love with this gay, city maid,” laugh
ingly interrupted Kittie’s father as he
went out.
This caused her to blush only the
deeper. However, she perfectly under
stood the dear, good man, and—but his
last words were not very pleasant. She
knew that uer lover was as true as steel;
and she soon drove the cloud away as
she went about her light, morning
work, The pink chamber was all nice
ly arranged, and after she had surveyed
its charming aspect for the fourth or
fifth time, she stood and mused:
“Claire cannot help but like it; it is
so sweet and fresh. And she, poor girl,
has been cooped up in that horrid city
all winter.”
The time speeds rapidly, and then she
hears the sound of wheels. She rushes
to the door. Yes, ’tie Claire; she’s I and bathes her pillow with hot, bitter
herel Dick descends and helps the fair | tears.
Dick rose to leave, Claire followed him
to the gate, excusing the act to Kittie
by telling her that she wished him to
post a letter for her.
“1 have not got the package quite
ready yet, Mr. Foster,I’d like to have
it go on the morning train. Will it be
asking too much of you to return after
awhile?”
“O, certainly not, Miss Forney,” re
sponded Dick, “get it ready and I’ll
come back for it to-night.”
Kittie watched at her window as us
ual, and Claire, she also was at her’s.
Then a form appeared, coming across
the meadow. Kittie’s quick eyes re
cognized her lover—but why don’t he
whistle? The form nears the gate,
and then Claire emerges from the house
aud goes toward Dick.
Can Kittie’s eyes deceivejher? The
two pass down the walk aud disappear
into the arbor. A low moan wells
from Kittie’s lips, and in a transport of
grief she throws herself upon her bed
visitor down, and then carries her
trunk to the porch.
“Oh, you dear, sweet little darling,
you! It seems an age since I saw you!’
cried beautiful Claire, as she threw her
arms about Kittie and half crushed her
in a warm embrace.
Greetings, especially between two
young ladies, are not in my line of de
scriptive powers, hence I’ll pass over
the spirited congratulations and the
like.
“Dick, I’m ever so much obliged to
you for meeting Claire,” exclaimed Kit
tie.
“Yes, Dick, I m obliged, too,” sang
out Claire in a pretty tone.
After the young man had departed,
aud after Claire had removed the traces
of travel and changed her dress, she
turned toward Kittie as the two were
standing in the arbor and said:
"Tell me, for mercy’s sake! Who is
that country bumpkin?” This took lit
tle Kittie’s breath quite away; and for
a few moments she could not reply.
Dick, her Dick—a bumpkin! A ud to be
called that, right here upon the spot
where he had talked so sweetly.
“I’m sure. Claire, Dick Foster is not
a bumpkin,” half angrily returned Kit
tie.
“Well, who and what is he then,
Kit?”
“Why, he—he’s Dick,” softly re-
‘Dick is false to me, false! He is
only playing with my heart; aud—he
loves my brilliant friend; nay! friend
no longer, but a scheming woman,”
and her heart seems to rise and choke
her. She must not give the guilty air
a reason to see or understand that she
has been a witness of tliis night’s meet
ing. Aud so, when Kittie went down
to breakfast the next morning she said
that a wretched headache caused her
eyes to look heavy. Dick received just
the least mite of a perceptible coldness
from Kittie when he called that even-
ivg. Claire was very profuse in her
blandishments. When Dick left it was
with a mnjd sorely troubled. Kittie’s
strange quietness, her cold demeanor,
and then he remembered what a grand
beautiful woman Claire Forney was.
Thus, he was in a whirlpool of mental
anxiety.
Gradually the
part turns to a
generally leaves
coldness on Kittie’s
chill silence, aud she
the room when Dick
comes—excusing herself with that wo
man's plea—headache. Thus, Claire
aud Dick are thrown more and more
together, while Kittie seems to have
withdrawn without even an explana
tion. It is with a chill feeling of disap
pointment that Claire Forney takes her
leave. She has all but thrown herself
at Dick, and he is dumb. She has es
tranged Kittie from her lover, and has
Holiday!.
That a holiday is necessity, and not
merely a luxury, is a fact which, the
British Medical Journal says, it especi
ally behooves members of our hard
working professions to remember in the
regulation of their own lives as well as
in their dealings with their patients.
For the brain-worker periodical remis
sion of accustomed toil has always been
a necessary condition of continued
vigor. For him the heightened tension
of modern life has especially accentuat
ed the need for occasional periods de
voted to the recreation and reaccumula
tion of energy. The cogent physiolo
gical principles and practical purposes
of systematic holidays are generally ad
mitted. All workers, it they are to
last, must have holidays. For some
persons and for some occupations fre
quent short holidays ^re the best; with
other natures and in other circumstan
ces, only comparatively long periods of
release from routine are of service.
Few real workers, if any, can safely
continue to deny themselves at least a
yearly holiday. Mere rests, that is,
mere cessation from work, while it is
better than unbroken toil, does not re
create the fauly vigorous so thoroughly
as does a complete change of activity
from accustomed channels. For the
strong worker, either with brain or
muscle, diversion of activity recreates
better than rest alone. The whole body
feeds as it works, aud grows as it feeds
Rest may check expenditure of force,
but it is chietly by expending energy
that the stores of energy can be repieu-
isheu. We mostly need holidays, be
cause our ordinary daily life tends to
sink into a narrower groove of routine
exertion working aud wearing some
part of our organism disproportionately
so that its powers of work aud its facul
ty of recuiieration are alike worn down
In a well-arranged holiday we do not
cease from activity; we only change its
channels W ith such change we give
a new aud saving stimulus to assimila
tion and the transmutation of its pro
ducts into force. As a rule, the hardest
workers live longest, but only those live
long who sudicieiitly break their wont
ei toil by the recreating varieties of
well-timed and well-spent holidays.
Mexico u making a duty of the cul
ture of the rubber plant. The hardi
neaa of the plant is said to be such that
its culture is exceedingly simple and in
expensive where the climate and sot
are suitable. In much of the Mexican
coast region the only expense is the
weeding required when the plants are
iyoung. '
cause it’s dirty. The pinions are cov
ered with dust and the oil is all gum.
Leave it here and 1 will tix it for you
in good shape. Call again on Saturday
anil it will be ready. It will only cost
you $1.50, aud you will then have a
wuu-.h von ha; 1st itrinS** r - ^eL>j
Thoroughly disgusted with the watch
aud the man who iiad warranted it, the
reporter declined the offer, pocketed
his time-piece, aud left the shop. A
few doors below, outlie same thorough
fare, a brazen watch with a pair of
black hands pointing tixediy to 12:20
swings from a rusty iron bar. The re
porter passed under this sign aud en
tered another jewelry store. A fleshy
person who was seated at a work-bench
facing the wiudow reached for the
watch aud proceeded to opeu ik as one
would opeu an oyster. Fiaciug an eye
glass which resembled a very short teles
cope to his eye, he critically examiued
the movements. After taking obser
vations from every position a watch can
be held in, he veutured an opinion that
the jewel which covers the escapement
pinion was broken. “Yes,” said he,
after sundry punches in the vital re
gions of the works with a small steel
instrument, such as dentists use, “the
jewel is broken. Any man can se that
with half an eye. 1 wonder the watch
ran at all. Have you dropped it any
where? No? Well, that’s strange. 1
can’t be mistaken. The jewel is cer
tainly broken. • Leave it with me and
will put in a new one. it will cost
only $o, and call around some day next
week. What name, please?” The mime
was not given aud tne watch returned.
in the block below a tab street clock
indicates the presence of another jew
elry establishment, wmle large show
cases lilled with costly trinkets aud a
brilliant assortment of diamonds and
watches in the front windows attested
its claim as a fashionable emporium
The reporter went in there. A languid
young man, with a drooping mustache
the color of barley straw, took the
watch, and after working his way into
the movement, placed a small lorgnette
to his eye aud glanced over the assort
ment of wheels aud pinions and springs
winch were so numerously and di
versely disordered. He remarked:
“Tour watch is very badly out of re
pair. The escapement does not seem
to be doing its work. The hair-spring
is too long. It has too much play,
will cut it off and shorten it.” Here
ne reached tor a small instrument to
sever the spring, but the reporter inter
posed. “No,” he exclaimed, as ho res
cued the ume-piece; “don’t cut Lie
spring, i guess that is not wiiat ails
me thing lor 1 paid $1 for havqig it re
paired aud cleaned only last week, and
it ran very nicely until tins morning,
wueu it stopped.”
Oh yes,” interrupted the young
man, “1 see; you dropped it and me
spring was spread out by the jar. 1
will undertake to repair it thoroughly
for $f, so tliat you can rely on it. 1
will give you a guarantee, aud if it
breaks—”
“The reporter did not remain to hear
the rest of the sentence. The watch
bad all the guarantees it could stand.
He had heard by this time so many
different opinions U|iou the condition
or the waten tliat he was determined to
learn, if possible, wlial did ail it. A
few blocks down the street another
jeweler was found. After several
sliakes he applied the watch to his left
ear and listened attentively, “i think,”
said he, with a shade oi doubt in his
voice, -thatthe main-spring is broken.!’
ile then opened the inside case anil
scrutinized the works careiully “Yes,”
he continued, “the main-spring is evi
dently broken. You must liavo been
very careless with the watch, and let it
No? Weil, you have wound it up
too tight. That often is as* bad as a
fall, i will put you iu a new one for
|2. ” The offer wa. not accepted, and
the reporter walked out of the shop
with his dilapidated chronometer iu
his pocket, to the great disgust of the
jewetef. At tire next store a small,
nervous man was examining a double
row of fly-specked watches, suspended
from a small iron rack in the wiudow,
and baking in the sun which filtered
through the dusty window panes. He
took the time-piece and. reaching into
a drawer, pulled out a white tag and
proceeded to tie it to the riig, “What
name?” , he asked. “No name,” re
plied the owner; “please telj| me what
is the matter with the wat®.” With
an air of annoyance, the nawous man
exposed the works and»around
the balance-wheel, with wiiat apiniared
to the owner to be ill most wilful ma
lice. “One of the pinions is beut, the
escapement is out of balance, and it
needs cleaning; $3, call next Saturday. ”
The owner protested, aud the watch
was returned.
Having had sufficient exiiorience iu
Broadway lie now visited the Bowery.
A large gilt sign over a wide doorway
and several suspended clocks and
watches, also in gilt, betokened a “jew
elry palace,” and into it the reporter
walked. “What is the matter with
this watch?” lie asked. The proprie
tor, an elderly man, took the time
piece, shook it, listened, opened it,
gazed into it and shook his head. “Hi-
rami” he called to a curly-headed young
man, who was working at the rear end
of the store, cleaning jewelry with a
long brush and some white powder.
The young man stepped to the counter.
“Vat isli de madder mil dat vatch?”
asked the proprietor. Hiram looked at
the watch as one would regard a very
sore thumb and shook his head without
replying. “Moses!” called the old
geulleuiaii to a second young man,
younger than Hiram, who came from
behind the rear partition. “Moses,”
said lie, “you dell de shentlemau vat
isli de madder mit his vatch.” Moses
looked at the poor, miserable time-piece
with even more solemnity than Ins
brother, and, after sundry lugubrious
shakes of his head, responded: “De
cap chevvel isli owet of blace. it vash
growded back of de esgapemeut. if
you dry to make it run miiowet gittiug
it rebaired, you will rum your vatch.
I uever saw a vatch as bad as dat. it
vill ouly gost you $5.” \
“1 can’t leave it to-day,” responded
tbe reporter.
i will gif you a line job for $i, foi
ls, for $2, for a dollar and a halluf;
and I vouldu’t do it von ceut sheaper
for my grautfadder.”
But in spite of tbe libcralit) of Uie
offer tbe reporter pocketed his watch
and pursued ms search for information.
Many other stores were visited and
““*“J i-Mnnatsi >uu>v» intarvkxv-a.
'There were 17 seen in all. Three attri
buted tbe stoppage to a broken main
spring, live said it was caused by dirt,
tmee thought that broken jewels made
the trouble, two diagnosed it as a case
of bent pinions, and tbe remainder
were divided in their opinions, varying
from a disordered escapement to a
broken tooth in a cog-wheel. Finally,
tired of watches and watcimiakers, the
reporter carried it to the jeweler who
had originally repaired it. “Tiler e,”
said fie, as he laid the time-piece on the
velvet counter mat, “take tins miser
able, ailing watch. You may keep it
or give it away, just as you please, it
hasn’t a whole wheel in it. 'The main
spring is broken, the escapement is out
of sorts, it wasu’t half cleaned, and it
is eutirely ruined, it will cost me a
small fortune to have it repaired. I
don’t waul n any more. It makes me
tired to see it around. I’ll buy a new
dollar-aud-a-half watch tliat I can take
some comfort iu.”
The jeweler took tlie time-piece aud
retired into Lie workshop, iu a few
minutes lie relumed with a broad smile
on his face.
“Here it is, in perfect order. There
is nothing the matter with it. You for
got to wind it up last night.”
Lord Uigglaton In Arkansas.
Lord Higgleton, who came to Arkan
sas with a view to the purcliase of a
large tract of timlier laud, does not like
certain social conditions which he found
in the remote regions where steam whis
tle has never disturbed the quiet of the
squatter. Some time ago, while riding
alone through the woods, he lost the
pretense of a road he had been attempt
ing to follow. Night came, bringing
with ita heavy black cloud, from which
a torrent of rain began to pour. Just
as* be had despaired of finding a place
of shelter he saw a small light gleaming
among the trees. Guiding his horse iu
that direction he soon came to a fence
surrounding a small house. “Say, my
good man,” he called. “You bet I’m
a good man,” replied some one opening
the door. “I’m counted the best man
in this cummunity. No longer ago
than yisterday I flung Alio Nuckle.
Don’t know Abe, I reckin?” “No, I
am not acquainted in this couutry;”
and thihldiig to impress the man with
his rank, which in America he knew
was always toadied to, he addon: “I
am the Ixml—” “The devil you sayl
Then I reckin you air a stranger here.
Jule,” turning to his wife, “git up.
The Lord’s out here.” “You don’t
understand me,” said the Earl of Hig-
gleton, waiting for au invitation before
dismounting; “I say I am the Lord—”
“Oh. yes, I uu’erstand. Ain’t been
much acquainted with yer in tbe past,
but I reckiu I ken make up fur lost
time in the futur’.” “I am as wet as a
drowned rat, don’t you know—”
“Don’t know, poduer—’scuze the fam
iliarity—but I bev reason ter jedge
tiiat yer air. Never seed a man that
could stay out in tbe rain without git-
tin sorter damp.” “Look here, I’m
tired of this foolishness.” “I’m lookin’
thar, but I kain’t see nutliiu’.” “Well,
darn your bloody bide, haven’t you
got enough sense to ask a man in out
of the raiu?” “Reckiu I’ve got the
sense, but I ain’t got a bloody hide,
an’ it would take a good ’un to bloody
it. Ef yer don’t believe it jus’ slip-
shuck yerself.” “No use, you know,
to talk to me that way, 1 am a graduate
of a boxiug academy.” “Yes, au’ 1
split rails fur ten years. 1 carry a
maul in one sleeve aud a handspike iu
,he other, an’a wedge on top o’ my
lead.” “You,pap,”called tlie woman,
“let the man aloue. Didn’t he say he
was the Lord or suthin’ o’ the sort.”
I ain’t a goin’ to pester him, lessen
ie ags it ou, but 1 don’t care if he’s
Giueral Jackson, much less the Lord,
re kaiu’t tamper with me.” You per
sist iu misconstruing what L say,” said
DoLi..*!iggleLm. “Jule, did yer hear
hat woiur Biamea ir f uou t uenuvo
he is a sort of a Lord.” “I want to
come into your house and dry myself
jy the Are.” “Then come ou, fur yer
as welcome as the fresh air iu J uue.
Come in, sir,” he added, as the stranger
approached, “you didn’t say that you
wanted to come in.” “But you might
liave known tliat 1 did.” “Yes, but I
never try ter ’tend ter other folks’
jusiuess. It was norated aroun’ this
neighborhood onct that I could whip
<he devil, au’ when you said yer was the
Lord I didn’t know but yer wanted a
ittle fuu. Make yourself at home, sir.
Juie, git the jug.”
Melt’* \V«»r.
THE VERDICT
-or—
In apparel for gentlemen a more staid
and conservative feeling is springing
up, and, though no radical change will
be made, trousers will not be so tight,
coats not' so long or so poiLt«Kl in the
tails, and patterns for waistcoats and
trousers not so pronounced. The regu
lar English fashion of wearing coat aud
waistcoat of one kind of goods aud
trousers of another will prevail to a
large extent, li is a sensible fashion,
too, for a coat and waistcoat will out
last two or three pairs of trousers.
Frock coats, generally known us Prince
Alberts, will he extensively worn aud
divide the honors with four-button cu
taways, sack coats having gone entirely
out of lastiion, except for country, sea
side and clearly informal occasions. As
to the materials to be worn, importa
tions have not yet reached us. Judg
ing by Lie samples, however, dark small
ciiecks and over-checks, varying stiades
ot cork-screws, aud flue, dark tweeds,
with small, scarcely discernible sjHits
of while or red, wilt be mostly sought
alter. Looking' farther ahead to the
winter, friezes will be Lhe.iiiost fashion
able material lor overcoats, "which will
be cut as frock coats or double-breasted
sacks.
it is a fact worthy of notice that the
ouly article of men’s dress iu the
lasuiomug of which the wearer’s taste
plays no part is Uie hat. The styles of
hats are Uue altogether to the taste and
fancy of tbe manufacturer, so thaC
twenty-four hours before the new style
is displayed in the natter’s window no
one nut the “timsuei” knows wiiat
shape it will assume.. According to
Mr. Dunlap, therefore, it is impossible
now to give au idea oi wiiat expanse of
curling uriui or curve of tbe bed-crown
will adorn Lie heads of our gilded youth
wtieu Liey drive tneir dog-carts in the
Tarn iu a few weeks. Mnoes will fol
low the fashion of the cloth clothes am
be less pointed than heretofore. They
will be made as plain aud simple as
possible, witn patem-leather vamps and
kid or black silk uppers, laced in front.
Collars will still iientgn “all-rounders,”
aud the neckties will be quiet*silk
checks tied In a sailor’s knot, with no
pm of any sort or description.
—Every portion of tbe oieander bush
—leaf, flower, bark aud root—is deadly
oisou.
THE PEOTLEL
BUY THE BEST!
Mr. J. O. Boas—Dear Sir: I boagnt trie Orst
Davis Macbiue sold by you over live years ago for
my wife, wbo ban given it a long and fair (rial. I
am well pleased witb It. It never Rives any
rouble, aud is as good as when Brat bought.
J. W. HOI.ICC.
Winnsboro, S. C., April 1883.
Mr. Boaq: Ton wish to know what T have to say
In regard to tbe Davis Machine bought of you three
years ago. 1 feel 1 can’t say too mneh In its lavor.
I made about $80,oo within live months, at tlmea
running It so fast that the needle would get per
fectly hot from friction. I feel conddenl I could
not nave done the same wore with as much ease
and so well with any other machine. No time lost
In adjusting attachments. The lightest running
machine 1 have ever treailled. Brother James and
Williams’ families are as much pleased with their
Davis Machines iKiught or . au. I want no lletter
machine. As I said beure, I don’t think too
much can tie said for the Davis Machine.
Respectfully,
ELLBN 1STKVBN80N,
Falrdeld County, April, 1883.
Mr. Boag : My machine gives me perfect Batts' 1
faction. 1 dnd no fault with It. The attachments
ai e so simple, i wish for no better than the Davis
Vertical Feed.
Respectfully.
Mrs. R. Milling.
Fairfleld county, April, 1883.
Mr. Boag: I tiougnt a navis Vertical Feed
ewiug Machine from you four years ago. 1 am
elighted with it. It uever has given me any
roulile, and has uever been the least out of order.
It Is as good as when I hrst bought it. 1 can
cheerfully recommend It.
Respectfully,
. Mrs. M. J. Kirkland.
Montlcello, April 30, 1883.
This Is to certify that t have been using a Davis
Vertlc.il Feed Sewing Machine for over tw iy«Ars,
purchased of Mr. J. O. Boag. 1 haven’t found it
p issessed of any fault—all the attachments are so
simple. It neverrefuses to work, and is certainly
ths lightest running in the market. I consider it
a hrst class machine.
Very respectfully.
Minnir m. Willingham.
Oakland. Fairfleld county, S. (!,
Mr boag: i am wen pieaseu mevery particui
wlih the Davis Machine bought of you. 1 think
a Ursi -class machine in every respect. You knew
you sold several machines of the same make to
dilferent members of our famines, all of whom,
as far as 1 know, are well pleased wltn them.
Respectfully,
Fairfleld connty, April, 1883.
A Minneapolis Land Aganl.
While riding out across tbe unfenceil
prairies three miles beyond the city I
came across two men. One had bis
locket full of signs and the other carried
in axa and a bundle of stakes. After
pacing around for a time iu tbe tall
grass, tbe man with the hatchet drove
a stake aud the other man pulled forth
and tacked to it: “This house and lot
for sale or rent ou easy terms. ” Accost
ing him, I exclaimed: “Man alive,
what do you mean by putting up such a
sign on au unknown prairie?” There
isn’t a house or a street within a mile
of here.” Looking up pityingly, aud
drawing a roll of paper from his pocket,
the agent replied: “Here is the plan
for a seven room house. This afternoon
twenty-four men will begin its construc
tion. Here is a contract for its lease al
ready signed at $25 i>er month, and a
week from next Saturday the tenant
will move in. My name is Herrick. I’ll
sell you a lot fronting this double-track
street-car line ou this brood avenue for
${000. Cheap as dirt. Next week you
can refuse |1>U00 for your property.”
Catching my breath, I protested:
“Broad avenue! Double-track street
car line! Great King, this is an open
prairie. It lias uever even been plow
ed.”
But from the other pocket jumped
another roll of papers. “Here is tlie
plan of the street I had recorded this
morning, and here is a petition for a
street-car line. In sixty days you will
have both. Here 1 have a deed all till
ed out, except signing, and I can make
this lot right over to you now. We’ll
get witnesses down town.”
“Your lot,” I timidly ventured, is
small; only sixteen feet.”
“Small 1” yelled Herrick, in a tragic
and injured voice. “Do you call sixteen
feet front small?’ Why, you can build
a three-story house on tliat lot, and that
is large enough for anybody.”
At this 1 cut the horse and galloped
away through Uie grans, lest I should
fall a victim tollerrick’s blandishments
aud schemes,
Us* of Sana fur L lo*ri.
A writer remarks that the application
of a specially prepared sand to granulat
ing sores has been tried for some time
with snoosss, aud that it possesse* the
advantage, since it absorbs the discharge,
of seldom requiring removal, so that
healing can proceed without interrupt
ion. The sand is prepared as follows:
It is tirst heated to a temperature
capable of destroying all organic parti
cles; it is then Soaked in a solution of
one part oi bichloride of mercury in one
thousand parts of water; after this, the
mixture is placed in bottles, and can be
nsed as required. This mode of treating
ulcers is, however, not new, the sandy
earth of the termite ants having, it is
well known, long been nsed for this pur
pose by the natives on the west coast of
Africa. Bat whether this termite earth
possesses any antiseptic properties de
rived from tne white ants is an interest
ing question not yet decided.
This Is to certify we hive nat in constant use
the Davis Machine bought ot jrou about three years
ago. As are take Id work, and have made the
price ot it several times over, we don’t want aay
better machine. It la always ready to do any kind
of work we nave to do. No puckering or skipping
stitches. We can only say we are well pleased
and wish no better machine,
t'ATHKKINK WYLII AND BIRTRR.
April as, 1888,
I have no fault to Bud with my machine, and
don't want any better. 1 have made tne price ot
it severa times by taking In sewing. It la always
ready to do Its work. I think It a Hrst-class ms
chine. I feel I can't say loo much for the Davis
Vertical Feed Machine.
Mrs, Thomas hmith.
Fairfleld county, April, 1883.
Mr. J. O. Boag—Dear Sir: It gives me much
pleasure to testity to tbe merits of the Davis Ver
tical Feed Sewing Machine. Tne machine I got of
yon about Uve years ago. baa been almost In con-
siaut use ever since that time. I cannot see that
It Is woru any, aud has not cost me one cent for
repairs since we have bad It. Am well pleased
aud don’t wish for soy better.
Yours truly,
Robt. CRAWFORD,
Granite Quarry, near Winnsboro s. C.
We have used the Davis Vertical Feed Sewing
Machine for the last live years. We would not
have any other make at any price. The machine
has given ua unbounded satisfaction.
Very respectfully,
Mrs. W. K. Turner and Daughtirsi
Fairfleld county, s. C.. Jan. 27, 1883.
Having bought a Davla Vertical Feed Sewing
Machine from Mr. J. O. Boag some three years
ago, and It having given me perfect satisfaction in
every resitect asa fai
111
amily machine, both for hea y
and light'sewing, and never needed the least re
pair in any way, i can oneerfolly recommend It to
auy one as a nrst-claaa machine in every particu
lar, and think It second to none. It la one ot the
simplest machines made; my children use It with
all ease. The attachments are more easily ad
justed and It does a greater range of work by
means of its Vertical Feed than any other ma
chine I have ever seen or used.
Mrs. Thomas owing*.
Winnsboro, Fairfleld county, & C.
We have had one of the Davis Machines about
four yean and have always found It ready to do all
kinds of work we nave had occasion to do. Can’t
see mat tbe machine Is worn any, and works as
well as when new.
Mrs. W. J. Crawford,
Jackson’s Creek. Fairfleld coumv, a C.
My wife Is highly pleased with the Davis Ma
chine bought of yon. »ne would not take double
what she gave for It. The machine has oot
been out of order since she had it, and she can do
any kind of work on it. ' .
Very Respectfully,
Jab. F. Frrr.
Montlcello, Fairfleld county, S. C.
The Davis Sewing Machine Is simply e treas
ure Mrs. J. a. uoodwyn.
Ridgeway, N. C., Jan. 10, lass.
J, O Boag, Esq., Agent—Dear Sir: My wife
has oeen using a navis sewing Machine constant
ly for the past four years, and It has never needed
any repairs an i works Just as well as when first
bought She says It will do a greater range of
practical work oud do it easier and better than
any machine she has ever used. We cheerfully
recommend It as a No, l family mac tune,
You tru.y,
Jab. Q. Davis.
Winnsboro, S. C., Jan. 3,1883.
Mb. Boag : I have always found my Davis Ma
chine ready do all kinds of to work 1 have had oc
casion to do. 1 cannot Bee that the machine la
worn a particle and it works as wedaa when new.
Respectfully,
Mas. K. C. Gooding.
Winnsboro, 8. C., April, 1883..
Mb. Boag : My wife has been constantly using
the Davis Machine bought of yon about Bve years
ago. I have never regretted buying it, aa a to
always ready for any kind of family sewing, either
neavy or light. " '