University of South Carolina Libraries
TRI-WEEKLY EDITION WINNSBORO. S. 0.. NOYEMBER 1. 1883. ESTABLISHED 1848. Mr MBIOHUOB’S GARDEN. In the bound of mine own enclosure The flowers are fair to see; But the rose in my neighbor’s garden Is falter than all to me. So white and slender and stately, So gemmed with sparkling dew, This rose that blooms for another, Is the sweetest that ever grew. My heart to its grace and beauty Goes forth as to a shrine; And I sigh to its mystical fragrance— “If it were only mine!’’ And yet if not my neighbor, But I, in fee and thrall, Held all that marvelous glory On the other side of the wall. I might, perhaps, grow weary Of its royal pomp and grace, And love with my love some daisy 'With a shy, uplifted face. For since the gates of Eden W r ere shut on Adam and Eve, The flowers we have are never So sweet as the flowers we leave. And rich within my garden Though many a flower mlsht be, • The rose that bloomed for another Might seem the best to me. VP THE FLUE. “You must have some rare experi ences to tell us, Mrs. Boswell,” said persuasive Lieutenant Russel, while we waited for the mail stage. “You have been at this frontier post * ver since Captain Boswell was stationed here?” “Yes; we have been here eight years,” she replied, with the rare smile that glorified her face. “I have pa. ' through many trying ordeals here, i. I really think I had an adventure in the east, before I married the captain, equal to anything that I have experienced.” •“Will you relate it, and oblige us?” urged Russel. “Mrs, Boswell,” said Dan, the irre pressible youngster of our party, “Jim,” jerking his thumb toward the lieutenant, “is out west on purpose to spill ink lor the New Y'ork papers. Y'ou can become a heroine of romance if you will.” “Thank jou,” said our little^hostess. “I con’t mind accepting the honor.” Three of us were sitting in an inner apartment of the small frontier hostel ry. The bar-room was packed with miners, and we had chosen to have our supper served by ourselves, as we had appointed to go on to Custer City In con pany. Mrs. Boswell was much below the medium size, quick of speech, light of movement as a bird, and graceful as a fawn. “It was in 18—,” she began; “I had just made the acquaintance of Captain Boswell, he having some business mat ters to arrange with father, had called at our place several times. Finally, there came a rare day in autumn, and he and lather were closeted the greater part of the day, overhauling papers, memoranda, deeds and receipts. My father at that time was doing a great deal ol business as an attorney. “At teatime father said to me: ‘Bess, you won’t mind an evening alone, so long as Thomas is about, will you.’ “1 said no, for although there were many robberies being committed in the neighboring cities, private families in th. suburbs felt no fear. Our house was a mile from the city proper, and a half mile from neighbors either way. “‘We find, he continued, ‘that the captain has got to hunt up some more papeis concerning the estate before he can give Barron a satisfactory title. We shall go to Judge Whitcomb’s of fice, and our search may be so success ful that 11 o’clock will find us home again. Still we may be detained longer. Shan’t 1 call and tell your Cousin Milly to come down and spend the night with you?’ “ ‘No—yes,’ I contradictorily an swered. ‘Do as you please; lam not ti mid in the ieast, with Thomas about.’ “ ‘But Cantain Boswell is going to leave $5.00U here until he returns,’ “ ’Does any one know about the money?’ “ ‘Only ourselves.’ “‘Then 1 am not afraid. Besides, you are likely to be back befor grave yards yawn and thievesdo walk abroad. ’ “Thomas brought the horse lound, and while father spoke to him, 1 touched the captain’s sleeve: “ ‘‘Where is your money left?’ “ ‘In your father’s desk in the lib rary.’ Then he looked with a tender, inquiring glance into my face (how the little woman’s cheek flushed at the me- mory) and said: ‘Little girl, if you are in the least afraid we will not go to night, although it is absolutely neces- saiy.’ “I told him, honestly, that I was not afraid. 1 never had that strata of timid ity in my make-up peculiar to woman kind; and so they rode away. “1 sang about my work as I put things in shape around the room, and viewed the brilliant sunset, without a fear or care, “Thomas , our pew man-of-alLwork, was very busy puttering about the grounds, tying up grapevines and mul- chmg evergreens. 1 knew there was some coarse aftermath upon the hill that father was anxious to have put on the strawberry beds, and seeing Tho mas go up there with his basket I tied a tcarf over my head, took another basket, and went up to help him. “As 1 passed up the hill I saw a man in the highway speak to him. I hesi tated about going on, but the man made only a moment’s pause, and then went down the hill, and was soon concealed by p turp in the highway. ’• ‘Who was that, Thomas?’ I inquired. “ ‘Oh, miss, it was a man from the mills, saying that my brother has had a bad lall on the dam, and is bellowinr for me to come and see him. His k^s atfl broken entirely,’ *‘ *>Vbpt will you do?’ *4 tbld the inpp I copid not come tp see him to-dpy—but if I went, miss, I w ould sure to be back by 41 of the clpck, u. not earlier.’ ‘“You may go, Thomas, if your brother is hurt so bad. Papa will not be away long.’ “ ‘But. my young lady ’ “ ‘Never mind me in such a case as this.’ 1 always was very tender-heart ed. ‘You may go, and I will run right back to the house.’ “He talked a few minutes more, was profuse in his thanks for my kindness, and then started down for the city. I took up the two baskets, and went sing ing to the house. “I sat an hour by the open window, enjoying intensely this being alone, and the quiet beauty of this cool autumn evening. “Perhaps you will wonder at this,” and the dimples played about her pretty mouth, “but little birds were singing a new song in my heart, and the quiet let me hear the sweet echoes.” “But directly I chided myself for be ing rather careless, as the road was a thoroughfare, and a chance straggler might surprise me. I arose, closed my window, and, obeying some strange, impressive power, I walked through the hall into the library, took my fath er’s key from its accustomed place, un locked his desk, found the package of five thousand dollars, and, placing it in my bosom, relocked the door, and re turned to the sitting room. I did not light a lamp; I had no need of a fire, as that from the kitchen stove warmed the sitting room sufliciently in this mild weather. “The house was old fashioned, very, with a fireplace in the sitting room opening up into a chimney of capacity sufficient for a foundry stack. We had cheerful open fires later on; but the house beiug an ancestral pile, was get ting somewhat dilapidated, and the partition separating the flues in the large chimney had fallen in. Men hud been sent out to clear the rubbish and make repairs, but the work, half done, was suspended on account of the arri • val of Captain Boswell and this import ant business affair. “I would have enjoyed immensely to kindle a sparkling tire in the huge wide fireplace, but as affairs were I could not. So 1 mused in darkness for hours. I really took no heed of time, until my quick ear caught the sound of a loot- tall approachmg, close up to the door step, 1 could have taken my oath. It was so light an ecuo that I sprang to my feet, tuinkingthat my Cousin Milly, absent when my father called, and re turning later had come down to stay with me. “I spiang up with a smile to answer her knock, aibeit I was a bit jealous of her pretty face, but no knock came, and the echoes died out, and altogether 1 concluded that I had deceived myself in regard to them. Anyhow 1 would light the lamp. I did so, and was star- tied to find it past 10 o’clock. I had gotten sufficiently aroused from my re verie to want a book from the library shelves. 1 took up my lamp and went singing into the room. “1 obtained the desired volume, stepped down from the stool, and— “If ever any one felt themselves dy ing, I did at that moment. My song died on my lips, while a thousand thougiits seemed to flash into my mind in one instant. Involuntai ily I gasped, and tnen with a strong effort of the will power, for which 1 am famous, I cook up the song again and sang it to the close. “Among other tilings I remembered that the lock was off the library door for repairs. I remembered the late ness of the hour and the probability that all the people were in bed and asleep. I remembered the footsteps in the aooryard, and—there was a fresh, pungent smell of tobacco smoke in the room. A scent of smoke that was not in the room when I was there and placed the package of money in my bosom. “Do you wonder that my brain leeled and my heart stopped beating for an instant? Besides, whoever tne robber was, he would- soon begin work, not knowing how early my father and the captain might return. And I should be murdered. Somewhere within a few yards, or a few feet of me, the robber assassin was concealed—either in the recess behind the cabinet, or under the long, draped, paper-strewn table. “A faint sound outside nearly made me drop the lamp; still I had uncon sciously left my first song and was sing ing: •For his bnae a soldier won her, And a winning tongue had he.’ “I knew that temporary salvation— power and liberty to leave that room, even—depended upon my appearing un conscious of the robber’s proximity. ‘T got out of the library and found myself in the sitting-room. A hasty glance at the door showed the key ab sent from the lock. “Treachery?” “I wonder that this new revelation did not sunocate me. The man on the highw ay—the injured brother—Thomas had beuayed us. He had overheard about the money. A robber was in the bouse and another was outside. My retreat would be c ut off. How thougiits ran riot through my mind. How would they kill me? Would X suffer long? At tnat instant I was sqre that I heard a faint cieak of the library door at the far end of the long hall. “One swift, despairing glance around me, one wild idea of escape, and I ex tinguished the light upon the table, and crouching in the fireplace I rested one foot upon the andiron, swung out the iron crane, stepped the otner foot upon the strong support, and rose up into the fiue. Something touched my head. I'hank God I It was the rope will; which the dislodged bricks had been hoisted out. Grasping this carelqlly with my hands I held myself like a wedge in the opening. If I had envied large, noble- looking women before, 1 now had rea son to be thankful for my diminutive form and ninety odd pounds of avoir dupois. “1 had little time, however, to con sider anything except thp imminent danger t>? dislodging a fragment of brick of mortar, oud thus discovering my hiding-place, for the clock began with sonorous peals to strike eleven. Under cover of its echoes there were quick, soft steps in the hall, and the bolt of the oqter <ioor \yaa withdrawn. The huge hue must have acted like a telephone, for i heard every sound with fearful distinctness. First, there was a pause by the door of the sitting-room, then breathing in it, then whispering. “I heard Thomas distinctly, when he said: “ ‘She isn’t here; she’s gone to bed, but tiie money is in the library.’ “‘Be cautious,’ advised a strange voice, ‘and we may not have to hurt her.’ “They carefully retreated, and my heart struck off the seconds against my ribs in a way that was suffocating, for I knew that their search would soon lie over, and what then? “In less than five minutes they vyere whispering in the room again. “ ‘Confound her!’ aspirated Thomas, ‘she took the money with her.’ “ ‘Then we’ll have it if—’ “The pause meant all that words could convey. “The cold sweat was coming out ol every pore of my body. The dust of the creosote had penetrated my mouth and nostrils, and I had to take one hand from the rope in their absence and place a finger upon my lips to prevent sneezing. “ ‘Gome, hurry,’ was the angry watchword exchanged between them, and I heard the stairs creaking as they ascended to my chamber. Thomas was familiar with all the house. “Why did 1 not drop down aud es cape outside? •‘First, then, they had locked the outer door and withdrawn the key to prevent a surprise from without. Se cond, there might be a third confeder ate outside. But the most important reason of all was, it seemel to me, that l never could get out of the aperture that had allowed me entrance mto the chimney. I ran the risk of discovery and deatli in any case. “Oh, why did not my father and his companion return? It might be hours first. •‘They had found me absent from my chamber and the adjoining rooms. They no longer used extreme cautiou. They hurried from one apartment to the other. I could feel tlie jar of mov ing furniture, and closet doors were opened hastily. The upper part of the house was ransacked, and then they came down stairs upon the run. Time was precious to them now. With dire ful oaths they rummaged the lower floors, aud finally returned to the sit ting-room. “ ‘I saw the light here last,’ said Thomas, moving with his lamp across the room, ‘and here is the la mp on the table.’ “•She must have got out.’ “ ‘No; I watched for her, and every window is fastened ou the inside.’ Then he continued: ‘Curse her! she’s a witch!’ and baffled they stood and poured oaths after me. ‘I’d like to catch and knife her myself now.’ How lie ground it out between his teetii. “ ‘Sliall we search more?’ “‘It’s no use; we’ve turned over everything under which a mouse could hide.’ “ ‘What, then? Shall we waylay the old man and fix him?’ “ ‘They haven’t the morey; it was left here. ’ “ ‘Tub cellar,’ suggested the voice. “Once more they dashed out, only to return in hot haste now, for tiiere was the trot and rumble of a horse and car riage on the bridge between us and tne city. “‘Stay,'urged the stranger, ‘trump up some kind of a story, and we may secure the money yet. ’ “ T would.’ returned Thomas, ‘but the girl’s a witch, and I am just as sure thaWslie is somewhere near us all the time, and would hand me over to jus tice—’ “There was a scamper outside and the sound of feet running toward the river came down the wide mouth at the top of the chimney. Father and Cap tain Boswell drove into the yard and up to the door, just as the clock struck twelve. “ ‘Thomas!’ called my father, in his ringing tones, ‘come and take care of the horse.’ “Receiving no response from his usu al punctual factotum, lie sprang up the steps, and uttered an exclamation of horror at finding the door open. “ ‘Boswell,’ said he, ‘we certainly saw a light here when we came down the hill.’ “‘Quick, Jason,’ said the captain, ‘there has been foul play here.’ “‘Foul play? My God! my poor little girl.’ “ ‘Father,’ I strove to call, but the first attempts, choked in the dust and soot, ended in a hysterical hiecough. “ ‘Where is that? Wiiat is it?’ called my distracted father, and both men dashed for the library. “I now strove to descend, but the movement brought down. bushels of mortar and broken bricks from all sides, and closed up the flue. I bethought me of the rope, and by sticking my toes in here and there I went up the chim ney hand over hand. “Agile as a cat, when I reached the top of the low chimney I sprang down Upon the roof and began calling loudly for father. ‘ You should have heard them run through the house and halloo before they located my voice. At last the captain came out of doors. “ Will you get me a ladder, please,’ said I, T want to get down from here.’ “ ‘A ladder, Jason,’ shouted the cap tain, ‘the little girl is on the roof.’ “ ‘For the love of heaveu, girl, how came you there?’ said my father, as I Iqmied upon the ground and began shaking the soot from my clothes. “ ‘I went up there through the chim ney, papa. But you had better put up the horse—you will have to groom hirq yourself to-night—and then I will tell you all about it. “The captain led me iqtQ the house, for I was trembling violently. ‘.‘‘Now,’said father, being absent only a moment or two, without letting me have time to mop the smut from my face and hands; ‘now tell us what this means—my little girl climbing the ridgepole like a cat at iqLdqigkt? ’ “In a few rqoiqents matters were ex- plaiued. “ ‘Thomas, the villain!’ ejaculated my fatfier; ‘I’ll have him if I have to. hunt the two continents for him, and .he snail nave his deserts.’ “He kept his word. Thomas got a term in the state prison. “When I gave the captain bis money I should have burst out into hysterical sobbing only I remembered the soot in time to prevent shading myself in black crayon; and Ca. cain Boswell believed that stature and bulk were not always certificates of the best materials, and—” “And,” finished Dan, our jester, “it may be said, Mrs. Boswell, that you actually flue to his arms.” She smiled and Wowed as the sonor ous tones ot the driver came in among ns: “Stage ready, gentlemen.” Alive at 101. The town of Wilton, Conn., enjoys the distinction of having among its un usually large number of aged citizens, a person who lived beyoiKl five score years, and who is probably the only centenarian at thisAfene in Fairfield county, and proba* : in the State. Tliis is not new to the community in which she dwells, for everybody knows and reveres Mrs. Clarissa Davenport Raymond, who, humanly speaking, has fair chances of reaching April 25, 1884, when she will celebrate her 102d birthday and enter upon her 103d year. Mrs. Raymond resides opposite the Congregational church in Wilton of which she became a member before most of those who Surround her were born, in a mansion which has about it lines of antiquity—just such a spot as a centenarian would choose as au abiding place. “Her girl,” as Mrs. Raymond familiarly calls her, Mrs. Nathan Com stock, now drawing nigh to seventy- nine years and a well preserved matron, keeps house, aud she is assisted in that duty by a sou, Mr. John Comstock, nearly sixty years old and his wife, and when his son, Mr. Frank Com stock, aged thirty years, and his wife and children come up to the old home from Norwalk to spend the day, as they frequently do, tin. scene under the old roof is one peculiarly interesting. Mrs. Raymond takes upon her knee children of the fifth generation, and talks to them of events occurring a great while ago, when she was a child, like them—years before George Wash ington had been thought of as a candi date even for President of tlie United States. By chance she might tell them of his first inauguration as President in New York, in 179-2, when she was 10 years old, of his death and the sor row which accompanied its announce ment, in 1799, when she was 17 years old. Favored ones are they indeed who can enjoy the privilege of listening to th$ intelligent narratives of their great, great grandmother, and this veteran, amiable in the lingering twi light of the evening of a life so pro tracted, can interest those who are older by calling to their minds events, some of them historical, which she actually observed, but which they knew nothing of save in books, and she lias frequently been known to correct tlie errors made by those who have gone into print as historians wearing the garb of authenticity, Mrs. Raymond is very genial, and rarely forgets a face she has once set eyes on. She hears tol- ably well, and her sight is so acute that she can thread a coarse needle and read coarse print unassisted by glasses. She moves about the - house with a fir mer step than many who are fifty years her junior, and when conditions of weather permit calls on her friends residing near, walking to their houses. She attends church seldom now, but her interest in the church has never flagged, and no more welcome visitor is on her list than the Rev. Frank Thompson. A few days since she called on Mrs. George. A. Davenport and vividly described a thunder storm which took place seventy years ago. One secret of Mrs. Raymond’s lon gevity may be compliance for untold years with the rule, “Early to bed,” etc. In this particular her habits have been regulated, as it were, by the clock, and as a consequence each morning’s light, to her, means glad ness, and “day’s decline and darkness sombre” bring neither dread nor sad ness. When asked a day or two before how she felt, she said, “Well, as usual, though I believe I’m getting old.” Mrs. Raymond has no lack of visitors, many of whom call simply that they may look upon tlie face of a centena rian. She has a pleasant word for each, and she never forgets to express an affectionate personal regard for all her real friends. A Rival of Niagara. Two Omaha capitalists and a banker, of Butte, Montana, have embarked in no less an enterprise than the purchase of a waterfall—the Big Shoshone—in Idaho. Until six months ago the property was not “in sight” and its existence was only known through the report ot an occasional hunter, who, reaching the edge of the basin which surrounds the approach to the falls, peered at them cunonsly at a distance of three-tourths of a mile and gained only an unsatisfactory impression of a vast body of water, much spray and more roar. From the edge of this bssin there was no sure tooting to a nearer point of view. Blastme and picking have cut a path through the rocky aides to the water’s edge and the falls can now be as easily viewed as Niagara. The flnake river, which forms these falls, is at this point a deep stream, run ning for twenty-five miles through lava rocks hundreds of feet in height. At the falls, which are 1,500 feet wide and have a descent ot 210 feet, the rocks ixim up grandly to from 500 to 1,000 feet in height. Their brown walls are utterly hare and, except for a grassy plot ot a few acres, with a cool sp ing and a shady grove, which border the falls, the scene is one ot utter desolation. For miles beyond the lava beds st-e'ch away, with only the sage brush and cactus to relieve their barren waste. Three miles above are the Twin Falla, with a descent of ISO feet and cloven by a huge rock. The river is broad and deep between the Twin Falls aad the Big Shoshone and a boat ride along this stretch is exciting, but not necessarily dangerous. Perpendicular vrslla rise on either side and g “hello” or a cornet peal echoes gnd rebounds a dozen times. Several tounata who have visited the placd within a few weeks declare it a wonder and do not hesitate to draw xvnpviaons withNigaara. Mary Riuis«U Mlttord. Many years ago some Amer ! cans who were traveling in England took a post-chaise, after the old-fashioned way, and had a morning drive to pay their respects to an old-fashioned woman who was living in poverty with her one servant in a cottage not far from the town of Reading. The word “cot tage” must have a little explanation, for with us it is so often made to mean a quite capacious house, almost a man sion, or a villa on a moderate plan. This cottage was far enough from being ample; it was small and poor; to be plain, the rooms in it were not much bigger than closets, and were close and stuffy, and : in heavy rains the roof leaked. As the mistress of it once wrote about it to a friend it was a tight “squeeze,” and she added, “In deed my great objection to a small room always was its extreme unbe comingness to one of my enormity. I really seem to All it—like a blackbird in a goldfinch’s cage. Tlie parlor looks all me. Nevertheless, ‘the cabin is convenient,’ as I said before. Its negative merits are very great.” She had managed to make it—as some women can mako the poorest place—a “very nest of comfort;” and this is the cheery way she describes it in one of those sketches of hers which so many thousands of persons have .ead: A cottage—no—a miniature house, with many additions, little odds aud ends of places, pantries, and what not; all angles, and of a charming in-and- outness, a little brick court before one- half, and a little flower-park before the other; the walls old and weather- stained, covered with hollyhocks, roses, honeysuckles, and a great apricot tree; the casement full of geraniums (all, there is our superb white cat peeping out from among them); the closets (our landlord has the assurance to call them rooms) full of contrivances and corner- cupboards; and the little garden behind full of common flowers, tulips, pinks, larkspur, peonies, stocks and carna tions, with an arbor privet not unlike a sentry-box, where one lives in a deli cious green light, and looks out on the gayest of all gay flower-beds. That house was built on purpose to show in what an exceedingly small compass comfort may be packed. And that description shows the poetic side, and what a happy faculty she had, like Gudfrand’s wife, ot mak ing the best of everything. It does not look as if the place were poor, but it was; though very picturesque with that old shed and granary overrun, like all the rest, with untrimmed and un trained things—as pretty a subject as an artist could desire. The American visitors found her that morning in the bit of front yard which kept her house from shutting right on the turnpike road. She was walking along a passage between two rows of geraniums as tall as she was, snipping off the decaying leaves with a pair of scissors. She wore a cap, and a snowy white muslin handkerchief was pinned across the bosom of her ctieap black gown; and on her plump hands she had mitts such as our grand- mothers used to wear (and they have come into fashion again), where the fingers were all free while the thumb had a little compartment by itself; it seems to me that they were of thick black crape with rows of white feather stitch down the back, and they did look so quaint, like the antiquated gentle woman who wore them. She was short and stout, a “dumpling of a person,” with a face as ronnd and good-natured as Phebe Cary’s; and as she slowly walked and snipped she was chirping like a canary to a silky-haired spaniel who kept close by her gown, and an old house-cat on the window-ledge. Her voice was sweet; her manners were charming. The Last Survivors. Beavers are now so scarce that it seems hardly credible that their dams once lined all the river shores from Hudson’s bay to the Gulf of Mexico. Like the Chinese gardeners who live on artifi cial river islands, they certainly tried their best to be in nobody’s way; but at the current market value of their skins they could not be permitted to survive. And what has become of the wild pigeons that once darkened the sun with their endless swarm? There are a few “roosts” left in Arkansas, one or two in southern Missouri and West Virginia; in northern Ohio they are still hunted toward the end of the year, and fly from county to county in flocks of four dozen or so; but what is that to the legion that once traveled tlirough the beech forests of the Ohio valley? The naturalist, Audubon, once saw a swarm eight miles wide, as nearly as he could estimate.it, flying overhead at the rate of at least fifty miles an hour; and after sitting five hours with his watch in hand, hoping to see the end of the phenomenon, he got tired of wailing any lunger, for as yet the swarm had not perceptibly diminished. Of their total number hardly one in ten thousand is now left. How many pounds of powder must it have taken to exterminate the rest? Still, our last wild pigeons will out live the last buffaloes and last grizzly bears for in the warfare against a su perior foe caution is a better weapon than strength. The forests of northern Europe were once inhabited by a fight ing ox, the Ur, or Auer-Ochse, an ex tremely fierce brute, that often turned the tables against its would-be hunters. But the invention of gunpowder deci ded its. fate, and the only wild speci mens are now found in the deep forests of eastern Caucasus. The grizzly bear has beeh driven back to the Pacific slope, and seems to disappear faster than his black brother, who has more talent for tree-climbing and cave-digging. Wherever gunpow der is used in the warfare of man against the beasts and birds of tbe wil derness. the art of hiding is their best hope of escape, and of ail the forest creatures of this continent the last sur vivors will probably be the raccoon and the squirrel. He was no Sloacb. The other day Bill Higgonson, a well- known character of the White Springs neighborhood, came to the city in com pany with several young ladies, to one of whom he was engaged to be married. Bill has always thirsted for notoriety. He wants to be known by the' leading men in town, and to show peopla of his community that, although born in ob scurity and reared on the farm, he can address prominent men in a familiar way. While the young ladies were at the hotel Bill went into a wholesale store, and approaching a man who sat in the office, said: “Oap’n, you can do me a big favor, if you will. I’ve got a lot of gals in town with me, an' I wan ter show ’em 1 ain’t no slouch. I want ’em to go home an’ say that Bill—that’s me— come to town an’ was knowed by the big bags. Now, I want to make this agreement with yon. I’ll go away, an’ pntty soon wdi come around with the gals an’ come in here, slap yon on the shoulder an’ say, ‘Old chap, how do you hold out?’ Then yon slap me, an’ say, ‘Why, Bill, old boy, I’m glad to see you.’ That will be bio we 1 all over my country, an’ will be wnth money an, character to me, lemme tell yon.” The gentleman said that he did not object to helping a young fellow along, and that the aspiring William might come in and slap him, when he would go through with his part of the pro gramme. Bill, highly delighted with the ar rangement, went to the hotel and told the girls chat he wanted them to take a walk with him. As they walked along toward the store, Bill said. “Now I’m going to show you, ’Liza, that you ain’t going to marry no slouch. I’ll show yon that yonr own BUI is looked up to an’ liked by the best of ’em.” The girl laughed self-complacently, and declared that it was nice to marry a man that “wan’t a stranger an’ a slouch. ” When they reached the store, Bill eon- ducted the ladies to the office, wfiere a man sat looking over accounts, he was not the man with whom the arrange ments had been made, but Bill did net recognize the difference. Advancing, he struca the man a pretty heavy slad, and exclaimed: “Hello, oil chap, how are you hold- in’ out?” The gentleman sprang to his feet and glared at William, but William, with out embarrassment, punened him among the ribs and said: “Old chap, how are yon hoi Jin’ out?” “Look ont, here! What do yon mean?” “No foolin’, old boy. Don’t you re member the agreement?” be added in an undertone. It’s me; don’t yon remem ber the man what seed yon jes’ now?” as he fancied he saw a change of count enance, he jolted tbe gentleman amon< tbe truncate ribs and exclaimed, “How are you boldin’ out?” Tbe gentleman “hauled off” with an ink bott.e and knocked Bill down. The girls screamed and ran away, and Bdl, as soon as he was able to regain his feet, sulked away. When he reached the hotel with his face all besmeared with ink, his betrothed ran to him, punched him in the side and said: “Hello, old chap, how are you boldin’ ontr” “This settles it with us,” he said dfcdly, regarding the girl with a look that spoke of tlie melancholy yellow leaf. “Jest at the time I need your sympathizin’ the most, when old fnen’s go back on me and knock me down, you jine the enemy. Go and pay your hotel bill an’ go borne.” “Ain’t yon goin’ to pay my bill?” “Nary red.” • “Would you see me disgraced right in a place whar there’s so many folks?” “That ain’t my lookout. 1 ain't a goin’ to pay nary red cent for you.” “Then I’ll take all back an’ I am sorry that I made fun of you.” “Nuff said. Come an’ put your head on this here manly shoulder, ” Fishing In the Ueysers. “Speaking of fish,” said the smiling stranger, “if the President wants to have some genuine fan, he wants to oast a line in some o’ them geysers, Tnat’s where yon get fish. I got in there onoe about a year ago, and ketohed 1,000 smelts in an hour and a quarter! And tront! Well, I should whisper iu an undertone! I’m shout ing. gentlemen, when 1 say a man can take trout ont o’ one o’ them geysers that’ll weigh half a ton. I’ve done it.” “I thought the water iu the geysers was warm,” chipped in an unbelieving listener. “Hot, stranger, hot,” protested the unabashed Wyoming man. “And yon pretend to say those flab live in hot water?” “I never alluded to the possibility, stranger. I don’t even think of it. Taeiu fljh I ketobed was dead, every fish of ’em. was dead and cooked. There’s were you get the bulge on all other kind o’ fldun’. You get tbe fish all ready for the tabk 1” “That sounds reasonable,” observed a keen-eyed man. “I think he’a telling the truth. I say, how do you catch those flab?” “With worms, stranger,” responded the Wyoming man, eagerly, rejoiced to find a fnebd u the crowd- “You bait your hook with angle worms, and the fish takes right holu aa soon aa your sinker touches bottom.” “Then we are to understand that dead and cooked fish will bite at a hook, are *e?” asked the keen-eyed man. “In them geysers, stranger. They won’t do it auywnere else. In them geysers they are hungry for worms, and beside that they ain’t cooked until yon land 'em. Yon see, the water at the bottom o’ them geysers is cold, and it’s the hot water at the top, together with the friction, that cooks 'em. Yon don’t see it anywhere but in the geysers, but there you never miss it?” —Troy’s (N, Y.) assessed valuation has been reduced 200,000 by the recent assessment. THE VERDICT -or— THE PEOPLE BUY THE BEST! Mr. J. O. Boao—near sir: I bought tne am Davis Machine told by you over five years ago tor my wile, who has given It a long and fair trial. I am well pleased with It. It never gives any rouble, and la as good as when first bought. J. W. UOLICK. Wlnnsboro, s. C., April 1888. Mr. Boao: You wish to Know what 1 have to aay In regard to the Davis Machine bought of you three years ago. I feel i can’t say too mnch in its favor. I made about $80,00 within five months, at times running it so fast that the needle would get per fectly hot from fr.ction. I feel confident I could not have done the same work with as mnch ease and so well with any other machine. No time loat In adjusting attachments. Tbe lightest running machine I have ever treadled. Brother James and Williams’ families are as mnch pleased with their Davis Machines nought ot yon. I want no better machine. As I said before, I don’t think too much can be said for the Davis Machine. Mr. Boao : My machine gives me perfect satis faction. I find no fault with it. The attachments are so simple, i wish for no better than the Davis vertical Feed. Respectfully. „ , _ Mrs. R. Milling. Fairfield county, April, 1883. MR. Boag: 1 bought a Davis Vertical Feed e wing Machine from yon fonr years ago. I am elighted with it. It never has given me any ronule, 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. Monticelio, April 30,1883. This is to certify that I have been using a Dans Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for over tw >yesrs, purchased of Mr. J. o. boag. 1 haven’t found It possessed of any fault—all the attachments are so simple. It never refuses to work, aud is certainly the lightest running in the market. I consider it a first class machine. Very respectfully, Minnie M. Wiilinohan. Oakland. Fairfield county. S. O. Mr Boao : i am wen pleased in every particut with tbe Davis Machine oought of you. I think a first-class machine in every respect. You knew you sola several machines of the same make to difierent members of our families, all of whom, as far as I know, are well pieased wltn them. Respectfully, Mrs. M. n. Moble v. Fairfield county, April, 1883. Thislsto cemty we nave naa in constant use the Davis Machine bonght ot yon about three years ago. As we take In work, and have made rhe price of it several times over, we don’t want aay better machine. It is always ready to do any kind of work we have to do. No puckering or skipping stitches. W'e can only say we are well pleased and wish no better machine, Catherine Wvi.ik and Sister. April 85,1888. I have no fault to find with my machine, and don’t want any better. I have made the price of It severa times by taking in sewing. It Is always ready to do Its work. I think it a firsi-class ma chine. I feel I can’t say too much for the Davis Vertical Feed Machine. Mrs, Thomas Smith. Fairfield conntv, April, 1883. Mr. J. o. Boag—Dear Sir: it gives me m ich pleasure to testify to the 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 siuce that time. I cannot see that It is worn any, and has not cost me one cent for repairs since we have had it. Am well pleased and don’t wish for any better. Yours tru'y, Host. Crawford, Granite Qcarry, near Winnsboro S. C. 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 unbounded satisfaction. Very respectfully, Mrs. W. K. Tdrnrr and Daughters Fairfield county, 8. C., Jan. 8?, 1888. i Having bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from Mr. J. O. Boag some three years ago, and it navlng given me perfect satisfaction in every respect as a family machine, both for hea y and light sewing, and never needed the least re pair In any way, i can cheerfully recommend It to any one as a first-class machine- In every particu lar, and think It second to none. It is one ot the simplest machines made; my children use It wltn 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, Fairfield county, 8. C. We have had one of the Davis Machines abont fonr years and have always found it ready to do all kinds of work we nave dad occasion to do. Can’t see that the machine is worn any, and works ss well as wden new. Mrs. W. J. Crawford, Jackson’s Creek, Fairfield county, S. C. My wife is highly pleased with the Davis Ma chine bought of yon. 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 iu Very Respectfully, as. F. Free. Monticelio, Fairfield county, s. C. The Davis Sewing Machine is simply s treat- ure Mrs. J. A. Uoodwtn. Ridgeway, N. C., Jan. 10, 1883. J.O Boag, Esq., Agent—Dear Sir: My wife has been using a Davis Sewing Machine constant ly for the past fonr years, and tv has never needed any repairs and works Just as well ss when first bought She says It will do a greater range of practical work «*nd do it easier and better than any machine she nas ever used. We cheerfully recommend it as a No. 1 family machine, Your tru.y, Jas. Q. Davis. Winnsboro, S. C., Jan. 8,1883. Mr. boao : I have always found ray Davis Ma chine ready do all kinds of to work I have bad oc- caalon to do. I cannot aee that the machine la worn a particle and it worka aa wad as when new. Respectfully, Mas. K. C. GOODING. Winnsboro, S. C. f April, 1883, My wl tbe Davis Machine bonght of you about five yean ago. 1 have never regretted baying it, na tt It always ready for any kind of family tewing, either deavy or light. It la never ou of fix or needing It pairs. Fairfield, & C, March, 18N.