The Fairfield news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1881-1900, November 01, 1883, Image 1
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.