Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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*9 V TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. C.. NOVEMBER 6. 1883. ESTABLISHED 1848. mi Jk-»- THE VERDICT —or— THE PEOPLE. BUY THE BEST! Mr. J. O. Boio-iJear Sir: I bougnt tne brat Davis Machine aold by you over flve years ago lor my wife, who has given It a long and fair trial. I am well pleased with It. It never Rives any rouble, and Is as good as when Ural t»ought. J. W. MOUCX. Winns boro, S. C., April 1893. Mr. Boas: Y ou wish to Know what 1 have to say In regard to the Dav.s Machine bought of you three { ears ago. I feel i can’t say too much In its favor. made about 890,no within flve months, at times running it so fast that the needle would get per fectly hot from friction. I feel confident I could not have done the tame work with as much ease and so well with any other machine. No time lost in adjusting attachments. The lightest running machine 1 nave ever treadled. Brother James and Williams’ families are as much pleased with their Davis Machines bought ot you. I want no better machine. As I said before, I don’t think too much can be said lot the Davis Machine. Kespect fully, Kllrn Fairfield County, April, 1993. bTEVRNSON, Mr. Boaq : My machine gives me perfect satis faction. I and no fault with It. The attachments a e so simple. 1 wish for no better than the Davis Vertical Feed. Respeidfully. Mrs. R. Millino. Fairfield county, April, 1993. Mr. Boao: 1 oongnt a navis vertical Feed ewmg Machine from you four years ago. I am slighted with it. It never nss given me any rouble, and has never been tne least out of order. It is as good as when I urst bought it. I can cheerfully recommend It. Respectfully, Mrs. M. J. Kirkland. Montlcelto, April 30. 1883. This U to certify that I have been using a Davis Vertic.il Feed Sewing Machine for over tw >yeirs, purchased of Mr. J. u. Boag. 1 haven’t found 11 p issessed of any fault—all the attachiueuts are so simple. It neverrefuses to work, and is certaiuly th.* lightest running in the market. I consider it a Qrat class machine. Very respectfully, MIMNIR M. WlLUNQHAU. Oakland, Fairfield county, S. c. Mr Boao : i am wen pieasea in every particui with the Davis Machine nought of you. I tnink a firsi-ciaa-i macnine In every respect. You know you sold several machines of tne same make to Uiderent members of our families, all of whom, as far as I know, are well pleased with them. Respectfully, - Fairfield county, April, 1983. . Mobley. This is to certify we nave nai in constant use the Davis Machine bought ot you about three years ago. As we take in work, and have made tne puce of it several times over, we don’t want aiv better machine. It w always ready to do any kind oi work we nave to do. No puckering or skipping stitches. We can only say we are well pieaae.i an,!, wish no better machine, L'ATHKRINK WYLIK AND SISTEK. April 35, 1993. I have no tauit to and with my maen ne, and don’t want any better. I have made the price of li severa times by taking la sewing. It Is al ways ready to do Us work. I think it a first-class ma chine. I feel I can t say too much for the Davis Vertical Feed Machine. Mrs. Thomas Smith. Fairfield county, April, 1893. Mr. J. O. BOao—Dear Sir: it gives me in ich pleasure to testily to tne merits of the Davis Ver tical Feed Sewing Machine. The machine I got of you about five years ago. has been almost In con stant use ever since that nine. 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, Kobt. cbiwfokd, Granite Quarry, near Wlnnsboro S. C. We have used the Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for the last five years. We would Dot have any other make at any price. The inacume has given us unboundea satisfaction. Very respectfully, Mrs. W. K. Turner and Daughters, Fairfield county, S. C., Jan. 3T, 1898. Raving bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from Mr. J. O. Boag some three years ago, and It having given me perfect satisfaction In every respect aa a family machine, both for hea y and light sewing, and never nAded the least re pair In any way, 1 can cheerfully recommeud it to any one as a first-class machine la every particu lar, and think It second to none. It la one ot the simplest machines made; my children use It with ah 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*. Wlnnsboro, Fairfield county, 8. C. We bave had one of the Davis Machines about four years and have always found It ready to do all kinds of work we have had occasion to uo. Can’t see that the machine is worn any, and works as well as when new. Mrs. W. J. Crawford, Jackson’* Creek. Fairfield countv, 8. C. My wife is highly pleased with the Davis Ma chine bought of you. 8he would not take double wnat sne gave for It. The machine has not been ont of order since she had It, and the can do uny kind ot work on It. Very Respectfully, Jas. F. Free. Montlcello, Fairfield county, S. C. The Davis Sewing Machine Is slmpiv a Creat ure Mrs. J. A. Uoodwyn. Ridgeway, N. C„ Jan. 10. 1983. J.o Boag, Esq., Agent—Dear Sir: My wife has een using a Davis Sewlag Machine constant ly for the past four years, and It has never needed any repairs an i works Just as well as when first ■b mght. She says It will do a gre.»ie, range of practical work «nd do it easier au.t Defer thao any inacninu she uas ever used. We cheerfully recommend It as a No. 1 family mac lime, Your tru.y, Jab. Q. Davis. Wlnnsboro, 9. C„ Jon. 3, 1883. Mr. Boag : I have always found my Davis Ma- "Chiue ready do all kinds of to work I have had oc- -casiuu to do. I caanot see that the machine la Worn a particle and it works as weil as when new. Respectfully, Mm. K. C. Gooding. Wlnnsboro, 8. C., April, 1983, THE BEST THAT FOLLOWS FAIN. The night has come, and the starlight Falls on the restless sea Like a gleam of hope through the darkness OT a weary doubt to me. I see the foam of the billow Flash like the shining rain, Then fall into silence and shadow, Like the rest that follows pain. O wonderful, beautiful billow, With your changing shadow and shine, Clasping the stars in your bosom, I thing your life Is like mine. Like mine, reaching out through darkness From the restless, moaning sea, Pleading with ceaseless endeavor For a life that can never be. Yo’i clasp your mantle, O billow, With gems from the brow of night; I grasp, through shadowy future; Sweet lays of Heavenly light. Oh, life of a ceaseless endeavor; Oh, wave of a troubled sea; Star of the weary-night watch, Beacon of faith to me. O Heaven, with dowers of proml e; O earth, with travail and care; Soul of God’s mighty conception; Peace on the brow of despair. I stand by the surging ocean— The starlight fills on the foam, And a feeling of rest comes o’er me, Like a wanderer nearing his home. Ma. Boag : My wife has been constantly using the Davis Machme bought of yog about five years ago. I have never regretted buying it, as u is aiwaja ready for any kind of famUy sewing, either Heavy or light. It Is never out of fix or ueeumg iepaua. Very respectfully, A. W. LADD. ’ Fairfield, & C., March, 1888. FATHER AND HON. The cell was low, and damp, and forbidding. Only a dim, deadened light stole in through the. grating of the door, just sufficient to reveal the scantiness of the rugged furniture, and throw a forbid ding shadow over the features of the doomed occupant. I He sat on a low bench, resting his temples on his palms, his head drooping between his knees. His hair was much matted and tumbled, and bore striking evidence of a night of unrest. Now and then his thick lips moved, as it they were trying to syllable words long forgotten. His dull eye rolled restlessly over the little circuit of floor within its range, bleared, red, and bloodshot. To fairly describe him, would be but to describe a monster. His countenance wore no expression so deeply stamped on its every linea ment,, as that of brutality. As a darkening shadow occasionally threw itself down upon the floor, diminishing what little light was yet left him, he half lifted his head, turn ing his face toward the door. Presently the jailer himself passed. The criminal raised his form to its fullest extent on the seat. “Has he come yet?” he asked, spas modically, while his eyes glowed with an unearthly lustre. The jailer simply shook his head. The mau relapsed again into his previous state of gloom and sullenuess. “Oh, GodI This strange feeling! Oh, my boy, my boy!” These bitter ejaculations had been out of his mouth but a few minutes when a key raitled in the lock. He looked up suddenly, and the door opened. “Ha! ha!” he exclaimed, throwing up his manacled hands, the chains clinking loudly iu his ears. “You are here! My boy. oh, my boy!” “My lather! Do you love me yet?” They embraced. Tne son's head lay on the neck of the guilty father, as quietly as if it were reposing on the white bosom of innocence. Two others stood near, to witness this last agonizing interview. They uttered not a word through it all. Their lips were dumb. For several minutes not a word was spoken. The heavy breathing—half sobbjng— of the father could be heard distinctly, as his capacious ohest pressed convul sively against that of his stripling son. The deep and long sighs of the latter almost drew tears of compassion from the eyes that witnessed his extreme agony. “Fat “Father,” at last he said, in a very faint and child-like voice, his arms slill wound tightly about the neck of his parent, “dear father!” He hesitated. And Anally burst into tears. The condemued parent clung to him yet more closely. “Only say that I am innocent!” broke forth the boy. “You are to die. Do uot die without taking this great load ogjny shaulders!” Then the monster took his offspring by the shoulder, and pushed him slowly and deliberately back from him, as if he were a mere plaything, gazing sto lidly into his l&ce. The tears were rolling down his cheeks, and his whole expression was that of infantile supplication. “No—no, my boy,” he said, in a whisper, thpt sounded like the hiss of a reptile in that gloomy cell, “you are innocent! Tell the world that you are! They will believe you! Tell them you are uot guilty!” “Shall I—may I tell them, father, that you say I am innocent? May 1 say this to them, and then keep my name clear from stain and taint as long as I live?” ‘ God forbid that you should do a murder!” exclaimed the father, the viclim of contending emotions. “If you have done tins, at least I suffer! Why do you complain then? “No, my boy”—and ho patted his child’s deli cate neck with his great, brawny hand —‘ no, my boy, they will never believe that you did this! How can they? Who tells them that you did?” “But all will not.believe just as I tell them. Some will think that 1 go through life with a lie on my lips; and that 1 sent you to your grave. They will point at me so cruelly, when 1 go through the streets. They will say, there goes the guilty one himself! There goes the double murderer. He killed others with his hand, and then swore away the life of his own dear father! Oh, my father! can 1 bear this, and live? Can I carry such a fearful bur den on my shoulders all through life? No—no, father! dear father! Only free me from tt all now. I shall never see you again in this world—never! Only let me recall this last meeting with pleasure!” “Well, and what would you have me do, then?” deliberately questioned the parent, perceptibly giving way to his feelings. “Tell me what you would have me do, my boy! You shouldn’t come here at such a time as this to heap curses on my head ” “Oh, I don’t, I don’t! ( “You must remember that I’m the one that’s to suffer; and I’ve just a day left me to live! That’s all! Now, what do you want me to do?” “Justice to me,” sobbed the son. “How, then?” “Only say that I am not guilty of this crime!” “My son! my dear boy!” exclaimed the hardeued father, hugging his off spring passionately to his breast, “you don’t know how deep is my love fo you! Oh, no~no, my dear boy! I do not believe you did this dreadful mur der! I cau’t believe it—one word of it all!” Another pressure in his arms. “Tell the world, my son, that your father never believed it! They will be atified then!” . “But still the shame and the shadow of this great guilt will hang over me,” returned the stricken boy. “People will say that either you or I did the deed. You deny that you did it, and only say that you do not believe that I did it. That is not enough. “No- no, they will still fasten it upon me! I cannot live under it! I shall not want to! Only tell me, father, that I did not do this great crime! That is all! “Then I should confess that I knew who do it! “Can I say as much as that, for any one?” “But do you not know, father?” No answer. The old expression of brutality set tled suddenly over his face. “Will you not say, father, that I am innocent?” “I believe you are, my son.” “Oh, father! father!” “But is not that enough, in God’s name? My boy, you ask very hard thiugs of me. You are unreasonable. ” “Then this load will never be lifted from me! Ob, that 1 could And some one, who would be willing to share it with me! It is too much—too much!” and lie wept bitterly on the neck of his cruel and unfeeling father. “My dear boy!” said the father, his feelings seemii.g to assert their control momentarily again, “oh, do not take ou this way! I don’t believe you are guilty! Nobody believes it! Isn’t that quite enough? Isn’t it all 1 can say? Oh, stop these tears! My boy— my dear boy, I am going to die only for you. Never forget the father that loved you! Never be ashamed to speak of him; and tell everyone that he died innocent! My dearest boy!”— and he pressed him to his bosom so passionately and long, that it seemed as if he would never consent to loose his embrace again. This melting scene lasted for some time. It drew to a close at length, however. The boy retired through the door, weeping and sobbing convulsively, his face covered with his hands. • “1 shall never see him again! never again!” were the words on his lips, as he went out.” And he will uot say that I am clear of guilt!” The criminal Anally looked up from the floor. “Comeback! my son—my boy! Bring him back to me once more!” cried he, beckoning fiercely for his child. The father embraced him again, and yet again. The son waited for the syllables—tlie few syllables that should establish his innocence iu the judgment of the world. His soul was rent with agony. But they came uot. The father raved like a mad man, swearing that his boy was his idol—his darling—his all. But nothing of his innocence. Only he believed him inno cent. And the second, and even the third time he was taken away. His father continued to beg that he be brought back agaiu. And finally he was gone forever! The one went out into the world, with the fearful task before him of liv ing down a monstrous lie. And that lie begotteu of the selfishness'and cow ardice of his father. The other went to his doom like a brute—cold, callous, and unforgiving. One still lives. A poor, pale boy, bowed with the weight of his great griefs. The other has left behind him a memory that can conjure horrors at any moment far direr than any that ever brooded in the breasts of demons aud fiends incarnate. Curses rest ojk the grave of the father; but have pity, only teuderest pity, on tiie young heart that will never ku^vv rest agaiu save iu Heaven! •Styles in Bear foy ti# w you meet Uot Versus Cold Water. Just at the moment when cold-water cures, milk cures, whey cures, grape cures, and the Karlsbad of starvation cure, occupy the attention of those who perhaps are in great a measure person ally responsible for wanting any cure at all, a new one has sprung up in Amer ica, and lias already found followers in England. The drinking of hot water was an old-fashioned practice among persons with impaired digestive organs. Hot water as a cosmetic lias greatly ad vanced in favor during the present Lon don season, while the practice of drink ing water as near to boiling point as is humanly possible has taken to itself a supplementary treatment in the United States. The probably apocryphal say ing attribute*! to Diane de Foictiers, that she owed the preservation of her beauty to the use of cold water is gradu- ally becoming discredited, aud Phyllis no longer laves her lovely featui es in the cool translucent wave, but iu the same almost boiling hot. As, a few years ago, we were enthusiastic about cold tubbing, most meritorious when the ice ou the top kt required to be broken with a bootjack, so is a kind of scalding propaganda in progress at the present moment, and those who clung most desperately to the gelid tub are now quietly pushed into lukewarm if not hot water. Do the best you can, and God and yonr own conscience will approve, though num condemn. “What kind of beards with most frequently?” “The moustache is bySr the most common. Then come ti# moustache aud chiu beard, and after that a full beard. Twenty years agp moustaches were very rare, and I cai? remember, when I first came to Chingo, that the ‘boys’ used to make cousiAerable sport of a moustache, especially if it showed any signs of special cure. ' But during the last few years they have beeu grow ing in favor, aud now you can safely say they are as much American as ‘E plu- ribus unum’ or the trade dollar. You see the Americans are a uetrwous people and talk faster than those jf any otuer race, aud it is my opinion they like the moustache because they think they can move their jaws faster than if they had hair all around their face. I go to thinking that way because nearly all the Englishmen that have come under my hands talk a great deal slower aud prefer the characteristic side whiskers. The Frenchmen, of course, prefer a moustache, but they differ from Ameri cans iu adding au imperial if they are able. A fine goatee among Americans is very rare. To show how American the moustache is considered, just look at tlie German. Do you suppose he would take to wearing one if he thought it was entirely Frencby? But ueuiiy every Teuton that comes over cultivates the upper lip especially, iu hopes of becommg speedily Americanized. They would often have better success raising a beard. The Irish incline to smooth faces, I suppose, to give their features a chance to help their wit. You know half an irishman’s story would be lost if you couldn’t get the full expression ou his face wheu lie is getting off something sharp.” “What is tlie most common color?” “Well, I find that there are about ton sandy moustaclies to . one black. ‘I judge of your surprise by the color of your eyes,’ as they say iu ‘Finafore,’ but don’t wonder that people have a wrong idea about it, because black dyes are used so much. A natural black moustache is not as common as people imagine.” “Have you discovered what treat ment is best to make beards grow?” “Nothing will give any more satis faction than patience. This repeated cutting every week or so only weakens the sources of the hair’s growth. After being cut frequently, the hair grows out a certain length, splits and soon falls out. 1 proved that ou a customer of mine. He had a very flue beard, but one day he thought a certain portion didn’t grow right and so he had it cut off, and now the portion that was cut will only grow out to within three or four inches of the old length, and con sequently his full beard is ruined. The cutting of the moustache at any time is a bad mistake, for its beauty consists iu its being soft and silky; but after several cuttings this all disappears, leaving the hair wiry and stiff.” “Which patronize you best—married or single men?” “There’s uo difference, so far as I can see. When a mau marries he generally makes efforts to economize, aud stays away from the barber a few weeks, but he always finds that it is cheaper after all to have his beard at tended to by skilled bauds. A mau who was shaved the first few years by a barber rarely gives it up to shave at home, but there are a number who learued tlie knack when they were stu dents or teachers who still cling to it from force of habit.” “What do you think will be the style of the future?” “Of course that is hard to tell, but since my early days I have observed a growing dislike for chin beards, which I think will continue for some years yet.” Appearance ol a Tornado. The Visitors Adjourned. TSe Thirteen Club, of New has many precious relics in its rooms atCapt. Fowler’s Knickerbocker Cot tage, but its most precious relic is a panther skin, which the Captain shows with muoh pride. :A few days since the Captain gaapl fondly into the glass eyes, stroked the fur lovingly, aud said: ^ . s-' “On September 13,<1870, l was hunt ing ou tlie Mamakating Barrens, up in Sullivan County. I wasn’t looking for panthers, not by a long shot. Deer was what had enticed me out there aud I was in shape uot to raise any objec- tiousjio a bear,should one oome my way. wde of uly barrels was loaded with thirteen buckshot. Ever been up ou the Mamakating Barrens? No? Well, they’re pretty well up being, by actual ineasuremeut, 1,313 feet above tide.” “I’d been tramping over tlie Barreus ou this particular day when suddenly I heard a noise off to my right. I turned aud looked, and there was this panther tearing straight for me. I just up with my-guu aud whauged away with my thirteeu buckshot. The panther gave a yell that made me turn pale, but lie stopped for good. I always step just three feet wheu I walk—always 1 I never knew it to vary au inch, I walked toward the dead panther. I remembered afterward that I took just four of my steps, atul uot quite the ugth of my foot over, to where the pauther lay—thirteeu feet. My foot is just thirteeu inches long. Queer, eh? Well, 1 began to haul my big game out to the road. It was a tough pull, but 1 finally got him off the Barrens. 1 managed to get a horse and wagon to carry me aud my game iu. After we had loaded ttoe panther into the wagon l asked the boy who was to drive me in, how far it was to Wurtsboro. “ ‘Flumb thirteeu miles, and we’ve got a Dillfor every mile,’ said he. “We got to Wurtsboro, aud when I looked at my watch I found tliat we had been thirteeu minutes over three hours coming in. I begun to find fault with the boy for taking so long. “Well,’ said he, tliatV a tough road, aud I think I’ve done first rate, beiu’s as this horse was thirteeu years on the canal before we got him, and that was thirteen years ago this month, just the time I was born.” “Of course tlie panther aud myself created a big excitinent. But it wasn’t until I counted the panther’s teeth, aud found there were only thirteen left, and then found that he measured just thir teen feet from tip to tip, that I began to think about the singular thirteen business connected with the killing of this animal. Let’s see—September 13, 1313 feet above tide, 13 buckshot, pan ther with 13 teetii aud 13 feet long, dropped dead with 13 buckshot in it, 13 feet from me, 13 miles from Wurtsboro, 13 bills ou tiie road, boy 13 years old, driving a horse that had beeu 13 years on the canal, and 13 years with the boy’s family. If you dou,t call these singular coincidences, 1 don’t kuow where you’re going to get’ em. And ” The Captain suddenly stepped talk ing. An expression of concentrated awe appeared iu his face. Then he struck his fist ou tlie sideboard aud said: Why, holy smoke? September 13, 18701 That’s just thirteen years ago next meeting day of this club! Gentle men, Come!” There were thirteen bulging based corks ou tlie sideboard au hour later, when tlie visitors adjourned. WanhuiKton's Ktlquetta. As the tornado now sweeps onward in its course it rises aud falls with a series of bounds, and, with a swaying motion, describes a zigzag course, now forming a chain of loops, aud .again shooting off on au obtuse angle, vary ing iu the speed of its forward motion, which may be anywhere from ten to thirty miles an hour. At the same time it is rapidly whirling ou its axis in the opposite direction from a screw, or the hands of a clock, the air revolv ing around the vortex, necessarily at taining a speed of several hundred miles an hour. First wideniug, theu contracting, now bounding abuve the tree-tops, aud agaiu descending to sweep tiie earth bare of every object within its reach, the ; aerial monster surges onward. The largest forest trees, mere playthings in Hs grasp, are plucked up by the roots, or Snapped off like pipe stems; substantial buildings are first crushed like egg shells, then caught up in the vortex and the debris carried sometimes for miles before it is again thrown off by centrifugal force and falls by gravitation anywhere, everywhere, as soon as released from the monster’s grasp. It is difficult to accurately describe the tornado’s appearance and work, even for those who have been eye wit nesses, or who have personally passed through the honors its'coming brings. While accounts differ as to its appear ance slid behavior, as witnessed from dilferent points of observation and un der different circumstances, all sub stantially agree that its ajiex resembles tire aud smoke, aud that vivid iignt- uing and heavy tain-fall usually ac company it. In rare instances, elec tricity, in the form of St. Elmo’s fire, will precede the vortex, aud a while, steamy cloud will follow. It will be observed that the form of the tornado- cloud is nicely illustrated by the “proof-plane” used iu teaching natural philosophy. The small end of the plane is most heavily cltarged with electric ity, and, the nearer it approaches to a perfect point, the greater will be the accumulation; a high tension is caused, and the electricity must flttoftpe by some couductor. So, iu the totnado-elou^, the smaller the point or stem, the greater the force exerted when it meets Ithietrth. 'i ‘ iHtallastoal DggmUhm of OUim. President Washington never went to Congress on public business except in a state coach, drawn by six cream-colored horses. The coach was an object which would excite the admiration of the throng even now in the streets of Lon don. It was built in the shape of a hemisphere, and its panels were adorned with Cupids, surrounded with flowers worthy of Flouda, and of fruit not to oe equaled out of California. The coachman and postilions were arrayed in gorgeous liveries of white and scar let. The Philadelphia Gazette, a Government organ, regularly gave a supply of court news lor tne edification of the citizens. From that the people were allowed to learn as much as it was deemed proper for them to know about the President's movements, and a fair amount of apace was also devoted to Mrs. Washington—who was uot re ferred to as Mrs. Washington, but as the amiable consort of onr beloved President.’ Wheu the President made his appearance at a ball or public recep tion, a dais was erected for him, upon which he might stand apart from the vulgar throng, ami tne guests and visi tors bowed to him in solemn silence. *R pablicau simplicity’ has only come in later times. In onr day the hack-driver who takes a visitor to a puolic reception at the White House is qmte free to get off his box, walk in side by side with his fare and shake hands with the President with as much familiarity as anybody else. Very few persons presumed to snake hand with Gen. Washington. One of his friends, Goverueur Morris, rashly undertook, for a foolish wager, to go up to him aud slap him on tlie shoulder, saying: “My dear General, 1 am happy to see you look so weil,’ The moment fixed upon arrived, and Mr. Morris, already half repenting of his wager, went up to the President, placed his hand npon his shoulder, and uttered the preaohbeu words, ‘Washington’, as an eye wit ness described the scene, ‘withdrew his hand, stepped suddenly back, fixed iua eye on Moms for several minutes with an angry frown, until the latter retreated abashed, and sougut refuge in the crowd.’ No one else ever tried a. similar expenmenu sit is recorded of Washington that ht wished the offi cial title of the President to be “High Mightiness,’' and at one time it was proposed to engrave his portrait upon the national coinage. No royal levees ware more punctiliously arranged than those of the first PresflUnt, Boston la not along' in suffering a downfall from its intellectual suprem acy. Tfie day is past for provincial centres of national intelligence. Edin burgh has beeu deposed like Boston from a rank yet more exalted. Wei mar has sunk to be a petty residence town. Geneva has gone into trade aud politics. Florence is no more au in tellectual centre. Oxford aud Cam bridge retain uo dictatorship iu letters. It may seem to be only a transfer of the intellectual headship from one lo cality to another. The change may be supposed to be nothing but an iustance of the coinmou law of the rise aud de cline of local greatness. Loudon may be deemed simply to have taken prece dence of Edinburgh, aud New York of Boston. The process is no such mere process of local substitution. The in tellectual exaltation of Edinburgh had much more iu it of Edinburgh thau the intellectual dominion of London can ever liave in it of London. The character of Boston tinged tiie literary influence of Harvard more deeply thau New York will be traceable iu the li terature which may there plant its lo cal residence. Intellectual autocracy when it shifts its quarters to a centre like London or New York, migrates that it may be independent, of its lo cality. The intellectual sceptre is iu course of depar me from Boston be cause literary decrees dated from Bos ton could uot but savor of Boston. America desires that its literature should appertain to America at large. New York has uo power to pass through any medium it can provide American literature aud intelligence, altuougii they happen to be lodged within it. A metropolis which has become a metro polis from the spontaneous tendency of the national forces aud energies to breathe and circulate through it, at tracts national intelligence by its very inability to reflect anything more nar rowly local thau the nation itself. Not a little is lost wheu a town like Boston slips from its literary supremacy. Whether held iu commission by a score of cities from New York and Boston to Cliicago aud St. Louis aud San Fran cisco, or engrossed by New York alone, the charm of American literary society gathered about Harvard cannot be re produced. It will soon be a memory, like the tradition of the society of Edin burgh of the age of Jeffrey and Scott and Wilson. Tney who witnessed and partook of it as it was when Longfellow aud Lowell aud Holmes discoursed ou poetics, aud Emerson ou humanity and Carlyle, should congratulate themselves on an experience wuich cannot be re peated. Yet the literary decadence ot Boston may mark for America the close of a period of intellectual pupilage. Crude and rough as is much of American in tellectual activity, the dissemination of intellectual activity everywhere is in disputable. Literary experiments of magnitude obtain publishers aud rea ders in other towns thau Boston. Ela borate researches are conducted iuinore than one American city. Dean Liddell and Dean Scott acknowledge their ob ligations to America for ripe Greek scholars reared elsewhere thau at Har vard. To Boston itself dethronement or mediatizatiou will not be au uu- mixed attliction. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, especially a liter aiy crown. The brows of many worthy citizens of Boston must frequeutly have ached under the duty, imposed by the world’s identification of them with their refined townsmen on the Common or transcental neighbors at Cambridge, to speculate more beyond then' depth than the most intricate transactions in spermaceti oil or tanneries would ever liave required. The whispers of the oaks of Dodoua must at times have troubled prosaic Epirotes with a sense of the burden of maintaining an air of solemnity iu proper dramatic accord ance with the genius of their locality. Now that tlie literary fellowship of Cambridge has closed its list of mem bers, aud other American universities are grown as learued as Harvard, aud other American publishers as enter prising, the average New Englander is not bound to be thoughtful iu excess of his nat ural gifts, lie can always re mind New Yoikers that the press of Boston is as classical, at any rate, as that of New York, and that Boston devours more literature. Working Stone. The rluf H*c Fever. • “Have you ever been attacked with the plug hat fever?” asked an old gen tleman the other evening, and without waiting for a reply, went on to relate his own experience, and to tell the re sult of his own observations, “l never knew of a young man who, when he had reached an age between 18 and 25, but what he had the plug hat fever to a greater or less severity. He will suffer a great deal, too, before it fairly breaks out, aud he gets a shiny tile on his head. Then he suffers severely for sev eral days after he gets the hat, and is conceited enough to believe the eyes of tlie whole wonl are upon him. Hr will wish for the first day or two ha hadn’t got it, and then again he’ll pluck up grit enough to wear it in spite of everything. Next to the mustacho ambition, the plug hat fever strikes to the very vitals. The first symptom of the fever makes its presence known by the victim visiting some hat store, and trying ou half a dozen silk hats, and looking admiringly at himself iua mir ror, He will put it on square, then cock it over to the right side, theu hang it on his left ear, aud smiles with satis faction at the imige of himself under the hat in the mirror. A young calf under a new shed could uot feel prou der of itself thau the young mtn with goose down ou his upper lip, when he first beholds his manly brow in a look ing glass, supporting a shiny silk hat. It’s too overcoming for anything, and in a great many instances it is msre overcoming than becoming. But theu they must have ’em no nutter about the expense. Finally tin? hat is pur chased, put iu a hat box aud conveyed to the young man’s room with the greatest of care aud fond expectations of the manliness it will give the wearer iu the near future. For a week, may be, he will exercise tlie hat by wearing it iu his room for a few hours every evening. Finally he gets his courage to the proper pitch, aud ou au auspic ious Sunday evening starts for cuurch vith tlie hat nicely setting ou tlie top of his iiead. He knew lie would attract, attention aud the first street urchin he meets calls attention to it by shouting •shoot the hat.’ Now how did that young heathen come to notice anything new or novel in the hat? It is easily explained. Wheu a mau wears a plug nat on the street for the first time he gives himself away by his l’in-on-dress- parade air. He will walk as carefully a though trying to balance a pail of water ou his head aud expecting every moment that it will tip off and douse him. It dou’tsqueak like a new shoe to attract attention, but it stiffens up the spine iu au uuusual aud unnatural degree. It takes several public appear ances iu the uew plug to agaiu limber up the spiue to its normal condition. Arriving at church tiie young man Uesitatos for an instant about going in, but remembering an apjointment to see a young lady home, he braces up, stiffly holds the determiued-to-attract attention silk hat over his right fore arm, aud mentally swears vengance ou tlie usher who prances him up to the front pew iu thu centre of the church for no other purpose thau to call at tention iu his wind, to the uew plug. Eight out of ton drst-time-L-wure-a plug-hat young men will become so agitated that iustead of putting the hat ou the floor out of the way, will place it ou the seat and forget to remove it cvheu the usher shows some one else in for the sole purpose, in his mind, of hav ing them sit on it and wreck it. It’s a good thing to have tlie first plug wrecked iu this way, because the first liat has got to be wrecked, but it is generally done by some kind friend who sneaks up behind, Jams it down over your eyes and is away before you fairly understand a brick block hasn’t tumbled on to you. A plug bat is probably the most dressy hat, but ueavens! how a man suffers when the fever first fully devolps itself to a head. J ust as tiie story was finished a youny fellow with skin-tight pants, tooth-pick shoes, arms curved so as to make his body look as though it was in a paren thesis, with a pipestem cane in the fin gers of his right hand, while a shiny, latest loud style of plug hat was on his head, passed. “Poor fellow,” re marked the old man as he passed into the hotel, “if he only had brains enough to cover the point of a cambric needle bis hat would he quite becoming. They all get the fever though, regardless of brains.” 3 During a residence of two winters i> a tomb at Gizeh, Mr. Petne collected evidence showing that tools used in working stone 4,000 years ago were con structed with a jewel as the cutting edge. He stated his reasons for coming to this conclusion in a paper read before the Anthropologioal^Institnte, a resume of which is published in London. Solid and tabular drills, straight and circular disk saws and lathe tools were made with jewels set In metal. The lines of catting on a granite core made by a tubular drill from continuous spiral, the grooves being of uniform depth and width throughout, showing that the cutting point was not worn as the work advanced. The regular taper of the core would indicate that the jewels were dso set upon the outside and inside of drill, thereby facilitating its removal. In some specimens ot granite the drills sank one-tenth of au inch at each ''•vol ution, and tlie press are necessary to tins must have been from oue to two tons. The skill of the workmen aud the capacity of the tools are illustrated by the clean path through both soft and Hard material—no difference in the groove being (perceptible, although it passes from a soft substance into quartz, subjecting the tool to an enormous strain. In plane surfaces thedeptfiaud width of the outs indicate the successive stroke of a saw, and the use of the cir cular saw is proved by the regularly curved lines. The forms of the tools were the same that eaperienoe has sanc tioned at the present time. The scarcity of the diamond and theJaok of strength in the saphire and beryl lead to the con sideration of oorondrnm. Nothing has been found about the metal of which the tool was made or the method of set- du the jewel* 1 ho Consumption ot Gold. The consumption of gold for other than monetary purposes in Europe, America and Australia has more than quadrupled in thirty years, and has quite trebled in twenty yeara. It is more than five times what it was half a century ago. The great mass of gold which has flowed from mines has been absorbed iu the same opulence and luxury of the times which have swal lowed up the flood of gems, great in volume beyond any former precedent, from the diamond fields ot South Afri ca, and increasing prices will be quite as likely to whet tlie appetite for both as to check it. Five-sixths of the cur rent production of gold is absorbed iu the arts and manufactures, in the west ern world and in British India. A part of the remaining six is lost in the wear of corns and by tires, shipwrecks and forgotten boards. What is left to ■ncrease the stock of gold money in prop ration to the increase of popula tion, ex.baifees, aud wealth of the world? It is possible that the produc tion of gold mav increase. It is also possible that it tiuvy decrease as it act ually has beeu decreasing for many years, but there is no uucertainty about the consumption of gold, which is sure to grow pari passu with the growing opulence and luxury of the world. It has trebled within the past tweuty years, and if it only doubles within the next twenty years it will exceed the production, even at the extreme rate which it attained when the California and Australia out-turn was at its high est point. What is defeat? N othing but educa tion; nothing but the first ste p to some thing better. , mt' mi.