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TRI-WEEKLY EDITION WINNSBORO. S. 0.. NOVEMBER 8. 1883. ESTABLISHED 1848, THE VERDICT -OK- THE PEOPLE BUY THE BEST! Mk..T.0. Hoao-Dear sir: I bcugut tiie nrBt DaviB Machine sold by you over Uve years ago for my wife, who has given it a long anil fair trial. I am well pleased with it. It never gives any rouble, and Is as good as when llrst bought. J. W. BOI.ICK. Winnshoro, S. <\, Aprl. 18*1. Mr. Boao: 1 ou wish to Know what 1 have to say in regard to the Davis Machine bought of you three years ago. I feel I can’t say too much In its favor. 1 made about $80,no within five months, at times running it so fast that the needle would get per fectly hot from friction. I feel confldeni I could not have done the same work with as much ease and so well with any other machine. No time lost in adjusting attachments. The lightest running machine 1 have ever treadled. Brother James and Williams’ families are as much pleased with their Davis Machines bought ot you. I want no better machine. As I said before, I don’t think too much can be said for the Davis Machine. Kespectfully, Ei.i.ks etkvensox, Fairfl“ld County, Apri', 1883. Mr. Boao : .My mtctune gives me perfect satis faction. 1 find no fault with it. The attachments are so simple, i wish for no better than the Davis Vertical Feed. Kespectfully. Mrs. It. Miu.ino. Fairfield county, Aprl 1 , 1883. Mr. Boao : i nougiu a Davis vertical Feed ewing Machine from yon four years ago. I am slighted with It. It never has given me any rouble, and has never been the least out of order. It is as good as when I first iiought it. 1 can cheerfully recommend It. Kespectfuly. •Mrs. M. J. Kihki.ami. Montlcelio, April 30. 1883. This is to certify mat I have been using a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for over tw lyears, purchased of Mr. J. O. Boag. I haven’t found 11 possessed of any fault—all the attachments are so simple. It never refuses to work, and is certainly the lightest running in the market. I consider it a first class machine. Very respectfully, Minnie M. Wii.linuuau. Oakland, Fairfield county, ‘3. <:. Mr boao : i am wen pleased mevery parncui with the Davis Machine nought of you. I think a first-class machine In every respect. You know you sold several machines of the same make to different members of our families, all of whom, as far as I know, are well pleased with them. Kespectfully, Mrs. M. H. Mobi.ky. Fairfield county, April, 1883. This Isto cenuy we have nai in constant use the Davis Machine bought of you about three years ago. As we take In work, and have made the price of it several times over, we don’t want aay better machine. It is always ready tu do any kind of work we nave to do. No puckering or skipping stitches. We can only say we are well p.ease 1 ami wish no better machine, CATHERINE Wvi.IK ASP SISTER. April 25,1888. I have no tauit to hmi with my mtcane, and don’t want any iietter. I have nude the price of it severs times by taking In sewing. It is always ready to do Us work. I m nk it a first-class ma chine. I feel I can t say ton much for the Davis Vertical Feed Machine. » Mrs. Thomas Smith. Fairfield county, April, 1833. Mr. J. O. Boao—Dear sir: it gives me mica pleasure to testify to me merits of the Davis Ver tical Feed Sewing Machine. The ma nine I got of yon about Uve years ago. has been almost In con stant use ever since that time. I cannot see that it is worn any, and has not cost me one cent for repairs since we have had it. Am well pleased and don’t wish lor any better. Yours tru'y, flOBT. C’RlWKORD, Granite Quarry, near Winnsboro 8. C. We have used the Davia Vertical Feel Sewing Machine for the last five years. We would not have any other make at any price. The machine has given us unbounded satisfaction. Very respectfully, Mrs. W. K. Turner and Dauuhtek.s Fairfield county, S. C., Jan. ii, 1883. Having bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from Mr. J. O. Boag some three years ago, and It aavlug given me perfect satisfaction in every resect asa tainlly maculne. both for hea y and light sewing, ami never needed me least re pair In any way, I can cneerfuliy recommend It to any one as a first-class machim- in every particu lar, and think It second to none. It is one ot the simplest machines made; my children use It with all ease, t he attachments are more easily ad justed and it duet a greater range ot work by means of its Vertical Feed than auy other ma chine I have ever seen or used. MRS. Thomas Owinos. Winnsboro, Fairfield county, s. C. We have had one ot the DavD 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 mat the machine is worn any, and work* as well as when new. Mrs. W. J. Crawford, Jackson’s Creek, Fairfield county, 8. C. My wife Is highly pleased with the Davis Ma chine bought pi yon. She would not lake double wnat sue gave for It. 'Uie machine has not been out of order since she nail It, and she can do any kind of work on it. Very Kespectfully, Jas.F. Free. Montlcelio, Fairfield county, S. C. The Davis Sewing Machine is simply a treas ure Mrs. J. A. goodwyn. Kldgeway, N. C., Jan. 10, 1883. J, O Boao, Ksq., Agent—Dear Sir: My wife has oeen using a Davis Sewing Machine constant ly for me past four years, and u has never needed any repairs an i works just as well as when first bought. She says It will do a greater range of practical work e nd do it easier and bet’er than any machine she has ever used. We cheerfully recommend It as a No. 1 family machine, lour tnuy, Jas. Q. Davis. Winnsboro, S. C., Jan. 8,1883. Mr. Boao : 1 have always found my Davis Ma chine ready do all kinds of to work I have had oc casion to do. I cannot see that the machine la worn a particle and It works as wed as when new. Kespectfully, Mrs. R. C. uuOUiku. Winnsboro, S. C., April, 1883, Mr. Boao : My wife has been constantly using the Davis Machine bought of yon about five yeara ago. I have never regretted buying It, aa it la always ready for any kind of family sewing, either heavy or lignt. It Is never oat of fix or needing lepalrs. Very respectfully, A. w. Lapp. rairfield, S. C., Kerch, 1863. ON THK BEACH. I clasped in mine her tender hand, And side by side, with loitering pace, And pausing sometimes, face to face, We wandered slowly on the strand. We left behind a laughing crowd— We felt no need of company; 'Durselves, our thoughts, the beach, the sea, The clear blue heavens that o’er us bowed, Made us a perfect solitude, Where all with peace and joy was tilled. Where jarring fears and care were stilled And speech were interruption rude. So on we wanderel, hand in hand, O’erglad to be to each so near, So heart-content, so fond and dear, Alone upon that pleasant strand. And when our footsteps were retraced, The comrades we had left behind Exclaimed: “Well, what's upon your mind, Old boy? What fancies have you chased While wandering slowly and alone? You are not wont to stroll away: What do the wild waves say to-day. By us unfamed and unknown?” I smiled. They could not see the hand I clasped in mine, the upturned face; Their duller eyes beheld no trace Of little footprints in the sand. But that sweet hour along the sex AVill never vanish from my heart, Wh«d, silent, from all else apart, 1 walked with unseen company. AN AFFAIR OF HO.MM. The hot rays of a July sun came down with uncomfortable intensity upon the glaring white sand of the beach, as a somewhat llashily-attired young man shielded himself with an umbrella, and watched the more active specimens of humanity disporting them selves in the brine, which was tossed rather tumultuously by strong southerly breeze. “By graciousl” lie muttered at length: “That girl in the blue-bathing suit had better be a little more careful; she’ll get beyond her depth.” And lie took a few steps nearer to the bathers—mostly females, one of whom, a little distance Irom the rest, seemed decidedly venturesome, the re ceding waves forming a dangerous undertow. “There!—I thought so!” lie cried, flinging away his umbrella and dashing across the narrow strip of sand, as a cry of alarm rose up from the water, and a blue-clad form disappeared from sight, drawn under by the backward rush cf the waves. He met the next incoming wave, but succeeded in getting beyond it, as a white face appeared in sight and a pair of plump arms were held despairingly toward him. He was a strong swimmor, upiu. of his aJothing, which impeded him somewhat, managed to reach and grasp the imperiled maiden ere the saline waters closed over her again. His heart throbbed, as her arms clutched about ids neck, and it seemed altogether probable that they would perish together; but he broke from her clinging grasp, in a measure, and bat tled manfully with the turbulent ele ment, so successfully that the next breaker landed them, breathless and exhausted, upon the beach—in a safe position, if not a graceful one. “You should keep within the protec tion of the life-lines,” enjoined the rescuer, as he assisted the half-stran gled damsel to her feet. And a moment after she appeared in a bathing house, leaving him to cast rueful glances at his ruined clothing, and wonder who the pretty girl was whom he had saved. And then he realized that he was bareheaded, his hat having disappeared in the hungry maw of the waters, that rolled and tumbled, as though seeking more substantial victims. In an incredibly short space of time the door of the little box opened again, and a bewildering vision of loveliues burst upon him, and in place of the frantic, terror-stricken girl of a few moments before, he beheld a stylishly- dressed young lady, her amber-brown eyes shining with mirth and her face dimpling with smiles, tripping daintily toward him. “I am exceedingly grateful,” she said, in a clear, low voice, “and feel that I must apologize for lieing the source of so much inconvenience to you. I had no thought that the water had such power”—and she drew up her pretty shoulders with a slight shiver, as she gazed at the incoming waves. “Oh—I—please don’t mention it,” stammered the young man, who was little used to ladies’ society, bowing his hatless head and fumbling in his vest pocket, from which he drew a piece of drenched pasteboard upon which she could just decipher: “P. Filmore, Boston, Mass.” “I am from the ‘Hub’ myself,” she said, laughingly, her white teeth gleam ing between her ripe-red lips; and her shapely hand drew forth a tiny card case, trom which she abstracted a dainty bit of enameled bristol-board, bearing the legend: “Miss Olive Orrington, Ellington avenue, Boston.” The heart between Peter Filmore’s saturated vest gave a Quick throb as he glanced at the card and recognized the aristocratic locality in which she lived. “I hope. Miss Orrington, you will receive no ill effects from your immer sion.” And then he stopped confusedly, as a silver laugh rippled from her full lips. “Excuse me, but there is little danger of that, as 1 was already in the water; but I fear most disastrous consequeuces would have ensued but for your timely assistance. You are the one who have suffered,” and she looked commiser- atively at his drenched attire and un covered head. “Never mind that,” he said, picking up his umbrella, which had been roll ing about on the sand. “I can shelter my defenceless head with this, and I have other hats at the house where 1 am stopping. Have you friends here?” “Not any,” she returned, “I am stopping at the hotel yonder.” “And I am boarding at a private house just over the hill,” he answered, iis she stopped and looked inquiringly at him; “and I consider myself very fortunate in making your acquaint ance, even under such adverse circum stances.” It was the most grandiloquent speech he had ever made, but he felt amply repaid by the bright smile with which she rewarded him, and as he sat in his boarding-house that evening a nameless thrill pervaded his being to which he had heretofore been a stranger. It had been the custom of Peter Filmore for a number of years past to throw aside the duties of life ouce in the 12 months, and for a few weeks at least to be a gentleman of leisure. His occupation was the hard and rather unromantic one of blacksmith and car- riage-ironer; hut he possessed a soul above that of the common Vulcan, and when the summer days grew warm and balmy, the leathern apron was cast aside, and behold the grub was a but terfly. Tiie savings of a year were generally consumed in these annual recreations, and when they terminated, lie would go penniless back to the shop and patiently smite tiie glowing iion and await the next respite from slavery. But that night a new impulse was creeping into his brain, and another more commendable had found lodge ment in his heart. The latter feeling was admiration for tiie fair young girl he had rescued, and it warmed and glowed and lighted up his honest, not unhandsome face, as he thought ot her smiling graciousness ami apparent obliviousness to the fact that he was only a hard-handed son of toil. And this thought only helped to augment the other, for something seemed to be whispering to him that if he could win the heart of this confiding maiden, he might thereby lift himself above tiie necessity of earning Ids bread by tiie sweat of Ids brow. All throughtthe night these thoughts haunted him, and visions of plump, white arms, a fair, frightened face, framed in the whirling water of an angry sea, a dainty, trim maiden, with dewy lips and a mischievous clint in her bright eyes, thronged m upon ids fitful slumbers, and the next afternoon he dressed himself carefully in ids “other” best suit, for his wardrobe was not exceedingly ample, and strolled down upon the beach. Miss Orrington was there, and greeted him with childlike frankness. “I have been looking for you,” she said naively, as she gave him her hand, and poor Peter was vanquished com pletely as the strong, yet gentle clasp of her fingers closed upon his. “I shall not venture into the water to-day,” said the lady, as they sauntered along the sand and watched the antics of. the bathers. “Mv nerves were. :x trifle unstrung yesterday. ,v She did not look in the least dis turbed, and when they parted Peter Filmore felt that he was a doomed man, for he well knew that, under ordi nary circumstances, Ins case was as hopeless as it could well be. How gra cious, and sweet and smiling she was, and how different a creature a city belle was from what he had imagined! Her laugh had such a wholesome, hearty ring in it, and she was so unaf fected in her manner, while in years she could scarcely, as yet, have exceeded her twentieth. Again that night he sat as he did the evening before and wrestled with him self, At one moment her evident pleasure in his company lifted him to the hightest pinnacle of happiness, and then he would be plunged in the deepest abyss of misery as a dingy blacksmith shop, with its glowing forge and heavy drudgery rose up before him and seemed to stand between himself and the smil ing object of his newly awakened adoration. The place where he had met his fate was a rather secluded seaside resort in Eastern New England, and as he joined in the company of Miss Orring ton day after day, lie determined to win her, if possible, let tiie consequences be what they would. He had developed of late a wonder ful liking for feminine society, and sur prised himself at the ease with which he glided into the ways of the hitherto charmel circle; for though he was an entire novice in such matters, he was fairly well read and above the average of intelligence. So one evening late m July, as the sea lay like a huge mirror in the soft radiance of the silver monlight, he dropped tiie oars which he had been plying with unusual vigor, and allowed the boat to drift over the glassy sur face, unruffled by the slightest symptom of a breeze. His companion was looking dreamily toward the shore, from which strains ot music and sounds of laughter floated like echoes from fairyland. “Isn’t this delicious,” said Miss Orrington, turning her radiant face toward him. “It seems as though I could live out my life in such a state of beautitude as this.” A strong hand seemed to grasp the throat of the young man. “It is heaven on eajth,” he answered, in a low, almost hoarse tone. The strange sound of his voice start led her. “Are you sick?” she said, reaching her hand toward him from tiie seat in the stem of the little boat. “Your voice seems to sound so strangely. “No, 1 am very well, indeed,” he returned, with an effort, “but I was thinking how soon tiiese pleasant days must end.” The oppressed feeling came suddenly upon her, and her rosy cheeks paled in the moonlight. “I had never thought of that, she faltered, “It seems as though we had known each other a lifetime.” And the look in her face made him forget everything; and, at the risk of capsizing the frail craft, he threw him self on his knees before her, and cl wined her hand, which he devoured with his kisses; while the stem of the boat sank deep in the tranquil water, which splashed in over the side, and brought him to his senses somewhat. “Don’t you know how much I h»ve loved you, Miss Orrington?” he whis pered passionately, as though fearful that prying ears might hear him, spite of the seclusion of the waters, and her low answer assured him that his pas sion was returned. And hour after hour passed heedlessly by, and the moon cast many an admon ishing glance backward at them as she retired to rest behind the hill-tops, ere they realized the lateness of the hour, and the happy Peter, who envied not the angels, once more seized the oars and pulled his precious freight shore-' ward. But the reaction came as soon as he once more sought his pillow, and he moaned in agony as lie {bought of the cruel gulf that lay between himself and the girl whom he worshipped; for the thoughts of bettering himself by the alliance had all given place to the one- engrossing idea of possessing her. One device and another was hit upon and thrown aside a!”4mpracticable, and when morning came he seemed no nearer to a solution than before; but during the day, he conjured up a path way out of tiie dilemma, which, though not honorable, he felt assured would at least bring matters to a crisis. Tiiat evening lie told her a story of how his parents were set upon his marrying a girl for wlumi lie had never entertained the slightest affection, and then, as his well-nigh hopeless love added fervor to his words, he urged her to marry him immediately, so that this question might be settled beyond all dispute; and the girl, who* was trembling with emotion, to his infinite delight consented. Tneir arrangements were of the sim plest possible character, and twenty- four hours afterward the guests assem bled in the hotel parlor to witness th e impromptu marriage, though all day long a horror of what he was doing had been creeping over Peter Filmore, chill ing Ins heart and paling ins usually ruddy cheek. And now, as the hour drew near, and he went to meet the guileless, con fiding girl, he felt more like a con demned felon going to his execution, than a prospective bridegroom. His eyes devoured her hungrily. He noted her dimpled shoulders that gleamed like ivory above the dainty muslin drees she wore, with the knots of flowers and simple adornments that so enhanced her beauty, for no jewels shone upon her fair person; and then, at the last moment, his manhood as serted itself, and be begged for a mo ment’s private conversation with her. A look of horror gleamed in the brown eyes of the girl as they stood alone in a side-room. She seemed al most fainting, and grasped a chair for support as he leaned toward her, with set lips and the impress of death upon his face. “Miss Orrington, I’ cannot marry ySt’tecV'mitom while the deceived girl sank into the chair and sobbed piteously. “I would have made you a good wife,” she moaned, as Peter gasped for breath and tottered back and forth before her. “But I am only a blacksmith and have nothing but my trade to depend upon. It would take nearly my last dollar to pay the clergyman,” he said, at length, pausing before the weeping girl, “and I cannot wed one so far above roe.” Miss Orrington sprang to her feet and bounded forward. Her arms were about bis neck, her tear-bedewed face was pressed to his, while the words she uttered seemed to come from the depths of her tender, girlish heart: “Oh, Peter, Peter! I am so glad! I am nothing but a ladies’ maid, and I thought I would try to do this summer as my mistress does; but if we love each other what do we care for money? I thought you were going, to cast me off because of my poverty!” A ever a happier bridegroom than Peter Filmere led ids blushing bride to tiie altar, albeit the guests had become somewhat impatient at the delay; and the honest blacksmith is as proud of his tidy home and pretty wife as ever was a prince of his gorgeous palace and bejefl’oled consort. Mark Twain’s Exercise, Color-Hearing Mark Twain went to Elmira last summer to find a quiet place to write. He became somewhat out of health, and one day recently he was interrupted by the family physician, who called to make a friendly visit. Into his sympa thetic ear was poured the tale of the humorist’s woes, and after a moment’s consultation he remarked: “Clemens, what you need is exer cise !” With a look of gentle reproach which soon changed to anxious innocence, the hero of many an experience of rough ing it (in pictures) and tramps at home and abroad (on paper), made reply: “Well, that’s all right, but who’s go ing to do it for me? You see,” lie con tinued, “the men on tbe place are all busy, and the children ain’t big enough to accomplish anything and—” “You must do it yourself !” was tiie professional stop put to his demur. “Do it myself ? How in thunder do you expect—why, what can I do? There ain’t a good poker player on this hill, and the hammock broke down yester day, so I can’t use that—” “No, no,” interrupted the doctor, “you must have active, exertive exer cise; something that looks like work, you know ! You can walk down town, or—” “Hold on, you’ve struct it,” exclaim ed Mark. “I’ll chop wood 1” “Best thing you can d<*,” said tiie doctor, as he took his leave. “It brings into play so many varied muscles, ex pands the chest, deepens the inspira- lion and superinduces a more bountiful oxygenation by tiie beautiful process of enoosmosis and exosmosis, and hence »> The ItottomlesA Sugar nay. The Oyster’s Trank. Popular expressions are olteu very significant. “I saw three dozen lights of all colors,” or some similar expres sion, may frequently be heard from persons who had received violent blows on the head or face. Under the influ ence of shocks of tliis kind, the eye really seems to see infinite numbers of sparks. Shocks of a certain class im pressed upon the nervous system seem to have the faculty of producing phe nomena of light. This remark lias been suggested by the facts which we are about to relate, which lead us to sup pose that sonorous vibrations are sus ceptible in certain cases of provoking luminous sensations. There are, in fact, persons who are endowed with such sensibility that they cannot hear a sound without at the same time per ceiving colors. Each sound to them has its peculiar color; this word corres ponds with red, and tiiat one with green, one note is blue, and another is yellow. This phenomenon, “Color hearing,” as the English call it, has been hitherto little observed. Dr. Nussbaumer, of Vienna, appears to have been the first person who took serious notice of it. While still child, when playing one day with his brother, striking a fork against a glass to hear the ringing, he discovered that lie saw colors at the same time that he perceived the sound; and so well did he discern the color that, when he stopped his ears, he could divine by it how loud a sound the fork has produced. His brother also had similar experiences. Dr. Nussbaumer was afterward able to add to his own observations nearly identical ones made by a medical stu dent in Zurich. To this young man. musical notes were translated by cer tain fixed colors. The high notes in duced clear colors, and the low notes dull ones. More recently, M. Pedrono, an ophthalmologist of Nantes, has ob served the same peculiarities in one of his friends. lie red corpuscles “Here, have a cigar,” said Twain, pushing a box before him, “and let up on Moses.” “You musift smoke, you know,” lie doctor said, as he picked out a weed. “Oli! no, I’ve stopped smoking,” said Twain, as he carefully placed a sheet of copy paper over the three old stumps and a brier pi[>e. “I found iihat it disagreed with my family long ago.” The doctor departed, and Clemens, with a glow of renewed health already shining in anticipation on his brow, took one of the farm hands from the harvest field and sent him to town after a new axe. He returned witli the tool bright-bladed, sharp-edged. Finally, thinking he iiad the hang of the thing, Clemens had the man hitch up and drive up the road about a mile to a nece of woods. The members of the family went with him to look for flow ers and berries while he chopped. Ar riving at the desired spot, he carefully took out the axe, unwrapped the old s{ump of a J (fead i plner " ’ Tiie”'farni'iy wandered away .picked one or two flow ers, and then hastened back, as they heard him shout their names. I’ve done enough for to-day,” he said, as they came near. They saw four blisters on his hands and a piece of new leather shining on one of his boots, but no wood lying around. How ever, they said nothing and went lome ; the hired man carrying the ax. That evening, sitting on the piazza, applying arnica to his hands, he said: “It s hard work, but I’m going to ceep it up ! It’s splendid exercise, and just see how it has built up other great men! Why, you know, Greeley pro longed his life many years by chopping at Chappaqua, and Gladstone is alive yet and making tilings hot in Egypt by reason of the beneficial results of an hour’s chopping every day. You wait a month and see me! I’ll be able to fight Tug Wilson and row Courtney and out talk Beecher.” All this was several days since. Cle mens noticed his new axe lying where lie had left it on his return from his in itial trip, its brightness changed to re proachful rust. Conscience smote him. He would resume exercise. He would attack anew the monarchs of the forest. He would acquire muscle. So he bold ly marched for the same piece of woods and began operations on the old pine. But a few minutes had elapsed before a six-footer appeared before him and the following colloquy ensued: “Now, you skin right out o’ here young man I These is my woods, and you’ll learn to let folkses property alone after I’m through with ye ! Git, now!” Searching on his forehead for an im aginary bead of sweat, Twain glances dubiously at the enraged bucolic, and said: “Well, wh—what—seems—to—be— the matter with you?” “Matter,I’ll show ye I Tryiu’ to steal my wood I” “But, my good man, I don’t want your wood 1” “Then what are you cutting it for ?” “Why, for exercise, that’s all. The doctor said—” “Oh, that’s too thin! Exercise! You look like a man that would do anything for exercise. Now (with re newed energy), you get right out o’ berel Bight out,” and tiie farmer made threatening advances. “But—but—look here, my good man, you don’t know who I am. You are talking to a—” “Yes, I do know. You’re that Cle mens. I’ve heard about your being here about four weeks ago, and I’ve had my eye on you ever since! Now (picking up a pine root), you git.” Clemens took up the axe,cast a with ering look on the bucolic, and sadly climbed out of the wood, over the fence, and out of danger, the voice of the en raged landowner sounding in Ids ears for some distance down the road. This river of death of Saguenay, is j bottomless. You might, if possible, ' drain the St. Lawrence river dry, says Mr. Le Moine, the Canadian authority, ' and yet this dark, still river would be | able to float the Great Eastern and all her majesty’s ships of the line. “A bottomless river” sounds strangely new; indeed, were it not so I should not trouble you or myself to mention it. But this river is thus far uufathomed. It is full of counter currents, swift, perilous in tiie extreme. As the vast red moon comes shouldering up out of the St. Lawrence away above toward the sea and stood there a glowing period to a great day, we draw back from Tadousac, where the ancient church sits in the tawusy sand and scattering grass,and, rounding a granite headland, we slowly steamed up the silent river of death. It widened a little as we went forward, but even its mile of water looked narrow enough as we crept up between the great naked walls of slate and granite that shut out these dark waters from every living thing. Ou the right hand great, naked and mono tonous capes of slate ami toppling granite. On the left hand, granite and slate and granite, and all silent, all new and nude, as if just fallen half finished from God’s hand. One mile, two miles, twenty miles, and only the weary wall of granite and slate; only the great massive monotony of nude and uncom pleted earth. Now the walls would seem to close in before us and bar all possible advance. Then as we round ed another weary and eternal cape of overhanging granite, in its few fright ened and tom trees, tiie dark way would open before us. And ten, twen- ;y, thirty miles more of silence, gloom, river of death. No sound. No sign of life is here. Summer or winter, spring time or autumn, ail seasons alike, no bird, no beast, not even the smallest in sect, save only a possible housefly that may harbor in the steamboat and so be brought with you, is ever seen here. This is literally the river of death. I mow no spot like it ou the face of this earth. Our deserts with their owls, lorn-toads, prairie dogs, and rattle snakes are populous with life in com parison. And yet this awful absence of all kinds of life con not be due to the waters. They are famous for fish of the jest kind. The air is certainly delicious. But all this vast river’s shore is as empty of life as when “darkness was upon the face of the deep.” And no man has settled here. For nearly 100 miles not a sign of man is seen. You seem to he a sort of Colum- ms, as if no man had ever been here jefore you. At every turn of a great jranite cape these lines rhymed inces santly in my ears: , « r» , » Upon that silent sea. An hour past midnight and we near ed the central object of tiie journey. Cape Trinity, a granite wall of about 2,000 feet, which in places literally overhangs the ship. Our captain laid the vessel closely against the monolitn, and for a moment rested there. We seemed so small The great steamer was as a little top, held out there in tiie lollow of God’s hand. No sound anywhere. No sign of life, or light, save the moon, that filled the canyon with her silver and lit the amber river of death with a tender and an al luring light. No lighthouse, no light from the habitations of man faraway on the mountains; only the stars that hung above us, locked in the stony hel mets of their everlasting hills. Wanled to be a Pltciicr. “Who is this gentleman that papa calls a daisy?” “He is a ball player, my dear.” “But papa said lie had a ‘phenome nal curve,’ and that they couldn’t hit him.” “Yes, my dear.” “But, mamma, he stood up straight, and I didn’t see any one try to hit him.” “Papameant the ball, my dear.” “Yes, mamma, but I didn’t see the ball.” “Neither could the batters, my dear.” “But what makes every one talk about him and call him a ‘daisy?’ ” “Because he’s the new pitcher from Chicago, whom the manager of the club has just secured at $3,000 a sea son.” “But is he so very smart, mamma?” “Only as a pitcher.” “But can’t he really write his own name, mamma?” “So they say, mv dear.” “And yet they give him $3,000?” “Yes, my dear.” “When I grow up can’t I he a piteher, mamma?” “Perhaps, my dear. But why?” “Could I get $3,000?” “Perhaps.” “And not have to learn to read or write?” Said Prof. Rice, of New York. “I will show you the proboscis of an oys ter, something rarely seen except by scientists experimenting like myself. You see in this little bowl of water something that looks like a piece of thin scale, with a fragment of substance to it. all tiie size of a lady’s finger nail: well, that’s an infant oyster, about a mouth old. I will now place it under the microscope, and you will then dis cover the proboscis. ” In a moment the professor had adjust ed the lens, and the reporter looked. He at once drew back in horror and grasped for the table. The professor smiled. Through the tubes of the microscope the reporter gazed again into a wide sea, wherein lay a hideous monster,and frornits indescribable body there rose a great serpentine coil which swayed hither and thither as if search ing for a victim. “We are not certain of the functions of the proboscis yet. but think that, like an elephant’s trunk, it is made use of to catch and pass the food to the mouth. When the oyster is five months old it loses its proboscis; that Is, it is absorbed and becomes part of the lips. I will now show you the main artery weich helps the oyster’s heart to per form its proper functions.” Again the glass wasadjusted. “You see that dark line which contracts and enlarges continually; that is the artery referred to.” To the reporter the artery looked to be at least an eighth of a mile in length and as large around as a log. “We will now look at the heart; sometimes it doesn’t appear to beat, but I gueas this bright morning jt will be right. Ah! yes, there it goes beautiful ly.” The reporter’s eyes had now become quite used to both the ocean and its queer inhabitant, and soon his eyes rested on a throbbing mountain. There was something fascinating about the throbbing of the centre of life. “I have counted the pulsations of the leart,” said the Professor, “and it ran from thirty-five to fifty a minute; that a full-grown oyster does not beat fast. I will now show you its tenta cles.” Again the lens was adjusted and the monster examined, and from its sides stretched away out into the sea were a number of long arms, but without hands or fingers, and the monster kept stretching them out and pulling them in. Government In Umuna. —The cultivation in Florida of the camphor tree in suggested. —It is estimated that 600 boats are engaged in the fish business at Cedar Key. —One hundred thousand 'persons fmd employment at fan making in Ja pan. —Dwarfs usually die of premature old age, it is said, and giants of ex haustion. —Rhode Island and Delaware toge ther are smaller than the Yellowstone Park. —It is proposed to raise the salary of Philadelphia's Mayor from $5,000 to $10,000 a year. Every commune, every mir is govern ed just tiie way it wants to be. The Russian mir is the perfect realization oi! the perfect commune dreamed of by certain Occidental socialists. The pro perty of the commune is indivisible, and as each has always more land than it is possible to cultivate, a regular con ference is held every year and a decision made as to what part of the soil shal be planted and what products shall be cultivated. Every soul in the village is employed in the work and after harves; the profits are equally divided. The “mir” has the privilege of banishing lazy or worthless characters. If a crime be committed all tbe inhabitants are held responsible until the guilty party is found. In the same way •very member of the community is held responsible for the payment of taxes. But in prac tice things do not run so smoothly by any means as the theory of the system might lead one to suppose. There are plenty of lazy folk, turbulent and dan gerous characters, ambitious men, ant over all these tower the employes of the central government, who role tyranni cally and make the peasantry pay them heavilly for overlooking certain things or pretending to ignore deficiencies. Making a Start. ‘I am on my way East and have about three hours in which to see De troit,” said a stranger yesterday to a policeman on Jefferson avenue. “I b then,, you ment in the country?” “Yes, sir.” “Ah! Exactly—exactly. And the best police force?” “Yes.” “Just as I expected—exactly. This s, of course, one of the healthiest cities in the world?” “It is.” “Ah—yes. You have a noble river at yo'ir doors?” “We have, sir.” •‘Exactly—I presumed as much. You have churches and schools for all, of course?” “Yes, sir.” “Exactly—of course. Taxes are ow, the local government efficient, and law and order prevail in all directions?” “Yes.” “I supposed so—yes. The city is im proving, and is certain to become a great metropolis?” “That’s what we think.” “Of course—of course. You have pure air, good water and freedom from epidemics?” “Yes, sir.” “Exactly—exactly—just as I suppos ed. They said the same in Buffalo, Cleveland, Cincinnati, Chicago, Indian apolis and Milwaukee. If you will now have the kindness to direct me to a five- ceut barber shop I will enjoy a shave and then’see the city. With the.start you have given me I can not fail to do you justice.” • Strange Happening* la an Old Church. Years ago at Yarmouth, Me., one quiet Sabbath while the preacher held forth upon the ruin of unbelievers, and the congregation slumbered peacefully in their high-backed pews, a signal gun was heard from the Princes Point Sta tion. Another sharp report followed and still another. The minister did not wait for the “fifthly” in his dis course, but dashed down the pulpit stirs and joined the excited people out side. From their commanding situa tion they saw a strange craft sailing up Casco Bay. It carried no colors. They could see no men on its deck. After a hurried consultation it was decided to send an armed deputation to Prince’s Point to find out the mis sion of the mysterious vessel. The women and children, with a few men for defense, remained on the hill, while the heroic band marched down to the point and waited the arrival of the stranger. An hour passed and they returned. The bark was—a schooner from down the coast which had sailed up for timber! The Chronicle tells only the bare story, but with a grain of facetiousness as if the humor was evi dent enough without any comments. It does not attempt to account either for the fall of the plastering in the same church at the very moment when the parson, a gloomy man with a sono rous voice and pessimistic views of life, was enlarging on the passage, “Blow ye the trumpet! Babylon shall fall and become heaps,” but simply says that “the people thought the end of the world had come ana did leave the meeting-house in great distraction, in juring a woman seriously by tramping upon her in their haste to get out of the door. —Flui ida has seventy-one newspa pers. —Boston has 100 gallons of water a day for each inhabitant. —The domestication of buffalo calves 4o VkAinrr offin A rlranfULQ