The Fairfield news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1881-1900, November 08, 1883, Image 1
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