Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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TRI-WEEKLY EDITION WINNSBORO. S. 0.. NOVEMBER 13.1883 ESTABLISHED 1848. WITH THIS CURBKNT. Rarest mood of all the year I Aimless, idle and content; Sky and earth and atmosphere Wholly indolent. Low and clear and pure and deep. Ripples of the river sing— Water-lilies, half asleep, Drowsed with listening. Tremulous reflex of skies— Skies above and skies below— Paradise and Paradise Blending even so! Blossoms with their leaves unrolled Laughingly, as they were lips Cleft with ruddy beaten gold Tongues of petal tips. Rush and reed, and thorn and vine Clumped with grasses lithe and tall— And a web of summer shine Woven round it all. Back and forth and to and fro, Flashing scale and wing as one, Dragon flies that come and go, Shuttled by the sun. Fairy songs and lullabies Fine as phantasy conceives— Echoes wrought of cricket cries Sifted through the leaves. O’er the rose, with drowsy buzz, Hangs the bee, and stays his kiss, Even as my fancy does, Darling, over this. Lo, let us forget all care, And as listless as the day Drift adown it, half aware, Anwhere we may. ^ Drift and curve and deviate, Veer and eddy, float and flow, Waver, swerve and undulate, As the bubbles go. WOOL.PICKINU AND A PICNIC “Good evenin’, Mis’ Hornish.” “Why, is that you, Mis’ Manly? Come in, won’t you? I wouldn’t a-knowed you but for your voice, seein’ as your bonnet is so fur over your face, an’ this ham a-fryin’ does make sech fumes around my head.” “Mis’ Manly” stood in the doorway. It was dusk. She wore a long gray bonnet of the kind known as “Shaker,” with a voluminous skirt that wrapped her figure like a comfortable mantle. If you could have peeped like a star witluu that bonnet, you would have seen a tired, worn face, and eyes that looked with something like envy into the comfortable kitchen where Mis’ Hornish was frying bacon for “his” supper. (In this western country the shy matrons always speak of their hus bands as “he.”) “It’s so late I can’t stop,” said Mis’ Manly. “I just dropped round to say I was tryin’ to git up a wool-pi ekin’ for to-morrow, an’ to see if you an’ Deb would come.” Debby Hornish was busy at the ironing-table, pressing out a white skirt with an overskirt and three ruffles; but she stopped a moment, pushing back the little black rings of hair from her rosy brow, to say: “Why, Mis’ Manly, what a pity! I’d have helped you with all the pleasure in life; but there’s the picnic I What ever possessed you to have the wool- pickin’ the same day?” “Ain’t it just my luck?” cried the widow. “You see, I’ve been kind o’ slack about my wool, an’ yestiddy momin’ Mr. Simlins said if I’d have it ready agin Thursday, that he’d take it in to Mulkytown and sell it for me. It’s the only chance I’ll get to send it off; and wool is up now to 60 cents in money, and 55 in trade; so I just felt as if I must get it out to-morrow, come what might.” 4 ‘How many have promised to come?’ ’ “Well, you see, this picnic spoils everything. I could a-got 15 or 20, and we could a-finished it up before noon. But everybody was plum crazy about this picnic. I ain’t got the promise of more’n five ladies, an’ you know that ain’t no show at all to pick out the wool of 12 sheep, an’it seems like my sheep was always the dirtiest sheep—an’ the fondest o’ brambles and brier-hedges—of any in the country. ” Here Mis’ Manly let a few tears fall; mild as the rain of a drizzling day, and quite as depressing. “It is too bad lor anything!” cned Mrs Hornish, with hearty sympathy, “I’ll come over, of couse; but Deb, you know couldn’t give up the picnic.” “Law no, It couldn’t be expected; I’m powerful glad to have you. “ Y ou’ll come early, won’t you?” “I’ll be bound that I get over before you have your dishes done up,” said Mis Hornish, with a jolly laugh. The widow Manly took her sad face home; the supper was dished; “he” came in from the wheat field; and the white dress was finished and fiuted; but somehow Debby Hornish did not feel quite happy. “She did look so pitiful, ” she thought, recalling the pinched liitle face under the sun-bonnet. “I should have been so glad to have helped her.” • In truth, the poor, complaining little woman needed help a good many times in the course of the year. “He” had been killed in a mill where he worked some five years before, leaving to his wife fourchildren, a small farm, a few sheep, and a cow; all of which she managed as well as her load of fears, agitations, and chills allowed. They all had chills, poor things; they had given up the doctor as a vain luxury, but they bought quinine and calomel by the pound, and worked on dismally between the shakes. A wool-picking was one of the hardest “chores” of the year. Are there any of my city-bred young folks who don’t know what a wool picking is? It is a careful picking over of the wool after it has been sheared to free it from burrs, brambles, berries, Spanish-needles, diy mud, and dead insects that a lively sheep will collect in his rambles through the world. Further north the sheep are taken to a sparkling running stream, and well washed before they are clipped; but in the stagnant, coffee-colored creeks of the West this would be a useless cere mony. “Not half-a-dozen in the county to help that foolish little woman, ” thought Deb, wrathfully, “why couldn’t she have had her wool-pickin’ a week ago.” , At any other time there would have been no lack of neighbors to help the widow in her need; but everybody was taken up with the picnic. In the hard- work-day life of these people, few pleas ures arise; and in all the farm houses through the six-mile and the nine-mile prairie this picnic had been talked about for a month of Sundays. They were going in buggies, wagons, and on foot; were to fish in Big-Muddy creek; to gather wild roses and black berries; to light a fire in the “timber” —so they called the wooded portions of the flat country—and make hot cof fee for dinner^ and dance under the trees after the rising of the yellow moon. Beyond all these attractions for Debby there was one yet more powerful; young Mr. Thing—Hiram Thing—was to be there. Now Deb was 16; and to her thinking. Hiram was an interesting youth. In fact, everybody had a good word for Mr. Thing. He had a lovely farm, to begin with. His sheep sheared 10 pounds to the fleece; his wheat averaged 30 bushels to the acre. He had a nice house; and since his mother’s death only his crippled little sister Jessy to take care of it. It was plain to all the gossips in the country that he needed a wife. And all the girls liked him. Alice Preston, with her bright black eyes, Betty Browning, who could turn out such a loaf of bread as couldn’t be equalled In Perrv county; Christy Wicker, the shy Swiss girl; they could all be casting a line in Big-Muddy and smiling on Hiram Thing. Deb’s very existence would be forgotten—so Deb thought—unless she should be there in the white dress with the fluted ruffles She sat on the porch looking up to -he sweet silent stars and thought it over. In the sitting-room her father dozed in his chair, with a newspaper over his face to keep off the night- moths and the stray flies that were sleepily sticking to the ceiling; her mother nodded over “His” half-darned stocking. The work for the day was done. Nothing between Deb and Per consciene. She sat there so long, and was so still that finally her mother roused herself to call, “Why, Debby, child! why don’t you come in? Have your wits gone a wool-gatherin’?” “That’s just it, mother!” cried Deb, with a laugh, though she brushed something warm from her eyes as she spoke. ‘*i’ve just about concluded to give up the picnic and go to the wool- pickin’.” ‘‘Debby Hornish! I thought your heart was plumb set on the picnic.” “So I thought myself; but it’s a little more set on helpin’ Mis’ Manly git her wool out. She is such a shif’less little critter! An’ it’ll be a real misfortune for her if she don’t sell her wool for a good price. So I’ll just go along and bear my bob with the iXJBtof you'. - And if you don’t mind; mother, I’ll take over the cakes and things I baked for the picnic.” “That’s a good plan, honey, for 1 reckon she won’t ha^e much of a din ner.” By “sun-up” the next morning Deb and her mother were off. As they reached Mis’ Manly’s gate, a buggy whirled up in a cloud of dust. A voice called, “Deb! Debby Hornish!” “Well! well!” cried Mrs. Hornish, “if there ain’t Hiram and Jessy Thing!” “Why ain’t you on your way to the picnic, Deb? cried the young girl in the buggy. “Oh! you know wool-pickin’ is such fun,” said Deb, with a droll look, “I couldn’t resist cornin’ over and leadin’ a hand.” “Well, you girls are crazy,” said Mr. Thing, jumpin’out of the buggy; “here’s Jessy, nothin’ would do but that she must come to the wool-pickin’.” “That’s natural enough, brother. I never did want to go to the picnic much. What could I do on my crutches amongst a lot o’ lively young folks. I should just a’ been a drag on you. But I can pick wool with anybody, so here I am. It’s different, however, with Deb.” “Yes, indeed,” cried Mr. Thing, eagerly, “and now, Miss Deb, do let me persuade you to change your mind. You see I haven’t any company now that sis has deserted me. I’ll be proud if you’ll let me drive you to the picnic, and keep company with you to-day.” Poor Deb! how handsome he looked as he stood there twisting his fingers in the horse’s mane. Tall and slim, his eyes as blue as his calico shirt, and dancing with fun under his wide straw hat. How nice, this warm day, to drive along the waving wheat-fields, meeting the breeze as it ruffled the young com; to fish under the shade of a cotton-wood tree. Much, much bet ter than to sit in a stuffy room, picking brambles out of wool. “Do go,” urged Jessy; “you know I’m as good as two at wool-pickin’.” Whether Mr. Thing’s smile was too confident or Deb’s own heart reproached her, I know not, but at any rate she said resolutely: “I’ll run a race with you in wool- pickin’, Jessy Thing, an’ that’s all there is of that.” In the widow Manly’s house there were two rooms. One the kitchen, dining and “company” room, with two beds in the comer, the other a sleeping room for the widow and her children. It was here, too, that she retired to weep over her miseries, a solace neces sary only too often. By the time they had fairly got to work four more were added to the party—grandmothers all too old to care for picnics. “Grandma Bixby,” took the lead; she was as spry as a girl and said she was 100 years old. Mrs. Hig gins, noted for having survived three congestive chills; Mrs. Harte. doubled up with the rheumatism; and a funny little old woman who had 15 children and was nicknamed “Dame Thumb” by her boys, made up the party. A great heap of wool wtui piled up in the middle of the floor. They sat around it and peeped at each other over the top of the pile as people do at dinner parties over the epergne. “I’m afraid, ladies, that my wool is dreadful dirty,” said the widow Manly, with a depressed air. “Why, Mrs. Manly,” cried Jessy Thing, gayly, “what would you do if your sheep were lifce some I retyl of the other day, out in Colorado? Why, in the time of drought their fleeces get full of dust; then the wind blows the grass seeds into the wool, and when the rain comes the seeds sprout, and after a while the sheep stmt around with the green grass growing on their backs.” All heads turned to look at Jessy. No one spoke. But after a long silence Dame Thumb said: “Jessy Thing, you’re jokin’, ain’t you?” “I declare I read it,” said Jessy, twinkling her eyes at Deb. “She always was a master hand to joke,” said Grandma Bixby. “I saw her bom, and her mother and her grandmother.” The wool-picking went on so vigo rously that by dinner-time it was more than half done. After dinner Deb in sisted that the widow join the cheerful company, and leave her to do the clear ing up, while Jessy, declaring herself so tired that she must take a 4 ‘nooning,” went down to the spring to rest under the shade of the trees. Deb bustled around, rattling the dishes, and listen ing to the old ladies’ chirp in the next room. “Them Things is such nice folks,” said Dame Thumb. “Well, when all’s said and done they’ve got the curiousest name in the world,” sighed the Widow Manly. “Don’t you know how that came about?” asked Grandma Bixby. “I did know, but it’s kind of slipped my mind, owing to so much trouble.” “Why, the gieat-grandfather o’ these young Things, he was named Bizzard. And he had a sight o’ trouble all on account of his name. Do what he would, the boys would call him Buz zard au’ flap their arms like wings when he came around, and vex him real rough. So he went to the legisla ture prayin’ for his name to be changed. ‘All right,’ says the legislature, ‘what name’ll you have?’i ‘Oh! anything,’ says he, ‘anything.’ “That’ll do,’ says the judge. ‘Write that name down,’ he says to the clerk—‘Anything.’ “Old Bizzard, he was so struck of a heap that he couldn’t say a word. And so in the snappin’ of a bird’s eye, he was written down by the name of Anything. The nex’ gineration they dropped the Any, but Things they are to this day.” “An’ Things they will remain,” sol emnly said the old lady with the rheumatism, “till the last day, when they’ll be called up to the proper name o’ Bizzard.” “Well, Thing is a good name,” said Dame Thumb. “It’s so handy like; an’ forget it you can’t.” Debby in the next room felt her cheeks burn. The stove was so hot! “I’ll go down to the spring and wash the rolling-pin,” she called, and catch ing her sunbonnet, she walked off fan ning herself with her apron. The spring was shaded by willows, and under one of them Jessy lay asleep. Her crutch had fallen by her side, one arm was rounded nuder her head, the other, half bare, was flung out on the grass. “I will not wake her,” thought Deb; “poor child! how tired and warm she looks!” But at this instant Deb’s eyes grew wide with horror. Within a foot of Jessy’s bare arm was a young adder. It’s head, spreading out a little, was reared to strike; white foam was at Its mouth. How Deb did it she never knew, but the next second she had struck wildly at that evil head with the rolling-pin, and was crying— “Wake! Jessy! Wake!” Jessy did wake, and to a scene that she never forgot. Deb had not dared to raise the rolling-pin to strike again; but pressed upon it with the energy of despair, fastening the reptile to the earth, though it squirmed and hissed, and twisted itself round the brave girl’s wrist. “Get to the house, Jessy, as fast as you can, and bring a knife.” She hobbled off, and in a time to be counted by seconds, was back again with the whole party. The four old ladies and Deb’s mother were unnerved. But Widow Manly, for once in her life rising to the occasion, cut off the adder’s head in a masterly manner, just below where Deb held it down with the roll ing-pin. They are used to snakes in this broad, beautiful West of ours, so no one fainted. Not a great deal was said. But Dame Thumb patted Jessy on the head, with,—“You had an es cape, honey. That was a powerful pizen snake.” “I know it,” said the girl, with a quick shudder. The wool-picking went on; but Jessy clung to Deb, and did not do much more- As the sun went down and the party broke up, she said, “If it hadn’t been for you, Debby, Dame Thumb and the rest would have dressed me for the grave by this time; and so Hiram would a’found me when he got home.” “I’m glad I happened to have the rollin’-pin,” said Deb, practically. Through the winter that followed, it was observed that young Mr. Thing’s horse stopped with tolerable regularity at the Hornish gate; and there is a rumor that Deb will wear her white dress early in the spring on a very im portant occasion. Certainly the old farm house has been painted and papered, and Dame Thumb says, ‘‘Nothin’ less than a weddin’ will jes- tify Hihim Thing in such a foolish speudin’ of his wheat money.” —A pear orchard in Thompson county, Ga., was sold five years ago for 1650. It was next sold for $1,800, the $650 having been recovered from cut tings in the meantime. A month after ward $2800 was offered for it, and now it could not be bought for $25,000. —The Australian Government is get ting rid of immense numbers of spar rows by offering 6d. per dozen for their heads. Restaurant keepers in this sec tion are said to give a little more than that per dozen, but they get the bodies of the birds. The heads alone would make very poor reed bird pie, —“A miUion bats” ire said to In habit the dome of the Brenham (Ga.) Coirt House, The World’s Wbest f nply. It is not always certain that agricul tural departments and commercial agencies come very neai the truth In their early estimates of the yearly crop of wheat and other cereals in the civil ized world. In many of the countries of Europe and Asia which figure largely m making up the grand total of the yearly supply of bread-producing grains the means of gathering accurate infor mation in advance are very inadequate. Much, therefore, of any advance esti mate must be based upon conjectural reports rather than positive know ledge. Estimates are made, however, and if they are even approximately correct for the current year they are full of encouragement for the wheat producers of the United States. The latest estimate of the Agricultural Depart ment places the American-crop for the present year at 417,000.000 bushels, against 504,000,000 bushels last year. This make a shrinkage of 87,000,000 of bushels on last year’s immense crop, it is true, but it must be borne in mind that 50,000,000 bushels of that crop is carried over, giving a visible snpply for the current year of 467,000,000 bushels. Allowing that the home con sumption will be about the same as in 1882, when it reached 280,000,000 bush els, there will be a surplus of 3 87,000,- 000 bushels for exportation, if needed. Will it be needed? To answer this question reliance must be placed upon estimates, the accuracy of which can not be absolutely vouched for. The Vienna Congress estimates the total crop of eighteen countries at 950,000.- 000 bushels, or fifteen per cent, below the average crop, leaving a shortage of not less than 160,000,000 bushels to be filled by American wheat. This is a larger amount than the average for eign demand and can hardly fail to keep the prices strong. If the estimates are any where near accurate they are very encouraging to the commercial interests of this country. The old world wants the wheat and the new world has it to spare and nobody else has. The present situation fur nishes all the conditions for a prosper ous year’s trade. Croaking is not in order at this stage of the proceedings. <io8tlp about OlovcH, We shall in time have a whole library of the wardrobe, and if every article of apparel finds as entertaining a chroni cler as gloves have found in Mr. T. W. Beck, books about clothes will be numbered among the most interesting that have ever issued from the press. Mr. Beck traces the history of the glove from the primitive hand-shoe of the earliest times down to the many- buttoned monstrosity of t *J-daj\ In clined, like all authors, to magnify his subject, Mr. Beck claims for gloves a descent so ancient that it is impossible to arrive at any certain conclusion about their age, and so noble, that at one time they were only worn by royal persons or royal blood. Frehistoric cave-men are believed to have worn gloves; the ancient Hebrews wore them, and they were adopted by Greeks and Romans. The latter were believed to have introduced them into Britain. The early English, according to Beo wulf, .had gloves. Before they were regarded as a mark of royal descent the Church claimed them as her own. From the time when Boniface VIII was buried with gloves “of white silk, beautifully worked with the needle and ornamented with a rich border studded with pearls” to the present day, they have figured as part of ecclesiastical apparel. Thomas a-Becket, the Can terbury saint, wore gloves at his inter ment, and many another Church dig nitary has been laid in the grave with richly-embroidered gloves on his folded hands. In the inventory of Winchester Trinity Church, made in 1552, we read of “j payre of red gloves with tasselles wrought with venis (Venice) gold;” and even long after the Restoration their use was maintained. In 1678, perhaps much against the bishops’ will, the old custom was still enforced “to make presents of gloves to all persons that come to the consecration dinners and others.” In Germany and Fiance, as well as in this country, gloves oc cupy a place among the regalia, and as they frequently appear in mediaeval manuscripts we know that they were white, and had wide pointed cuffs. At first gloves were usually made of linen, afterwards of silk. Gloves for ordinary wear—when the practical British mind discovered that they would be an acquisition to our every-day garb —were made of tanned leather; such were the gloves of Henry VI, which, though undoubtedly useful, were far from ornamental. Men and boys wore gloves long before women adopted them, and the same extravagance in gloves which is noted among fashion- ble ladies to-day was practiced by the dandies of the sixteenth century., A pair of Queen Elizabeth’s gloves have been preserved, which, though “of very fine white leather, worked with gold thread,” are of a size at which our fashionable beauties would stand aghast. Good Queen Bess, however, had a hand that was tit to wield a sceptre. The thumb of her glove was 5 inches long, and the palm measured inches across. Another royal glove has been preserved in Henry VIU’s “hawkes glove,” in which, if the origi nal bears any likeness to the illustra tion, a goodly number of “hawkes” could find a comfortable restiug-place. As hawking, when by our forefathers reduced to a science, had its own pecu liar vocabulary, it had also its own gloves, sometimes, as those of King Henry, large and clumsily made, but mostly richly embroidered, edged and lined, with heavy tassels to correspond. Perhaps the reason why some of these hawking gloves are really artistically worked is that ladies likewise took part in the sport of hawking. Archery was another, pastime in which they were proficient, aqd many a fid. for “shoot ing-gloves for my mistress” occurs in the accounts of the stewards of those times. Mr. Beck discourses pleasantly con cerning all manner of gloves—royal, plebeian, sporting, military, judicial, and ecclesiastical. Sometimes his zeal carries hima»vay when he speaks of the white gloves of the Judge as being a “foretaste of the millennium,” but he is generally reasonable and always readable. Of more interest to the glove wearers of to-day is his account of the gloves of famous Queens. Queen Elizabeth’s gloves were of fine white leather worked with gold thread, and lined in the cuffs with drab silk. Mary Queen of Scots’ gloves cost 15s. with out ornaments, the latter costing 50s. more. One of them, which is stiff pre- servea, was of light buff leather, with a gauntlet embroidered with silver wire and various colored silk, and lined with crimson satin. The elaborately em broidered gloves of the sixteenth cen tury were adorned with flowers worked in silk with such exquisite fidelity as to render them veritable needle paint ing. How long gloves have been in com mon use is difficult to ascertain, but we know that on the Continent they were w’orn at the time of Charlemagne, when in England stiff “we went on in benight ed ignorance, careless of culture, des titute of gloves. Saxons succeeded Britons, the Danes came and went, and i;he Normans came and did not go, be fore gloves had a recognized place in our national costume. ” From that time I’orth they have maintained their place, and in the sixteenth century we find gloves of leather and silk, the latter often knitted. Besides describing their iistory, the author of “Gloves” ac quaints us with their symbolical mean ing. Gloves have been signs of faith, security, promises; they entered into transactions of tenure, and formed >art of mediaeval rent. But as they were a token of hostility, they were also often a peace-offering or a gift on any special occasion, such as New Year’s and Easter Day, at betrothals, weddings, and funerals; they were worn as favors by chivalrous lovers, and after going through all these stages are now a common necessity, worn among “all sorts and conditions of men.” Lathered by Beauties. “Next! ’’ said a piquant ard rather pretty girl with a towel in one dimpled hand and a lazor in the other. She idanced down a line of eight customers who were awaiting their turn in the new barber shop In Broad street, near Wall, New York. A young man with delicate golden hair, care fully parted in the middle, jumped up so quickly that he let fall his eye glass. He dropped into the empty barber’s chair and crossed his ieel convulsively on the stool. Three barber chairs were ranged along side this one; at two of them young ladies were shaving slims and at the other a pretty brunette was dyeing black the moustache of a gentlemaa si xt)-five-years old. The young lady who had said “Next!” in such a matter-of-course way, as if it were the twenty thousandth time she had shaved some oue, put one arm around the top of the chair, at which the young man with hair like an autumn leaf wriggled his feet again. She dipped a brush into a orand new cup aud began to paint his face as it she were working on a canvas. Then the fair barber took a tiny instru ment looking like a miniature curry-comb with only one row of teeth left, and drew it gently over the young man’s face. He encouraged the fair barber to talk, and she rattled away about the new style of fall bonnets, Oscar Wilde, the latest thing m cloaks and the last love story When the shaving was flnishad the young man ling ered to have his hair shampooed, and then to have it cut, aud finally to have his mustache waxed. When all these opera tions were through he tore himself reluc tantly from the chair. Bankers, speculators in stocks and fash ionable young men about tiwn came in to get shaved or to get their hair combed. The four young ladies were neatly dressed, intelligent and modest. They had formerly been dressmakers and said they bked their new occupation very much. Of the customers none wanted a “quick shave.’’ None had to catch a tram. Every one was satisfied to sit twenty minutes in his chair, and it he had been obliged to sit there an hout he would have been delighted. When the girls pu* the snow white towels around the young gentlemen’s necks, and lingered to tuck them carefully in, when they tickled the young customers under the chin with their linger tips in rubbing the lather into the bristling beard; wheu they bent down over the young men’s faces to inspect a mictoscopic mole, thi sgtition and delir ious joy of these youths may be more easily imagined than described. With a profound tense of the pleasure they had taken in being shaved and shampooed, many of the young men offered a dollar and a half when they had put on their overcoats and were ready to go cut. Their astonishment was great when they learned that only the ordinary fees were charged. Some said it was equal te a night at the grand opera, a Turkish bath and the Arion ball all thrown Into one. An unbroken stream of the fashion and finance of Wall street and the Produce Exchange poured into the shop all day. The place was handsomely fitted up. The four feminine barbers chatted wittily and incessantly aud said enough in the course of the day to fill an encyclopedia. A Curious Tomb. In the ancient bnrying-ground at East Boxford, in Massachusetts, there is a curious tomo, which is visited by many people m the course of a year, This is the tomb of General Solomon Low, who was buried here m 1861, and who died at the age of seventy-nine yean. It was designed by himself, and has on eithei side of the entrance two handsome wllte marble gravestones, erected to the memory of his three wives, who are also interred here. On each stone are carved pictures of two of his wives. The first two are repre sented with their children around tnem and infants in their aims. They are sit ting in antique chans with straigbt backs. The t wo wives represented on the second stone are sitting in modem-rocking chairs beside a centre-table, cm which nA books. The fourth wife u stiff living. When the adjacent ground wag used for a muster- field, the tomb was always opened for one day, and the general’s regimenta’s were exhibited there, la aocoidinoe witi direc- ions in his will The Beautiful in Hosiery. Recent importations of fine silk stock ings for ladles are simpler in design than were former fashions. Striped hose are gone. So also are those fancy things which were adorned with fiowera and birds and snakes. To a reporter a bright, clever sales woman in a retail store said: “The styles t jis year are—I was going to say they are just too lovely for anything, but you newspaper men make so much fun of that expression, I gussg I won’t use it. But indeed the new styles are lovely. They are in such exquisite shades; will I show you some? Certain ly. Tiiis is the latest shade. It’s called the electric blue. Everything’s electric bine this winter. Too pale? Yes, I think so, too. Now, here’s some of the newest heavy ribbed goods. Did you ever see anything so neat and so pretty aud so rich? Here’s a silver lavender, and here’s a turquoise, and here’s a Russian blue, and here’s a jet black, and here’s an orange, and—Oh, just look—here’s the ashes of rose! Isn't it perfectly beautiful? In my opinion the asbes of rose—here’s the ashes of rose—but I beg pardon, what did you say? Can we tell by the size of ther foot whether the stocking will tit the ankle? Oh, yes; you see—but won’t you please excuse me here comes one of my customers. I’ll send our buyer to you. He knows a great deal more about hosiery than I do. Indeed he does.” “There’s no trouble about the fit,” said the buyer, “Fine silk is very elastic. It will give either in breadth or length. Hit is too broad it will be come the right size by palling it up higher. Bee how this stocking stretches. It will fit the leg like a kid glove fits the hand. The sizes range from eight to ten. In Baltimore the average is from eight to eight and a half. In Boston and Chicago it is from nine to nine and a half, and in New York from eight and a half to nine. It is a well known fact among hosiery dea’eas that the women in Baltimore have the smallest feet in the country. Why, there’s not a day passes without some lady asking for seven and a half, which is a girl’s sice. I said‘asKing,’bat that was a slip of the tongue. They don’t ask for any particular size. Nor do we guess at the size. We show them the different shades, and they make their selections apparently without noticing the size. There, are of course, exceptions to this, but why most of the women of Baltimore should be so diplomatic about buying stockings is something I can’t see any reason for. If I were in Boston or Chicago or St. Louis I could readily understand the object., “Yes, there are lots of high-priced stockings sold in Baltimore. Here’s a pair worth $15. This style is known as the Czarina. Each stocking is mad a in pairs and then woven together after the manner of an Indian shawl. There are four or five distinct colors m thii desig n. The Czarina, the sandal fronts aud other freaks of fancy designing, are woru in the eveuing and at parties. Black stock ings are worn at all times and are very popular. The foot and ankle look smaller in black than in any other color. “The fashions in hosiery are set by the women themsolyes. When I went to Europe this summer, I found that the manufacturers hod been making striped hose. As the tendency in this country was toward solid colors, Ameri • can buyers giye orders accordingly. The striped was immediately put aside, and the manufacture of solid colors be gun. They are now working day and night to snpply the demand. The best silk stockings sell from $4 to $15 a pair, Silk hose for babies sell for $2,50 a pair. They Drank Him Up. In the neighborhood of Marseilles, not long ago, was discovered an ancieut Roman burying-grouud, containing, among other interesting graves, that of Consul Calm Septimus, wherein a quant ity of antique weapons and coins were found, and, moreover, an amphora— the inscription upou which was all but illegible—containing a small quantity of a thick, reddish liquor. The am phora, emptied of its coat eats, was sub mitted to the inspection of an eminent archie Jogist, who, after bestowing ex traordinary pains on the deciphering of the mutilated characters engraven upon its surface, declared it to be his opinion that they indicated the presence of genuine Falernian within the vessel, adding that Cains Septimus, a jovial consul of considerable repute as a judge of good wine, bad obviously ordered that a flask ot the best viutage in his cellar should be buried with him. Hie scientific gentleman who had dis covered the consul’s grave and taken possession of its contents, upon learn ing the trne character of th liquid relic in question, at once started for Paris with his Falernian in a glass decanter, and, there arived, invited a dozen of his friends, members of the Academy of Inscriptions, to a dinner at oue of the leading restaurants. At desert he pro duced the “couaul’s wine,” carefully poured it into font tiny liqueur glasses, and handed it round to his guests, ex horting them to drink it reverently and upstanding, to the immortal memory of Cains Septimus. The glasses had scarcely been emptied when a telegram was brought in by the head-waiter on a salver, and laid before the founder of the feast. He opened and glanced at it, and then, letting it faff to the floor, fltjd from the room, with a' cry of ter rible agony. One of the startled Academicians picked up the message and read it aloud. It ran as follows: “Marseilles, 7 p. m. Don’t drink con tents of amphora. Not Falernian at aft. Have deciphered inaoriptkm on foot, which previously escaped my notice. Red liquid is body of Consul Gains, liquified by special embalming process. ” Bat the friendly warning came too late. The archeologist and his Academical colleagues had drank up the consul to his last drop. —The eld -industry of glass making has had such a revival in Ye nice that 15,000 people now make beacta, while many others are employed in glass-blow ing and mosaic. THE VERDICT —OF— * THE PEOPLE BUY THE BEST! Mr. J. O. Boag—Dear Sir: I bought the tint Davis Machine sold by you over five yean ago tor my wife, who haa given It a long and fair trial. I am well pleased with It. It never gives any rouble, aud la as good as when first bought. J. W. HOUCK. Winns boro, S. C., April 1883. Mr. Boao: \ on wish to Know what I have to aay In regard to the Davia Machine bought of you three years ago. I feel 1 can’t say too mnch In its favor. I made abont $80,(X) within five months, at times running it so fast that the needle would get per fectly hot from friction. I feel conflden! I could not nave done the same work with as mnch ease and an well with any other machine. No time leet in adjusting attachments. The lightest running machine 1 have ever treadled. Brother James and Williams’ families are aa mnch pleased with their Davia Machines bought of you. I want no better machine. As I said before, I don’t think too mnch can be said for the Davia Machine. Kespectfully, Ellen Stevenson, Falr0“ld County, April, 1883. Mr. boao : My machine gives me perfect satis faction. I And no fault with It. The attachments are so simple, x wish for no better than the Davis Vertical Feed. Respectfully. Mrs. R. Milling. Fairfield county, April, 1883. Mr. Boao: 1 nougat a Davis Vertical Feed ew lag Machine from you tonr years ago. I am eUghted with it. It never haa given me any ronble, and has never been the least out of order. It Is as good aa when I tirst bought it. I can cheerfully recommend It. Respectfully, Mrs. M. J. Kirkland. Montlcello, April 30, 1883. This Is to certify that I have been using a Daria Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for over two years, purchased of Mr. J. o. Boag. I haven’t tonnd It possessed of any fault—all the attachments are so simple. It neverrefuses to work, and is certainly the lightest running In the market. I consider It a arst class machine. Very respectfully, Minnie m. Willingham. Oakland, Fairfield county, S. C. Mr boao : i am wen pleased in every particm with the Davia Machine oougbt of you. I think a flrst-clasa machine In every respect. Ton knew you sold several macblnea of the same make to different members of oar families, all of whom, aa far aa I know, are well pleased with them. Respectfully, Mrs. M. H. Moblet. Fairfield county, April, 1883. This is to certify we nave nan in constant use the Davia Machine bought of you about three years ago. As we take In work, and have made the price of It several tlmee over, we don’t want aay better machine. It la always ready to do any kind of work we nave to do. No puckering or skipping stitches. We can only say we are well pleased ana wish no better machine. Catherine Wylie and Sister. April 25,1883. 1 have no fault to ana with my machine, and don’t want any better. I have made the price of It severs times by taking In sewing. It la always ready to do its work. I think It a first-class ms chine. I feel I can’t say too much for the Davis Vertical Feed Machine. Mas. Thomas Smith. Fairfield county, April, 1883. Mr. J. o. boao—Dear Sir: it gives me much pleasure to testify to the merits of the Davis Ver tical Feed Sewing Machine. The machine I got of yon about five years ago. has been almost In con stant uae ever since that time. I cannot see that It Is worn any, and has not coat me one cent for repairs since we have bed It. Am well pleased end don’t wish for any better. Yonrs truly, Host. Crawford, Granite Qnarry, near Wlnnaboro S. C. We have used the Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for the last five years We would not have any other make at any price. The machine haa given us unbounded satisfaction. Very respectfully, Mrs. W. K. Turner and DauohtebsI Fairfield county, S. C„ Jen. 21,1883. Uaving bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from Mr. J. O. Boag some three jeers ago, aud It having given me perfect satisfaction In every respect as u tamlly machine, both tor heavy and light sewing, aud never needed the least re pair in any way, i can cheerfully recommend It to aay one as a first-class machine In every particu lar, and think It second to none. It la one ot the simplest machines made; my children uae It with all ease. The attachments are more easily ad justed and it does a greater range of work by means of its Vortical Feed than any other ma chine I have ever seen or used. Mrs. Thomas Owing*. Wlnnsboro, Fairfield county, S. C. We have had one of the Davis Machines about tour years and have always tonnd it ready to do all kinds of won we have had occasion to da Cant see that the machine la worn any, and works as well as when new. Mas. W. J. Crawford, Jackson’s Creek. Fairfield county, 8. C. My wife la highly pleased with the Davis Ma chine bought of yon. 8he would not take double wnat ane gave tor It. The machine has not been out of order since she had It, and she can do any kind of work on it. Very Respectfully, Jas. f. Fuze. Montlcello, Fairfield county, 8. C. The Davis Sewing Machine la simply a treas ure. Mas. J. A. Goodwtn. Ridgeway, N. C., Jan. 10. 1883. J, O Boao, Esq., Agent-Dear Sir: My wife haa been using a Davis Sewing Machine constant ly for the past tear years, and It has never needed any repair* and works just as well as when first bought. She says It will do a greater rang* of practical work »nd do U easier and better than any machine the has ever used. We cheerfully recommend It ae a No. 1 family machine. Your traj, w. Jas. Q. Davis. Wlnnsboro, 8. C., Jan. t, 1883. Mr. Boao : I bare always found my Davis Ma chine ready do all kinds of to work I have had oc casion to da I cannot see that the machine Is worn a particle and it works as wed aa when new. Respectfully, Mas. R. C. Goodino. Wlnnsboro, 9. C., April, 188$, Mr. Boao : My wife has been constantly using the Dan* Machine I ago. bought of yon about five yean I have never regretted baying It, as it is always ready for any kind of family sewing, either heavy or light. It la never oat of fix or needing tepaln. Very respectfully ^ Fairfield, 8.0, March, 18M.