University of South Carolina Libraries
NLitja v EE srsd JIT IER iur§ etc, m/ttr free f whM ess of aoi aoae, so, nae A I, Ms. :ig key: sample >HAJi ceute hma. lAOo. eet Wo IUKH re . P» •3a cc OoBtiy Me outfl: nrt.Me (» o^ue ition iher, WINNSBOEO. S. C.. NOVEMBER 22.1883. ESTABLISHED 1848. iccident yard it is kilptoi's of life are we as we standi, rlili our souls uncarved before us, iting the hour when, at God’s command, nr life's dream shall pass o’er us. Ve carve it then on the yielding stone fith many a sharp incision, heavenly beauty shall be our own, ir lives that angel vision.” HER WEIRD. M»yer. Ud par. after for re- lelphia. very Id ith aud tstn of CO. 'iotk. ERS. uigea m between on our lara con CO.. AIK. ’FKCTS IAT10.N U. BO ’hllsdel noun condi ENTs Hntl . 13li.tKi/ York. UA\ inriuis BELL* BO. idu»> bloo. ••o evei hrouic hopn h—all slievHt re!ia- t •Uf. k your -t*k« UBE. AK- alph I . or dier jmiu J<HS fa. wno EUAN Terms 1881, ’•rer not frea nosd tut beat for tb» neo- Y. ‘^Somehow, I cannot believe it will over be.-’ Widow Endicott, only raus- finished unconsciously aloud. |It will be, and sooner than you ik,” interrupted a voice beside “I see you have not heard the rs?” •‘The news?” “John Renniman is dead.” *!fDead, Jacques, do you say?” fYes; he died of fever on his way ae on the Scotia. You know what means, of course; the smoothing HU difficulties for Rame, and, though rill mourn his cousin most sincerely, |easy fulfilment of his hopes.”. Ill interest,they went on discussing, lid many a family that day in Little |ven, the unexpected fortune that befallen Raymond Renniman with I cousin's death. It was nothing to im that the girl in the window bent, sh moment, deeper above her work; ly did not note even when suddenly threw it aside and crept out of the m. She was not supposed to have auy in- est in the Rennimans, alive or dead', [smile flashed, with the thonght, on girl’s pale face as she went down hall. So well she had kept fc'fr bret from Aunt Endicott and Jac- lesl Even in the startling fate of this sh hour she realized there might be >re. Still smiling, she stepped out on the tie balcony which fronted on her imber. It was so pleasant to remem- |r now what until now she had quite jretted—that there had been sharp ards, even, between them and her be- Ause she would not marry rtaymond enniman; that they, in their secret irts, were this moment bemoaning [at she might have been all in all where t>w she was Nothing at all! The night was fair; the pressure of e thought showed suddenly in paiu- 1 plainness on the fresh,strained face, othing at all—though, but for her n denying, she would have been the fe of this man she loved so fondly; ver so fondly, so eternally, it seemed Renie Endicott, as this moment she me, for the first time, truly to realize might be—never. At least bis wife. The truth flashed early, but truth this little moment ,d lost its sting. She clasped her nds and at the shining sky looked up riUi a mad regret for what she had me. It was nothing to her that in lymond Renniman’s heart there was love, there could never be any love, her; that his seeking her in marriage as but the fulfilment of a promise ade to a dying parent whose affection e had won. There was one his soul orshipped, well she knew, but—she id not care; it were enough to have m his wife. At least, his wife. Moon and stars med to laugh at her for her folly; iddenly she realized the strange fancy i6 had almost unwittingly cherished, at, since that day of his calm propo- 1, his fate was linked to hers. De- pite Elise Greydon, despite her own rejection, she had hedged it close- through the months, never yielding e odd hope that all would yet come ght between them. Until now. Now? John Renniman as dead; his cousin was bis only heir, d the entire wealth of the dead de- nded to him. The sole barrier to marriage with proud Adam Grey- Ion’s daughter was removed; as Jac- lues had said, it would be sooner than IlMiey thought. Now? It was a hard little moment Renie Endicott, but she quickly lized its folly and struggled with it. e bent her thoughts determinedly ward John Renniman. She had never m him; she had heard of him only as strange, grave man, with some mys- iry in his life—a mystery of a woman’s dealings which they said would follow im to death. And death had come, d—since life was death, she sup- 1, nay, she was sure, that he had lot cared. The moon lit up a bit of river just eyond the roadway. She shivered as le looked over it; she forgot herself S uite in the tender pity that arose in er heart for him. After such a life i die this sad, sad way! It were hard jv auy, but to him surely life owed jme little recompense of love and hon- before it ebbed away. A pity—a pity. Many a loveless ght, looking out over the waters, she bought of him; with strange persis- sney the ghost of John Renniman kept Ring up her life. Only a ghost! The truth flashed a mdder and a strange regret for its emptiness ofttimes through the loveless days. • * * * * # # John Renniman was dead. A con tagious fever had broken out on ship board; be bad died after a few days’ aickness, and was buried in the sea. His baggage, the papers found upon liis person, were handed over to the proper parties, and, all in due time, Raymond Renniman came into posses sion of wea 1 *’. which ranked him one -of the richest men in the country, and I first am ong the many suitors for the hand of proud Adam Greydon’s daugh ter. There followed, ere many days, a buiet wedding at Greydon Manor; for though grief was sincere, love was im patient, all the same. One was there among the few invited guests—one who listened to the marriage vows with , pleased smile upon her lips as she saw the ayes of some one directed to* She was over it a little, Renie Endi cott had thought; she had run the or deal bravely, was all she could congrat ulate herself, that hour it was over. And to one thing quickly she made up her mind. She could not-she would not look more on the man she loved in. his first flush of happiness with anoth er. She must, she would go away. “I need a change; I will go to Ben ton for the winter.” So, quietly, the next morning, she said so to Aunt Endi cott and Jacques, and two days later she was on her way to the little western town which,in past time, she called her home. li was a long journey; she always dreaded it. and this time it seemed as though it never would reach its end. She turned surprised as one in the car remarked that they were traveling at a breakneck, dangerous rate of speed. For her the train jogged on all too slowly, whatever its rate might be. She was so forlorn, so lone amid all this chatting crowd of people; she had not even that absurd fancy which other times had borne her company. She had Only a ghost, she thought. It was a relief when a man entered at a station and took the seat beside her. It seemed not quite so drear, so lone, though through the still long iouraey he never once looked at her, nor vouchsaf ed a word. She had dreaded most he would, yet she could but wonder he did not; she could not forbear an oc casional fleeting glance of cariosity into his grave but handsome face. It grew a fascination; it grew—a terror. For the thought suddenly seized her it was all a fancy—that the man beside her was simplj a vision her imagination had conjured up. A fresh thought flashed she could not endure; quite beyond herself, she stretched* out her hand to touch and know what this strange thing might be. “Ouly a ghost—her ghost?” The cry was on her lips, almost the words were pouring out, when sudden ly—a crash, one dreadful little moment of shock, of horror, and she found her self sitting amid a mass of debris close at the water’s edge. She was too stun ned, too dazed to remember what had happened. Lacking the consciousness that she was unharmed, and impulse to extricate herself, she sat dully listening to the cries and groans around her, most fancying it a dream. Suddenly, looking downward, she saw the face of the man who had sat beside her in the car—upturned, white, motionless, at her feet. The eyes were closed, a little stream of blood trickled down from the forehead; he was surely dead, she thought, as the dreadful fact of the accident came back to her; but quickly she bent and stanched the flow as best she could, dipping her hand in the near, blessed waters, and bathing the lifeless face. Might it be that he should live! So she queried, looking with an all absorb ing interest and anxiety down at him, with a strange growing feeling of right and kinship she never thought to ques tion. A cry of joy burst from her lips when, at last, the lids trembled, and the dark eyes opened slowly. Just he looked at her, and then a smile broke on his face. It was a smile men had not seen on that face for years. “Dear,” he said, faintly, “is it you after all this time? I am glad—so glad.” He groped weakly for her hand, and, all naturally, she gave it to him. A pang thrilled her as suddenly he drop ped it, with fading smile and another look in his face. But it was kindly still. “I thank you,” he spoke again; “you - - are very kind- The voices of helpers interrupted. As if by impulse, he strove for a card in his pocket and handed it to her. She simply glanced at it, and Her hand dropped; she fell back ward in a swoon. “John Renniman.” That was the name upon the card. * * * * * # # It was days ere Renie Endicott was herself again. Uninjured save a few trifling bruises, she was able to travel the little distance to Benton by herself; but, with the reaction, fever and deli- rum set in and waged a brief but mighty war against her. Her first clear thought was to the strange event of that last moment, and it absorbed her through the days. At times It seemed all a dream, a wild fancy born of the excitement of the moment aud the white face she looked upon. Again and each time sorer, it was a simple, rational fact; this was only another John Renniman whom she had chanced to meet. She strove to forget it quite, so sure the latter grew, and somehow so much pleasanter seemed her weird. But she could not; each day it filled her mind the fuller, each day she saw more clear ly the rare, fond smile, more distinctly heard the mysterious, tender words this John Renniman had spoke to her. She was lost in it still the day this little note was brought to her: “May I have the pleasure of seeing and thanking you again for your kind ness at Raven Forks? “John Renniman.” The gentleman was below, the ser vant said. She went down confusedly with just the clear thought that she was glad. Glad for what? That he had recovered from his injuries, she quietly said to him. But as the dark eyes smiled down on her, and the deep, rich voice responded, the realization flashed that, though she had forever lest her weird, though this was but a new John Renniman, she was glad for something else. It was a pleasant interview; it was all so natural at parting she should ask him to come again. And again and again he came, each time more eagerly welcomed and anticipated, till finally his presence grew an essential sweetneii to her life, and the image of Raymond Renniman, as fate oft ordains it, drop ped out of memory. She loved this new John Renniman: she knew that he loved her. But theje was a strange reticence between then which puzzled her on both their parts. His love seemed ever to tremble on liis lips, but he did not speak it; she knew surely, at tim^, that he forced it back. And she could never bring herself to, speak to him of Little Haven, much less to tell the tale of that other John Renniman, which should have been all so natural. She was pondering its strangeness even in his company one evening, when a letter came from Jacques. She open ed it for a mere glance at the contents, and her eyes fell on a bit of news which made her quite forget herself. Raymond Renniman was bankrupt; by the rashest speculations he had lost the entire wealth which had but just accru ed to him. “He has done this!” she cried aloud. “Raymond Renniman has done this. Thrown away in chances the money which came to him ouly from a dead man. What —” she spoke as if to herself, but suddenly she paused re membering, and startled by the look in her companion’s face. It was a look of surprise, not unmixed with pain. “You know Raymond Renniman?” he broke in hastily, “And you say that he has done this folly? I ” His look changed; a smile, much the smile of that other day, crept over his countenance. “I am very glad,” he finished, grasping with sudden venting passion, the hand which held the letter, “so glad, little Renie, because the news rids me of all perplexity, and makes all things right between us.” What did he mean? She could only stare at him; wid e a bit freed from that first blissful thought that had so •ngrossed him, he looked back, ah, as tenderly, but again surprisedly at her. “STon have known all this, and you never suspected me?” he isaid. “But —how could you? It is a strauge tale, little Renie. * A few mouths ago I was in London,and decided to return home. My stateroom was engaged; I had written to Raymond when I would sail; but, almost at the last moment, the freak seized me not to go. A poor fel low I had long known was anxious to go over, and to him I proffered the pas sage, trusting to him some important papers and my baggage, thinking to follow at my pleasure. Ten days after I read what you know. The facts moved me strangely. He had been taken sick a day out, and dying in deli rium, none had ever learned his name. There was naught in his belongings by which the truth could be traced; he was not unlike me in appearance. Moreover he was a friendless man; to no one his death would matter. It all flashed on me, and I was an unhappy man, Little Renie. 1 had often wished I was dead, and I resolved to leave the matter as it was. I knew Raymond’s troubles, and I determined to let him have my fortune to live, where I did not care, somewhere away from him. I drifted out into this new country; I lived on—ah, the dull, dead life till that day I saw you, Little Beuie. Darling, the touch of your little hand brought back something more than life to me! And I have been loving you—loving you ever since that blessed moment, but with always the thought in my heart how I could come back to life and do what was right by Raymond. But now, poor Raymond! I am sorry for him; but, oh, my way is open. Darling—darling, do you care so much for this lost money, or can you do with me?” She had listened in amazement, but his arms had closed around her; now the tender kisses were raining on her lips.||What more for Renie Endicott? Shyly she looked up at him. “With joy,” she murmured, fondly. The smile of other years beamed again on John Renniman’s face. Life had paid the debt it owed him. It was a strange tale to go baclf to Little Haven. Logan, the Mingo, Congo Nataral History. The Minister'll Wife. Two ladies entered a Fort street oar one day recently and took seats beside a lady well known to one of them. She gave her friend an introduction, aud directly this one remarked: •T think I saw yon at the -Street Otinrch one Sunday, several weeks ago.” "Yes.” “You seemed to be as much disgusted with the sermon as I was, for I saw that you were terribly uneasy," “Yes,” again.” “Did you ever hear a worse preacher in all your life?” “Well, perhaps.” “1 never did, and I haven’t been there sin e.” The conversation then rattled off on some other subject, aud by and by the two ladies got off. “I wonder why she didn’t agree with me about that preacher?” queried the one who had bias e.i him. “Why, how could you expect her to? She’s that very minister’s wife!” Bird* un wire*. Some very curious observations have been made on the German telegraph wires at the instance of the Secretary of the Post-office, and, in a paper read uefore the Eleetroteohnio Society of Berlin, some interesting facts were given proving that in districts were there are no trees the smaller birds of prey, such as sparrows, starlings and swal lows, trequently alight on the telegraph wires in great numbers. Swallows like to build under the eaves where the wires run into the offices, and sometimes cause an “earth” eon toot, Contacts be tween wire and wire are frequently Closed by large birds, such as bustards, storks, swans aud wild ducks. They cause the wires to bend and sometimes to break. Accidents of this kind were frequent when the wires run by high roads along which young geese were driven to their pastures. Smaller birds, even partridges, are generally killed by the shook of stnkiig' the wires. They do not cause much damage to the lines. Holes are often pecked through the poles by woodpeckers, the picas martins or black woodpecker, the picas virids or green woodpecker, and the pleas major or piebald woodpecker, none of whioU spare any kind of wood with whigh they cone in contact. There are few intelligent persons In the civilized world who have not read the speech of Logan, the Cayuga— usually called the Mingo—chief, and ad mired its simple, pathetio eloquence. It wiU live as long as oration on the Crown, yet not one in a thousand who know it by heart know when and how it was made. It may not b« uniaterest- ing to tell the story as it was told in the deposition of John Gibson, the first secretary aud second Governor of In diana Territory. In 1774, says the de position, Mr. Gibson accompanied Lord Dunmore on the expedition against the Shawneea and other Indians on the Scioto; that on their arrival within fif teen miles of the towns they were mat by a flag and a request that some one should be sent in who underwood their language, and he went at the request of Lord Dunmore and all the officers; that on his arrival at the towns, Logan, the Indian, came to where thu deponent was sitting with Cornstalk a id the other chiefs of the Shawnees, and asked him to walk out with him; that they went into a copse of wood, where they sat down, when Logan, after shedding abundance of tears, delivered to him the speech nearly as related by Mr. Jeffer son in his “Notes on Virginia,” The speech was delivered to Mr. Gib son alone, apparently, and orally, too, for tve can hardly suppose that Logan wrote it, in the fashion of modern ora tors, and gave it to his friend to publish or preserve. Reporters were not known among the Shawnees in that day, and if they had been, Logan couldn’t write. We infer, therefore, that this sudden ontburat of uncultured eloquence was merely an Indian’s “talk” with a friend. Mr. Gibson does not say that he wrote it down or repeated it to Mr. Jefferson, but we must suppose he did one or the other, as nobody else heard it; and the supposition is strengthened by bis oer- tihoatiou that Mr. Jefferson had pre served it “nearly” as it was delivered. Probably the general idea has been pretty much the same as ours, that the ohiet made his speeoh at an assembly oi whites and Iniians, and some of the auditors remembered it well enough to tell it to others, and it has got to Mr. Jefferson, The man who proposed and led the expedition which murdered Logan’s family—against the protest’d Mr. Zina, the founder of Zinesvilie— was Michael Cresap, of whom nothing appears to be knows but thu infamous butchery. A few days afterwards a worthy companion in cruelty, one Daniel Greathouse, led a party in a massacre of the Indians, some forty or fifty miles higher up the Ohio. The oojsequenne was an Indian war aud a desperate battle at tbe mouth of the Great Kanawha, led by Logan, who had always before oeen “the white man’s friend,” as he says, and oy Cornstalk, Red. Hawk and Elemipsico. The whites lost 75 killed and 140 wounded, a bloodier battle than Tippecanoe, where the whites had 37 killed on the field and 150 wounded. Logan is said to have lived on the creek bearing his name, on which Alexander Cambell lived and founded Bethany college, and had his cabin or wigwam set near the site of the' college. The Delawares and Snawnees, who composed the major part of the force that fought the battle at the mouth of the Kauawha, held the terri tory where our city stands, and all the eastern and southeastern part of the State, when it was ceded in 1818. She Knew Him Beet, John William Blank belonged to the Ancient and Modern and Highly Hon orable Sons of Guns of Detroit If it wasn’t that, it was some other frater nal order which meets every Monday night and pays so much to the heirs of every member who happens to die. John William happened to die the other month, and a committee was ap pointed to draft resolutions and present them to his wife in person. The first part of their duties was fulfilled to the entire satisfaction of the lodge, but the committee had some little trouble in finding Mrs. Blank. They traced her from one neighbor to another, and fin ally found her at her sister’s, hat and shawl on and ready to go out. “Resolutions of sympathy, eh? Well, read ’em.” The Chairman of the committee pro ceeded to read that John William was a good husband and a kind father and a citizen of unapproachable integrity, when the widow interrupted: “Too much taffy! We used to have a fight every week, and as for his being a kind father we never had any chil dren. As for his integrity he stole all the wood we burned last winter!” The Chairman gulped down some thing and continued to read that John William was an upright brother, a man with a heart full of sympathy for the misfortunes of others, and that charity and forgiveness were the beacon fires which guided his footsteps. “Fudge!” sneered the widow. “I washed for the money to pay his dues to the louge, and all the sympathy any one got out of him wouldn’t buy a cent’s worth of court-plaster I Forgive ness! Well, some of you ought to have sat down on his hat some time! He’d have revenge if it cost him a year in State Prison. Beacon fires is purty good, considerin’ that we never had a decent stove in the house!” “Madam, your husband has been called hence.” “Exactly; I was at the funeral and ought to know.” “He was cut down like a flower.” “Well, flowers ought to let whisky saloons and plug-tobacco and old sledge alone.” “And we trust that our loss is his gain.” “Well, if he’s any better off I’m glad on’t, but I guess the gain is on your side. Now that’s all 1 want to hear. I can pick up a thousand better men than him with my eyes shut. I’m in a hurry to go down and see a woman who offers to sell a fur-lined circular for 115,and if you have any more highfalul- tin Shakspeare to git off my sister will tyke it in and save it till I come back!” The elephant is very abundant on the Upper Congo; and every morning, as you ascend the river, traces of their last night’s devastations may be seen, for they seem to have a tendency toward wanton destruction and waste, being like parrots and monkeys in only eating about a quarter of the food they pro cure, and scattering the rest right and left with wanton caprice. So, on the islands of the upper river, where the graceful borassus palms grow iq their thousands, each blue-green palm with its cluster of orange fruit, the elephant is to be constantly seen—some times in broad daylight, but more often towards sunset—breaking his way through the pillar-like clusters, destroying many a beautiful palm for tbe sake of those orange colored stony dates of which he is so strangely fond. You may also see them, as I have, in the short hour of tranquil twilight, when the sky as sumes a faint golden tone, when the great smooth sheet of water is of the same rich color, and stretches away to wards the horizon of the broad lake like Congo, where it melts indistinguish- ably into the warm sky, then you may see the elephants walking out iu Indian file from the sheltering forests into the shallow parts of the river, where they disturb the perfect calm of its reflected gold with many ripples, looking like blue scratches ou its surface. Here, if you are not too near, you may see them squirt streams of water over their dry, heated skins, and observe the mother elephant carefully accompanying her young one during the bath. But ordi narily it is at night time, and, above all, when there is a moon, that the ele phants come down to drink and bathe. Moreover, they are much more com monly seen on the Congo during the dry season, as then the many little for est brooks are likely to be dried up, and the elephants are compelled to incur greater publicity iu their bath by seek ing the great Congo. ****** Hippopotami are often a source of danger to native canoes, as they follow them at times and upset them by a jerk of their huge heads underneath. On one occasion j. had a personal experi ence of their spite or their ill-timed play, whichever ii may have been. I was de sceiiding the Congo iu one native canoe, and in another was some of my luggage. The first canoe, in which I was seated, with three Zanzibaris paddling, roun ded a little promontory somewuat ab ruptly, and came suddenly ou a group of hippopotami sunning themselves near the bank. Three of them deliberately gave chase to the canoe, and for some time ran us perilously hard, keeping up within a few feet of the boat, and only occasionally showing their nostrils above water. At last they found that a stern chase was a long cnase. and desisted, turning about aud endeavoring to at tack the baggage canoe, which was fol lowing. For a moment I feared for my luggage, but the natives who were paddling managed cleverly to elude the hippos, aud put out into the middle of the Congo. Here the river horses de clined to follow, for I have observed they have a strong objection to swim ming far out of their depth, aud more over, would find it hard to resist being carried away by the furious current that races down the middle of the stream. You may also Le sure of avoid ing a chase by hippopotami if you steer your canoe towards the centre of the Congo; but then, eii revanche, you are likely to get into one of the many whirl pools and be upset, sj it is rather a case of “out of the frying-pan into the lire.” What keeps the hippopotami from gam boiling in the middle of the river is an equally serious deterrent to canoe tra vellers. As for this great amphibian, he prefers, in the daytime, to frequent those large submerged sandbanks that are so common in the Congo. On it 8enool-*htp. A letter from on board the training schoolship St. Mary’s, at New London, says: The past two months have been busy ones for the graduating boys, who have been constantly occupied in pre paring themselves for the ordeal of the coming examination. They have been hard at work preparing specimens of their skill in the use of the marlings pike, and palm, and needle. Naviga tion has also had a large share of their attention, and they begin to feel them selves capable of navigating a ship to any part of world and under all circum stances. This year the boys have been divided in a manner different from the rule heretofore followed, that is, the first aud second divisions are composed of the graduating class and those of the new boys who have merited the honor by their behavior and application dur ing the cruise, so that the new boys this year have had the same chances of learning that the old boys have had, and next year the graduating class will, without doubt, be an exceptionably fine one. About three weeks ago we left New London for a short cruise to break the monotony of the harbor routine and first visited Gardiner’s bay, which lies to the eastward of Long Island, and where we remained for three days. It is rather a desolate place, about ten miles from Greenport. The only house in sight from the ship was at the light house, about two miles distaut. Dur ing our stay the weather was anything but pleasant, as it rained most of the time, and that, with the fog, made it very disagreeable. From Gardiner’s bay we went to Newport, R. I. We remained there only three or four days, and most of us were glad to return to New London. Alter returning instead of anchoring off the Pequot house, as usual, we came up and dropped anchor off Fort Trumbull, which is much more convenient for communicating with the city and is much pleasanter in every way. We “turn out” at six o’clock in the morning and immediately go to work scrubbing clothes, after which one watch washes the spar deck, while the other watch cleans the gun deck. In this way the time before breakfast is occupied. At eight o’clock we have breakfast, after which we prepare for inspection, which takes place at half- past nine. Immediately after Inspec tion we go to our studies and exercises, which continue until half-past 11. For school and exercise the boys are separ ated into four divisions; the first and second are composed of the boys of the graduating class and such of the new boys as have merited the honor of being advanced; the third and fourth sections are composed of the new boys or those who have made only one cruise. The instruction consists of navigation, sail- making, knotting and splicing, hand ling sails and exercise with the boats in rowing and sailing. At noon we have dinner, from which time until half-past one no work is done except by those whose turn it Is to clean the mess gear. At half-past one school begins again and continues until three, when it is closed for the day, and from then until supper, which we have at six o’clock, the boys are allowed to go away in tbe boats, rowing or sailing, wherever they please. After supper the boats are hoisted, and then the * ime is our own until hammocks are piped down at nine o’clock. THE VERDICT I’hotogranhlng Sound. Pnotography appears to be running a race with electricity incurious develop ments and novel applications. Rook- wood, the well knswn New York photo grapher, has jnst achieved the remark able teat of photographing sound waves instantaneously. The instrument by which the sound wave was represented, or "made visible in its effect, is s new telephone, the inventor of which has ob tains! from Mr. Rookwood a perfect ocular demonstration of its vocal repeat- ting action. The vibrating diaphragm, upon which the voice is projected, has a tine metallic point mounted ou the centre of its reverse side. This point meets the pointed end of a conducting wire so nearly that when at rest the interval between the two points can bo discovered only through a strong lens. The thing to be done was to show in a picture ot the instrument, or rather in a series of pictures, the alternate contact and separation of points from the vibra tions imparted to the diaphragm by the voice, involving the closing and open ing of the eleotrioal circuit aud the con sequent reproduction of the same rate of vibration in the receiving instrument at the other end of the line. In con sidering this problem Mr. Rock wood found himself indebted to his recollec tion of an experiment by Herschel in photographing (or daguerrootyping) with the elec no spark. Herschel caused a four-sided prism of wood, around which a picture was pasted, to revolvent high speed in a turning lathe. By illu minating this revolving picture with the electric spark (in total darkness other wise) he obtained a photograph of it as standing still at that instant in its revo lution when the spark tl is hod, Mr. Rockwood carefully focused his photographic camera ou the points or the telephone by daylight, and a battery of Leyden jars was so adjusted that when discharged it would throw the proper illummattou on the points. Mr. Rockwood’s instantaneous plates were now to be tested under action some five hundred times quicker than a sensible instant and invisibly minute. Of course it was as yet a practical question whether they could effectively receive as quickly as the electric spark would give this infinitesimal action of light. Waiting until the darkest hour of the night, the plate was uncovered in total darkness, ihe telephones began speak ing into his instrument, and the illumi nating spark was flashed upon the points desired. This operation was repeated with more than twenty plates in succes sion. The resulting negatives, on being developed, proved a triumph iu two arts and a science. The photographs printed from them showed under tbe glass, in some, contrct of tbe points and in others a variety ot infinitesimally differenced intervals between them. Not one of th; impressions had more than the one tw^uty-foar thou sandth of a second iu which to be began and ended. Valuable Dreaming. On September 2, Mr. Samuel Drey fus of Memphis, for many years deputy sheriff in charge of the criminal court, died at his residence in that oity of an affection of the lungs. On the 5th of September one of his sons visited Dr. Goodyear and inquired if his father had left auy private papers with him, as it was well known that the deceased had been a member of several benevolent institutions in Memphis, and a look over those papers found at home re vealed but otife policy on his life, and that was in the order of the Knights and Ladies of Honor. It was known to his family and relatives that he had left policies in other organizations of a simi lar character to the amount of $10,000. Dr. Goodyear, who had been on inti mate terms with the deceased, did not remember of his having left any papers with him, but, to be certain, carefully examined the contents of his safe, but failed to find any. Mr. Ben K. Pullen, formerly chief clerk in the sheriff’s of fice, was also questioned by the son of the deceased, but he, too, did not re member of auy papers being left in his care. Three days afterward the brother- in-law of the deceased called on Dr. Goodyear and made the same statement, regarding the missing policies as had the son. Another search was made, but it, too, proved fruitless. A few days after, so relates Mr. Ben K. Pul len, he fell asleep in his office and dreamed that Sam Dreyfus appeared be fore him and asked: “What had become of his papers which he had given him while in charge of the sheriff’s otnee?” He answered: “They are safe where I placed them,” and, suddenly awaken ing, proceeded at once to the sheriff’s office, which is on the floor above, and found the missing-package intact, where he had placed it many months ago. The package was without delay turned over to the family of the deceased, and in it were the missing policies. Rkassdkxnq : Sick man—“What! a lady physician? 1 want a doctor, to make me well—not a woman, to make love to me.” Woman pbyuoiaii (bath- i fully)—“I promise not to do neither,” -op— THE PEOPLE. BUY THE BEST! Mb. J. O. Boao—Dear Sir: 1 bougtit tat brat Davts Machine sold by you over five years ago (or my wife, who haagiven It a long and (air trial. I am well pleased with It. It never alvea any rouble, and la as good as when Unit bought. J. W. UOLICE. W Inna boro, S. C., APrU 1883. Mr. Boao: Vou wish to know what 1 hare to aay In regard to the Davis Machine bought of you three f ears ago. I (eel I can’t say too mnch In its favor. made about $80,00 within five months, at timet running it so fast that the needle would get per fectly hot from friction. I feel confident I could not have done the same work with as mnch ease and so well with any other machine. No time loat^ in adjnstmg attachments. The lightest runnl* machine 1 have ever treadled. Brother James ana Williams’ families are aa much pleated with their Davis Machines bought or you. I want no better machme. Ae I said before, I don’t think too much can be said for the Davis Machine. Respectfully, Ellen stki Fairfield County, April, 1883. 1 bTBYENSON, Mb. boao : My machine gives me perfect satis faction. I Had no fault with it. Tbe attachments are so simple, i wish for no better than the Davit Vertical Feed. Respectfully, Mbs. R. Millixs. Fairfield county, April, 1833. Mb. Boao: 1 oougnt a i)avu vertical Feed wing Machine from you font years ago. I am lighted with it. It never has glveu me any o utile, and has never been the least out of order. It Is as good as when I first bought it. I can cheerfully recommend it. Respectfully, Mbs. M. J. Eibeland. Montlcelio, April 80. 1883. This is to certify that I nave been using a Dam Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for over two years, purchased of Mr. J. O. Hoag. I haven’t found it possessed of any fault—all the attach meats are so simple. It nevenefuses to work, aud la certainly the lightest running in the market. I consider It a first class mac nine. Very respectfully. Minnie M. Willingham. Oakland, Fairfield county, S. C. Mb Boao: i am wen pieaseu m every parucor with the Davis Machine nought of you. 1 think a first-class machine in every respect. You knew you sold several machines of the same make to ditferent members of our families, all of whom, as far as I know, are well pleased with them. Respectfully, Mbs. M. u. Mobley. Fairfield county, April, 1883. This ts to certify we nave_nai in constant use the Davis Machine bonght ot you about three years ago. As we take lu work, and have made the price of it several times over, we don’t want aay better machine. It is always ready to do any kind of work we nave to do. No puckering or skipping stitches. We can only say we ore well pleased and wish bo better machine, CATHiaiNE Wylie and Sistek. April 25,1883. I have no tault to hna with my machine, and don’t want any better. I have made the price of It severa times by taking In sewing. It Is always ready to do Its work. I think it a first-class raa chine. I feel I can’t say too much for the Davis Vertical Feed Machine. Mbs. Thomas Smith. Fairfield county, April, 1883. Mb. 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 ot you about five years ago. has been almost In con stant use ever since that time. I cannot see that It la worn any, and has not cost mo one cent for repairs since we have had it. Am well pleased and don’t wish for any better. Yonrs truly, Rost. Cbawfobd, Granite quarry, near Wlnnsboro S. C. Wo have used the Davu Vertical Feed 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, Mbs. W. k. Tubner and Daughters! Fairfield county, 8. C.. Jan. 27,1883. Having bought a Davis Vertical Feed Sewing Machine from Mr. J. O. Boag some three years ago, and It having given me perfect satisfaction in every respect as a family machine, both for heavy and light sewing, and never needed the least re pair In any way, t can cheerfully recommend It to any one as a first-class machine in every particn- lar, and think It second to none. It la one ot the simplest machines made; my children use It with ill ease. The attachments are more easily ad justed and it does a greater range of work by means of its Vertical Feed than any other ma chine I have ever seen or used. Mrs. Thomas owing*. Wlnnsboro, Fairfield county, a. c. We have had one of the Davis Machines about four years and have always found It ready to do all kinds of work we have had occasion to do. Can’t see that the machine is worn any, and works as well as wfien new. Mbs. W. J. Crawford, Jackson’s Creek, Fairfield coanty, S. C. My wife Is highly pleased with the Davis Ma chine bought of you. She would not take doable what sne gave for 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. Free. Montlcelio, Fairfield county, s. C. The Davis Sewing Machine Is simply a treas ure MBA J. A. UOODWTN. Ridgeway, N. C., Jan. 10, less. J.u Boao, Esq., Agent—Dear Sir: My wife has oeen using a Davis Sewing Machine constant ly for tbe past four yean, and it has never needed any repairs an t work* jnst as well as when first bonght She says It will do a greater range of practical work »nd do it easier and better than any machine she nas ever used. We cheerfully recommend It as a No. 1 family machine, Your trtty, - Jas. Q. Davta. Wlnnsboro, S. C., Jan. 3,1883. Mr. Boag : I 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 sa wed aa when new. Respectfully, Mbs. R. c. Gooding. Wlnnsboro, 8. C., April, 1883, Mr. Boag : My wife has been constantly naing tachine bonght of you i tbe Daria Machine bonght of yon about five years aco. 1 have never regretted baring It, as it Is always ready for any kind of fa in Uj sewing, either neavy or light. It 1* never out of fix or needing i spurs. , w Fairfield, & C., March, UM.