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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.
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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.