The Fairfield news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1881-1900, March 19, 1890, Image 1
r III
f iM ll' ^ . , 1 . -*
VOL. XLVI. WINNSBOKO, S. C., WEDNESDAY, MARCH 10, 180 0. NO. 31 ff
gpaaHilpBaaBBMaBHHHBaBnani
The Haunted Chamber.
BT "THE DUCHES6."
' - "? ? i) uir^.. o JI.. M
4SNSXVJT OJ i?l/IWW, JHUfKI OtiUMy,
ilPhyUis%" etc., etc.
CHAPTER- IT.
It is the evening of the theatrical#;
and in one of the larger drawing-rooms
at the castle, where the stage has been
erected, and also in another room behind
connected with it by foldingdoors,
everybody of note in the county
is already assembled. Fans are fluttering?so
are many hearts behind the
scenes?and a low buzz of conversation
is being carried on among the com*^Then
the curtain rises; the fans stop
rustling, the conversation ceases, ana
all faces turn curiously to the small but
perfect stage that the London workmen
have erected.
Every one is very anxious to see what
his or her neighbor is going to do when
brought before a critical audience. Xobody,
of course, hopes openly for a
break-down, but secretly there are a
f?fr who would be glad to see sudi-andsuch
a one's pride lowered.
No mischance, however, occurs. Th?
Insipid Tony speaks his lines perfectly,
if he fails to grasp the idea that a little
acting thrown in would be an improvement;
a very charming cousin Con is
made out of Miss Villiers; a rather
stilted but strictly correct old lady out
of Ladv Gertrude" Viniiig. But "Florence
Deimaine, as Kate Hardcastle,
leaves nothing to be desired, and many
are the complimentary speeches uttered
from time to time by the audience.
Arthur Dynecourt too had not overpraised
his own powers. It is palpable
to every one that he has often trod the
boards, and the pathos he throws into
his performance astonishes the audience.
Is it only acting in the final
scene when he makes love to Mis*
Hardcastle, or is there some real sentiment
in it?
The question arises in many breasts.
They note how his color changes as he
take's her hand, how his voice trembles;
they notice too how she grows cold, in
spite of her desire to carry out her part
to the end, as he grows warmer, and
how instinctively she shrinks from his
touch. Tiien it is all over, and the curtain
falls amidst loud appl.rise. Florence
eom?s before the curtain in res\*juse
to frequent calls, gracefully,
half leteetaHtfy, with a soft warm bluih
upon her cheeks and a light in her eyes
that renders her remarkable loveliness
only more apparent. Sir Adrian,
watching her with a heart faint and
cold with grief and disappointment, acknowledges
sadly to himself that never
has he seen her fook so beautiful. She
advances and bows to the audience,
and only loses her self-possession a
very little -when a bouquet directed at
her feet by an enthusiastic younsz man
alights upon her shoulder instead.
Arthur Dynecourt, who has accompanied
her'to the footlights, and who
joins in her triumph, picks up the bouquet
and presents it to her.
As he does so the audience again beoomes
aware that she receives it from
him in a spirit that suggests detestation
of the'one that hanas it, and that
jW smile withers as she does so, and
herVSjeat eves lose their happy light of
a mon!*?pt before.
fc>ir .A ciii tuio tw, uun yy*~
suades h^256^ that she is now acting
?tnotherr^t?the part shown him by
Mrs. Talbot^*L^s e5'es are kliE(*ed by
jealousv- heV^Pot ^ an(*
~~~-..truth refletfakers; tie-misconstrues
^paSed expSEionthat ?f iate ha8
" For the lasL^-ew "(Jays, ever since her
momentous*' interview with Arthur
i>vnecou^*^ *n the gallexv, she has been
tirn.Vji-a&and resen*ed witn Sir Adrian,
^p^fSatFhas endeavored to avoid his socieSs?*s'5y.
She is oppressed with the thought
that he has read her secret love for mm
and seeks, by an assumed coldness of
demeanor and a studied avoidance of
him, to induce him to believe himself
mistaken.
But Sir Adrian Is only rendered mors
miserable by this avoidance, in the
thought that probably Mrs. Talbot has
*/YW KlorATifp of h5? disnoverv of her
attachment to Arthur, and tliat she
dreads his taxing her with her duplicity,
and so makes strenuous efforts to
f keep herself apart from him. They
have already drifted so far apart that
to-night, when the play has cpme to an
end, and Florence has retired from the
dressing-room. Sir Adrian does not
dream of approaching her to offer the
congratulations on her success that he
would have showered upon her in a
happier hour.
Florence, feeling lonely and deDressed.
having listlessly submitted to
her maid's guidance and changed her
stage gown for a pale bine ball-dress of
satin and pearls?as dancing is to succeed
the earlier amusement of th?
evening?goes silently down-stairs, but,
instead of pursuing her wav to the ballroom,
where dancing has already commenced,
she turns aside, and, entering
a small, dimly lighted antechamber,
sinks wearily" upon a satin-covered
lounge.
From a distance the sweet strains of
*. German waltz comes to her ears.
There is deep sadness and melancholy
in the music that attunes itself to her
own sorrowful reflections. Presently
the tears steal down her cheeks. She i
feels lonely ana negiecieu, ana, uurviug
Ler head in the cushions of tne
lounge, sobs al?ud.
She does not hear the hastv approach
of footsteps until they stop close Deside
her, and a voice that "makes her pulse
throb madly sars, in deep agitation?
"Florence?Miss I?elmaine?what has
happened? What has occurred to distress
you';"
Sir Adrian is bending over her, ?ridently
in deep distress nimself. As she
starts, he places his arm round her and
raises her to a sitting posture; this he
does so gently that, as she remembers
all she has heard, and his cousin's assurance
that he has almost pledged
himself to another, her tears now
afresh. By a supreme effort, however,
she controls herself, ana says, in a
^ faint voice? .
"I am very foolish; it was the heat, I
suppose, or the nervousness of acting
be tore so many strangers, that has upset
me. It is over now. I beg you will
not remember it. Sir Adrian, or speak
of it to any one."
All this time she has not allowed herself
to glance even in his direction,
so fearful is she of further betraying
the mental agony she is enduring.
"Is it likely I should speak of it!" returns
Sir Adrian reproachfully. "No;
anvthine connected with you shall be
sacred to me. But?pardon me?I still
think you are in grief, and, believe me,
in spite of everything, I would deem it
a privilege to'be allowed to befriend
you in any way."
"It is impossible ,* murmurs Florence.
in a stifled tone.
"You mean vou will net aocept my
help"?sad]v. ^So be it then. I have
no right. I know, to establish myself as
your cuampiuii. aiicttc axe uurcxs,
doubt, whose happiness lies in the fact
that they may render you a service
when it is in their power. I do not
complain, however. Nay, I would even
ask vou to look unon me at least as z
friend."
"I shall always regard you as a
friend," Florence responds in a low
voice. "It would be impossible to me
to look upon you in any other light."
i., "Thank you for that," says Adrian
quickly. '"Though our lives must of
I necessity be much apart, it will still b?
a a comfort to me to know that at least.
wherever you may be, you will think of
f me as a friend."
> "Ah." thinks Florence, with a bitter
i i SggggBB 11 * ?HBBS
pang, -ne is now trying ro let ine juiyw J
now absurd was my lormer idea that 1
he might perhaps "learn to love me!" c
This thought is almost insupportable.
Her pride rising in arms, she subdues f
all remaining traces of her late emo- (
tion, and, turning suddenly, confronts i
him. Her face is quite colorless, but 1
she can not altogether hide from him ^
the sadness that still desolates her i
eyes.
"You are right," she agrees. "In the s
future our lives will indeed be far dis- ?
tant from each other, so far apart that 1
the very tie of friendship will readily j
be forgotten bv us both." * 2
jciorence, ao not say mat: ne en- ^
treats, believing in his" turn that she ^
alludes to her louring marriage with
his cousin. "And?and?do not be an- c
gry with me; but I would ask you to t
consider long and earnestly before tak- 1
ing the step you have in view. Re- 1
member it is a bond that once sealed j
can never be canceled." 1
"A bond! I do not follow you," ex- i
claims Florence bewildered. c
"Ah, you will not trust me; you will i
not confide in me!" 1
"I have nothing to confide," persists i
Florence, still deeply puzzled. s
"Well, let it rest so, returns Adrian, c
now greatly wounded at her deter- s
mined reserve, as he deems it. He calls
to mind, all Mrs. Talbot had said about 1
! her slyness, and feels disheartened. At X
least ne has not deserved distrust at s
her hands. "Promise me." iie entreats \
at last, "that, if ever you are in danger, \
you will accept my help." f
"I promise." she replies faintly. Then c
trying to rally her drooping spirits, she 1
continues, with an attempt at a smile, a
Tell me that you will accent mine
should you be in* any danger. "Remem- s
ber, the mouse once*rescued the lion!" c
?ana sue smiies again, aim gir .ces ai i
him with a touch of ker old archness.
"It is a bargain, And now, will you i
rest here awhile until you feel quite re- p
stored to calmness? f
"But you mast net remain with me." e
Florence urges hurriedly. "You: guests
are awaiting you. Probably ?with a t
faint smile?Vour partner for this a
waltz is impatiently wondering what
has become of vou. c
"I think not/ says Adrian, returning c
her smile. "Fortunately I have no t
one's name on my card for this waltz, e
I say fortunately, because I think"? 1<
glancing at her tenderly?"! have been c
able to bring back the smiles to your
face sooner tEan would have been* the s
case had you been left here alone to s
brood over your trouble, whatever it s
may be." e
"There is no trouble." declares Flor- i:
ence, in a somewhat distressed fashion, y
turning her head restlessly to one side, v
"I wish you would dispossess yourself y
of that idea. And, do not stop here, a
they?everv one, will accuse you of discourtesy
if you absent yourself from 1;
the ball-room any longer." h
"Then, come with me," ssys Adrian. !
"See, this waltz is only just beginning: ?
give it to me." " f
Carried away by his manner, she lays Y
her hand upon his arm, and goes with
him to the ball-room. There ne passes f1
his arm around her waist, and present- 11
ly they are lost among the throng of s
whirling- dancers, and both give them- ..
selves up for the time being to the
mere delight of knowing that they are b
together.
Two ]>eopie, seeing them enter thus ?
together, on apparently friendly terms, j(
regard them with hostile glance's. Bora t(
Talbot, -rrho is ooquetteing sweetly with ...
a gaunt man of middle age, who'is evi- _
dently overpowered by her attentions,
letting her eye3 rest upon Florence as jj
she vraltzes past her with Sir Adrian, j(
colors warmly, and, biting her lip, for- sgets
the honeyed speech she was about ^
te bestow upon her companion, who is
the owner of a considerable property, js
?nr? rntn for Tvhirin the r
gaunt man is de-cntly grateful, as it \y
gives him a moment in which to reflect
on the safest means of getting rid of
her without delay. t,
Dora's fair brow grows darker and
darker as she watches Florence, and
notes the smile thai lights on her beau- ^
tiful face as she makes some answer to ~
one of Sir Adrian's sallies. Where is r
Dyneeourt, that he ha3 not been on the n
spot to prevent this dance, she wonaers.
She grows angry, and would
have stamped her. liwle foot with im- d
wvAma-nf ViTif- fnr 6]
LA&V4^.LLU TA* min juuuiuuv< ~>u? AV?.
the fear of displaying her vexation. b
As she is inwardly anathematizing
Arthur, he emerges from. the throng, ?
and, the dance being at an end, rf ?(
minds Miss Delmaine that tho n^c is n<
his. h<
Korenc# unwillingly removes her aj
hand from Sir Adrian'* arm, and lavs tc
it upon Arthur's. Most disdainfully
she moves away trith him, and suffers <j
to lead ber to another part of the &
room. And when she dances with him, jj
it is with evident reluctance, as he ^
kaow? by the fact that she visibly a
shrinks from him when he encircles her
waist with his arm. sHi-r
A rtriATv xrhrt has noticed none of ?
these symptoms, going up to Dora, so- s:
lie its her nan d for this dance.
"Yon are not engaged, I hope?* he B
ays anxiously. It is a kind of wretch- ^
ed comfort to him to be near Florence's f
true friend. If not the rose, she has D
at least some connection with it.
"I am afraid I am," Dora responds, g
raising her limpid eyes to bis. "2* augh- e
ty man, why did you not come sooner?
I thought you haa forgotten me alto- 0
gether, and so got tired of keeping bar- t
ren spots upon my card for you." j
"I couldn't help it?I was engaged. A y
man in his own house has always a bad _
fame of it looking arter tne unpossioie D
people," savs Adrian evasively. 0
"Poor Florence! Is she so very irn- t
possible?" asks Dora, laughing, but j
pretending to reproach him. c
"I was not speaking of Miss Delmain
e" says Adrian, flushing hotly, g
"She is the least impossible person I 5
ever met. It is a privilege to pass ano:s r
time with her." t
"Yet it is with her you have passed i
the last hour that you hint has been
devoted to bores," returns Dora quietly. ?
This is a mere feeler, but she throws it c
out with such an air of certainty that a
Sir Adrian is completely deceived, and j
believes her acquainted" with his teie-a e
tete with Florence in the dimly lit ante- r
room.
"Well," he admits, coloring again, s
"your cousin was rather upset by her I
acting, I think, and I just stayed with
her until she felt equal to joining us
affain."
-Anr exclaims Dora, who now knows '
all she had wanted to know. i
"But you must not tell me you have j ?
no dances left for me," says Adrian I?
gayly. "Come, let me see your card," ?1
He looks at it. and finds it indeed full. |
"I am an unfortunate," he adds. 1
"I think." says Dora, With the pret- i 1
^Y*/M i enra 1
1>1CSI> llCSiWtUiVIl, juu (.lit ouib J.U ; *
would not be an unkind thing to do, I 1
could scratch out this name''?pointing j ?
to her partner's for the coming dance. '.
"I am not sure at all," responds Sir i1
Adrian, laughing. "I am positive it j.(
will tfe awfully unkind of you to de- j i
prive any fellow of your society; but be 1
unkind, and scratch him out for my ,1
sake." I
He speaks lightly, but her heart beats i'
hieh with hope. " 11
Tor your sake," she repeats softly ' drawing
her pencil across tho name ,1
written on her programme and substi- s
tutine his.
aBut you will give me more than this 1
one dance?" queries Adrian. "Is there !
nobody else you can condemn to mis- '
ery out of all that list?'
"You are insatiable," she returns,
blushing and growing confused. "But '
vou shall have it all your own way. ,
Here"?giving liim her cart!?"take^
what waltzes you will." She waltzes tcjj
perfection, and she knows it.
"Then this, and this, and this," sa^H
.Adrian, strikine out three namGH
, . n.rn jlv, m>. vjummwwwb^?
ler card, arter which they move away
:ogether and mingle with the other
lancers.
In the meantime, Florence growing
'atigued, or disinclined to dance longer
with Dynecourt, stops abruptly
lear the door of a conservatory, and,
eaning against the framework, gazes
vith. listless interest at the busy scene
irooind.
"You are tired. Will you rest for
while?" asks Arthur politely; and, a?
;he bends her head in cold consent, he
eads her to a cushioned seat that is
>laced almost opposite to the door-way,
ind from which the ball-room and
vhat is passing within it are distinctly
risible.
Sinking down amongst the M^e-satin
:ushions of the seat he has poiiiic! out
o her, Florence sighs softly, and lcis
i-i- - x._ r i I
ler inouguis ran, nan saaiy, uau giauy.
upon ber late interview with Sir
Adrian. At least, if he has guessed
ler secret, she knows now that ne does
lot despise her. There is no trace of
:ontempt in the gentleness, the tenderless
of his manner. And how kindly
le has told her of the intended change
n his life! "Their paths would lie far
isunder for the future." he had said,
>r something tantamount to that. Ho
;poke no doubt of his coming marriage.
Then she begins to speculate dreamiv
uuon the sort of woman who would
Je happy enough to be his wife. She is
till idly ruminating on this point
vhen her companion s voice bring3 her
>ack to the present. She had so far
orgotten his existence in her dayIreamrng
that his words come to her
ike a whisper from some other world,
ind occasion her an actual shock.
"Your thoughtfulness renders rae
ad." he is saying impressively. "It
:arries you to fegions where I can not
ollow you."
To this she makes no reply, regardng
him only with a cairn questioning
[lance that might well have daunted a
tetter man. It only nerves him howver
to even bolder words.
"The journey your thoughts have
aken?has it been a pleasant one?* he
.sks, smiling.
"I have come here for rest, not for
pnversation." There is undisguised
lislike in her tones. Still he is unouched
by her scorn. He even grows
ore defiant, as though determined to
et her see that even her avowed hatred
an not subdue him.
"If you only knew," he goes on, with
low "meaning, regarding her as he
peaks with critical admiration, "how
nroassincrlv beautiful you look to
ligfit. you would perhaps understand
q a decree the power you possess over
our fellow-creatures. "In tnat attitude,
rith that slight touch of scorn upon
our lip?., you seem a meet partner for
, UlCUa-T:;."
She laughs a low contemptuous
ausjli. that even makes his blood run
LOtly in his veins.
"And yet you have the boldness to
ifTer yourself as an - aspirant to my
avorV" she says. "In truth, sir, you
alue yourself "highly!"
"Love will find the way!" he quotes
uickly, though plainly disconcerted bv
ier merriment. ^"And in time I trust I
hall have mv reward."
"In time, t trust you will," she reams,
in a tone impossible to miscontrue.
At this point he deems it wise to
hange the* subject; and, as he halts
ather lamely in bis conversation, at a
3ss to find some topic that may inerest
her or advance nis cause. Sir Adian
and Dora pass by the door of the
onservatory.
Sir Adrian is smiling gayly at some
ttle speech of Dora's, arid" Dora is
joking up at him with a bright expresion
in her blue eyes that tells of the
appiness she feels.*
'Ah, 1 can not help thinking Adrian
; doing very wisely, observes Arthur
>ynecoi;rt. some evil genius at his elow
urging him to lie.
"Doing?what?" asks his companion,
Dused suddenly into full life and invest.
"You pretend ignorance, no doubt"? L
niling. "But one can see. Adrian'larriage
with Mrs. Talbot has--M?eii
ilked about for some time- *C1011?9'
is intimates." / _
A clasp like ice seev^? seize upon
[iss Dc'maine's h?rft as these word*
rop from 'his ?i?s. She restrains her
notion br-'-lV- out his lynx-eye reads
er thro^'1' aiul through.
"Tviey seem to be more together tofght
than is even usual with thorn,"
)es on Arthur blandly. "Before you
M1/-VT-0/1 tho rAATin Tcifb vrmr rvresivnr'.ft.
i had danced twice witli her, and now
jain. .It is very marked, his attention
anight."
As a matter cf fact Adrian had not
anced with Mrs. Talbot all the rrenig
nntil now, but Florence, not havlg
been present at the opening of the
ail, is not in a position to refute this,
s he well knows.
"If there is anything in her friendtiip
with Sir Adrian, I feel sure Dora
rould have told me of it," she says
lowly, and with difficulty.
?4 * oot-c A-rFhur xritVl
j-'knu sue uaon v. vuu^
j mucli surprise and incredulity in his
lanner as goes far to convince her
bat there is some truth in his stateient.
"Well, -well," he adds, "one can
ot blame her. She would doubtless be
ure of his affection before speaking
ven to her dearest friend."
Florence winces, and sinks back upn
the scat as though unable to susain
an upright position any longer.
Sverr word of his is as gall and wormrood
to her, each sentence a reminder
-a reproach. Only the other day this
aan now beside her had accuse'd her
f making sure or ^vamiu s iuicv^
ion before she had any right so to do.
Ier proud spirit shrinks beneath the
vijp.l taunt he hurls at her.
'Tcou look unusually Mono up,' ne
:oes on, in a tone of assumed commiseration.
"This evening has been too
auch for you. Acting a part at anyime
is extremely trying and laborous."
She shrinks still further from him.
Lcting a part! Is not all her life beoming
one dreary drama, in whichshe
,cts a part from'morning until night?
s there to be no rest for her? Oh, to
iscape from this man at any price! She
ises to her feet.
"Our dance is almost at an end," she
ays; "and the heat is terrible. lean
?*? ?-? ss 1 rr<*-r 77
Ullicuii iiu
"You are ill," going to her side. He
vould have supported lier, but by a
gesture she repels liira.
"If I am, it is you who have made me
10." she retorts, "with quick passion, for
vhich she despises herself an instant
ater.
"Xay. r.ot I." he rejoins, "but what
ny words have unconsciously conveyed
o'you. Do not blame me. ' I thought
rou. as well as every one else here,
mew of Adrian's sentimente with regard
to Mrs. Talbot."
This is too much for her. Drawing
lerseif up to her full height, Florence
:asts a glance or anger anu ueuitutc m
lis direction. and. sweeping past him
n her most imperious fashion, appears
10 more that night.
It is an early party, all things considered.
and Dora Talbot, going to her
room about two o'clock, stops before
Florence's door and knocks softly
thereon.
"Conic in." calls Florence gently.
"I have just stopped for a moment to
express the hope that yon are not in,
icarest.'' says smooth-tongued Dora,
idvancin? towards iier. How early
row left us! I shouldn't have known
tiow early onlyMr^ynccou|^to^j|^
A-revo^^aflMMAa^l
B?gaHHBB MB? I
evening witn vou. rour acting was
simply superb.*
"Thank you," says Florence, who is
not in bed, but is sitting in a chair
drawn near a window, through which
the moonbeams are flinging their pale
rays. She is clad in a clinging white
dressing-gown that makes her beauty
enint.HV** and ha<s all hpr 1/vnor hair fall
ing loosely round her shoulders.
What a charmin? evening it has
been!" exclaims ?>ora ecstatically,
clasping her hands, and leaning her
arms on the back of a chair. "I hardlv
know when I felt so thoroughly happy.''
Florence shudders visibly. "You enjoyed
yourself, of course?" continues
Dora. "Every cue raved about you.
You made at least a aozrn conquests;
one or hai* a one?" with a careful hesitation
iu her manner i-.tended to imi;n
- * V.rr listener?''is a*, rniu-h ns poor
little insignificant fan expect/
Florence looks at her ciuestioningly.
"I think ?no rcaiir l-oiaest lover is
worth a dozen others,'" sne says, her
voice trembling. *\L>o y*;i mean me to
understand. Jior*. that tou have
gained one tonight?"
Flqpeiu-e> Tt-hole soul seemed to hang
on her cousin's answer. Dora simpers,
and tries to blush, but in reality glows
a shade paler. She is playing for a
high stake, and fears to risk a throw
lest it may be ventured too soon.
"Oh. you must not jisk too much.!**
she replies, shaking her blonde head.
"A lover?no! How can vou be so absurd!
And yet I think?I hope?"
"I see!" interrupts Florence sadly.
"Well, I will be as discreet as you wish;
but at least, if what I imagine "be true,
I can congratulate you with all my
heart, because I know?I know you
Rill be happy."
Going over to Mrs. Talbot, she lays
her arms round her neck and kisses her
softly. As she docs se, a tear falls
Vor nr-jsa ?nnn TVvro'* I
11 UIU XlVi \.;w JL/VAt* k-/ \/aavw<*?
There Is so much sweetness and abandonment
of self in this action that Dora
for the moment is touched by it.
She puts up her hand; and, wiping
away the tear from her cl-.eek as
though it burns her, says lightly?
"But indeed, my dearest Flo, you
must not imagine anything. AU is
vague. I hardlv know what: it is to
which I am alluding. 'Trifles ligbt as
air' float through my brain, and gladden
me in spite of my common sense,
which whispers that tnev mean nothing
T?/-w Tl/vf- im-iVl few mft t.hat:
may have tieir existence only en EspagneS
uVTher seem very bright castles," ob?erres
Florence Wistfully.
"A bad omen. 'All that's bright
must fade,' sings the poet. And now
to speak of yourself. You enjoyed
yourself?"
"Of course"?mechanically.
"Ah, yes; I was glad to see you had
made it up with poor Arthur Dynecourt!"
"How?* demands Florence, turning
upon her quickly.
"I saw you dancing with him, dearest;
I was -with Sir Adrian at the time,
and from something he said. I think he
would be rather pleased if you could
bring yourself to reward poor Arthur's
long devotion."
"Sir Adrian said that? He discussed
me with you?"
"Just in passing, you understand.
He told me too that you were somewhat
unhappy in the earlier part of the
evening, ana that he had to stay a considerable
time with you to restore you
to calmness. Ho is always' so kind,
dear Adrian!"
"He spoke of that?" demands Flor-L
ence, in a tone of anguish. If he ha<H.
made her emotion a subject of comp*^ ;
talk with Mrs. Talbot, all indee^? J .
an end between them, even sweet
visionary oiler of
made to her. Xo: sh^50^ '
mit to be talked Ji??
woman he Ioyp*" ,9n'fitter P*?S ,
it costs he^ say these words to her?oif
i he now loves Dora seems to
CiXI jITj 1 J j; T?
>?1111U. UtJYUllU ujspuw. iD ouu iiuu
y*ss confidante, the ono in -whom he
chooses to repose all his secret thoughts
and surmises?
Dora regards her cousin keenly.
Florence's evident agitation makes her
fear that there -was more in that Ute-a
tct? with Sir Adrian than she had at
first imagined.
"Yes; -why should he not speak of
it?" Dora goes on coldly. "I think by
his manner your want of self-control
shocked him. Tou should have agreater
command ever yourself. It is
not good form to betray one's feelings
to every chuioo passer-by. Yes; I
think Sir Adrian was both surprised
ILUU BSl/UiliaiiGU.
'There was nothing to cause him
either surprise or astonishment," says
Florence haughtily^ "and I could well
have wished him ont of the way !"
"Perhaps I misunderstood him," rejoins
Dorx artfully. "But eertainly he
spoke to me of being unpleasantly delayed
by?by impossible people?those
were his very ^rords; ana really altogether?I
may be -mong?I believa he
alludetl tr> vrwi. Of r.ouraft. I "would not
rollotrtfte matter upyoecause/mucn as.
I like Sir Adrian, I could not liiten to
him speaking bo lightly of you!"
"Oflne?you forget yourself, Dora!"
cries Florence, tritn pale lips, hut head
erect. "Speaking lightly of me!" she
repeats.
"Young men ire often careless in
their language," explains Dora hurriedly,
feeling she had gone too far.
"He meant nothing unkind, you may'
be sure!"
"I am quite sure"?Irmly.
"Then ho harm is done"?smiling
brightly. "And now, good-night, dearest;
go to bed instead of sitting there
looking like a ghost in those mystical
moonbeams."
"Good-night* says Florence Icily..
liere is something about her that
causes Mrs. Talbot to feel almost'
afraid to approach and kiss her as
usual.
"Want of rest will spoil your lovely
eyes," adds the widow airily; "and your
oomplexion, faultless as it always is,
will not be up to the mark to-morrow.
So sleep, foolish child, and gather roses
from your slumbers."
So saying, she kisses her hand gayly
to the unresponsive Florence, and trips.
lirrh+lir frrim tho rnom
V*iV AUVii*"
[Continued.]
How Gold Rings Are Made.
Gold rings arc made from bars nine
to fifteen inches long, two inches -wide
and three-sixteenths of an inch thick,
is worth $1,000, and will make 300
four pennyweight rings. A dozen
processes and twenty minutes' time are
required to convert this bar into merchantable
rings. First a pair of shears
cuts the bar into strips; then by the
turn of a wheel a guillotine-like blade
attacneci to tne macmne cuts tne uai
into slices, one, two, or three-sixteenths
of an inch wide. A rolling machine
next presses out the slices and makes
them either flat or grooved. Each strip
is then put under a dIow'pipe and annealed.
The oxide of copper comes to
the surface, and is put into a pickle of
eulphuric acid, after which the ring is
stamped "14k," "16k,11 or "18k," according
to quality. Next it is put
through a machine which bends it into
the shape of a ring of the ?ize desired.
The ends are then toldered with an
alloy of inferior fineness to the quality
r people think that
because they can't
soldered. I^he ring
i turning lathe, i*>
id polished, first with
i wkh tripoli and
Republic.
j A IIP ON MATRIMONY.
HE THINKS THE PEOPLE MUST
BE PROSPERING.
The Fonndation ot This BoIiel'I.s the Number
of Marriages Anions the Young
Folks?.Sonip Kecollcctioro.
Auauia luusiauuisij,
Ouv people must, be prospering, for |
the young folks are mating and marry-1
ing all around us. Tt ?eems to an
epidemic or a contagion or soraething,
and the town talk is, "who next."?
, Some of the poets sing sadly about marri.-.ge,
not most everybody takes a
lively interest, in; the portorx>aac?,
Hud it looks less iiko a funeral than
anything I kno*r of. Only a few days
ago one of the churches was dresssd in
haKM Vvn-5 tin* trtTrn orufVi?I
Isi IVlCtJ CftAIVC Jlitfli VUV W r? u.
ered ther* to ae^ and 10 hosr aiid give
good wishes, and ererybody felt so
good, that they kissed nil-Tound, and
they hare been talking about the
handsome couple and their bright
prospect.*. er*r since. Amd thsrewa*
another one yesterday at another
cfcurch. and the young people put in
fz&iH io lend a he!y?ing kas<i. My
y*u?? folks stayed at the ?-hurca all
dey, with a whole flock of chatterifig
bird*. and thov said ther wanted a
frame for a wedding bell to hang in
the centre ofthearcli, aad so I had te
hunt up an cid bird cage and take oat
the bettom and squash in the icp and
make it bell shape, and then I got an
old wash paa and cut oui the bottom
an?l turned it upside down and fastened
it securely and made a first class
bell frame. The girls covered it with
everjreens and roses and used a large
callalily for a clapper, aad so it wa3 a
succea and I contributed a*y nsitc to ?
the eljsian show. There was noboiy
crying that I observed, and all went
merry as a marriage bell.
I like the Episcopal marriage ceremony
better than any, ezecept for ona \
thnigthat sometimes don't fit the poor *
fellsw when he has to say "With all
my worldly goo?U X thee endov/," and
perhaps he hasn't got anything but a
dog and ? j?eck*t knife. It reminds
me of the fellow who wanted to quit
his wife and consulted a lawyer as to
the & vision ef the assets. "Squire,"
jaid he, "sposin' a felkr what had 3
nothh' married a gal what had nothin' t
and key agree to quit ?ne another, is j
hia tli?ga hiten and horn hern?or t
how9' ,
I married a couple once. Id was [
thirty-Ore yeara age, when I was a
judg* of the inferior court and lived k
out ii the flat woods among the poor j
folks They sent for me one night, c
and ? walked about a mil? to a little ,
log &ajtty that had but one room and a
two leds and a mud and stick chimney
and a great-, broad firo place. The t
old veman was baking biscuit and
1 1 _ _ xT_ . T Z- J I : *
gingtroreau oa me jjcarm, ?,uu iry iiig
chickin ar.d r?asticg 'taters and making
eoTee. She had a pipe in her 3
mouthana her daughter had a aauff T
st*e^-u??.-V*Thar* w<r* n.hr.nt.a^._f
A#z?n ot lae neignbors standing aiiouna
Che door, and when I said howdy, I
aak?d if the parties were ready: 'Ihey ?
pointed to the girl and said she was,
but Jim hadn't coaie. In a fey/ minutes
Jin* put in hi* appearance. Ho was a a
r?ugn country boy and chewec1 his 1
tobacco hard and fast. He was "skeer- ?
ed," the boys said, and so was I. The '
-- - ? IT .1 T,-~. t
outsiders cairem ami asuu* u?i.. oim
and Sally before me. I had got my
lesson pretty tvell and was procecdiag c
along to th* close, when suddealy I s
rem??bared that the law requiied me c
to see the license before performing a
the ceremony. I paused and said:
"Jim, I forgot. I must sse the license
before I preceed." Jim looked bewil- 1
dered and alarmed. Sally put the v
slick i* her mouth. After a tew mo- *
ments of silent embarrassment one of j;
the boys came forward and handed ^
the document aad said: 4,I reckon 1
that's hit. I forgot to give it to Jim."
So I had to begia at the beginning and
do it all OTer again. Whe* I pro?
tVv.m won ?i rul Wl'f* ihft old I ?
UUUUV/tU _ _
lonin sailed and said: "Jim, salute f
the bride?that's the way I was iuar- t
ried." Jirm save her a smsck that i
sounded like pulling a stopper out of ^
a jug and the boys all followed suit, 1
and they looked at ms in such a way t
that I to?k a delicate taste of what t
they had left on he*- juicy lips. I think ^
she enjotod it, for I was pretty good- t
looking then. a
The old woman invited me to stay 1
to supper, but I excused myself and d<v 1
parted these coasts repeating those s
beautiful line* of Tom Mocre about j
marriage: t
'And oh, thera be an alysium on earth <
TA < U <V?!a T
XL in U11XQ *1/ AO ^
A poet cannot disguise his heart, and ?
it is a coiafort for woman to know that t
the greatest and purest and best of ?
them hire j>aid homage and trbuta to \
the marriage relation. But the man ]
and the women must be mated as weil j
as married. It is the mismatiag that ,
briots eo Bauch discredit upon the io- j
stitution and keeps the young men j
from proispering. Thay are ?fraid to j
venture?more afraid than the women, f
I ha7e known many a girl to keep hor
lover in tew, but nt a respcctful distance,
hoping for a better catch. After I
awhile sho accepts him as a last resort.
Colonel Stansell told me to-day oi a \
young married woman who some years
ago who came to h'm to procure a '
divorce. As she was very reticent J
about stating her grounds for asking '
to be separated, he encouraged hsr by 1
reading over the various things that 1
the law expressed, bu? she said no to '
all of them. When he pressed her <
for a reason, she blushed and said she <
bad married hisa for fifty, but had !
found out he waa seventy-four The '
poor thing had been tempted by his ;
property to throw herself a.way, but
he tightened his grip, and she was <
neither an old man:s darling nor a j
you*g man's slave. Ilovvsadiy rorcan- '
" - - tt?<?,
tic "was oam nuusiuu ? uiuiuag'?. Uu
was a great man, a grand mat;; tho <
goytrnor of Tennessee, the friend of '
Andrew Jackson, fie married a beau- '
tifuland lovely woman, and they had J
apparently ?every reason in the world 1
to be happy, but shortly after their .
union he ebsorved that she was not
happy, asd on pressing her gently for
the camse, she told him frankly ihat i
she had raarried him through pique? i
that she had another lover whom abe :
had discarded without just causo, and 1
her heart was breaking, JtLou?>?on i
never upbraided her. but in a fev,- days
kissed her an affectionate i'are?*cl!. i
and left her forever. He \rrote Lc-r
from t'je Cherokee nation to sue for a :
divorce, as he had abandonsd her. She
did so, and was married t? her lover
theday the divorce \yas granted. Houston
married Hiss Lee, of Alabama, afterwards,
with whoua he lived 21 est.
happily, and tbey were blessed wita a j
flock of good children.
But tieing and untieing are very I
different things. The ono is glad and
the other is sad?very sad. There 1*
no gloom upon earth as dark as that
whicli hangs over brQken vows. It
brings a cankering, corroding sorrow
that oreys upon the heart and ends
only with death. Our people have
long beeR ble.?t with comparative freedom
from the lood of divo: ces that
overrun the North. Illinois has only
twice our population, but twelve times
our number of divorces, and it is nearly
as bad in all the Northern States.
They t;e and they untie at their pleas
ure, but still they are unhappy because (
the negro 'an't rote. May the good
Lord deliver us from .their miserable j
condition. Bill A sr.
. , . 1
A BOLD GRAB FOR DIAMONDS
Fire Thousand Dollars' Worth Stolon at i
One Time.
One of the boldest robberies that ever j
occurred in Texas took place Monday
night, at 9:30 o'clock, at 608 Main 1
street, in the very heart of the city of i
Dallas. f
Domnar & Samuels ar? jewelers, and j
keep a magniflceBt display of costly goo'ls
behind the plate glass of their lar?e ]
show window. Within and without are i
electric lights, and tha aeighborhood is ;
kept almost as light as day. c
While Mr. Domnar was waiti?g on a t
customer, ha heard a terrific crash of the g
window, and turning his ?je? barely in ^
time to see a tray of valuable diamood t
r;n?8 disappear, lie ran outia an instant, c
but the thief had disappeared up the ^
stairway at the side of his store. The D
break was mad? with a rack weighiyg r
twenty pounds, wrapped ia paper. Toe j,
tray c?ntai*ed forij-two fii? diamond 0
rini.'?, valued at about $5,000. y
The mac who was a slender while ](
aan, ab?at 3 feet 8 inches high, with- j.
duc wmsser?, ana wore a oiacK suit ana },
i?ht colored bat. ?
Aftf*r he ran up the stairs in front he 0
ivaa aeen to descend to tbe street ic the q
ear and *o out through the alley. The 2
sheriff and otber officers followed with o
rained blood hounds nsd are now ?n d
lis trail. g
=? h
FOR LOVE OP HAWES. *
li
tl
iennlc JiKrlcbt, of Birminzbam, Attempts
to End Her Life.
gt
Later developments in the case of r.
* u
Bessie Inwright, the youDg womaa who a
ried to end her life Wednesday night, 0
n a house on Third Avenue and Twen- c<
ieth street, by taking a, dose of mor. 23C
?hine, develops the fact that she did so
hrotigh love of Dick Hawes.
Bessie, it appear?, ir the woman who c<
>ecame so completely infatuated with K
lawes duirng his coifinemest in the
:ounty jail, and who wai in the habit of
risiting him daily, muek to the annoy- a"
nee of the jailer, who was often called s!
ipon to admit her to him two or three e.
irnes a day. The woman's frequent ^
isits to the juil attracted ne little attenioa,
but at the time very little was s*
aid about them. ?
When the Supreme Court decided that 0
iawes tnuit nang ana tne aeatn watcn
i i ;-"J?hjp. Bessie was told
bat her Timrr tr tT'i . . - - , s
oust ct'ase. This i a farmatfon^^ 1 a a.* cs
o overcome her and she bursrS?L?
ears, but finding her oeportuaities of no eJ
.rail, after repeated fruitless visits to ^
he jail, she finally abandoned all hope
if seeing Hawes and took to sending ^
lira affectionate notes and handsome
touquets. 0I
As the time f*r Hawes' execution gt
Irew near she grew morose and low ^
pirited, kept her room a good deal of
if tha time and \ras disinclined to talk to q
,ny one. _ # ai
A ffAv tVi^ i/m* Vior ftriof n?r?a tin.
^Xl IC1 LilV* ^AWVUVIUU 4J V/4 gllWL HUM MM
>ouaded, but no fears were entertained ((
hat she would atteimpt to take her life, ^
intil abe was discovered in her room
ufferiDg; from a dose ?f morphine, and a]
?j prompt medical aid was* brought a]
>ack from the verge of the grave.?Bir- ^
ingham Age-Herald.
A Brave Girl's Act. ^
There is one brave girl in Charlotte. b<
She' is Miss Lula Smith, the pretty little tl
ourteen-year-old daughter of Sheriff Z.
J, Smith. At 5 o'clock Monday after- tl
loon Miss Lula was pl&jingnear the jail S
T.ith some other children, whei she a
lappened to see a prisener slido out of ti
he jail through a newly made hole in tl
he wall. The little Miss knew that p
vould never do. so sfes ran quickly to b;
,hs side of the j*il and picked up a big 2,
itone. She began to pound a second Is
dnkj head, poked nearly through the d
lole, and in the act of escaping. Only Is
i few licks were necessary to drive the s<
jrisoner back. Standing by the hole on d
he inside of the jail were a dozen prison- r<
irs ready to crawl through the hole aad e
iscsp#, but the little woman stood guard d
it the outside, dared them to poke out 1<
,beir heads. Sh? gave the alarm, and tl
i?on her father was on the scene and t<
he prisoner! all locked up in their cells, c:
3y *omc scan* or other the prisoners 11
jad cut a bole through the thick brick ii
wall, and had it not been for Miss p
jula a wholesale delivery would ha7e a
exulted. The prisoner that succeeded r<
**' ?- - ?Qd
c geiunjj away was a ucg.y i-kjj, ?u ?
'or a trifling ofleaae. - e
S
The Grady Monument. p
0
It has already been stated that the fi
Dlan of Mr. Alexander Doyle, a New
STork architect, ha9 been adopted for ^
;be monument of Mr. Henry W. y
jrady in Atlanta. The Constitution says a
Mr. Doyle's conception of the monuaent
is a very beautiful one. It con- q
lists of a square of graeite surrounded ^
by a low balustrade, from the centre _
3f which riacs an exquisitely proportion- ?
;d pedestal, and on this deration stands e
i bronzs figure of Mr. Grady is one of a
bis most natural attitudes. On one aide 2
Df the pedestal is a brenze figure of ^
Eistorr, inscribing on ber tableta the c
ieeds of the brilliant editor, on the opposite
side is a figure of the South, y
weeping bitterly because of the loss 0
3f a favorite son; the other two sides a
Df the pedestal bear only a palm leaf g
lad a wreath of immortelles, also v
wrought in bronze, Mr. Doyle has had jj
more experience aa a monumental artist ^
than almost any man of hia years in s
America. The Saratoga monumont, e
which is conaidere^ one of the finest ^
works of art in the country, is the pro- 3
duct of bis genius. Tbe Jaspe: ?onu- r
meat in Savannah and the JtSen Mill E
monument in Atlanta were also designed s
by him. Mr. Doyie waa a stroDg ad- E
rnirer and a warm personal friend of f
Mr. Grady's, aod his present work will \rcceive
his closest attention. t
* s
Expelled From the Southern Society. a
Xew York, March 13.?Major Han- s
cock Ciarij, the man who sd*5 jimoa *
Randolph as a result of a quarrel at the 8
Souther* Society, r abort time ago, was J
expelled last night from the society, \
after en investigation of the charges <
against him. Randolph, on the other 1
hand, was acquitted anc exonerated. I
K
THE COliN CHaMPION.
i
SOME FACTS ABOUT CAPTAIN \
DRAXE'S TRIUMPH. ]
*
1
How Two Hundred and Fifiy-three i5? .liel#
of Corn were Grown on One Acrc? j
The Largest Croy Erer Known.
American Agriculturist.
The acre entered bv Z. J. Drake |)
was 8- sandy soil in Marlbo*ough \
County,Soutk Carolina. The original 1
growth was oak, hickory, and long- *
leaf pine. Three years ago, before r
the land was improved, eight dollars <j
^ *t acre was a fair valuation, while I
thirty years ago, ike plantation of *
which this acre is an average speci- a
aaen was called by its owner "Starva- c
ion's Empire " It had a gentl? slope, a
with northern exposure, and was ^
saturally well drained. The acre was ?
i fair specimen of much of the poor g
and iu the South, aud its improve- 2
ueutr a?d productiveness affords an ~
nstructive lesson. As late as 1885, jvhen
it was in cern, it made a poor j,
:rop?practical:_r nothing. In 18S6, u
he acrc yielded about 300 pounds ol k
eed cotton., two dollare' worth of m
muioniaied fertilizer being used in tv
he way common to ordinary cotton S
ulture" The fertility was so" reduced ei
hat, in 1887, the yield of com was b
lot over five bushels per acre. But
low Mr. Brake undertook to iziprove
t. To | rovide the vegetable matter
>r humus ao much needed, the land
ras litcrlly covered with rakings of
eaves, straw, etc., frem the neighbor- ^
ng woods. On top of this, Si horseDids
of stable manure were evenly 3
pread broadcast; also. 75 bushels ef
otton seed, 500 pounds of Wilcox, *
ribbea & Co's manipulated guano, j;
50 pounds of cotton seed meal, and .
50 pounds of kainit This heavy 01
ressing was all plowed under with
tarke's Dixie turning.plow. It was si
lid off in rows with the same plow, cc
wo furrows to the row,four feet apart; ai
00 pounds of guano were applied in al
ae furrows, and then each pair of fur- n<
ows were throw into a ridge with the ti
ime plow. The Peterkin c ^tton was m
lanted with a Leytch cotton-planter,
nd made the great crop of 917pounds .
flint cottoD on the acre, showing Ju
Dnclus'vely the result of the imorovetent.
" hJ
Mr. Drake decided that this acre *
as the one for him to enter in the ~r
srn contest, and he determined to
take the biggest crop on record, sea>n
permitting. The last of February, til
lerelore, he haulod upon the contest an
2re nfty oae-horsa wagon-loads of th
able manure,averaging twenty bush- da
s to the load, cr 1,000 bushels of maure
in all, worth $50, to which should es
s added four dollars fer hauling and. co
>reading. This was the droppings dc
" horses and mules, led on corn and sa
'dder, and was not moved until haul- Ti
J to the acre. At this same time 500 Pi
junds of manipulated guano, cotton- -foi
:ed mealj and kainit were alsobroad>
isted, and the whole was then plow- j
)tton-seed r ^
ich furrow,600 bushels beiag appiiea
>theacie. Aaubsoilplow came af:r,
breaking ihe soil to a total depth Tj
f 12 inchei, and also burying the
hole cotton-seed deeper than the ^
Lher manure. Thus, the decaying
ied should back up tue crop later in j
ic season when its roots hadpenetra)d
below the first layer of manure. ?
ne horse and a man did tiio plowing,
Iso the subsoilisg; both jobs being jmpleted
in oae day .(March 1), at a {
>tal expense of two dollars. The acre
as harrowed on the same day, with *
Thomas smoothing harrow, one man
ad two horses doing the work in
bout one hour. The next day,
[arch 2, the acre was laid ofl, with
le Starke plow, in each row. The pi
>ws were alternately three aad six j M
At. jmaxfc?that is. therec were six f?et | w
?x ?^
stwcsn two rows, tbea' three feet, ft
lea six feet, and so 011. fi^
The seed planted was ona hushel ?f in
ic common Gourd variety of the T1
otttheru white dent com, but it was la
strain that had been improved by se
venty years of careful selection from w
le best of the ccra grown on this
lantation. Tse planting was done cu
y four hands in half a day, on 5Iarch ti<
, the weather baing warm and the at
md moist. Fiv? or six kernels were m
ropped to each foot of the iow. The be
itter were five inches d?ep, but the te
ied was only covered lightly an inch of
eep, by raking in the sides of the fur- w<
)w. Kain the next day washed in j cb
"? ? And novared the seed rather i a]
eeply. There were good rains 3?arch d<
3 aad 15, the plants began to show on to
ae 16th, and by the 25th there was a st;
slerably good stand. On April 8 the io
rop was h?ed for the firs! time, thin- b?
ed to one stalk every five or six cc
iches, and the few xaiising places re- tb
lanted. On the 20th, thef'wide spa- $1
es (six feet) between the*alternate
dws were plowed out with the sub3il
plow. Then a mixture, composd
of 200 pounds each of manipulated *
uaao, kainit, cctton-seed meal, acid ^
hospbate, and animal bone, was h*
venly applied by sowing in each fur- ^
aw (thus confining this application of 11
iant food to the wide spacas), after V(
rhich the whole acre was gone over v'
rith a Thomas harrow. There was
rain on the 24tb, and two dtys iater
tie crop was again harrowed with the
'homos harrow. Now, on ilay 15,
tie narrow or three foot rows were
lowed out -with the sub-soiier. and al
- on
00 pounds or nitrate of sooa was 30w- ?*
d in these raws, and worked in with- *a
hand harrow er cultivator. On the
5th, the Thomas harrow was run ^
lirough the wide rows, to break toe S
rust. It will ae seen that by this ^
[me the soil was not only well filW
rith plant-food, but had been th iughly
cultivated on the surface, and
bo well worked uaderneath by the of
ub-soil plow, so that the whole soil ^
7&s not only fall of fertility, tut was
a that light and open condition ;hat 'lf
est facilitate: root growth. To
timulate 1'urthsr root development, iE
specially in the wide spaces between w
he altercate rows, wnere tner^ was Av
lore room for this purpose, three fur- a
ows were run, side by side, in the
liddie of the vride rows, with the
ub-seil plow, and 200 pounds of madpulated
guauo wa3 applied in these Si
arrows, the rows, then being worked
>y a Thomas harrow. The aext day m
here was about an inch of rain, about >'?
ix inches of rain fell four days later, w
tndonJun? 2 the land was slightly
tirred with a hoe. A little earth was
ioed into the corn making the land
ibout level. There was more rain r{
fune 4 and 5, and, en the Sth three a,
arrows were again turned in the mid- a
lie of the wide rows, this time with a Cl
56-inch Campbell sweep. Now, 500 j(
x>u.nds of a mixture composed of ^
Jqual parts of manipulated guano,
lotton-seed meal and kaiait was
strewn ia the wide spaces, and the
jora on the entire field was hoed.
Elain came the next day, but, on June
Llth, 100 pounds of nitrate of seda
vas sowed in the narrow rows and
ioed in
The crop was now a wonderful sight,
[t socn became necessary to put up
)0sts and nail slats to them, on each
ide of the row, to prevent the corn
'ailing. No hilling was done but the
yuuitJ acre was *epc periCCtly 16T?L.
Arrangements for irrigating had b*en
cade.but the season was early and
vet, as compared with other years; '
aias followed frequently, and no irritation
was necessary. In fact, as Mr.
Drake says, "the season was the moat
avorabie for corn I ever saw." The
ama of the contest acre spread far
nd wide, and fanners and planters
stme from all parts of Marlboro and
rid adjoining counties to behold it.
)ur engraving, from a dim photograph,
;ives but an incomplete idea of this
remendous crop. P. L. Breeden, a
reat cotton-planter, and one e? the
?0 ?t progressive farmers in the State,
ays it wa? "a wonder to behold."
.A. Brown, editor of the Marlboro
)emocrat, writes: "The harvest was
lieed a curiosity. One laborer told
s that the crop, when pulled, was
nee deep on the ground. Tho yield
as not much of a sui prise to -those
rho visited the crop while growing.
orae Marion county farmers put the
stimata At about three hundred
usbeis.
[Copyright 1890.] x Geueral
Sou'shera Ntws.
The Chattanooga marble and stone
ns.rri?s did an exceptionally large
ade last month. They shipped seven- -
r~aine carloads of stone during the
onth, each car containing 200 cubic
et of stone. The ramifications of
lis firm are between the lakes and
10 gulf, and tho Atlantic and Pa
fic.
?Sam Jonas has been waking up the
nners of Tyler, Texts, where he has
>mpared dancing girls to tadpoles,
id has greatly offended the fa&hion)le
girls by saying that they "look
5 more like God Almighty's woman
tan a Chinaman looks like a salt ^
ine."
?A.n Arkansas n?gro plowed up a
g containing $16,005), and in his joyis
delirium ran off to town to tell of
s find, leaving the jug in the field
ter loading himself with $400 of the
easure. When he returned to the
ild the jug had bean stolen.
?The Tennessee Legislature is getig
down to business in good earnest,
itrill 4WMW..I* 'iwtik
L?.i 1IAU yivwttUJijr ^C.V/U tUlUU^U- W'lUli
e business before thera -iu." fifteen
- v ; y?
' Jr
?All tlietawns which have been
tablished'aiid boomed in Jefferson
unty kave added to the growth and
velopment of Birmingham. The
me thing will be t rue of Annisten.
le larger Oxford, Jacksonville and ...
edmont boom tt.eWetter itwill.be *
r Annisten. '*? ~ ?Mrs.
Joha Outland,"jrholives near^.^.,
ckson, Tenn., is a very old lady. and
ma to that country fifty eight years
kura g'na ho? afiiimii
ys that whea she passed through .ckson
the court house was a little ?,
g hut sitting in o.a* corner of the
esent court square, and that though
e has liyed withia. three miles of
ickson all these years she has. never
en the town since. She knows it
ust be a great deal larger from the
imber of whistles she can hear blowg
the dinner hour. She is the mother
' a large family of childi en, who, with
ieir children, are ; among Madison's
stive, progressive farmers.
A Louisiana. Plantatios.
In 1871 and '72, on the Grevemberg
antation, bayou Teche, parish of Stary,
1 here was a colony of Creoles
orking on the share system?twelve
mines. iuu parsons, aoout iweaiyjt
work;?g hands, net a negro workg
in the colony, in house or field.
aey cultivated about 500 acres of
nd, twenty acres to the hand, and
nt to market in two seasons $40,000 - ?yJ
orth of sugar an? molasses.
It would be a large estimate te calilate
the fiold hands on the plantains
and farms in Louisiana in I860
175,000. The Greveaberg colony
ade $SOO to the hand for two years,
side? making corn and feed for their
ams ana poultry and hogs, aad most
the food for their Is allies. Their
r.mcn noi/^ t.Tiftir Or-fw^prv ft/WWirif-JJ in
lickena and eggs and vegetables. If
1 the field hands of the State had
>ne as well, they would have sent
the market $140,000,000 worth of
aple products besides leaking rice,
bacco, hay, corn, potatoes, peas,
:ans, vegetables, fnrits, etc., for home
nsuaaption. The doctor's bills,
eir physician stated, did net exoeea
00 a year for the colony.
A Traitor to His State.
Ex -Geveruor William Holden, of
orth Caroliaa, was stricken with par^cisatalate
hour Saturday might,
id his condition is extremely critical,
is health has for several years been
iry fseble, and he has been unable to
alk much this winter. Four years
;o he had a stroke of paralysis. Sis
iath is aow expected at any hour,
e was for a quarter of a ceatury one
" the leading pubKc men ia the State,
e was editor of the Standard aad
terward was appointed -provisional
jvernor by President Johnson, and
; 1S63 was elected governor. In 1870
5 was impeached for high crimes and '
3S COUYiCMiU until lu&b uxs uuasusmp.
e was postmaster here several years,
is age is about severity-five.
An Adieu After the Banquet.
A good story was told at the expease
' Congressman As'ibel P. Fitch, of
ew York.
Not long ago he received an inyitaon
to dine with the Hon. Herman
;ump, of Maryland, at his residence
Baltimore. The table was spread
ith all the delicacies of the season,
are wines were served and there was
* .-> * 1_ r .I if.
pienniUi supply orcein psgne. Ju.auV
"the guests diued not wisely, bat "~:i<>
well. As Fitch -frfcood fcpon the
oop, bidding h.:s hoit goodnight, Mr. ^
mmpsaid:
,lGo down carefully, Mr,. yFitch;
Ilea you get to the foot' of the steps
9U will see two cabs. Take the'first?
a?. The other isn t there^" Y-;v:=
Encounter "With Brigands.
Constantinople, Msrch 13.?A terfic
eacouater between Turkish troops
3d a biLU of Brigv.Bds has taken place
I Eilascni*. The Turkish troops i?jc- ;
seaed in dispersing the Brigands. bat
>st tweaty, killed in the fight, white
he Brigands lost oaly six.