Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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I J ! Old Time "works wonders, so they ! 8ay; TT-"'- TV^*-T? nr\ TOTTTHYTTP TW~|T7RT TflTl A V. flft O OW iTiiavw* F NEW YEAR'S AT NEARBYE i | BT JNO. GILMER SPEED. I t [Copyright by American Press Association.] | ^ N*pr/OU seem bluef" j1 said Emma Rog-|r ere to Jack Har- j? UL, ford when he call-1 * g? ed on her one Sat- 1 SI urday evening in! August in her,6 I (ft. neat cottaST0 * home in a small ! viljage in the Jer- I sey hills not very ' far from New "I am blue," he 8 said, "or angry, or discouraged, or what- ^ ever else you choose." ' "What's wrong with you now, Jack?" the girl asked with a smile wh fa seemed 8 to indicate that she was accustomed tojc have the -young man nnburden himself of ,1 his troubles when he came to see her. 1 "It's the same old story," he replied; 11 "everything goes wrong, and however * hard I work I am powerless to set things j' right. Father insists on working the j j farm just as grandfather worked it fifty years ago, and when he gets further and i' further behind he thinks the times are out * of joint, and won't believe that he could * make things more prosperous if he would ( count upon \he changed conditions of the 4 country and adopt different methods of .? cultivation and grow different crops." 10 "That sounds like one of your articles t for The Agricultural Review," she said 4 with an amused smile. "Suppose it does?" he asked. "Doesthat 8 prevent it from being true? That's the e kind of thing father would have said. He blames me every day for having worked my way through college. He calls me stuck up and conceited. I think I am humble enough, but, plague on it, I am tired of the whole business. We get up early in the morning to have an early breakfast, to get to work early and have i an early dinner, to get to work early to ; have an early supper, to go to bed early so as to get up early in the morning. And so it is, day in and day out all the year round, and then we find that the mortgage is as big as ever and the interest not paid." "Maybe the interest would be paid and | the mortgage reduced if some one I know | worKed, witn a more concentea spine," i Emma Rogers said seriously. "Perhaps; but content don't come mere- I ly at the bidding, and I am resolved to cut ! loose and see jiajjfimething ou j my own account." | - "That is what you have said any time > for two years." I "I know that, but it is different now. Tom was not old enough to be of much j good on the farm then, but he is now, and . he gets along perfectly with father. They j will be happier and better off when I am j gow." "When do you start, Mr. Hariord?" che girl asked, with mock formality. "Monday morning," ho replied. ".ana wnitner ao you go?" sne asseu, i with the same tone and manner of mockery. "To New York." "And over which bank will you preside, r Mr. Harford, or will you choose to take I charge of one of the great trunk lines of j railway?" she continued. "Don't mock me, Emma. I should rather | have your sympathy and lovo than anything else. With your love to inspire me | , I really believe I could accomplish some- > thing." "Nonsense, Jack! If you ever do anything it will be because you have it in you. ! If you are really going I tell you frankly : thyt I am glad of it. But at the same time I must say that I think very much iis j your father docs; that you are entirely too j conceited, it may bo that you will get i enmnHiin'r <if that knocked out of vou in I New York. That will be a good thing, i anyhow." Jack Harford's face was as red as lire , and his lips troubled as the girl finished, j He rose from his chair and said with a ! iorced smile: "Well, Miss Rogers, I have to thank you ; for your great candor. 1 btg your pardon i for having presumed to think that you j urniild h<( iiitx-rpstwl in mv movements. I will bid you ?ood evening and good-by." And ho bowed stiffly. "Don't bo a goose, Jack," sbo said. "I am interested in your movements and interested in you. Had I not been"?and now Miss Kogers got upon her dignity? v /11^: wm$ 'w' For from the stage he's sent away a man of ninety, bent and gray, 'do you suppose I should have taken the rouble to speak to you as I have done?" < Harford's anger was at once appeased, ] ind he took her hand and would have put 1 lis arm around her had she not moved < jack a step. < "Oh, Emma," he said, "it you would > inly love me and be good to me, and let 1 ne feel that I was working for you as well ' ls myself, I should go away much more ' >ravely than I do. Won't you promise to 1 narry me when I have made a stake?" 1 "Come and see after you hive made the 1 ;take," she said with a smile, as she disen- < {aged her hand. 1 "That's the best you can do for me?" he 1 jersisted. ' "You have no right to ask more at pres- < snt," she said, and be was forced to be ' content. They resamed their seats and 1 ipent the evening in disctissing the very ^ague plans for the future which Jack larford had formed. By hard work and many privations the ion had managed to prepare himself for allege and to get through the course. At wenty-two he returned to the farm and vith the zeal of youth desired to reform its nanagement. He might as well have tried o move the high hills from their firm oundations. Emma Rogers was the daugher of the Nearbye doctor, who had died a ew years before this story begins and left lis only child with no more valuable prop:rty than the little cottage in which he lad lived and a lot of uncollected and un- 1 sollectable bills for his services. She was he teacher of the Nearbye school, and man-1 iged it with much tact anrl bkiil tier dear, blue eyes would have made any face >retty, but as all her features were straight aid regular, like those we are accustomed o see in the ancient sculptures of Greece, ihe was a radiant beauty and would have eemed out of place in her homely sur-oundings bad the brilliancy of her beauty ?ot been tempered by great sobriety of ipeech and directness of manner. ? Jack Harford and Emma Rogers had < >een companions since childhood, and as ie had done nothing to disguise his affec- i ion the relations of the two as lover and oved were well known about. Among t he young men in the Nearbye neighborlood he was the only one fit by education o consort with her, and he was therefore >ermitted to pnrsne his suit without the rexation of rivalry. He was a strong,' ;ood looking fellow, and with much less )f the rustic appearance than anyof the >ther farmer's sons thereabouts. He had nade persistent love to Emma for two fears, but they had never become formally engaged. She had not declined to narry him, and he had ahvays feared to nsist on a final decision. Early Sunday morning Jack announced X) his father that he was going away the aext morning to seek his fortune. The >ld man sighed sadly when he heard what lis son had to say in extenuation of his resolution to give up his home, but made ao opposition. ! m. m > m ^ ^Ljjm i1 "WON'T YOU PROMISE ME?" - ! 1 "Well, Jack," he said, "I wish you well, j TP VStlft* ITtlwwifr.v VA11 I will ah^ivs find a welcome here; that is"? j and i;ho old man sighed deeply and his i voice grew husky, "if we can manage to hold on to the old place and keep the sheriff ' away." < The bustle of preparation and departure ' kept Jack from feeling sis seriously as he 1 might have done, but when he got to I town and had found a cheap boarding 1 house and set about finding something to And with his scythe has signaled on A bosy youth of ninety-one. Jo he realized very forcibly how great was l?- -a ua*a 318 UnuerUULLllg. OO ttp^jacu uuo auu there at random for employment for a few Jays and had no success whatever. He then took up the advertisements in the newspapers and spent about a week in a rain effort ta find anything at alL He joon perceived that if he had learned a trade instead of going to college he could have found plenty of work- He applied tor work at the offices of several of the agricultural publications. He got no encouragement. as few of them pay anything tor contributions. One of the editors said to him: "If you happen to know anything sibout agriculture, the chances kre that you don't know how to write, and if you know QOW IAJ write, l/UC CI1HUVXO OIC tuou JWU know nothing of agriculture." HE MET CALDWELL. "But suppose I do know about agricultlre and can write?" Jack asked. "TT.trAn thnn." t.h? editor said, "we could lot find a place for yon." Jack's supply of money was now nearly sxhausted, and he was low indeed in his nind. "I shall take a laborer's place atherthan go home," he said to himself wenty times a day; and as he was strong ind accustomed to work this would not lave been such a hardship if he could have eft bis ambition out of the account. Old Mr. Harford knew very little of city ife, but he had not passed all his years without learning that the percentage of ;hose who found failure instead of success n the struggle in New York was very arge, and that therefore the chances igainst his boy were much greater than ;hose in his favor. "If he gets the worst )f it," he continually said to himself, "he .vill come home, and may be then it won't seem so hard to help us here." When church was over one Sunday aiorning about this time the old man [vaited for Emma Rogers at the door and ipproached her with some timidity when ihe appeared. To his invitation to go iS?EG to dinner with him she wis obliged w decline, but she volunteered to drive part of the way with him and walk back. She knew by intuition that ho wanted to say something about Jack. "Have vnn heard from Jack. Mr. Har Ford?" she asked. "Yes, we had a line saying that he had found a boarding house. Has he written to you?" "Only to say that he would not write till lie had found something to do." "I hoped that you would help us to keep Jack at home; he cares more for you thau iny one else.'" "How do you know that?" asked the cjirl, blushing prettily, but looking concerned. "Oh, I haven't been looking on at me c?irls and boys for forty years for nothing. [ wish you had kept him at home." "But I did not want him to stay at borne," Emma said with positiveness. "Oh, we were in hopes that you cared for him." "So I do"?the girl blushed deeply at this confession?"and that was the reason [ thought it would be better for him to go away." "So the old place is not good enough for you either?" "Mr. Harford, it is not kind of you to speak to mo in this way. You and Jack 3id not understand each other. He could not have helped you any better than an ordinary hired man, and it was not right for him to stay at home any longer?it was not right to you or to himself." "Why, Emma, I was always good to Jack," the old man protested. "Oh, yes, T "know1'that,'And he knew II too, but he is ambitious and high Strang. It won't do him any harm to try a different kind ot life, even though he should for a time get the worst of it, and I fear" (with a deep sigh) "that that's what he is getting now. You know I have some cousins in town,'and I have heard how hard it is for them to get established in business, and Jack knows no one there." "Where are all his fine college friends?" Mr. Harford asked. "Oh, they are young men themselves, and each of them has his way to make much the same as Jack. Mr. Harford, if I were you I should write to Jack and help to keep bis spirits up." "I shall, my dear, and all I have to say is that if Jack doesn't do something big to be worthy of such a good girl as you are, then I am sure you won't get your deserts. 1 am much obliged to you for coming with me." "Good-by, Mr. Harford," the girl said as the horse stopped at the top of a hill, and before she jumped out of the buggy she kissed the old man on his sunburned cheek, thus giving to the father unasked what she had denied to the son, though much besought. When Emma Rogers had finished her simple little dinner she sat at her father's old desk and wrote thia letter: Keaxbtz, Sept. 21. Dear Jack?I promised not to write to you, but I trust you will forgive m?for thus efcriy breaking my word. 1 drove with your father after church today as far as the hill top. He is much concerned about you, and 1 think it Is your duty to write to him at least once a week so that he may not feel uneasy about you. Don't foolishly wait until you have done something to be proud of. Writo to him at once and write to him regularly. If you will do this you may also write to me once a week, and I will answer your letters now and again, and I will also confess that I miss you awfully and often wish very much to see you and I continually wonder what you are doing. E. R. P. S.?Why don't you look up all your college friends who are living in New York? Jrck Harford's Sundays in town had been particularly gloomy. He had been accustomed for two years past to spend the greater part of each Sunday with Emma Roihws. and the loss of this companion ship was at this period a grievous one. The Monday morning after the conversation between his father and sweetheart at Nearbye he started oat early to answer as many of the advertisements printed in the Sunday papers as seemed to him to be of any promise. The day had been a succession of dreary disappointments, and he returned to his boarding place in the evening tired and utterly blue. On the hat rack in the hall be found Emma's letter. It brightened him up wonderfully. He at once wrote to his father. He also wrote to Emma and thanked her most sincerely for her kindness to his father and to him. In reading over her letter for the first few times he missed the significance of the suggestion in Emma's postscript. There were many old college friends in New York. CTa V.o/1 infanrlInnlrinc? f.hpm Jin after hp bad become established in bnsiness. That seemed ff.i'enough off now. It could do no harm to see some of them at once. The next morning he dressed himself as carefully as his limited wardrobe permitted, and went for a tour of visits. Tho first fellow he called on was a clerk pnd a student in a lawyer's office. From him he learned of the others and continued his calls. He told each of them that he had come to town to seek employment, and each of them offered to let him know if anything suitable was beard of. Late in the afternoon be called on Wifliam Caldwell, who bad for three years been bis foom mate. The Inst year at college something had happened which had strained, if it bad not severed, the friendship between Harford and Caldwell. These yonng fellows had not talked over the difference between them, and had parted still misunderstanding each other. Each of the fellows who had seen Jack had asked if be bad seen Caldwell, and at Ttast Jack concluded to call. He got the ad/!?<"> an/1 fnnnH Hl? nllU<fl VArT AflflilV Hp met Caldwell just at the entrance of his father's large establishment?a commission house wh.oh did a most extensive business. "Hello, Jock," said Caldwell, holding out his hand as the two met. "I am glad to see you." "I am glad of that, for I was just going to see you. You remember we were not very good friends when we left college two years ago." "The bigger fools we," responded Caldwell cheerily. "Come in, old man, and tell me about yourself." The two young men walked back through the great ware house to the counting room in the rear, and Caldwell took the young countryman into his private office. There they talked over the college days, the difference between them was explained, and Caldwell learned of Jack's object in coming to town and of his lack of success. "Well, you have come to the right shop this time," Caldwell said, "for I have just been made a partner, and I mean to have you here?that is, if you would like it." "Nothing would please me better," Harford said; "but you don't really need me, do you?" "We did not know it, but I am sure we 6hall know it in a little while." Jack's opportunity had now come, and he took advantage of it. The firm for which he worked found him a most valuable assistant, and from time to time his salary ?noo fuicnh t-iil in t.wn vpjips after he came to New York lie was getting $4,000 a year. With young Caldwell he saw all that was best and most novel of metropolitan life, but his heart yearned all the while for the gjrj who was waiting for hro at Nearbye, and whenever he could he spent his Sundays at the old place. One bright December afternoon toward the end of Christmas week, he took the train for the Jersey hills and was soon at the old farm at Nearbye. There were . many journeys made in the next few days I between the old homestead in the hills and j Emma Rogers' neat little village cottage. ' At this time Jack was never reproached for being blue. There was evidently no I need for such reproofs, as there was an alertness in his steps and a brightness in i his eyes which showed very plainly that he i was contented with his lot. What was said and done during these long, frequent i visits need not be chronicled here. Most of us know how the old story is enacted, and those who do not will, if they be lucky, learn all its phases by heart, and be better and happier for the knowledge. On New Year's morning, after breakfast, Jack handed to his astonished father the satislied mortgage on the old place. The old man was dumfounded, but at length found WOi'US LU auy . "Ah, this is a New Year's present indeed." "Yes, father, wo shall all' be happy today, and, if you will let me, I shall briny yon home after church today another present." "Don't do anything more, my son," the old man protested; "this is enough for one day." "Tho other present is more for myself than yon, sir. I wish to make you a present of a daughtar, for Emma Rogers has promised to be my wife." V rv 1 I -+ M ?:.* Jt ^ THE OLD SOLDII R?3 NEW YEAR'S. "Thank God!" said the car driver, earn estly, aa the great c mtch bell, three or four blocks away, j truck the midnight hoar on New Year*!j ,ve. "What for?" aaka . tie passenger who stood muffled up on the front platform, puffing at a shoit p ipe. There had been no conversation, au I the driver's pious ejaculation Beemedtt have startled him. The driver looked ar< und, doubtfully. It seemed as if he Ant ed to speak, and yet hesitated to talk |to a stranger. The other smoked on in sifent e. "It always makes jie glad," said the driver after a long plus e, "when another year goes by. I don; k now but what I'd fight as hard as the n^ct i nan for my life if I had to. It's natur?, I suppose. Everybody hates the notio of dying when it comes to the pinch bht after all it's mighty comforting -t IfWow that you've got one less year o' thi to go through.'' Then he stopped, and the passenger waited a little. Finding ths driver had stopped he said between puffs, "Don't find it worth while, eh?" "Yes, I do," retorted tie driver half angrily. "I don't rightly know how to ex plain it, but maybe yc^ull know what 1 mean if you were in ittj army. Did y' ever go through a big bjat.le?" The passenger no,ddjed and the driver continued: "Well, then, 'raps you've felt like you'd be glad whe A uwas over. You warn't afraid exactly, n" yon thought it was worth while to keel fightin' under orders, and you had no I oght o' runnin', but all the time you |Cl>t thinkin' how iiaru ib wua auu nuw JuIn w Keep UIL And when you noticed Sow the sun was go in' down in the afternoon you thought how pleasant 'twould b> to wrap yourself up in your old blanket and he down on the ground and sleep aid dream about the folks at home." [ Another nod and anofier pause. "Things is a good ceal like that with me," continued the diver, in a voice that was not exactly sad, ahd yet had no ring of hope or gladness in't. 'Tmadrivin' up and down this blesajold road thirteen hours a day, and nann' just enough money to keep th' old C nan and me from bein' hungry or cold- |afcre don't seem to be anything in it, does|'(tref And yet it is worth while in one I ain't exactly religious. You would? think I was to hear me cuss sometii?jbut 1 learned in the army that nothi**jves a feller so much satisfaction as h Ati V>mebody else that's in trouble, andBa- 'come to be a sort o' religion with moVuIl jog along, crat.t.incr what nnt nf it all, but desperate tired ] whole business. Hd' "And wbea I look anl /and see other men it's like the army Mai. The officers get more pay and betteHiions and better clothes, and some of (*ide horseback, instead o' carry in' a B-psack and gun; but after all they're n/doin' about the same work, and there'sw-ghty few of 'em that would be missed lach if they was killed. ft "Of course, there wta time when I didn't feel that way. "An'tf natural for a young man to feel the sftpe us an old fellow like me, and I wft as spirited and lively as any o' the otak- boys, but I've had my day. "I s'pose a man feels a irent, too, when he's got children of hiMgrn- grtfwin' up around him. Me and th^aid woman are oil flioro fa Iflff nntP anrl Ua Kain't- r.aitKor au VUblU 10 W1V MV?T| * ?? 'fO UCMU V &4VAVUV1 of us goin' to last much longer. I'd be sorry to go and leave her iil thought she'd h?,ve much longer to wait .before we'd be all together again, bat I kiow she'd foljer me pretty soon if it comd my time, and, stranger, I have a powerfu longin' once in a while to see my boy art girl again. 1 don't think that's cowardce, is it? Ton know an old soldier would hate to be a coward, no matter what might come to him. We've all got to stay under orders as Iodk as the Commander-in-chief wanta us, an' I'm willin' to efay here and peg away the best I know as lomg as he says. All the same, I'll be enoagh when my time comes. . J ' "As I said, it's the children, after all, that makes all the diffeence. If you've ever had children of your own, stranger, and known what it was telose 'em" The driver looked aro'ljid, but all he saw was his passenger junping off the car. David A Curtis. The First Thing k Order. f a4i? Castleton?Jim, is this indeed you? Yot have kept, then, to the promise made wher me parted ten years ago. that we woul< meet on the corner Jan. I 1891. Shake old man! Now that we Ja^e met whai shall we do? Rolston?I think the best thing that on< of us can do ia to ask the ot ler for $5. Good for a Healthy Development. Any event that causes iK*n and womer to take an account of stock on themselves is good for a healthy detslopment, and New Year's, by custom and by associatioa has become such a reckoning time. It is t day to renew and cement acquaintance with the good in one's natire and disposi tion, and to discourage, if not to cut th( bad. An Kusy Oporalon. I 1 "II !i S ill Dashaway?Did yon had any troublo ic balancing up your cash to ao 1st? Goeasy?So, I just tosse up a cent . ' ..f ' .; ' IN AND OUT. ? A. About this time of year we hear That good reaotae an rife, And Father Time reflect* upon The ins and aata ot life. A Slight Error. , Dasbaway?Well, I saw the old year out last night Cleverton?When I passed you at 10 o'clock I thought you had mistaken It for a lamp post. ' v && ?? Settling Down to a Regular Thing. Flyaway?How often doeayour doctor call? i Man gin?When I was sick he came every . day. Now he comes every Jan. L A Jfew Year's Bciolre. ' ^ Van rnlrrVif ^ ' UOWi'DJ, UIU/CW> 1 vu uuguw, j^v<uM|m> Hate treated me a little better. You might have softened some hard raps, Yoa might hare eased up on some better. And yet if I'd bestowed more thought, Had tasted mora of self denial. More happiness I might have bought And stronger might I be for trial. If I'd returned but half the bliss That others gave me for ray folly. I would not now feci so amiss, And steeped in New Year's melancholy. Had I repaid in golden grains Of charity, so much of kjpdness, I might not now have mental pains Upbraiding me for all my blindness. Therefore, Resolved: Til start anew (I'll try how sweet unselfish bliss is) To pay my debts (I mean it, too): I'll take right back to Maud her kisses. Tom Masson. i 1 Both Thought of the Same Thing. v ' ! Jatrwav (anDroachin;: the important sub i ject)?Miss Palisade?that is?Miss Clara? I made a bet the other day that I would be married before 1892. i Miss Palisade?That's singular. I made a bet that you wouldn't be. ! They had a New Year's very long ago, but it took them a long time to get the , date down fine, as some counts were made , i by the sun and some by tho moon, and so an assumed date Kept Dooomg arounu. m m | Exodus xii, 2, is given the express order K j to Moses to drop the Egyptian year and H : start a new one for the Israelites, so their B civil year began in September and their re- I [ ligious year late in March, and every third: H ; year they had to add a month to make the sun date and moon date correspond.