Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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I | | ?| ,1m I _ ^ J lewis m. grist, Proprietor, j |U Jnbepenbent Jfantilg ftetosjrajjer: J;or % |inmoticm fff % political, Social, ^gricultnral anb Commercial Interests of tjje JJontjj. terms?$8.50 a tear, in advance. VOL. 37. Y OEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, APRIL 31, 1881. NOl.6. fdccted ftoritg. THE SONG OF STEAM. Harness me down with your iron bands, Be sure of your curb and rein, For I scorn the strength of your puny hands As a tempest scorns a chain. How I laughed as I lay concealed from sight For many a countless hour, At the childish boasts of human might, And the pride of human power. When I saw an army upon the land, A navy upon the seas, Creeping along, a snail-like band, Or waiting a wayward breeze; When I saw the peasant reel With the toil that he faintly bore, As he turned at the tardy wheel, Or toilet! at the weary bar ; When T measured the panting courser's speed, The flight of the carrier dove. As they bore a law a king decreed, Or the lines of impatient love? HE could but think how the world would feel As these were outstripped afar. When I should be bound to the rushing keel Or chained to the fleeting car! Ha, ha, ha! They found me at last, * 5 r??n q! I tin frt ll lliev juviicu 4iiv ivj vii ??. ivu^vii, And I- rushed to my throne with a thunder blast, And I laughed In my iron strength ! Oh ! then ye saw a wond'rons change On the earth and ocean wide, Where now my fierv armies range. Nor wait for wind and tide. Hurrah! hurrah! the waters o'er, The mountain's steep decline; Time?space?have yielded to my power? The world, the world is mine!? The rivers the sun hath earlier blest, Or those where his beams decline; The giant streams of the queenly West, Or the Orient floods divine. The ocean pales where'er I sweep, To hear my strength rejoice, And monsters of the briny deep Cower-treniblingat my voice. I carry the wealth and ore of earth, The thought of the God-like mind; The wind lags after my going forth, The lightning is left behind. In the darksome depth of the fathomless mine My tireless arm doth play, Where the rocks ne'er saw the sun decline Or the dawn of the glorious day. I bring earth's glittering jewels lip From the hidden caves below. And I make the fountain's granite cup With a crystal gnsh o'erllow. I blow the bellows, I forge the steel In all the shapes of tradef I hammer the ore and turn the wheel Where the arms of strength are made; I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint? I carry, 1 spin, I weave, And all my doings I put in print On every morn and eve. I've no muscle to weary, no breast to decay, No bones to be "laid on the shelf," An.1 soon X lnicnu you may "go ana piay, While I manage the world myself. But harness me down with your iron bands, Be sure of your curb and rein, For I scorn the strength of jTour puny hands As the tempest scorns a chain. Iltc J>tcw Idler. u ?s "the timely warning. A THRILLING STORY. ? My father, after ail absence of three years, returned to the house so dear to him. He had made his last voyage, and rejoiced to have reached a haven of rest from the per j ils of the sea. During his absence I had | grown front a child and baby of my mother's?for I was her youngest?into a rough, careless, and head strong boy. Her gentle voice no longer restrained me. I was often wilful, and sometimes disobedient. I thought it indicated manly superiority to be independent of a woman's influence. My father's return was a fortunate circumstance for me. He soon perceived the spirit of insubordination stirring within me. I saw by his manner that it displeased him, although for a few days he said nothing to me about it. It was an afternoon in October, bright and anlden. that, mv father told me to pet mv hat and take a walk with him. We turned down | a narrow lane into a fine open field?a favor-1 ite play-ground for the children in the neighborhood. After talking cheerfully on different topics for a while, my father asked me if I observed that huge shadow thrown by a mass of rocks that stood in the middle of the field. I replied that I did. "My father owned this laud," said he. "It was my play-ground when a boy. That rock stood there then. To me it is a beacon, and whenever I look at it I recall a dark spot in my life?an event so painful to dwell upon, if it were not as a warning to you, I should not speak of it. Listen then, my dear boy, and learn wisdom from your father's errors. My father died wheu I was a mere child. I was the only son. My mother was a gentle, loving woman, devoted to her children and beloved by everybody. I remember her pale, beautiful face, her sweet, affectionate smile, her kind and tender voice. In my childhood I loved her intensely. I was never happy apart from her; and she, fearing I was becoming too much of a baby, sent me to the high school in the village. After associating for a time with rude, rough boys, I lost, in a measure, my fondness for home and my reverence for my mother; and it became more aud more difficult for her to restrain my impetuous nature. I thought it indicated a want of manliness to yield to her authority or to appear penitent, although I knew that my conduct pained her. The epithet I most dreaded was girl boy. I could not bear to hear it said by my companions that I was tied to my mother's apron strings. From a quiet, home-loving child, I soon became a wild, boisterous boy. My dear mother used every persuasion to induce me to seek hap - 1 ' . \ _x_ P 1 OL pmess wnniu me preciucis 01 nome. one exerted herself to make our fireside attract ive, and my sister, following her sacrificing example, sought to entice me by planning games and diversions for my entertainmeut. I saw all this, but did not heed it. It was <?ne afternoon like this that I was about leaving the dining table, to spend the intermission between morning and evening school, iu the streets as usual, my mother laid her hand on my shoulder, and said mildly but firmly, "My sou, I wish you to com#vith me." I would have rebelled, but s >mething in her manner awed me. She put on her bonnet, and said to me, "We will take a little walk together." I followed her in silence ; as I was passing out of the door, I observed one of my rude companions skulking about the house, aud I knew he was waiting for me. He sneered as I went past him. My pride was wounded to the quick. He was a very had boy, but being some years older than myself, he exercised a great influence over me. I followed my mother sulkily, till we reached the spot where we now stand, beneath the shadow of this huge rock. O, my boy ! could that hour be blotted from my memory which has cast a shadow over my whole life, gladly would I exchange all that the world can offer me for the quiet peace of mind I should enjoy. But no ! like this huge, unsightly pile, stands the monument of mv guilt forever. My mother, being feeble in health, sat down and beckoned me beside her. Her look, so full of tender sorrow, is present to me now. I would not sit, but continued standing sullenly beside her. "Alfred, my dear son," said she, "have you lost all love for your mother?" I did not reply. "I fear you have," she continued ; "and may God help you to see your own heart, and tue to do my duty." She then % talked to rae of ray misdeeds?of the dreadJ ful cousequences of the course I was pursuing. By tears, and entreaties, and prayers, she tried ') make an impression on me. : She placed be >re me the lives and examples , of great and g _>od men ; she sought to stirau! late rny ambition. I was moved, but too j proud to show it, and remained standing in j dogged silence beside her. I thought, "What j will my com mnious say, if, after all my : boastiug, I should yield at last, and submit j to be led by a woman ?" j What agony was visible on my mother's face when she saw that all she said and suffered failed to move me. She rose to go home, and I followed at a distance. She spoke no more to me till we reached our own door. "It is school-time now," said she. "Go my sou, aud once more let me beseech you to think upon what I have said." "I shau't go to school, said I." She looked astonished at my boldness, but replied firmly, "Certainly you will go, Alfred ; I command you." "But I will not," said I, with a tone of defiance. "One of the two things }*ou must do, Alfred, either go to school this moment, or I ! will lock you into your room, and keep you there till you are ready to promise implicit obedience to my wishes in future. "I dare you to do it," said I ; "you can't get rae up stairs." "Alfred, choose now," said my mother, as she laid her hand on my arm. She trembled violently, and was deadly pale. "Will you go, Alfred?" "No!" I replied, but'quailed before her eyes. "Then follow me," said she, as she grasped my arm firmly. I raised my foot?0, my sou, hear me?I raised my foot and kicked her?my sainted mother! How ray head reels as the torrent of memory rushes over me! I kicked my mother?a feeble woman? my mother! She staggered back a few steps and leaned against the wall. She did not look at me. I saw her heart beat against her breast. "O, Heavenly Father," she cried, "forgive him ; he knows not what he does." TKo iucf thun nnueprl thp dfinr. and I b ?~- ?<? I seeing my mother pale and almost unable to support herself, he stopped,* she beckoned him iu. "Take this boy up stairs and lock him iu his own room," said she, and turned from me. Looking back, as she gave me such a look?it will forever follow me. It was a look of agony, mingled with the inteusest love?it was the last unutterable pang from a heart that wif!l broken. In a momeut. I found myself a prisoner in my own room. I thought for a moment I could fling myself from the window, and dash my brains out, but 1 felt afraid to die. I was not penitent. At times my heart was subdued, but my stubborn pride rose instantly and bade me not to yield. The pale face of my mother haunted me. I flung myself on the bed, aud fell asleep. I woke at midnight, stiffened by the damp night air, terrified with frightful dreams. I would have sought my mother at that moment, for I trembled with fear, but my door was fast. With the daylight my.terrors were dismissed, aud I became bold in resisting all good impulses. The servant brought my meals, but I did not taste them. I thought the day would never end. Just at twilight I I heard a light footstep approach my door. It I was my sister who called me by name. "What may I tell mother from you?" she asked. "Nothing!" I replied. "0, Alfred, for my sake and all our sakes, say that you are sorry. She longs to forgive you." "I won't be driven to school against my will." I said. "But you will go if she wishes it, dear Alfred," said ray sister, pleadingly. "No, I won't" said I, "and you needn't say a word more about it." "0, brother, you will kill her, and then you can never have a happy moment." I made no reply to this. My feelings were touched, but I still resisted their influence. My sister called me, but I would not answer. I heard her footsteps slowly retreating, and again I flung myself on the bed to pass another wretched and fearful night. 0, God, how wretched and fearful I do not know. Auother footstep, slower and feebler than my sister's disturbed me. A voice called me by name. It was my mother's. "Alfred, my son, shall I come in ? are you sorry for what you have done ?" she asked. I cannot tell what influence operating at that moment, made me speak adverse to my feelings. The gentle voice of mother that thrilled through me, melted the ice from my obdurate heart, and I longed to throw myself on her neck, but I did not. No, my boy I did not. But my words gave the lie to my i heart, when I said I was not sorry. I heard ! her withdraw. I heard her groan. I longed 1 to call her back, but I did not. I was awakened from an uneasy slumber by hearing my name called loudly, and my ! sister stood beside my bed. "Get up Alfred ! 0, don't wait a moment! Get up and come with me. Mother is dying !" I thought I was dreaming, but I got up mechanically, and followed my sister. On the bed, pale and cold as marble, lay my mother. Site had not undressed, but had thrown herself on the bed to rest. Arising to go again to ae, she was seized with a palj pitation of the heart, and borne senseless to | her room. I cannot tell you my agony as I looked j upon her?my remorse was tenfold more bit! ter from the fact that she would never know it. I believed myself a murderer. I fell on ! the bed beside her?I could not weep; my heart burned in my bosom ; my brain was J all on fire. My sister threw her arms around me and wept in silence. Suddenly we saw a I slight motion of my mother's hand?her eyes I unclosed. Mie naa recovered consciousness; but not speech?she looked at me and moved 1 her lips. I could understand her words. ! | "Mother, Mother," I shrieked, "say only that you forgive nie." She could not say with j i her lips, but her hand pressed miue. -She j I smiled upon me, and lifting her thin, white : hands, clasped mine with them, and cast her ' eyes upward. She moved'her lips in prayer, i | and thus she died. I remained still kneeling I beside that dear form till my gentle sister ! ! removed me. She comforted me, for she j knew the heavy load of sorrow at my heart; | heavier than the grief for the loss of a mother ; for it was a load of 6orrow for sin. The | i joy of youth had left me forever. My son, suffering, as such memories awake, J ! must continue as long as life. God is merci-1 ful, but the remorse of past misdeeds is a i canker-worm in the heart, that preys upon it i j forever. My father ceased speaking and buried his: : face in his hands. He saw and felt the bearing his narrative had upon my character and | conduct. I have never forgotten it. Boys | ! who spurn their mother's control, who are ; ashamed to ov n that they are wrong, who ' think it manly to resist the authority, or : yield to her influence, beware! Lay not up i for yourself bitter memories for your future years. i Though the boy who reads this may not have kicked his mother, yet let him think if , he has never given his mother or father 6ome j j unkind words, or been disobedient to their wishes in many ways. Boys, beware ! obey your parents in all things, for God has commanded it; and remember that disobedience to yonr parents is sin against God! Miscellaneous feuding. | FAT AND MUSCLE. A few years ago Bautiug and his "process" were familiar terms to the public. Now I they are so Dearly forgotten that, in a coni venation the other day between half a dozen | 1 well-informed men, as information in New i York goes, not one could give any clear idea ; of who the great apostle of flesh reduction j was, or of what he had done. Mr. Banting j was an English gentleman, five feet in height j and weighing over two hundred pounds. His i appearance with these proportions was natu- j rally quite comical, and while his adipose j was a great personal iucovenience, since it | prevented his tying his own shoes, forced j him to walk downstairs backward and do other uncomfortable things. It also led to his being jeered at and scouted by the street boys, to his great mental pain. c;onsequently he tried every possible means to reduce himself. He took ninety Turkish baths in succession, drank mineral waters, walked and otherwise exercised himself, and lived on sixpence t^day, but all in vain. Fiually he hit upon a doctor who investigated his case, and prescribed a certain regimen by which he was soon reduced to reasonable proportions. This regimen has been published for the benefit of the public. It was 6imply to eat nothing but meat. Avoid the fat-producing vegetables, milk aod the like, of which Banting was so fond, and you will be spared his ! unpleasant fate. It is a question, however, if Banting's regi men would have any effect on Daniel Lambert. With him fat seems to have been a disease. Lambert was born of ordinary parents, at Leicester, England, on March 13, 1770. Up to the age of nineteen he was simply a muscular fellow, able to lift great weights and carry five hundred pounds with ease. Then he succeeded his father as keeper of the prison, and the sedentary life thus necessitated began to tell upon his bulk. In 1793 he walked to London from Woolwich, to reduce himself. He weighed at that time 448 pounds. The attempt proved unavailing. He grew so fat that he could no longer attend to the duties of his office, so the magistrates, in consideration of his humane treatment of the prisoners and his general efficiency, retired him on 8250. Fat as he was, or rather because' he was so fat, he was an excellent swimmer, and taught that art to hundreds of young people at Leicester. r~ -..a? i.:? i,.,ii. ???i i ill uuuac^ucLiLC i;i ins uutucLiac uuii\ uu tuuia ; swim with ease with two men on his back. After his retirement he became such a public show that he determined to go to London , and turn his misfortune to account. He went in 1806, unable to walk at this time, in , a vehicle which had to be built expressly ' for him. He lived at various places in London and was assisted by every one from the king down. Then he made a tour of the ( country. He enjoyed good health, ate mod- ^ erately and drank nothing but water; was . an intelligent and well informed man, and, wonder of wonders, was possessed of a beauti- J ful, clear and melodious tenor voice. In June, 1809, Lambert was weighed. He j tipped the beam at 739 pounds. His meas- 1 ure around the body was three yards four inches, and he was one yard four inches around the leg. Each suit of his clothes ' cost $100. Seven ordinary-sized men were , repeatedly buttoned under his waistcoat withoutstrainiog a button. He died on June 20, 1809. His coffin was six feet four inches | long, four feet four inches wide and two feet j four inches deep. It took one hundred and twelve superficial feet of plank to make it. , Its form was that of a packing case. It was | built on two axeltrees and four wheels. The wall of the room in which he died (for he had long been incapable of walking upstairs) was f taken away, and he was thus haulded to his ^ grave. Twenty men worked half an hour getting the colossal corpse into its last resting- , place by sliding it down an inclined plane. Lambert's fatal disease was dropsy. I Another monster was Edward Bright, a , miller of Maiden, who died on November 10, , 1750, at the age of thirty. He was an active man to withiu a couple of years of his death, j when his corpulency weighed him down and made life a misery to him. At his d^iise he weighed 616 pounds. When he was j twelve years old Bright had weighed 144 pounds. James Mansfield, a butcher, died at Dib- , den, in Essex, on November 9, 1862, in his j eighty-second year. Though not above the . ordinary height, he measured nine feet around, and weighed 462 pounds. When sitting in his chair, made expressly for his , use, his abdomen covered his knees, and ! hung down almost to the ground. He could only lie on his side, and his head had to be bolstered' in a certain way to prevent suffoca- ; tion. In 1851 London went to see him as the "greatest man in the world" in Leicester square. He was hale and hearty, merry and good-tempered till his end. It was he who, when he went on a journey by rail, had to register himself as freight, and pay by the pound, traveling in the baggage car. The famous Irish giant was born in Kin- , sale in 1760. His real name wus Patrick Cotter, and he originally labored as a brick- ' layer. He was eight feet seven and one half inches high at the age of eighteen, when he 1 ceased growing. Before that age a cunning showman, who had stumbled across him, had 1 hired him under a three years' contract for S259 a year and his keep, to be exhibited. j This fellow took him to England, where he , sub-let him to another sneculator. The giant, who had come to discover what he was worth ns an investment, resisted, and ! the precious pair locked liira up in a spoug- 1 ing house in Bristol for breach of contract. A Bristol gentleman who discovered the out- ( rage secured his release and gave him money enough to set up in a booth for himself at St. James' fair, near Bristol. In three days he took in 8100, and thus commenced regular 1 exhibitions, which continued to within two years of his death. He made money, lived j in good style and kept his carriage. He died j on September 8, 180G, at the Hot Wells, Bristol. In order to prevent the gathering of a j crowd he was buried at six in the morning,! and then at lea?t 2,000 spectators witnessed j the ceremony. He had a horror of body- | suatchers, so his grave was made twelve feet i deep in solid rock. His coffin, of lead, was \ nine feet two inches long and three feet across j the shoulders. No hearse could be procured j long enough to hold the coffin ; it took four- j1 teen men to carry it, and had to be lowered ; into the grave with pulleys. In his will Cot- I ter left his Bristol friend a very handsome | legacy. Chang, the Chinese giant, now in this city, j ranks probably next to Cotter, or O'Brien, as j he called himself before the public. Chang j is more than eight feet high. His cheek-bones j look as if they were small paving-stones in- I serted under the skin. He is slightly alm&nd-eyed, and for such a very large man he has a very small mustache, which he strokes with as much complacency as would a divilli- j ty student the first few straggling hairs of the ! necessary "sideboards." He speaks English, French, German, Italian and Spanish with i considerable fluency, is thirty-three years old ; and was boru in Pekin. It pays to be a fat! or a phenomenally strong man now. Chang receives 8200 a week salary, and his managers say is welll wtfHh it. The fat women and boys in the shows all receive good salaries. Indeed, it has been the case front time I immemorial that muscle came in for high honor. Some of the accounts of the old time wonders of men are very curious indeed.? New York Star. OUT OF THE WHITE HOUSE. HOW SOME OF THE PRESIDENTS HAVE RETIRED Before the building of the southern front of the Treasury Department, which rendered a change of the enclosure of the White House necessary, there was an entrance facing Pennsylvania avenue?a stone archway, with a large weeping willow growing on each side of it. Mrs. Madison, who was a very bright woman, when congratulated 011 her husband's inauguration and occupation of the White House, said : "I don't know as there is much cause for congratulation?the President of the United States generally comes in at the iron gate and goes out at the weeping willows." John Adams, who was the first President that occupied the White House, was crushed with shame and filled with indignation when his old friend, Thomas Jefferson, defeated him '" DuAoI/lrtwflol nlfinhnn 1 fiHA T~T n f rvrvlr 1U ttic A I COlUCll biai UCVVIWll ui IUUU. AAV bWB what vengeance he could by continuing to make appointments up to a late hour on the evening of March 3x.and the next morning before sunrise he left the White House and the metropolis forever. Washington had attended at his inauguration four years previously, but he could not bear to witness the swearing in of his Democratic successor. Retiring to his farm at Quiucy, he devoted the remaining twenty-five years of his life to political correspondence, marked by partisan rage and by personal hatred. Jefferson, Madison and Monroe, in turn, attended the inauguration of their successors aud decorously vacated the White House for their occupation with the best of feeling. But when General Jackson was elected there was a different condition of affairs. President John Quincy Adams was bitterly disappointed because he had not been reelected, while his successful competitor was incensed by some abusive articles concerning Mrs. Jacksou which had appeared in the official "organ." When General Jackson came to Washington, saddened by the sudden death of her whom he loved so devoutly, he refused point-blank to call on Mr. Adams, regarding liiru as her traducer. Mr. Adams was equally unwilling to participate in the triumphant inauguration of his successor, and he removed from the White House on the 3rd of March. On the 4th, as he was taking his accustomed horseback ride, in the vicinity of Washington, the booming of the cannon announced to him that his successor had taken the oath of office in front of the Capitol. The then ex-Presideut remained in his own house on F street, (nearly opposite the Ebbitt House of to day) until Spring, and he received many acts of courtesy from the citizens of Washington, including n salute from a volunteer military company commanded by Colonel Seaton, one of the editors of the National Intelligencer. When Martin Van Buren was elected as General Jackson's successor, it was a political family arrangement. The two went together from the White House to the Capitol in a phaeton made frqp the wood of the frigate Constitution, drawn by four gray horses. After Mr. Van Buren bad been inaugurated in front of the Capitol, the two returned in the same vehicle to the White House, whore the new President received his fellow citizens. At 4 o'clock in the afternoon, Mr. Van Buren formally received the foreign ministers, who, with their suites, wosHhe full court dresses cf their respective countries, and he rather astonished their Dean, the Spanish Minister, by addressing them as "the Democratic corps" instead of the "Diplomatic Corps." Four Jays afterward General Jackson bade farewell to the White House and returned to his beloved "Hermitage" to the end of his days. As the expiration of President Van Buren's official term approached the Alderman and Common Council of Washington City followed the custom and passed a vote of thanks to the outgoing Chief Magistrate for the interest which he had taken in the pros perity of the National Metropolis during his four years administration. These thanks were not acceptable to Mayor Seaton, who, with other Whigs, had been excluded from the hospitalities of the Executive Mansion by President Van Buren. So the editorVf Ai.na X*. . M4 n 1 1 ?. # ? X*. ? J 4 a A M MA ? A #ll A A/MY1 LVit&jrur juriiiujijr iciuseu tu apjjiuvi; tuc uurn* plimentary resolutions, and transmitted a veto message to the City Government giving his reasons for this marked slight. Mr. Van Buren was greatly annoyed, and took good care to have the White House ready for the occupation of his successor, General Harrison, whose stay there was brief. Mr. Tyler's family were soon summoned from Virginia to the White House, and while he was President he married the estimable lady who now resides here, who turned over the While House to Mrs. James K. Polk, now a resident at Nashville, Tenn. She was succeeded by Mrs. Zachary Taylor, a matronly old lady, who loved to remain in her room up stairs and smoke a corn cob pipe, while her accomplished daughter, then the wife of Col. Bliss, the President's private secretary, presided over the hospitalities of the Mansion. The Taylors left shortly after the death of "Old Rough and Ready," and Mrs. Fillmore came, aided by her daughter. They extended the hospitalities of the White House to General Pierce when he came (heart-broken over the loss of his only child by a railroad accident) to be inaugurated. Mrs. Fillmore left the White House on the 4th of March for a hotel, expecting to go South on a tour with her husband, but she took cold and died a few weeks afterward. Mrs. Pierce's life at the White House was maddened by the loss of her darling son, and clouded by a dread that, her husband might become intemperate in his habits. These fears, fortunately, were never realized, and General Pierce was probably more popular at Washington than any other occupant of t..e White House has been. Hospitable and generous in his disposition and cordial in his manners, he was beloved hy all who knew him. Correspondents of Whig newspapers were among the guests cordially welcomed at the White House, and the departure of the Pierces from Washington was regretted by friends and foes. They went ou the 4th of j March to the residence of General Cass, since ] transformed into the Arlington Hotel, where I many thousands called to pay their parting respects. While General Pierce was the most popular of the Presidents, Miss Lane, the niece of his successor, Mr. Buchanan, eclipsed all j other ladies who have presided over the! White House in courtesy, in hosoitalitv. and in her cordial reception of all, whether they J were her uncle's supporters or opponents.? ; Ben Perley Poor in Washington Republic. How a Story Grows.?A farmer was | once told that his turnip field had been rob bed, and that the robbery had been committed ; by a poor, inoffensive man, of the name of I Palmer, who, many of the people of the vil- 1 lage said, had taken away a wagon load of turnips. Farmer Brown, much exasperated by the loss of his turnips, determined to pros- I ecute poor Palmer with all the severity of. the law. With this intention he went to 1 Molly Sanders, the washerwoman, who had been busy in spreading the report, to know J the whole truth ; but Molly denied ever hav- i ing said anything about a wagon load of tur- ! nips. It was but a cart load that Palmer had taken, and Dame Hudson, the huckster had told her so, over and over again. The farmer, hearing this, went to Dame Hodson, who said that Molly Sanders was always making things worse than they really wero; that Palmer had taken only a wheel barrow full of turnips, and that she had her account from Jenkins the tailor, who stoutly denied the accouut altogether; he had only told Dame Hodson that Palmer had pulled up several turnips, but how many he could not tell, for that he did not see himself, but was told by Tom Slack, the plowman. Wondering where this would end, farmer Brown nest questioned Tom Slack, who, in his turn, declared he had never said a word about seeing Palmer pull up several turnips ; he only said he had heard say that Palmer had pulled up a turnip, and that Barnes, the barber, was the person who had told him about it. The farmer, almost out of patience at this account, hurried off to Barnes, the barber, who wondered much that people should find pleasure in spreading idle tales which had do truth in them. He assured the farmer all he had said about the matter, while he took off the beard of Tom Slack, was that for all he knew, Pal mer was as likely a man to pull up a turnip as his neighbors. ABOUT BRUSHES. facts about their manufacture?where the bristle8 come from. Brushes are among the more common articles in constant use, and like a great many other articles that are universally employed, there are many interesting facts concerning them and their manufacture. The varieties and kinds of brushes are so great that it would be impossible to give all due consideration within the limits of a newspaper article, but a few facts concerning ordinary bristle brushes may interest the average reader. It may seem somewhat singular that it should be necessary to import any article or material entering into the construction of ordinary brushes, and yet it is said that there are millions of pounds of pigs' bristles ira ported into this country every year. Ameri en is considered a great country for the pig. We export pork in immense quantities, so why do we have to import bristles ? The reason is 9imply that the bristles on the back of an American pig are not sufficiently stiff, and are of no value except in the very cheapest grades of brushes. In this country the pig is bred for pork, and it is usually slaughtered when one year old, and hence the bristles do not have the opportunity to become very stiff and hard. The best and most valuable of all bristles are those which come from Russia. In all that country the hogs run wild, fre quently reaching the age of eight or ten years. They are hunted and shot down, and thousands of pounds of bristles from their backs are exported to America, where they are wnrth 11 limit, fin ner nnund. In Poland near ]y or quite as good bristles are obtained. In both countries the hogs feed upon bark and roots, are lank and lean, and valuable only for their bristles. Large quantities of bristles are imported from Germany, which, though not quite so heavy or stiff as those first mentioned, are much superior to American bristles, being worth 83 per pound. Bristles are also imported from France, being ol a finer texture, aud more suitable for fine varnish brushes, and worth 8150 per pound. American bristles are wcrtl. all the.way from thirty five cents to 82 per pound, but, a6 stated before, are used only iff the cheaper grades of brushes. It is stated on good au thority, that until within the last five years all tooth brushes were imported from England or France, but that within that time their manufacture has begun in this country, and that now the home manufacturers can compete with their foreign brothers. Another article used in the manufacture of brushes is tanipeco, a sort of wild grass that grows in Mexico. When this is colored it is difficult to discern it front hair. It is imported in large quantities from that country, and is worth twelve cents per pound. Horsehair is also largely used in making brushes. It is sometimes mixed with bristles, and sometimes used by itself. Strange to say it is impossible to obtain a sufficient supply in this country, and large quantities are imported from South America, where it is obtained from the manes and tails of wild horses. It is worth fifty cents per pound. Rice root from Brussels is another material that enters into the construction of some kinds of brushes, and considerable quantities are imported. The manufacture of brushes is not particularly interesting in its various operations, though some branches of it require considerable skill arfd ingenuity. The material into which the bristles are set usually comes to the brush manufacturer partially ready for use, but considerable labor is required to put the goods in condition for the market, even after the bristles are set. The first process is to sort the bristles by taking a handful and passing them through a row of upright steel points, like the teeth of a comb. There are about as many methods of making brushes as there are kinds of brushes. In paint brushes the bristles are arranged around the small end of a couicnl stick and secured by twine wrap ping. A great many brushes are made by inserting tufts of bristles into holes bored in rows. Oftentimes they are secured by dip ping the root ends into hot pitch, winding a piece of striug around these ends, then dip ping them again, and quickly and dexterous ly introducing them with a twisting motion into the holes, where the pitch sets and holds ? ?? ? ?? - i. l i I tnem. many orusnes, uoiauiy imir uruaueo, are made by driving the bristles through holes and fastening them with wire. A skillful person is known to have drawn five hundred tufts in an hour, but one huudred iu an hour is considered good work. An ingenious machine has been invented for making flat brushes, which fills from sixty to eighty holes per minute. Much of the work with bristles is performed by girls and women, many of whom become quite dexterous in the business. The delicate brushes, called also hair pencils, used for water colors, are made of hair of the camel, goat, badger, sable, squirrel and other animals, by binding a bundle of them together, after being carefully arranged and their points temporarily protected, and sliding this through the large end of a quill till the points project sufficiently far through the smaller end. The tube, having been previously softened by water, contracts as it dries and holds the bundle of hairs fast. The best brushes of this kind are made of hair takeu from the tail of a species of Russian sable.?Boston Herald. A Strange Cure.?Recently has gone the rounds of newspapers an improbable story of the cure of a nervous, painful affection i of a rheumatic nature, by an old tramp, who accomplished the wonderful feat of passing i and repassing the little chap several times over the back of a jackass. This treatment was repeated every day for nine days, during which time it was observed the animal grad- i ually became ill, wliile the child improved, until the end or tne nine nays me jaca succumbed to swollen limbs and body, and. the child was completely restored. The story, of course, was not taken without salt, iuasniuch as the popular impression is that while a child ; or even a man would be perfectly cured of all earthly ills by rubbing around the vicini- i ty of a mule's hind propellers, the patient, for obvious reasons, wouldn't be able to tell i: much about it afterward. ] This case, however, is merely introductory I to a brief allusion to a cure which was effect-1 ] ed very similarly in the Fourteenth ward re- i cently. Some years ago a coal-miner named i Braun was afflicted so badly with inffamma- ' tory rheumatism in his hands and arms that he was compelled to seek another way of i earning a living. Somewhere he heard that i haudling doves would effect a cure, and he purchased a number of the birds. These he would take up in his hands, stroke and play with daily, and the result was that the pair thus manipulated invariably became swollen up, first in the legs and then in the body, precisely as though they had the rheumatism. Finally death would ensue. In proportion as the doves became swollen Mr. Braun's affliction decreased, and finally, after pursuing the strange treatment for some time, he was able to keep himself wholly relieved from pain. He still raises doves for the sacrifice, and winter and summer alike he is able to pursue his business as a dairyman, a vocation he look iijj ill lieu ui uum-uiggiug ouuic jcaio ago ?Pittsburg Chronicle. HEATINGB? FRICTION. A Boston gentleman has invented a simple device, which, if its present promises are realized, ought to work a revolution in methods ot heating. It is nothingless than an invention to use fricliou as a practical means of producing heat. At the time of the Ashtabula horror, when so many persons were burned to death by the wrecked cars catching fire from the stoves, Mr. Webster Wells, then professsor of mathematics in the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, began to consider the problem of heating cars without fire. He has now solved it. His invention consists of a strong iron cylinder, at one end of which, inside, is a fixed plate of hardened iron, against which, firmly attached to a revolving shaft, another plate presses, either closely or lightly, as required. The cylinder is filled with water, and this, heated by the friction of the two plates, circulates through pipes, warming the room through which they run just as steam pipes do. The water is kept in constant circulation in these pipes, returning to the cylinder, to be heated over again. The water in the cylinder, which is brought to a high degree of heat in a remarkably short time, keeps the plates lubricated, preventing their wearing away at a rapid rate. When worn away the cost of renewing them is tri fling, and the machine has no complicated work about it, so that it is easily kept in repair. The power required to run the machine is so light that the waste or surplus power of the engines in use for running elevators and other machinery in hundreds of buildings throughout a city is enough for all if.. mi _ _ L . 1 a ? l ordinary purposes. Jine macninecan Deuuiized in any place where power is used. The ordinary sized machine has thirty six square inches of friction surface in its plates, sufficient, it is said, to heat 10,000 cubic feet of space. This requires but half a horse power. A machine with 225 square inches of friction requires hut four-hr rse power, and would heat a room 60x100 feet, or containing 126,000 cubic feet. In railroad cars the machine is operated by power taken direct from the wheels, doing away with all danger from fire in case of a smash up. When the cars are standing still the machine can be operated by power from the locomotive, by a contrivance somewhat like that which operates the Westinghouse brake. In mills it is calculated that a great saving can be made, both in fuel and in the rates of insurance. The agent of a mill where water power is used estimates that in.twenty years, by the use of this device, a saving of at least 8185,000 in fuel alone could be effected. Professor Wells is now in Europe, looking out for his patents there. The machine is in operation in Boston. Boston Herald. a ? ? SURPRISED INDIANS. The toner who stole and drank a bottle of whisky (as he thought), and found it to be wine of ipecac, was one of the many thieves who swallow more than they can keep down. The experience of some copper-colored robbers out West was about as miserable as bis. An Idaho mining camp, intending to celebrate the glorious Fourth, ordered a heap of fireworks to be sent to them. A whole wagon load was forwarded, and while on its way was captured one night by a band of Indians. They did not exactly know what sort of property they had got hold of, and proceeded to investigate. The chief thought the cannon crackers were cigars, and the little ones cigarettes, which articles he had seen in use at various camps be had visited, and he distributed a lot around, and they all lighted up for a smoke, and in a moment a more surprised and puzzled set of Indians never got together, The chief had a cannon cracker, and after the explosion it was three minutes before he could get breath enough to yell, and then the wild shriek he gave could be heard a mile away. That ended the smoking. Another brave fell off the top of the wagon with a big box of giant torpedoes, and the crash that greeted him as he alighted scared him so that he got up and ran off at breakneck speed. A squaw contrived to get a pin-wheel afire, and as she dropped it on the ground the natural tendency of the thing to whirl around made it go over the grouud line a wneei or fire, sending out a shower of sparks, and causing the affrighted lady to scud away from it, with her eyes as "big as saucers" with terror. The pin-wheel got under the wagon and ignited it, and the Indians at first tried to extinguish the flames; but pretty soon a Roman candle went off, and before the man who was hit by the first ball on the nose could clap his hand on the injured member, another ball was thrdwn there and then a third. Then the rockets began to go off, and take the braves in the legs and ribs, and the different colored fires threw first a red and then a blue light upon the scene. More pin-wheels got loose, and when a brave jumped to avoid a pin-wheel he got into the air just in time to be hit by a rocket, and almost every red man was more or less burned ; and in about five minutes a crowd of the worst scared and most frantic Indians I ever saw was scurrying off in the darkness across the prairie, bellowing with pain and fear. The next load of fireworks sent through that region won't be meddled with by those Indians.?Boston Post. MARRIED PEOPLE WOULD BE HAPPIER. If home trials were never told to neighbors. If they kissed and made up after every quarrel. If household expenses were proportioned to rereints. If they they tried to be as agreeable as in courtship days. If each would try to be a support and comfort to the other. If each remembered the other was a human being, not an angel. If women were as kind to their husbands as they were to to their lovers. If fuel and provisions were laid in during the high tide of summer work. If both parties remembered that they married for worse as well as for better. If men were as thoughtful for their wives as they were for their sweethearts. If there were fewer silk and velvet street costumes and more plain, tidy house-dresses. If there were fewer "please darlings," in public, and more common manners in private. If wires and husbands would take some pleasure as tbey go along and not degenerate into mere toiling machines. Recreation is necessary to keep the heart in its place, and |o get along without it is a big mistake. If men would remember that a woman can't be always smiling who has to cook the dinner, answer the door bell half a dozen times, and get rid of a neighbor who has dropped in, tend to a sick baby, tie up the cut finger of a two-year-old, gather up the playthings of a four-year-old, tie up the head of a six-year-old on skates, and get an eight-yearold ready for school, to say nothing of sweeping, cleaning, etc. A woman with all this to contend with may claim it as a privilege to look and feel a little tired sometimes, and a word of sympathy would not be too much to ex pect from the man, who during the honeymoon wouldn't let her carry as much as a sunshade.?Saturday Evening Mail. A SOLDIER'S DREAM. Just before the battle of Cedar Creek a camp sentinel who was off duty temporarily and trying to pot in a little sleep, dreamed that he was out on a scout. A mils to the right of the camp he came upon a log barn, ? i 1 A an<l as it began to ram just men, ne sougnu shelter, or was about to, when he heard voices and discovered that the place was already occupied. After a little investigation be discovered scouts had taken up their quarters for the night in the place, and he therefore moved away. The sentinel awoke with such vivid remembrance of the details that he asked permission to go over and confer with one of the scouts. When the log barn was described to this man he located it at once, having passed it a dozen times. The dreamer described the highway exactly as it was, giving every hill and turn, and the scout put such faith in the remainder of the dream that he took four soldiers, one of whom was the dreamer, and set out for the place. Three Confederate scouts were asleep in the straw, and were taken without a shot being fired. Three days before the affair at Iteeley's Ford a corporal in the Sixth Michigan Cavalry dreamed that a brother of his, who was a sergeant in another company, would have his horse killed in action, and would almost immediately mount a dark bay horse with a white nose. Within five minutes both horse and rider would be killed by a shell. This dresm was related to more thafa score of comrades fully two days before the fight. Early in the fight the sergeant's horse was struck square in the forehead by a bullet and dropped dead in his tracks. It was scarcely three minutes before a white-nosed horse, carrying a blood-stained saddle galloped up to the sergeant and halted. He remembered the dream and refused to mount the nnimal, and soon after picked up a black horse. The white-nosed animal was mounted by a second corporal in another regiment, and the horse and rider were/orn to fragments by a shell, in ni nnnina nf the Sixth.? IU1I Ol^Ul VI IVUi (/UIU|muivw v* wmv New York Commercial Advertiser. Growth of Adulteration.?The adulteration of our food, drink and medicines, which it is now sought to prevent by national legislation, has already attained a surprising magnitude. Experience warrants the belief that if not effectually checked it will be much mere extensive in the future than now. The work of adulteration is one of growth. It begins in a small way and ends nowhere. In coffee, for example; a third of a century ago it was adulterated with chickory to the extent of about two and a half pounds to the hundred. From that point it grew in a few years to fully fifty per cent. Then the chickory itself was subjected to adulteration, and now it is impossible to obtain samples of socalled coffee which do not contain more than twenty five per cent, of the genuine article. Even the man who buys his coffee in the berry is liable to receive a villainous admixture of real berries with other stuff which i i . .1 . x .1 L..t has been mouiaeu into, me irue suupe, uuu conlains none of the true material. Parties in the trade can remember when about five per cent, of adulteration in pepper was about as much as was considered safe, and now the bogus amounts, in the worst cases, to not far from nine-tenths of the whole. And in these, as well as in cases too numerous to mention, viler stuffs are now used for a substitute than people dared to employ at the outset. There is no limit to the fraud when once it is started; or at least the limit is only reached on the extinction of the genuine article. That limit has already been reached in the case of not a few drugs; it is nearly reached in the manufacture of artificial honey; and sugar and butter are already far gone in the process of deterioration. Surely it is time to stop. The greed which would amass riches at the risk of causing disease and death to thousands has had play enough. It has become a question of se If preservation to the mass of consumers. Chicago Tribune. The Trade of the State.?During the present season the cotton receipts in Greenville have amounted to 31,500 bales, and the receipts of fertilizers to 5,363J tons, of 'which 4,320 tons were transported over the Columbia and Greenville Railroad. The receipts of cotton at Spartanburg have amounted to 2b,UUU bales, ana tne receipts 01 fertilizers from October 1, 1880, to Match 80, 1881, amounted to 4,000 tons. The cotton receipts at Columbia have amounted to 29,582 bales. The shipments of cotton from Newberry from October 1, 1880, to the 1st of April, have amounted to 15,474 bales. The cotton shipments from GafFney City, on the Air Line Railroad, from October 1, 1880, to March 25, 1881, amounted to 8,878 bales; an increase of 2,016 bales over the shipments of the previous year. The cotton shipments from Williamston, on the Greenville Railroad, have amounted to 1,500 bales, and the receipts of fertilisers to 793 tons. The cotton shipments from Donaldsville Station, in Abbeville county, have amounted to 3,211 bales, and the receipts of fertilizers to 870 tons. Three thousand six hundred and eighty-six bales of cotton have been shipped from Hodges, and 585 tons of fertilizers received at the same station. The cotton shipments from Greenwood have amounted to 3,950 bales, and the receipts of fertilizers o 298 tons. The cotton shipments from Prosperity, in Newberry county, have amounted to 3,050 bales, and the receipts of fertilizers to 550 tons.? Greenville Netrs. A Collection.*?At Los Angeles a short time ago, a mob of several thousand persons collected to lynch a man for murder. The sheriff, a man of rare tact, mounted a barrel and urged the mob, as a preliminary to the" execution, to take up a collection for the widow and children of the murdered man, and led off himself with five dollars. An assistant took a hat and began to circulate among the crowd, which at once wavered, shook, and finally melted away. Putting away Furs for Summer.?When you are ready to put away furs and woolens, and want to guard them against depredations of moths, pack them securely in paper flour sacks aud tie them up well. This is better than camphor or snuff scattered among them in chests aud drawers. Before putting your muffs away for the summer, twist by the cords at the ends, so that every hair will be straightened. The New York Times says: A cotton picking machine has been invented which plucks the locks from the bolls, cleans the lint thoroughly, and brings it out ready for .the spinning machine. This is good^nough; but what the country really needs is a machine where you can put a cotton seed in at one end and a bolt of domestic will come out at the other, marked below cost,