Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, October 01, 1909, Image 1

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# ":1 *" i ???? I. x. grist'S sons, Pnbu.h?n.} ? ^amilg Demsgagtr: J[or th< |romotion oj th< political, ?oqiat. ^jrigoltopl and Communal Jnterwls of ih< 0 ESTABLISHED lSos! ~~ YORKVILLE, 8. C., FRIDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1909. NXX 79. ' " " '?*?' " ?-? ? I miniia ohnvo tha nnvpnth trrade to one I Rural Softool the Farmor'e Salvation. mUIJSH Pitt By ETTA 1 ^ 11 HI ill ill an Ml lit Ml >M Ml HI HIM f CHAPTER Xm. * ?*' - ?nn<i hv at Reecn i nree wec*s nau Su..v wood. Sibyl's arm had healed?never-the-less, she was still Varneck's guest. A letter received in answer to the telegram sent on the day succeeding her accident had simply contained the usual regrets, the news that her mother was suffering from a relapse and instructions to remain where she was until called for. "Called for!" cried Sibyl, bitterly, "as If I were a bundle of merchandise! Could any treatment be more cruel or unjust. Where is Hammerton, Long Island, Mr. Varneck? I will not wait to be called for! I will go on alone." "You will do nothing of the kind, ' he answers, smiling. "What new disasters do you yearn to encounter? Await your mother's pleasure patient. ly. What lacks our hospitality that + you cannot content yourself a little longer with us?" "Do you not see?is it not plain that she hates me?" cried Sibyl, passionately. "I shall soon begin to think I have no mother?that some one under 4 that name is playing a bitter jest with me!" "Do not think at all," he answered, lightly; "be happy with us. Oh, if you must, for want of a better subject, turn your thoughts toward me!" So Sibyl remained shut up at Beechwood with her host and his servants. She listened to his wild, walling music late into the small hours of night; watched him depart and return on long moonlit gallops across country; had his superb face and figure constantly before her; tasted freely of his hospitality; was his honored guest Cbuld the odd ways of this handsome dreamer have, for a moment, any charm for a proud, isolated, imaginative girl of nineteen? By degrees the old country house be??or. ajdumn the air of an enchanted palace to Sibyl, and she seemed so live and move and have her being in a strange, splendid dream. Down the broad, black stair she ^ came gliding one night and opened the door of the square, wainscoted room, where Mr. Vameck usually dined. On the tiled hearth, between a pair of enormous brass fire-dogs, a hickory Are snapped and roared, burning ^ away the damp of the early summer night. Sibyl, standing in the shadow of the door like a picture in a sombre frame, looked in. A rich, dark room, the damask curtains flung back from the arched wlnp dows; the moonlight and firelight * blending together on the black wall. Before the fire, in a great chair covered with a spotted leopard skin, lolled Serle Varneck, with a half dozen dogs stretched at his feet and fawnIgf ing on his knees. At the opening of the door they deserted him in a body and rushed upon his beautiful, young guest. "Down!" cried Varneck as they leaped rude and loving upon her, licking her hands, barking Joyously? "down, you rude fellows, and keep quiet! You have altogether alienated my dogs' affection, Miss Arnault?they do not notice me when you are by. I De<r you, come in and accept my chair of state." He started up, and over his blonde, ^ bored face swept a swift and subtle change. His bold eyes filled up with sudden brightness. It was as if his languid veins had been surcharged at sight of her with warm, fierce, tinging life. ^ "No, I did not come to stay," she answered. "I thought you sailing on the lake." With her deer-like head weighed down with purple-black hair, her ' swelling, white throat, her young face. cut like an oia cameo?now uvciy she looked In that blended light of moon and fire! Varneck walked over to one of the high, arched windows. % "Sailing on the lake?" he repeated; "alone? By no means! I was waiting for you to bear me company. The water is as smooth as glass tonight?hardly wind enough to shake the canvas. Shall I not ring for Patty to bring your wraps?" The blood burned hot in her cheek, but she shook her head. "Are you afraid to trust yourself with me?" he urged, reproachfully. "Who knows what tomorrow may bring forth? I never feel sure of you. I may hear a summons at the gate at any moment, and then you will go, and ^ mv house will be left unto me deso late." "The danger of that," said Sibyl, bitterly, stooping to caress the dogs, "seems growing small by degrees and beautifully less." ' "Ah!" he cried, briskly, "now you are relapsing Into one of your dark moods. As your physician, I entreat you to accompany me at once, and have the demon exorcised out yonder under the moon," and the bell rang smartly for Patty. They made ready and went off through the shrubbery, down a shadowy path, leading to the lake shore, Varneck's dogs following at their heels. He carried the leopard skin to wrap ^ around her In the boat, for the master of Beechwood still pretended to thins this guest an Invalid. How often in the dreary after-time did Sibyl Arnault recall that walk? the deathly-dark evergreens dripping with dew, the full moon in the soft summer sky, a night-bird far off chirping dreamily in his sleep! The lake lay fringed with willows Just at the foot of the great, wideM sweeping garden. A little pier had been built out into the water, anr there, at her moorings, lay Varneck's boat. He handed Sibyl in. disposed thf leopard skin around her, and set th< rsail. They glided out from the shadowy shore, the dogs plunging anc splashing in their wake like so manj seals. Hardly a ripple stirred the sll wKwwwmfUfwrwwfw m u? m FH-HftRR W. PIERCE. I ver-sheeted water. "We must whistle for the wind,' said Varneck, and directly all sorts of exquisite notes began to leap from his lips, loud and low, plaintive and Joyful, to every one of which the dark, shady shore answered with a sweeter echo. Presently a bird from the willows of the landing place started in his dream and began to mock these giddy trills ?this hurly of cries and calls, and then a faint breath puffed along the smooth surface of the lake?combed it Into a ripple; another followed, alter which a brisk breeze broke full upon them, spread the canvas and sent them dancing away through the moonlight, the boat coquetting with its own shadow like a lovely woman. "Was not that well done?" laughed Varneck. "Hush!" said Sibyl, breathlessly, "hark!" The whistling had ceased, but in its place arose a vibrating strain of the sweetest, saddest music she had ever heard It seemed raining down with the moonlight. She looked up quickly. "What is that?" she cried. "Am I awake or dreaming? Is the night en chanted?" He pointed upward to the mast of the toat She saw fixed there an Aeolfcin harp, its strings responding plaintively to the wind that now shivered and sighed across them. "Fancy me dead," said Varneck, half sadly, half lightly, "and this my soui speaking to you." With her white, unjeweled hands pinned on the leopard skin, her face like a piece of sculpture, Sibyl sat aud listened. Not a sound could be heard far or near as they sailed, save that wild harp, swept as by spirit hands. At last a wind-blown scud passed across the moon. It was not dark, but a tender, luminous gloom had superseded the clear brightness of the night. Varneck turned his head suddenly and looked at his companion. Only a few feet divided them in the boat. She felt those two intense eyes as the dowers felt the fervid sun. Her olood for a moment seemed stagnating, then Bhe was choked and suffocated with the swift, fiery rush it made through all her veins. She* drooped her proud face to avoid his look, and, leaning over the boat's side, dabbled her lingers in the ripples. The stars leaned low to watch them. As the wind rose the voice of the harp at the mast grew higher and wilder, it seemed to sing of* and sorrow, of great waves crashing on lonesome beaches, of shipwreck, destruction?the anguish of loss. Hdther and thither they drifted, speechless, motionless. Hour after hour went by. Sibyl's voice was the first to break the spell. "Ought we not to turn back now?" she said, in a low tone; "it must be late." "What!" he answered, reproachfully; "are you tired thus sojn 01 me iaae, the harp, and?me?" "Thus soon?" she faltered. "Look at your watch; but, no?there is a clock striking in the town. Listen!" They did so. With a thrill of dismay, Sibyl counted twelve distinct strokes. "Midnight!" she stammered. "Indeed, I had no idea of it," answered Varneck. "I could go on like this forever." The little boat danced back to the pier. The moon came out again cold and pure from her shifting clouds. Sibyl dared not look at her companion, but kept her eyes fixed on the lights still burning for them in the old house far up the great garden. As they stepped out upon the pier, she either did not see or quite disregarded the nana ne extenaea 10 ner. ncr iuui slipped on the rain-wet plank. She thought herself falling, and with a cry stretched out her arm?round, dimpled like a baby's, whiter than the moonlight; its loose, summer drapery blown back almost to the marble shoulder. Varneck seized it, held it for a moment, then bent and covered it with smothering kisses. "Sibyl!" he cried, sharply?"darling!" He snatched her up to him, pressed her down into his breast. His berrded cheek touched hers, his quivering lips hovered for an instant over her own, then rested upon them in a deep, breathless kiss. Silence! The cold moon overhead, the harp vibrating in the wind, and those two, man and maiden, standing in the willow shadows of the little pier, with locked hands, silent, drinking in this deep, sweet daught of heaven. Suddenly Varneck started. His hand dropped from Sibyl's. His voice, as he spoke, sounded harsh and strained. "Come!" he muttered, "I am a wretch?a villain! You will take cold here?come!" He turned and conducted her swiftly up the walk to the house. They en' tered the hall together. With limbs sinking beneath her, her head , ail in a whirl, she would have passed ' him and gone on up the stair, but he held her back. He was deadly pale, and could hardly command his voice to speak. ?.<-*?! 1 T ? T"? ; oioyi, l leave Dfevmvvuu <->u uic first morning train. I ask you to trust > me for one little day, then I will be with you again. I will explain all. My f heart is full, but I must not say?I : have now no right to say more than this. Trust me, Sibyl! I beg?I entreat you, trust me!" He raised her hand to his lips, press ed it in his own, dropped it and hurI ried away. I She heard mm go in me gray, cniny s dawn of the next day. She heard the hall door shut and that firm step echo > off down the walk. ? She sprang from bed, and, running to the window, looked forth through I the closed shutter. She saw him turn r and throw one quick glance up at her chamber?his fac? seemed worn and v #/ ^^^^3TER L RF.AB ADMTBAT. SCHBOLDEB MAN GUEST AT HUDS( Before the arrival of the Britlal country to participate in the Hudson able dl8cns8lon as to whether Grand navy or Admiral Sir Edward H. Seyn It was argued that because the Brltl of admiral of the fleet the title of grai rnander the post of honor over Seyraoi when Grand Admiral von Koester ar Hnn never should have been raised, ai year in date of commission. Both tl French and Dutch admirals, were th< der of the Atlantic fleet on the day th< haggard, as If with a night's vigil. The next moment he had opened the gate, and was walking rapidly away toward the station. Sibyl clenched her white hands. He asKea her to trust him for a few hours. She must?she would! Why did Patty's story about "the low person" buzz through her head like a wicked bee? She put It resolutely away, and dressed herself for the day ?tne weary, interminable day that must pass before his return. It had dawned drizzly and cheerless?doubly cneeness ior succeeding such a uiguu "Mr. Varneck," said Patty, as she attended Sibyl at breakfast, "left the key of hla library for you, miss, and bade me say he should be back in the evening train without fail." ' He has gone?where has he gone?" asked Sibyl, turning upon her desperately. "I'm sure I don't know, miss; he didn't so much as hint To see his mother, most likely." His mother! Sibyl had not thought of her. She said no more, but, listless and heavy-eyed, walked about the house, followed by Varneck's dogs. In vain she strove to read his books. She sat down at his organ and played a few sad, walling notes, but an unaccountable weight oppressed her. The house seemed like a tomb. She wandered off to the lake, escorted still by her four-footed friends; but there the cold, gray mist hung like a pall, the little pier was sloppy and desolate, and Barney had hidden under shelter the boat in which they had sailed the previous night, Aeolian harp and all. She returned to the house and dined at three o'clock. Then sat herself down in Varneck's great chair, in the sombre, wainscoted dining-room, to wait. She was at all times a remarkable looking person?this Sibyl. Today her pallor and the sadness In her great, grand eyes, enhanced her beauty twofold. Half lost In the chair, her lustrous hair rippling over the spotted leopard skin, she was sitting with clasped hands and eyes fixed on the flame, when the door beside her opened suddenly, and two persons appeared on the threshold. One was a blonde woman in a rich traveling dress, high, featured, thinfaced, her faded hair dressed in curls on her forehead, gold-rimmed eyeglasses stuck in her severe, light-blue eyes. Like a Nemesis she stood staring at the girl in Varneck's chair. Her companion might readily have passed for her daughter. The same stylish dress, the same thin, aquiline face, with pale lashes and brows, ihe same cold, blue eyes fixed frigidly on HiHvl Rut the vmincor l?dv wore her twenty-five odd years with less grace than the elder did her half a century. Sibyl rose slowly to her feet. For a moment the three stood and surveyed each other. Said Sibyl: "You wish to see Mr. Varneck? He is not here." She of the eyeglasses looked over the speaker from head to foot with cruel scrutiny. "We have missed him somewhere on the road," she answered. "You, un doubtedly, are the young person wno has been stopping the last few weeks at Beechwood?" Sibyl bowed. "And I," she continued, "am Mr. Varneck's mother, and this is my niece, Miss Lucy Varneck." She then turned to the housekeeper, who had followed them in. "You can prepare rooms for us?we shall remain several days. Lucy, your smelling salts! Mrs. Hare, we have not dined. Take our outside garments?we will sit here by the Are till our rooms are ready. I wish to talk with Miss? ahem! I think I have forgotten the name." "Arnault," prompted Sibyl, as cold and rigid as stone. "I really," protested Lucy Varneck, snuffing at the salts before passing them to her aunt, and darting a withering look from her pale-blue eyes al I??T ronllv oarinnt nnd will nol sit down among- these dreadful dogs How I hate dogs! And Serle knows it, and yet he will keep the house full of them. Mrs. Hare, take them away.' "They are great pets with Mr Serle," explained the housekeeper mildly. "He allows them here so much that they think it their rightful place.' "Do you hear?" cried Miss Varneck gathering her rich skirts about hei and pitching her voice in the highesl feminine key: "take them away! ] t ? ' (i AND HIS DISTINGUISHED GEE)N-FULTCN CELEBRATION. ti and German squadrons sent to this i-Fulton celebration there was considerAdmiral von Koester of the German nour of England held the higher ranfc. sh navy provided no title beyond thatt ad admiral would give the German conf ir. This, however, was settled promptly rived In New York. He said the ques ? miuurui oejiuuiir rauKtru uiuj uy outr le admirals, together with the Italian. b guests of Rear Admiral Seaton SchrooBy reached New York. will not stay an instant with these creatures In the room!" A lively scrimmage ensued. The dogs, all unused to such treatment, barked enough to raise the roof, darted hither and thither, snapping viciously at Mrs. Hare's legs and reducing that meek person to utter despair. At last Sibyl came to the rescue, and at the first sound of her voice the brutes new to her and suffered her to turn them forth without the slightest resistance, and close the door upon them. "You seem," said Mrs. Varneck, eyeing her in deep distrust?"you seem to be on excellent footing with my son's pets." Sibyl answered nothing. She stood 'ooking from one to the other of the two and expecting she knew not what. Mrs. Varneck fixed her eyeglasses still more severely on her pale-blue eyes. "I came from New York today expressly to see you. It Is rather fortunate than otherwise that Serle Is not here, for I can talk with you more freely in consequence. My son, slngu* larly enough, has never once mentioned you in his letter to nte??Me*lB faucyf but I have a servant of my own here who keeps us Informed of' all that passes at Beechwood. I hear you have been educated in a convent You look very young and well-bred. You are probably very ignorant. I doubt if you have any idea of conversationalism, as observed by society?any conception of the evil things spoken by the world of very Innocent people." Sibyl still looked like a stotue. Not understanding in the least the drift of the other's words, how could she answer? "Why, my dear Miss Arnault," pursued Varneck's mother, "I ask it for your own good?why do you compromise your good name by remaining shut up in this lonely old house with a young, handsome man, living entirely in his company, as Barney tells me you do, sailing on the lake with him till midnight"? "Madame!" "A man, too, my dear child, who is, V*oo Knnn thoan turn UPflTfl AnfiTRflTed to his cousin, Miss Vameck." The solid earth seemed shaking beneath Sibyl's feet. A cry of intolerable pain rose to her lips, but the cold, steely gaze of Lady Varneck froze it there before it found utterance. Engaged! to that thin, plain, high-featured woman! "Serle is an absurd fellow," said Miss Varneck, spreading her bejeweled hands to the fire; "romantic?caught by every new face! I could not bear with his follies, did I not know his heart to be faithful through it all to me." Serle's mother turned her face. She found the sight of the tall, white, tragic girl vastly uncomfortable. "Lucy and I have the weakest of nerves," she protested, querulously. "We came here today solely for Ser'e's good. It Is a great exertion for me to travel, and I abhor Beecnwood. But so many unkind things have already been said. To Lucy It is a great trial. We have made up our minds to remain so long as you are my son's guest." "In that case," cried Sibyl, her great eyes flashing fire on them both, "your stay need not be but brief! I leave this very hour?yes, this moment! I regret that I have caused you so much trouble?regret, exceedingly, any uneasiness of mind I may have given Miss Varneck!" "Aunt, I warned you!" murmured the last name person. "I knew there would be a scene." Sibyl went sweeping grandly to the door. Mrs. Varneck rose. "I do not deny," she said, "that such a course would be the most prudent. Nevertheless, I do not wish to hurry 1 you. The next train leaves in hair an hour. I think Barney told me your ? relatives lived somewhere in the vicinity of New York." [ "Barney has told you so much," answered Sibyl, "that I cannot think of , adding a word to his testimony. Therefore, with your permission, I will now withdraw." She cast one last look at Serle Varneck's high-featured lady mother, an. other at Serle Varneck's betrothed wife ? ?at the plain, colorless face that starl ed resentfully back at her, then swept them a deep bow and rushed blindly up the stair to her own room. At the threshold she met Patty. "Gracious me, miss!" cried the latter, starting back at sight of her face, "you're going?" "Yes?good-by!" said Sibyl, t "Oh, Lord, miss, I knew what they'd [ come for!" pursued Patty, following tier into ttie cnamDer ana Deginmng mechanically to help her dress; "and Mr. Serle cares not two straws for his wishy-washy cousin. It was Mrs. Varneck who made the match Just after the affair with the actress, when Mr. Serle was sick and in disgrace, and not very particular, maybe, what became of him. Oh, It's shameful for you to go like this, and at this time of day. What ever will I say to him when he Is back?" With frantic haste Sibyl collected the M ? ? ? ' ? ? - sUA. KA/1 of TJnorthnrnnH I lew pOHHeSOIUIIO One nau O.I. and caat them into a bag. She donned her outer garments and tied a thick veil over her white, set face. "You will tell him nothing," she answered, struggling with one mighty, strangling sob that rose in her throat, "except?wait!?except to say that he has my thanks for the kindness shown me here, and my best wishes for his happiness." "Yes?oh, yes!" whimpered Patty. "I will tell him." "And now I am ready." She glided noiselessly down the stair, past the door where those two women were sitting now at dinner, gave her hand to poor, faithful Patty, who followed after, and stepped forth alone into the raw, waning afternoon?into the world! Farewell, Beech wood! The swiftest steed that ever ran, the wildest wind that ever blew, could not bear her fast enough from the scene where the first sweet dream of her life began, where ? undo In ononilah anH bitter ness. She would not suffer herself to look back to the house, but passed swiftly under the evergreens, out through the gate Into the high road, and set her face toward the station, a half mile away. Rumble?rumble! Wheels flying toward her through the mud and rain. A carriage with a driver and a solitary passenger?the latter a grave, middle aged woman In black?approached Sibyl as she turned from the gate. "I think, ma'am," said the driver to his companion, "that yonder's the young person coming now. I've seen her once or twice with Mr. Varneck." "Stop, then!" said the woman. The carriage stopped. The solitary passenger leaned over and looked eagerly at the girl in the road at Its side. "Is this," she asked, knitting her hard brows?"Is this the Miss Arnault who Is Mr. Varneck's guest?" Sibyl threw back her veil, showing beneath It her colorless face and dark, desolate eyes, Into which a wild hope seemed suddenly to leap. "The same," she answered. "Oh," looking breathlessly back at the woman, "Is It??no; it cannot be my mother!" "It is Rebecca Hardin, your mother's nurse," replied the other, dryly. "Where are you going?" "To the station!" cried Sibyl, passionately; "to Hammerton?to my mother!" The woman looked at her, oddly. 'Come Into the carriage," she said. Sibyl obeyed. The driver turned his horses and started at a round pace back toward the station. (To be Continued.) GREAT MEXICAN CHURCH. Many Years in Building?Used as a port and Barracks. Larger than Westminster, larger even than St. Paul's, Is the church of Santo Domingo. This great edifl<*e renowned in many countries, is known not only for its size, but for the beauty and magnificence of its decorations and the many historic events entwined in its history, says the Mexican Herald. The church was built on consecrated ground, having been the site of the martyrdom of two Dominican priests. It was early In the epoch of Spanish occupancy when Cortez sent Velasquez de Leon from Mexico City to Coatzacoalcos with a band of men to protect that port. In those days the road lay through Oaxaca. Of Oaxaca Itself little was known other than the news taken back by the few expeditions that had been sent to the south by the conqueror. Velasquez de Leon brought some settlers for Oaxaca, among them being several Dominican friars. After the soldiers had proceeded on their way to the port the Indians rose against the small band of settlers and on the spot where the church was afterward erected two of the fathers were cruelly put to death. By 1550 there were a number of Dominican friars in Oaxaca, and the question of erecting a church and convent for the use of the order was agitated. The exact dato of the beginning of the work is not known, but it must have been shortly after the middle of the 16th century they be ? urnrir with a few laborers. who gave their services, and every member of the order worked hard collecting more funds. A petition was sent to the king of Spain for assistance, to which he responded generously. From time to time the king sent other contributions, and there was no halt in the work. St. Paul's Cathedral In London measures 510 by 250 feet and cost ?747,954, or 7,497,540 pesos, or some 5,000,000 pesos less than Santo Domingo. Some idea of the size of the structure can be obtained when it is considered that four buildings the size of Westminster Abbey could be set on the ground covered by this Dominican temple. At the present time, however, only a small part of the church is used for worship, the other portions having been converted into barracks by the government. Owing to the great height and thickness of the walls of the church it has been used for a fort on any and every occasion when necessary. No warn however, marred the serenity of the early Dominicans, and each year saw the church Increasing in wealth. The library was ranked among the greatest in the republic. The interior of the church was decorated In many places with pure gold. The first drug store in the city of Oaxaca was opened by the Dominicans in the temple. , When the struggle with the French began it was not long until Oaxaca was in the hands of a French army. Santo Domingo was turned Into a barrack and the gold decorations, the fine paintings and costly adornments were ruthlessly stripped from her walls. The friars were driven out ?J ?? Hio phnroh wan a aim 1UI 31A jcaio I.I1V _ fort and nothing more. The accumulated grandeur of 300 years was undone In a few brief months. The greater part of the structure Is still used by the Federal garrison. About ten years ago Archbishop Glllow received permission from President Diaz to restore a portion of the church. Thousands of dollars were spent on the interior of the main chapel, which is ranked as the most handsome of the republic. The decorations on the ceilings were executed at great cost. Surrounding the front of the edifice Is an Immense court, nicely paved and enclosed with a high iron fence. On each post Is a bronze angel. atliscfllaufous grading. TRAINING THE FARMER'S SON. Better Syitem of Rural 8choole Badly Needed. The bulwark of society Is the home, and the best conditions for wholesome hnrriA environment are In the rural districts. The prosperity, the stability, the virtue, and the vitality of any modern state are measured chiefly by the manhood and womanhood of her country-bred people. Our leaders of thought and action are closely identified with rural lifa The unity of the country home is ideal. In large cities the unity of home life is all but destroyed; the poorer classes crowded together in tenements, have but little knowledge of the meaning of home, and the wealthy, living in hotels and spending months each year in traveling, have little better knowledge of its meaning. The vigor and the energy of the city are largely contributions from the rural population. Any city shut off three generations from the infusion of fresh blood from the country would be reduced to a pitiable state of degeneracy. The most substantial and independent people of any land are the intelligent and trained men and women who dig their wealth out of the soil, or manufacture it from the raw material. Agriculture may be called properly the oldest vocation of man. The people of the entire south are essentially an agricultural people. It is trite to say that by many agriculture has been looked upon as the vocation of men untrained and unskilled. If not the vocation of Inferior beings. In the eyes of many slave-labor stigmatized the plough and the hoe. It Is no wonder that farming has not been attractive, nor is It strange that it has not been always remunerative. Besides, too often farmers, like other people who had had some experience unseasoned with knowledge, were unwilling to be taught, scorning the Idea that they could be taught anything about farming. Happily that notion Is rapidly passing away. The farmers are eager to learn and even more eager to have their children learn, and hundreds of them are flocking to the towns and cities to educate their children. City show dazzles the country, city conveniences allure the country people, and the country Is moving to town. All this Is exceedingly unfortunate. The country is losing her best citizens, homes are broken up, and the farms are turned over to the ignorant and thriftless tenants. Any country's future becomes gloomy whenever Its agricultural population becomes a horde of Ignorant peasants. The fountains of prosperity and strength have dried up. Even the education which the children are to receive in the city will unfit them to return to the farm, rather than fit them. All admit this exodus from the country to be disastrous. Even those who are leaving admit It The question is now to save the country. These people are dissatisfied with their lot and they are seeking to improve it sometimes In desDeration. It Is folly to engage them In academic discussion about the beauties of nature and the Joys of living in the country- People are not going to remain in the country merely to read bucolics and to be patronized. They must be satisfied with country life, and to be satisfied they must be as highly cultivated as their city neighbors, and must be reasonably prosperous on their farms. Say what you will about material prosperity, it is a stalwart helpmeet to good citizenship. Our Brook Farm has satisfied a whole nation for a century. Schools For Farmers' Children. Are the country schools such as to Justify these farmers going to town to school their children? First, sixtyeight per cent of all the white children enrolled in the schools of the state are in the rural schools. And when allowance has been made for hundreds of children living In incorporated villages of three and, four hundred people, the real rural enrollment runs up to perhaps eighty per cent. Second, the average rural school in this state runs less than six months?in a few 1 * AI? m uu,i counties less tnan iour muuiua. iuuu, In hundreds of these schools, wholly Incompetent teachers of both sexes, varying In age from 18 to 60 years, caricature teaching at $25 to $30 a month. Finally, twelve or fifteen children are huddled in a little school house 15 by 20 feet, or fifty children are given to one teacher. Such conditions are far from satisfactory, but is it wise to run away from them? Would it not be wiser to improve the conditions? The rural schools can be made at least the equals of the best town schools in the state. To do so the country districts must pursue the same plan the towns have pursued to secure theirs. The whole plan is embraced In the consolidation of small schools and the levying of local taxes. In almost every Instance, the towns have built their school houses by issuing bonds. In most districts it is the only feasible way. The towns would be unable to run their f Ko r? air mnnfha WPPP OUIIUWiO lllV/t C tllUll w?A .. ?.? they to undertake to run a half-dozen little one-teacher schools Instead of a central school. Of course, the towns already have a consolidated school population. As to the salaries of teachers, not a town of 1,000 population could run nine months on the revenue from the constitutional 3-mill tax. These schools are kept open on the revenue from local taxes. Consolidation of Schools. The country boy and the country girl are entitled to a nine-month school, taught in a convenient and comfortable building and taught by as good teacher as can be had?not by as cheap as can be had. This can be done, if the country people will only make up their minds to do it. There were last year 2,421 rural white schools in the state, an average or &< scnoois 10 ine county, and an average enrollment of 41 pupils to each school. By consolidation reduce the number of schools to 1,000, an average of 24 to each county, and an average enrollment of 100 pupils to each school. Develop this system of consolidation further by maintaining high schools?not high schoolf In name but In fact?at from two to four places in each county, depending upon the size of the county. Give to these consolidated common schools ample teaching force to teach the pupils through the seventh grade, sending the F-K"" " '"'v ? of these high schools. Some one Is ready to ask about the Isolated boy who Is unable to get to one of these high schools, should It be located six or eight miles from his home. The answer Is, that in these common schools of seven grades, well supplied with efficient teachers, he will get more teaching than he now gets in his socalled nine grades, frequently taugnt by a single teacher. Training For the Farmer's 8on. These rural high schools would have from 26 to 76 pupils each, employing | from two to four teachers each. As the rural schools are now organized it is very difficult to .Ind a school with fifteen high school pupils In It, and to undertake to support a high school with fewer than fifteen pupils would be a waste of money and energy. The courses of study in the consolidated high schools should be constructed to meet the demands of the school. It would be a fatal blunder to put In them city school programmes, however excellent they might be. The basic culture studies must have a place in these programmes, for the farmer boy and the farmer girl need the culture subjects as much as any other class of pupils. But in addition to these, first-class courses fitting for country life should be given, for a large majority of these pupils will never reach a school of higher grade. If they are to became efficient men and wbmen, to become active citizens and productive workers, they must receive their training in these high schools. The boys of these schools are to be the farmers, the mechanics, the skilled laborers, the business men, the thinkers and projectors and men of action of the next generation. Their training must fit them; the city school course as organized today will not fit them. The efficiency of the rural high school can m?iiv h? made to outrank the city high school as a means of education, in that the rural high school pupils can more easily be trained to combine brains apd muscle. In these schools the dignity of labor can be Infused Into the life of our young men and women. Honest toll can again be given the homage due it Successful farmers have said to me that they do not intend that their sons shall plough. Not all ought to plough; we need trained men In other vocations. But the plough Is not to be deserted simply because It is a plough, nor will It be deserted or reluctantly followed when farming shall have been made profitable, and when the man between the handles shall have unhitched his little 700-pound mule, put two heavy horses In its stead, mounted himself upon that plough to plough and think as he rides. Farming will not be shunned when labor has been dignified by an infusion of insight into the world of thought and feeling. When the farmer has received the training that makes him the master of the soli ?a prosperous man, a man of affairs, a man the equal of his fellows In the so-called learned professions, then will he glory in his vocation. What a Rural 8ohool 8hould Taaoh. Farming Is an art based upon several sciences. Briefly speaking, the farmer's school in addition to the culture subjects already referred to, should | teach chemistry, ooutny, yujroiwi, wmmercial geography, economics and farm accounts. The girls need to be taught the chemistry of cooking, the laws of sanitation and household accounts, along with the necessary subjects for culture and refinement Business men are sadly needed on the farm, and business women are sadly needed in the home. The unbusinesslike farmer, who leaves his tools In the field from one season to the next needs less to be taught how to Increase his yield of cotton than he does the common sense care of tools. The housewife who does not know how much it takes to run her household afTalrs per day or per week usually lets her household run her. Such a system of rural schools as I have outlined can be e' tabllshed and maintained, if the people desire them. Not a few will say that the expense for their maintenance would be too great. Such a system can be supported, if the people are willing to reduce the present number of rural schools by consolidation to 1,000 return their property for taxation at 75 per cent of its sale value and levy a 2-mlll tax in every district. It cannot be done so long as selfishness and Jealousy attempt to put a school house at the door of every Influential cltixen, nor so long as the country districts depend upon the constitutional 3-mill school tax, nor so long as our people return land for taxation at eight dollars an acre, while the owner refuses thirty dollars in the market. In the minds of hundreds of our country people has been cultivated the idea that the country is supporting the town schools. That is not true, and anyone desirous of the facts c&n .1?? r liowo glr?ni!v easily ouuuu mem. * im.u ?. ? said that the towns build their school houses by Issuing: bonds, and that they keep open their schools by local taxation. Let us examine the truth of the latter statement. There were last year 550 special school tax districts In the state, and 258 town school districts, nearly every one of which has a local school tax. In round numbers there were 300 country districts with local levies, while more than 1,250 country districts depended entirely upon the constitutional 3-mlll tax. The constitutional 3-mill tax Is a county tax, that Is, it all goes Into the coun ty school fund, then it is apportioned to the districts not as paid by them, but according to enrollment in the districts. The twenty-five largest towns in the state, together return 25 per cent of the taxable property of the state. These same towns get back from 18 to 70 per cent of the 3-mlll tax paid upon their property. The remainder is distributed to the other districts. This is well, and these towns do not -4.1-? *?.. via oDject to tms aismounuu, uui ??> facts are not appreciated. Again, the railroads and the cotton mills of the state return 26 per cent of the taxable property of the state. Perhaps more than 90 per cent of the railroad property lies outside the towns of 1,000 population and upward, while not far from one-half the cotton mills are outside the Incorporate limits of towns. As a rule the railroads and the cotton mills are more than willing to be taxed for schools. When shall the otner property be as willing to tax Itself? When a hall our people realise the fearful waste In maintaining the present number of inefficient rural schools? When shall they realize the inefficiency and inadequacy of these schools? Had our people established years ago a better system of schools for the country people, we should have now fewer worthless hillsides that were once rich with virgin soil; Immense forests of pine, oak and hickory, sources of untold wealth, would be where now are barren wastes; In short, farming would be profitable, country life would he attractive and the people would be contented. It Is not too late yet to mend our ways. The worn-out lands must be reclaimed, the good lands must be Improved, the barrens must be reforested, the swamp lands must be drained, farms must be made remunerative, country life must be made attractive, the people must be tyiqHo 'nntonf Tha mnntrv thA vll Ia?e, the city, all must co-operate to accomplish these. It can be done, It will be done. If only oar people resolve it Train, train, train; the people must be trained. If we fall, or if we neglect our opportunities, others will succeed. Shall we throw away our birth right? W. H. Hand. University of South Caro< na. WINTER COVER CROPS. Prevent Leaching of the 8oil By Rain. One of the most Important crops for the people of South Carolina Is the winter cover crop. They prevent leaching and when turned under add humus to the soli. The legumes, clover and vetch, store plant food in the soil during the winter as the peas do in summer. In the sand hills where winter cover crops are turned under the soil will not leach and turn the crop yellow In spots. In the Piedmont section wide stretches of soil will not be washed away by the spring rains where humus has been put In the soil by turning under a winter cover crop in the spring. This was proved very forcibly in many places through out the elate this year. Where winter cover crops were turned under the past spring the soil did not leach or wash away as It did where the soil was left bare during the winter and nothing turned under In the spring. Nothing helps a crop to resist a drought like a winter cover crop turned under before planting. For these crops I would recommend rye, crimson clover and vetch. Rye, Rye is one of the best winter cover crops, but It does not add plant food to the soil In the form of nitrogen, except what Is stored In the plant and turned under. Host people know how to sow rye. It can be sown during any month and make a successful cover crop up to the first of December. It can also be sown In corn or cotton early In the fall. If sown early it will make a better growth, hence of more value as a cover crop. One of the best kinds of rye, especially for ? the sandy lands, is Abrusses, which was Imported by the agricultural department Pure seed of this appears to give better results than any other. Clever and Vetoh. Preparation of the land: good seed bed Is necessary for these crops. The land should be plowed and thor- c oughly pulverised with a tooth harrow and for the Improvement of the 1~-.1 i* <- tn tuvn It ? faw Innhu UUiU IV AO uy?v vv k?u m % W ? ~ - ? - deeper than it has been previously plowed, but when the land haa been turned in order to prepare it, if good rains do not intervene between the preparation of the land and the sowing of the seed, a roller should be used to firm the seed bed. Clover and vetch can both be sown In corn and cotton at this season of the year. If the fields are fairly clean, sow the seed broadcast and run a harrow or sweep through the middle. We have seen some good crops grown this way in the past winter. If pea stubble is to be used for sowing clover or vetch it can be thoroughly pulverised with a cut-a-away harrow and a tooth harrow and will probably make a bet ter crop without being turned. Fertilizer* The beet fertiliser for clover or vetch 1* stable manure. If It should be well rotted and applied some time previous to sowing the seed, If the best results are to be secured, 300 to 400 pounds, of acid phosphate, 16 per cent add and 4 per cent pots ih, called a 16-4 acid, per acre should be applied at the time of sowing the seed. If the land seems to be at all sour, In nearly all cases, lime Is beneficial, using one ton of agricultural lime, or 1,000 pounds, of air sl*ck lime per acre. The best time to sow the seed for crimson dover Is as early In the fall as It can be sown without the hot sun killing the young plants. In the lower section of the state it is generally best not to sow .until the 1st of September. Vetch can be sown with good results almost any month from the 1st of September to December 1st Inoculation. One of the most important requiremanta /.ir crimson clover and vetch is that the soil should be Inoculated. In the Piedmont section of the state stable manure very often furnishes sufficient inoculation for a sure crop, out the surest plan is to Inoculate the soli and one of the best ways to do this is by securing soil from some held where a crop of the kind to be planted has been grown successfully. The more soil the better. The department of agriculture will also furnish inoculation which wnen directions are carefully followed have . given good results. Some companies also sell inoculated seed. These, I believe, in some instances, have been an advantage. It might be well to use all three of these methods. Amount of 8ood. About 20 pounds of crimson clover seed should be sown per acre and 20 to 30 pounds of vetch seed. It is a good plan also to sow with the vetch seed some rye. The seed should be sown broadcast and lightly pushed in, using nothing heavier than a tooth harrow. Ira W. Williams, State Agent Farmers' Co-operative Demonstration Work, Columbia, S. C. Safe Either Way,?An Elk county citizen who has just graduated from a law school, wrote to a prominent lawyer in an Arkansas town to And out what chance there would be for him in that part of the country. "I am a Republican in politics," he wrote, "and an honest lawyer." "If you are an honest lawyer," came the reply, "you wu: nave no compeu> tlon, and if you are a Republican the ??ame law will protect you."?Kansas City Jourral.