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