The times and democrat. (Orangeburg, S.C.) 1881-current, August 12, 1886, Page 6, Image 6
JAKE'S LITTIE GIRL
"No, mister," said Uncle Jake, "I alnt
?Spliced, nor never was."
For many years old Uncle Jake had
{kept a little tavern neur one end of the in
lets where the sea. breaks tbrough the long
eandbar into the Great South bay, a point
About Of teen miles from New York. Of a
pleasant Sunday in summer it was a pretty
lively resort. Uncle Jake made a jovial
ihost, and people used to say that he owed
ills good health in a great measure to the
frequency with which he drank to it him
self. Most of the lishing parties from the
larbors along the nay stopped here for a
clambake and a cocktail; yachtsmen nn
' ehored near the inlet, and sportsmen
?would put up at the tavern for a week or
two at a time. But in winter it was a
dreary spot. The monotonous turmoil of
the surf was broken only now and then by
the shrill cry of a gull or the shrieking of
the wind as it whirled across the bar.
During t lie long storms only an occasional
Wrecker or a patrol from tlio life saving
Btation visited the place, and at any time
In wilder a party like ours was a rarity.
A real Bohemian freak had brought us
flown to Uncle Jake's that night. The,
evening before a dozen of us artists had met
Bt u little reunion in the studio of one of
our number, and one of us seeing a sketch
of Uncle Jake's tavern on the easel, had
proposed paying him a winter's visit. "We
all knew Uncle Jake, and the idea of a
winter's visit to him was too much 01 a
novelty to be resisted. So we set out for
tbe tavern the next day, and arrived there
beiore night time. Uncle Jake knew that
the trip across the bay had been a rough
one. So be started a roaring wood fire:
and when we had finished supper lie put n
steaming bowl of punch on the table.
But, despite his attention and the jollity
of our party, he wasn't in the best of
spirits. Not that he didn't dip his glass
into the punch howl pretty often, but he
.seemed moody and didn't talk much.
His low spirits seemed also to have had a
* depressing effect on Samson, his big mas
tiff, wbo was about as well known along
the coast as Uncle Jake himself. Usually
he barked a friendly welcome to everyone
who came to the house. But he had been
sullen and silent nil the evening and had
6at near Uncle Juke, resting his head on
his master's knee and now und then look
ing up wistfully at him.
I had known Undo Jake and hi* big
dog longer than the others bad, and I no
ticed that something was wrong. Ex
cepting the last two years, which I had
spent in Europe, I had been to the tavern
off and on for about a dozen summers. I
had always liked the place?it. was so far
removed from everyday affairs. There
was usually a fresh breeze coming over
the broad expanse of ocean, a fine surf,
Sending its cool spray over the beach, and
here and there a white sail outlined
against the blue sky. Beside, Uncle Jake
was always hale and jovial with young
fellows and few of them ever paid a visit
to the tavern without returning to it at
some future day. The old man seemed
glad enough to see me again and made me
Sit next to him. But I felt that since I
had been there some change had come
over him and the dog and the old place,
and ut times he looked as though he
would like to tell me something, but hesi
tated on account of the others.
I remembered a pretty, bright eyed lass,
about 17 years old when I last saw her,
who was at the tavern iu former years,
and whom we used to call "Uncle Jake's
little girl. She used to make herself
handy about the place and was so simple
and graceful in her bearing that she was
?i favorite with all who went there. The
Sun had browned h<3r hands aud arms,
and the wind had played with her fair
hair until it hung over her forehead like
tangled sunbeams. She was taU aud
lithesome, and as strong as she was grace
ful. Often, when she wus a mere girl of
40 or 12, I had seen her pulling her skiff
across the bay and hailiug the old flsher
.men as they scudded past in their smacks.
tMany a time they would lay to and take
3ier aboard and tow her skiff home; aud
.then she would take the helm from the
skipper, trim the sheet and shout with
jglee us the spray came dashing over the
Sow. I wondered what had be
come of her aud asked Uncle Jake,
?but he didn't seem to hear my
(question, though the dog sprang to
his feet and roamed about the room un
easily before he slunk back to his master's
feet. I was about to ask the questiou
again when oue"*of our party proposed a
song. 'Alnle they gathefed In a group
around the old piano in the corner, the
(Old man stole quietly to the door of
.another room and beckoned me to follow
3dm. As I joined him he was stooping
.over an old bureau fumbling among some
^papers, while the dog, who had slipped in
Sfter him, watched him intently until he
iput his hand on a tin type, which he drew
out and showed me. It was the picture
of a child, and in the features I recog
nized "Uncle Juke's little girl." In she
next room some one was playing a jang
ling accompaniment and the rest were
Shouting a boisterous song. I thought
then v> ould be a good time to ask him
what had become of the girl whose
childish features we were looking at, so I
inquired, by way of introduction, if he
Triad ever been married. It was to this he
had replied: "No, mister, I ain't spliced,
?aor never was."
"But yer see," he continued, as though
he knew what I was driving at, "it's un
common lonesome here in winter, an'
many a time when I've heard some young
one ashore yonder as wasn't caved for at
home I've got its folks to let me.take it
out here with me. The children kind a
cheered me up durm' the long winter eve
nin's, an' when summer came I'd ask to
have 'em stay a bit longer. The little
ones would beg real hard, too, for I made
a good deal of 'em, and they thought kind
o' well o' me for it. Some o' them stayed
a few years, but as they got big an' could
be handy at home their folks fetched 'em
away from me, an' so at last they all
TWent; all but little Maggie, her as they
?Ised to call'Uncle Jake's little girl.' It
was a bad home I'd took her from, an'
afore she'd been with me long her father
wandered off an' her mother died in the
poorhuustt. There wasn't no one to take
her from me then so she stayed here; an'
tight glad I was to keep her. She was a
smart, likely little thing, an' I thought as
I'd care for her an' lay by a bit o' money
ior her. When she lirst came here she
"Was no more than 5, and when
you saw her two summers ago she
was goin' on IS. Yer know Maggie was
as good-looking a girl as yer could lind
hereabouts, on1 many u foliar as has come
here with his boat in summor time has
been kind o' took wi' her. I was kind o'
proud to have 'cm so, too, for I'd a pre
vious good opinion o' Maggie, V I liked
"to see 'um back me up. It wo. .n't every
one she'd take to, neither, for she'd mako
her chcicc like any lady, would Maggie.
I let her go sailln' whenever she wanted.
I knew she must bo kind o' lonesome hero
in winter, an' In summer I was for her
to have all the cheer she could. Not that
?ehe ever complained. She was a good
feirl, an' a comfort to me summer an'
: winter, was Maggie.
"It's goln' op three years now, mister, j
that a little after the June Maggie got to J
be 18 there was a young feller as come
over here to stay. He was a good-look
in' chap, strong an' quick, an' as handy
In a boat as anyone I ever see. He
seemed to kind o' like it here. In the
beginnin' he hired one of my boats by
the week, un' when he'd had it that way
about, four weeks he took it for the sea
son. Well, I was glad to let him have it, .
for it was often as he'd take Maggie out,
in' 1 felt easy when I knew Maggie was
with him, for, as I told you, he was 1
strong and handy in a boat, an' I felt as
no barm could come tu her when she was
with him. One bright mornin' in Sep
tember, just afore they sailed away, she
come a runnin1 into me an" says as they
was a-goin' for a long sail and wouldn't
be back till late. Well, it wasn't unusual
for 'em to stay out till after sundown,
especially o' moonlight nights, when they
could come in on the tide un' the night
wind; an' this time I didn't begin worry
in' ubout 'em until it got to be very lute
mi' they hadn't come back. Some
folks as was nt the bouse walked
the beach between the itdets with nie
till lute iu the night: but we saw j
nothin' of them. But bless me, I didn't
give 'em up. It had been a fine day, an' it
was a clear, bright night, an' I kind ?'
trusted the young feller, for he scented
kind o' fond V Maggie, an' I thought he
wouldn't let no harm come to her. An',
sure as yer live, next day, early in the
mornin'. we spied the boat sailin' up the
inlet, nn'. I began wavin' an' shoutin' to
'em for joy. But some one as had a spy
glass said they wasn't aboard?an', mister,
they wasn't. The feller as was iu her
came from the Jersey coast, un' .he'said its
a man and u girl had landed there the
day before, an' the man?a young, good
look in' chap, he said?had paid him to
bring the boat over. I'd kept up pretty
well till then, but when I know'd she
wasn't come back, an' felt all of a sudden
I as site might never come back, I hid my
face iu my hands an' cried like a baby,
j Folk> tell me as I wasn't a good one to be
I get tin'along with for the next few days,
an1 I irucss they were about right. She
was all the world to me, was Maggie. I
j took her to me as a child an' brought her
up, an' set my heart on her, and for her
I to leave me in my old days was mighty
I hard. When I got quieted down they be
gan to comfort me a-stiyhi' as she might
i come back. All, mister, if she only had.
j I'd have welcomed her, for sin- was still
my little Maggie, an' I'd ha1 loved her as
j much as ever. But it got to be winter
I an' spring au' Stimmer an'on toward tall,
an' I heard not bin' of her.
"It wasn't "much more than a year
I after she'd left when one mornin' a feller
came sailin' over from the shore with
what he said was a telegram forme. It j
came from the city, an'it read (hat if I
was to go to one o' the hospitals there I'd
find a girl as would like to see me: an' it
told me to come quick, too, for she was
very low, perhaps a-dyin'. Yer may
know who the girl was: an' it's likely yer
know, too, as I wasn't long a-gettin' to
her. But T wasn't any too soon. She
was lyin' on a cot, an' when she saw me,
it was just all she could do to 'stretch her
arms out to me, so she could put 'em
around me an' press her poor, pale faco
against mine.
" 'Father,' she whispered, 'I went back
on yer?and yer who'd been so good an'
kind to me; an', father, I want yer to say
before I die as you've forgiven .me.'
"I couldn't say nothin'. mister, I just
held her closer, but I guess as when she
felt my tears ii-roUhV down on her face
she know'd she'd trot what she wanted. I
held her till they told me she couldn't
speak no more, an' then I laid her back.
It was only a few minutes tifter that she
lived, but afore she died she opened her
eyes once more an' moved her lips. I
bent down to her an' she could just
whisper:
" 'Father, I'm sure yer haven't gone
back on me. I'm sure yer forgive me.
But?father?I want you to forgive him,
too. For?father?I've forgiven-' "
The old man buried his face iu his
hands and sobbed, while the dog inoved up
close to his master and howled piteously.
The piano was still jangling in the other
roam and the singing was at its loudest.
But he' didn't seem to hear it. After
awhile, though, they got through, and,
missing him, began to call for him. But
before he went out he passed his hand
gently over the dog's bnck and said, turn
ing to me: "I forgive her, mister, an'
Pye tried to forgive ldm, but it's more
than A poor old man like me can do. I'll
try again, mister; I'll try hard for the lit
tle girl's sake. I know as hii sin's n-goin
to drive him back here some time?drive
him back that he may go on his knees to
me an' tell me how he wronged her an'
me."
I had always been fond of Uncle Jake,
but after what he had told me I liked him
better than ever. I knew that his "little
girl's" death weighed heavily on him, and
alter that I got up as many parties as I
could to visit the tavern to cheer him up.
One day toward autumn, two years after
ward, he culled mc aside and said: "Mis
ter, it's gettin' kind o' lonesome for the
dog an' me down here winters, an' I
guess I won't stay here no longer after the
fall. I've, got a house as I took over in
the village ashore yonder, near to where
the little girl's buried. The dog tin* I
wants to be near Mngyie, an' if yer'U
come down off an' on we'll be glad to sec
yer, for it ain't much company we'll be
bavin'."
Well. Uncle Jake took the house, and I
did go down there as often as I could. lie
made things night, comfortable in the
little house. On the cold winter nights
he had a big log fire blazing on the open
hearth, ami a kettle of hot water for the
punch singing cheerily over the dailies.
In front -was a big wooly rug, on which
the dog stretched himself, rising only oc
casionally to come over to his muster and
lick his hands. The old dog had learned
the way to the "little girl's".grave very
soon, and on days when it was too stormy
for the old man to go to it himself,
Samson would trot off aud see that all was
at rights.
The blazing logs and the singing kcttlo
. ecmed particularly cheery one January
night. A fierce wind wu.s howling around
the house. It had been snowing all day,
but us it grew colder the snow had
stopped, and now the gusts sent icy par
ticles rattling against the windows. The
dog seemed sleeping peacefully?at least
he hadn't stirred?when Uncle .Take weut
to the hearth to lift off the kettle. Theold
man had brewed a punch, and was just
raising the glass to his lips, when sud
denly Samson sprang toward one of the >
windows with a furious bark. As I turned |
in the direction in which he sprain.', what
I saw might have bcen.au illusion, it!
vanished so quickly?a man's face, pale,
haggard and driven, pressed against the
pane. A moment later the dog was leap
ing against the poor. I sprang toward it
and threw it open. The fierce" gust that
swept in nearly threw me back, but I
held on and saw the black figure of the
dog speeding toward tho gate, where ho
stopped, still barking furiously as he
tried in vain to overleap it. I called him
back, but he would not come, and there
he remained barking and howling for half
an hour after I had closed the door. I
told Uncle Jake that I thought a man
had been out there, hut all he sidd was:
"I guess it was one of them tramps as
conies around. Samson ain't particular
fond o' them. But if the fellow was cold
an' wanted a drink why didn't lie knock
an' ask for it decent like:-' Sure he'd ha'
got it."
The next morning was bright and clear
aud very cold. As the wind subsided,
Uncle Jake proposed to go over to the
graveyard?lie hardly let a day pass with
out going there. The graveyard was a
little inclosure a trifle further out of the
Tillage than our house. As we entered
the gate the dog suddenly darted forward
barking furiously as he had the night be
fore. Following him hastily, we saw
what he was barking at. A thin, wlute
hand had clasped the headstone, and over
the grave lay, face downward, the body
j of a man, perfectly still. Uncle Jake
grasped me and held me back a moment.
Then wo tried to loose the hvnd. But it
1 was clasped so (irmly that we iotild hardly
: draw it from the stone. At last it fell,
i ?ami we turned the body over. I saw the
j same pale, haggard, driven f.ue that was
j pressed against the window the night be
I fore. "Mister," said Uncle Jake, sol
emnly, "he's come back. An'?an*?I
think I've forgiven him, as the little girl
asked me for to do."?Gustav Kobbe in
Baltimore Herald.
Queen Christina and Her Charity.
Rocked in the ivory cradle, inlaid with
gold and silver, presented to him by his
grandmother, the ex-Queen Isabella, and
nourished by the omnipotent wet nurse,
the infant king of Spain continues tc
thrive. Queen Christina is gradually re
suming her usual duties. She distributes
more than 100,000 lire a month in charity,
without counting extra donations to alms
houses, hospitals and other benevolent ilk
' stitutidns, some of which she founded her
I self. Uu the bank of the Manganeres, in
t sight, of the royal palace, in an open and
cheerful sjuot, one sees n little house
' painted iu bright colors, surrounded by a
' garden, from which in passing one hears
! the laughter, shouts and cries of children.
; The queen had it built as u resort for the
j little children of the laundresses, who,
while their mothers were working, used
to he left on the streets, ft is a mingling
of almshou.se and school. She has als?,
founded a hospital for foundlings, a house
or species of college for the children of the
tobacco workers, and :\ distribution ol
soup, meat ami bread for all the poor oi
the city. She has several times gone
quite unexpectedly to assist in the dl-dri
button to assure herself that no abuse was
made of it, aud having once discovered
some roguery she provided against nnj
repetition of the offense. The sisters oi
charity receive from her every month 70,
000 lire.?New York World.
The Oyster und Ills Shell.
Suppose that, placing two oyster shelh
In their natural position, we insert ?
piece of India rubber between the valves
i at the point where they are hinged to
gether. If we now forcibly close the
sh?lls by pressure, the India rubber is
compressed. When we release the; press
ure of our fingers, trfe elasticity and re
coil of the India rubber forces the valves
apart. In such a fashion, then, doe:
nature provide for the constant main
tenance of the unclosed condition. The
"ligaments" of the shell are natura
elastic pads existing at the hinge line.
By their elasticity they keep the rajh?g
unclosed. There is no strain invol^jtfp
the action, which is u merely intfH|
one after all. ^Si/
But when the more infrequent act ol
closure has to be performed, then mus
cular energy requires to be displayed. Tin
quick snap of the valves reminds us thai
muscular exertion, even if necessitating
vital wear and tear, has its corresponding
Advantage in the rapidity and effective
ness with which it provides for protectioi
against" the entrance of disagreeable oi
noxious elements into the internal ar
raugements of oyster or mussel life.?
Longman's Magazine.
A Georgia Ozler Willow Farm.
About a mile below the city of Mason
Ga., is an ozicr willow farm. The willow
switches, at the end of two years, an
from four to seven inches long, and ut<
cut and uthered into bunches lik<
sheaves ot wheat. They are steeped ir
water and the bark at the larger end
loosened for a couple of inches by ma
chinery. The leaves and bark arc re
moved by a little machine, and th?
switches ure placed in the mechnnica'
stripper, and with a pair of pliers an
pulled through with a sudden jerk. The}
are then wiped off with a woolen cloth
bundled and laid away to dry. All th<
leaves aud barks are dried and baled.
They are used for medicinal purposes,
aud command a price of 25 cents pel
pound. The average yield is i\ ton to thi
acre. When dried the willows command
$200 per ton, and find a ready market.?
? Chicago Herald.
Tim Very Conspicuous Tutly-Uo.
Nothing could be more unrctiring thai
the coaching that has become Intense!]
fashionable to a few of the most preten
tious people in town. A four horse drag
with flittering harness, bright vehicle,
liveried llunkies, loud bugler und loud o)
women gayly dressed, is cpuitc as re
splendent us a circus ehariot and com
ma .ids as much attention us it rolls along
u crowded street. But it is the loading Ol
unloading that is particularly au amuse
me:it for the spectators. I have seen i
distinguished belle mounting to the tor
of v. coach in the midst of .a rabble, ?
every way as conspicuous as a queen ol
the wire about to ascend to the height ol
a tent pole, with a saucy urchin comment
ing shrilly on her appearance, like t
clown helping on the exhibition, and she
was all the while as placid as though se
cluded In her own boudoir.?New York
Letter.
John Q. Adams and HIS Coachman.
A few days before the inauguration ol
President Harrison, the horses of Johr
Quuicy Adams became frightened near tin
Capitol, by the dis;hargc of Colt's fire
arms before a committee of congress, and
ran away, overturning the carriage and
injuring the coachman. Mr. Adams re
maincd at home for two daj-s, and be
stowed all the attention and time tipor
the man that a child could give its father,
regarding alike the religious condition and
physicial sufferings of his unfortunatt
serve t. The first interview between raar
and master was quite touching. "Youi
horses are gone and the carriage wit!
them," said the servant, when lie first
saw Mr. Adams after the accident, and
adding tu this that he was a "dying man.'
"Never mind life'horses and* carriage,'
said Mr. Adams, kindly. "If you are-s
dying man, think of your soul."?Ben
Perley Poore.
In a chivalrous but patheticjway Mon
tana bachelors name a town in honor of i
girl and then wait for the girls tacome.?
Intex-Ccean.
1836! i SWIFTS SPECIFIC.)! 11886
i'A BEMEDY KOT TOE A DAY, BUT FOB!
SISISI HALT A CENTURY SlSlS
BFd^IEvTNG SUFEEmG HUMANITY! '
SISISI
AN INTERESTING TREATISE ON BLOOD AND SKIN DISEASES SENT
FREE TO ALL APPLICANTS. IT SHOULD BE READ BY EVERYBODY.
ADDRESS THE SWIFT SPECIFIC CO., ATLANTA, GA.
s
3
JOHN C. WHETSTONE,
ROWESVILLE. S. C,
Practical Machinist and Millwright,
AGENT FOR
mm fcsgasa
THE SMITH IMPROVED GIN, FEEDER AND CONDENSER.
ALSO AGENT FOR THE
TAYLOR ANJ) RAY STATE ENGINES, GRIST .MILLS, &c.
23V* Will order Machinery of any kind when requested to tlo so.
^""Repairing of all kinds of Machinery a specialty. All orders promptly attended
July l-3m
to. Address as above.
STONO
'Phospliate Company,
CHARLESTON, 8. C.
ESTABLISHED 1870.
HIGH GRADE FERTILIZERS! HIGH GRADE FERTILIZERS!
SOLUBLE GUANO (highly amrooniated.)
DISSOLVED RONE.
ACID PHOSPHATE.
ASH ELEMENT.
HlOSl'HATK FLOATS.
OER MAN KAN IT.
U1GH GRADE RICE FERTILIZER,
James Van Tassel
i?i~Ai.i:ie i>
CHOICE FAMILY GROCERIES,
Wines, Liquors and Segars.
i T MY EST AI'LISIIA1EXT CAN BE FOUND ALL THE STANDARD
iV articles nf GROCERIES at Ruck Bottom Prices, as well as purest and best
WINES, LIQUORS, &c, sold anywbciv. Also the choicest SR< iARS ANT) TOBACCO
to be found In the inarkei.
wisb:> B.ootii\<; akoi ai> OJivi; .^ib: a cai.i..
JAMES VAN TASSEL.
To ?!?<* l*nl?li?*.
l or Sale
kpiIOROUt.IIDli ED J Kit SEI' j
JTAKK l'LEASl'KE IN AN- 1 Calve-. One yearling registered Jer
nounc'ni" that I will run the Ice Bust- >cv Bull. Registered Ayreshirc heifers.
_t. V,.... 1 ( ? MM i'.,ei.nnuv< llliKIC. ! S.'v....i1 irrl.l.. In.il",.r.; ?1? ?Un <i.viT:ll MHi-ll :
ncss from May 1st, lSS?. Customers plw
reserve your orders and oblige.
i"ours trnlv,
Jali-'b CHARLES P: BRUNSON.
Several grade heifers as also several Milch
Cows in' mi Ik. Apply to
E. N. ClliSOLM,
Rowcsville, S. C. I
JOHN A, aiHIILTOW,
DEALER IX ?
COTTON GINS,
MaeMnery Sullies, Olis, &c,
ORANGEBURG, S. C,
OFFERS
Tlus GULLETT STEEL BRUSH, COT
TON BLOOM, ami Improved TAYLOR
GINS.
Trices as low as in the State, 'Work guar
anteed, Terms accommodating. 9 1sq,Am
nislies Saws, Ribs, and parts of Gins tW
repairs, Bristles, &c.
IN STOCK,
Brass CHECK VALVES, Piping, Coup
lings, Round ami Sheet Gum Packing,
Babbitt Metal, &c, etc.
SUGAR MILLS, and SYRUP KET
TLES furnished at factory prices.
John A. Hamilton.
JOHN Q. PIKE,
ORANGEBURG, S ft,
DEALEI? IN
CHOICE FAMILY
AND
Heavy Groceries.
ALSO
Willow Ware,
Glass Ware,
Crockery, &c,
Call and examine my Goods before
purchasing. They are Ii i st class and
my prices are as low as ;,!;? lowest.
JOHN C. PIKE.
ESTABLISHED 1877. "
Twenty-five Years Experience.
T. DeChiavette,
Watch Maker and Jewej.ek,
a ml dealer in Watches, Clocks, Jewelry
? Spectacles, Silver and Plated Ware and
Musical Instruments. All work warranted
for one year. Orangeburg. . C
Charles A. Cairo, Jr.,
BOOK AND JOB PRINTER
?a no?
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matter?the latest telegraphic news?cleat
large print. Only one'dol'lar a year.
X Loads Bkm.yij.u: ami State Load.
TIAVING BOUGHT THE RIGHT
I L to sell the AM M (UN'S PATENT
PLOW GL'At iE AND GUIDE in Orange
burg County I am prepared to furuisli them
ami solicit the patronage of all the farmers
n thecounty. M. M. METTS,
Aprij l.'-:;iuo St. Matthews, S. C.
For Sale.
ONE TEN HOUSE POWER EN
gine and Boiler complete. Also otic
Circular Saw Mill. The above can be
bought on verv reasonable terms.
]?',?!>?_>.-, ' _HAltPIN BIGGS
Notice.
i J.i. PERSONS HAVING CLAIMS
i\ against Hie Estate of Thomas It.
Zimmerman, deceased, .\i!l present the
same duly attested to the undersigned, and
all persons indebted :<> said Estate will
make payment to Moss & Dantzlcr, Attor
neys at Law, Orangeburg. S. C.
1RVIN II. ZIMMERMAN,
Qualified Eecutor ol Estate of Thomas
11. Zimmerman, deceased. July 8-3t