Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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VOL. I. MAXXI ~ ~ (I A ~ ~N ~UN~ ( dNT~ . (l*-w L)N ESIAY, NOVE'lJ 2LNo 0 The 4'heqtered1 Catreer u a nt '. - to Eluy ci, N - 1 Good "m f: rice E. E::an. Mr. Peleg V. Atkinson wa- ;a go man, and, if he had been a pr maa lie would have been a happyv eC. unfortuinately, he was en. a i. l gone to Europe--as that a '> S Lepel Gritiin oUce sai-to finih :n education that had :e'ver 'cegun home. Peleg V. Atkinson, without. :.e 'Mr.' which, in obedience to what he was as sured was a New Yoik enstoi. he al ways had engraved en his c'ards, wet worth much at the foot of a check. It was a great name in the Phidelphi marts of trade. Third ,treet knew and honored it, and it was not uLnown m Wall street. As T said, he was ri ; l had "skimmed the cream oir Europe, as he phrasea it, and he had exhausted all the pleasure that could be had fron drinking sauterne at huncheon. when h e preferred beer or ice water, and of mak ing a collection of modern Frenel ictures. -e had a Corot and a Meis sonnier, a Vibert and a Detailie. He never bought two specimens of the saime artist's work. He talked of hi-. pictures as "examples." lie had orchids, a cel lar of good 'wine, and two preu daugh ters, and yet lie was not happy. biecause Mrs. Pelieg V. Atkinson was t happy. It is not easy for people accustomed to the pleasures of being well to do to bear the weight of riches. When I first knew the Atkinsons they were thorough lv contented. They drank ice water 4hen they chose; they dined at noon, and corned beef and cabbage was a de light to them. On hot days Mr. Atkin son threw off his coat after dinner, stuck a pipe in his mouth, and sat in the back door in his shirt sleeves, while Clarissa or Jennie played "Lisen to tle Mock ing Bird" or "Silvery Waves" by way of refreshing him before he went down to the office at the factory. "on sont les neige d'antan?" asks Villon. And Mr. Atkinson, in after years of )plendor. often asked the same questio::, in less poet'cal language, as he thouglh of those happy days. Alas! there cond be no more sitting under: the gr'alevimTe arbor and smokirg the pipe of 1a-:: Mr'. Peleg V. Atkinson would no 1x.re make the mint julep with her own f:ir hauds and come out to waken him frm bliss ful sleep as he sat in the yar1 with a nowspaper over his head to keep off the ,lieson blissful and drowsy aiernoons. Then Mirs. Atkinson was sathaied that her four white stone steps were equal in size and pallor to her neighbors'. and that there was no window gl':s in the whole town- of Philadelphia more daz zling than hers;: but now Clarissa and Jennie pla.y.-d oniv Chopin; they could not possibly conde sced even to opera muisic, although not averse to a dash into Wagner occasional ly. He dined by candlelight, mn a dress suit and a stiff, white shhit bosom, which he was always tempt~d to cover up with his napkin. He had taken a house just outside of Washington for the winter, for Mrs. Atkinson saw no chance of making suitable matches for her daughters in her native city. The "best" societ - was closed to her; she lived on Nort 13road street, and there fore Clarissa and Jennie could :not possi bly go to the Assembly ball; and above all things-outside of heaven, of course -Mrs. Atkinson preferred what is called society. .Mrs. Atkinson, who was what is ed2i a capable woman, had come to know ~ social characteristics of Amerianci as well as she used to kno w th~e pon' of a good fowl when she did her own marketing at Philadelphia, decided that Washington was the best place to begin the matrimonial campaign. She felt that a foreign establishment was prefer able to an American one and less difficult to arrange. The rich Americans, as she knew, were too uncertain 0f their own status to be ready to make what their airistocratic connections would consider mine mmeirnes. Titles for Clarissa and Jennie would make all things easy, and in time she might, with such prestige, even come to glare at Mrs. Cadwalader Smythe at the Assembly ball, where the elect of Philadelphia gathers, at whose portal she stood, like Moore's Peri, -'disconsolate." M~rs. Atkinson had acquired a haugh ty' bearing, studied from Miss Morant's Russin countess, in "The D)anichefs."~ She was plump and rosy and imiposing, with white hair a lat Mmne. de Pompa dour. She seemed to be a great lady until she opened her mouth. Clarissa a'nd Jennie had become, like their father, unwilling slaves to spleni dor. But they had acquired a knowl edge of the peerage, and they knew the pedigree of the new British minister to the remotest quartering. It was kind of the family to ask me to spend two weeks at their houzse outside of Georgetown, because it is not often that families of such quality remember their acquaint ances of the past. I went, and when dear old Mr. Atkinson met me with a brougham at the station my heart sunk. R.iches had aged my ol triend; splenI dor had withered him; the ting~er whicht held mmnense seal ring bearing his coat pf-arms was thin and trembhling. There weemore wrinkles in his face thtan uti der tly grapevime arbor. His eyes weri restless, ut he greeted mea with the. old time cordianity. The brouggam eush jtons were heia'ily scented winh helio trope, a large ordst-a lion couchant was emabroidered everyw~here i.hre 'ae re two men on the bow- ?e of the a short, stout. red-whiskend personfag'e, in a brown coat, ca~me down ad spo'..e to Mr. Atkinson. "You will not mindi seeng o Fitzpatrick's baggage, will you aud vie? You'll see his name-cen tie udnm Mr. Gierald Fitzpatrick." The mn'~m turned his raddy- faLc. to ward me, and smiled out of a pair C the most shrewd and humorous ey e' I ever saw. "Sure, sir, you 'e an J rislanan;ayi have the look of it, and an trisn ge'nue mnan, too." "-L'm very noar to being'an Irishman,. . ianlhing. - was born there "You're a dry one," he said, tipping ihat: -you don't look to be thirty. " l gliad Liuovie has taken a faucv o-i." hc said. sinking back in his S'at; "iom11etimes lh dislikes people, and it's hard for uis all. I looked at himi in surprise. M At kiu-on's mianier to his employees at the L 1 factory wats peremptory in the extrene, T'o much so. I hiad thought. What had "ln't whlat's his iam a serant?" 31r.Atkisonsturted as if afraid that on ~ ~ ~ 11 newudeahIm. -.0h, wve don't k o. himii that warv. He's the butler. yOt kuow. c does prttv nich wJ hat he ph :ases. though. SomePi"es he wants to drive, and of course I lot him. Mrn. stkinon imnorted hini. He is very expensive, but he keeps us to the : mark, vou know. He knows everything i that we don't know. Between ourselves, Iih I was dead. I'm not fit for this sort of thing. l nearly disgraced my self yesterday when we had en-Governor Jimjams to dine with us by asking for beer with the soup. Mary Aun-Mrs. Atkinon- would have fainted if Ludlovic had not brought the sherry and pre tended not to have understood me. Home:" Mr. Atkinson called out, as Ludovic climbed on to the box. -Yes," my old friend continued, "Ludovic is a great treasure." He said this in the tone in which one speaks of i being resigned to an ailliction. "Lord i Bntham had him and he has big crep dentials. Mrs. Atkinson's afraid of p losing him." Here the rich mmn I chunckled. It's about the only thing she 1 is afraid of. I sometimes think that when the girls are married-but, by George' 1 hate to think of that-we'll be able to forget our duties to society. 1 Richcs and social status are awful respon bilities." He frowned gloomilv. I "Come, let's have a drink. Stop at Ikins', " he called out. There was a sound of grumbling on 1 the box. The carriage stopped. We r were on the road that runs along the l, Potomac on the District of Columbia side, and the river seemed in the I twilight like a sword of silver hung in the dark nothingness around, for the' moon shone through a cloud rift on the i rier. Ludovic's crusty accents brke the I silence. "Faith, Mr. Atkinson, you're not thinking of giving the gentleman one of Parkin's punches made with American whiskey. The Irish gentleman's not C used to it, and you'll only be demeaning! vourself and me by offering him the Iih" Ludovic's face could not be seen in the darkness, but his voice was un compromising. "Lord Bentman, that owned the Lakes of Killarney, said to; me at our last parting, 'Me faithful i man,' said he, whatever ye do in Amen ca, never put hot wather in their whis- j key.' And Parkins' isn't a fit pliace for the Ikes of Mr. Fitzpatrick, whatever , you may think. sir, that hasn't the ad- a v'antag-csire, 'tis not your fault, sir of knowing the real stutT. Mauiv's the time I 'v stopped at Parkins' against me V will, and I wouldn't have Lord Dentman 1 know for'the world that I habitually v. frequented a tavern where American whiskey was made into hot punch. If yel wait I'll brew a bowl with me own t hands. of the real stu, when we get I honic. "Ill right," said Mr. Atkinson, meek- d ly Ludovic disappeared, and the car- o rage moved on at a rattling pace. "Ludovic is queer sometimes." "very, I said. "But he's taken a fancy to you. It would drive Mrs. Atkinson mad-actual-h ly mad-to have him leave, no0w that we're expecting Sir Boyle Roche." "Who's Sir Boyle Roehe?" "Oh, a young Irish baronet, whose rents have been pre-empted by the home rulers; and lhe's over here. Ciara met him in town, and he and she rather like1 - each other. Mrs. Atkinson's set on theI Fmatch. No, no, please doni't smoke; Ludovic doesn't like it; it scents the cushions." What next? I thought. II. is C (larissa and Jennie looked very pretty 1 at dinner under the pink glow of the candle shades. Their white gowns, just C touched with aglow that bon silence roses I gives, ritted them to perfection. I took 1 Mrs. Atkinson, bustling in red satin, into t the dining room. There was no other guest. Sir Boyle Roche was no't to come for a week, and the Marquis do Creve Comnmont of the French Legation had a previous engagement. Ludovie in livery performed his duties solemnly and man aged the other servants with extreme "'Ehev will gobble theiaz food," he whis pered behind my chair. "There's no Iteaching' them not to do that. The old I man's a regular race horse for bolting his victuals. Clairissa has improved. She was simple and ui'ned. But Jennic has become in sufferabl. Counts and countesses, lords and ladies, floated backward and forward between her mother and her. The conver sation had such an excessively aristocratic tiavor that Mr. Atkinson's reminiscence, anropos of the puca ut the way his fiather started in the j . Dusiness,had the etleet of a chill, which Mrs. Atkinson par- I: tially removed by asking for the prairie Ichickens which "Captain Cavendish, her Majesty's guards, traveling in the States," had sent. I 'They.u werc spoiled. zma'ai," said Lu dovic, "hortly. No more was said, although Mr. Atkin son openied his mouth as if to exprcss in Whena Ludovie had left the room Mrs. Akins"n looked severely toward her lord. "Yo? u must not 'aggravate Ludovic 5 by contraidicting him. 1le almost gave x waring yesterday when Clais sa asked ( him t~o bring in the tennis net. A but1l nev er does that.' "Tvye never been uised to bu'lers,"said Claissa. la.ughing, "so I don't know. But it seems to me that Ludov ic is more. the m'aster of this house tha papa is. "Hush" whispered Mrs.t iinson, as th h'aughtv meniel cntee. "We pa htim an awful price,' she whisp)ered to Ie. Hes always th reaiteni to leavei *nd go back. I'd let him go if 1 could give at dinner without him," umrmniuredL the poor woman, looking really wor red. Thnat niight Ludovie knocked at my door. He carried a silver chating dish: ad abottle of claret, lie set itdown on my tibhi and revena two nrairie chick-Ih enis I'ine to a tuirn. ure, he whisper ed chuckling, "I kept4 t'Se fryu, and the ret I seIZt'own to' '1i Sici citild. TiLy."with adownlard sweL.'p) )( his hand, "w1ud not 1 ppreciat themi. .Befo'e I uold spcak he left. Thi was embarrassm". I felt. io-wever. that the true:4 returi I could iadmke for Mrs. Atkinson's hospitality would be to enti the gane and keep Ludovie in a good Clarissa was vcry gent she showed me the grounds and tudked z, great deal of Sir Bovle 1 oebe. Once or twice she called himl Edward. Thin she colored and! was ouet. She 'eldom wike0f hin exeout when we' wer sl''. 1 aked if he were related i.) the famous Sir B(oyie. She langhed and said no. This was to be his -irst visit to WentwortI lanor Called so after Lord Wentworth Baron Atkinson,one of their recently discovered ancestors of the family. I liked her more and more. She seemed hapi, yet worried, sometimes. "Oh. dea-,- she said one evening, as she sat in a low' chair. her slight figure surrounded by puils of tulle and satin; "how I hate all this:" The Atkinsons were havin..' a "big dinner," as Atkinson pere called it. "How I hac the futl ss and Ehe etiquette and the pretension of it all! Whv should we live saClI sham life ? Dh,'I like good manners and nice things. but not this strain of pretending what we ire not. Look at Jennie. With her En ish slang and determination to marry a itle. Oh, I know vou'l say-I know Four compliments by heart, MIr. Fitzpat ick-that nothing is too good for an nierican girl; but some things are too >ad, and one of them is to marry a title >ecause one is rich." "And the baronet ?" I said witi a bow. "'Oh." a mischievous light came into ier eycs, and she paused. then she augh ed. --I'll be honest with you. ie's not a )aronct. He's plain Edward Boyle. dIry oods, Syracuse, N. Y. Papa knows to >ut be was afraid to invite anybody here )ut you without a title. When we're narried we'll break the truth to her gent v. Of course mamia won't let papa ,ive us much; we'l not be rich, but we'll )e honest and be ourselves. "Sir Boyle Ioche!" cried the footman. A tall, slight red mustached young man a an evening suit entered. 1 glanced at is face and met his eye. It was a shrewd >nt pleasnt face, with bright, good aumored eyes and abroad forehead. He aokcd lake somebody. Who could it >eAt least he had a nice look, and I aentally congratulated Claris*sa, in spit' I her deceit. The dinner was magniflcent. I took ennio in, Sir Boyle leading with Mrs. Ltkinson. a rather rickety count from ome South American legat1on took Clar ;sa. I grew weary of Jeunie's English ccent, until Ludovie entered with the ine cooler. He smiled inl his usual aughty way. When his eye fell on Sir oyle his face changed. "MIother of Mloses! lie whispered, ropping the aparatus he brought in with crash. Sir Boyle looked up from his piate. "Larry. as I live! he exclaned. "And then did you come over " Hf, forgot tiquette, jumped up and seize i Ludo ic's hand. Ludovic's eyes titled with :Mrs. "Uch, Eddie, ma bouchal: it's little I iought to find you again. Sun., when went away from the old eal hin vou Were bit of a bor. And so the mother's cad! I heard that, though I lost track f you all entirely. And me dear little rother Eddie's come back to m-thank rod!-the only one of me blood I have a the world!" It was an odd scene. "Sir Boyle,"' in is evening suit, with a Jaqueminot rose a his buttonhole, embracing the man in very; Clarissa, pale and trembling; Jen ie amazed, and Mrs. Atkinson, standing 2 the attitude of a MIedia about to tur er her children. Nobody spoke. 3Mr. tinson glped down a glass of chamn agine. "Sir Boyle,"' his eyes moist, turned to fr. Atkinson. "This is my only brother. MIr. Atkin on. Owing to circumstances very com ion in Ireland, he left us when I was a mall bor. I caine here and made the' est of thie chances in your contry-' "I hear you've been making sheep's yes at MIiss Clara there," interrupted 2ndovic. "Well, take him, MIiss Clara,' .e added, leading the young man up to hat young lady, with a sweeping. pa ernal gesture. "She's the best of 'em," te continued, addressing me in a loud isper, "but," with a sigh, 'I wish the ey had looked higher up in society." Both 3Mrs. Atkinson and Ludovic look n the marriage as a shocking mistake. 'We must get out of this country. A ice condition of republican simplicity vhen one's butler's brother can marry ine's daughter," she said to Hon. George V. Spriggs, once known as the "chama >on bartender of Oskosh." He agreed: hat it was dreadful. Ludovic passed nto another family when he resumed tis own name, "arrny." The last I heard of the Atkinsons was he report that MIr. Atkinson had bought .castle in Italv with an estate of five ~cres, which carried with it the title of he Count of Spaghetti de MIonte llosa. Still, I fancy that the new Countess of spaghectti dle MIonte Ilosa is still uin lippy because she is rich. I know that he count is happier because of the loss >f his butler. -The first daiy paper appoeared in London in 170. i'The custom of aen Uous and seurrilous pamphu~~t5~s iriveni out, and, as discussion was free, ournalismn gradually attracted the abiest :rters and its po wer begant to cry'stalize .to n reality. The penny papers oif toJ lay, which enjoy- enornmous1 circulatia n large cities, are not innovationjs beu dimply repetitions of thle Atheian Ga - sette, which began MIarch 17,if' 1@. Di msi5Sons o'f various top~ics formedc tint natter tharown to the piublic in thiose :imes0, and such questions as "her vas the soul of Lazarus for the four u av ae lay ini his grave?" "Whait became ~o .he waters after the thood? y" "Whre d'i. xtinguishcd tire go'" and --Whecthercid awful for a man to beat his wife," were :aken up and treated with ridiculous se 'iousness. -The tallest boy in Lanca'ser,-P..i Gleorge Kersey, son of Dr. Kersey. I' i 1:; years old and seven feet high. &i 'sstill growing.i i. ~ 9 1 J.Is4 It 31t:~ --L.~iiELF N~ -A FENERl. ilk Hemtarkabe rt'arcer ont Ote Ttiri aid Ito Trar 4-: u -soae s& i- 3lo-t Netewortlty :tnewit oherl'ontsofinterest. LONDoN, November .-Fred Archer. the celebrated jockey, is dead. His death was the result of a pistol shot wound inflicted by himself hile in a delirium resulting from fever. It is reported that he was ill with typhoid fever. The first symptoms of the disease appeared on Thursday, after he had been present at the Lewes races. When it btca:. .iient that his illness was likely to be scions, he was taken to his sister's house at Newmarket. He rapid ly grew worse, and had been in a raging fever SInce yesterday morning. He was left ah.e for a few minutes, and his at tendant. soon after leaving the sick room, he:ard two pistol shots. He hurried back :-t!l iound Archer dying, having shot i :elf with a revolver. rere t James Archer has for the past ti enayears been not only the best I known 'tt the most successful of Eng lish jockoy.s, and his record during the a seasou just elosing has been as success ful as tihose of the past dozen years, during all of which lie stood at the head t or the i -f winning jockeys. Since c the d ' o Tomi French in 1S72, he has been Lor1d almouth's chief jockey, and that gentleman had the first claim upon hs services. After him, in the order i muned, his time was claimed by contract C hv Lord Hastings, the Duke of West- b iinster, Matthew Dawson, of Newemarket -his father-in-law-and the Prince of i 0 Wal es, all of whom paid him handsome M retainers. Fred Archer was ab out 5 feet ! , inches in height, of slim, wiry build, and rode at from 115 to 120 pounds, keeping himself at that weight by the use of Turkish baths during the racing b season. Archer was a native of Presbury, near Cheltenbam, and the son of William Archer, a famous cross-country rider, who in 1850 won a national reputation by N' inning the Liverpool Grand Nation- F al Steeples chase on Little Charley, 147 pounds up. Young Archer, who vas born t on January 11, 185, seemed to have been born a joekey, for when but the merest child he was at home only on the back of a donaey or pony. le was known as a bold and good rider over theh Glocieester stone wall with the C.tswcod hiotouds, and his childish treble was more t frequently heard crying out that he "was in at the death" than among the t crowd that was at the end of the hunt. His first winning mount was made when he was but 1H years old, when lit won a steeplechase at Bangor on the famous .onv Maid of Kent. He was apprenticed - to ~DItthew Dawson, of Newmarket, wh ii e2 vars of age, and on Septembu ,V- ', whnen 11 years old, he won the us Ha- ':ndieap at Chesterfield, on Athol I s. In 1IS2, riding at 77 poui., lie won the Cesarewitch stakes , on Mir. ltadcliis Salvonas, a vietory , whieh was his real stepping stone to his fame as a jockev and the fortune of over cx 5t0 0) which he leaves behind him. i pt Soon after this he succeeded Tom'si< French as Lord Falmouth's chief jockey tb and it was in the employ of this noble!, b( patron of the English turf that he won i cl some of his most famous victories. In d 1874 he headed the list of winning G, jockeys and has done so ever since, his iin closest competitor for this honor- during I T the past nyve season, as he is this year, th being Charlie Wood. It was during the cil year 17-4 that he won the Lincolnshire re Handicap with Tomahawk; was seconded v in the Cesarewitch with the Truth geld- F. ing; the Two Shousand Guineas on At- v lantic; finished third on the sanme horse h in the Derby, riding 122 pounds, al- to though his bodily weight was but 85 dl pounds. He also won in that year the a Woodcote stakes for two year olds with "' Ladylove, the Great Chesire stakes with he Anred, the Steward's Cup at Coodwood th with 3Iodeno, the Clearweli Stakes at c Newmarket with the. repentance colt, p and a host of handicaps, purses and stake w races. His riding as well as his win- fo nings in that year earned for him the fo nickname of "The D)emon Jockey" and or "The Tinman," the latter because he always rode for "the tin." ca Patience, vigilance and courage wereR his characteristics, and to these were duet his wonderful success. He was always re ready, and nearly always first at the fr starting post, so as to secure the best ti place. He obeyed the starter implicity H and so profited in many of the starts,jpl and, as his eye was always kept on the di starter's nag, he was n ever left at the d( post and rarely got a bad s!art. He al ways studied is horses carefully, and, i by knowing their faults and goodpointsti, got everytning possible out of them. i So great was his average of winning, i and so thorou;.;ly honest was he thats "Archer's monts'' were always heavily g baked after the opening of his wonder- al 'i fully successful career. .g Archer was wonderfully successful i winning what arc knowvn as the classc ti races in English racing circles, and won these evenits oftener than any jicekey that ever lived. The Cambridgeshire is thi the onlyv one of1 them lie never '-on. In w.e thins rac~e, run on the 28th of last month, k< he was second to Sailor Prince by a b] head, his mount being St. 31iron, and A: he was seond last year on Bendigo. Hie won the Derby 1 i177 wth Lord F'a- as mouths Silvwo, in MMI with the D~uke of th \\'est:inster's Bend Ur, in Jis wvith hi )ierre l.orilard's 1r.otinois5. in T S5 with t b Lor ei1ast-ing's 3Melton, and his yar a with~ th u. ke of' Westmnsu'ter's Or f monde Theii two thousand Uniancash i won fo Lrd F'almiouthin Pt 74 with t Atlantie o'"gain Ii :79 with Charibuert, and I he w.on it with Roderick Cloete's 1 ra- \ dox, aud tis year with that wonderful hor-e O)rnonde. For Lord Fa lmonth w hei alsOo the one tho~usand G'uaineas o in1 ':-wth Spinway, :'nd in 15T7) with w \\he [fFrtun-. Wiith these samie horises~ he also won t'e C aks in the s..me 0 v.-r. as lie did wAi Jani~nette ini >is tr ..e won (heCit and Subourban in 1i8' b Gn~ac. in 1 'i .lr. Lorillar's b ..d in i-'-- will lUemi (Or. The S.s bege e won in iS. * with Silvio, 1-78 ac with J1annate, in is w 'ith 3Mr. Loril- eC i.d's Ir....., in >ss- with Lord ?'d- A~ nouth's Duteh Oven a fort. to onc Ihanec and one of the most sensational races on record; in -a itl Lr1d liastings' Melton, and tliis year with Dlrmonde. The champion stakgS were aken by him in 3.978 with Jannette. in L881l with Bend Or, in Tss. wit Tristan, n a walkover after a dead he with [hebias, and in 185 with Paradox. The 11iddle Park plate was won by him in hree successive years, beginning in iss . Busybody. Meiton. and Vinting being :he winning horses. He took the Dew mrst plate on Wheel of Fortune, 3:al 3al and Dutch Oven. and won the .zarewitch for the second time in 1 u Roseberry. Ile twice. won the French Derbv. in 1880) with -if. Lefevre'; eau nont, and again in 18:,1 with tw Duke le Castree's Frontin. In !i*s2 he won he grand prize of Par-s with Mr. H. Ihmill's Bruce. Bis record of winning luring the past six years is as follows: 8o, 12 w .1,8, 219; 1S2, 210; 8K3, 232; i.. 241; 185, _46. He Cads the lisr-t year also. Mr. Archer de for Mr. Lorillard rhenever that gntleman could secure is services, and with Poole lie won the ity and Suburban, the Grcat Metro otan and the Great Cheshire stakcs in 876. With Iroquois he wo: the Derby, rnce of Wales st.-aes and the St. ames Palace stakes at Ascot, and the )oncaster St. Ledger. The "Demon Jockev' made a reiark ble record duIng last month, winning ae Maiden Plate of 1lt) guineas at New iarket for the Prince of Wales with his vo year old Li~ly Peggy, a ten to one [lance. He ,-a the Free Handicap weepstakes a;t. the same meeting with rmonde, and had a walkover with him a the 29th, his last race of the season, i a private sweepstakes of 1,0,0 sover- I gns each, M3elton and the Bend both eing withdrawn. In the first three days the meeting Archer had 14 mounts, inning five races and bei:g second iree times. The week previous to this eeting he had ridden for the first time a the Irish course at Curragh. winning ie Lord Lieutenant's cup for Lord ondonderry on Cambusmere on Octo Archer was married in February, 1S8, the niece of his old trainer, 31atthew awson, Miss Nellie Rose Dawson. The edding occurred at Newmarket, where reher owned a famous hostelry, the almouth House. The wedding was tended by many of the nobility, and e presents to the young couple were as great value as those ordinarily ven to a Prince. Mrs. Archer died in ovember, 15-4, while giving birth to a Lughter. Archer grieved greatly over r death, and came to' this country; lending three months here and making e trip aeross tile continent. He had; ver recovered from the grief caused by e death of his wife, and renianedt on e turf only because lie hoped by this cans to partially-forget his loss. He is not only the richest jockey in Eng ad, but the most popular one. and had den more horses, young as he was, an any jockey living at the time of his ath. -rv (Ucurar' to be i~abior ('andjidare iorL the The widespread intere.st in the ilenry orge movement and the large vote led for hiim emphasizes the iipres )m created within the last few weeks at a new and important -element must taken into account in considering the ances of the old parties in the Presi ntial struggle sf 1888. Suppose that orge should then poll the same votes New York city that lie polled recently. wt he will be the Labor candidate for e Presidency two years hence was de led weeks ago, when it became appa t that he was to get something of a te. His right hand manager, MIr. Louis: Post, said three days ago that enough tes were assured and1 enough interest d been awakened in Gieorge's canvass warrant making him the Labor candi te against Cleveland and lane, and it is a settled fact that lie would run. He shall draw votes froma both parties, :said, "and enoagh of them to hold e balance of power and to grive us re gnition as a party and as a force in litics." So, then, suppose Lhe men 1o voted in New York city~,~ yesterday r Henry George should v~ote for hai r President, what would be the etfect Snational polities? It is conceded that the George votes me more from Democrats than from: publicans, yet it is difficult to estimate e p)roportion from the figures, for thme ison that many Republicans who were ghtened by the apparent strength of e George movement voted outright for witt, the Democratic candidate, on the: inciple that he was the strongest can date. They desired above all things to feat George. It is conceded that the spubicans would be the chief gainers a national contest in which George is~ e Labor candidate, and they have been high glee since George's strength has ereased. They say that Blaine would: rely carry New York were Gecorge to t 1000() votes in leSSin New York~ cit y ne, and they hail the situation with at joy as an offset to the damuag reatened to their party by the prohibi >nists. -The great secret of keepiug apples rough the winter ii. to store them in a dl ventilated room or cellar that is pt ais near the freezing point as pos i e without actually freezing the appl. ples and potatoes should nieve beU pt in the sam'e cllar, or. If thi is n oidale th'e potatoes should be wex* u e warmest part of the ceellar and the .rrel of al 'es whell adaed pu e widows, where. on dhays wh-en thi :- ut eni nl a few dIre.- b eing, they can be treatedtoacl eee 1ro the open~ winIdows w hIea e same time, the atmosphiere iu t1 rt of thec cellair where th potatoesa pt does not fall blow fQ\orty degris *ith a thermometer in the cela it ::t ite possiiale to eoot oir the aira thout injuring~ the potatoes. D, p ihead barrels- unmtil the. apldes ;.re uited. It is rael 1a goo ian tol LO -er the apples;l toc icot th.oe es. Uetter le t themII reain' uudi: mie acid, whih ca emu'.t be allovud cumulte in the house ellar, bt n remnoved by ventilation. This dla rious gas, carbilc acid, aids in rvng the~ fruit, and it is one of.n [vanages of an outside euiar that this n be allowedi tis renmin. -Amuerie ricntnrist t~t hon. and the~ II'r il- rNa d. rvuuas met at tle residence off Jaus Low th. 42 West Congress street, To wit ne: me of the very curious and !iaesing ~ features of his iew system ofI tmnission, by contact with the body ofe "pfaker. through a solid niediun insted of through atmospherie im pulse-, as prcticl in all diaphragm in- i '*' e.' lu the new system the in- E strumen3t-lt is actuateud by ph.-eing a button i projecting froi it against the side of the throat, the operator speaks, and the t vibrations that occur in the exterior sur- II fce of tie throat during the utterance t of the words are conducted by the but ton and its stem to the electrodes, and t they being disturbed, in accordance with I the vibrations that form the muscular . wLord, so to speak, transmit a perfectly t articulated word. Conversation is car- I ried on with facility through combined I instruments, the tone is much louder C and fuller than found in any of the t diaphragm class, and its timbre is of a smoother and more solid character. d One of its peculiar and very important t qualities is that it is independent of all'b accidental sounds or disturbances which a so often interfere with the good surface a of the instruments of the telephone sys- I tem; the speaker may be surrounded by any number of people talking loudly, t and only his voice will be transmitted. i The loudness and clearness with which ' speech is transmitted with these instru.- I ments is wonderful. During the ex- 0 hibition of this curious new princi- h ple the inventor applied the button 0 to the top of his head and trans-i 0 mitted speech in a perfectly clear voice, i n only not as loud as in the usual way of 10: hol'ding; also to the back of the neck, d various parts of the chest and other, parts of the body, all in a good, clear 31 tone, every word N% ell defined and in- h telligible. A test was made with a ten- tc pound weight of lead, and through this, l as in all u:hor eases, the transmission ti was perfect. t, The inventor has a line at his house in T operation having a t wo-mile resistance. He has taken out American and foreign patents covering this new art. o tc ,%hern4er for Stock v%. Food. W (xv. I.. Jo:es in ..n. Constituto:i.) W. All are familiar with the expression "animal heat." The epithet "animal," t is applied to heat, would seem to convey the idea that it was a peculiar kind of eat. dif'ering from other kinds of heat. But this is not the case. So far as tests au be brought to bear upon it, it exhib 0~ fo its the same propertics and produces the fc saie eflects as the heat produced outside of animal bodies, by the burning of wood, coal, gas, etc., etc. As ordinary [eat comes from combustion, or the a burning of something, the inference would appear natural that animal heat dso is produced from combustion or the af burning of something. And tis has been shown to be strictly true. The life f 1ad health of animals require that the o. tempeature of their bodies should be S ipproximately 100 degrees of Fahren- I Iet's scale. Dut as the air around theui sn th s uully nuch cooler than that, they ave to generate heat in themselves, have Pe tfurniac of their own, so to speak, hich envelopes them. No w, at is it that is buriied in an m iial's body to keep its temperature up w< o the natural standard? Thile answer is us ood especially certain kinds of food. Is a ood anything like wood? Has it asimi- in ar compositon? Can it be burned like w voody~ Every one knows that certain ti sids of food, as fats and oils, burn very it, :eadilv; tallow. hard, lard oil, cotton seed ne il and so on, for instance. F~ats and th >ils, it will be observed, are not contined sil o meals or animal food, but are found ra ai seeds and other parts of plants as well. w] fle grain of corn and oats contain some th lye per cent. of fat, barley about two, W otton seed about thirty, ground peas gr sheiled; forty-sis, wheat about two, be lover hay three, timothy two, etc.; prob- cc ibly no substance eaten by animals is of levoid of fat. But other substances th ound largely in food, such as starch, th sugar and gum. are composed of the W inme three elements that fat is, and are gl' suseptie of being burned in an ani- A nal's body. The burning is not as rapid Sc ts in a stove, but the conditions and re- afl luirements are similar. The fire in ala tove must have air; the animal must by 1raw air also into its lungs and from its ev ungs into its blood, at very short inter- nlo als. The stove sends out carbonic acid W< rom the end of its pipe; the animal to rows out carbonic acid at every expira on. The coal or wood in the stove urns up and must be replenished at hort intervals; the animnal's supply of at, starch, sugar and gum is also soon ised up, and must be supplied two or t hree thnes every day. gi Now, the anmount of heat that an ani- ~ nal :nust generate to heel) up its naturala emperature depends upon the amount of t ~okt to wich it is exposed. Thie colder t he weather ithe more food must be burnt. n a stove to kizy a room warm; the hi ~reat er the exposure to cold the greater ~ ne aunut oli food the animal must con ,nie to keelp warm. It beconmes, then, a >ractical question, to a certain extent, as re o the compiarative cost of shelters to rotect from cold and of food to be urned to produce heat. is it cheaper to C rotect from cold rains and cold winds, ~ md thus economize the heat of animals, ra r is it ehecaper to expose them fully to he weatheri and supply more foo)d to n:.unorincreased loss of hreat's L When it is cnsideredl how cheaply roof.a eay be made of piani and I salls of L e,..m w-.uwithm jiue brush leamuea to al nte o:' thre nourth audl we.st sides: ud-, o e nneo iuestate log in an 'I ~x iT:: r ny. -i . i. 11.l th I ir' :h' n -md now unthe tix - I- *nn :. rar: :i n m hu t . mt O WOlEN I. TlHE WAR. lion* Tlhev Met Their Trial and Dicultes In Timen of Advermity. Southern women are always interested n any incidents connected with the late var; they are proud of every sacrifice hey were ever called upon to make, and vould willingly have borne ten times nore had it been necessary. The Phila lelphia Times has two exceedingly pleas Int correspondents, both Southern wo nen, and both portray vividly many cenes and incidents tamiliar to our -eaders. One, a lady who was teaching chool in Alabama, tells of the originali y of our women when necessity was the aw; it brings back the old times and old imes and old scenes; she speaks among >ther things of the substitutes used for ea and coffee, and says: "I was perhaps aost difficult of all to find a good sub titute for coffee, which was twenty-five o thirty dollars per pound, and very few Lad it or could get it atthatprice. Sme >lanted large patches of okra, the seed f which when parched was often mis aken for pure coffee. Yam potatoes, celed, sliced thin, cut in small bits, ried perfectly and then browned, were bought by some to be better than rowned okra seeds. Browned wheat ad burnt corn made a passable bever ge. For tea raspberry leaves did very icely. Many planted the raspberry ine all around the garden fence, so as ) gather 'tea' when wanted." Then she oes on to tell how we managed in ie ard to light: "As neither candles nor erosene oil could be had we fell back a moulding candles, which had long dn obsolete. In lieu of kerosene, the i of cotton seed, groundpea oil and the i of compressed lard served well the eed of the times. When there was no il for the lamps or tallow for the can les, which at times befell, mother wit ould suggest some expedient. I re ember one evening at a neighbor's :use being pleasingly diverted on en ring the dining room at the improvised mp for the evening. It was simply Le round 'globes' of the 'sweet gum' ee, placed in a shallow vessel of oil. he globes, becoming thoroughly satu ted with the oil, gave a fairy-like light, autiful to behold." Next she speaks the ingenuity we exercised in regard our fancy articles, and how proud we ere of our homespun dresses; she says: We soon learned to make fans of the ing feathers of the geese. When the athers were mature we would pluck em, being very careful in plucking to ring the feathers one by one as they are taken out. All the right wig athers were placed on one string and .e left wing feathers on another string, that when we arranged the feathers r making the fan each feather could placed in its proper place and would 6ve the fitting curve. We soon be me quite skilled in the art of making as. Besides these for home use we ade and sold in the city of Eufaula any fans for as much as $10 and $15 dece. I made one for my mother of e dark olive green feathers of the pea wl. The handle I covered with apiece dark green silk velvet. On either le where I had joined the handle and ithers I placed a rosette made of the iall green and blue variegated feathers at adorn the neck and breast of the afowl. FOUR HOME-MADE DRESSES. We had all joined hands in the task of iking the slaves' winter suits and after had them finished Mrs. G. promised each a homespun dress. We set out the task of making these last and few weeks had our dresses ready to !ar. We had to begin at the founda n and had hard work getting through but we succeeded splendidly. A ighbor made herself an elegant dress, e material being an old, worn, black k dress and lint cotton. The silk was veled up, then mixed with the fine iite cotton and carded all together till oroughily blended. When spun and >ven it formed a beautiful texture of ay, soft and silkish to the touch. The st of the worn silk was put by for rding and covering the buttors made pasteboard, and otherwise trimming e dress. We soon found use for all e worn merinos, cassimeres and silks. hen raveled up, corded and spun >ves and capes were kn# of them." dso on through a long list of how uthern people manged domestic *airs. The other writer, a Virginia ly, brightens up the dark days of '61 amusing incidents, showing that ery cloud has its silver lining. And t only that, but that our Southern men were brave, cheerful and willing endure, even unto the bitter end. Ile shot a Centpede off Ill Toe. A company of immigrants hadcamped New Mexico, and one night one of~ a party, who was sleeping on the ound, was awakened by a peculiar sen lion on his toes. He looked and saw enormous centipede crawling across foot. Only a few feet from him was e camp fire, and he could see every er of the reptile. Knowing its pecu rities and the effcct of its sting, ho as in a fever of excitement, Afraid to ve a muscle, he dared not attempt to ak~e it off. After a second's pause he sched under his head, got his pistol, d, taking deliberate aim, fired. ft was life-saving shot for the man. The aipede divided and dropped on each le of his foot. But here comes the st remarkable part of the story. ithin an hour after the shot was fired men heard a terrible groaning from e of their mules tied only a few yards -ay. They went to them and found e of them with his left foreleg swollen an immense size. The swelling in :asied. as did the agony and groans of brute, until it died in about thirty nutes thereafiter. An examination was ide, and~ it was discovered~ that the flet that had severed the centipede d eutered ;he mule's foot just above hoof and iuoculated it with the ison from the reptile.-Tombstone itaphi. N r1 Trenon.Z Edge11id. 31>nlday. 31. I~ 'a .I 14 Jhis barnIZ. gale and smoke n :Lpartanburg 1'untyV i:L4 weeck, 3Ir. rey; lt tw'! gic.f four bales of cotton, lsand seed by- nee, and wssvrl rat himiself. ~ ssvrl Wec have a pet partridge at hom'te which la ws a heni andt her chickeu~s about. the rdl and' near the branchi.-Abboecille Xe-. (I//.