Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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Governor John R. Roberts, of Wash ington, in a recent address in Tacoma, summed up what he termed his faith thus: “Life is a struggle; a school; a test of fitness. No struggle, no school* no school, no fitness; no fitness, no future.” The amount spent annually on the roads of the country equal three per cent, on twenty-six million dollars. Were twenty-six millions actually in vested in good roads, we would have the finest highways in the world for the same annual cost, and be making money out of them besides. The Savannah news says: “Great advertisers live in the history of the city and prosperity of their firms long after they themselves have “shuffled off this mortal coil;” their announce ments in the newspapers continue to bear fruit after the advertisers are dead. On the other hand, the non advertising business man is dead to the community long before he loaves this life; and his business is more than apt to die with him. BIDE YOUR TIMtu TThen fortune treats you slightingly And everything goes wrong. Remember that you still are free To labor and bo strong. To him who bravely does bis part f Misfortune Is no crime; Just hold your grip and keep np heart And learn to bide your time. The surest road to greatness lies Through hard and patient work. The glorious name that never dies Comes not unto the shirk. Fame sits upon an eminence, A pinnacle sublime; Be who would win must seek her thence, Btrive on and bide his time. The man of hope and energy, Who keeps one goal In sight, k* 9 w *y with constancy. Will some time win the fight. The man whose life a glory lends To every age and clime, { Is he whose purpose never bends. Who works and bides his time. Oo onward. O'er the future’s hills The da#tXalls cool and sweet. Oo onward. He can win who wills And bows not to defeat. Oo onward, though your path may lie Through calumny and slime. The way will brighten by and by: Qo on and bide your time. “* And when the fight at last is o’er. The toll at last Is done; When standing on life’s farther shore, Beneath her setting sun; Beyond the future’s unbarred gate, The bells of heaven chime; And justice, love and glory wait For him who bides his time. —J. A. Edgerton, in Atlanta Constitution. The books of the United States Mint in Denver show that the deposits of gold for the last year were the largest over received. The total will elightly exceed $12,200,000, and conservative estimate made by the Mint officials places the entire outpnt of Colorado at $22,000,000, in round figures. Colorado will go far ahead of California, as it is said to be doubt ful if California’s output will touch the $18,000,000 mark. Last year Colorado’s output was $16,500,000 and that of California was $17,000,000 while the total production of the country was $61,717,925. AIT ABIGAIL TBIS FINANCIER. Dy ANNA F»IERF»ONT SIVITEU. 1 The Washington Star remarks: No portion of the Western Hemisphere is open to the despoiler as China is. All portions are reasonably safe from such assaults. There are rich countries in Central and South America indif ferently officered at times, and which in certain oiroumstances would be ex ceedingly tempting to tho buccaneer ing spirit of Europe. They have their rackets, among themselves, and gov ernment there might be more secure, to the local advantage. Frequent shifts are made, and now this loader is np and then that. But rapid and violent as tho changes may be, no fine old land grabber with a crown on his head over reaches his long arm from across the sea and tries to profit by dissention. And why? The Monroe doctrine forbids. ARGUE RITE Creel was just the loveliest, sweetest debutante'of the sea son, aud before the end of it she proved the most fortunate, _ for she carried o% Charlie Van Essen, who was conced ed the prize of the year. Marguerite had done this, too, without having a single entanglement with auy of the many entangling but undesirable young men who haunt the fairy foot steps of all debutantes. Mr. and Mrs. Van Essen were “at This year will have among its note worthy anniversaries the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of tho death of Isaac Watts. It will be chiefly as a writer of hymns that he will he hon ored by affectionate remembrance. Of his hymns, says the Youth’s Com panion, the Christian world has chosen a few as pre-eminent. If he had written only the hymn beginning: “O, God, our help in ages past,” his name would have a sure place in the roll of makers of verse worthy and destined to live. A great hymn levels denominational barriers. While men are talking of Christian unity, or dreaming of it, the hymn, in its sphere of influence, if only for the moment when hoard or sung, makes believers one. He who has strengthened and inspired generations, refreshing tho saints and moving those who make no pretensions to saintliness, may well be remembered. The London Graphic declares that the sale of co coa has increased in the British Isles enormously in the last five years, and thinks it may possibly supplant tea. Tea certainly Las a high value as a stimulant when some strenuous immediate task must be done. Lord Wolseley recommends it for soldiers on the march, and moun tain-climbers claim that it is their mainstay; but, all* the same, pro tracted use of it plays the mischief with the digestion of most persons and highly injurioua to the nerves of many. Coooa is sustaining and diges. title, and has no objectionable effects. It would be a public boom if some houses on favorite bicycle routes would aet up something akin to the old- fashioned chocolate-houses; for the autumn is bfinging out the fact that bicycle-riders have too often drunk of contaminated wells and are paying the penalty in typhoid. Cocoa, having been boiled, would not contain deadly microbes. home” to their friends on Mondays, in a charming house, furnished with ex quisite taste. Although Mrs. Vau Essen knew little of housekeeping, her housekeeper and butler knew au amazing amount, and so her house hold affairs ran much more smoothly and comfortably than did those of her more knowing neighbors, for in house keeping, as well as in many other mat ters, it is not what one knows, but what one does not kuow which makes life worth living. Into this Elysium came one day Miss Abigail Van Essen, with a small trunk, a judicial air, a hundred thou sand dollars, and sixty years to her credit. Mr. Vau Essen had prepared his wife for the coming of his aunt. “You will love her, I know, Rose bud,” he said. “She was always aw fully good to mo when I spent my va cations with her. She is rather—ah, rather—well, rather close about mon ey matters, aud you may think some of her financial arrangements a little peculiar; but try not to mind them, for my sake, love, and you will get on, I’m sure.” And he kissed the pretty, wistful faced turned up to him, and vowed to himself Aunt Abigail, who was a dear old girl in spite of, her peculiarities, would love his flower before she knew it. And Aunt Abigail did. One might fancy there could be no sympathy between a song bird aud a very domestic hen, but after all there is. A choice morsel is of 8qual inter est to each, and neither wants to be caught by a hawk. Everyone knows a oommon love or a common hatred is a bond between women, and as these women both thought Mr. Van Essen the oue man of the universe and all other men shadows, they got on very well indeed. Mrs. Van Essen had never looked very sharply after the money matters of her household. Her husband gave her a monthly allowance, and when her bills ran over it he paid the difference. She used to wonder what she would do if they came within the allowance, but as such a thing had never been known the question did not interest her greatly. In a journal devoted to women she once read a story of a wife who saved her every spare dime and dollar for fifteen years, and then, when her hus band failed in business, delighted and amazed him by producing $20,000. The tale had made a deep impression upon Marguerite, and she thought a little of doing the same, but she could not help telling the story to Mr. Van Essen, and his comment on it had completely upset her faith forever af ter in the woman’s journal as a guide in financial affairs. He had cried, dis gustedly: “Great Cscsar! No wonder the man failed, with $20,000 dead capital in the house! Why, if she had given it to him to put in his business, or placed it at interest, they might have been millionaires!” Aunt Abigail soon thought she dis covered that Marguerite had as much idea of tho purchasing power of a dol lar when expended for groceries as the flower for which she was named Moreover, her distrust of the butler was only equaled by Marguerite’s confidence in him. “Why, I’ve never seen him give her any change yeti” thought the old lady indignantly. And she never had, for the butler kept a book in which all moneys rsceived and ex pended were carefully entered. “I’ll save her what money I can while I’m here, anyway,” the old lady thought. After that, “Let me go to market I’d so enjoy going out early in the morning!” became a frequent request; and Marguerite would obediently or der the carriage and market baskets at what seemed to her unholy hours of the day. As she did not want Aunt Abigail to be restricted in her buying, she usually gave her twice as much money as she would have given the butler. At first when Aunt Abigail re turned from market Marguerite ex pected change, but this was never re turned. "Of course it is only small amounts,” Marguerite worried, “and of course she might forget to return it sometimes; but I cau’t understand how she can always forget.” Before Miss Abigail had been at her nephew’s long she noticed Mar guerite’s careless way of handling as well as spending money. "Now,” she thought, one morning, “there is that roll of bills Charlie gave her for the hospital to-day. She just ran a pin 1 vrough them and stuck them to h< r cushion. Like as not that French naid will pick off a five- dollar bill, a id Marguerite will never miss it. 1 Believe I will pocket it my self and se<:.|’ big purse went tho eep company with the itiug store of market So into money, t* fast-aocumul funds. But Marg dollar bill, a actly where i erite did miss that five- moreover she knew ex- went. Song birds, per haps, may not look as wise as owls, jut surely their eyes are brighter, and oftentimes, when they are perched on a rosebush, pouring out their very hearts iu song, they are keeping a sharp lookout for their dinners, as many a flitting moth could testify. Marguerite very soon learned that it was not safe to leave money where 1 Miss Abigail could find it. She no ticed it was never taken from her purse or cash drawer, but a stray dime or a dollar never failed to van ish if it were left alone in Aunt Abi gail’s company. At first she was aghast at her discovery. “How can she?” she would sayover and over to herself. “Such a church- woman, too, aud so good to me! I love her in soHe of it.” It was hard to keep her discovery to herself, but she remembered the odd look Mr. Van Essen had given her when he had asked her to love his old aunty, a and overlook her pe culiarities in money matters for his sake. “Of course ho knows she’s a klep tomaniac,” Marguerite thought, “and was too generous and loving to say so. Well, lean be generous, too.” Then she comforted herself with the reflection that Aunt Abigail was going back to Vermont soon, and had made a will in Charlie’s favor. One dreadful thought haunted and worried her. “Suppose some day Auut Abigail takes something from some one else? What could I do?” No detective ever shadowed a suspect more vigilantly than Marguerite did Auut Abigail. “Come, Marguerite,” exclaimed Miss Abigail, the morning of the day she was to leave, “don’t keep Charlie standing there saying good-by hny longer! I am going to take you down to the jeweler’s and let you choose a diamond as bright as your eyes to help you remember your old aunty.” “Oh, how lovely,” cried the delight- Marguecite, while Mr. Van Essen ed „ _ added his %nthusiastio thanks, ex claiming, as he drew on his gloves: “But don’t, Aunt Abigail, pray don’t let her go into a glove store! I hap pened to look into her account book last night, aud find she has been buy ing unnumbered pairs of gloves. I actually beliqve half the moi^y I have given her for household expenses has gone for gloves this month.” Marguerite flushed, then laughed saucily: ‘ We’ll buy what we want, won’t we, auuty?” A little pang shot through her. “How I must watch the dear old thing!” *ae thought. “It would be too dreadful if she should—” But the thought was not formulated. It really was too dreadful. Once at the jeweler’s, it was hard work to watch Aunt Abigail as tray after tray of the glittering stones was placed before them, and she became more and ffiore absorbed in choosing a pin. Suddenly she noticed a puzzled look come into the face of the clerk who was waiting on them, and he began carefully counting the pins in the tray before him. It seemed for a moment as if her heart stopped beating, and she turned first scarlet and then dead ly white as she saw him shove the tray hastily into a case, aud calling another clerk, asked him to finish the sale. “Why, what’s the matter, dearie?” asked Miss Abigail. “Yon look as if yon had seen a ghost.” “Oh, auntie,” cried Marguerite, softly, under her breath, “some one has taken a pin! If they would only put it back quick before the other clerk gets here it might not be found out. Oh, auutie, I shall die! What shall we do? If they find the pin on anyone it will be an everlasting dis grace; and they will be sure to search us, auntie—they will be sure to search us!” The imploring violet eyes raised to Miss Abigail ought to have melted the heart of the stoniest criminal, but she only whispered back, while a sudden color flamed up in her own faded cheeks and her teeth shut hard: ‘T! guess they won’t find it on me, and I ain’t going to be searched neither.” “Oh, auntie, dear auntie,” begged a whispering voice, “do—do be quick!” “What does the child mean?” echoed the old lady, under her breath, while the clerk, seeing the evident fright aud worry in the faces before him, began regarding them with startled suspicion. “What ” But before she could go further Mr. Park, one of the proprietors, came forward, quietly saying: “Come this way, ladies, please!” The two followed him to his private office, and once there, the younger one raised a quivering face to his, saying: “May I speak with you a moment entirely alone, please? And will you telephone Mr. Charles Van Essen to come here at once?” “With pleasure,” was the polite re sponse. “James,” turning to a clerk, “telephone Mr. Van Essen. And now will you come here, Mrs. Van Essen?” The two disappeared before Miss Abigail’s bewildered eyes into an inner office. “For mercy's sake!” ejaculated that xorrified lady. “It can’t be! It , ust can’t be little Marguerite von d lake that pin!” Then the sound of a pleading voice came to her through the door, that lad not quite latched: “I am perfectly willing to pay for it if you only won’t prosecute!” “Goodness!” sighed the aghast istener. “Kleptomaniao—she tan’t help tak ing little things,” drifted' through the door. “Horrible! too horrible!” com mented Miss Abigail. “Only wait until Mr. Van Essen comes! He doesn’t know about it,” continued the voice' inside, “at least I’m not sure that he knows. ” “Don’t he!” cried the horrified but loving aunt, outside. “Then he never shall!” Without hesitation she opened the door and rushed in. “Here, Mr. Storekeeper!” she cried; “don’t say another word about that diamond. I’m perfectly willing to pay for it. Just make out your bill, and I’ll give you a check. There, there, Margie, petty! Auntie knows it’ll never happen again; and don’t you cry so, dearie!”—for Marguerite, when Aunt Abigail offered to pay for the missing gem, gave a little cry of dismay and began sobbing violently. The proprietor looked in puzzled surprise from one lady to the other. Certainly Miss Abigail was the most straightforward thief he had ever seen; but before he coaid accept her offer Mr. Van Essen walked in. “Don’t tell him a word, Margue rite!” implored Aunt Abigail. “Why, what’s the matter?” he de manded. “What have you been cry ing for, my darling?” “Oh, Charlie! it was—it was ——” And poor innocent Marguerite looked as if she were going to cry again. “It was about the pin I wanted to give her,” answered Miss Abigail, serenely. “She couldn’t decide which one to cake, and so we sent for you.” “After all she must be au old of fender,” thought the indignant mer chant; “I’ve a mind not to let her off so easily.” “I don’t see what you are doing in here,” persisted Mr. Vau Essen. “I can’t understand yet why Marguerite should be crying about it." “Give it to him,” interposed the proprietor, politely. “I believe you have it, Miss Van Essen.” “Me!” exclaimed Miss Abigail, sharply. “You mean Mrs. Van Essen. Give him the diamond, pet, and let him see it! Auntie is going to pay for it, you know,” she added, soothingly, with a significant look at the pro prietor. “I haven't the diamond!” cried the startled Marguerite. “You haven’t it!” echoed Miss Abi gail. “Then what made you say so?” “Me?” almost screamed Marguerite. “Me—I say I had it!” “Well, if you haven’t it, who has?” demanded the now aroused Miss Abi gail. “I heard you say yon had it. You said you were a kleptomaniac!" “The deuce, Atfht Abigail!” cried the bewildered Mr. Van Essen. “What does this all mean?” “I’m sore I don’t know,” answered Miss Abigail, all her coolness leaving her when she discovered Marguerite either was not the thief she had con fessed herself or was so hardened she now meant to deny it entirely. “I’m sure I don’t know. Ask him.” It was evidently useless to question Marguerite, who sat staring at Miss Abigail in anguished entreaty, mur muring feebly, “Oh, aunty, do—do tell—please do! It will be much bet ter!” and similar disconnected sent iences. Mr. Van Essen turned sternly to the proprietor. “Do I understand you accuse one of these ladies of ” “Oh, Charlie, don’t blame her!” interrupted Aunt Abigail. “She is so young!” Then Marguerite, flinging herself into Mr. Van Essen’s arms, ex claimed: “You knew she was a kleptomaniac, Charlie! Why—why did you let her come here to-day?" “Knew who was a kleptomaniac?” interposed Mr. Van Essen. “Aunt Abigail, of course!” sobbed Marguerite, clinging to him. “You said she was peculiar about money matters, and I found she only took a very little—just market money and a few bills—and I didn’t care, Charlie. I charged it to new gloves every time in the account, and ” Here Miss Abigail hastily pulled* an envelope from her pocket, ejacu lating: “Merciful Heaven! I do believe the child thinks I stole from her! Read that, Charlie. I meant to give it to her when I left to-night.” Mr. Van Essen, too bewildered to ask questions, read slowly, aloud: ‘‘My Dear Niece: Aunt Abigail has been a little worried over the loose way in which you trust that butler and maid. I know you won’t believe it, but here i* forty dollars I have picked uo around tht* house and got in change at market. To it I have put forty dollars more. With it I want yon to buy something pretty and keep it where you can always see it, as a little reminder to be more careful of your small change. Lovingly, “Avxt Abigail.” “Oh, auntie!” crjed Marguerite, rushing to her, “then you aren’t a eptomauiac, after ^11!” Before Miss Abigail could reply a clerk entered hastily, and said to Mr. Park: “Here is that lost diamond, sir. It was caught on a pendant pin the la dies w ere looking at, and was put into another tray where I just discovered it.” The quartet in |the room gazed at each other a moment, and then Mr. Vau Essen, who had been looking as black as a thundercloud, burst cut laughing. “Do you know,” he ’cried, “this is the 1st of April, and if there is a big ger set of fools, or at least a worse- fooled set, in the city, I should like to see them! Aunt Abigail, you and Marguerite kiss and make up, and we will all go home." “Yes,” replied the forgiving aunt, “that’s what wa’ll do, Marguerite. There’s no denying we are a pair of April fools, but nobody can say we ain’t honest ones.”—MoC.’s Monthly. Lynched by Small Birds. A successful lynching took place o the farm of Jerome Butler, south o Mariette, Mich., the other day. Ii the barn a swallow’s nest was see: clinging to the side of a beam froc which was suspended an English, spar row, hung by the neck with a hai from a horses tail, as told by the Gram Rapids Herald. While Franklin But ler and Oria Albertson were sitting ii the barn they noticed a sparrow gi into the swallow’s nest, from wfiich h began pitching the young birds Three swallows, attracted by thei outcry, immediately pounced upon thi intruder. After confining him to thi nest for a few minutes they threw bin out. He dropped about a foot, then was a jerk, and Mr. Sparrow wai hanged as nicely as though an exper hangman had been in charge. Thi hair was wound around his neck sev eral times, and after a few ineffectua struggles he kicked his last. Boy Soprano*. There is not a single female voice : the choir at St. Peter’s, in Rome, an yet the most difficult oratorios ar sacred music written are rendered i such a manner as to make one thir that Adelina Patti’s high soprano leading. The choir is" composed < sixty boys. They aro trained for tl work from the time they get contr of their vocal chords, and some of tl best singers are not over nine yea old. At the age of seventeen all boi leave the choir.—New York World. Locomotive* For Europe. American locomotive builders ha recently booked orders for fifty-eig locomotives for European railway underbidding in open competition at in their own markets the largest En j lish and Scotch manufacturers.