The Florence daily times. [volume] (Florence, S.C.) 1894-1925, May 23, 1898, Image 2
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LISTEN TO YOURSELF.
Ab. teacher, let me bear you teach ;
You bare brave words from olden seers.
The lore of thoee long-bearded men
Of all the far-off yean;
The gray, old thoughts of gray old men
Beneath the Aslan stan.
Brought safe by faith through clashing
yean
Of unremembered wan.
And you have read the huddled tomes
Of many an alcored shelf
But have you stood beneath the stan
And listened to yourself ?
Ah, teacher, let me bear you teach ;
You at old sage's feet have sat;
Know you the man within yonr coat,
The man beneath your hat?
Yon know the thoughts that shaped the
world,
From far-off centuries blown ;
What says the man who talks with thee
When thou art all alone ?
Why should I listen to a man
who listens at the alcoved shelf?
Man, let me hear a living man
Who listens to himself.
--Sam Walter Foss.
r
l.
L j!)l A&L jftl JBk. 1
A Balaclava Hero.
The head of an ogre croncbing for
possible victims could have looked no
less grim than the huge, squat work-
house standing back from the road.
Tall iron railings encircled it like a
collar of spikes, and a one-windowed
porter’s lodge blinked banefully at
passers-by.
A weary old man helped himself
along with the aid of a stick. He
etraightened his figure when he
reached the lodge and seemed to hesi
late while he looked at the building
with dim, weak eyes, and the rushing
wind fluttered his clothes like rags on
a scarecrow.
He made several steps forward,
then retreated. As he straightened
himself to walk,three medals for valor
jingled loosely on his shrunken breast.
He glanced round nervonsly. There
was no one to watch. He was only a
hero, and he hesitated on the threshold
«f the workhouse. He had braved the
Kussian camion and had slipped down
a rope at Lucknow into a ruck of freu-
xied sepoys. Why should he hesi
tate?
April rain began to pelter down fit
fully. He pulled his worn coat closer
over him and strode forward with
final resolution.
On the steps of the workhouse he
'turned to get a last furtive glance at
the outer world. As the sun leaped
from behind a cloud it glittered on the
medals on his breast.
in the lodge a sqnare-jowled man,
with hard, straight creases in his sul
len face, was tapping abstractedly on
an old desk with an enormous key.
To an imaginative mind he would have
served as an admirable miniature por
trait of the workhouse itself.
“Name?” he said,projecting himself
toward a big book.
“James Hedferu, late of the Tenth
Hlack Watch,” answered the old man.
James Kedfern was past work and
•jplaineil this to the governor,.jv-ho,
promptly ordered him to break a'/’tn-
dredweight of stone as a preliminary
canter; this was probably to take the
freshness out of him and to disillusion
him as to his incapacity for work.
Kedfern was locked in a cell fur
nished with great jagged lumps of
stone, and it was his compulsory duty
to break them into pieces small enough
to ]mss through a grating in the wall.
The old man toiled hour after hour,
but his weak blows seemed to he
rather caressing the stone than break
ing it. At length, in the afternoon,
he fell forward over his hammer and
the jagged stones that littered the
fioor.
“Hello!” said the sqnare-jowled
warder, opening the door. “None of
this, yer know. This ain't a ladies’
boudoir. This ain’t a ”
He jerked the old man face up. His
features were cut with the jagged
stone.aud hlack lines of hunger ringed
bis eyes.
When the warder, by twirling Red-
fern’s hand round and round and by
pinching his arm,had satisfied himself
that there was no shamming, the old
man was removed to the infirmary.
He was a very light burden, and a
stalwart casual slung him over his
ahonlder and carried him offj&untilyy
like a sack of flour. When he came
to, the doctor ordered him boiled eggs
and a nourishing diet for a day or
two.
A card to this effect was hung over
his bed with string. A pauper in the
next bed. who suffered from epileptic
fits, anathematized the old man gar
rulously. The boiled eggs seemed
particularly to rouse his ire. Every
time the warder passed to the other
cud of the long room he would lift
himself on his elbow and scream across
the intervening space: “B'iled eggs!
yah!” He put such an amount of con
demnation into this phrase that the
other patients took up the matter and
by muttered and disjointed conversa
tion arrived at the opinion that the
old soldier was a parlous ruffian, a
presumer on generosity, an interloper
iiud a thief.
In three days the doctor certified
that Kedfern was able to leave his
bed, and the old man meekly rose
and hnddled his painful limbs into
his garments.
Kedfern went into the office of the
■quare-faced warder, who said that he
must return to breaking stones or
leave the house. There was to he a
meeting of the guardiaus that after
noon, however, and he had the option
of applying to them for lighter work.
The square-faced man took out of
his desk the three medals which Ked
fern had been obliged to temporarily
surrender on his entrance.
“They ain’t bad medals, are they?”
said the square-faced man. “I sup
pose they are worth five hob apiece?”
“They are worth more than that to
me,” said Kedfern.
“Wouldn’t seirem,then,I suppose?”
said the warder.
“No, I wouldn’t sell them for any
thing; they are the only things I have
left to remind me that I’ve been a sol
dier!”
“But they ain’t much good to yer
now, yer know,” said the warder.
“Look ’ere; I’ll offer yer a bargain.
You ain’t got no reg’lar rights to stop
in this workus, hut if you’ll make me
a present of these ere medals I’ll see
as they don’t chuck von out yet a
while.”
If he had said the same thing JO
years before, Kedfern would probably
have broken some of the hones in his
thievish body. As it was he said:
“Oh,no;yon must give me my medals.
I must have them on when I die; you
can have them after—you can have
them after. I am the last of the old
regiment. When I die they’ll all be
gone. I must have my medals when
I die; they wouldn’t take me hack in
the regiment. If I parted with them
the colonel would say: ’Kedfern,
where are your medals?’ Then I
should he turned out of my regiment.
Yes, I must wear my medals.”
The old fellow had muttered these
last words as though to himself. It
was clear that his weakness had ren
dered him slightly delirious.
“Well,” said the warder, “I’ll save
them for you, shall I?” Then, with
out further ado, he slipped them, rib
bons and all, into his pocket. ,
The moment he did this his urbanity
vanished,and he resumed his ordinary
manner.
“Come, get out of here and get to
work! Don’t try to come that old-age
dodge on me!"
He.called another warder, who took
Kedfern in hand and jogged him along
toward the skqie-breaking cells.
This time Redfern’s stock of stones
had been reduced to half; hut when
he was locked in and told to go to
work he could not even raise the
heavy hammer above his head.
Two hours later, when the warder
came to summon him before the meet
ing of the guardiaus, he was still sit
ting there, his thin face gray with
suffering, and the long scar placed on
his cheek by the sabre of a Russian at
Alma stood ont white and ugly. It
was the mark of a blow he had re
ceived for his country. The warder
reached forward and struck him over
the shoulder with a stick.
“I wish you would not hit me,”
said Kedfern. “I’ll do w hat you tell
me, hut you see I couldn’t break the
stones, I was so tired.”
“Oh, yes; we know all about that!”
retorted the warder; “we have had
some of your sort before. If you ask
me,you’ll just have to pop out of here
ns soon as the guardians get their eyes
on you.”
The warder was not supposed to
know that Kedfern was a man who
had been mentioned three times in
despatches from the seat of war. He
was not conscious that the medals he
then had in his pocket were worth
more than the paltry shillings they
would bring at a pawnshop.
So he forced Kedfern roughly for-
ward toward the council chamber of
gentlemen who were waiting to decide
w kether this pauper was to he allowed
to subsist on the spare bounty of (heir
parish or even to he cast into the
streets to die of hunger.
The room in which the guardians
sat was well furnished and lighted,
and 18 dignified gentlemen sat to the
right and left of a fat, gray-haired
chairman.
Kedfern stood before the table of
the chairman, who questioned him as
to his place of birth.
“Why, you don’t belong to this par
ish at all!” he' said, in feigned amaze-
bfrut.
This was a signal for four pompous,
gentlemen to enter violent and indig
nant protest against such a pernicious
state of affairs. They characterized
Kedferu's action in coining there as
criminal beyond measure.
The fact that he entered the work-
house as a “casual” and then, by art-f
ful trickery,sought to live in ease and
luxury at the expense of the rate-pay
ers of that borough, filled them with
horror.
As they uttered these denunciations
they looked meaningly at one long
haired and one spectacled reporter,
wBo had exchanged winks and were
scratching down insane hieroglyphics
at the top of their speed.
The old man’s wits at once left him.
Ho seemed to conceive that he had
been guilty of a hideous piece of de
ception. He answered the other
meek peni-
sor
questions with au air
tence.
“Have you no family to look after
you?”
“Yes,” answered the old man; *T
have a son, but I have pot seen him
for more than 20 years. He was a
fine lad. At Alma the selonel said to
me, after I had saved Us life: 'Pri
vate Kedfern, how shalll reward you?
You may ask me anything, and I will
do it for yon.’ ‘Look After my son,’
I said, ‘if you would b# so kind. He
has no mother, and he h a fine boy. ’
“When the colonel fame back he
took my boy. I used tiwrite to the
lad, bnt I got np into northern Can
ada, and I lost the habit of writing.
When I came back, an old man, to
look for the boy, I could not find him.
My old colonel is dead. But if my
boy is alive and hears that his old
father is here, he’d take him away
—yes, he’d take him sway. But I
can’t find him,” went op the old man.
“He was only five years old when I
saw him last. He would not know me
now if he saw me. ”
“Oh, we don’t want any of those
rt of tales here!” said the guardian.
“Either you have a family to support
you or have not. If y<Ju have, they
must take you out of here and look
after yon. If yon have not, you must
turn out and chance your luck. You
are only 75; you ought to work for
your living! You look big enough.
Look at me. I am not so big as yon
—a hit fatter, perhqpg-and I work
every day of my life.”
He went into a comfortable office
for au hour or two every day; the rest
of his time he spent in eating or in
sleeping, preparatory to eating more.
The guardiaus all pretended to dis
believe Redfern’s story about his son,
and finally, on the evidence of the
warder, who testified that the old
man was lazy and good-for-nothing,
they gave him two hours in which to
leave the workhouse.
Bedfern’s face was gray with suffer
ing, and shooting pains from an old
wound in his shoulder caused him
agony. His knees trembled visibly,
and his eyes grew dim and restless.
He summoned strength at last to ask
the guardians if he might have back
the medals that had been taken from
him.
However, as the warder swore that
he had never seen the medals, which
at that very moment were resting in
his pockets, the virtuons, well-fed
guardians of the poor ordered the.old
man indignantly from their presence.
He triert to protest, .but the warder
scowled furiously at Mim and pinched
Ivih arm fuiJpm, to^nm
Then Kenlerafs we3Jness~ov5rcSme
him. He pitched kiftavily forward to
the floor. He was taken to the infir
mary again, and the doctor said that
in a few hours he would he well enough
to go ont.
When the old man came to he saw
the warder directing the scrubbing
and cleaning of the w ard with unusual
care, while women jumpers were fas
tening up fresh curtains to the win
dows. There was au air of bustle and
preparation about the room such as he
had never noticed before.
A warder, noticing that he was
awake, ordered him to get off the bed
and smarten himself np. The pauper
told him that Captain Armitage and
his young wife were coming to look
over the workhouse. The captain
was a fine young fellow,and he owned
most of the land round that part.
Kedfern listened to the information
listlessly, for he was too ill'to take a
keen interest in anything, and the
prosjrect of his expulsion from the
workhouse weighed on his mind. He
was too jraralyzed to contemplate any
thing hut that in an hour or two he, a
soldier, too weak to work, would be
cast out into the wor}d friendless and
without hope.
All the panpers whispered incessant
ly the name of Captain Armitage, and
at last something in its sound awoke
the old man’s memory.
“Armitage—Armitage? Why, that
was my old colonel’s name,” he said.
“Ah, hut this is a young man, and my
colonel is dead. Yes, he is dead; I
shall he dead soon. I shall hear him
say: ‘Kedfern, you have been men
tioned again in the despatches.’ Then
he’ll say—yes,he’ll say”—the old man
felt nervously over the breast of his
coat—“he’ll say: ‘Kedfern,where are
yonr medals?’ Yes, I must have my
medals.”
He tried to raise himself from the
bed on which he was sitting, bnt the
weakness held him prisoner.
Presently a carriage came through
the great gate at the entrance to the
workhouse. At last a gentleman, tall
and handsome, entered the room with
a lady—a young lady, very little more
than a girl, on his arm. Hhe looked
about her compassionately. But her
eyes wandered back incessantly to the
features of the strong man by her
side, who in his turn looked down at
her smilingly and with abounding
love and affection.
This happy, joyous conplc seemed
like a glimpse of a happier world to
the wretched beings whose lives were
ending between the grim walls of the
workhouse.
As the captain and his beautiful
young wife came to each bed they ex
changed words of comfort with the oc
cupant. At last they drew near the
bed on which Bedfern sat, fully
dressed, his hands clasped together
and his eyes bent dreamily on the
floor.
The little lady walking by the cap
tain’s side, with a look at her hus
band, stepped forward and touched
his hand softly. He started and
glanced np.
Captain Armitage noticed the cat on
his cheek.
“How did you get that scar?” he
said.
“I was a soldier,” replied the old
man. “I got it at Alma.”
“Why, my husband’s father was at
Alma,and so was mine!” said the little
lady. “Tell us about it, can you?”
Her eyes were infinitely tender as
she gazed on the features of the bat
tered and worn-ont warrior.
Then the old man told his story.
Captain Armitage was bending over
him, deeply interested. Suddenly he
gave a start and, dropping on one
knee, took the old man’s hand in
his.
“Is your name Kedfern?” he said.
‘ ‘Yes, ’’answered the old man, “James
Kedfern.”
Captain Armitage did not rise from
his knee. He held out his hand to
his wife and,drawing her toward him,
placed her hand in that of the old
man.
“Maude,” he said, slowly, “this is
my father.”
Then the beautiful girl bent over
and kissed the old man on the lips.
When James Kedfern had swallowed
a dose of brandy, which the square-
faced warder brought with much
promptitude and politeness, Captain
Redferu-Armitage, who had adopted
the latter name when he married Col
onel Armitage’s daughter, explained
everything to him.
“Yes, you are my father. I have
searched for yon for years, but now
that we have found you we will never
leave you.”
Then Captain Armitage and his
beautiful wife gave old James Kedfern
an arm each, and the three walked
down the ward out of the workhouse.
At the gate the sqnare-jowled warder
hurried up and handed the old man
his medals. Captain Armitage’s wife
pinned them on the old man’s coat,
and they stepped into the carriage.
“Where to, sir?” asked the foot
man.
“Home!” answered the young man.
—Answers.
The Vitality of the Turku.
One of Reuter’s special service of
ficials states that he has paid sevefal
visits to the hospital in which are
being treated many Turkish warriors
and that he was struck by the warlike
spirit of the wounded and the fre
quency with which they asked the
doctors: “Do you think I shall he
well in time for the next battle?”
These doctors are surprised by the
wonderful vitality of the Turks. One
man, who had had his stomach pene
trated by a bullet, not only kept his
place in the ranks till the battle was
over, but marched a distance of ten
miles afterward. Another, with three
wounds, two in the legs and one in
the shoulder, continued ip the per
formance of his regular duties for 24
hours after their reception and would
jjrobahly have kept about until they
healed had not an officer, happeiviug
to notice his condition, told him to go
to the hospital, and it was with great
reluctance that the wounded soldier
went.
The doctors remark upon the rapid
ity with which patients recover from
wounds and attribute it to the abste
mious lives led by the Turkish sol
diers, who drink no wine, eat bnt
little meat and take plenty of vege
tables. They are examples of the say
ing, “Prevention is better than cure.”
By their manner of living they escape
the effects from which grosser livers
suffer when wounded. — Medical
Times.
Iiikhik* After Micling I>own Tike'* Peak.
Joe Bradley, the Rocky mountain
trapper, whose terrible slide on the'
surface of an avalanche down Pike’s
Peak last December was one of the
most appaling adventures that ever,
befell a unman being, lost his reason
through the combined effects of his
sufferings and fright. This fact did
not appear in the detailed account of
the thrilling slide printed at the time,
bnt such appears to be the fact.
The Trinidad (Col.). Republican is
to hand, with the following reference
to the hero of that wonderful adven
ture :
“Joe Bradley, the unfortunate pros
pector, who rode an avalanche down
Pike’s Peak on December 20, was ar
rested atPloreuce as an escaped luna
tic, and returned to the Pueblo asv-
lum. The exposure undergone by
Bradley, who was unconscious for sev
eral hours, and whose members were
badly frozen, caused his mind to give
way, and he was admitted to the in
sane asylum soon after his terrible
experience on the Peak.”
MORAL EFFECT OF PRUNES.
Itountl th«* Kartli.
The time required for a journey
round the earth by a man walking day
and nig^it, without resting, would he
428 days; an express train, 40 days;
sound, at a medium temperature, 32
1-2 hours; a cannon hall, 21 3-4 hours;
light, a little over one-tenth of a sec
ond; and electricity, passing ovfer a
copper wire, a little under one tenth
of a second.
ta Hava a Saathin#
Nerve*—Useful as a Medicine.
European authorities on dietetics
are discussing the discovery of “»
well-known physician of Chicago,”
who claims that he has proved the
prune to be • morel agent. He sere
that he has made the prnne the snV*
jeot of specie! study end has conduct
ed • series of experiments with • view
to testing the prone as a preventive of
crime. At oee time connected with •
school for the reform of unruly boys
who had rebelled against all former
attempts to civilize their conscience, *
he fed them for a week once a day,!
and at the end of that time they were
mild-mannered and bidable. The
prnne, he claims, has a .certain medi
cinal property which acta directly on
the nervons system, which is where
the evil passions have their seat.
However good the physician may
make his claim, one thing is certain,
that the prune in Germany has been'
a household medicine for the last half
century. There is daily at the dis
posal of the members of the family a
stone jar of very nicely cooked prunes,
from which the household eat a few at
any time in the day, dipping into it,
as one may say, as a lady in France
does her ornamented box holding
sugared almonds.
It is well to know at a time when
there is so much grip in Chicago that
prunes made into a drink are very
good food and medicine for the
patient. They are prepared for medi
cal practice and nnrsing thus: They
most be of a good (but not “fancy”) -
quality, washed in a sieve under run
ning water. Then put them in a
basin and cover with cooled boiled
water closed from air and dnst, allow
ing them to stand until swollen. Then
cover them tight in the same basin
and let them simmer for three hours.
They will be sweet enough.
The prune drink for fever is made
in the same way, hut to every pint of
prunes a qnart of boiled water should
be added and they should be allowed
to simmer to rags. Strain and then
give the patient to drink. Lemon
juice may be added if desired.—Chi
cago Times.
Toad* at Dinner.
The toad does not take dead or mo
tionless food, says the Popular Science
Monthly. Only living and moving
insects, centipedes, etc., are devoured,
while worms and other larvae dis
turbed by their hopping are safe so
long as they remain curled np; but as
soon as they move they are captured.
The toad’s tongue, its only organ for
seizing food, is soft, extensile, at
tached in front bnt free behind, and
is covered with a glutinous substance
that adheres firmly to the food seized.
So rapid is the motion of this weapon
that a careful watch is necessary in
order to see the animal feed. ' At
night, soon after sunset, or even be
fore on cool evenings, the toad emerges
from its shelter and slowly hops about
in search of food. Something of a
regular beat is covered by these ani
mals, whose sense of locality is strong.
In the country this beat includes for
age along the roadside, into gardens
and cnltivated fields, and wherever
insect food is abundant and grass or
other thick herbage does not interfere
‘with getting about. In cities and
suburban villages the lawns, walks
and spots beneath the electric lamps
are favorite hunting grounds. At
Amherst, Mass., Mr. A. H. Kirkland,
from whose paper we derive these ob
servations, once coanted eight large,
well-fed toads seated under an arc
light and actively engaged in de
vouring the insects which, deprived of
wings, fell from the lamp above. At
Malden, Mass., a colony of ahont half
a dozen toads sally forth on summer
evenings from under the piazza of a
citizen’s house, go down the walk,
cross the street and take up their stji-
tions under the arc lamp, where they
feed upon the fallen insects till the
current is turned off, when they re
turn to their accnstomed shelter.*
The First Real Bicycle.
Frank H. Vizetelly, in St. Nicho
las, tells “The Story of the Wheel.”
After describing the Draisine, which
came into nse in 1816, and was named
after its inventor, Mr. Vizetelly says:
In 1818, Dennis Johnsoti, an Eng
lish coachmaker, made the Draisine
lighter, and provided it with an elbow
and body rest, decidedly improving
the vehicle. Further changes made
by Louis Gompertz, in 1821, enabled
the rider to propel this vehicle with
his hands, hut he still had to keep
himself upright by the use of his feet
and legs. A cogged wheel fixed to
the side of the front hub, and a gear
ing moved by a lever were the means
of driving the wheel, and the lever
also did service as a steering bar.
So popular did the Draisine become
that forms of it continued in nse until
1855, bnt the later form was built of
iron instead of wood. This changa
was brought about by an English con
tractor named Knight, who was so
pleased by the new way of traveling
while visiting the continent, that he
thought of using the cheaper iron of
his own country for making the Drai-
sine. Shortly after it came to Eng
land this machint was changed from
the crude and heavy wheel of Baron
Drais von Seuerbron; it became a
, light, elegant, and reliable machine,
i capable of being skillfully ridden.