The Barnwell people. (Barnwell, S.C.) 1884-1925, May 25, 1899, Image 4
The Barnwell People.
Largest Circulation in the Count?
WBULY CROP BUHjETIH.
Columbia, 8. C., May 16, 1699.
The week ending May 16th arerawed /
wot 7 degree* per day warmer than
•boot
oaual,
oonaldera
day, and w
deffred*L
with the maximum
ng
iy *
Ith the
tore* ranging from slightly
kbly above
pondlngly high.
” ■ Tall for
tempera*
below to
90 degrees eaeh
minimum! oorres-
The rainfall for the week was gen
erally very light, with moderately
heavy rains la the vicinity of Charles
ton and over the Pee Dee region. The
need of rain Is general, and the lack of
it ha* materially Injored oats, and to a
leaser extent wheat and'gardens. Rain
Is also needed to permit cotton and
oora planting to be' completed, and to
rmlnai
germinate recently planted seeds.
Oats are falling rapidly, and spring
oats are already a failure. This grain
is about sll headed, and over the more
easterly countries is ripening. Wheat
has also deteriorated, but not to the
same extent as oats, and In places con
tinues very promising. ^
Corn continues to maintain a healthy
color, and. with limited exceptions,
has a good stand; Its general condi
tion, for the whole State, is very satis-
factorv. In places it has received It*
second working. , $
Cotton has come up to from very
good to fair stands, except on ' red
lands, where the ground Is baked and
hard and seed did not germinate well.
Cultivation and chopping to stands Is
G neral. The young plants are small
t healthy and vigorous.
Tobacco Is In urgent need of rain,
both to finish transplanting and to
maintain stands which, although gen-,
•rally good, are In places very poor.
Melons have Improved. Uloe Is ex
cellent. „ Truck Is making rapid
growth. Gardens are variable, accord
ing to moisture conditions. Berries
need rain. Apples and cherries are
dropping. Minor crops generally are
doing well.
Over the greater portion of the State
the weather was favorable for cultivat
ing crops, and for general farm work,
and the staple crops, with the excep
tion of oats, continue in a very promis
ing condition.
Great Soldiers Grow Out Doors.
r-Nearly all of the men who have dis
tinguished themselves in the recent
wars are Southern men or men of
Southern blood. This fact Is so patent
that it has attracted the attention of
some of the Northern papers and they
are trying to account for It. The cause
Is to be found, no doubt, partly In ell
matlc Influences, but mainly in the
conditions of life peculiar to the South
la the habits and associations
rlly engendered by those oondl
tlons. In the South, physical courage
has always been honored by public
sentiment, and youths have been
taught by precept and example to
brave personal Injury and even death
rather than submit to Injustice and
dishonor. Moreover, Southern life has
largely been an out-door life given to
manly sports and athletic exercises.
The men who fought the Civil War
may be said to have been bought up on
horse back with guns In their hands,
and their superiority to Northern
troops was demonstrated at the start
and maintained to the finish. We
doubt if the conditions now being
evolved will be so favorable to the de
velopment of physical courage as they
id-
have been In the past, notwlthstan
ing all the attention that Ts being
given in the schools to so called physi
cal culture.—Gaffney Ledger.
Tux First Telegraph Folks.—It
may not be known that the gentleman
who sold the poles which were used In
erecting the first telegraph line In
the world lives In Greenwood County.
He was at the time living in Washing-
ton city. He came south before the
war broke out and was among the first
to shoulder his musket and march to
the front. He lives at New Market
three miles from Greenwood, where
h* is engaged in farming. The wen-
tie man to whom we refer Is Mr. John
R. Moore, Sr. There Is not a better or
a more substantial oitlsen In the State.
We hope to Induce blm to write an
article for us on this subject.—Green
wood Journal.
—The Baltimore Sun says “ The
Alexandria marble works have just
been awarded the contract for a Con
federate soldier’s monument to be
erected at Edgefield, S. C., by the
ladles of that city. The shaft will be
granite, 23 feet in height, and will be
surmounted by a bronze figure of a
Confederate soldier with hu gun In
the position to ' resist cavalry/ The
stone work will be executed at the
quarry and the figure will be cast at
one of the most noted foundries in the
United States. The front of the monu
ment will bear the Inertptlen : ‘Erect
ed by ‘.he women of Edgefield, S. C.,
to the memory of their Confederate
dead/ The work will be completed
and the monument unveiled early
next autumn."
—Horry county, lying next to George-
, boasts
town on the coast, boasts of more
artesian walls than any other two coun
ties In the State. In the .town of Con
way, the county seat, there are thirty
of these wells, ranging from 176 to 250
feet and flowing the year round. All
the wells have been dug with baud
machinery. Conway is on the Waooa-
maw river just above the rice field
belt and is in the heart of the malarial
district. Since the use of artesian
water has become common the health
of the community has shown a marked
improvement Throughout the whole
lower belt good flows of water are ob
tained readily. Farmers have these
wells on their lands for stock and they
are used by railroads to supply water
tanks.
—The sanitary report in Havana for
tf
April shows only 617 deaths for that
months. For the four months of 1899,
the total of deaths is a little over two
thousand, Indicating a total for the
year of, perhaps, seven thousand. This
estimate Ignores, of course, the possi
bility of an epidemic of yellow fever
during the later I'alny ssason. Only
two deaths from this disease are re
ported for April, whereas tuberculosis
was the cause of 103. The death-rate
of 1899 is. so far, lees than half that
of 1896. This is a striking tribute to
American methods of surface sanita
tion, for so far, llttlle or no sanitary
work has really gone on beneath the
chapter in.
HER last word.
When Mary Conway uttered those
scathing words, “I have never ceased
to veprosch myself for having loathed
yon. Now, with all my heart, I thank
God for it,” they were followed by •
long, dead silmoe. She, alight and frail
and ashen white, stood boldly fronting
him, her eyes filled with In tensest
scorn and showing no ahred of the fear,
with which her heart was quaking;,])*,
divided between rage and astonish
ment, jnat touched with shame that ha
should have raised his hand to a woman,
and that woman his young wife.. 6o
they stood until at last he fonnd words
With which to speak.
”8$ you loathe me, do yoot”
An older or a wiser woman might
hate given a softer answer than leaped
to Mary Conway’s lips in reply. “Yea. ”
she said harshly. “Only loathing is too
mild a word. “ v
“But you married met You were
willing eaough*to marry mel” he aaid,
gnawing at hia nnderlip viciously.
“Willingl Never!” she flashed out
“I married you. It la true, with feel
ings of gratttugp, 'with a desire to do
my beet to repay you Cor the money you
had laid out, with a belief that you
were kind and good If not the lover of
my heart nor the husband of my imagi
nation. I have learned since that there
was no need of gratitnde from me to
yon; that there was no kindness or
goodness in tfte help you gave during
my mother’s illness; tbit every day the
nurse remained, every drop of wine
my mother drank, every strawberry
*be ate, was eutbred into an account
which 1 was to pay one day with my
very heart’s blood. Well, yon have had
yonr’pound, of fleeh, you have bought
your wife, and the bargain is complete,
the debt all paid. Today you have
broken every bund, every link, every
'Chain, between ns. I bear your name;
that’s all.”
“Is that yonr last word, Mary?"
“Yes, my last word. No, I am not
afraid of yon. My poor little frail body
it afraid, horribly, desperately afraid
of ypu, but my heart and aoul and all
that’s best^ of me—never—never—
aeverl”
“Yon’U be glad when I’m gonef”
“Thankful.”
“YouTl never remember anything of
what I did for you?”
“I shall always remember yon aa the
man who struck me. ”
“You’d like to be free of met”
She drew a deep breath more signifi
cant than words He laughed aloud, a
laugh void of merriment, auch aa one
might hear from the fiends in belL
“You’d like me to provide for you
perbapat To make you a suitable allow
ance and clear out myself, eh T To leave
you and your old mother”—
“Leave my mother out of 14T/ ehe
cried fiercely.
“Oh, I’ve ne wish to say anything
against her!” he retorted. “To dq her
full justice, she’s always been
ative enough of me. a thnnderihgUeal
more so than you have. Still she’s there.
She’s got to be reckoned with, to be
provided for, and yon’d likerHo see her
end her days in comfort. “
“I was satisfied enough with my life
before you came and made her dissatis
fied with the provision that I was able
to make for her. You took away my
living. It is but right that you should
provide for both. Yon did nothing with
your eyes shut.”
“Nor you. Well—I do provide for
you both—I shall continue to do
But there’s a side to my part of the
bargain. I didn't look to provide fbr a
wife, to say nothing of her mother, and
to keep away from her, and I won’t do
It You've no witness that I struck
you. And it wouldn't, sound • likely
story anyhow. I’ll go 'away today in
stead of Monday, for I’m sore end angry
and not master of myself, and neither
•re you. But I shall come beck again.
I shall come borne again, and you’ll re
ceive me as if nothing ha& happened
between ns. I’m sorry I. forgot myself
just now, and for that reason I’ll give
you till I come borne again to pull your
self together in, and after that w* will
begin again aa If nothing had happen
ed."
“I shall never begin again as If noth
ing had happened” she exclaimed
passionately. “Hdw could IT You
struck me. So long as you were only old
and rough end—and—distasteful to me.
I endured you. But you have gone be
yond”— * . ’ ;. ...
“You took me for better or worse, ”
he interrupted. '
“I know It, but I did not bargain for
its being all for worse. ”
“We'll see about that," beaaid, with
• sneer. “It’s easy work talking of
what one will or one won’t da You’re
left yourself in a cleft stick, my fine
little lady wife, and I think when you
come to facing the world from the very
bottom at the ladder with vour invalid
mother, who haa got used to a comfort
able way of living, you’ll find it harder
than you think for. MSe one thing to
talk luge about breaking loose, and it’s
another thing to do it with your handi
cap tied round your neck. Anyway,
that's my laet word. Pve madeupmy
mind. It’a a caseotipy will giving way
to yours or yews breaking down to
mine. 1 don’t intend if there's any
hroakingdown that it ahallbaonmy
—Colorado Springe, Col., boasts ef
baiag the quietest tawa in the coun
try. No eharah bills are ruag there,
aad ao whistlea are blown. A local
hark at Bight
do every-
‘ &l
Hodld not-give her tim* to reply, but
v»ent out of tbs room with a great bo*-
tin, and the aextnsemant she hoard Uto
giving directions to the servants about
Ids baggage A few minutes afterward
ahe heard him go oat of the how* and
then came the sound of her mother’
euios calling to hsr X - •
••Mary. Mary, where no your
"Her* mother. Do yea was* an
ths breath of Ufa to the Shallow and
narroir soul who had never before
known what it was to revel In a fairly
good income. As the oonvietioa cams,
home to her Mary’s heart failed or hgr
better'nature prevailed* so that she kept
the truth to herself.
“It got knocked.” she aaid evasively,
and Mrs. Hamilton was aatiaAed. She
went into • long dissertation of how she
once had run against a closet door in
the dark andof bow “your poor father”
■aid that her face looked exactly as If
soma one had struck her, and in the
midst of this Mary suddenly
hazed something that would carry her
up sta
to the doorpost of the drawing room.
“My poor child I My poor, dvllng
child I What terrible news!” she ex
claimed. She was smartly and daintily
dreaaed and looked very pretty as ahe
stood there. „ ' _
“What terrible news?” asked Mary.
For a moment her heart stood still, for
she thought that her husband had blurt
ed out all the truth in hia anger.
“What neysf” echoed Mrs. Hamil
ton. “Why, that dear Edward has had
a telegram which will take him away
from us today instead of next week.
Try to beu np, my poor darling l*’
“Yes, I will try, mother, ” said Muy,
feeling almost reedy to let herself go off
into wild shrieks of hysterical laughter
at the irony of the situation. ,~
“In the first flush of your married
happiness, too,” Mrs. Hamilton aaid
mournfully as she dragged slowly back
again to her Seat by the window. “Of
conrse duty ie duty, as I said to the
dear fellow.”
“And what did he say to thatf”
Mary asked the question involuntarily.
“Oh, he ia always so full of his
quaint, bluff humor 1“ replied Mrs.
Hamilton, smiling tenderly at the rec
ollection. “ ‘It’s no use keeping e mill
to turn, mother/” ha said in his hearty f/
way, ‘unletM one finds grist to put in
il ,r Dear fellow I"
Mary sat down at the other side of
the window and got out her embroidery . ,
from the smart workbasket. Mrs. Him- «
ilton looked at her with astonished eyes,
first at her and then at the bit of dainty
work in her bands.
“Are you not going to help Moun-
cey?’’she asked. It was a point of honor
with Mrs. Hamilton that Mary’s maids
should be called by their surnames, al
though both of them detested the cus
tom.
“No, mother. Mouncey has all in
structions from Edward.”*
For a moment' Mrs. Hamilton kept
ailent But at last she burst out impul
sively. “You are very strange, Mary r*’
she cried. “When your poor father was
going away, I always arranged every
little detail for him with my own hands,
but you sit there as coldly as if you had
been married 20 years instead of this
being your first pairing with your hus
band. little more than a bridegroom.”
It must be owned that the girl felt a
thrill of disgnst go through her at her
mother's words. A wild prayer half
formed itself in her heart that this first
parting might be the last, and an allur
ing picture of a quiet grave, with the
inscription “Mary Conway, aged 98,”
on the headstone, slipped sweetly
through her mind, fthe even smiled,
heartsick as she was, as she answered
her mother’s plaintive and wondering
words
“Ah. bnt you see it was different
with you, mother; you married for leve I
Edward doesn't keep me to pack his
things for him. Mouncey will do it bet
ter than I.”
“It is most strange,” said Mrs. Ham
ilton. “but of course we express our
feelings so differently. You are ao like
your poor father and not in the least
like me. He was always so qpiet and
reserved—just as yon are. ”
“One cannot help one’s naturs," aaid
Mary, trying to speak with indifference.
“And of course we have known all along
that Edward would have to be away a
good deal A few days' more or lees
make little difference. ”
“Ah, well, it is all for the best that
you do take things like Vhatt’’ said Mm
Hamilton, distinct reproach in her
tones. “I should never have done for a
Bailor’s wife: I should have broken my
heart every time he Went away.”
“God tempers the wind to the shorn
lamb,” said Mary.
She felt that the remark was flippant,
even unfeeling, and yet the effort which
she was putting npon herself was so
great that it was only by the most se
vere determination that ahe was able tp
keep herself calm. The thrill of com
punction was, however, thrown away,
for Mm Hamilton’s shallow mind was
not capable of taking in two ideas at
the same time. i
“Ah, yes, truer words were never
spoken!” she remarked. “I often won
der wbat I should have done if Provi
dence had not sent dear Edward our
way. I shudder to think what my life
wonld have been, ill and alone all day
In that miserable little honae In that
dreary, sordid neighborhood. ”
“I should have made other arrange
ments. I should have done my beat, ”
said Mary a little indignantly.
“Yes, darling child, V know you
would,” Mm.Hamilton returned in an
indignant tone, aa one might speak to a
feable person wh<? had tried to stem the
river of life and had failed utterly.
“But mercifully—and truly the ways
of Providence are wonderful; I feel it
more and more every day that I live
—mercifully God did think fit to temper
the wind to the shorn lamb, or the
•horn sheep, as one might say in my
case. Mary, what have you dime to
your facet” She asked the last question
in a totally different voice Mm Ham
ilton was always two people at one and
ths same time—the artificial fine lady,
who was given to preaching little ssr-
monettes all in platitudes, and the shal
low. self centered person, with a keen
eye to the main chance of Na 1.
Mary started at the direct question.
She was accustomed to hearing her
mother babble* aimlessly on from sub
ject to subject, but a change of tone
always called for attention. “M/facet*
p stairs, and once in the shelter of her
own room she fought with bar pain
and misery—ays, aa desperately as any
martyr fought with beasts of old in the
amphitheater 1 of cruel Rome.
It wee hard work, herd work, this
martyrdom of bars, a voluntary sacri
fice for a mother incapable of appreci
ating a nature finer than bar own; it
was nobility thrown away, considera
tion for one who never considered any
ona but herself. Some glimmering—end
it was only a glimmering, for our
knowledge of natures with which ws
have grown np comes but slowly and
tremblingly—came to her when she had
calmed herself and forced herself to go
down again to ths pretty drawing room
which was part of her prison.
“Fvosen, poor darling,” she heard
bar mother eay, “quite frosen. Be very-
tender with her, dear boy; aha has a
highly ssUkitive nature and feels things
terribly. Those who can sob and cry
get off very easily in this life, ^ my dear
Edward, but it iatbe quiet, undemon
strative ones who feeL My poor darling t
My heart aches for her.”
IT.
CHAPTER
PARTED.
The actual parting between Captain
Conway and Mary was got over more
MtitafcgtoMb” had
been afraid that Mrs. Hamilton would
be present to the last moment and that
she wonld inevitably discover at least
something of the true state of affairs
Fortunately, however.
Mrs Hamilton was dominated by a
keen desire to spare herself any needless
excitement, so that she ensconced her
self in her favorite chair in the draw
ing room window and bade farewell to
her son-in-law in that place.
^‘Go to the gate to see the last of the
master, ” she said to the two servants
“Mrs. Conway is feeling the parting
terribly, and it will be leas hard for her
if she haa no pne to. look on. “
The two girls were not a little skep
tical as to the depth of their young
mistress’ woe, but they fall in with
cheerful obedience to the wicbes of
“miaaia’ mother” and went off to the'
front gate, leaving the hnsband and
wife to part withont onlookers.
What actually took place waa this:
Captain Conway went into the drawing
room to say goodby to Mrs. Hamilton,
enduring her tears and-clinging em
braces like a true Briton. “I’ll take
care of her, dear boy,” abe whispered
brokenly. “My poor, poor child I”
“Goodby, mother,” be said, briefly.
"I haven’t a minute to spare. Goodby.
Take care of _ yourself. *’ - And then he
went out of the room, closing tbs door
behind him.
“Well, goodby. Mary, ” be said, bold
ing out his hand to bis wife.
“Goodby, “ said Mary, without look
ing at him. k
“You haven’t changed yonr mind
yet T” be asked. * •
“Not in the least.”
For a moment be said notbing. “You
little devil,” be hissed A last between
his teeth, “you’re prettier and more
fetching than evert” He caught hold of
her and held her cloeely to him. “Do
you think you are going to keep me at
arm’s length forever T Not a bit of itl I
love you ten thousand times more for
being such a little devil as you are. All
the other women I’ve ever known are as
tarns as new milk compared to you.
There’s no mistake about year being
like strong drink to a man. Yon’ll kiss
me before I goT”
“Not I I"
“Not Well, I’ll wait for that iben-
time you’re here, my ladybird, and I’ll
have a few kisses to remember you by-
before we.part. ”
“No—oa”
“Yes—yes." be persisted, and being
like a frail reed in the hands of a giant
■he could not prevent blm f^precover
ing her f*ce with k^sea. ^
He set her free as suddenly as be bad
canght her, and, turning, went out of
the house and away down the garden
path without once again looking at her.
Mary, aa soon aa abe was free, fled to
hpr own room and locked herself into
that sanctnary. Her first act was to
run to the dressing glass and to look at
herself, and somehow the sight of her
/•
9* could not prevent Mm from eanmOuQ
her lace with Msecs. .
she aaid slowly, putting up her hand to
I knocked I*
the red mark. “Oh, it got
For half a wend she would have bunt
out with the whole story, but in her
sudden upward glance abe had noted
Mrs. Hamilton’s serene, well aatfcAed
expression, the look of oars and atten
tion which pervaded her whole patron,
her smart gown, her dainty Uttte co
cap AH
41 teas
scarlet face and biasing eyes but served
to fan the fierce flame of bitter resent
ment which wee burning so passionate
ly in her .heart “How dared be, how
dared bet 1 -’ she burst out. “Dees he
think I am n toy to be dung down one
minute and played with the nextf Oh.
how dared bet’’
She was quivering. with rage, hut
of team about
•he fait
in that
more deeply Insulted than if
an had sailed Ime in the
street end had dehberataly kissed bar
without so much as a with your
at • by fear leave. 8ueh
her thoughts might hare put down to
a donsn motives, admiration, daring or
s wager, but to think that tha man
who Only that moraing had radsad Us
hapd and struck bar to ths does to
think that be had dared to torus Us'
loathsome kisses'upon hat and faa spite
of bar absolute refusal 1 It was horrible
—it was an outrage, no more, no Imp
She was still raging when the ball
rang in the hall, and after a minute or
so Mouncey came up and told her that
tea wee served In the drawing room.
With the Utot intentions in the world,
end believing thoroughly in a cup of
toads a universal panacea for every
woo. Mrs. Hamilton had ordered the
small repast to b* served a full half
hour earlier than usual, and when
Mary, still flushed end full of ire, eeme
down she entered into • voluble expla
nation of her reasons for so doing.
“Come, my darling; a cup of tea will
do you all the good in the world. Tsng-
gested to Mouncey that she should 1st
us have it at once. There are little hot
hunt, dear child. Come, try to eat some,
for fretting will not bring our dear boy
home one day earlier. ”
A reply rose to the tip of Mary’s
tongue, one which would have relieved
her mother's mind forever as to the
likelihood of her fretting. She choked
it beck, however, and sat down before
the tea table. Mrs.’ Hamilton looked at
her furtively.
4 “Evidently she is bottling it all np
poor darling I There’s not • sign of a
tear. Such an intense yet reserved na
ture. My poor, poor girl I” And then
Mrs. Hamilton helped herself to • lit
tle hot bun with • virtuous air, as one
who is conscious of having dons her
Whole doty In every relation of life.
household
went on with the regularity of clock
Some ten years ago, says the Raleigh
Post, if our memory as to time serves
us well, after a very careful mvesti-
attompting any such scheme as a gation bT^Col. JohtLp. CanQ ®r®“ , e
r out of her present difficult lee. The instance*, of the State agricultural de
4 win your
consent to tear herself
•way from her ‘dear boy’ and Acacia
Villa T“ And the answer to each was
such aa showed the utter hopelessness
ot
way out of her present
want of experience, the want of capital
the drag that her invalid mother must
always be upon her movements, these
fisadvantages always came home to her
When ehe thought out some fresh
mheme for earning a living.
• “If I had only myself to consider, I
•sold go and be a scullery maid,’’ she
**Jd to herself passionately, forgetting,
poor girl that a schoolteacher would
be of but little use in kitchen or scul
lery.
So the days went by peacefully and
uneventfully enough, In perfect content
on Mrs. Hamilton’s part, in feverish
unrest for Mary. And aa each one dark
ened into night she felt that ahe was
one day nearer to ■ terrible alternative,
to a meeting with the man who bed
sworn to protect her against all possible
troubles, but who- had outraged ber
womanhood and broken down every
shred of respect and gratitude which ahe
might, nay would, have felt for him.
She felt more and more as each morn
ing rose that ahe waa fast approaching
the time when she must either submit
to the vilest degradation of herself or
sse her mother thrust out in her feeble-
THE CULTURE
TOBACCO.
work and in all respects as if no abaent
master was in existence. Mrs. Hamil
ton assiduously studied the daily paper!
for newi of ths Arikhama, and abe bab
bled from time to time of “our deal
boy." After several day*she, however, -
gave up even that much, and. aa Mary
did not divulge the contents of several
letters which she received from her
husband, Mrs. Hamilton was positively
afraid to question ber on the subject,
but contented herself with seeing that
extra good things were provided for
Mary's meals.
“Yes; see that there are'Iittle buns,
-Mouncey.” she said each morning.
“And tell Foster to make them very
hot and with plenty of butter. What
-would Mrs. Conway like for a sweet t
Well let me see. Sbe used to love a
trifle with almonds, ratafias and strsw-
berry jam. You might tell Foster to
make a Dice little dish of trifle and per-
hape mushrooms on toast for afterward.
We must take care to keep Mrs. Con
way’a strength up. She la feeling the
parting terribly."
“Which”—commented Julia Moun
cey as she repeated the conversation to
ihe neat cook in the kitchen—“which,
between you and me, Alice. I’m mor«
than doubtful about It’a my opinion
that missis married master out of con
sideration for her ma. ’Tain’t likely a
grizzled, gruff, unreasonable beast such
■shim’sgoing to break any young girl i
heart when be goes away."
“I ahouldp’t wonder but what you’rs
right, Julia,” returned Foster wisely.
Meantime in Mary's mind only a
hnge sense of relief from an obnoxious
presence dominated every other feeling.
8he beard her mother’s remarks abont
“our dear boy,” it is true, but she sim
ply endured them as so much babble
which it would be useless to answer.
Her one idea waa to think out acme
plan by which she could be rendered
free qt her husband’s purse at the end
at the time of hia absence. 8b* had
fully made up her mind that she would
never nndA any circumstances live
with him again. She told herself that jt
waa no pert of a wife’s duties to live
with a man who had uaad personal vio
lence toward ber. She went over ths
situation many times in her own mind,
and ahe had deliberately come to ths
conclusion that in striking ber to the
ground Captain Conway had forfeited
all further right to her consideration.
“I knew,” her thoughta ran, “that
l£ was elderly, or at least of advanced^
middle age, that he waa rough end plal 0 f
In ways and manners, but I did
know that he waa a brute, an unf +
gated brute. If I had known it, even
for my moth'could not and
would noV|U Q 0 M him. Now I
feel I am " * V I /□ stifled in carving
out the my own life independ
ently of him.” 7
partment, the
bacco i)
total production of to-
aroliua was pliiced at
She found her mother tying senseless npon
the floor.
to face a cold world in which there
was not Bcrmnch as the bluest provision
for her I It waa a terrible situation, a
cruel alternative, yet it was the natural
outcome of a marriage entered into
without the one great amalgamating
alloy—level
But time goes on. Be the need ever
so great, there are no Joshuas nowadays
to bid the sun stand still in the heavens,
and so time flits on with noiseless and
rentless step. Tbe summer faded, au
tumn drew on, winter was nigb at band,
and Mary Conway had found no resting
place, no coign of vantage, no protec
tion against the humiliation that loom
ed before her. %
Her last effort was to go round the
great dress shops in tbe west end, but
each one found, some fault and would
have none of her. One told her that
Want of experience was an insuperable
objection, another that they never took
yonng ladies into the showrooms with
out a handsome premium; a third com
plained that ahe was not tall enough, a
fourth that sbe looked delicate, • fifth
that abe waa too shy in manner. So ahe
went home wearied in mind and body
alike, with one more avenue dosed to
her, one more hope gone. And when ahe,
with a word of explanation npon her
11 pa, opened tbe drawing room door it
waa to find ber mother lying eensele
npon the floor and in her stiffened fin
gers an evening paper tightly dutched.
in North Ca
about 49,000,000 pounds.
Then/its culture had scarcely ex
tended east of Warren, Nash and
Wake counties. It had extended west
to the French Broad Valley, even
f oodly amounts being produced ui
[aywood and Swain counties.
Now it is produce! 1, in rapidly in
creasing quantities throughout almost
the entire eastern section, Craven,
Jones, Lefloir, Duplin, Onslow, Pitt,
Greene,- Edgecombe, Wilson, Wayne,
Johnston, Sampson, specially devoting
large areas thereto.
Twenty-five or thirty years ago the
finest tobacco, that which commanded
the fancy prices, was produced in
Granville, Person, Orange, Caswell,
Rockingham counties. Ten or fifteen
years later this quality was produced,
comparatively almost exclusively be
yond the Blue Ridge. Moderate but
very" comfortable fortunes were made
by planters in both sections during the
period when their particular section
tornished the better quality. And
l^&t is strange al>out this is the finest
quality as to quantity seems to run in
sections and for limited periods of
tiifae. Now the finest tobacco, judging
by the prices—and of course this is
the determining feature—is produced in
the eastern counties, counties east of
Wake, Warren and those nearby. As
much tobacco, we learn, is raised in
the other sections as formerly, but our
eastern friends certainly seem to be
enjoying the benefils as to prices for
the “round crop” that blessed our cen
tral friends first and the western peo
ple later. The yield m pounds in the
State most be very largely increased,
and if 49 millions of, iKiunds was the
product at the time Col. Cameron pre
pared his sutement, certainly the
amount now must be millions more, if
not fully double. But we would really
like ti* have an explanation of the
change of base of the high priced to
bacco, first from the central to the
western part of the State and now to
the eastern section. Cf course we do
not mean that good crops of tobacco
that si ill fetch high prices are not pro
duced in all sections ; but speaking of
the crop as a whole, by sections, the
fact* are certainly as we have stated.
But not only has the production very
largely increased ia this State, bfanch-
out inlo new territory, but our
L
[101
But, though it is an easy
thing toss;
life tor one
•elf, it is another thing to de it. It Is
coe thing to declare for independence;
it is another thing to free oneself
from a dependent position. And when
Mary Conway cam* to weigh herself in
the balance against fate ahe found that
she waa not able to press down her side
of tbe ecalee so much as a jot
Her own career, in which ahe bed
been doing ao well et the time of her
marriage, waa irrevocably dosed to her,
even had abe been willing tq,begin again
at the lowest rung of the ladder, and
no other one seemed to be open tojier
She thought of many ways of earning
a living, but tbe'very first question
which common sense put tdther always
brought her up sharp like a bird tied by
the leg. which, when It would flutter
away, la brought up sharply to a stand
still by the string that ties it Ths ques
tion was, “What do you know about
itt” Tbe answer waa always the same
and came with uncompromising curt
ness. “Nothing 1”
She gave more than a thought to go
ing on tbe stage—always a woman's
flirt instinct in times of straw—but
when, she heard of there being 1,100
names on the books of one theater and
1,800 on the promise list of another she
waa discouraged from any hope of soc-
cess In that direction.. She thought of
trying literature, and ahe did write a
little story which she smiled and cried
over and copied out many times and
loved dearly. Bnt ahe eent her bantling
out into tbe hard world, and ahe never
tow or beard of it again I She wandered
whether she could start a
■bool for smell children; but,
although she felt hem
enough to teach. —
ta and aahed: “Bow an jm \ Is
year by year possibly., just aaxotiaa-xa
Nece
Nearly all wmim lu»k
forward to the erasai
of motherhood with sd
much dread sad anxiety
that only after the baby has
safely arrived sad made a
warm little place for himself
ia the mother’s heart, decs
she fairly realise that it was
indeed a rood angel who
brought this wee nestling to
brighten and sweeten her life,
women who ere approaching motherhood
r omen who are ep.
with a sense of feer end solicitude, or in a
weakcaed physical condition, need the
kelp of that marvelous “ Fevorite Prescrip
tion,” invented by Dr. R. V. Pierce, chief
consulting physician of the invalids’Hotel
and .Surgical Institute, Bnfiklo, N. Y., end
designed expressly to roster*Wealthy vigor
to the delicate feminine etrnetnre involved
lb motherhood. It tehee sway ell of the
danger and moot of the pain attendant up
on motherhood, end confon on the beqy
that lusty hardihood which ia a joy to a
mother’s neart.
Aa Ohio lady, Mrs. Leia HeAnire. of Clariag-
ton, Monroe Co., in a letter to Dr. Pierce, says:
" I had always been heslthy until four years
ago. Before the birth of my child I sunred
almost death a dozen times. Had whit we cai>
milk leg for four years. CouM not stsnd it to be
on my leet long St a time without swelling dread-
folly. Before my last baby was born, I had ev
ery symptom of a return of the trouble. My leg
swelled badly.' I read of Dr. Pierce's Favorite
Prescription, and thought I would try it I took
six bottles, and when my baby was born I was
not sick at an after I was out of labor, which
lasted only a short time. In times previons, la
bor had lasted twelve ta fifteen hoars. I am a
well woman to-day, aad have been since I got
out of bed, when my little boy was nine days old.
X give tha credit all to Dr. PVrree's Favorite Pre
scription. 1 will never da without it during meh
a time.**
ing
neighbor, South Carolina, has caught
on, and is goiug into the cultivation of
the weed heavily. So far the success
of those people has corresponded with
that of our people, and big profits seem
(o have prevailed, so much so that the
tendency to increase tho acreage
amounts to a fever. The Columbia
State gives us the following :
“South Carolina, it is estimated, pro
duced 18,000,000 pounds of tobacco
last year. The Darlington News, with
olhernewepapera in the tobacco region,
holds that the area this year ia twice
as great"aa last. This is hardly possi
ble, but if the increase in yield should
be even 50 per cent, the crop of 1899
would be *27,000,000 pounds, a quantity
better undeistood if reduced to 13,500
tons, or to 2,700 carloads of 10,000
pounds each. When it is considered
that this crop is only in its beginning
South Carolina anti ia generally
in
grown only in oue forth or one-fifth of
the belt adapted to its production, ita
possibilities for the future are seen lo
be very great. It will not lake South
Carolina many yton to rank both
North Carolina and Virginia aa a to
bacco producing State.”
Unless the elements prove unpropi-
tious, the prospects are for an enor
mously increased crop, to be increased
Increased. Necessarily this must have
some effect upon prices in general ;
but, of one thing our farmer friends
ma£ be assured, tliat the greater tbe
crop in general, the more important it
become, so far as profit is epneetaed,
for the production of the besf quality.
Tobacco may be tobacco, but still,
when we come to sell, or even to nse
it, we discover that there is a vast dif
ference in tho quality, and it is this
difference that fixes the prices. There
is some difference in the value of cot
ton, according to the grades but a far
greater difference in the value of to
bacco, based on the same inequality.
A crop of tobacco that will average 10’
cents per pound or over, “round,”’
pays better than cotton at 6 or 8 cents
per poupd. But it is the good tobacco-
—good in texture, color and quality—
that is profitable, after all. This par
ticular feature should receive the most
earnest care of tbe tobacco planter.
The forest area of American British
possessions is estimated at about eight
hundred million acres. The settler
haa cut his way into the fringe of this
vast woodland, but his depredationa
are nothing as compared with the ter
rific scourge of fire w hich has ram
paged through ii at different limes.
The United States has about four hun
dred and fifty million acres of forest,
and this is being rapidly depleted by
the axe and also by destructive fires,
which the government, however, is
now investigating menus to prevent or
control.
The fanner has to meet such sharp
competition that he must economise ia.
every detail. Hfe-must bring product
ion to the lowest cost and promote It
to the highest efficiency in its employ
ment He mast avoid all unnecessary
waste and return to the sdil the ele
ments of fertility absorbed by his crops.
All this he can do by rotation of crops,
by production of feeding crops, by feed
ing all the live stock his farm will sus
tain and by applying to his fields all the
manure tliat his live stock supply. ^
. Tho American goldfineh or wild
canary is aa beautiful as it is useful,
dud as a weed deetroyei has few equals.
Us ettentiou very largely to
and is especially fond of wild
thistles, wild sunflower and rag weal.
It ia >o often seen gracefully poised u|kni
thistles that 11 is commonly called tho
thistle bird. It is also vary load of
cultivated