Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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I THE LEDGER: GAFFXET, S. C M JANUARY G, 1898. SOME TIME. Pome time wo j»hnl) !:now why k* Minnii t inornin/s ohanjjo to noons of rain, Tlnd why our steps are slir.uowcd so by pain, And why we often lie On couel os sown with thorns of rare and doubt, ^id ! 1 r livi s rre tl.ic-Uly hcd -i’d :.l "lit |h t .-m ihttl pul our loftiest pUms to rout. Some time we shall know why (dearest hope i aio s.vept . ■> .lift away, , why our 1 . iv.htest flowers iirsi decay, Why sonif is lost in siph, ■y claspr.:-; i" slip so si < a apart— liam i no ..t, and deatli nod heart from heart |il from deepest depths the teardrops start. Sonic time we ell shall know , ether, aye, as wo or.rselvi s are known Isoe how out of darkaan light haa grown. And he who loves us so kite our willfnlm ss and blind c< mplaint fshow us bow itis Itin.l and < aim res.raiut [mold u human . oul Into a aalnk. Some time our eyes shall see I silver lining to the darkest cloud lo silvery ech( < s fe’low thunders loud. Some time our hearts shall bo fltent, forgdlin;' nil our restless mood id knowing everything has worked good ie how and v irn and why be understood. —Lillian (rrny in Boston Watchman. fo: A SINGER'S ROMANCE. The Warwich street flats were always dismal. On a bright day they looked more gloomy and grimy than ever, and when tbo sun beat down strong and yellow upon the dull red brieks it seemed to bo crushing out the life and stifling tbo breath cf tbo human beings who fought and struggled and laughed and wept inside. Today the heat was almost unbear able. It beat down upon tho ugly, nar row, squalid street until the poverty stricken neighborhood appeared loath some even to its hardened inhabitants. In ouo of tho flats a woman, who was littlo more than a girl, wandered list lessly backward and forward or strum med with weary effort upon her littlo piano. .She was pale with the heat and restWss with a dull foreboding that en ten d her heart. For the first time since her marriage she felt lonely and miser able, and she had been married just six months. During that time nothing had occurred to mar tho harmony of their lives. For six months they had been perfectly happy. Everything had gone smoothly. Kali h, who was a singer in ouo of tho theaters, had had continual engagements, and although tbo salary ho earned was v< ry small they had lived comfortably upon it and bun content. Dut now there was a gnawing fear in her thoughts—a jarring anxiety that refused to bo stilled. She had seen Ralph grow paler and thinner day after day. Sho had noticed the weariness grow in his eyes, tho tired look that was fast becoming habitual to bis face, and sho was afraid—what of she scarcely dared own even to herself; but sho knew’ that Ralph was working too hard and that tho summer heat was undermining his strength. She sat down presently to practfce. Somehow today her voice sounded clearer and stronger than it had ever dono before. Tbo keys seemed to fall with scarcely an effort beneath her lin gers, and sho found herself singing an old song that she had known years ago at home—u dull, pathetic little air that made her suddenly break down and sob —she scarcely knew why, except that tho gloomy foreboding had gripped her heart and something in the song seemed, absurdly enough, to apply to her. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. She sprang up, with a scarlet flush on her cheeks, and with a sudden brighten ing in her eyes. A few’ minutes later sho was making her way rapidly through tho narrow, reeking street and out into tho broader thoroughfare beyond. Sho stopped beforo a house bearing a brass plate, and then the flush in her cheeks began to fadeaway. She hesitat ed for a moment before sho rang tho bell, and then, in btr nervousness, gave such a peal that tho professor, slumber ing peacefully inside, started up in af fright. “Ach, Himmel!” ho remarked. “Vat is it?” Tho reply came in tbo form of a neat ly dressed servant, who announced that a young lady was waiting to see him, and tho professor’s curiosity overcoming his usual dignity of manner he gave or ders that the young lady should bo ad mitted. Nellie came in nervously. She glanced at tho tig, bearded man in front of her and wished sho had not been so hasty. She was more than half afraid cf tho professor—who had such u reputation for eccentricity—and sho hesitated be fore she plunged into tho story sho had so carefully planned to tell him. When she spoke, all her nicely word ed sentences, all her carefully calculated eloquence, vanished, and she could only stammer helplessly: “I—I wanted to ask you,” sbobegau, “to—to test my voice.” Tho professor smiled—a grim, sig nificant smile—and she felt in very truth she was bearding a lion in his den. “Oh, I know it’s a strange thing to ask you to do,” she said nervously, “but I thought—I thought”— Tho professor grunted through his beard. “Well, well,” ho said gruffly. "Will you tako a seatV” “Oh, no,” said Nellie excitedly. “If you please, I’d rather stand. I’m too anxious. I want to know about my voice. I want to know if—if I could make some money.” She paused. A sudden horror at her own temerity overtook her. Sho had oomo to one of the most celebrated pro fessors of music in London and boldly asked him to test her voice. (Supposing he asked her a guinea or two for doing it? She could not pay him, and ho must be told so at once. “1 think perhaps I ought not to have comu,” sho said nervously. “I am very poor. I should have no money to pay for yoor opinion, but—but I uovir thought .of that when 1 came. I forgot—I only thought of—of Hal—of myself. * Her voice broke a little, and wh’U she looked up she found the professor’s small, tw.ukling eyes fixed keenly upon her. He said nothing, fie stood immovably watching her, and, as if in reply to some unuttcred question, sho went on. “I was so anxious. This afternoon something worried me. I don’t know what it was exactly—a sort of forebod ing, and I could not help thinking. My husband, you know, sings at a theater. He—bo is not streng, and lately ho seems strange, as if—as if his health was giving away. Ho wants rest and change. Only the other week the doctor said ho ought to get away to the sea, and—and he can’t do it. He only earns just enough for us to livu upon, and if —if he should be ill I don’t know what we should do. I came to you to know it" I could earn some money. ” She stopped. The professor was still watching her. “Well, well,” he said, not unkindly, “let us see. Let me hear you sing.” She sat down nervously to the piano. Tho keys wt ro indistinguishable beforo her eyes, and her fingers trembled weak ly. For a moment her voice was beyond her control. She felt incapable of steadying it, and she could not remem ber a word to sing. Then she suddenly caught sight of an old song called “Daddy” lying upon the piano, and she took it up and began to play. She sang through the first verso with all the exquisite pathos of 'which her voice was capable. It rang out soft and clear across the room, and the pro fessor almost fancied he dreamed. He woke with a start to find that she had stopped and was putting back the music. “Again,” ho raid harshly. “Sing it again.” Sho sang it through once more, and when sho locked around the professor was staring out of tho window, and tho sight of his ba< k turned toward ber sent a chill to her heart. “I was afraid I should be a failure,” she said, with a half sob, taking her gloves. “I am sorry—I”— He turned round at the sound of her voice. She did net know that his eyes were full of tears and that the song had conjured up recollections of his dead wife. “Scales,” he said abruptly. And Nel lie went back obediently to the piano. When she had finished, he came over himself and put her through a number of exercises. Ho tested her voice in every possible way. He took infinite ! pains with her—such pains that would have considerably astonished some of his pupils if they could have heard 1 —and when he had finished, he looker! up in terestedly' into ber face. “Your voice has been well trained,” w as all ho remarked. “I had a good master,” said Nellie, with the chill growing at her heart, “and I have always kept up my prac tice. I have practiced every day since I have been married.” “Good, good !” said tho professor sud denly. “Very good! And if something should turn up will you take it at once?” Nellie caught her breath with a gasp of astonishment. “Take it!” she cried. “Then—then, you do think—you think I can earn some money?” “I think,” said the professor, forget ting his dignity and his English, with a sudden frantic gesture, “I think you haf a peautiful voice — a very peautiful voice!” That afternoon Nellie waited impa tiently for Ralph to come back from re hearsal. Who was burning to tell him tho news and to get his permission to look out for an engagement. The pro fessor had spoken so favorably of her voice,had given her so much encourage ment, that she was filled with tho wild est hopes. There must be something in it. He had promist d to help her out of sheer admiration for her voice, and sure ly it must be worth something for so gn at a professor to take her up. Sho lay back luxuriously in her easy chair and dreamed golden dreams. And the summer afternoon waned and passed, and still Ralph did not come. She sat up listening for his foot steps. Somebody was making such a noise on the stairs outside that she could hear nothing. Men—heavy booted men —seemed to bo tramping up with some heavy burden. She could hear their clumsy feet clambering up; she could hear tho murmur of their gruff voices, and she sighed imj uth ntly as the sounds came nearer. Suddenly they stopped—stopped out side her door, and then there was an ominous silence. The next moment there came a knock, and a policeman looked in. Nellie started u,. with a cry. Tho policeman came forward and tried to ki ep lur back. Some other men followed him. There seemed to bo quite a lot of men crowding into her little room, but she could see none of them distinctly — only one form that lay stretched unconscious on a shutter, and over that form she bent, with a terribly white face, and stared wildly at tho nar row stream of red blood that was oozing slowly from her husband’s colorless lips. woudrrrd. And Nellie ordered a nurse and everything else the doct< r suggested with a reckless disregard of expense. Somebody was saying something to her about Ralph. “He fainted at ro hearsal, and”— She looked up and found the doctor speaking to her. t “The truth is kindest after all,” ho said presently. “He is very dangerous ly ill—so ill that I think”—glancing round the shabbily furnished room—“I /i think he ought to be removed to a bos*/ pital. He requires great care—great cure. He must have a nurse, and if life is to be saved he must be sjmfud nothing.” / . Nellie looked up helplessly. “Ye*, }*«,’• cho said dully. “Ho shall have a nurse. He chull be cp&t'ed noth ing" Tho doctor glanced at her curiously. Ho wondered what she wu* going to do, this pale faced girl. Ho had learned that her husband was an actor, lie knew, too, that he carted only a small salary, and he feared her—mere than he words. Ho said uctbii: There was no hope. The doctor said so, but Nellie refused to believe it, and she sat by the bedside, looking eagerly into her husband’s col orless lace and trying to lind some sign of hope—in vain. This vtry day he might either die or live, and the doctor had said that she must prepare for the worst. It was impossible. She could not, s.ho would not, believe that Ralph might die. As she sat there the nurse entered and brought her a letter. Nellie looked at it indifferently. What did letters matter now? Sho took it in her trem bling bonds and tore it open wearily. As she read a sudden red flush sprang into her cheeks and a sharp light flashed into her eyes, ybe read on confusedly. What she read made no impression upon her at first. Tho letters danced be fore her eyes, and the words appeared stupid and meaningless, but after a minute they became clear, and sho be gan to understand. Mine. Lucille, the professor wrote, was unable to sing at the Albert hall that night, and she, Nellie Underwood, was to take her place. Sho looked at Ralph—fll, perhaps dy ing—on the bed, and then she turned back to the letter. Her chance had conic at last. Tho chance that she had waited for so eagerly had come at last like a wonderful miracle or else like a fieudkh trick. She looked at it for a moment longer, and then she broke into harsh, unmean ing laughter. She was to sing at the Albert hall that night. The manager regretted that Mme. Lucille had been taken ill. He was ex tremely sorry and he was angry, too, for Mme. Lucille’s name on the bills had more than half filled the house, and now her place was to be taken by a lit tlo pale faced girl, who looked hopeless ly plain and unattractive. Underwood! The very name was com monplace. The audience sighed impa tiently and leaned wearily back against their cushioned seats. They looked more weary than ever when Nellie step ped upon the stage, iibe was clothed in white—a plain, old fashioned gown, years old, and without a single flower, and they tittered audibly behind their fans. The accompanist sat down and rattled off tho opening bars of a famous old song. It was the cry of a woman for a lover she would never see again, and it was so old that people thought it was worn out. The accompanist played on, the notes became slower, and finally ceased, and then he waited. Apparently Nellie had not beard. The music had fallen from her hands, and sho was staring out with a white set face at the crowded ball beforo her. “Stage fright, poor thing,” people murmured. Some of them stared at her coldly, somo of them put up their opera glasses to look at her, but they could not see what she saw—a man lying tossing, per haps dying, on a bed. They could not feel what she felt, that terrible aching at her heart, and that choking at her throat. Suddenly tbo mist cleared from ber eyes, and she saw, with a start, tho waiting audience b“foro her and the glasses leveled to her face, and she turn ed to tho accompanist. He understood her glance and commenced again. Then she raised her eyes and stared straight toward the gallery. When she opened ber lips, her voice rang out clear and full across tho crowded hall. It never faltered. The notes fell from her lips liquid, wonderful, and the audi ence suddenly became still. They ceased to stare at her. Opera glasses fell—it was strange that they had become dim —and in that great hall there was scarcely a sound to he heard. Tho song went on. What was there in that old fashioned air to hold them spellbound? A girl's fresh voice calling to her absent lover. They had never heard it sung like that before. The eyes of beautiful women became moist. Strong men leaned forward to hide their faces. They scarcely realized it when tho music stopped; then they looked up, to see her disappearing from the stage, and for a brief moment there was a dead silence. Then tho storm began. Artilieiu. wo men fought their artificiality. Wearied men woke to life again and shouted wildly at the empty platform. Nellie heard it faintly at the kjfTk. but her only thought was to gcL/hv uy to Ralph, and while she was v^peeding homeward in a eab a man vfns making profuse apologies to theyffodieuce Ho was sorry Mrs Underwood could not sing again that night/but ho hoped and believed they would bear her again very soon. When Nellie 4ot home, tho room seemed to her vvty dark. Sho saw dis tinctly two fWures which came toward her us she efittrod, and then she heard a faint vojfce—Ralph’s voice—speaking to her fro,,, the bed. She ijlard neither tho doctor’s ud- mouitLomi nor the nurse’s entreaties. She knelt at her husband’s side and sobbed her heart out on his pillow. obj/ec LOSS OF VISUAL ACUTENESS. ( Some of tho ncaitOBH That Tend to Mai:e Children Need (ilasse*. It is interesting to compare tho visual acuteness of the normal eye before and after the effect of some purely physical cause that may be within the realm of I either nature or civilization. Taking a few instances of each for illustration, I tvill cite from nature first. It is well known that severe illness greatly im pairs the acuteness of vision of an other wise strong eye. Almost tho first thing a convalescent will do is to call for a book or newspaper to while away the tedium of the sickroom. Unless warned not to try his eyes too much he is apt, through forgetfulness, to overtask his accommodative powers or injure the already weakened ciliary muscle. When the rest of his body recovers its normal strength, the eye continues weak. After straining tho eyes more in the vain hope that his sight will improve, the person, if he is wise, will consult experienced help; if otherwise, ho will pick up the first pair of spectacles available, regard less of whether they bo too strong or too weak for his eyes. Should be finally go to an optician the latter will often find it difficult to fit glasses satisfactorily. Other natural causes that affect the eyes are wind, dust, light and heat, when excessive. Eyes otherwise good enough become weak under such condi tions. Tho weakness may be due to an error of refract'on, and under most con ditions the accommodative power of the eye is strong enough to overcome tho efror. Eut under such atmospheric or climatic conditions as I have mentioned the accommodation is lessened, and tho eye cannot find relief except by tho use of glasses. They should generally ho convex. Having mentioned those losses of vis ual acuteness due to natural causes, next in order r«ro causes produced by civilization. At tho outset I will say that if the patieuc were to change his occupation and take plenty of fresh air and exercise the optician’s services might never be needed, but these “ifs” are in the way and are not to be got rid of by the average individual. Take a boy from tho country, bring him to town and place him at clerical work, writing perhaps all day and into the night. Put him behind a counter and let him stand all day with an hour free out of 12, or more, or let him sit at a workbench, following a trade that keeps his eyes fixed i-teadily hour after hour 12 to 18 inches in front of him. Take this same youth with hitherto good eyes and bid him use them day in and day out, reading for a profession, or let him occupy his time in a dimly lighted room, or bend over a desk be neath artificial light all the time. 1 might go on, giving instance after in stance, without particularizing any call ing as more harmful than others to the eyes. Is it a wonder that tho children of this generation aro wearing glasses along with their graudsires? Did ago is no longer tho reason for wearing glasses. In nino eases out of ten the young man needs a convex glass to assist his over taxed eyes in fulfilling their duties. In addition to these causes of weak ened vision it is hardly necessary to mention the common evils cf tobacco and alcoholic stimulants. Again, if tho strong constitution of a boy cannot savo his eyes from their thousand and one uses, how can frail women escape? The ever increasing army of women workers in shops and offices and the new avenues of employment opening to them swell tho number of spectacle wearers. It has been my purpose to point out that it is not tho serious and very plain errors of refracticu that cause tho most of an op tician’s patronage, and he must often attribute tho loss of visual acuteness to other causes.—Dr. H. Ruth in Jewelers’ Weekly. Tlio Model Had n Fit. It is seldom that an artist gets excited about tho safety or he alth of his models. William Carroll, who has his studio on East Twenty-third street, recently re ceived a shock. Ho had a model posing for him who came from Philadelphia. She was not in good health, but he was trying to finish a piece of work, and she insisted on posing a short while each day. He went out to lunch and was gone an hour. Ho was strolling back to his studio leisurely when the Ixiy who •Bg^ft/hiTVinct him and exclaimed: /“Well, thatT^Lcrdelpker model has a fit.” “Why didn’t you p<fuT«« ld wuter on her?” said tho artist, rushing M 8 studio. The small hoy smiled and shook head. “That would have ruined fit.” • Hut tho artist did not hear him us be rushed up stairs and entered the studio, where ho expected to see the model dy ing. Hhe was standing in front of a glass with a new dress on, and taming she asked: “How do you like my new fit?” “Ob, first rate; but I thought it was epileptic instead of new!”—New York Commercial. “Fiztitfnr Mary’s” Best Fi*lit. Mr. Jacob A. Riis contributes an article on “Merry Christmas In the Tenements” to The Century. In de scribing one of tho Christmas feasts given on the west side of New York by tho Children’s Aid society Mr. Riis says: Hut the ice cream! They cat it off tho seats, half of them kneeling or squat ting on the floor. They blow on it and put it in their pockets to carry homo to baby. Two little shavers discovered to be feeding each other, each watching the smack develop on the other's lips as the acme of his own bliss, arc “cous ins;” that is why. Of cake there is a double supply. It is a dozen years since “Fighting Alary,” the wildest child in the Seventh avenue school, taught them a lesson there which they have never forgotten. She was perfectly untamable, fighting everybody in school, the de spair of her teacher, till on Thanksgiv ing, reluctantly included in the general amnesty and mince pie, she was caught cramming the pie into her pocket, after eying it with a lock of pure ecstasy, but refusing to touch it. “ For mother, ” was her explanation, delivered with a defiant look before which the cla^s quailed. It is recorded, but not in the minutes, that tho board of managers wept over “Fighting Alary,” who, all unconscious of having caused such an astonishing “break,” was at that moment engaged in maintaining her prestige and reputa tion by fighting tho gang in the next block. Tho minutes contain merely a formal resolution to the effect that occa sions of mince pie shall carry double ra tions thenceforth. And tbo rule has been kept, not only in Seventh avenue, but in every industrial school, since “Fight ing Mary” won the biggest light of hi r troubled life that day without striking a blow. Mra. Lanctry Couldn't Itrfase. Airs. Langtry is tbo owner of a ranch ont near Carson, Nev. It was sold to ! her by Sam Davis of The Appeal. Thu ! story of tho sale is short and reads like fiction, but is truth. Airs. Langtry was playing Galatea. She had had some i dealings with Davis looking to the pur chase of the ranch, but bad been unable to make up her mind. Sam was conse quently worried for fear the deal would not go through. So cue night he went to the stage door of the theater where the play was being produced, and, ow ing to bis editorial position, was admit ted without question. He waited unt.l Mrs. Langtry took up her position as tho statue of Galatea, and then, calling three stage hands to witness, he whis pered from tho wings to her, “If you hear me, wink tho eye which is farther from the audience.” Galatea winked. That established Davis’ case. “Now, if you don’t want to buy tbo southwest quarter section 14, 15 and HI for $8,000, shake your head,” be said. Galatea, the marble statue, with the eyes of tho audience, was, of course, immovable. “All right,” said Davis cheerfully, “I and these witnesses un derstand that you want it at that fig ure. ’ ’ The next day ho pave her the deeds and took her good money. Hbc probably might have made a contention in court, but she decided that such diplomacy de served recognition and so accepted the situation. That is how sho came to bo a landowner in Nevada.—Chicago Rec ord. Time lie Left, An amusing incident occurred a few days ago at Broad street station. An old gentleman while passing through the waiting room stooped and picked up a $10 note from the floor and quickly put it in his trousers pocket. A young man near by, noticing this, at once claimed the money us his, but the old gentleman’s opinion on that point was somewhat different, and a heated argu ment ensued. The matter was explained to a ticket agent at the window, who referred the two disputants to tho head agent to settle the question of owner ship. They were ushered into the pri vate office of tho arbiter. After a lively discussion the old gentleman finally Lo carno indignant, and, drawing bis hand from his pocket, ho threw the note on the desk, exclaiming, "Here, tako tho old $10!” As the agent was unfolding tho note a largo smilo overspread his features, and ho showed them it was not a $10 note at all. but a clever adver tisement of a leading house in this city. The young man’s face flushed scarlet, and neither looking right nor left ho unceremoniously rushed front tho office, through tho depot and disappeared.— Philadelphia Record. It \as a long tiniH before Ralph thor oughly recovered, but when ho did there was no longer any fear of starvation staring them in the face. Nellie’s voice had driven the wolf from tho door.—Loudon Answers. ’jo than he told j " to put into k put >/cr—be only A Y»luul«l<i Document. A New Haven man is tho owner of a valuable historical document, the deed fur 40 acres of land in Portland, which was conveyed in 1788 to the Rev. Moses Bartlett for a consideration of L100. Thu paper is intact, save when* it has been folded. At the conclusion are affixed 20 seals of 20 Indians. The seals are of red wax, and a coin was evident ly used in stamping the souls, us slight traces of a crown can te found in tuv- tral cf them. Genteel Poverty In Washington. “I never saw so much genteel i>overty before as exists in Washington,” writes a cabinet member’s wife in Tho Ladies’ Home Journal. “You have no idea how many of these department clerks trem ble in their boots for fear of losing their positions with a change of administra tion and enforcement of tho civil serv ice rules. The departments unfit both men and women for any other occupa tion. You would be surprised to know how muuy of the fashionable society Ineu arc department clerks. Home of the most attractive among them get a ma jority of their meals out of society. They rent a room for a small amount and diuo out every night, frequently getting a lunch or a breakfast from a friend. In return they make it their business to be entertaining and always in a good humor, ready to bo of service and to initiate now people into the eti quette of the place.” YE0LREN TiME MILLS HOW CUR GREAT-GRANDMOTHERS GOT THEIR CREADSTUFFo. The KDRlUliman la Kgypt. “The Moslem natives in Egypt,’’says -Tho Pall Mall Gazette, “are accustomed ty-^all all Christians Noosruni, and the term, which is evidently a corruption of NazureffiS therefore comes to mean Eu ropeans. It fe»PPened one day not many years ago that , au English official was passing through tillage in one of the more funutioal dih^ otH * ^ think in the , neighborhood of HfijlcM. when a small i village mob collected hooted him. As there appeared to b? *oniopossibility ; of their adding stones to'^^J 1, invectives he stopped very coolly, ••“d' *»niiug round, asked them why tbe7^ wer - e 80 au ' uoyed at the sight of au pnKlh'hiuuu. Directly they heard the won* English man the stones were droppe** UU( * the faces assumed their normal Krimty. They apologized projuaely, sayi n 8 they did not know he was an Eugli4 imau ' they hud mistaken him for a Noo' <run *' Tho incident goes to show how pletely the natives distinguish En^ ,H * 1 ‘ men from tho other Europeans in PWR 1 —how they like and trust the form** us much us they dislike and distrust t * 10 ! latter.” ^ A .Vslntrr For McKIdIsj. ' “They seem to be having^ good d ea * of trouble in disposing cf the ‘eii( , * t ' , ' M chain' in tho treasury, ” said the “h 00 clerk boarder. “I wonder,” murmured tho idiot, “why they don’t o?perime u * the ber el gear. ’’—Indianapolis t ^on ra **- Primitive Mptlioil* rf C.rtmlir.g Or.iln lim- ployeil by th<- Parly ttler* on tbo Ohio. Scraps From the Marly Hlhtory of i’ort»* mouth. In 1785 four fair.iliis from Redstone, Pa., floated down tho Ohio ami attempt ed to form a settlement where the city of Portsmouth now stands. Mooring their boat under thn high bank of the river,they began to clear away tho for ests and plant seeds. Soon after lauding tho four men who were the heads cf the four families, leaving their wives and children, set out to explore tho Scioto valley, tho wonders of which they had heard from whites who had traversed it whilo in Indian captivity. There is no record, so far as can be learned, of the name of any of the men save that of Peter Pat rick. They encamped opposite Piketcn, and Patrick cut his initials oif a tree. At night, as they lay by their campfire, they wero attacked by a party of Ju dkins and two of their number killed. Patrick and his companion fled, leaving the dead behind, and made their way in the direction of the Ohio river, which they struck at the month of the Littlo ' Scioto just as some white men were passing down in a pirogue. Hailing them, they asked to be taken aboard. They were brought to the littlo settle ment, where a scene of agonizing grief was enacted. Knowing that the Indians would soon attack them, they gathered up all their movables and fled to Lime stone, now Maysville, Ky., and the orig inal settlement of Portsmouth was aban doned. In an old paper recently come to light, written by Hon. George Corwin, cnee a prominent citizen of Portsmouth, in its early days, tho milling facilities at tho divide of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries aro graphically described. Speaking of the first mill ho ever saw, he says: “It was at Alaysville, Ky. It was made of timber, stone and buffalo hides. I am not sure there was any iron about it. It came not within the scope of things worshiped in idolatry, for it was like nothing else but itself, neither on tho earth nor in the patent office. It was to grind corn into meal to make mush and johnny cako. “It was constructed of round-logs set in the ground to make them stand up. Over them a roof of bark, under which was au upright shaft tumiug on a wood en gudgeon or pivot. Over the horses— for it was a horse mill—extended arms from the upright shaft, and in these were holes like you sometimes see in the arms of blades or swifts on which the weavers put skeins of yarn to wind. “In these holes were pins, over or around which was thrown a long buffalo tug, or rope, made by cutting hides round and round into long strips and? twisting them. The different holes iu the arms wero for tho purpose of tight ening this tug, cr band. From these arms the tug extended to and around the trundle to which the running stone was attached, and to prevent it slipping tho tug was crossed between tho long arms and the trundle, which was a short log with a groove cut around it. Aloro effectually to prevent slipping a bucket of tar was kept ready to daub it. Htill it was with great difficulty that tho mill could be kept going, even when tho horses moved, and it was sure to stop when they did. “It required a man like Job to tend this mill, but the miller was not ouo of that temperament. Ho always seemed to doubt or distrust the performance of tho machine and to lie on the lookout lor some disaster or disappointment. “I was once present when he got iu a team of fractious horses, which broke tho tug and otherwise deranged the parts of his mill, which made him ex claim, among other hard words, that such horses were ‘enough to drive hogs out of satan. ’ After some time spent in repairs—for damages were apparently as easily repaired as tho parts were liable to go out of order—our miller was again making headway with his grinding operation.” The second mill recalled to the writ er’s mind one of the former great insti tutions of Cincinnati, tho West* ru mu seum. Ho says: “Tho other mill I saw in tho year 17i>7 on the Scioto' river. It was bnilt on two large dugouts, or canoes, with a wheel placed between them. This wheel, after being moved up or down, as tho settlers at different stations need ed its assistance iu mashing corn, was tied to a tree in a rapid current, which, running against a wheel between tbo canoes, turned the stones above under a kind of umbrella made of bark. “At a distance it hud the appearance oi a crane flying up the river. It mado a sound, for the want of grease, like tho creaking of a wooden cart. Were such a thing at this day in tho Western mu seum it would draw more custom to it than anything there. “Notwithstanding all these proper ties in the mill and tho difficulty iu tending it the miller, like many of his occupation even at this day, was accused of taking more than his share of corn. The complaints wero at first surmise*, then whispers, afterward common talk and at lust so loud us to attract tho miller's attention. To clear himself of this slander he told his customers that his mill ground so slow that he could not afford to waste it; that his pructicu was to throw up a grist iu tho morning and go about other business; that through the di^y the crows, blackbird* and squirrels would cornu iu for their share, which be was not bound to make up, and if they didn't like his way of doing business they might go to the next mill, if they could find it.” Ho it would appear that they had uol only fnuuy mills, but funny millers da well, iu yo olden tunc —(JiuciuuutiEn- gfcirer. * • t