The ledger. [volume] (Gaffney City, S.C.) 1896-1907, January 02, 1896, Image 2
2
THE WEEKLY LEDGER: GAFFNEY, S. C* JANUARY 2, 1896.
DOHOTHY,
A clerCtr little malucn, In a dalat.v, rv.ffii.i
Bowu,
Whoso eyes of brown elanco shyly to r.nil fro,
Her ehiii is tilt' 1 u:> <
Llho u cloven lily-cup.
And her chocks ha\o stol'n tho popples' ert.n-
sou glow.
A hat that's big and shady overtop he r ! onny
head;
To keep the suu out, ,v.;re lit he circling rir.:
But the c.mti a 1 i i:i val i.
It was Ooi’.ncd t ?o late, ’ti; pie in.
For ho’s tangled In her curls bent...lb the
brim!
Eivcry step sho treads no quaintly in her tiny
buckled shoes.
Takes her f .Tiber 1 ithe kin : lo::i of tav I.
She's: y groeiou iq to 11, so k yal..
And 1’ .1 U r uc u'ot. lo^al —*
And she nil njr.n WlWl "I’rolflcr, lovln;: l
Tgraclom lltt'. i sovereign, may the swiftly-
pnsaing years.
With their overflowing freight of Jo.; an’
pain.
Lay tho .sorrow at my doors.
Lay the ’a .ypincss at yours.
And the harvest mcon of heartsease iiev-i
wane!
—Boston Tran 1 cript
liroodSt • ov
"c.. 1 f. y<jt
“At; y r.
“it’s, wc . th 1
ono c
m rc> than It
A DIMINISHED SEVENTH.
1 lie, vehemently,
so here goes,” and
sandhags ho threw
it over. The lightened balloon at once
began to rise more quickly.
“What are you doing, .Jack?” I sJrout-
cd. “For heaven’s sake kec*i> calm.
We are a good height already. We
shan't l)o able to breathe if v;c go
much higher. It’s getting uncomfor t
able, a , it is.”
“.Shan't we? We shall see about
that. I’m going to try, anylpyw -“lie
bid; .;, MouXcacS-IM'Caii't breathe. I
Tsee my Ada. That’s all I cure
about.'
I began to fear the worst. Was he
going mad? Were the reports my wi i
had hear 1 literally true, and not ex-
aggerated after all? What a fool Iliad
been not to be more cautious! Whether
I1Y EUGENE E. WOOD.
THE AERONAUT’S STORY.
“Is Jack Tunnicliffc going with y> t
to-morrow, Tom?” raid my wife to me.
“I wish you would takesomeoneel.se.'
“Why, Norah?” I asked.
“He's been stranger than ever in hi-
manner since his wife died, I he .r. In
fact, I’ve been told by more than <mc
person that lie's quite insane at time •.
It's not to be wondered at if he is, j > r
fellow. 1 don’t know a rad ler ,■
He'd only been married a wo k. ;
a horrible death, too! IL'scn a 1 »
turn a man’s brain, and I mas.e >
Tom, 1 wish Jack was not go'.n
you.”
“Nonsense, Norah! People a
exaggerate and make the v. •
things, as you know. If a mail':
original or eccentric, if
assumed that Ik';, non comp
cour e, Jack’s !o\v-' :>irio d and a
minded, and perl;; .a lot pec.:!
wtt i
at on
n.
How cc
n h ■
i elp bri u:
ling
(; V v‘ r
rribla 1
. •)
, .3 «
lie want;
a';;::.
‘ ii ’ *'
er 'iipation
to take
off
hi
hi', iiom
his
trouble. 1
le’n
foni
1 looning
os J
nra, and a
trip
i will
.1 all the
good
1 in the woi
tld.”
'i a above converhatiun between my
vvi:'>- tin l ini’sclf took place on tf
evenin;; before the day whicli I l:::
iix ' l for a 1 alloon ascent, ilnl!' »t:i:
wtm tn\' hobby. 1 had conceived :
liking ; r it on m.y fir t a .cent. Tit!.-;
liking h: 1 become a “erase,” for t;.c
novel experience and ctrat.g'e sen alien
<>! sailing'over hou s and tree , an l o.
soari;:;; into the clouds, had a peculiar
fascination for me.
Recently, I had tried utility with
pleasure, and had made some a .eontn
solely lor scientific purpose:). 1 had
found kindred spirit in young Tunni-
clilTe, and wo had had many deligkU'nl
and sncee ful trips together. O.vin r
to the nntiniely death of my friend'
wife, our aerial expe litions ha 1 b. en
suspcntled for awhile. A; .s.v.ra)
weeks hudelap e l since thtvt s.i l even!,
I felt anxious to resume the-e exp di-
tious, an 1 as Tunnicliii; had e xj l
las uilhngneS) to accompany me, a
day had been fixed for our next trip.
It was when I was talking to my wi.e
about this self-same trip that she ex
pressed her regret that Jack Tunni-
cliffe was going with me.
1 had not much diliiculty, how v r.
in overcoming licr objection > and al
laying her fears. She was not aver c
to my hobby, and had cv n a;oau-
panied me in one or two of my jour
neys in the air. Moreover, she sym
pathized with me in my desire “t;
make some useful discovery,” an 1 v/u j
therefore unwilling todnmp my ard-r,
or hinder the progress of my oi. tv;.- !
tious. She had felt the exhilarating :
effect of a balloon ascent, and my i\ i- I
erenee to the benefit young Tunnicliite i
would probably derive from the pro- i
jected trip appealed to her experieuc •
as well as to her teuder heart.
Accordingly, next day at tit ap- .
pointed time, everything being in read;- :
ness, \vc started on our aerostatic
journey. Tunnicliffu, contrary t > his
usual demeanor, seemed a little ex
cited, but this caused me no appre- 1
heusiou. His interest had apparently
been awakened, and it was only natural 1
that he should be animated on such
an occasion. The balloon wa . tiit lib
erty as soon a . we had taken our seat .
and the machine rose beautifully. T r :v
was a gentle breeze, which b >re it >
slightly southward. Wc rose slowly
at first, and so liad plenty of t me t »
gaze on t!ic vast and extending panor
ama below us.
Presently wc entered a huge bank or
mountain of cloud of the kind tv.I! I
cumulus, and were surrounded by a
chilling mist which inducon us to put
on the wraps wc had brought. When
wc emerged from 1 he cloud a scene of
fairy-like beauty i ’ l aly burst upon
us. We were in ..id of basin sur
rounded by mountains of clouds of the
raofit fantastic shapes, of euormou.
size, and of dazzling brightness. Now
and then, as we rose, wo caught sight
also of wondrous ravine, of curious
shape and great depth. These moun
tains of clouds, with their silvery and
golden sides, their dark shadows, their
varied tints and summits of d tz.dii.g
whiteness, presented to our wondering
gaze a scene of surpassing beauty and
grandeur.*
This sublime spectacle evoke l my
highest admiration, while the silence
and vastne.>> of space Inspired mo with
awe. 1 drank in these exquisite and
varied delights with such avidity and
with such absorbing interest that I
had scarcely looked at, or spoke i to,
my companion since wc hnd started.
Bulan exclamation from him now di
verted my attention, and, glancing at
him, I was surprised to s o that he had
risen and was much excited. *
"What i; it. Jack?” 1 usked.
"Isn’t it glorious?” lie replied. “I
wonder if Heaven h much more beauti
ful? How delightful it would be if we
could reach it! I should re my Ada
again, then.”
"My dr r fellow!” I interpo • 1.
hastily, nom .vhat alarme i-- not »o
much by iii., wor L as by hi excited
manner and wild look; “you think too
much of these things. You have been
he \
7 a:
d or not, he was in a danger-
ous
m
jod
and my position wa
, far
fro a
1 V
!c:is
ant. To oppose him •.
vould
cvi;’
vf Tit! j
aggravate him and
make
inn..
loi
; w
r.se. To humor him was un-
: don
jti
11V
t!i i wisest course.
“»
.Of
liw 1
iere. Jack!” 1 cried.
“You
1 say
VO
11 V
•ant. to see Ada. I ca
n tell
| you
of
a b
•tt. r and . uror way' of
r i- s
j to h
* r
tha
i this. If you will li.Vi
on to
j me-
(h
• ro
I involuntarily move
1 my
: han
I l J \v
ird the valve cord) —i
f you
1 wd!
ii:
t i*n
to me I—”
t k '
*
no:
io of your blarney, man!
I’m
not
to
be \
vheedlcd so. I’m t o
old 11
li •
iOi
t;
at. Leave the e ird :
lone.
can'
1 y
on?
I’m not going down
again
l >•
P
m going to see what
'.s Up
thei
o.
1 don’t yon try’ to sto t
m
and
h *
:.!a
’• ! fiercely at me.
Tim
IGl’t
idle nature of my si n
i i
was
n
) ,
only too apparent —
!i ne
coal 1i
. ) h
)a rer be any' doubt of
Tun
nic!
iix-
C
>a lition. 1 was in a ba
lioo’
wit!
M
i i*:
Iain, nil about f mr
mils
fro:
1 l
u* c.
arth. 1 f dt the e ild •
.. '.! L
on ;
i y
I) TO
w, and my brain beg
il 1 »
IVl'l
hit
witli a tremendous eirort I
pud
* i
my
• elf together, for my
only
cha
'C ‘
of :
fvdy was iu retainiu
■r my
sei;-
y;;
,s!on. To attempt tij
over
pow
er
liita
was out of t!io question -
tho
tre i •;
Ii of a madman is so
well
l:;i.
,'il
iy only hope of esca*)
* was
t »
i .. i
. it him. But ho'.v? F iro..
1 in-
to 11
nn
itm
•;il activity a , my brni
i Was
h; i
iv
de
i rate sitnation, mi l
y the
IT.'O
ty
ol prompt action. I
eou! i
of no device or ruse that would
i.iy , > 1; i was completely at the
it.
P’fa
ble to
t V* p iwer to
in my despair
do
in rev of the madman;
The hop les .ness of my
lyzrd all my energies. I fa
move or speak, and cvi
thkik was almost gon •.
I ' lanced at the valve cord. Owing
to l!m rotary motion of tho balloon it
ha 1 unfortunately become entangled.
To fr e it i should b* obliged to leave
the c r and climb into the ring. But
t > a! t. nol such a tiling (even if I were
]< . ' 'a!!v' capable of i.j would be c. r-
t a; to lead to a struggle which woul i
a c r; a inly send one or both of us out
of the car.
\\<> were now at such a height that
asphyxia was imminent. I could hear
my heart throb quite plainly. I
bred he 1 with difficulty, and a horri
ble ■ 'iivition like that cf sea-sickness
came over me. The cold was so bi
te.i th it I shivered, notwithstanding
my wraps. The mental strain was ter
rible. I was almost frantic. Know
ing. however, that in a few minutes I
slioul i be unconscious, and that then
all woult. be over with me, I nerved
mys. lf for one last effort.
As 1 rose from my seat my eye fell
on the grapnel. Foi Innately it was on
my side of the car. A sudden idea
struck me, here was a weapon to
hati 1. It was an awful thought—it
woul l bo a terrible deed. But there
was now no alternative, no time for i
delay. My senses were going. 1 |
stretched out my hand, but the mad- j
man, who never took his eye off me, ‘
had detected my purpose. With a su 1-
den movement ho darted forward and
seize l the grapnel, but in his eager-
nos, to forestall rao he had precipitat-
e 1 him .elf too far over the side of the
ear and almost lost his balance. He
made u desperate effort to recover
hi; i df. but, seized with a suddeu and
inv ,i .Able impulse, I pushed him over,
and witli a horrible yell, which rings
in tny ears whenever I recall the oc-
cun-eue.', the madman disappeared
.'..in my sight.
.Ma >st mad myself—I am not sure
that 1 was not quite so just then—1
clb i'<e 1 into tho ring to reach the
wiv line. But iny hands were, so
if and numb with tho cold that I
c-a 1 1 not grasp the cord. By n kind
<>f i dration which seemed providen-
t’. l I ized the cord with my teeth.
: . 1 dor two or tiiree tugs the valve
<>; i with a loud clang, ami the bal
lon began to descend. Thank heav
en! 1 was saved. My hands being use-
!• 1 was obliged to throw up my
arm . and drop into the car, where I
1 ; motionless and unconscious for
awhile.
My swoon could not have lasted more
than a :cw seconds, for when I recov
er I th barometer showed that I was
ill in a high altitude, although the
bdl'.jon was descending rapidly. I
rubb 1 and beat my hands until the
circulation was restored. Then I set
a! >ut taking the necessary precautions
against a too rapid descent. But I
act 1 more like an automaton than w a
conscious agent, for I seemed in a kind
of n tupor or trance all the time.
How and where I reached the solid
earth I cannot say. I have only a <lim,
In: y recollection of being surrounded
by ft crowd of people. Some were
I ending over me and seemed to lie
questioning me, but I couldn’t make
'•at what they said. I felt an awful
in in my head, and remember noth
in:; more until I found myself fn bed
in u dark room and my wife bending
ovi'i' me. This was several days after
ward, and I learned then that I had
been brought homo in a delirious state
anti had had brain fever.
. U In'ii I recovered my friends con*
gratulated m s and tried to persuade
me that as my homicidal act was done
in ; b- e en ,o it was justifiable. I
hope it wus, but I can never recall it
c i.li .ut misgivings and horror, and I
have never made u balloon asuentsince.
-Tit-Bits.
She was the youngest but one of a
family of eight. Physically, her lile
was and could be nothing save one
long crucifixion. Crippled and de
formed, there stretched behind her a
record of suffering; before her the
prospect of greater torture still. Na
ture had used .her cruelly, for while
her* puny and misshapen frame in
spired ridicule, or, at best, shuddering
pity, she had been dowered with a
capacity for affection that burnt itself
into fiercer intensity waiting the love
that never came. Misunderstood, she
had cradually retreated into a little
world of her own, with nothing to love.
Nothing? There was her violin, but
that could hardly he considered apart
from Ida’s own individuality’. It was
her violin that expressed more elo
quently than herself could ever have
done the loneliness and the lovelcss-
ness of her life.
“It speaks lor me,” she once con
fessed to the old doctor, who under
stood her better than anyone else.
“What other people feel they can ex
plain in words; but I seem to have no
power of expression except through my
violin.”
Ur. Marshall was silent for a mo
ment'. then he asked presently: “Did
yon ever hear my boy Austin play?”
Ida shook her head. She had heard
no one. Her morbid consciousness of
infirmities prevented her from attonn-
ing any public concert, and Austin
Marshall, as she well knew, was a pro
fessional violinist of repute.
“You ought to hear him. They tell
me his execution is remarkably good—
and, besides, geniuses like you two
ought to know each other. I’ll tell
you what I’ll do,” he added kindly;
"I'll bring him round one evening to
see you, if you like, when he isn't
busy.”
Not many days elapsed ere the doc
tor kept his promise, and Austin Mar-
shell, tall and strong, held the small,
wasted hand of the diminutive musi
cian, and wondered the while how the
perfect soul his father had described
had managed to find itself in that mis
shapen little body. And later on,
when Ida had completely astounded
him with her rendering of Dvorak’s
"Romance”—wild, intense and heart
breaking—he told himself that such a
thing was monstrous. Here was an
untutored genius, beside whom him
self would pale into comparative insig
nificance, doomed by nature to perpet
ual solitude while, Orpheus-like, she
ought by her music to charm into life
the rocks and trees.
“You want some lessons to correct a
few technical errors,” he said at last,
“and then you ought to be able to hold
your own at Queen’s hall or St. James’
with the best of them. If I could be
lieve in the transmigration of souls, I
would swear the lost soul of some re
pentant sinner is imprisoned in your
violin.”
He spoke with the generous enthusi
asm of genius, mere talent is sparing
of praise and begrudges success.
“I can never play in public,” she an- ,
swered, briefly, with a painful flush I
that testified to her sensitive recogni
tion of physical defects.
"Ida on a public platform! Why they'd
never see her!” interpolated a jovial
elder brother with the brutal candor
admiring friends had sometimes mis- i
taken for frank geniality. “Wc call |
her the Diminished Seventh,” he added,
with a conscious smile that betrayed
the originator of the questionable
pleasantry.
Poor Diminished Seventh: She
winced as from a blow, and Austin,
with the intention of covering her con
fusion, observed with ready tact:
“I suppose because the minor har
monies are most perfect and least un
derstood.”
That evening was but the forerunner
of many similar. Scarce a day passed
without Austin Marshall contriving to
spend some time with tiic deformed
musician. And as the days lapsed into
weeks, and the weeks into months, it
was noted that when Ida played alone
her airs were more roman tic than be
fore. And even her unmusical family
became infected with their gayety; her
mother (who frequently alleged she
could enjoy good music us much as 1
anyone—if she could only get it) was i
cheered to tho verge of joyful antieipx-
tioi For who knew that Ida might
not attain the supreme neight of in-
bpirtng dunce-mu ie, such us her
mother loved, and abandon forever
those ghoulish wails she said wuru
classical.
Dut when the old doctor noticed the ;
change he shook his head in apprehen
sion, while tears of pity filled Ida eyes.
His profession had trained him to read
the longings of the heart as well a; tho
infirmities of the tenement it inhabited,
and if all he thought and dreaded
were true—! Had things been diHMr-
ent! If Ida had not been distinctly
isolated by nature from the sweetest
gifts that life can hold!
And one evening came the crisis the
good doctor feared. .
“1 shall miss all this dreadfully when
I’m away,” Austin said, as he turned
over a pile of music for a particular
duet. “I’m going north in a day or
two, you know—didn't 1 tell you?” ho
added, answering the unspoken ques
tion.
“Next autumn, when 1 am back
again,” he said, presently, feeling
tho vibrating airings. Austin looked
up in momentary surprise. Then he
sat spellbound while she played tho
weird “Romance.” of Svendsen’s, once
heard, never forgotten.
He had heard it played by more than
one finished musician; but this was a
different rendering. It was like the
despairing cry of a lusty swimmer
failing close to shore, or the wail of a
lost soul striving to escape from tho
sea of torture and driven by a lio^t
of fallen angels. In those strains ho
read her heart plainly, as though
speech had passed between them; lie
knew tho bitterness of her life; he
saw the vista gray and barren liefore
her; and when the last notes died
away he learnt in a brief glance from
Ida’s eyes all the strange discords had
not confessed.
It was but for an instant. For. in
the next, overcome by the strong ex
citement she had just experienced, the
bow slid helples ly from her nerveless
fingers and she fainted.
Symptoms of little moment in an
ordinary person might in her ease prog
nosticate the worst, and any new phase,
however slight, was at once submitted
to medical opinion. In the present in
stance, as she failed to respond readily
to the customary treatment, Austin
hastened for his father while she was
carried to her room. She had over-ex
cited herself with her music was the
general cxplanati hi of the seizure, and
tiiis was what the doctor was told
when he answered the hasty summons.
In tv brief space, however, she yiolde l
to his restoratives, and before he left
the home site had dropped into a sleep
(juiet and natural.
For some time father and son went i
homeward in silence. Then the doctor
asked abruptly:
“Does Ida know you are going !
‘in
E WHEELS.
«Ye
Mdcn
Bach W«i« th* Bicycles of
Time.**
Arehtnologists will be interested to
know tlia; the fi*st record of a bicycle
is that of a staintd-glass window in the
church of Stoke Pogis, near Windsor,
in Hnglaad. 11 was this churchward,
bytlie way, that uspired Gray to write
his ever-faiiious degy. The rider of the
cycle in the picture on the win low,
writes Join Gilner Speed, in id; M:.-
cott’a, which is died 101:!, would bi
taken for Pan vith his pipe w? • it
elsewhere than ia a Christian eh
where papan deities are not in: :
home. Brt history is silent us to
use of any sueli vehicle at that ;: ,
One hundred and twenty; years <>; *
later there was exhibited be for.
French court a uianumotive carr: :
several hundred pounds’ weight; b .j
the bicycle can scarcely have yrovn
from that. It was is’.efi nearer < r
own time that the nrst genuine 1 i v ’ •
was invented. It was quite the fash 1 i
to ritle sieh n vehicle in Hn;;!.::!'!
pRor
■ pneumo
epidemic? i-
rill . !■
ECT50M from
dipUfhc:
i.i.
the
fever
»iOo<; s
I**
8ar
3LOOI
JJA : - - . - ^ ■
w > —A” .■war'- -j.£a
m- ■.
-. i ■ • -.'ia
r *' i ‘ j 1.*
Caveats, and Tr Je-Marks obtained and all Pat-
ent bimr.. ; err., t J f r Moo CRATE FEES.
Our Office is Opposite U. S. Patent Office
ana i-.iieiit in kss time than those'
remote from innaton.
Send model, drawing or photo., with descrl r
lion. W s advise, it pafemabie or not, free of
charge. Our feu not due till patent is secured.
A Pamphlet. “ How to Obtain Patents,” with
co t < t in the U. S. foreign countries;
sent free. Address,
A
if* r
i 0f.~. f\T O;
GW.
in IS ID:
; tire new
invention wa
va ri-
ous’.y c
tilled the
"dandy
hor a,
,” th ;
“hobby
-horse,” and the “
veloei
There
are many
allr.skxis
to ii
iu tii
record ,
of the day
•. and in a
le ■
r f 5 ’, ;
Joha I'
feats in 1
obruary.
IS ID,
to !;" .
brother
' in America I find ti
iiS i.T
i o’ ;■
of it: “
'lire n Aim
*g of the <
lay is
a i
char* called the
velcj'pa !
e. It
is
WilLCl L
an'iagv to
i ide cot k-
hor. •
upon,
nit t ing
astride
: d pu ;hi;
h'f it
ala •
i n i
r U 3
' a', ry,
vaguely that something was wrong, ! j nst
away?
“I told iter this evening,” Austin tm-
cwere-1, and inborn ■ confusion as he re- !
called tii” way she had received the i
new:;. “Father, do you know—”
“Ah! That accounts for it,’’ said the
old i vin. as though speaking to him- :
self. “Ye.;. Do i know what?”
“Well—I think—that is, I’m afraid— |
that lda ’’ He stopped short, for j
tiic confession was alike tender and '
humiliating. But his father, who had |
feared such a contingency well-nigh i
from the first, understood what had j
been left unsaid.
“I know, Austin, I know. But what
is to be done? The frien Iship that you |
have felt for her—thut she believes she j
has felt for you—has been the one ^
bright spot in her life. Seventeen
years old— .n l seventeen years of per- i
pelual martyrd nn. Do you knowhow
long I give her to live?”
“1 su po: e tiiat when she is twenty- ,
on \ustin began, but the doctor j
cu sort.
‘ . o lives to see the spring,” he
said, gravely, “I shall be surprised.”
The young man wa ; r.t irtled, even
shocked. Tnere wus silence between
them for a few moment.. Then the
doctor said, with hesitation:
“Austin, 1 suppose you would not
think of putting off your visit to the
Harrisons? I know Marian expects
you —but I think if she knew the pleas
ure you would be giving that poor
child whose days are numbered, she
would be the first to bid you stay. In
a ease like this there can be no ques
tion of disloyalty to her. And, Austin,
—if you can—.or Heaven’s sake let her
still believe that she has found the af
fection she has craved all her life. The
deception won’t be very long, and it
will comfort her more in her last
struggles than I—or the entire college
of physicians—could hope to do with
all the science that the world has ever
known!”
Five weeks later, in Ida’s bedroom a
thin ribbon of spring sunshine had
struggled through a crevice of the
window-blind and lay a bright streak
across the hour. Outside, the garden
was cheer,ul with the song of birds
and the rustling of leaves. Inside, sat
the little cripple propped up with pil
lows, her pitiful vitality burniug itself
slowly away.
She knew she was dying, but the
knowledge brought her no fear. IVr-
haps she believed that if eternity held
for her worse torture than she had yet
endured she had served on earth uu
apprenticeship to pain long enough to
lit her for it. Perhaps Austin Mar
shall's companionship and sympathy
during the last few weeks were making
the end comparatively easy. At any
rate, when the door was opened quiet
ly and he looked in, violin in hand, she
greeted him with a grateful smile.
“lutie to have some music?” lie
asked, cheerfully, though he was
pained to mark each day how her hold
on life w-ai weakening. “What shall I
play?” *
“Give me mine,” she said, suddenly,
“and we’ll play together.”
The violin lay, as usual, on the table
close by, but Austin hesitated.
“if you really feel equal to tho ex
ertion,” he began, and then, answer
ing the command in her eyes, he
passed it to her without another word.
With tremulous fingers she drew
her bow across the strings, and, recog
nizing iu the opening notes her favor
ite “Lied,” by Schubert, Austiu softly
followed, and in a moment was so ab
sorbed he scarce noticed how her bow-
, ing became gradually weaker, until it
. faltered and stopped just before tho
I concluding bars, lie looked up in sud-
i den apprehension. Surely her face had
not worn that strange gray shadow
v. ii’i the toes, a
They will j'o ■
How it Wo’,:!
poll’s inixgi
v. tvte that epi.
od a vision of
tliii g of grace.
deli flit. 1’irhn; , n
of tiie wheel inight !
in; ■ . >• v/hee! m
■en i.tiles an hoiir,
i have stimulate
in tint yi
s had b en j
modern t
iinev,. and
r ‘ally’ ;ri ■: 1
five V .Itlie 1
[Riraia! Works.
. /! I,’
) i
I th-.
'f.
.1 <
it in thus
f id salit’
nomeni
ir by the j
sort of :
. i * '1
dilTen
came in
w *■
v.
> her dav
i * \ .r.
we shall have some more pleasant
evening i together, I hope.”
Ida spake not. For a moment she
was conscious of naught save a terri
ble sense of absolute despair and a cu- j
rious buzzing iu her head like the re
peated twanging of the G string.
Going away—and until the autumn!
Why, by that time she might be dead
and buried. She looked round vacant
ly, ns one gropes blindly in the dark
for some familiar object. She tried to
speak, but tho words refused to come.
Something like a dry sob rose and was
strangled iu her throat. Then, with
out a single word, she took up her
bow again and drew it softly aerosa
“Ida!”
She did not move.
“Ida! What is tho mutter—what
b it?”
She opened her eyes, but they fell on
him without a gleam of recognition.
Then she dropped them on the violin
she was still holding. A faint smile
rested for a moment on her lips. With
tin unsteady band she mechanically
raised her bow. Then, with one eh( rd
—that of the Diminished Seventh—It
dropped from her relaxing hoi 1, but
not before Austin ha I involuntarily
concluded tho phru.c, so that tiic
Diminished Seventh was resolved into
perfect harmony.—Black §nd White.
there is poetry as well a
and anybody with
mi:.,t feel tiiis, ex •
when the mind i r.ken up wil’.i the at
tempt to cs-inpe b. i::*' run down by <>n<'
of the reckless llyer
Think of seven rules an hour and s v-
eral hundred pounds weight set against
the figures concerning the modern
“bike!” Verily, the world moves and
bicycles move with it. It would be
dangerous ir, the light of the past to
say what the nia.'liine of the future
may evolve into, one can hardly believe
iii an improvement proportionate to
that of the last fifty years, but anyway
it furnishes another reason for wishing
to live a liun lrt d years or .so that <>:a
might behold the wheel of »?0.J A. 1).
The "nothing of the day" of Isl',) ha)
become an almost indispen: File of p- r-
sonal bti'iiK:,) and pleasure 1M-5. It
must be left to some John Keats of the
present to attempt a better proph • y
t han his follow bard of England eighty
odd years bad:, whose gifts were not
of the kind to give him a hint of the
great prospect: of the "velocipede.”
TOWNS OF SETTLED H A3 ITS.
I Loixiou Mini I’ilflmlidphin Alike in Tiitd
Bespat t.
In her article on "The Myth of tho
| Four Hundred,” in the Cosmopolitan,
j Mrs. Burton Harrison tells of an Amcr-
! i -an calling upon n lady in London and
finding her seated in a Ijig eh;
window, engaged in some
needlework. A young man
ami paid his respects, as it v.x
at home, and then bowed hinself out.
Three years later the American was
again in London, and again he called!
upon the lady’. It was her day at
li me. and there she sat i » the same
ci.uir by the same window with the
same needlework, or some very like it.
in her hand, and, more remarkable
still, the same young man called and !
made the same remarks In* had made ;
three years before. Mrs. Harrison tells
this anecdote to show how unchanged
things are in England, and how you
are pretty sure to find people ju t
about as you left them. The illustra
tion is a good one, but I can match it
with a better one over here.
I have the pleasure of knowing a
family in Philadelphia, who have lived
in the same house for forty years. As
the children of this family grew up,
they developed a musical talent from
four or five generations of nu n learned
iu the law, as well as skilled with the!
bow. Every Sunday’ between twelve
and one o’clock, it was the custom of
the father and the sons to play classic |
music, the father being first violin, one
son viola, one second violin, the other
violoncello. They played well, and, ns
1 lived nearer Philadelphia in those
days than 1 do to-day’, I often dropped
i.i at these rehearsals, as they called
them. Five years ago 1 was in Phila
delphia on a Sunday. I had not seen
my old friends iu fifteen years, but I
was sure that they were living at the
old place. I walked around the l)««»is<*
and, as I mounted the marble steps, 1
heard sounds of music. Could it be
possible that a “rehearsal” was going
on? Yes, sure enough. There sat the
father, his hair * now white, with hi
violin tucked under his chin, and thn ,
"boys”—fathers themselves—all play
ing away as they hud been doing i.i:u e
they were children. To be sure, they
were married men and did not live at
home, but they met every Sunday
morning at their father's for the usual
music. I expect to run on to Philadel
phia again before long. anti, though it
lias been ut least five yvaru since I wa:.
at my old friend’s house, 1 expect to
hear the music on Bunday morning, for
I shall time my visit so us to include a
Sunday.
Tho Fire Cure.
The native doctors of India practice
a peculiar system known us “firing."
Afflicted persons, no odds what the
disease may be, are, immediately upon
the arrival of the family physician, sub
jected to the tortures of the fin*. At
the beginning of the present century it
was used chiefly for aches and pain;.,
but at present it is said that it tliieat-
ens to become the universal remedy f«>r
all afflictions. A lute report, by a med
ical authority declares that there i, not
one to the thousand of total populati >n
in Bombay and the larger cities gener
ally, who does not bear trace of the
“fire cure” in the shape of hideous
s«ars on head, back, stoimieh, or ihnba.
'UiumiMits a
iH'eiaii
K(
. <).
A:
■ n
lor
iT.ACKS.
W. Trade 8k.,
( ha s lot i- , N . (',
ALIOT.
ii. S. LIPSCOMB,
Insurance and Real Estate Agt.
Merchandise Broker
And Dealer in
The Celebrated No. 9
Weheler <5; Wilson
die
Sowing Machines
•• nuts for till
! I ut
i i build*
A
7)?;
m
iJTUu
V policy • .
' ' ' ' ' •■ucll colli-
panics : s i
1 ! "MC. 1 III!! fi;l" |,
Aniciicas Jh,
! I’eli. sylMUiiH to
protect your
I. r. r r:
■ and la;.- ii'.csjj from
loss duii:
tijV !
!’•••• is a wise in-
vest ment.
1 shi.l! I><* •
• * i *.
’ - f:iriii-h -in b pro-
;i!iv ! i;
('ail before in-
. Hi r AC‘V.
J. E. WEBSTER,
A. t i oj'mj* v- A. t - I
Gaffney City, S. C.
$
PrneticcK iu nil the courts. Collec
xms i • -i i !t v
A Sparing Display
i/
$
i r v
v.l
"TV
Of
J
Watches
and
jan be seen
buxine**
Jeweryl
by visiting our place of
In DuPre's Drug Store.
W'c will be jJ ! »d t° biive you caH.
Ml work done by a skilled workman
with years of experience.
CORRELL & BRO,