THE LEDGER: GAFFNEY, S. C., NOVEMBER 3, 1898 3 IN THE OMNIBUS. Shall I (five her my sint? She Is nfct very j«retty— Our number's conr>]>li le. Shall I Rive her my seat? It Is net in the street— If she stnnils. It's :i jilty. Shall I ylve her my seat? She Is not v> ry pretty. If T writ, seme one rray Offer theirs la a minute; I "hink 1 will stay. If 1 unit, some one may Have politeness anil say: "Here Is in It. : j ray sit in It." If I wait, so nr- one may Offer theirs in a minute. Poes noltody stir? Well. It's really surprising! I am sorry for her. Poes noboily stir? It's too late to confer Mine, or I would be rising. Does noltody stir? Well, it's really surprising! —Fireside Companion. ONE PIBROCH. This is the story that Donald Mnc- Pbersou told me one day last autumn on the Black Moor that is over Glen Roy. It was after a Iour morning’s shoot, and ho and I were lying upon the heather in the fraternal enjoyment of usquebaugh unpolluted by the fiscal eye and surrounded by the soothing reek of our postprandial pipes. I had won Donald’s heart by certain qualities which I once bad the felicity of acci dentally overhearing him name to a fellow gillie who was ebatging him with undue friendship for a “a bit of a Sassenach body.” ‘‘Ho is no Sassenach body!” cried my indignant champion in excited Erse. “IIo is a highland gen tleman, for his mother will have been a daughter of tho Clan , which is a very good name whatever. lie is a very straight shroting gentleman, more over, and be has the Gaelic as well as I or you, Angus Macintosh!” tao, when lasted him that day (with due cere mony) to explain bis ‘‘to name” of “MacChat aFraoch” (son of the heath er cat), and to toll me a curious legend which I had somehow learned in the hamlet to be attached to the name, he readily responded to my request. I translate his wild talc from the Gaelic in which ho told it me. How much it loses in tho process those who know that beautiful language will easily understand. ‘‘It is from tho father of my great grandfather,” said Donald, ‘‘that I will be having tho name. A very pretty man he was, Dougal MacPhersou. Ho stood mere than 0 feet high. His back was as broad us tho door of his dwelling, and he could carry a full grown stag on his shoulders over Bon Mhor, and tho activity of him was as great as bis strength, for at the battle of Falkirk, where ho jvas fighting in the first rank of Clan Mbuirach, he sprang against the side of a dragoon’s horse and slash ed off the head of tho rider with one sweep of his claymore in the leap. And Cluny himself called him next morning in front of tho clan and said that it was a spring like tho spring of (Jncbuluind at the ford fight with Ferdia in Ireland long ago, and that ho should bo hence forth called the Heather Cat for his fierce, active, heroic deeds in the buttle and as a name of honor upon him. “Now, there were very few in the highlands that could be matching Dou gal in strength or fieetness or in tho managing ot the gun, or the dirk, or the claymore, hut there was one art that he coaid never at all be the master of and that is tho art of playing the pipes, though he longed for that one more than for any other, and the want of it was a very great loss to him what ever, as I shall be explaining to you, for the piper of Glen Roy—and that was Duncan Cameion—had u daughter, the sight of whose fair face was dearer to Dougal than tho sight of a moor cover ed with deer, oi of a river full of salmon, or of a battle line of the sidier roy, and her heart was given to Dougal, a^ his was to her, but her father bad said that no man should have her in marriage who could not play the pipes. It is a very dour, hard, obstinate man he was, Duncan Cameron, and Dougal could never at all persuade him to let him have his daughter Helen to wife on any other conditions, and it was a hope less task for him to be trying to learn the pipes. Duncan liked him very well, and would bo giving him plenty of in structing, but it was all of no use what ever. He might as well try to learn the flying as the pipe music. It was not that ho was not a clever lad, as I have said before. It was as if some one had been laying a spell of diuidical en chantment upon him to prevent him from learning, and it was not that either, for he had gone over the moun tain to old Brigid, the witch of Loch- dbu, and she hud made the deasil around him and said spells that would have freed him from enchantment if any there had been on him, but it did not at all avail him in his learning the music, and his hopes of Helen Cameron kept getting smaller every day, for be knew she would never many him with out her father’s consent, though she never would marry any one else—which was aye some consolation to Dougal. "Now, one day he was up in the piper’s house, and Duncan was, aa usual, giving him a lesson, but it is worae be seemed to be getting instead of better, and Duncan kept growing angrier and angrier, till at least he was fairly stumping with rage upon the floor of bia house. He was a big man, with a very red head and beard, and his temper was conforming, being very hot whatever (which you may have yourself noticed in those that have the red hair). Till suddenly he rnsbed over to Dongnl and tore the pipes from him and dashed them on the floor. I am thinking he was very near to stamping on them too. "iAmadani’* (fool) he shouted. ‘Amman)’ "Dougal got up very slowly, looking him full betwoeu the eyes. " ‘Duncan Cameron,’ he said—and it was in a very quiet voice he was spiuking—‘black is the insult you have put upon my father’s son in your own house, and you will be believing me when I say to you that if you were an- otlnr man than the father of Helen Cameron it is your blood I would bo having for it upon this place. I was pet called the Heather Cat for nothing.’ said he, ‘and now 1 am waiting for you to a.*!; pardon for your words.’ " *Ma chorp an dhiaoul!’said Duu- riu Cameron. ‘Perhaps you would be t'ndiug the blood as hard to come by as the music, but it is true what you have been saying about the insult in my own house, and I will be asking your par don, as it becomes a gentleman to do. You are a very proper lad, Dougal, and I like you very well, but I cannot go back from my word. Yet, if yon will learn but one pibroch and play it to me, yon shall have my daughter Helen to wife, even if yon never touch the pipes again or learn another note. There is my hand on it, Dougal!' said he. "The two clasped bauds, and Dongal pnt on his bonnet and took his long gnu from the corner and went out. His heart was black with sorrow, for he knew that the learning of one pibroch wonld be no easier to him than the learning of a hundred. So lie went up into the hills to be thinking of his sorrow, and little was he minding what way ho Was going. His desire was but to be alone, and ho wandered on till something made him suddenly come to himself, and, raising his bead with a start, he found that he had come upon the moor which is on the top of Ben Mhor. "The snnset was shining on the great cairn, and, looking over at it, he saw a huge heather cat playing and springing by itself among the whin. It never no ticed Dougal at all, but just kept on with its diversion, and ho was minded to slioot it, but it came over him that it was doing no harm and enjoying its life in its own way, ‘Which I cannot bo doing,’ said lie, smiling sadly to himself. So ho lowered his gun and tamed away. "And then ho noticed that there was a strange, deadly quiet in the air—a weird, awesome kind of stillness. Sud denly it came upon him that this was Hallow Eve, and there ho was on tho top of Ben Mhor, which was very well known to be a favorite haunt of them we must not name (God save us!) on 1 their own special day, with God knows what watching all round him perhaps in the heather. It had been that very night five years that one Sergeant Lnft- us, that had come with a search parly of the elector’s soldiers (my black curse bo upon them!) had gone up the moun tain for a wager, being drunk. In the face of warning he had gone up, jest ing and blaspheming. He came not down that night, and in the morning he was found lying dead on the moor at the foot of the cairn. There was not a mark on his body, but upon his face was such a look of horror and fear that they hud to wrap a plaid round his head before carrying him down, and in that manner he was buried. "Now, Dougal was not a lad that the waving of a bush would frighten, but lie knew well that tho place was not a place to be delaying in at all. So he turned to go down the mountain, nud as he did so there was a little old man standing in front of him looking him in the face. "Ho was dressed in a long cloak of dark gray that looked like cat’s fur, with a red cap upon his head. The face of him was yellow and wizen, and out of it looked two green, fiery eyes, like the eyes of a wildcat, and as Dougal gazed into these eyes he knew that it was no mortal creature that was there. God save us! "He wished to make the holy sign, but there was no mere power in him than in a babe of a day old. He could not raise his hand. For a moment ter ror gripped cold to his heart. Then he remembered who ho was and the name he bore and he looked into the green eyes without fear. " ‘It is late that you are upon the hill, Dougal,’ said the little old man— or the thing in tho likeness of one. His voice was like tho wind in the chim ney, and seemed as if it had come from far away and was very weary in tho coming. 'And it is neither yonr long gun,’ said he, ‘nor your claymore that lias kept you from leaving your dead body on the bill this night. Well was it for your father’s son, Dongal Mac- Phersou, that you kept from trying to harm in wautouuess that which had never harmed yon and from firing the shot that would have been the ending of your good days upon this earth, and well was it that you quailed not under tlyi eyes of the cat of Ben Mhor! It is your kind heart,’ said be, ‘and your courage that have saved you this night, and now you must ask a wish, and it shall be granted to you, and since you are my namesake 1 will be telling yon that it is according to what you shall wish for that you shall thrive here after. Bad wish, bad fortune,’ said be, and luughAl, and his laugh seemed to have come from farther away than his voice and to be more weary. "Now, some there are that would have been asking for lauds and more for gold, but all that was in the heart of Dougal was the thought of the blue eyes and the fair hair of Helen Cam eron. " ’I wish,’ said be, 'to be able to play a pibroch!’ " ’It is a small asking,’ said the thing, ‘but it is a good one, and when you shall have had your wish there shall be no more between you and me. Your heart's desire you shall have, and ever shall you thrive. Take these pipes,’ said he, bringing a set from un der the cloak and handing them to Dougal, ‘go down to the elachau and play the best pibroch that has ever been heard in the four seas, and that is tho pibroch of the cat of Ben Mhor.’ And he was gone, ns if be had never been. "Now, in the clachan every one bad come together in to the great barn of Duncan Cameron, the piper, for it was Hallow Eve, as I have said before. The young things were playing upon the floor, tho ualliagbs and old men wore talking among themselves of things by* gone, nud the young people were play ing ut the Hallow Eve cantrips and games, but Helen Cameron sat by her self, straining her ear for the step of the man eke loved nud watching for his baud upon the latch. "Long enough she waited, with the sound of the talking and laughing and singing seeming al'at off and meaning less uoi-e, for her heart was with Dou gal out on the moors on that night when she knew that evil things have power. The fear that was upon her was as keen as pain, so that when she heard bis foot drawing nigh to the door and knew he was come at last she almost swooned away with joy. "But at the sight of his face when ho came iu she caught her baud to her heart with terror, for be was walking like a man asleep, and the eyes of him seemed to bo looking through every thing into some place far away—into Tir-uan-Og perhaps. A dead silence fell upon all that were in the place as he walked slowly into the middle of the barn. Ho was carrying a set of pipes that no one there had ever seen the like of. They would have served the piper of the prince his own self. God bless him! "He put the chanter to his lips and began to play the most wonderful and terrible piece of music that ever has been heard iu Scotland, or perhaps iu the whole earth besides. All the time he was playing those who were listen ing could see what the music was tell ing about, and that was a great clan battle that must have happened hun dreds nf years ago—in Fiouu MacCnm- hal’s time—up there on top of Ben Mhor. "First it was just the moor, lying very hot in the sun, with the bees hum ming along the heath bells, and the young things of the moor fowl talking to themselves among the heather stalks. Very sleepy and quiet it was, and the moor was making the little noises it dots make on the very hot days, and yet east wind was creeping over the heath from the sea, very gentle and lonely and tired, making a white shin ing all over tho moor, with a gray blue clear sky above. "Then, from very far off down tho wind there came the notes of a clan march. It came neuter and nearer. It was an old, old march, forgotten, along with the clan that had owned it, for generations past, and tho clan came marching over the brow and took the battle order upon the moor, and stood waiting, while from the opposite side another clan came up and took the but tle array over against them. Theduinhe- wassel and the men were waiting for the word of onset, stamping in the heather and snuffing the wind with the buttle madness coming upon them. “Then there came a dead pause for one long moment, while the hearts of all stood still. It is at a time like that, yon will have been observing, that very Email things seem as great us the whole world, and a man will be watching a bee upon a flower, or perhaps counting the squares of his breucau, while his soul is gathering herself together for the call that is coming upon her even then and instantly. “Then there was one awesome scream from the pipes, the yell of the fighting men cleft the clouds, and with the rush of driven stags the two lines swung to gether. Their meeting was the meeting of a wind maddened tide and a flooded river. The targets roared together. The short, sharp shrieks of combat went up amid the deadly crashing of the clay mores and axes upon the helmets and shields. Thu heavy, dull groans of death were heard, and the thick, dark blood ran into the black, hot ground among the stalks of the heather, and over the heads of the fighters the wild people of the glen were shrieking in a black cloud, their red eyes glared from among its blackness, and the pipes were scream ing like eagles down a storm wind, clanging and ringing, crying and call ing. "And then the pibroch suddenly ceas ed—just ceased and no more, leaving the world seeming strange without it. "For a moment there was a dead si lence in the barn. Then a bairn burst out crying in terror, and the spell was broken. All made the holy sign upon them, and the women draw together in fear, while the men were crowding round Dougal, questioning him. To small purpose was their questioning, for there be stood answering nothing, with the strange look still iu his eyes, like a man bewitched. "But Helen Cameron rose up very white and came to him and took the Daoiue Shin pipes from his shoulder, and, crossing the room, flung them into the great fire. It was a dead, still night, as I have said. Yet, as she did so, a great blast of wind came that shook the stone walls of the house. The fire flash ed high, blazing and roaring for an in stant. Then it died down, and the pipes of magic were gone. The blast passed on over the moor, full of shrieks aud laughter, and Dongal came back to him self, with Helen Cameron weeping upon his neck. "But it was long ere he wonld tell how he came by the pibroch that won him his bride, for Duncan Cameron stood to his word? and they were mar ried as soon as Dougal had made his shrift for his dealings with the Daoine Shie. He bad the desire of his heart, and ever throve thereafter, bat never could he play the pipes again any more than before; but as fur the pibroch of the cat, no one could ever remem Ut a note of it, which was perhaps a very good thing whatever, for it is ill dealing with the like. "—Philip L. Fitzreimuud in Chapman’s Magazine. Unclaimed Letters. List of letters remaining in office uncalled for to date: Miss A. E. Bishop. Peter Byars, col. .1. S. Bridges. Mrs. Lula Cody. Juke Carpenter. Miss Lonnie Ellis. Miss M. L. Ellis. Mrs. Nancy Gregory. L. E. Griffith. John J. Hathcock. Craten Hall. Rufus Humphries. Jas. A. Huskey. Miss Margaret Jefferies. Prof. James Leonard. G. \V. Loveless. R. W. Lackey. J. E. Morgan. Ella Morgan. J. W. Mills. A. L. Miller. Miss Lonnie Putman. Tine Parris. Wash Ross. Pete Iloss. Holla Scruggs. J. K. Service. Mrs. Mamie Smith. A. W. Tolleson. W. T. D. Thompson. X. B.—Persons calling for the above letters please state that they were advertised in The Ledger of Nov. 3rd. One cent due on all let ters delivered after having been advertised. T. H. Littlejohn, P. M. Gaffney S. C. > « Pelzer No 5. The Pelzer, S. C., Cotton Mills, al ready with 107,000 spindles and 3.200 looms, will at no distant day build a large No. 5 Mill. It will be operated by steam, ns their electrically oper ated No. 4 Mill has never been a success. Motors continue to burn out weekly, and the General Electric Co., maintains two electricians there constantly at salaries of $120 each, who at once rebuild the burned out motors. The Pelzer manufacturing Co., we have heard, also have plans for building a No. 0 Mill sometime in the future after the No. ."> shall have been in successful operation. In fact we expect to see 2