Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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ry V I '~1 -~- I. -- - - f -P -. ,...---. - / / ~-< -7-. / ________- MARCH ~. 1900. ESTABLISHED TRI WEEKLY EDITIG~ WINNSBORO 1844. COOD Zfthe waiting-many the tear! Dakthe sight-alive the fear! Weak-the will-the effort faint! Deep the sigh-low the plaint! Yet never a-.goal-but ends a way! Never a dark-but bear a day! Never a strong-but feels a pain! - sever a fall-but brings a gain! -Tames 3 IN THE N11 BY MARC "But I may count on you?" Toi tsked. "You know you promised." "Yes," I replied, "I promised, an ['1 keep my promise. I'll be you 1- best man. Not that I wouldn't lik ogetnout-of it," I went on; "but yo .naist, and I suppose that-" "Oh, conie now," said Tom, "don - o in for cynicisi; that's cheap. C vurse,.I'm willing to admit thi rxom your point of view, perhaps, Doi thy Melton may have treated yo jadly enough but I wouldn't curs fhe whole sex and rail at matrimon tad all that. You'll get over it i lime, you know." Tom is an old friend, and allow itimself lib3rties. I kept my head, an, eplied calmly: "I am not cynical, and I'm no railing' at matrimony. Moreover ;hat little affair with the young womai rou mention, which I have quite for iotten-" Tom smiled in a peculiarly tryin manner. "Which Ihave entirely forgotten [ repeated. "And will forget anew every da you live," said Tom. "Has had nothing whatever to d with my dermination to devote mysel sntirely to my profession. I have a' ready frittered away entirely too mue: af my life on what we are pleased t 'society.' But of course I'll kee -my promise to you." K;"Now look here, old man," Ton began;-but he saw, I suppose, some thing in my faca which warned hi -l0t4was not to be mored. At an ate he laughed and shrugged hi oulders,-and then said: "Well, Il count on you for bes Juae seventh is the day, and you won't find it such an awfu you seem to expect." marriage was fo ,come 14 and I congratulAtM mpe ests, ith f exception d-be tohomI di know. I could do my duty I 'rom, take a last farewell of butterfl society, and then settle down for goo apon the career which I fondly hope would end upon -the supreme benel I would workand work hard. Dorotb Mefton, with whom I quarreled si months ago, should never think thi -sheiad broken my heart, or shattere my life, or anything of that-sort, R she hadn't. She simply had reveale to me the fickleness of her sex an brougL L me to the realization that -' areer, after all, is the only thing the an really satisfy a man worth an' thing. As the time of Tom'~s wedding al proached I wrote him that I shoul run down to Riverton 24 hours in at vance in order to attend to all t1h thousand and- one duties which de v olve upon the best man; but at thJ last momenf my one really good clien1 * a man rich and cranky, succeededi getting so hopelessly involved in a injunction suit that nothing but in - medigte and earnest personal attentio could keep him from going to jail fc *. cont3mpt of court. I saved him frot that ignominy, but only after spendin the entire morning of the weddin day in court, and barely caught th last train by which I could reach Ri' erton in time for the ceremony. Toi and his friends would have to loo after the details of the wedding whic I was compelled to negleet. T had forgotten that Uncle Williai Clarkson lived at Riverton, or I migl have been ~preparedl for him; but bA fore the train had fairly stopped the station Uncle William w as at m side, gi-asping my hand and reachin for my bag. ~"Here you are at last, he was saying. "I've been at ever -train that canme in today. You've gc to go up to the house with me and g< a little snack of somnething to eat .be fore the wedding." "But Tom-" I interposed. "Oh, that's all right," said Unc] William. "I've arranged it all wit your friend Tpm, and ill have you *. Christ church in plenty of time fc the wedding. So come along; you aunt's waiting for you." Really, what could I do? I looke about helplessly, hoping that Tom c some of his friends would appear an lay claim to me, but .Uncle Williai had evidently impressed upon ther that he was going to have his ow way with me, and they camne not. Of course, I should-have been ver * glad to dine with Uncle William an Aunt Margaret, but when a fellowi * going to be best -man at his bes friend's wedding, and has only tw hours and a half before the ceremony he is not exactly in the mood for visit ' ing even his nearest and dearest rel: jives. I tried, to say something of th kind to Uncle William,but he retorted "Oh, pshaw, now! There ain't thing to do,and what's the use of you going to the ho'tel or to one of Tom' friends' houses where they are alread running ove with company? No us * at all. Your Aunt Margaret will giv vou a nice 'little dinner right away you can get:on your wedding togs an get o the church in plenty of tim without any of the fuming and fissin the others will go through. There's 'phone' in the house; you can let Toi know you are here, and that's all that necessary." eI reeabhrad that I did no espa AND EVIL. For felt the evil-born the right! Dense the darkness-keen the sight! Grieved the weakness-gained thestrength' Strained the distance-home at length I God is in us-this the strife! Victory through us-this is life! The will to do-is virtue done! The grief to lose-is goodness won! Eark Baldwin, in New York Independent. 'K OF TIME. ;0 MORROW. a cially care to meet more people than was necessary, but still it was with 1 some misgivings that I followed my r chipper, and I am afraid somewhat e officious, uncle to his new town house. a i At five o'clock I found myself in Aunt Margaret's front parlor. t Uncle William called up Tom by f telephone, and after a few minutes' t chat with him I felt somewhat reas sured. Dinner was announced very a early, and was soon over. As the e clock chimed six I went upstairs to v make a hurried toilet. But where was i my bag? I harried downstairs again and put the question to Uncle Wil sliam. I "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "we must have left it at the station!" t He harried down town to fetch the , bag, promising to return "before you i know I'm gone;" but the minutes - slipped away, and the carriage drove up to the gate before he got back. He K finally came, however. "Here you are," he said, as he handed me the bag. "Now you want to hurry, young man, or you'll be yjlate." I fairly jumped into my clothes, D trusting to luck for appearance. As I f tied my cravat Uncle William tapped - on the door. b "It's five minutes of seven!" he ex claimed. ,I cobU n't say exactly what I wanted to say,so onteted-myself by 'giving i the crn.a-Aa vicious twist. Three minutes later I dashed down the hall, i threw a good-by at Aunt Margaret and I hurried into the yard. ' s The coachman was driving away. "Hi,there!" shouted Uncle William t1 from the front steps. "Hot.on there, driver! Wilson, stop that ha'ak!" V i Wilson was evidently Un'le Wil AM's next-door neighbor.. He was If 1gate to his own domicile. He u~e ,I around slowly and looked at the car d riage and tien at Uncle William. y "What for?" he asked. "What's y the matter with it?" d "Hi, there, driver!" shouted Uncle d William again, as I tore down the I. path. y The coachman drew in his horses x with an air of impatient expectancy. A "What in the world do you mean?" d cried Uncle William, puffing in anger, or behind me. a "Yes, what do you mean," I echoed, 0 "driving off without me?" a "Wiy, sir," said the evidently sgaypuzzledL coachman, with a nod rof his head toward Mr. Wilson, "lie said for-" e- "Well, well, well!" cried Mr. Wil d son,joining us on the sidewalk. "What ldoes all this mean, anyway? What e are you holding this carri~age here Sfor?" s! Uncle William began saying somne ;thing under - his breath, but was n checked by a feminine voice from the ii carrnage. S"Driver," it asked, "what's the n matter?" r "Oh!" exclaime:1 'Uncle William, a i |light breaking in upon him, "you'v~e g I made a mistake here, Wilson. This gis a carriage I ordered to take my: e :nep~hew to the wedding." -- "Oh, I guess not," said Mr'. Wilson, a bristling up more than ever. '!This kis a carriage T ordered to take my Ii niece to the commencement." I The two men glare1I at each other a ilike wild animals, and I turned from tone to the othe -in hopeless'. perplex-~ Sity. t "Drive on!" cr'ied Mr. Wilson, and y, the driver drew up the reins. gi |"Hold on!" cried Uncle William, " I and the driver loosened the reins. He y evidently enjoyved the situation. t The two men moved toward each t other, and then Aunt Margaret came Sdown the path, hastening to the un tangling of Uncle William's mistakes, - as she had been doing throughout e their married life. S"This is a muddle,'' she said to Mr. ,tWilson in her sweetest tones. "The r stablemon have probably got the two r orders c'onfused." "I don't know about that," said 6Mr. Wilson, "'out i've got the car rriage." "Butase here," put in Uncle Wil ai,"Dick's best man, and he mustn't a be late at the wedding." u "I can't help that," retorte'l Mr. Wilson. "My niece mustn't be late at y the commencement, either." d "I'll tell you," cried Aunn. Margaret s with sudden inspiration, "why can't t they go together? The seminary is o only a little ways beyond Christ ,church. I know your niece won't Sobject if I explain." A..unt Margaret dashed out into the e street toward the carriage, and I foi :lowedi, wiping my moist brow, bewail a ing my wilting linen and consumed r with impatience. s In the next few seconds I heard y Aunt Margaret making a hurried ex e planation which concluded with "Aw e Ifully good of you, I'm sure, but I -knew you'd consent under the cir ii camstances;" then the door was flung e jopen, Uncle William gave me a push g tromi behind, while Aunt Margaret a murmuured introductions, and I found a m'yself stepping into a carriage whi:-b s seemed filled with flowers and tulfv white stuff,-from the midst of which Spe!ered the face of-IDorothy MJeltonu "Why-Dick - Mr.-" she cried, alf rising from her seat. I started back with a confused at tempt at an apology, but Uncle Wil liam hastily slammed the door, and with a commanding "Drive lively ow!" motioned the driver to start. The horses were off with a jump, and' I sank into tL. 3 seat opposite the young woman whom six months ago I had sworn never to see again. It was the early dusk of what had been a perfect June day. The street, lamps were not yet lighted, but the bright moon shone in at the carriage windows, and I knew Dorothy co'uld see my hot, flushed face and my ner vousness and embarrassment. "Miss Melton," I began, feeling that I must say something, 'Tm ex tremely sorry to intrude upon you in this manner. I had no idea-" "Oh, pray do not mention it," said Dorothy. "I am, of course, extreme ly glad to be of any service whatever to Ars. Clarkscn, and it would be too bad for you to be late at the wed ling." Dorothy was quite mistress of her self. She held a large bunc. of roses in her arms, having gathered them up to make room for me; the color, which I think , left her face for an instant when she saw it was I who climbed into her carriage, returned; her eyes sparkled, and never had she looked so lovely. What a fool, I thought, bit terly, what a fool I had been to quar rel with, her. "It's to b quite a large wedding, I believo?" she said, turning her face full upon me. The driver -was evidently intent upon reaching the church in-time. He turned a corner so sharply t-hat just as I was about to stammer out a commonplace bout the wedding we both were near ly thrown from our seats. Dorothy threw up her hand, her roses fell in onfusion, and as I bent forward her lainty fingers lightly brushed my face "Oh, Dorothy! Dorothy!" I. cried; and then I'm sure that I couldn't tell what I mid. I only know that the words I aad been holding back, the love that [ had been trying to stile for six uonthE, burst from me, and before we :eached the next corner Dorothy lifted ier shining eyes, and through tears said: "OhDick! Dick!" and I knew every :hing was right, and wished that Jhrist church was 20 miles away. The carriage pulled up at the church loor in the nick of time,.and dashed been teaching for a few months. I found Tom in' the vestry, so su premely happy that he had not even noticed my tardiness-but, for that matte-, I walked in the-clouds all evening, and noticed n thing what ever that happened at his wedding, so we are quits on that score. 'Dorothy and I will be married in September, and Unc'e William, who insists that his "good management" brought it all about, has promised to set us up with a carriage of our own on the day of the wedding. -Woman's Home Companion. QUAINT AND CURlOUS. Thse whistling tree which is found in the West Indies, in Nubia and the Soudan, has a peculiarly shaped leaf and pods with a split edge. The wind, passing through these produces the sound which gives the tree its name. Thirteen old horsesh'oes were hang. ing last spring on the back of a garden wall close to an old boiler which work men were removing and ieplacing by a new one-a very noisy piece of work -when, in no wise deterred by this, a pair of wrens built their nest in the mlst of the cluster of horse.shoes and then brought Up) their young. The mother bird, having been found one day drowned in a pail of water, stand ing near, her mate tended and cared for their young until they were fledged aid flown. The horseshoes containing the nest still hang on the wall at Ever thorpe Hall, Brough, East Yorkshire, England. In the Bay of Plenty, New Zealand, is one of the most extraordinary isl and~s in the world. It is called White Island, and consists mainly of sulphur mixed with gypsum and a few other minerals. Over the island, which is about three miles in circumference, and which rises between 800O feet and 900O feet above the sea, floats continu ally an immense cloud of vapor, at taining an elevation of 10,000 feet. In the centre is a boiling lake of acid charged water, covering 50 acres, and surrounded with blowholes from which steam and sulphurous fumes are emit ted with great force and noise. WEth are, a boat can be navigated on the take. The surphur from White Island is very pure, but lititle effort has yet been made to procure it systemati ally. One of the most peculiar accidents ever heard of happened to a colored man near New Store, Va., a fewv days ago. Ed Jones took his gun and set out for a day of sport. He was not looking for large game, b.ut he had not been in the woods long before he saw an immense deer coming at a tremendous rate of speed immediately towar~d him. He at once fell upon his knees, pre paratory to a shot, and when the deer was within 20 feet of him fired an.l missed his aim. The deer had ac guired such tremendous momentum that it could not check itself, and with the next leap landed upon the hunter. It knocked him down and bruise-1 him badly upon the breast with one hiud foot, the other going into the negro's meath, knoaking out a number of his teeth, tearing a part of his gums away, and passing down bis threoat. The whole thing was over in an ins:ant, but 'when he came te CHILDREN'S COMN. The Birthday Lesson. Today's a holiday, you know, And so we children, just for fun. Said we would dress like old-time folks, And i'd be Martha M ashington. We searched through all the g.rret's chests And foand among forgotten boards The stiffost silks. and old brocades, And ruffled caps and tarnished swords. And when at last we all were dressed, We went to my great-grandma's room. She smiled and colored with dd'idht, Until her cheeks were all in bloom. But somehow, her blue eyes grew grave, As each girl told her chosen name, And flually she gently said, "It is a very pretty game. "Yet take care, children, 'hat you wear, Not only clothes of ancient days, But manners of those gracious dames, Who won all by their gentle ways. "The brow beneath your powdered hair Is very fair, my great-grandchild; - S keep your thoughts; and let your eyes Reflect a heart both true and mild. "This hand which holds a painted fan Must work, that tirei4 hands inay rest; Since Martha Washington, we know, Could spin and weave at want's request. "The feet where buckled slippers shine May some day tread a thornyroad, Hold fast the pictures of brave lives, And never falter with the load." Then dear great-grandma blessed us all. .iud down the hail our steps we turned. It is a holiday, it's true, isut every girl her lesson learned. -Yo ath's Companion. Squirrels in a fitv - In the Plaza, opposite the cathedral of Oaxaca, Mexico, are some five pecan-trees which are harbor for a number of squirrels. There are also pleasant seats for the footsore and I weary as- well as for the sight-seeing lounger. If you are udt eaters of squirrel pie, and do not uo.e "squirrel rifles," or grudge the squirrel a trifle of bark for architectural- purposes, it is a delightful experience to have these fearless little Oaxaca citizens perch upon your shoulder and rob you of nuts o; other dainties. They are im portunate little beggars, and do not take "no" for an answerbut head and shoulders they go for your inside pocket. They are the protected of all the city-rich and poor alike-and it would go bard with a stranger who presumed to molest them. The Cricketon the h. Someb.ody lias started the legend t ricket sin ont hearth there be pple o oo in the cupboard 'Sd ,goo luck will at tend the family. However that may be, the house cricket-the kind that loves to be;in tuning up his fairy fiddle at about the tin.e you are trying to go to sleep-is..never a grumbler against evil fortune. He seems ever to be cheerful and lively. - His eyes a' e always bright, and he is satisfied with a cruma', provided he can get plenty of water to drink. You may be sure that the cricket which seems never to leave the corner or the nook where you hear him sing daily wanders abroad at night in search of something to drink. Often he is a regular toper, and house crickets often lose their lhves through leaping into a pan of waters, or milk, or ooup, or sirup in their greediness for something to drink. Sometimes the house cricket gets restless and instead of hopping Iaround like a level-headed insect and being contented he spree~ds his stubby wings and flies out of the window and into the great world of summer night. He doesn't whir along like a l'eetle, or flntter like a butterfly, but he flies much after the manner of a goldfinch - opening and shutting his wings leisurely and constantly risfng and falling as he flies. The cricket's cheery rasping is a call for Mistress Cricket to come home. Mistress Cricket, unlike the ladies of the hu man species, is no talker. I have often watched a shining male cricket in a corner calling. He would lift his wings and rasp them till they made the pecnliar shrill little chirrup, then he would move his long feelers, or antennw, about, and his shell-like eyes would seem to brighten. Pretty soon, after the calling would have been going on for some time, a plump light-brown lady cricket would come sidling up, and then the two *would rub their antennue together ever so softly, evidently whispering family secrets to each other. If you have a cricket by your hearth or under the 1-ookcase give him a crumb or two once in a while and y ou will make him your friend for life. IChicago Record. Teddy lepented at sup~pertlime. "Come, Teddy," said Mrs. West, I"it's time for the cows to come home." But Teddy was reading a story Iabout a shipwreck and did not want to be disturbed just then. "Oh, mtherwait a little while," Ihe said. A little later Hester came to the door. "Teddy,you ought to get the cows," she said. "Bother the cows!" replied Teddy, crossly, and his sister went away. Soon a man's face appeared at the window. "Edward, the cows!" said Mr. West; and when his father spoke like that Teddy lost uo time in obeying. Sulkily he laid down his book and walked through the kitchen, whaere his mother and sister were cooking the ' supper and his father was piling up the kindling wood for the morning's fire. "I hate cows!" Teddy grumbled, as he wa ked slowly aeross the pine floor. "They're a bothe;, and I wish we di n't have any. I wish nobody l:ad any. Cows are no good, anyway. -lust in the way. I hate cows!"i An hour later the cows were safe in, the barn for the night, and'Teddy was I n a better humor. He was hungry, oo, after the walk to the meadow and )ack in the fresh air. A fine round of meat was smoking on the table, but there was none on Ceddy's plate. "This is beef," said Mr. West. "I lid not give you any because you hate :ows, Teddy." Teddy opened his nouth, and then closed it again with )ut a word. "I won't give you any butter, [eddy," said Mrs. West, "because we ret our butter from the cows and you iate them so." Hester poured out he milk for the other children, but to reddy she gave a glass of %ater. "Cows are such a bother," she aid, soberly. "I know you don't want any milk." Teddy looked wistfully at the plate >f creamy cheese, but it was passed to very one but him. But, worst of all, when the 'custards were brought in, sweet and brown in their little white mps, Teddy-was passed by. "Of cource, you wouldn't eat cus :ards, for they are made mostly of nilk," said Aunt Hetty. Teddy looked as if he would cry. "I-I haven't had anything to eat," ie blurted. "I wish I hadn't said :hose things about tie cow." Everybody smiled then, and no one )b.ected when Hester slyly passed to Am a cup of custard. A Story of Washintonu. The centenary of the death of 3eorge Washington on Decemoer 14 xas had the effect of reviving a host >f stories about the Father of His Jountry. Very picturesque is the story of Washington's experience at Fort N2 :essity. When he was still a young >fficer in the British service, he showed :he sort of courage which afterward nade him distinguished. The rude fort of logs and earth, with L shallow trench on the outside, had een thrown up hastily in the westeri wilderness. In -the fort were about 00 Virginian provincials, together vith a few Indians. The intrenchment was Fort Neces: ity, so called because east up-in~i noment of absolute need in the Great eadows where Washington, then a )romising young officer in the British errice, had been sent to make way gainst French aggression. The time as July, 1754. The young commander had- been ent by Governor Dinwiddie of Vir inia to prevent the hostile French 'roza' furt:hey_ encroaching on the solonies. On the 28th of May. he met a body Meadows. Washington struck the first blov and was successful, but the Fren1 forces were rapidly gathering and thf colonials were forced to fall back or the littie fort. Here, on the 2nd oj July, they were surrounded by 60( French and Indians commanded b3 Coalon De Villiers. It 'Was a day ol drizzling rain and the woods were damp and dripping. Inside the fort were a few Britisl soldiers in their red coats, some 6( Indians in savage finery, and the resi gray coated colonials. For nine hours the combat con: tinned almost without a pause. The soldiers within the fort stood up t< their knees in mud and water, and iheir ammunition was well-nigh ex austed. As the long July day camc toa lose and darkness settled down-upou the wilderness the French proposeda trce. At first Washington,' fearing it was a trick, declined, but when De Villiers repeated the proposal he seni out an ollicer to make the necessary terms. ty midnight an agreement was signed. The British were to mari out with their drums beating and the honors of war carrying with them their cannon and all their stores. Washington had lost 30 men and the French killed and wounded amounted to 7,2. The 4th of July dawned clear and br~ight, the birds sang in the wild woods and the leaves glistened with noisture, but the beautiful morning was, perhaps,the darkest in Washing Ln's life. He had done his best, but rate was against him. The French were the strongest, and, to save the ives of his men, he had consented to ~etrear. In the early morning light the ~olonials filed out from the little fort tud the wretched march began over :he forest road that led to Virginia. t is said that Washington gave way :o tears as he saw his little band, the sick and wounded borne on the shoul lers of the strong, struggling along vearily and dejectedly through the orest wilds. It was, indeed, a gloomy Eth of July in the life of the great man w-ho was to live to see that day for ver gloiious to a new born nation. A'yiumn for Sick Horses. Au asylum for useless and sickc iorses is soon to be started in New ork City. The idlea is a new one in his country, though London intro aced it several years -ago. -Sick orses~ will remain in the asylum until hey are cured and will theu be turned ever to their owners. Old and blind orses will-be taken care of until they This home for broken-down animals s expected to prove a boon to the 'cabby" and the truckmnan wvho will Lot be obliged to give up their ageearners permanently. - New ork Tribune. A WI sh. "I wish I were rich," said the -oung man. "How rich?" ")h, rich Ileyond the dreams of vaice. I'd lhke to be so rich that I ould afford to put in my time lectur ag people about the illusions of realth and the placid dedights of ov-t."-Wnhineinn Sta,. RHODES. IS A MSTERY. READABLE CHARACTER SKETCH OF AFRICA'S "UNCROWNED KING." "The Man Who Eat' a Country for His Breakfast"--HIs Mpressve Sincerity Be Scorns Dress-Has No Use for Mar ried Men -A Subject of Hero Worship. A very readable character sketch of Cecil Rhodes appears in Ain.islee's, written by Allen Sangree, a corre spondent recently returned from South Africa. He says, in part: "In the land that bears his name, Cecil Rhodes receives the homage of a monarch. He stands for the coun try's rise or fall. He is the source of good and eiil; praised for completing a railroad and blamed for a continued drought. Among white men he is a sub ject of hero worship. To black men he represents the whole Anglo-Saxon :race. They call him 'Separator of Butl s,''.on of the GreatWhite Queen,' and 'the man who eats a country for -his breakfast.' To them he is Des tiny itse.. "The first thing .you.,otice about Mr. Rhodes is an absence of afectation. He receives alike the day laborer and the foreign minister. In voice, man ner and conduct he is ever the same. Nothing is studied. Unlike most hu pman beings, -he is not an actor. There is -nothing mysterious about him. He inakes use of no - subterfuge. but comes straight to the $oint. " In con versation he meetsYfour eye squarely and impresses you with his sincerity. 'I could not stand out againstiin, wailedBarneyBarnato when berated'by a friend for merging his interests with the De Beer syndicte. 'He just roue'l me in-roped as- in because I knew he spoke the truth.' "Ibis ing asness disarms you one moment, bu~ ngages your ad miration the next. It is instantlyJ forced upon you that -here is a man, who holds life too seriods and brief for a masquerale, whose thoughts are detached from petty things and engrossed in vast ideas. Mr. Rhodes ives- evidence of this by breaking off conversation when it becomes small, And concentrating his mind on some entirely foreign subject. "You ' need not talk with Mr. Rhodes- five minutes to learn that he is a thinker. Dr. Jameson and other lieutenants, who have achieved. more or less distinctioi, - seem but as moths flyin at - an are light, They weigbts; 4hodes i bothers with -de -a ke care of themselve. alf the timehe does nave pocket money. Travel ing on a street car in Cape Town one day, he found himself w-thout the ne cessary 'ticky' (threepence), and ac cepted a loan. "'Rhodes,' exclaimed the American conductor in writhing sarcasm, 'Dusty Roads, I guess.' Indeed, the Colossus looked rather dusty, having been o - a tramp along the docks. The detail of dress, however, is one to which he is especially indifferent. His favorite garb is a white flannel shirt with a polka-dot t'ie, soft felt huat and modest gray or black clothes. He wears no diamonds. In this cos tume I saw him call upon Sir Alfred Milner at the executive mansion. The finnkey at the door, nevertheless, cracked his spine in making an obeis ance. ''But Mr. Rhodes' clothes attract your attention last, so domineering, almost oppressive, is his presence. Not that hie is unlike other men-an immune to human passions, frailties and luxuries. Far from it. I noticed that he greatly eujoys a good cigar, drinks Scotch whiskey and chain pagne. "ecil Rhodes is a keen observer, a philosopher, shrewd of wit, not given to long speeches, brave, and~ lavish'with money when he thinks it profitable to be so. 'His countenance is not an encouraging study for the sentimental. In the knowledge of South Africans he has never shown attention to any woman. Disappo'nted in love stories about him go the rounds at intervals, 1:ut are never verified. There seems to be littele room in his make-up for that sort of thing.' He treats the gentler sex with indiffer, ence and e&ven rudeness. For' his two sisters alone does he exhibit fond ness, and they, in turn, have the repu tation of being 'man-haters.' "Nothing aggravates Mr. Rhodes more than for one of the Chartered company's employes to get married. I came down from Beira on a Ger man steamer with a newly-wedded couple who were returning to'Eng land mnost de'ected. The bridegroomI had been a trusted .lieutenant in Rhodesia and went home on a leave of absence at his general's suggestion. When he returned with a rosy-cheeked bride, however, Rhodes received him coldly, and remarked shortly that the climate in South Africa was ruinous to a 'woman's beauty. "While this might be construed as a 'littleness,' it is a peculiarity of the man that falls in line with his lifds aim and work. He holds that the unmarried man will take greater risks and accomplish more for him on the fringe of civilization, He looks at it in "a 'purely business way, and is wil ling to pay the highest prices for the most effcient work. Rhodes' fa~e and form command your 'respect. His forehead is mas sive, the grayish light hair lies cloa-e to the he'ad and is inclined to curl. The eara.and nose are big, the chin firm, 'prominent and -double.: The brows are heavy and overshadow bright, keen a-id thoughtful gray eyes. His mouth indicates severity. sarcasm and determination. His neek is thick, his shoulders strong, his bands~mascular with fingers broad at the ends. He is of me lium height, his body heavy. In his forehead you see where gigantic ideas are gener Ltd nhsci owte r are out. The lines of his mouth tell yu, plainly that slight infringements of the ethical code are not to interfere with his project; that the end justi fies the means. LITERATURE FOR WOODCHOPPERS. Minnesota and Wisconsin Women Sa ply the Camps With Comforts. Advancement in mordls of the 7000 men in the lumber woods of the De luth district of Wisconsin is a subject that has engaged the attention of the state branch of the W.C. T. U. for the past two years. As a rule lumber ' companies and their jobbing contrac - tors pay little attention to their men, except to see that a full day a work is had six times a week; that theineniae kept fall of wholesome food and that smallpox is not permitted a .landing place in the camps. At most ca-uq there are strict rules against card playlg, and at all the use cf liquorin any form is prohibited, but these re sults are made not soinuch for'th good of the men morally asfor dh prevention of quarrels.- Rhas b~e the experience of hundreds of caIs S.at the free use of- caids, e in friendly games, witbout. gamgi s the cause of more'quarre!s ind greater problems for the camp bosses thantay one thing, whiskey alone -excepted. Therefore he.prohibitions. To supply the deici .* T. U. has taken up a systemnatic. am paign and is furnishing 'huUdrdM camps, not only in* this di idt'bt -. all over the northern prt of the sUWt.' with reading matter, quiet gsdes~ipl C le,:tions of testaments, ,ad g~ele hymnbooks, "comfort. bags," some thing like the "housewives" attlie women at home sent to thfrton i war times; pietures to tach uP da tlie walls of camps,- old maps-oirered orer with datchy versesandsayigsmot ed religious,.cards, mottoes sea))d bright little things for the , s pitals. It' is astonishihg tiie gs th-st-ra Sat- and _the~ spciatx!, words that come back ?tom these cheerless camps. - The work in Minnesottis underth, charge of Mrs. E.A.Bairgan. of Prine ton and Miss Hausei'of Misnepois Mrs. Burgan has'spent -.1 8_rtimb2. for two or three-years in1he*or1 % ' organizing the servie.e am terialsas well as-in visitig i and in findingjast what ia each case. Sunjimers eh'is, in 10ocatingnew caml.s'idH ing winter andilollectiuir K books, etc. - Onegrea .f '4 women is to 'Clv. ~nearestrtows - . -there a eas:bi - loggingdpbratidns ah3ai a in the woods by-sa 'o I4 distinct gain if the infi C. T. T.is such s to close thd and it has proved strong, - many cases this winter little hovels of saloon 4wifteni- - over their bars severai lars of woodsmen's mone 'y'7 a iff - Sunday, and -these 'are saloons have perhaps only one or -woo1. - .' camps from which to dra,. v Funds for this work are. largely by the lumber hrmi a4tn ~ W. C.T. U. ofthe state. Lati~ Mrs. Bargan reportedvisitesin esW to hundreds of camps,- The-w4 originated some years ago with 4~ wife of Governor Upham of Wsoz~ himself a lumber manufaeturer.,P. saw the need and recogniied te'fi' that all winter thousands of miv-w e altogether cut off'from alhumanisaig influences. Under her directiondceQ, tral Wisconsin camps have been und - an active missionary influence. There are 15,000 mnen in the lumib woods of Minnesota this season, ai under the new lawrs they are paid ft in the woods, giving the densoftl e neighborhood amplest opportunitpfeIr t -e enticement of the- vast sums theyS c )ulectivelv earn. It is 'stated thiat mais winter far less proportionately is being wasted thus tlian in ieisons few years back.-Chicago Eecord. .A Curious Shoe Trust. Doylestown has four odd characters who pool their issunes in buying shoes.. They all have the same sized feetgand each regards this fact in the nature'.ofI a libel perpetrated upon:.him by 'ine other three. Every year each one of the quartet chips in $18,- and-the fund of $72 is expended for-shoes. 'Buy~g them in such quantities,there is nata rally a reduction in price. One would think that there would be an ejiual ei- - vision of the shoes; butthat isn't their - little game. -The shoes are owned col lectively, share and share alike, ad when not-being worn they are kept in a closet in the express office, wh:ch is the generai lounging place of the quar tet. -If one man wants to wear new shoes,'he goes to the evpress office *uid puts them on. - If he wants to ebaadp off to apair that has already been broken in he does so. If he. wears rgis sets in the daytime and wants to w~ar patent leathers in the evening he goes to the express office and makes .the change. They have been doing this $or several years,aiid claim they wouldn't wear sh:.es in any other way.-Phila delphia Riecord. - Egypt's Magniaicen?_ Clienate. The climate of Egypt is magnificent -- and there are few winter resorts tlz are preferable, meteoroligically speal~ ing. The air is fine anddry attge sunshine is perfect, whiJ? with ediiw ble temperature, wholesoje food s~d water, and gentle 'breezes, there ai ~ - little to be desire. U~fotunaey, the sanitary arrangements ini E are very bad, and most of. thshe even in Cairo, are built on contai inated sites. - - - Distinction Without: I)5i-wrnee. - The man who at the restaurant asis "Garcon,- un ragbut," widl very-'key4 malke his lunch, when Eirglishado1C beef stew.-New York '(oinmegui