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PUBLISHKD KVKRY TmlR8DAr UORMINa. ^ENRV J, yH0MP3ON, PttOPRIETOK. TERMS—$1 Per Annum In Advance;' afford. &0 centa (or tl montha; 35 cents for 8 mouths. Advertising Rates; One Square first insertion $1.00 One Square second insertion 50 Every subsequent insertion 50 Contract advertisements inserted uiK>n the most reasonable terms. Cet ns not tUScnas that Tuither,' hurried to say: “ws cannot chann the past.' "lint we cau mend the present—we can make the future. Mile Chenier, I intoxicating climate," ne dne day said to Adelaide; “I am too coarse and crude for its refinements of heat and bloom and fragrance. 1 must go back in time to eee the yellow blossoms on the prairies.' I am homesick too." she replied; "a j cordially like you. and I wunt you to be bruatn of mountain air would besweeter my fncud Will yonT" than all the sea breezes tiie Atlantic can " Whatever I can I shall do for yon," r ^ lt * dogwood trees are in bloom she resismtled. And so they parted, all over the foothills now. and 1 recall | The situation had the effect to roue the odor of the sassafras buds" Julian from his lethargy, and forthwith Were you in the mountains during he set alsmt trying to overcome the ob stacles in his way. fPcetrij. . I'rtnceM ami Slava. Daily went the sultan's daughter, ’Neath the stars the loveliest wispier. In the twilight to the fountain. Where the silver water plashes. Every day the young slave waited In tiie twilight by the fountain. Where the silver water plashea. Daily grew he white and whiter. White and whiter. Once at evening spake the princeea To the slave, in proud, coki accente, “Slave, thy nanie—I fain would know it Where's thy home? Who are thy kindredf** And the slave made answer. “I am called Mahomet I am from Yeman, And my tribe is that of Asm, Who die, O maid! when once they love; And my trilie is that of Asm Who die, O maid; when once they love, —Elizabeth Cummings COPYRIGHT BY AMERICAN PRESS ASSOCIATION. 1801 CHAPTER XXIV. A ULOOMY LOVER. 'V.// "llnw <l<m poll nitru' IfiIo my preaeitee/" When at lost Julian saw Rosalie it was in some vague way a disappoint ment to him. She had changed, and yet the change was scarcely detinabie. Her mourning habit, a restraint and self con sciousness in her bearing, and a shy. lurking, half suppressed look of dread in her face, affected him strangely. If pos sible. she was more beautiful than ever, but she seemed removed to a great dis tance from him. and suddenly the fear that he had lost her fell heavily upon hi;n. Where were the smiles and the sweet words of welcome he iiad come so far to find? After all. it looked as if he been cheating himself with a rosy dream ns baseless as ever a dream could be. His first conversation with Rosalie was tame enough. He framed awkward ex cuses for having come back so soon and with so little to encourage his visit, and slyly upbraided her for the paradoxical phrasing of her letter, but he conid not get to his desire. She was gentle and sweet as ever in voice and manner, the reserve and wari ness adding to the charm of her mysteri ously clouded eyes. "I feared that you would be off to Provence before I could get here," he said, looking curiously at her, a hesita ting smile on his genial, generous face. *‘I never did see cars lag so, and then when 1 at last got here and found you gone away i felt like a masterly failure.” “I did not know you were coming," Rosalie answered; “and I did not know you were here until i returned." "Well, if you can forgive my unseemly haste to get back we shall be good friends,” be lightly exclaimed, stumbling utter some way to reach his old ease with her. "I feel guilty of accepting my own invitation to make this visit." “Why, J am sure my letter was a model of “Yes. i know," ho interposed, laughing a little: “you urged me most eloquently, indeed, but I fear you did not mean all you wrote." His voice had a ring of cruelty in it, as if a pain lay at its root. He was aware that she was setting herself to re sist any attempt on his part to assume the old intimate relation. “Yes, i meant all 1 wrote," she said; and, although she smiled, there was an unmistakable chilliness in her tone. “1 really tiiought you ought not to come." “Why?" he asked, putting up his hand to stroke his mustache. “I hardly know,” she replied a little nervo.isly. “I thought you might re gret it. Yon would be sure to be dis appointed. " “Whyshould 1 bedisappointed?" heex- claimed; “and if J am to be, the sooner I know it Hie better " “Yon are disappointed, yon know it now." shs quickly said, looking up into his face; “you must not try to deceive yourself." “That would lie impossible, (t is yon who persist in blinding yourself. Sup pose we quarrel," lie went on. lightly chafing: “it would break up this ice be tween us Coldness is not natural in this climate, is it?” He wondered at his own artificiality as much as at her merciless directness. “There is no ice." she gravely an swered “You imagine it, as you imag ine—a good many other things.*' “Do £?" he exclaimed. "Ah. you know too well 1 am not here mistaking myself. Yon know" --Come, 1 shall not listen. Let ns talk ns we used to—of what you have seen, of what you have read. In your letter you said there was something about Chateau Chenier you bad forgotten to tell me." And so she drew him away from him self. When their talk was over and she had left him he sat for a long while in a state ol doubt It was liard for him to believe that she would thna turn him adrift, and yet lie could discover no good reason why •he should love him. He somehow felf ns if he had allowed tiie golden time to go by, and that now she had slipped away beyond his reach. Again and again he rose, shook him self and resolved to go to Rosalie with his love and his eloquence and win br the sheer torrent of his passion: but his resolution lapsed feebly and he returned to his moodv silence. ^ rAlter oil, 1 cannot endure this rich. CHAPTER XXV. a DltlVR the war?" he idly inquired. | "Not exactly in the mouutaina. Our home stood in the Oothcaloga valley, but within full vvew of the Pine Log and John's mountain ranges." Ah, I recollect that valley—a lovely stietcb of undulating, rich red lands with a strong brook or rivulet meandering through it. We had some desperate skirmishing in that region.” He did not note her sudden pallor. “1 shall never ferget one place,” he went on; "a great rambling mansion whose wails were cov ered with trumpet vines and Virginia creeper; a picturesque old home, set high on a knoll among broad .armed oa ks and gum trees. We had to burn it It was the only house I ever burned with my j own hand. Some rebels had taken refuge in ii, and they fought like fiends Even i the women of the family were armed. A girl actually (dazed away at me with a pistol as 1 smashed in the door. She slightly wounded me on the head, and was preparing to shoot me again when I pushed her off with my bayonet. I ti ll yon she was a vixen!" "If yon should see that girl do yon think you could recognize her?" said Adelaide, her voice peculiarly even and . _ , steady He was not hsiking at her. and *"" l< ^o^rTk^’X^ JT Roosevelt saw that something ne* of tone and manner ha.l struck her t hat Jnlia^rK, w " ^ ttm er uke inftileuce, even brutality “Oh. no," he replied, “nhe was of about your size and apiiearance," turn- ismt -V. LTLms ==“».zs;-ssr=a obscurely at work, thinking that it return to her house could have but one meaning, and she bod hoped to see Rosalie broome his wife, if she loved him She did not inquire into bent on killing me.’ “And yon burned tiie house?" ‘Oh. I guess we did Under cover of the smoke we planted a battery ou a bill hard by, and gave the rebels in the valley an awful pounding as they slowly with drew." "And you would be unable to recog nize tiie girl?" “1 shouldn't care to meet her if she's yet alive. She might know me. If she hasn't greatly changed she'd kill me on sight." "Yon ought to be killed," she exclaim ed. standing np before him and gazing contemptuously down upon him: “you miserable coward!" She slipped up the sleeve of her dress and, pointing to the jagged scar, smiled almost furiously as she added: "How dare you come into my pres ence!" It was as if lie sprang out of sleep to see the incarnation of his dream before him He actually rubbed hiseyea There she stood, just as she had on the day of that memorable adventure. He could not find a word He rose to his feet and confronted tier almost lielligerently. star ing and pale. For some moments his mind was dazed and inoperative; then, as he gathertM himself together, he said: “Miss Chenier, can it be possible—are you" "Yes. sir, I am" “Forgive me. I was a foolish, hot headed boy—I would not do it now would probably lie of short duration. One morning Mr Roosevelt invited Julian to drive with him to a certain house, some miles in tiie country, wberv a trivial business affair demanded his at tention The vehicle was an ojieu buggy drawn by a span of fast bay horses. Mr Roosevelt drove. “I shall show you some wild jungles and some beautiful open country," he said as they started from before the gate nt Roosevelt Place “if it were not so late in the seaaoti we might take the guns. Quails are abundant in the old fields." “I shouldn't care to shoot today," said Julian, “sqmehow 1 feel averse to exer cine of any active sort. This climate, it seems, has enervated me." “That is what all northern men say after they have been here awhile. How do you account for it?" "I did not feel it when I was a sol dier," responded Julian. “Rut then you were not this far south, were yon?' "Uh. yes; I was here with Sherman's raiders, prowling about in the city for several days." "Ah. i was not aware.” "1 had forgotten to tell you," said Julian, "I ought to have told you at first, so that you could have exercised your right to refuse hospitality to one who"-i— "Not at all. sir—do not mention it," said Mr Roosevelt quickly. “1 hold no He stood like a statue. The situation grudge against a Union soldier; I respect was disclosing itself to him in all its hopelessness. He forgot that Adelaide stood before him. He reached out'his heavy arms with his hands clinched to gether. and cried: "Uh. Rosalie. Rosalie!" There was something infinitely ap pealing in his voice that thrilled Ade laide and touched her heart. Her con science rebuked her fiercely. A space of silence followed, ami then she put her hand on his arm and said: “I was too bitter—I was wicked just now—forgive me!" But her voice had not lost all its pinched harshness. Her face still wore that look of lofty contempt ft was ns if the sound of her sister's name had turned aside the point of her anger. “This is horrible!" exclaimed Julian, standing in an attitude of mingled sur prise and despair, still ignoring Ade laide, his whole son! filled with the thought of how this strange discovery would affect Rosalie. Adelaide saw his anguish, and with the swift sympathy of a southern woman humeri to soften it “1 will keep the secret—I have kept it Rosalie shall never know. Pardon my bitter mood just now—it took me unawares." Her voice had recovered its gentleness almost as suddenly as it had lost it This served to recall him to his imme diate surroundings and to a sense of the generous sacrifice this injured woman was making. At the same time, by some indirect action, Adelaide's impulse of kiudness fanned to flame a sudden hope in his breast that all was not lost. His hungry heart caught at something in her voice that seemed to come from Rosalie. "Miss Chenier, have you known this all the while?' he presently inquired. “I had not meant to tell it.” she said. "1 am sorry I have allowed my feelings to get control of me. You will try to forget ail about it, won't you?" “And Rosalie." he murmured; “what will she say?" “She must never, never know it.” said Adelaide earnestly. He took a hasty turn or two across the floor. , ( “And your father?" he added, stopping short and looking anxiously at her. She made a quick gesture. “He could not bear it," she exclaimed; “he would be terrible." She came close to him, and aluiost m a whisper added: “We must never tell any one." Julian began to walk back and forth again, his hands locked behind him, his face pale and creased with intense feel- iog. She followed him with her eyes His suffering appealed to her impulsive southern heart, more strongly perhaps on account of the share she had taken m bringing it on. “Du you think it would be honorable in me to hold this a secret?' he said, stopping again and turning his clouded face inquiringly toward her. Her cheeks flushed as tbp reflex of his question reached her own self conaptous- ness. “I cannot say," she immediately re plied. “I have thought it all over and over, and I tiave not decided. What do you think?' He lowered hU eyes and stood for a time garing at the floor Presently be looked up quickly, almost resentfully, and said: “I shall tell your father and Rosalie myself." She started a little. “1 believe 1 would not," she said, speaking slowly, as if thinkiug with great care: “you might make it all the worse for everybody concerned." “But I must," he urged: “no other (oorse would satisfy my conscience." ‘1 suppose you are right." she said with a sigh, "but i dread the result. Wouldn't it he better to waif awhile and" “No. at once. 1 should be afraid to brood over it; the temptation to hula the whole thing might overcome me But you. Miss Chenier—what shall I ever do , , . to win back your respect? I cannot al- ** n ° . n ®* ro yon to hate me If 1 can help it. I •"** lDU * ke ‘ low feel your situation, and" him, I assure you, sir." "So many tilings were done by our soldiery," responded Julian: "things calculated to make southern folk bit terly hate ns.' "Oh, yes. but an army is scarcely ex pected to have drawing room manners it would be wicked folly for us to allow what a man did as a soldier to be weighed against him as a citizen and a friend." "Yours is a noble view, Mr. Roose velt.” said Julian. “1 cordially agree with you. but there were special cases, like burning houses aud destroying homes" "I know. I know,” Mr ILsisevelt hastened to say, "but where one does nut hesitate to kill a man. why ought he tum aside from burning a house or sack ing a town? Murder is said to be a higher crime than arson." “True, but I doubt if it is ever more bitterly resented." "Our sou.hern people, 1 believe, have thought more of their homes than the northern people hare of theirs; and tiie reason may be found in tbe fact that we are not so thickly settled, arid couse queutly live more exclusively domestic lives." “I bad not thought of that," said Ju lian. "Our wealthy planters and their fam ilies suffered dreadfully in the line of Sherman's march,” said Mr. Roosevelt. “They lost their homes, their slaves, their plantations—everything—and came out at tiie end of the war even poorer than the crackers." “Yes, I readily see their peculiarly hard fate," Johan said thoughtfully. Mr. Roosevelt did not respond to this He leaned to one side and silently watched tbe graceful movements of his swiftly going horses. “1 have just discovered something. Mr. Roosevelt, which greatly troubles me,” Julian abruptly began again after a long space of silence; "'and it would oblige me if you would counsel me." “I shall be very glad to be of service to you. sir. i assure you,” said Mr. Roose velt looking up, with cordial generosity beaming from his face. “1 don't know that you cm do me My good." Julian continued, “it may be too far gone for that, but I desire to have your opinion." “Certainly, sir, certainly." said Mr. Roosevelt, as Julian seemed to hesitate: "go on freely; anything I can offer will be yours." *ln the first place, then." the young man said, “1 love your niece. Miss Rosalie Chenier.” ‘That would seem quite natural and proper, sir." said Mr. Roosevelt, smiling pleasantly and speaking gently Md slowly 'In the next place," added JnliM, "1 have discovered that I am the very man who burned down Colonel Chenier's mansion in North Georgia as we were tramping ami fighting through that region " Mr Roosevelt looked steadily Md kindly at bis ooinpMion. but said noth ing 'But worst of all," continued Julian "I ran a bayonet through Miss Adelaida Chenier's arm." Mr Roosevelt drew np the horses so suddenly at these last words that they cams to a standstill in tbs middle of tha street. ■*Yon cannot msM to say*—he slowly began. but Jnlian interrupted him. ‘Yes. I do mean to say that 1 bayo neted a woman -Adelaide Chenier—and she has recognised me. Now. Mr. Roose velt. wbst shall 1 do?' This was so sudden and startling a revelation that Mr. Roosevelt could not respond at once: He touehed the horses Md shook the lines a little They sped forth from the street into a shaded lane where the perfume of wild flowers loaded the air Jasmine vines covered the broken fences, violets purpled the ground mocking birds were everywhere A old negro, with a dilapidated his shoulder, stood yitfedrairu among Of few shadows caa- aag a; uteiu aa iney passed. "Cm you folly realize my case, do yon think? Jnlian added "No. sir, I cannot I never stabbed a woman In my life." responded Mr. Risiae- ▼elt He shook the linns again, and the horses went still faster JnliM's face darkened and reddened. He bit his mustache Md glared at the dashboard. ‘Mr Roosevelt, I have spoken to yon as a gentleman and a friend." he pres ently said; “1 am in trouble and need connsel I do not" ■•How cm I advise yon, sir? the old inteimpted. “True advice presnp- sympathy " "And you cMnot sympathize with me. of course." *1 can hardly say: but 1 have liked yon very mneb. sir. It is bard foa me to oonpie yon with acts of downright tm- daiiam. Yon have impreseed me as a chivalrous and spotless gentleman." ‘1 am not a soldier now. and 1 do not think and feel and act as a soldier. Of conrse in tbe wild excitement of war I was a zealot in the U nion cause I am not terry that i was. but 1 do regret that one act I wish 1 could recall it.” As he spoke Julian felt the emptiness of bis words They were flat and fell dead on the air. as does the report of a fowling piece on an open prairie. ‘I should think it would not he a pleas ant thing to remember." said Mr. Roose velt. urging the horses a little more, as if this shaki ug of tbe lines served in some way to relieve hia feelings. ‘But bow can I help it now?” he pres- sently said, putting his hand on tbe old man's arm Mr Roosevelt did not answer; he only shook the lines again. The homes were now going very fast, making tbe buggy bound and sway and its wbeels sing keenly ■One oughtn't to be bated for what he did" A loud report rang out beside the road just ahead The negro had fired at a bird The horses reared together and whirled abort abont with the buggy be fore Mr Roosevelt conid check them. Under the sudden strain the apring over which Julian sat snapped in two, and the young man was sent whirling a rod sway falling heavily outstretched on some rails beside the road. A line also parted, and then the homes became un manageable They ran and kicked like deuioua. dragging Mr. Roosevelt, in the midst of the wrecked vehicle, baMr along tbe road toward the city Julian was senseless The farther the horses ran the wilder and more furious they grew. They dashed the buggy into shreds, and left Mr Roosevelt wounded and bleeding a half mile from where they started. The negro who fired the shot had a hard time of it. wandering about in Sa vannah hunting a physician Lack had seemed against him. He was twice directed wrong, and then when he did at last find a physician's office the doctor himself was gone But it chanced that when, after great tribul tion, he fonnd a doctor, Mr Roosevelt's family physician was the one. Julian had somewhat revived when they reached him. At the same time a welcome sound of wheels and horses' feet greeted their earn Two Vehicles, a buggy and a carriage, came swiftly up, and a spry, smooth faced old man de scended from the former. ‘Ah. bless me. bless me, bow's this?' he quietly ejaculated, glancing from Mr Roosevelt to Julian and back again, with the quick, keen look of a trained surgeon Then he pounced upon Julian and began testing his pulse. He mo tioned to a young man who had accom panied him. and gave an order in an undertone. A medicine case was pro duced. and a few drops of liquid from a phial were pat into Julian's mouth. It was a terrible shock to the house hold at Roosevelt Place when the injured men were brought in. Jnlian was car ried to hia room in an almoat insensible state. Mr. Roosevelt's hurts were com paratively light—mere cuts and bruises that might keep him Indoors for a few days Rosalie was standing on the stairway when the carriages came to the gate. She turned and ran up to her room, and from the window saw Ellis and three or fonr others lifting Julian, pale and ap parently deoil, down from the cushioned couch in the carriage. The first thought that entered her mind was that Ellis had killed Jnlian in a duel. All her blood seemed to flow in upon her heart, and she gripped the window frame for sud- port. She saw. as through a glass darkly, that group of laboring forms pass into tbe bouse bearing the heavy, aileinn load, and then she slid down to the floor and lay in a little dark heap over which her yellow hair strayed in loose, shining curia She had not swoon ed—she was too strong for that—but a feeling of utter horror and despair had crushed her down as if by its mere Weight When, after a long while. Adelaide came to look for her she was still there, silent, tearless, numb, with tbe intensity of her suffering. When she. learned that it had been an accident and not a duel, and that Jnlian was not dead, her relief was very great: bat there remained a nameless dread, and something in Adelaide's voice and nuumer added to her distress Adelaide had tears in her eyes, and she was wringing her bands slowly as she began walking to and fro in the room. "It is awful T she exclaimed, in her calm, suppressed way; "and oh, Rosalie, if be shoald die without knowing that 1 have forgiven hunt" "Forgiven him?’ echoed Rosalie, "for given him for what?" Adelaide stopped and looked strangely at her sister. True enough, Rosalie did not know Ought she to tell her? Per haps it wonld be beet: but she could not "We had a foolish disagreement," she presently said; "I will tell you some time, not now." "But he will not die—oh, Adelaide, he will not die. will he?'cried Rosalie, with a sudden gush of tears. “1 do not know, dear," the sister re plied. her voice struggling to hold its even, gentle flow. They stood there facing each other, their faces pale, their Ups trembling and their eyee shining with intense distress. They did not heed the balmy wind tide flowing thrungh the room, nor tiie song of the mocking bird gsyly falling from (he tree by the window. (To be continued.) IF ^•YOU# 1WHNT JOB-fWORK 0 ••• 0 0 0 0 0 ••• 0 0 Y0U W A NT FI NE W0f|K »•#••••#•#••« •H ;|; Padded Work, Letter Heads, Note Heads, Bill Heads. * VY • ) Envelopes, Circulars, Business Cards, Pamphlets. WITH SKILFUL WORKMEN A.ZSTID FIRM IN THIS STATE. Snow Tobacco Stick. f have accepted the agency this sea son for the above stick. It is the best contrivance within my knowl edge on which to cure tobacco. No farmer can successfully cure nis crop without it. I am also agent for the Berne s tobacco transplanter, which waters and sets the plants at the same time. No waiting for rain. Machine • perfect success. Have been using one for four years. Farmers who wish to place orders will please write me without delay. 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CtO 25 nnd 92.00 Worklngman’e shoes are very strong and durable. Those who have given them a trial will wear no other make. DftVC? 92.00 mid 91.75 school shoes are 9 worn by the boys everywhere; they sell on their merits, as the Increasing sales show. Ladies tt"" to Angola, v llnnd-newed shoe, beet - „—A. very stylish; equalsneiioB nported shoes costing from $1.00 to $6.Ui. Ladles’ 4.50, 9-2.00 uud 91.75 shoe foe Misses are the best fine Dongola. Stylish and durable. Caution.—See that W. L. Douglas' name and price are stamped on the bottom of each shoe, nr TAKE NO ErBHTTTITTM. ml Insist on local advertised dealers supplying voir W. L» DOl'CiLAS, Brockton, MaafeSold by For Sale by A. J, Broom, Darlington, 8. C. P ALMETTO RALUOAD. 1 n effect Ot-tobor 35, 1891» Leave Cheraw ....4.80 p. m. Kollock 4.50 Osbo -ne 5.15 Arrive Hamlet 6.40 Leave Hamlet 8.80 a. m, Osborne 8.50 I Kollock 9.30 Arrive Cheraw 9.40 I WM. MONCURE, Supt. XXARTSVILLE RAILROAD. In effect Jan. 81, 1893. DAILY MIXED TRAIN Leave Hartsvllle 5.55 a in Jovanu Flovd’s 7.10 a m Darlington 9.00 a m Palmetto 9.25 a m Arrive Florence Leave Florence 2.00 p m Palmetto Darlington Floyd's Jovann - Arrrive Hartsvllle J F. DIVINE, Gen. Supf. CHARLESTON, SUMTER AND NORTHERN RAILROAD CHARLES E. KIMBALL Receiver. In Effect January 10, 1892. NORTH. SOUTH. 1 2 A. M. A. M. 6.50 Charleston 10.20 8.00 Pregnall's 9.00 1012 Sumter 6.43 11.08 Lamar 5.53 11.25 Syracuse 5.35 11.40 Darlington 5.20 11 56 Mont Clare 5 05 12.08 Robin's Neck 4.54 12.23 Mandeville 4.39 12 37 Bennettsville 4.25 P. M. P. M. Trains 1 and 2 have through cars between Charleston and Fayetteville. THROUGH SCHEDULE. Leave Charleston 6.55 a m Sumter 10.23 Darlington 11.42 Arrive Richmond 7.00 Washington 8.38 Baltimore 10.30 Philadelphia 12.85 p m New York 3.20 All trains daily except Sunday. J. H. AVFRILL, General Manager. C ti D. and C. & 8. RAILROADS. • In effect Jan. 31, 1892. Leave Wadesboro 5.00 a in Bennett's 6.17 a in Morven's 5.25 a m McFarland 5 36 a in Cheraw 6.05 a in Cash's 6.17 am Society Hill 6.32 a m Dove's 6.50 a m Floyd’s 6.58 am Darlington 7.12 a u Palmetto 7.22 a in Arrive Florence 7.87 a in Leave Florence 9.00 p m Palmetto 9.18 pm Darlington - 9.23 p m Floyd's 9.33 p m Dove's 9 40 p in Society Hill 10 00 p in Cosh's 10.15 p in Cheraw 10.27 p m McFarland 10.57 p m Morven's 11.06 p m Bennett’s ll.U.p in Arrive Wadesboro 11.80 a m Freight Train. Leave Florence 6.40 a m Arrive Darlington 7.55 a m Leave Darlington 6.40 p in Arrive Florence 7.25 p in A. F. RAVEN EL, President. N ortheastern railroad. In effect Jan. 81, 1892. SOUTH BOUND. No. 27. Leave Florence 1.85 a m Kingstree Lanes 2.50 a m Arrive Charleston 5.00 a m No. 28. Leave Florence 10.85 p in Kingstree 11.49 p m Lanes 12.15 a in Arrive Charleston 2.40 a in No. 58. Leave Lanes 8.52 p m Arrive Charleston 10.80 p in No. 61. Leave Florence 8.05 • m Kingstree 9.82 a in Lanes 10.00 a m Arrive Charleston 11.59 a in Train on C. & I). R. R. connects at Florence with No. 61 Train. NORTH BOUND. No. 78. Leave Charleston 1.20 am Lanes 8.25 am Kingstree 848 a in Arrive Florence 4.45 a in No. 14. Leave Charleston 7.01 p m Lanes 8.88 p m Kingstree 8.56 p m Arrive Florence 9.55 p m No. 52. Leave Charleston 6.50 a m Arrive Lanes 8.27 a in No. 80. Leave Charleston 4.29 p in Lanes 6.35 p m Kingstree 6.56 pm Arrive Florence 8.15 p in No. 52 runs through to Columbia via Central K. R. of S. C. Nos. 78 and 14 run solid to Wilming ton, N. C., making close connection with W. & W. R. R. for all points North. J. F. DIVINE. Gen. Supt. \v 7ILM1NGTON, COLUMBIA & AUGUSTA RALROAD. In effect Jan. 31, 1892. SOUTH BOUND. No. 28. Leave Wilmington 6.25 p m Marion 9.84 p m Arrive Florence 10.15 p in No. 50. Leave Florence 8.20 a m Sumter 4.35 a in Arrive Columbia 6.15 am No. 27. Leave Wilmington 10.10 p m Marion 12.40 a in Arrive Florence 1.20 a m No. 52. Leave Sumter 9.43 a m Arrive Columbia 10.55 a m No. 58. Leave Florence 7.57 a m Sumter 9 20 a m Aarrive Columbia No. 52 runs through from Charles ton via Central Railroad; leaving Lanes 8.32 a m. Manning 9 09 a m. Train on C. and D. Railroad con nects at Florence with No. 58. NORTH BOUND. No. 51. Leave Columbia 10.45 p m Sumter 12.04 a m Arrive Florence 1.15 a m No. 78. Leave Florence 5.00 a m Marion 5.46 a m Arrive Wilmington 8.55 am No. 59. Leave Columbia 7.30 pm Sumter Arrive Florence 8.40 p m No. 58. Leave Columbia 9.30 p m Arrive Sumter 10.35 p m No. 14. Leave Florence 10.25 p m Marion 11.02 p m Arrive Wilmington 1.50 a m No 58 runs through to charleston via central Railroad, arriving Man ning 8.04 p m, Lancs 8.45 p in, charleston 10.30 a m. No. 59 connects at Florence with C. & D. train trom cheraw and Wades boro. No,. 78 and 14 make close connec tion at Wilmington with W. & W. Railroad for all points North. Trains on Florence Railroad leave Pee Dee daily except Sunday 4 40 p m, arrive Rowland 7.00 p m. Return ing leave Rowland 6.80 a m, arrive Pee Dee 8.50 a m. Trains on Manchester 4 Augusta Railroad leave Sumter daily except Sundav 10.50 a m, arrive Rimini 11 59 a m. Returning leave Rimini 12 80p, in, arrive Snmter 1.40 p. m. J. F. DIVINE, Gen Supt-