The Darlington news. (Darlington, S.C.) 1875-1909, March 17, 1892, Image 3
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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.)
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Sold by J. A. Boyd and Willcox & Co.
^ C,B **
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—MANUFACTURED BY-
The Wilcox & Gibbs Guano Co.
CH ARLESTON, S. C., .
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IMPROVED APPLIANCES
WE CAN COMPETE WITH ANT
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WHY IS THE
W. L. DOUGLAS
S3 SHOE CEN^LEMEM
THE BEST SHOE IN THE WOULD FOR THE KONETf
It Is a Beamless shoe, with no tacks or wax thread
to hurt the feet; made of the best fine calf, stylish
and easy, and breaune tre make more ahoe* of thi»
1 grade than any other nuinufaeturer. It euuuls band*
] sewed shoes costing from 04.UO to $5.00.
CaC OO <*cniiiue lland-Newed, theflnestralf
; Shoe ever offered for $5.00; equals French
Imported shoes which cost from $8.00to $12.00.
; O A 00 Hnnd-Sewcd Welt IShoe, lino ?alf,
stylish, comfortable aud durable. The best
j shoe ever offered at this price ; same grade os cua-
' tom-made shoes costing from $6.00 to $9.00.
O 50 Police Shoei Farmers. Railroad Men
•P and Lei ter Carriers all wear them; fine calf,
seamless, smooth inside heavy three soles, exten
sion edge. One pair will wear a year.
ttO fl ,,e 1,0 better shoe ever offered at
this price; one trial will convince those
who want a shoe for comfort and service.
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-