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CHAPTER IV. I RON A GREAT DANGER IN THE HOUSE or SHAWS. He jumped upon hie stool and caught me by the breast o/ the jacket. For a day that was begnn go ill the day passed fairly #ell. We had the porridge cold again at noon and hot por ridge at night; porridge and small beer was my node's diet. He spoke but little, and that in the same way as before, shooting a question at me after a long silence, and when 1 sought to lead him in talk about my future slipped out of it again. In a room neat door to the kitchen, where he suffered me to go, 1 found a great nnmber of books, both Latin and English, in which I took great pleasure all the afternoon. Indeed the time passed so lightly in this good com pany that I began to be almost recon ciled to my residence at Shaws, and nothing but the sight of my uncle, and his eyes playing hide and seek with mine, revived the force of ni)r distrust One thing I discovered which put me in some doubt This was an entry on the fly leaf of a chapbook (one of Pat rick Walker’s) plainly written by my father’s hand and thus conceived, “To my brother Ebenezer on his fifth birth day.” Now, what puzzled me was this: That as my father was. of course the younger brother he must either have made some strange error or he must have written before he was yet five an excellent, clear, manly hand of writing. I tried to get this out of my head; but though I took down many interesting authors, old and new, history, poetry and story book, this notion of my father’s hand of writing stuck to me, and when at length 1 went back into the kitchen, and sat down once more to porridge and small beer, the first thing 1 said to Uncle Ebenezer was to ask him if my father had not been very quick at his book. “Alexander? No, him!” was the reply. “1 was far quicker mysel’; 1 was a clever chappie when I was young. Why. 1 could read as soon as he could.” This puzzled me yet more, and a thought coming into my head I asked if he and my father had been twins. He jumped upon his stool, and the horn spoon fell out of his hand upon the floor. "What gars ye ask that?" he said, and caught me by the breast of the jacket and looked this time straight in to my eyes, his own, which were little and light and bright, like a bird’s, blinking an(f winking strangely. “What do you mean?” I asked very calmly, for I was far stronger than he and not easily frightened. “Take your hand from my jacket. This is no way to behave.” My uncle seemed to make a great effort upon himself. "Dod, man David,” he said, “ye should nae speak to me about your father. That's where the mistake is.” He sat awhile and shook, blinking in his plate. “He was all the brother that ever I had,” he adde4, but with no heart in his voice, and then ho caught up his spoon and fell to supper again, but still shaking. Now this last passage, this laying of hands upon my person and sudden pro fession of love for my dead father, went so clean bey or d my comprehension that it pnt me into both fear and hope. On the one hand, I began to think my uncle was perhaps insane and might be dan gerous; on the other, there came up into my mind (quite unbidden by me and even discouraged) a story like some bal lad 1 bad heard folk singing of a poor lad that was a rightful heir and a wick ed kinsman that tried to keep him from his own. For why should my uncle play a part with a relative that came almost a begger to his door unless in his heart he had some cause to fear him? With this notion all unacknowledged, but nevertheless getting firmly settled in my head, I now began to imitate his covert looks, so that we sat at table like a cat and a mouse, each stealthily ob serving the other. Not another word had he to say to me, black or white, but was busy turning something secretly over in his mind, and the longer we sat and the more I looked at him the more certain I became that the something was unfriendly to myself. When he had cleared the platter he got out a single pipeful of tobacco, just as in the morning, turned round a stool into the chimney comer and sat awhile smoking with his back to me. “Davie,” he said at length, “I’ve been thinking;” then he paused and said it again. "There's a wee bit siller that I half promised ye before ye were born,” he continued; “promised it to your father. Oh, naething legal, ye under stand; just gentlemen daffing at their wine. Well, 1 keepit that bit money separate—it was a great expense, but a promise is a promise—and it has grown by now to be a matter of just precisely —just exactly”—and here he paused and stumbled—“of just exactly forty poundsi” This last he rapped out with a sidelong glauce over his shoulder, and the next moment added, almost with a scream, “Scotal” The pound Scots being the same thing as an English shilling, the difference made by this second thought was con siderable. I could see besides that the whole story was a lie, invented with some end which it puzzled me to guess, and 1 made no attempt to conceal the tone of raillery in which I answered: “Oh, think again, sir! Pounds ster- Una. I balls vs P “That’s what 1 said,” returned my uncle: "pounds sterling! And if you'll step out by to the door a minute, just to see what kind of a night it is. I’ll get it put to ye and call ye in again.” I did his will, smiling to myself in my contempt that he should think I was so easily to be deceived. It was a dark night, with a few stars low down, and as I stood just outside the door I heard a hollow moaning of wind far off among the hills. 1 said to myself there was something thundery and changeful in the weather, and little knew of what a vast importance that should prove to me before the evening passed. When I was called in again my uncle counted out into my hand seven and thirty golden guinea pieces; the rest was in his hand in small gold and silver; t at Ms heart failed him there, and he crammed the change into his pocket. “There," said he, "that'll show you! I’m a queer man, and strange wi’ stran gers; but my word is my bond, and there’s the proof of it.” Now my uncle seemed so miserly that l was struck dumb by this sudden *ton- erosity, and could find no word* ill vnti.;h to thank him. "No a word!" said he. “Kse thaaks: 1 want nae thanks. I do JJ duty; Fu no saying that everybody woetf re done it; but for my part (though I’m a careful body, too) it’s a pleasure to me to do the right by my brother's son, and it’s a pleasure to me to think that now we’ll can agree as such near friends should.” 1 spoke to him in return as handsome ly as I was able, but all the while I was wondering what would come next and why he had parted with his precious guineas, for as to the reason he had given a baby would have refused it. Presently he looked toward me side ways. "And see here,” says he, “tit for tat." I told him 1 was ready to prove my gratitude in any reasonable degree, ami then waited, looking for some monstrous demand. And yet, when at last he plucked up courage to speak, it was only to tell me (very properly, as I thought) that he was growing old and a little broken, and that he would expect me to help him with the house and the bit gar den. I answered and expressed my readiness to serve. “Well,” he said, “let’s begin.” He pulled out of his pocket a rusty key. “There,” says he, "tbete's the key of the stair tower at the far end of the house. Ye can only win mto^t from the outside, for that part of the house is no finished. Hang ye in there, and up the stairs, and bring me down the chest that's at the top. There’s papers in’t,” he added. “Can I have a light, sir?” said 1. “Nae,” said he very cunningly. “Nae lights in my house.” “Very well, sir,” said I. “Are the stairs good?"’ “They’re grand," said he; and then as I was going, “Keep to the wall,” he added, "there’s nae banisters. Hut the stairs are grand underfoot.” Out I went into the night. The wind was still moaning in the distance, though never a breath of it came near the house of Shaws. It had fallen blacker than ever, and I was glad to feel along the wall till I came the length of the stair tower at the far end of the unfinished wing. I had got (he key into the bfy-*' bole and liad just turned it when all upon a sudden, without sound of wind or thunder, the Whole sky was lighted up with wild fire and went black again. 1 had to put my hand over my eyes, to get hack to the color of the darkness, and indeed I was already half blinded when I stepped into the tower. The house of Shaws stood some five full stories high, not counting lofts. Well, as I advanced, it seemed to me the stair grew airier and a thought more lightsome, and I was wondering what might be the cause of this change, when a second blink of the summer lightning came and went. If I did not cry out it was because fear had me by the throat, and if I did not fall it was more by heaven's mercy than my own strength. It was not only that the flash, shone in on every side through breathes in the wall, so that I seemed to he clambering aloft upon an open scaffold, but the same passing brightness showed me the steps were of unequal length, and that one of my feet rested that moment within two inches of the well. This was the grand stair! 1 thought; and with the thought a gust of a kind of angry courage came into my heart. My uncle had sent me here certainly to ruti great risks, perhaps to die. I sWore 1 would settle that “perl a^s" if I should break my neck for it; got me down upon my hands and knees, and as slowly as a snail, feeling before me every inch and testing the solidity of every stone, I con tinued to ascend the stair. The tower. I should have said, was square, and in every corner the step was made of a great stone of a different shapedo join the flights. Well, I had come close to. one of these turns when feeling forward as usual ray hand slipped upon an edge and found nothing but efiiptiness beyond it. The stair had been carried no higher; to set a stranger mounting it in the darkness was to send him straight to his death, and (although thanks to the lightning and my own precautions I was safe enough) the mere thought of the peril in which I might ! have stood and the dreadful height I might have fallen from brought out the sweat upon my body and relaxed my : joints. But I knew what I wanted now and turned and groped my way down again with a wonderful anger in my heart. About half way down the wind sprung np in a clap and shook the tower and died again, the rain followed, and before I had reached the ground level it fell in buckets. 1 put out my head into the storm and looked along toward the kitch- _ en. The door, which I had shut behind me when I left, now stood open and shell a little glimmer of light, and 1 thought i could see a figure standing in the rain, quite still, like a man hearkening. And then there came a blinding flash which 1 shewed me mv uncle nlaiulv iuit when I had fancied him to stand, and hard upon the heels of it a great towrow of thunder. Now, whether my uncle thought the crash to be the sound of my fall, or : whether he heard iu it God s voice de- i nonneiug murder, 1 will leave you to guess. Certain it is, at least, that be was seized on by a kind of panic fear. and that he ran into the house and left : the door open behind him. I followed jus softly as I could, and, coming un heard into the kitchen, stood and i watched him. | He had found time to open the corner cupboard and bring out a great case | bottle of aqua vita;, and now sat with his back toward me at the table. Ever and again he would be seized with a fit of deadly shuddering and groan aloud, and carrying the bottle to his lips, drink down the raw spirit* by the mouthful. I stepped forward, came close behind him where he sat, and suddenly clap ping my two hands down upon his shoul ders—“Ah!" cried I. • My uncle gave a kind of broken cry like a sheep’s bleat, flung up his arms and tumbled to the floor like a dead man. I was somewhat shocked at this, i but I had myself to look to first of all, ' and did not hesitate to let him lie as he had fallen. The keys were hanging in the cupboard, and it was my design to furnish myself with arms before my uncle should come again to his senses and the power of devising evil. I found a rusty, ugly looking highland dirk without the scabbard. This I concealed inside my waistcoat and tnrncd to my uncle. ( He lay with one knee up and one arm 1 sprawling abroad, and he seemed to have ceased breathing. Fear came on me that he was dead; then I got water and dashed it in ais face, and with that he seemed togiomo a little to himself. At last he looked up and saw me. “Come, come,” said I; “sit up.” "Are ye alive?” he sobbed. “O man, are ye alive?” "That I am,” said I. “Small thanks' ! to you!" “It’s the trouble,” said he, reviving a 1 little; “I have a trouble, Davie. It’s the ! heart.” { 1 set him on a chair and looked at him. It is true I felt some pity for a man that looked so sick, but I was full besides of righteous anger, and I numbered over before him the points on which I wanted explanation—why he lied to meat ever}’ word; why he feared that 1 should leave him; why he disliked it to be hinted that he and my father were twins (“is that because it is true?” I asked); why he had given me money to which I was con vinced I hipl no claim; and last of all why he bad'tried to kill me. He heard me all through in silence and then, in a broken voice, begged me to let him go to bed. “I’ll tell ye the morn,” he said; “assure ps dgath I will.” And so weak was he that I could do nothing but consent. I locked him into his room, however, and pocketed the key; and then returning to the kitchen made up such a blaze as had not shone there for many a long year, and wrap ping myself in my plaid lay down upon the chests and fell asleep. CHAPTER V. I GO TO THE QUEEN’S FERRY. 42Z "He Bone th«t~iir. Shuan done It.” Much rain fell in the night, and the next” morning there blew a bitter win- tery wind out of the northwest, driving scattered clouds. I sat down once more beside the fire, which I- replenished, and began gravely to consider ftiy posi tion. Presently, all swollen with conceit, I went up stairs and gave my prisoner his liberty. He gave me good morning civilly, and I gave the same to him. smiling down upon him from the heights of my sufficiency. Soon we were set to breakfast as it might have been the day before. “Well, sir," said 1 with a jeering tone, “have you nothing more to say to me?” And then, as he made .no articulate re ply, “It will be time, I think, to under stand each other," 1 continued. “You took me for a country Johnny Raw with no more mother wit or courage than a porridge stick. I took you for a good man, or no worse than others at the least. It seems we were both wrong. What causa you have to fear me, to cheat me and to attempt my life” He murmured something about a jest and that he liked a bit of fun, and then seeing me smile changed his tone, and assured me he would make all clear as soon as we bad breakfasted. I saw by bis face that he had no lie ready for me. though he was hard at work preparing one, and 1 think I was about to tell him so when we were interrupted by a knock- ing ahtbe d«or ! .' v • -. s. • . - .. Bidfling my n’t)ole ait where he was 1 went fo oponit, ;, lifnd fobnd on too door step a| half grown boy in sea-clothes. He h4l no sooner seen me than be began to daiice some steps of the sea hornpipe (which I had never before heard of, far less seen), snapping his fingers-in the air and footing it right cleverly. For all that he was blue with the cold,.and there was -‘something in his face, a look between tears and laughter, that was highly pathetic and consisted ill with this gaycty of manner. “What cheer, mate?’’ says he with a : racked voice. I asked him soberly to name his pleas- ire. “Oh, pleasure!" says he, and.then be gan to sing: For It's my dellsht of a shiny night In the season of the year. “Well,” said I, "if you have no busi ness at all I will even be so unmannerly as to shut you out.” “Stay, brother!” he cried. “I’ve brought a letter from old Heasy-oasy to Mr. Belflower.’’ He showed me a letter as he spoke. "And I say, mate,” he added, “I’m mortal hungry.” “Well," said I, “come into the house, and you shall have a bite if I go empty for it.” With that I brought him in and set hint down to my own piace, wume no fell to greedily on the remains of break fast. Meanwhile my un le bad read the letter and sat thinking; then suddenly he got to his feet with a great air of liveliness and pulled me a[>art into the farthest corner of the room. “Read that," said he, and put the let ter in my hand. Here it is lying before me as I write: Th* Hawks Inn. at the Queen's Furry. .Sin—I lie lu re w ith my hawser up and down, and send my cabin boy to informe. If you bav* any further commands for over seas, today will be the last occasion, as the wind will servo us well out of the flrth. I will not seek to deny that 1 have had crosses with your doer, Mr. Rankelllor; of which, if not s;»eedily'redd up, you may looke to see some losses follow. 1 have drawn a bill upon you, as per margin, and am, sir, your most obedt., hnmbleservant, Elias Uoskason. “You see, Davie," resumed my uncle as soot} as he saw that l had done, “1 have a venture with this man Hoseason, the captain of a trading brig, the Cove nant, of Dysart. Now if you and mo was to walk over with yon lad, I could see the captain at the Hawes, or maybe on board the Covenant, if there was papers to lie signed, and so far from a loss of time we can jog on to the lawyer, Mr. Rankeillor's. After a' that's come and gone ye would be swier to believe me upon my naked word; but ye’ll can believe Rankeillor. He's factor tu half the gentry in these parts; an auld man, forby, highly respeckit, and he kenned your father.” I stood awhile and thought. I was going to some place of shipping, which was doubtless jiopulous and where my uncle durst attempt no violence, and, indeed, even the society of the cabin boy so far protected me. Once there, I be lieved I could force on the visit to the lawyers, even if my uncle were now in sincere in proposing it, and perhaps in the bottom of my heart I wished a nearer view of the sea and ships. Yon are to remember I have lived all my life in the inland hills, and just two days before had first sight of the firth lying like a blue floor, and the sailed ships moving on the face of it no bigger than toys. One thing with another, I made up my mind. “Very well,” says I, “let us go to the ferry.” My uncle got into his hat and coat and buckled an old rusty cutlass on, and then we trod the fire out, locked the door and set forth upon our walk. The wind being in that cold quarter, the northwest blew nearly in our faces as we went. It was the month of June, the grass was all white with daisies and the trees with blossom, bnt to judge by our blue nails and aching wrists, the time might have been winter and the whiteness a Decemlier frost. Uncle Ebenezer trudged in the ditch, jogging from side to side like an old plowman coming home from work. He never said a word the whole way, and 1 was thrown for talk on the cabin boy. He told me his name was Ransome, and that he had followed the sea since he was nine, but could not say how old he was, as he had lost his reckoning. I asked him of the brig (which he de clared was the finest ship that sailed) and of Captain Hoseason, in whose praise he was equally loud. Heasy-oasy (for so he still named the skipper) was a man, by his account, that minded for nothing either in heaven or earth, one that, as people said, would "crack on all sail into the day of judgment;" rough, fierce, unscrupulous and brutal; ami all this my poor cabin boy had taught himself to admire as something seamanlike and manly. He would only admit one flaw in his idol. “He ain't no seaman,” he admitted. “That's Mr. Shuan that navigatetrthe brig. He's the finest seaman in the trade, only fof drink; and I tell you I believe it. Why, look ’ere,” and turning down his stock ing he showed me a great, raw, red wound that made my blood run cold. “He done that—Mr. Shuan done it,” he said with an air of pride. "What!” I cried, “do you take such savage usage at his hands? Why, you are no slave to be so handled.” "No,” said the poor mooncalf, chang ing his tune at once, “and so he’ll find! See ’ere,” and he showed me a great caseknife, which he told me was stolen. “Oh,” says he, "let me see him try. 1 dare him to. I'll do for him! Oh, he ain’t the first!” And he confirmed it with a poor, silly, ugly oath. “Have you no friends?" said I. He said he had a father in some Eng lish seaport, I forget which. “He was a fine man, too,” he said, “but he’s dead.” “In heaven's name,” cried I, “can yon find no reputable life on shore?” “Oh, no!” says he, winking and look ing very sly; “they would put nie to a trade. I know a trick worth two of that, I do!" I asked him what trade could be so dreadful as the one he followed, where hmran the continual peril of his life, not alone from wind and sea, but by the horrid cruelty of those who were his masters. He said it was very true, and then began to praise the life, and tell what a pleasure it was to get on shore with money in his pocket and spend it like a man, and buy apples and swag ger and surprise what he called stick in the mud boys. “And then it’s not all ns bad as that,” says he; “there’s worse off than me: there's the twenty pounders. Oh, laws! you should see them taking on. Why, I've seen a man as old as you, I dessay”—(to him I seemed old)—"ah, and he had a beard, too—well, and as soon as we cleared out of the river and he had the drug out of his head—my! how he cried and^arried on! I made a fine fool of him, I tell you! And then there’s little uns, too. Oh, little by me! I tell you, I keep them in order. When we carry little uns, I have a rope's end of my own to wollop ’em.” And so he ran on, until it came in on me that what he meant by twenty pounders were those unhappy criminals who were sent over seas to slavery in North America, or the j still more unhappy innocents who were : kidnaped or trepanned (as the word j went) for private interests or vengeance. Just then we came to the top of the I hill, and looked down on the ferry and ; the hope, and at the end of the pier I ; could see the building which they call | the Hawes inn. I The town of Qneensferry lies farther west, and the neighborhood of the inn looked pretty lonely at that time of day, for the boat had just gone north with ■ passengers. A skiff, however, lay be- : side the pier with some seamen sleeping j on tlie thwarts; this, as Ransome told me, was the brig's boat waiting for the captain; and about half a mile off, and all alone in the anchorage, he showed me the Covenant herself. After all 1 had listened to upon the way I locked at I that ship with an extreme abhorrence, and from the bottom of my heart 1 pitied all poor souls that were con- I dtunned to sail in her. I We had all three pulled qp on the crow ot tne mu, ana now i marvneu j across tV road and addressed my uncle, "1 think it right to tell you, sir," says I, “there’s nothing that will bring me on board that Covenant.” He seemed to waken from a dream. "Eh?" he said. “What’s that?” I told him over again. “Well, well,” he said, "we'll have to please ye, I suppose. But what are we standing here for? It’s perishing cold, - and if I’m no mistaken they're busking the Covenant for sea." [TO BE CONTINUED.] ALittle Girl's Experience In a Light House. Mr. and Mrs. Loren Trescot are keepers of the Gov. Light house at Sand Beach, Mich, and are blessed with a daughter, four years old Last April she was taken down with Measles, fol lowed with a dreadful Cough and turning into a fever. Doc tors at home and at Detroit treat ed her, but in vain, she grew worse rapidly, until she was a mere “handfulofbones.”—-then she tried Dr. King’s New Dis covery and after the use of two and a half bott-es, was complete ly cured. They say Dr. King’s New Discovery is worth its weight in gold, yet you may get a trial bottle free at Willcox & Co’s Drug store. Mr. Hobs (at the theater)— Humph ! Wish to goodness they would elevate the stage. Mrs. Hobs—Why, dear ? Mr. Hobs (dodging about to see through the theater hat in front)—Then a fellow could see it.—Chicaqo News Record. We have a speedy ai d posi tive cure for catarrh, diphthe- ”ia, canker mouth and head ache, in SHILOH’S CATARRH. REMEDY, a nasal injector free with each bottle. Use it if you desire health and sweet breath. Price 50c. Sold by Dr. J. A. Boyd They Have a Bonanza. It seems the owners of Dr. Drummond’s Lightning Reme dy for Rheumatism have a Bo* nanza, as their remedy has nev er been known to fail in a sin gle case. There is certainly room in the market for a medi cine that will do what they claim for this wonderful prepa ration. Although the price is $5 per bottle, if it does one-half claimed for it the price should be $100. If the druggist has not got it, the remedy will be sent to any address by prepaid express onreceiptofpnce. Drum- mund Medicine Co., 48 50 Maid en Lane, New, York. Agents wanted. She was a frivolous fashiona ble young woman with beaux galore, but one man with only a small income seemed to be the favorite. “You’ll have to work hard be fore you win that girl,” said his mother. “And a good deal harder af ter you win her,” answered his father, who knew what he was talking about.—Detroit Free l\ess. Pada—Well, Johnnie, you went to church thife morning ? Johnnie—Yes, papa. Papa—How did you like the sermon ? Johnnie—The beginning was good and the end was good, but there was too much middle to it, papa.—Boston Commercial. — StrenRth and Health. If you are not feeling strong and healthy, try Electric Bit ters. If “La Grippe” has left you weak and weary, use Elec tric Bitters. This remedy acts directly on Liver, Stomach and Kidneys, gently aiding those or gans to perform their functions. If you are afflicted with Sick Headache, you v. HI find speedy and permanent relief by taking Electric Bitters. One trial will convince you that this is the remedy you need. Large bot tles only 50c. at Willcox & Co’s drug store. Emile (to her sister, at a danc ing party)—I do believe that gentleman yonder has designs upon you. Louise—Come, now, you must be joking. Emilie—Certainly not. I am positive he wants to make you his sister-in-law.—Patriote.' Let us Reason. If any one who suffers from Rheumatism would stop and rea son a moment before they de cide to purchase some remedy, they could not help avoid any so called cure that is sold for $1. Figuring the retnilers, the job bers, and the manufacturers’ profits out of that solitary dol lar, and there is left not over 20 cents for the medicine. Aside from its reputation, and the fact, Dr. Drummond’s Lightning Remedy appeals to one’s good sense. The price is $5 per bot tle and to any one suffering from Rheumatism it is as cheap as it is good and effective. Sent to any address by Drummond Medi cine Co., 48-50 Maiden Lane, New York. Agents wanted. “I want,” said the astrono mer, “an inscription for my new telescope which shall be in the nature of an address to the stars.” “How would ‘Here’s looking at you’ do ?”—Buffalo Express. Do not confuse the Famous Blush of Roses with the many worthless paints, powders, creams, and bleaches which are flooding the market. Get the genuine of your d-ugglst, Dr. J. A. Boyd, 75 cents per bottle and I guarantee it will remove your pimples, freckles, black heads, moth, tan, and sunburn, and give you a lovely complex ion. “I see,” said one real estate dealer to another, “that you still have a vacant house in your new row.” “Yes,” was the reply ; “it was last, but not leased.”—Boston Transcript. Dyspepsia and Liver Complaint. Is it not worth the small price of 75c. to free yourself of every symptom of these distressing complaints, if you think so call at our store and get a bottle of Shiloh’s Vitalizer, every bottle has a printed guarantee on it, use accordingly and if it does you no good it will cost you no thing. Sold by Dr. J. A. Boyd. Oh, What a Cough. Will you heed the warning. The signal perhaps of the sure approach of that more terrible disease Consumption. Ask yourselves if you can afford for the sake of saving 50c., to run the risk and do nothing for it. We know from experience that Shiloh’s Cure will cure your cough. It never fails. This explains why more than a Mil lion Bottles were sold the past year. It relieves croup and whooping cough at once Moth ers, do not be without it. For lame back, side or chest use Shiloh’s Porous Plaster. Sold by Dr. J. A Boyd. Have disa- M. D.—This is queer, you taken anything that greed with you ? The Patient—Nothingbutyour advice of yesterday.—Life. Bucklen s Arnica Salve. The Best Salve in the world for Cuts, Bruises, Sores. Ulcers, Salt Rheum, Fever Sores, Tetter, Chapped Hands, Chilblains, Corns, and all Skin Eruptions, and positively cures Piles, or no pay required. It is guaranteed to give perfect satisfaction, or money refunded. Price 25 cents per box. For sale at Willcox & Co’s drugstore. Call on C. MOONEY FOR MED ilD IGH LISED of all kinds. All orders filled promptly, and satis faction guaranteed. Aug[25—8m Notice of Limited Partnership. To all who it may concern: Notice is hereby given that the undersigned have formed a Limited Partnership ; that the Name of Firm under which such °artnership is to be conducted is Edwards St Company. That the general nature of the business to he transacted is a General Merchandise Business to be carried on at Darling ton, South Carolina. That C. B. Ed wards, and H. A. Edwards, who re side at Darlington, Court House, South Carolina, are the General Part ners ; and James L. Cok ;r, who resides at Hartsville, South Carolina, is the Special Partner, and that the said James L. Coker has contributed the sum of Five Thousand Dollars as cap ital to the common stock ; and that said Partnership is to commence on the JUth. day of January IflMi, ami is to terminate on the 1st. day of Janua ry 1898 Dated this 30th day of January One Thousand Eight Hundred and Nine ty Three. C. B EDWARDS, H. A. EDWARDS, General. JA8. L. COKER, Special. Feb. I—6t Final Notice. N otice is hereby given that I have filed my final account as Execu trix of the Estate of Dr. W. A. Player In the Judge of Probate’s office and 1 will apply for Letters Dismissory on March 1st 1893. M. E. PLAYER. Executrix. Feb- 2—4t. lnl “ H "’M TTART8VILLE RAILROAD. A-A In'effect J in. 2,1898. DAILY MIXED TRAIN Leave Hartsville 6.00 a in Jovann 5.20 a m Floyd’s 5.86 a m Darlington 5 50 a in Palmetto 0 02 a in Arrive Florence 6.15 a m Leave Florence.. 9.00 p m Palmetto 9.15 p m Darlington 9.80 p B Floyd’s 9.45 p m Jovann 10.05 p us Arrrive Hartsville 10.25 p in J. F. DIVINE, Gen. Bupt, 55 AND CHARLESTON, SUMTER NORTHERN RAILROAD CHARLES E. KIMBALL Receiver. NORTH. AAWM A Vy SOUTH. 21 i 2 22 A.M. AM. A.M " P.M. . ... 6.50 Charleston 10.30 * .... 8.15 Pregnall’s 9.05; (1.45 8.80 Sumter 12.50 1 20 8.48 1.00 I-amar 11.81 11.39 9.22 120 Syracuse 11.11 11.03 10.40 1.41 Darlington 10.46 10.29 11.15 2 05 Mont Clare 10 26 9 53 11.40 2.21 Robin’s Neck 10.10 8.18 12.10 2.41 Mandeville 9.50 7.58 12.40 3 01 Bennettsville 9.80 7.23 3.50 Gibson 8.40 4.30 Hamlet 7.50 P.M. P.M P.M. A.M, Cloee connection is made at Hamlet for all points reached by or via the Seaboard Air Line System ; at Ben- nettsville for all point* via <j. F. it Y. V. R R. No. 2 does not take passengers south of Sumter. Nos. 21 and 22 do not run north of Bennettsville. J. H. AVKRILL. General Manager. C l & D. and C. St S. RAILROADS- \ In effect Jan. 2, 1893. Leave Wadeshoro 1.40 p m Bennett's 2.01pm Morven’s 2.25 p m McFarland 2 40 j> m Cheraw 4.00 p m Cash’s 4 80 p m Society Hill 5.05 p m Dove's 5.45 p m Floyd's 6.00 p m Darlington 6.25 p m Palmetto 6.40 p m Arrive Florence 7.00ip in I-eave Florence 6.30 a m Palmetto 6.50 a m Darlington 7.30 a m Floyd's 7.55 a m Dove’s 8 10 a in Society Hill 8 40am Cash's 9-35 a m Cheraw 10.00 a m McFarland 11.45 p in Morven’s 12.05 p m Bennett's 12.20 p m Arrive Wadesboro 12.45 p m Local Freight Train. Leave Florence 9.00 a m Arrive Darlington 9.45 a in Leave Darlington 5.00 p m Arrive Florence 6.46 p m A. F. RAVENEL. Preeident. N ortheastern railroad. In effect Jan. 2. 1893. fClTU LUUD. No. 15 I-eave Florence 6 25am Kingstree 17.35 a m Lanes 7.55 a in Arrive Charleston 9.44 a m No. 27. I-eave Florence 10.50 p|m Kingstree 11.60pm Lanes 12.18 a m Arrive Charleston 2.19 am ■ No. 23. Leave Florence 11.00 p m Kingstree 12.14 am Lanes 12.82 a m Arrive Charleston 2.38 a in No. 53. Leave Lanes 8.45 p m Arrive Charleston 10.40 p m Train on C. St D. R. R. connects at Florence with No. 15 Train. NORTH BOUND. Leave Charleston.... No. 78. Lanes Kingstree Arrive Florence Leave Charleston.. No. 66 Lanes Kingstree. ... Arrive Florence.... I-eave Charleston.... No. 14. Lanes Kingstree Arrive Florence I-eave Charleston... No. 52. Arrive Lanes No. 52 runs through to Colombia via Central R. R. of 8. C. No. 78 runs solid to Wilming ton, N. C., making close connection with W. St W. R. R. for all points North. Trains Noe. 14 and 66 run via Wilson an Fayetteville—Short Line—and make close connection for all points North. J. F. DIVINE. Gen. Supt. AM/ILMINGTON, COLUMBIA A VV AUGUSTA RALROAD. In effect January 2 1893. SOUTH BOUND. No. 23. Leave Wilmington 6.25 p m Marion 9-41 p in Arrive Florence 10.25 p m No. 50. Leave Florenoe 3.20 a in Sumter 4.35 a m Arrive Colnmbia 8.15 a m No. 52. I-eave Sumter 9.43 a m Arrive Columbia 10.55 a m No. 58. Leave Florence 7.57 a m Sumter 9 20 a m Arrive Columbia No. 52 runs through from Charles ton via Central Railroad; leaving Lanes 8.32 a m, Manning 9 09 a m. NORTH BOUND. No. 51. Leave Columbia 10.45 p m Sumter 12.05 a m Arrive Florence 1.80 a m No. 78. Leave Florence 5.10 a m Marion 5-68 a m Arrive V/ilmington 9.10 am No. 59. Leave Colnmbia Sumter 7.80 p m Arrive Florence...... 8.50 p m No. 53. Leave Colombia 6.10 p m Arrive Sumter 7. 25p m No. 58 runs through to charleston via central Railroad, arriving Man ning 8.00 p m. Lanes 8.40 p m, charleston 10.30 a m. Trains on Manchester and Augusta B. R-. leave Sumter daily except San day, 10-50 a. m., arrive Rimini 11:59 a. m. Returning leave 'Rimini 12:80 p m.. arrive Sumter 1:40 p. m. Trains on Hartsville R. R. leave Harts.ills 5:00 a. m., arriving Floyds 5:36 a. m. Returning leave Floyds 9:45^. m., arriving Hartsvill 10:5 p. m. Daily except Sunday. Tiains on Wilmington, Chadbonru and Conway Railroad leave Chad- bourn 10:30 a. m., arrive at Conway 1:00 p. m„ returning leave Conway at 2:30 p. m., arrive Chadbonrn 5:20 p. m Leave Chadbourn 7:15 a. m. and 5:50 p. m., arrive Hub at 8:00 a. in. and 8:25 p. m. Returning leave Hob 9:00 a. ui. and 6:45 p. in., arrive at t’had- boum 9:45 a. m. at d 7:30 p m. Daily except Sunday. t John F. DIVINE, GenT Sup t. FOR SALE A Second-hand Sewing Machine: In excellent condition. Apply at TBS Dabubbto* Niwa OAe*.