The Darlington news. (Darlington, S.C.) 1875-1909, February 09, 1893, Image 3
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*.