The watchman and southron. (Sumter, S.C.) 1881-1930, January 21, 1891, Image 1
8UMTSR WATCHMAN, K?tabli?hed April, 1850.
Consolidated Anse. 3,1881.1
THE TKUK SOUTHRON, Established Jnae, 189
f^e Malt jjm?i! w? ?>$?\m
Published ovory Wednesday,
BT
N. Gk OSTEEN,
SU .M TER, S. C.
TERMS I
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mbmms& ?amm bask,
OF SUMTES.
STATER CITY AND COUNTY 1>5p0si
TORY, SUMTER,~S. C.
Paid op Capital ^ . . . . $75,000 00
Surplus Fond. 7,500 00
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r SAVINGS DEPAP ^?BKT.
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terett allowed at the rate of 4 per cent, per
aasnm. Payable quarterly, on first days of J
January, April, July and October.
R. 31. WALLACE,
Vice President.
Ii. S. Ca sso?,
Aog. 7 Cashier._ .
HS Ml (I MM.
S?MTBR, S 0.
CITY AND COUNTY DEPOSITORY.
Transacts a general Banking bosiness.
Also b#s
A Savings Bank Department
Deposits of $1.00 and upwards received.
Interest calculated at the rate of 4 per cent,
pec annum, payable quarterly.
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A. Whttk, Js-, President.
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J. F. W. DeLORME,
-dealer nr.
Agent?
Mi? & M
nur sum's, perfumeby
and all kinds of
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u8?ally k kpt in & first-class drug
- stork. .
Tobacco, Snuff aa? Segars,
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-AMD?
a DYE STUFFS.
f o J
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eoasponnded, and orders answered
wHn care tad dispateh.
the public will find my stock of
Medicines complete, warranted \ jenn
ies* and of th? best q usl Uy.
Call and see for
TiLBOTT & $m}
ENGINES AND BOfiSS,
GrRIST MtV-Tfil
saw mulls
are acknowledged be the
best ever sold in this State.
When you buy one of them you
are satisfied that youlave made
no mistake,
v. Write for our pri?es.
Cotton Gins
Presses at bot to
can save you mo
v. c. b
General Agent,
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Richmond, Va?
Jnae 25.
kbta. S, 0.
id Factory
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Clocks, Jewelry, Spectacles,
HBRIDSN BRITANIA SILVERWARE, ko.
REPAIRING A SPECIALTY.
^Feb 1_
MACHINE SHOP.
All kinds of
MACHINE 'YORK REPAIRS
can be had "? ?**-? at short notice, and in
the very b? ' work, at the shop re
cently opet undersigned on Liberty
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Work a Specialty.
Prompt attention given to work in the
eoaotry, and first class workmen sent to at
tend to same.
Call at the shop or address through Su rater
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Aag 13 EDGAR SKINNER.
REAL ESTATE A6ENCY,
r[B UNDERSIGNED has established a
Real Estate and Collection Agency in
Sumter and desires property holders having
property for sale or rent to list same with
vim. Tenants secured and rents collected
pJ^fely. Best references given. Office on
JWaWfceet fit T. B. Con is' store.
Apr. 30* W. H. COMMANDER.
The Prospects
IN THE -
NEAR FUTURE.
To the Citizens of Sumter
and Sumter County.
THE UNDERSIGNED
will, on
February 1,1891,
open a stock of
GENERAL MERCHANDISE
to please all classes of
buyers, and will sell same
at the lowest prices at
which they can possibly be
soli
Every effort will be
made to please, and a share
of patronage is solicited.
Store in the REID
BLOCK, corner of Main
and Republican Streets.
L. GLICK.
Jan 7?4t
CATARRHS
Ely's Cream Bal m
Al
lays Infiammaiicr . Heals the Sores.
Restores the Senses of Taste, Smell
and Hearing.
A particle is applied into each nostril ab d
Is agreeable. Price 50c. at Drnagistsj?r by
MxL ELY B30THERS,,56 Warren SL^New York.
Regulate The Bowels*
Costireness deranges tbe whole sys
tem mad beget* diseases, saeb as
Sick Headache,
Dyspepsia, Fevers, Sidney Diseases,
Bilious Colic, Malaria, etc
Tntt's Pills produce regular bablt off
body and good digestion, without
which, no one ean enjoy good health*
Sold Everywhere,
i
For Infants and Children.
Castoria promotes Digestion, and
overcomes flatulency, Constipation, Sour
Stomach, Diarrhoea, and Feverishness.
Thus the child is rendered healthy and its
sleep natural, Castoria contains no
Morphine or other narcotic property.
"Castoria is so well adapted to children that
I recommend it as superior to any prescription
known to n>? " H. A. Archer, M. D.,
Ill South Oxford St, Brooklyn, N. T.
"I use Castoria in my practice, and fled it
specially adapted to affections of children."
Alex. Robertson, M. D.,
1057 2d Ave., New York.
"From persona] knowledge and observation
I can say that Castoria is an excellent medicine
for children, acting as a laxative and relieving
the pent up bowels and general system very
much. Many mothers have told me of its ex
e^terx effect upon their children/''
Da. G. C. Osgood,
Lowell, Mass.
Tax Ckkta?b Coupant, 77 Murray Street, N. Y.
f MOO.CO a Te*. i? brine; mr.rV br John R
Goo<hrm,Trwy.N.Y.^>t work 1vt u*?. Kr?der,
yon anr not make as much, but wa ran
>y?u<ju5ckly how to rant from t ? to
Sie? oar ?t tbe ?tari, and mora aa r*u
?n- Soth wir?, all n jrr*. In aar |?rt of
Africa, jtxi can coniiuenee at bottie. rlr.
if all roar tiine,?r ipare momenta onlv to
the work. All knew. Great jmj SI"KKf<.r
*??y worker. We start too. furnishing
?verrtbinp. FA Sit-Y. S1*EKI)ILY learned.
1AKTJCLLARS FREE. Addreaj at ence,
blU&O.N u CO., rOKTLAM?, UilSZ
By J?LIAir HAWTHOEIli
Ccryiight, 1680, by Avcencan Press Association.]
CHAPTER IL ,
HOW LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE SHE WAS.
"Music is a sacred thing, my child," he
would often say to her.
What is more worthy the contempla
tion of a humane mind than the specta
cle of a pretty young woman? It is the
least selfish of all pleasures. By learn
ing we seek to elevate ourselves above
our fellows; by philosophy, to console
ourselves for the past and to fortify our
selves for the future; by religion (as it is
commonly practiced), to make ourselves
respectable in this world and comfort
able in the world to come. But he who
stands rapt in the fascination of a girl's
beauty enjoys the possession by another
of what he can never have himself, ad
mits his inferiority and generously ex
ults in the existence of goodness for its
own sake. The sole drawback is the
risk he runs of falling in love?that is, of
wishing to restrict to himself ablessing
designed to rejoice mankind at large.
It might seem a pity that such a girl
as Beatrix Randolph should be so situ
ated as not to have it in her power to
confer upon every one the unselfish
gratification whereof we speak. But to
be rare and difficult of access are among
the conditions of mortal loveliness. In
no other way, perhaps,could the heavenly
aroma be preserved; and were we to be
come callous to beauty, as we do to pain,
fife would have nothing left to promise
us. On the other hand, dullness is
negative, delight positive, and a single
day of glorious sunshine compensates
for a whole blank week of lifeless land
scape and leaden sky.
But Beatrix, though delightful to look
upon, was not beauty in the abstract:
she was first of all a distinct and con
crete human person. It is fitting, there
fore, to considernot so much the loss the
world sustained by her seclusion, as its
effect upon herself. Certainly she was
not of a temperament naturally inclined
to solitude. She was quick to feel
emotions of all kinds, and apt and simple
in the expression of them. Her propor
tions, both of the soul and the body,
were symmetrical and active; as she
moved easily and sweetly, so was she
sweetly and easily moved. Ber life, in
spite of its circumscribed conditions,
showed an instinctive love of largeness
and variety, and herein she was helped
by a generous and lively imagina
tion. She could not read a story
or watch the sun rise without engender
ing in her mind a thousand fresh ideas
of the possibilities of existence. And
her body was in such fine harmony with
her spirit that you could see a stirring
thought turn to roses in her cheeks, or
conjure diamonds to her lovely eyes.
When she came forth in the morning
from her maiden chamber, having put
on, let us say, a fresh, white gown, just
crisp enough to whisper as she stepped,
and a pink or a blue ribbon (as fancy
might dictate) at her throat and on her
hair, and her figure elastic and alert
with the wholesome vigor of nineteen
years, and a mouth that laughed
fragrance and music, and large brown
eyes, which besides being as beautiful as
possible in themselves were rendered
yet more so by being a few shades dark
er than her rippled hair and * * *
and hands that were white wonders of
warm flexibility and taperiixg softness;
when this exquisite young American
girl, in short?type of the most charm
ing and most intelligent womanhood in
the world?came dawning like Aurora
out of the room in which she had been
dreaming visions only less lovely than
herself, it did seem as if the Golden Age
were now about to beging and as if noth
ing false or impure were henceforward
possible. She explained, without utter
ing a word, why the grass in spring
is so deliciously green, the sky
of so tender a blue, why birds
sing and water is transparent, why
violets have perfume, and the sun
warmth. She was the spoken secret of
the universe?the interpretation of its
fairest elements. By what mishap, then,
was such a creature confined (as she was)
to a few square miles of village land in
the center of the state of New York? j
Was such a pearl created only to be cast
before cattle, and the village grocer's
son, and the hollow chested young
Unitarian minister, and the innkeeper's
daughters? The world could not afford i
it, and yet there she was, and just at the j
time this story begins there seemed to be j
rather less probability than nsnal of ber
ever getting anywhere else.
She lived with her father in a roomy I
broad beamed, brown old honse, en
vironed by elm trees taller, but less an
tique, than itself. It was an American |
Eighteenth century house. Some hero j
of the Revolution had passed a night in
it. It stood on the side of a low, gradual
hill, and was four miles away from the
nearest railway station. Altogether the
region was sufficiently remote, though
New York city was hardly more than
three hours distant by rail. The mail
arrived twice a day, and Mr. Alexander
Randolph, the owner of the house and
estate, received yesterday's World every
forenoon, and read it during the hour
preceding dinner, which always took
place at 2 o'clock. It was an eminently
conservative household; at all events
its master wa3 a conservative and a
democrat, as his fathers had been before
him.
These forefathers were of Virginian
descent, and two generations ago had
owned large plantations in the south.
But the young Randolph of that epoch
had fallen in love with a northern lady,
and ended by marrying her and settling
down on this estate, which was his
bride's dowry.
He was originally quite wealthy, but
lost money by speculations during the
war. With intent to compel a better
fortune he soon after ran for an ofiice,
but was defeated, as a foregone conclu
sion, by a crushing majority. To crowu
all he lost his wife, to whom he was de- j
votedly attached. She died of typhoid j
fever in 1868. He was left with two j
children, a boy of 10 and a girl of 6. j
Mr. Randolph, thongh of a haughty and j
headstrong character, was not what is :
called thorough. He was tall and of j
slender build, with high shoulders, a
gray mustache and imperial, and thick,
wary hair, growing rather long. His
eyebrows were bushy and overhanging,
and gave to bis eyes a fiercer expression
than might otherwise have belonged to
them; he had a habit of twisting them
between his thumb and finger when in
thought, which looked ominous to stran
gers, but really amounted to nothing.
His fingers were verv long, and so were
his arguments and discussions; almost
the only short thing about him, in fact,
being his temper. His general aspect
\was that of a retired southern brigadier
whose slaves had been unrighteously
made contraband. His expression was,
ordinarily, profoundly serious, and he
smiled rarely; but it was not difficult to
make him break into a shrill, giggling
laugh, which absurdly marred the severe
contour of his visage and betrayed the
underlying weakness.
He was fond of phrases, and had a
fancy -. for calling himself "the most in
dulgent of fathers," but whenever his
children, transgressed the moral law of
their father's good humor or indolence?
and this Vas,.not seldom the case with
Ed, who was ae restless and independent
as a hawk?he fell upon them with
sweeping broadsides of rebuke, culmina
ting, if they answered him back, in vio
lent assertions of their total depravity.
Ed was sent to school, but the stndy of
books had no part in his scheme of exist
ence. In the boy's seventeenth year
Hamilton Jocelyn, a friend of the fam
ily, being on a visit of a few days to the
Randolphs, was tickled by Ed*s bearing
and the story of bis exploits, and offered
to take him back with him to New York
city for a month or so, to give him in
struction in the laws and amenities of
polite society.
He went off accordingly, and the
month had prolonged itself to six before
he came back. His father thought that
he had been improved by his sojourn
there. He had brought back with him
certainly a great deal of entertaining
talk, and gave Beatrix endless accounts
of the great city, its streets, its houses,
its horses, its theatres; above all, of its
operas and its concerts.*1 Both she and
Ed had always been passionately devot
ed to music. They had understood it,
by the light of nature, as it were, from
a very early age, and had constantly
practiced ever since. Ed's voice was not
of much use, bu t he was an admirable
performer on the violin. Beatrix, cn
the other hand, was above all things a
singer, and her voice developed into a
soprano of remarkable range and power.
Her studies were not confined to church
music She knew by heart all the great
operas and oratorios, and in pursuance
of the marked dramatic ability which
she possessed she had, with Eids assist
ance, acted out scenes from many of the
former (so far as two performers might)
on the stage of the back drawing room,
One day Hamilton Jocelyn, who had
heard all the famous singers of the world
in his time, attended one of these privat?
entertainments. Contrary to expecta
tion he turned out to be the most eulo
gistic auditor that Beatrix had ever had,
and he wound up his praises by declar
ing that she most be provided with a
master to bring her voice out The most
indulgent of fathers was gratified by
this tribute of admiration from such a
source to his favorite child, and a week
or so afterward the master was sent for.
This was an elderly Englishman of
respectable antecedents, who, twenty
years before, had begun his musical
career with what was considered the
finest tenor voice of the age, and whose
knowledge of the principles of music
was as profound as his proficiency was
remarkable. But before he had been a
year on the operatic stage the theatre in
which he was singing caught fire, and
he was burned about the throat in such
a way as forever to destroy the voice
which would have made him rich and
famous enough to satisfy ambition itself.
Professor Dorimar, as he afterward came
to be called, had some small private
means which rendered him in a humble
way independent, and with a philo
sophical serenity which rarely char
acterizes the musical temperament
he settled quietly down to be a writer
on the art and science of whose highest
triumphs he could never more hope to
partake. For the last eight years he
had lived in New York, but he was
known to very few. He sat with his
piano and his manuscripts, and his
visions of divine harmonies, in a retired
little room a few blocks west of Wash
ington square, and seldom went forth
save to listen for half an hour to one
or other of the very few singers who
in his judgment were great enough to
sing. He never was known to have un
dertaken tho personal instruction of
pupils, though he might undoubtedly
have derived a large income from so
doing. But he was of opinion that the
right to use the voice in music is given
to but two or three in an age, and the
charce that the training of one so gifted
should fall to him was too remote to be
considered. To the myriad chances of
failure he preferred his comparative pov
erty and his peace of mind.
What arguments Jocelyn employed to
woo him from his reserve cannot be
known. But Mr. Randolph received a
note from the professor, mentioning the
day and hour of his arrival, and request
ing Mr. Randolph to meet him and drive
him up from the railway station alone.
This was done, and on the way the pro
fessor stipulated that ho should be
enabled to hear Miss Randolph's voice
before she was aw;rre of his presence.
"There is a train back to the city this
evening, sir," he remarked, "and, if I ,
should conclude to take it, it would be
well to have spared the young lady the |
annoyance of an interview." The mat- i
ter was readily managed. Beatrix sang
with the unembarrassed freedom of
supposed solitude, and the Profes
sor listened. When the young lady
had finished her selection, whatever
it was, she rose from the piano and
passed out through tbe open window of
the room to the veranda. Here she was
surprised by the appearance of a meager
and pallid personage, of gentlemanly
bearing and aspect, with a broad scar
on the right side of his face and throat,
and many thoughtful lines and wrinkles
on his brow and around his eyes, who
advanced toward her with a bow and
took her hand. As she looked at him
she fancied then* were tears in his eyes.
"Miss Randolph," he said, iu a low and
very pleasant voice, '*I am to have the
honor of being your instructor; my
name is Dorimar." He said no more at
that time, but raised her soft fingers to
his lips, and with another bow dis
appeared. He did not take the evening
train back to the city, but on
the contrary took up his abode i:i
the Randolphs' house, and lxnng. in
addition to his musical attainments, ;i
man of cultivation, and of a singular
naive charm of character, he was nearly
as much of an acquisition to Mr. Rrm- j
dolph as to his daughter, and they all j
became very good friends. As to his
teaching, it was a matter between his I
pupil and himself, and was not often re- !
ferred to outside. It seemed to afford j
him especial pleasure to think that Bea- j
trix was singing for music's sake, and j
without any purpose of publishing or j
profiting by her acquirements. "Music !
is a sacred thing, my child," he would :
often say to her, "and like all sacred
things it is shamefully and almost uni
versally desecrated. It is not a mere
question of voice and car, but of purity
and loftiness of fouL Great music never
was greatly sung by a charlatan, or a
hbertine, or a fortune hunter. I, for my
part, thank God that you are what you
are, and that you will never be obliged
to weigh your music against gold. The
world may listen to you if ?'.. can, but
you shall be spared the insult of receiv
ing for it what it dares to call recom
penser'
Beatrice acquiesced in all this wisdom,
but somewhere in her secret soul she
may have cherished the germ of an am
bition to meet great multitudes of her
fellow creatures, to test herself upon
them, perhaps to delight and inspire
them, if there were power in her so to
do. Three years passed, and then Ed
went to Europe. There was some pre
text about his attending lectures at a
university of mining engineering in
Saxony, but it was a tolerably trans
parent pretext That he should come
back at the end of two or three years
somewhat toned down was the best Mr.
Randolph hoped. As to the question of
funds, after a good deal of meditation
Mr. Randolph came to the following
rather eccentric determination: Ed
was to be allowed to draw on the
paternal resources for whatever sums
of money he from time to time
might require. "You may draw little
or you may draw much, my son,"
the old gentleman said, "and, be it much
or little, all your drafts wlli be duly
honored. I shall not restrict you nor
advise you, but I shall depend upon
your own sense of honor and decency, as
a Randolph and a gentleman, not to
abuse my confidence in you." This
speech seemed to the utterer of it very
noble and impressive, and also very
sagacious and worldly wise. For if to
put a young fellow upon his honor will
not make Mm reasonably virtuous and
economical what will? Ed certainly
showed himself pleased with the ar
rangement, if not so much impressed by
the phrases in which it was announced
to him. He was an enterprising and
able youth, and probably expected to
make a fortune of his own rather than
spend his father's.
The next thing that occurred in this
eventful year was an offer of marriage,
emanating from no less distinguished a
personage than Hamilton Jocelyn him
self. Beatrix thought it was exceed
ingly funny he should do such a thing,
and not altogether comfortable; but as
it was instinctive with her to consider
other people's feelings almost as much
as her own, and sometimes more, she
suppressed her emotions and expressed
her acknowledgments, adding that she
had no idea of marrying anybody.
When Jocelyn found that her resolve
was not to be shaken he very gracefully
said that to have known and loved her
was a privilege and a revelation for
which he should never cease to be
indebted to her. He said tL.t he
had perhaps presumed too much in
hoping that she could ever care
for a grizzled old fellow like him
self, but that his sentiments would
never change, and that if, at any future
time, circumstances should lead her to
reconsider her present views, she would
find him eager and grateful to throw
himself at her feet. He concluded by
requesting that she would forbear to
mention the episode to any one, even to
her father, lest the latter should be
grieved to discover that she could not
bring herself to consent to an alliance
with his oldest friend. Beatrix replied
that she had no wish to speak of what
had occurred, and that she hoped they
both would forget it as soon as possible.
Hereupon Jocelyn took bis leave, and
went back to New York, probably re
gretting the issue of the adventure al
most as much as he professed to do, al
though perhaps for reasons other than
those he thought it expedient to allege.
The third event was the death of poor
Professor Dorimar, which occurred sud
denly and filled Beatrix with grief, not
withstanding that it appeared in one
sense the most natural thing that could
have happened to the good and mag
nanimous old man. He had had a habit
of looking upward as he talked, and
Beatrix had thought that he seemed
much of the time communing with a
botter world, and perhaps derived from
some angelic source his grand ideas about
music and its mission to mankind. It
was the first death the girl had ever wit
nessed, and it invested the three years
of the association together of the pupil
and her master with a sort of retrospec
tive- sanctity. They h ad been altogether
the happiest years of Beatrix's life. The
professor had taught her something else
besides how to sing. Less by words than
by some tacit, s}*mpathetic influence he
had led her to perceive and meditate
upon the nobler and loftier aspects and
capacities of human nature. As to his
share in her vocal culture and her own
proficiency he never had made any defi
nite pronouncement: but on the morning
before his death bo requested her to
sing for him the air from Handel's
oratorio of "The Messiah"?"I know
that my Redeemer Kveth." When she
had finished he said: "My child, j-ou
have enabled me to thank God that my I
voice was destroyed, and that my life |
has been for so many years a lonely dis
appointment. I have had triumphs and
blessings that most men do not even |
know how to desire. A mighty scepter j
is in your hand," he went on, turning
his grave and gentle eyes upon her. "T
have helped to show yon how to wield
it. Power is very sweet, but it needs j
almost an angel net to use it harmfully. !
I don't know what life may be before
you, my denr: but whatever it may be I
trust that when you come f o the end of
it you will find as little cause to regret
having met me as I have much cause to
rejoice that I have known you." Beatrix
hardly knew how to understand this at
the time, but afterward the words fre
quently revisited her memory, and may
have had some influence over her at crit
ical moments of h^r career.
In autumn the old Randolph home
stead looked as if it were showered with
gold. The great elm trees, transmuted
by the touch of this Midas of the seasons,
stood in a yellow glory of myriad leaves,
which every breath of the cool west
breeze scattered profusely eastward,
where, with the still unchanged grass,
they formed a spangled carpet of green
and gold. The apples thronged the
crooked boughs of the orchard, someTike
glowing rubies, others like the famous
fruit of the Hespcrides, thongh there
was no guardian dragon to give them a
fictitious value. The broad roof of the
house itself was littered with innu
merable little golden scales, of work
manship far beyond' the skill
of any human goldsmith, yet of
absolutely no market value. What is
the significance of this yearly phantas
magoria of illimitable riches, worthless
because illimitable? Is it a satire or a
consolation? Does it mock the poor
man's indigence or cause him to hope
again for competence? It comes as the
guerdon of Nature, after her mighty
task is done; but when she has composed
herself to her wintry sleep it is trodden
into the earth and forgotten, and the
new year begins his labors with new sap
aad naked buds. It is only the human
world that has to bear the burden of in
heritance; a:id perhaps we shall never
enjoy true wealth till we have learned
the lesson of the trees.
Poor Mr. Randolph certainly had lit
tle else beside autumn leaves wherewith
to satisfy his creditors, and the winter
of his discontent was close upon him.
There is a philosophy for the poor and a
philosophy for the wealthy, but the
philosophy that can console the debtor
has yet to be discovered.
Born and brought up in the custom of
sufficient resources, he had never con
templated the possibility of want. There
had seemed to be something noble and
high minded in meeting without ques
tion all demands upon him, but when
the supply actually ran short things
wore a different aspect. Had he spent
his whole fortune simply in paying his
son's drafts he would at least have had
the comfort of putting the "whole bur
den of the responsibility on bis son's
shoulders. But unfortunately the larger
part of the loss was due to private rash
ness of his own. When he found that
Ed's rapacity was getting serious the
devoted gentleman betook himself to
Wall street and speculated there. The
brokers treated him as Richard III pro
posed to treat his wife?they had him,
but they did not keep him long. His
speculations after he returned home
were probably more edifying than those
he indulged in on the street
The revolting suspicion that he had
been a fool began to germinate in Mr.
Randolph's mind. This suspicion, which
is the salvation of some men. is the de
struction of others. The integrity of
Mr. Randolph's moral discrimination
began to deteriorate from that hour.
Having enacted all his life the part of
his own golden calf in the wilderness,
his overthrow left him destitute of any
criterion of conduct. He talked violent
ly and volubly about his wrongs, and
discussed various schemes, more or less
impracticable and improper, of evading
his liabilities. Beatrix was naturally
the chief sufferer from this ungainly
development of her father's character,
and she was also obliged to bear
the brunt of most of the concrete
unpleasantness of their situation. She
had to talk to the creditors, to extenuate
her father's side of the case, to hold ont
fair hopes and to smooth over disap
pointments, and when she had wearied
herself in parleying with the enemy she
had before her the yet harder task of
pacifying and encouraging bcr father,
who had listened to the dialogue from
the head of the stairs, and fell upon her
with a petty avalanche of complaints,
luccticss, suggestions, scoldings and
}uerulousness. Beatrix loved her father
with all her heart, but she was of a pen
etrating and well balanced mind, and
>ften had difficulty in not feeling
ishamed of him. Insensibly she began
to treat him as a fractions and super
sensitive child, who must at all costs be
humored and soothed, and when she felt
her own strength and patience almost
overtaxed she would only say to herself,
"No wonder poor father has to give up
when I find it so hard."
But her troubles did not end with her
father. There was a certain Mr. Starcher,
the grocer's son; the grocer divided with
the innkeeper the highest social consid
eration of the village. He was a young
gentleman of highly respectable charac
ter and education. After leaving school
he had studied for a year at a business
college in New York; ho was a member
of the Young Men's CSrristian associa
tion, and a person of gravity and re
ligious convictions. A week or two after
Mr. Randolph's misfortune became
known he put on a suit of black clothes,
relieved by a faded blue necktie, and
called formally on Miss Randolph. Af
ter the first courtesies had been ex
changed he said that he desired in the
first place to put the minds of Miss Ran
dolph and her good father at ease re
garding the little account between his
firm and them. The money was not
needed, and so far as he was concerned
might remain nnpaid indefinitely. "And
I should like to say, too," he continued,
with a manner of almost melancholy
seriousness and a husky voice, "that
groceries?or anything else I ?ould get
you?-might be yours, permanently, if I
could?you would?that you might con
sent to unite your life to mine. My fa
ther contemplates retiring from active
business. I have never before spoken to
you of this, but in seasons of trouble?
we say things?and I have often thought,
when we were singing in the choir to
gether?that?we might be very happy
?that it was our destiny. I have been
in New York and seen the great world,
but j-ou are the wife I would choose
from among them all." He had a smooth,
round, fresh colored, innocent face, that
seemed made for dimpling smiles, but
which never indulged in them.
Beatrix felt a sensation of absurd
alarm, like the princessin the fairy tale,
under a spell of enchantment to mismate
herself in the most grotesque man
ner conceivable. Mr. Starcher was
so much in earnest, and sa ludicrously
sure, apparently, that the success of Iiis
suit was among the eternal certainties,
that a vision of a long wedded life with
him, amid an atmosphere of meal tubs,
salt cod and pickles, interspersed with
psalm tunes ?and solemn walks to and
from church on Sundays?this desperate
panorama of inanimate existence rose up
before her in such vivid imaginative :
vraisemblance that she was impelled to
protest against it with more than ade
quate vehemence. She gasped for breath,
rose from her chair and said: "Mr.
Starcher, it is terrible; I would
rather die!" Then, perceiving, com
passionately, that he would feel ;
cruelly wounded as soon as his
astonished senses- enabled him to
comprehend the significance of her ;
words, she added, "It would be wicked
for me ever to think of being married;
you must see that I"? Here she paused,
partly from emotion, and partly because
she was unable at the moment to be
think herself of any conclusive argu
ment in support of her assertion that,
for her, marriage would ever be a crime.
One certainly would not have drawn
that inference from the superficial indi
cations. A silence ensued, prickly with
cpiritual discomfort. Mr. Starcher was
the first to find his tongue, and ho car- :
ried off the honors of the encounter by
obsevviiig with tearful sentleuess that
he should claim the privilege, just the
same, of not presenting the little ac
count for settlement. This magnanim
ity was none the less genuine because
the materials for it were slender, and |
Beatrix long -forward found comfort
in recalling it to mind.
But there was yet another adversary
for her to engage, and he was in some
respects more formidable than Mr.
Starcher, because his position and edu
cation rendered his pretensions less mon
strous?nay, there even seemed to be a
sneaking disposition on Mr. Randolph's
part to accord him at least a negative
support. Mr. Vinal, the Unitarian cler
gyman,, was in fact, from an nnworldy
point of view, a tolerably inoffensive
match. He was studious, decorous and j
endowed with grave and unobtrusive
manners. He was not handsome, but
there was a certain masculine concentra
tion in his close sec gray eyes and long
narrow chin which wets not in itself un
pleasing.
His voice, if somewhat harsh, was
resonant and assured: and, coming as it
did from a chest apparently so incapa
cious, produced a sensation of agreeable
surprise, it would have been unreach
able not to respect the man, und churl
ish not to feel amiably disposed toward
him; but for Beatrix it was impossible
to love him. He lived in a little white
wooder house with green blinds, close
to the white, green blinded church. He
possessed an imposing library, in which
was not a single book that Beatrix could
have brought herself to read, and the
main, object of his endeavors was, appar
ently., to make all the rest; of the world
think and live like himself. Moreover,
though he approved of music, he neither
knew nor cared anything about it.
Mr. Vinal began his operations by a
private interview with Mr. Randolph,
from which he came forth with a coun
tenance whose serenity made Beatrix's?
heart sink. The dialogue which followed
was of extreme interest to both of them.
"Have you made any plans regarding
your immediate future?" the minister
began, in an unembarrassed and busi
nesslike tone. "We cannot doubt, you
know, that providence, in bringing this
affliction upon you, has had some wise
and merciful end in view. You have
talents; perhaps but for this you might
have kept them folded in the napkin.
Adversity forces us out of our natural
idleness, and stimulates us to use what
means we have to win our own way in
the world. Have you thought of any
thing to dof'
Beatrix's spirits rose again; he was not
thinking of marrying her after alL 'Tve
been thinking I might give lessons on
the piano," she said. She happened to
be seated at that instrument, and as she
spoke die let her white fingers drift down
the keyboard from bass to treble, from
depression to hope, from gloom to light,
winding up with a sort of interrogative
accent, as much as to say, "Why shouldn't
I be good for something?"
"Very right," said Mr. Vinal; "I have
nothing to object to in that; indeed I
had intended to propose it. You could
also, unless the instructions of the late
Professor Dorimar were wholly value
less"
"What?" interrupted Beatrix, in a
voice which, supported as it was by a
chord sharply struck, made the minister
start in his chair. After a moment's
pause she said, her eyes still bright with
indignation: "Profeyc^Porirnar, who is
now in heaven, taught me more and
better things than you have ever dreamed
of! He showed me that I have a soul!"
"Surely I have done as much as thatr
faltered Mr. Vinal, who was confused |
by this sudden outburst.
"No, for you know nothing about it,"
said Beatrix loftily. "You have only
been told that it is so?you have read it
in books?and you repeat what you have
been told, and no doubt you thr*"- you
believe it. But you can never k . /it!"
continued the young lady, with a fiery
emphasis on the verb, "because you
can't understand music."
"I intended nothing against Professor
Dorimar," protested the minister, who i
was amazed and dauntt^l by the passion
and pride that he had unawares caused
to kindle in her lovely face. It was
perhaps the first time h? had occasion
to observe that the spirit of the old Vir
ginia Randolphs?the descendants of the
cavaliers?was as haughty and untamed
in this tender hearted American girl as
in that terrible ancestor of hers who
rode with Prince Rupert
Beatrix made no reply, but sat with
her head erect and flushed cheeks, and
one hand still on the piano keys, as if
ready once more to smite terror into the j
soul of her visitor should he again step
amiss. A piano, it seems, can be used .
as a weapon of defense even against one '\
who has no comprehension of music.
"What I was about to remark was
that you might teach singing as well as
playing." said Mr. Vinal circumspectly.
"There are, I believe, a number of per
sons in the village who would be willing
under the circumstances to place their
children under your instruction."
"It is no favor to be taught music un
der any circumstances," returned Bea
trix, kindling again. "Whoever thinks
otherwise does not deserve to learn!
And there are other places in the world
besides this miserable little village, and
people who are wiser aL-d better!"
"You surely do not mean to intimate
that you contemplate going anywhere
else?" demanded the minister in some
consternation.
The fact was that such an idea had
never until that moment definitely pre
sented itself to Miss Randolph's mind;
but in her present aroused condition she
could see and entertain many possibili
ties that would have seemed audacious
or impracticable an hour before.
"Why not?" she said; "I was not born
to pass my life here!"
"But I?it has never been my inten
tion to leave here!" exclaimed Mr. Vinal '.
auxionsly.
"What satisfies you does not satisfy
me," answered the young lady.
"But your father, in a conversation 1
have just had with him, lias informed
sac that he will not oppose my address
ing you with a view to marriage," said
the clergyman, in a solemn tone.
"He would not have done so if he had
been himself," replied Beatrix warmly.
"He is broken down by trouble and sor
row, else you would not have ventured 1
fco ask him! But I will tell you, since j \
he could not, that I am not a piece of
land or furniture to be sold for the sat
isfaction of creditors! I will not be a
burden upon my father or any one:
but I have a right to myself ? to
my own self! Do you think I :
am so much afraid of being
poor, or of starving, that I would marry ;
anybody to escape it? I do not love you!
I do not love you, Mr. Vinal. and so I
will never marry you. I will have love
and music or no,hing! You do not !
know me, sir; non.,' of yon here seem to
know me. I am *m American girl, and
I will not be bargained away or buried
alive by any one! You shall see," ^he
added, rising and walking to th<* veranda
window, "that I can make my own way,
an.' take care of myself f You- shall see
that Professor Dorimar taught me some
thing worth knowingr
Mr. Vinal was unable to stand up
against a succession of blows like this,
delivered by one whom he had hereto
fore supposed to be the type of gentle
ness ar-d docility. His mind was nar
row au J slow to adapt itself to new im
pressions, and it would have taken him a
long time to frame a suitable reply to>
Miss Randolph's unexpected attack. But
the opportunity was not allowed him.
For as Beatrix stood by the windewv
with flushed checks and glowing eyes,
and her heart beating harder than usual
with indignant emotion, her glance fell
upon two figures advancing "arm in arm
i>p the avenue. One of them she recog
nized, the other was unknown. But a
strange tingle of anticipation went
through her nerves. Somethiirg was-go
ing to happen?something great, some
thing for her! The crisis of her fate was
at hand, a*d she was more than ready
for it Therefore she did not start or
cry out, but only smiled with an air of
beautiful triumph, when Hamilton Joce
lyn, relinquishing the arm of his com
panion, ran up the steps of the veranda,
took loth her hands in his, and said as
he bent toward her:
"My dear girl, 1 bring you fame and
fortune!"
[to be continued }
The Plaster Paris Bandage.
How That Valuable Auxiliary to
Surgical Science Was Invented.
Let me tell you a story and at the
same time give you the history of the
plaster paris batuiage. You must un
derstand first that tbe inventions of
plaster paris, starch, glue and paste
bandages are of recent date. Daring
the late war they were unknown, and
the first place in which they figured ia
surgical science was in the F.anco-*
Prussian war of 1870, when the
Bavarian splint was first used. The
Bavarian splint, which suggested to an*
American doctor the use of pLaster,
was a contrivance made to fit closely to
the limb. It had a seam up the back,
and when removed was split down the
front and opened like a book. It could
theo be used again on a limb of similar
dimensions?but to our story.
About the year 1870 a gentleman
from New York was making his way to?
Chicago, where be was going to give
personal superintendence to a lawsuifc
in which he was the plaintif. If be
lost tbe suit he would lose his all. He
had'but a day to finish his journey,
when, as fate would have it, be slipped
on the street in Cleveland, 0., and
broke his leg. The poor man was in
great distress. Everything he had was
involved in the Chicago lawsuit. He
sent for his doctor and told him that
he had decided to continue the journey,
even at the risk of his life, stating at
the same time the reasons why the
journey was so imperative.
Tbe doctor who happened to be at*
ingencius fellow, had just been reading
about the Bavarian splint, and at once
sent for a dentist whom he had seen at
few days before making plaster Paria
molds of teeth. The dentist came,
and both went to work on the limb.
They first wrapped it securely witb
cloth bandages, then buried the entire
limb in a mass of the plaster Paris. As
soon as it hardened the man was as
sisted to rise, and a great portion of
the surplus plaster was cat off, reducing
tbe bulk. A pair of crutches were
.secured and the injured aieo?, with his
limb securely bound, boarded tbe train
the next morning, to his infinite satis
faction. Of course he won tbe su le
an d indirectly hastened au invention
that has proved a great valus to the
medical world.?Iittervie? in Cincin
nati Times-Star.
Tiie Ten Health Command
ments*
1. ThoB shall have no other food
than st raeal time,
2 Thou shalt not make unto thee
any pies of put into pastry the likeness
of anything that is in the heavens
above or iu the waters under the earth.
Thou shalt not escape in eating it or
frying to digest it ; for the dyspepsia
will be visited upon the children of the
third and fouith generation of then*
that eat pie ; and long life and vigor
upon tho*>e that live prudently and keep
the laws of health.
3. Remember thy bread aad bake it
well} for he i-ball not be kept sound
that eateth his bread as dough.
4. Thou shalt not indulge ra sor
row or borrow anxiety in vain.
6. Six days thon sbalt wash and
keep thyself elean, and the seventh
thou shah take a great bath, thou, and
thy eon and thy daughter, and thy
man-servan', and thy maid-servant, and
the stranger that h within thy gates.
Yor in six days man sweats and gathers
filth and bacteria enough for disease;
therefore the Lord has bleseed the bath
tub and halkwed it
6 Remember thy srtirng-room and
bed-chamber to keep tbem ventilated,
that- thy days may be long in the laud
whrch the Lord thy God giveth thee.
7 Thou shalt not eat hot biscuit.
8. Thou shalt not eat thy meat
fried.
9 Thoo shaft not swallow thy
food unchvwed, or highly spiced, or
just before hard work, or just after it.
10. Thou shalt not keep late hours
in thy neighbor's house, nor with thy
neighbor'* wife, nor his man servant,
nor dh maid servant, nor his cards, nor
his glat-?, nor with anything that is thy
ueighbor's ?- WoirtanTs Magazine
- ?ml --
The Pulpit and the Stage.
Tftfv F. M. ?shroHt. pastor United Brethren
Charch. Blue Sound. K;:n.. savss "I feel it my
i&ty to tell what woncterr.^lJr. King'* New Dis
covery, ka? dome tor me. >fy lang* were badly
diseased. *tu& my p?ri*biorieis thought i could)
live only a few w ek? i t?- k five battle* of
Dr. King*!? Now Discovery and a:n S"t*nd anil
well, gaining 2fr lbs. in weight.*'
Arthur Love, Manager Love's F*nny Folk*
Con binatfen. write.* ; ,4Aft?r a thorough tiini
and convincing evi<i?tice. I am confient Dr.
King's New Discovery f-r Consumption, beat?
'em all. and cores when evervShinj: else fails.
The prcntest kindness I <\?n do my many - Thous
and fri?nds is to orge tbcm to try it." ?rr?
Trial Doutes at Dr J. K. W. DeLorfne**
Drug Store Regnlar sires 5?c. xrd $1. 3
?mm ?cm
WE CAN AND IX)
Guarantee Acker's Blood Klixir for it has been
hilly dein? nsirated to the pc:^p"-e of this c-un*
try that it is superior to all other pr?paration?
for b!o..d disease*. It ia a positive core for
syphilitic poisoning. Fleers. Eruptions andf
Pitnp?e?. It purities the wh?ie system an<J
thoroughly boUds up the conS'.itatitM. Sold
by j. F. W. DvLoruw. 7