Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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atrmXR WATCHMAN, Established April, 1850. "Be Just and Fear not-Let all the Ends thou Aims't at, be thy Country's, thy God's and Truth's THE THFK 9?CTH80S, Eatabllsbof J uti*, Consolidated Au?. 2, 1881.1 SUMTER, S. C., WEDNESDAY. APRIL 8, 1891. New Series-Tel. 5. So. 36. ? -?-MrofoV>ort. Wm i>?*isfn31tr" snA H?iarlifl soi Published every Wednesday, BY N. Gk OSTEEN, SUMTER, S. C. TKRMS : Two Dollars per annum-io advance. AO TIBT181VIXTS. One Square, first insertion.00 Evary sufeseqnen t insertion. 50 Contracts for three months, or longer will bo made at reduced rates. AU communications which subserve private taratta will b?charged for as advertisements. Obituaries and tributes of respect will be mm HiiwNiL Bim. or S?TM?ER: ' STATE, CITY AND COUNTY DEPOSI? TORY, SUMTER, S. C. Paid cp Capital.$75.000 00 Surplus Fund. 0,250 00 Transacts a General Banking Business. Careful attention given to collections. SAYINGS DEPARTMENT. Deposits of $ I and upwards received.. In? terest allowed at the rate of 4 per cent, per annum. Payable quarterly, on first days of Jaaoary, ApriL Jajv aaa October. . \&?*. WALLACK, Y?ce President. - Ia. S. Caasosr^ il Aug. T CasmW - lil SH SUMTER, S C. C?TT AND COUNTY DEPOSITORY. Transacts a general Banking business. Also has A Savings Bank .D?partaient, Deposits of $1.00 and upwards received. Interest calculated at the rate of 4 per cent, per annum, payable quarterly. ? " W; F. S. HAY?SrYORTH, A. WHETS, Ja., President. Cashier. Aug 21._ J. F. IF. DELOKIIK. Agent. -DEALER IN-1 DREGS & MilCH, 1US SOAPS, PERFUMERY AND ALL KINDS OF Ihiiggi&t's Sundries USUALLY KEPT IN K FIRST-CLASS DR?t? STD BS. I l??s W? * ? Tobacco, Snuff and Segars, GARDEN SEEDS, IK, -AMD DYE STUFFS. Physician's Prescriptions carefully compounded, and orders answered with care and dispatch. The public will ?ud my stock of Medicines complete, warranted genu? ine, and of the best quality. ?U1 and see for yourselves. ' . - y - For Infanta and Children. Oaatattla pmaain Pjgaatifliit, and VW^VOMWM Hahdeacyv Coastapataon, Sour SfrarBtrfi, Diarrhoe and Feverishness. Thaa tba child ja rendered healthy and its deep aataxaL Castalia contains no Morphine or other narcotic property. "Cawtari* is aa weil adapted to children that I recommend it as superior to any prescription inora to ma" H. A. ARCHER, M. D.. Ill Sooth Oxford SL, Brooklyn, N. Y. **I ?a Castflcfa in lay practice, and find it apecJaDy adapted to affections of children." ALSX. ROB K&TSON, M. D" 1067 2d Ave., New York. "From ifff1*1 knowledge and observation I can say that Castorf a 3s an excellent medicine for children, acting a? a laxative and relieving the peat ap bowels aad general system v<;ry nrai*.Many mothers have told me of its ex ceiloct affect upon their children." 9a. ?tr?L Owoon, Lowell, Mass. Cawana Coaraaar?T Murray Street, N. T. Tint's Pills SAVES MONEY. p??l? will aave many tm aoetor'a billa. They are Family Medicine,. mmg awppHna a wat I??ar fatt. They rei ZZ*Vo w?ealttoy aveewnnlation? from liM??dr,wltSi?atiisaM? o?r a-rlplny. ?gTt*ff~ T-T awl ?~,*> JPriee, 23c gOLDEYBBYWHEKE. CATARRH Ely's Cream Bal m Cleanses the Hasai Passages. Al ..%m Inj^mmation. Heals the Sores. ?Bjttfores the Senses of Taste, Smell '?b?t Hearing. A partirle it applied intoeach nostril aad KCl raaa?wla ?*rlc?SOr. at Pru?qri?ta or by ?aaX XS. I BKCa HERS^ Warren St,New York. ^gaamflHBk^ P""Clittle forions har. rx- n mid- a? J&jES&QSmbjmL^^ work f-.r un, bj Am.? l'agr, A".rin, jflflMCt^^ff^HBlPkTi-io., n,M! .lao. Ikntn. Tota!?. Ohio. '?'f?^r 7 ff 4B^* ith. T?a <W(!<> T>I. work mid live {-^ '??T ?"t.lity.A Wr ,IK,W v.,n hoir J?Hfc. ?nd "tart r?a.Can w?rk in <rttirv tim? t . %^^^kaa^B^?9a rn; Faillir? unk?o? " mn..ncr tb. rr.. I :1?L_ i^^^^^^ _ ~\~ ?iKWaint wonderful, ?'ar-j. ii IMP? fire. ? Jg?W?lltitUh Co..Pox a?Mt>yorttttnd, M aine. ?B^^^K^aflsHsa^SaV ?*0!0-."00 m -r<''- ? ^tlir rno^V hr John R ??Wl^^ M?T-1' ,WKte "* much, but ?? cjtn LB lija?i^^?T""'' Jp""r onlv to W^ K kS?# fy"TWO*Ter Ve ?art xmi. fortNhiic M JUDGER SECRET. By ALFRED SALCH. [Copyright by American Press Association.] CHAPTER L 3?r. Jackson picked up a half sheet of note paper and Turnad Uto his friend. When Mr. Abner K. Gardiner, chair 'nan of the rtemocratic county permit? tee, prosperaos so far as his rear estate business was concerned, portly of per? son, shrewd of eye and merry withal, came down the stairs that Monday morning, two weeks and a half before the election, he was probably as content? ed a man as could be found in the old Bay state. And why should he not have been? Mr. Gardiner was one of the keenest politicians in the land, loving the game for the power it gave and the delight of matching himself against the long headed policy of his oppenents, but caring nothing whatever for office. A story told of him will illustrate his character better than columns of descrip? tion. When_Mr. Charles T. Kerr, the .chairman of the Republican county com? mittee, found himself embarrassed in his lumber business after the great flood in 'SI the' first man to come to his assist? ance was Mr. Gardiner. The reason this gentleman gave was characteristic. "Politics in this county would lose all their snap if Charlie Kerr went up," he said, and drew the check. Now be it observed that this same Charlie Kerr had just elected his ticket, and Mr. Gar? diner saw no really good reason why he should not repeat his success the next time, but then Mr. Gardiner loved a "foeman worthy of his steel" with an . enduring love. Honestly anxious as many politicians really are that good men and true should be elected to office to serve and rule the people, Mr. Gardiner prided him? self . more on the nomination for county judge of William Truesdale Jackson on the Democratic ticket than on all the other men before the people. It had literally cost him years of work and thought to persuade Mr. Jackson to allow his namft to be used, and when he at last succeeded he felt that he had added a tower of strength to his side. For of . all men in that section none stood high? er than "the 'squire," as they called4him in kindly country fashion. A sound lawyer, a just and conscientious man, a good citizen, a wise counselor, he was one whom all respected and not a few loved. A somewhat stern and grave man, his massive face crowned with a forehead like a dome, he looked the ideal judge. Possessed of a ponderous kind of elo? quence, with an extraordinary power of making the most intricate case clear to the minds of judge and jory, his practice was naturally large and lucrative. In fact the salary of the position which he sought was far less than that which he earned by his work. It was the tribute he had honestly earned by his life that no man, even among his opponents, sug? gested that the 'squire wished the po? sition for personal advantage. If you will pic ture to yourself a somewhat tall man dressed in black, a smoothly shaven face, hair rather thin and grizzled with deep thought, keen yet kindly eyes, which seemed to look through you, a slight stoop of the shoulders, a deep, me? lodious voice, you will see the 'squire before you. As Mr. Gardiner entered the pleasant dining room of his home, and greeted the noisy girls and boys who sprang forward to kiss him gool morning, his eye caught sight of a note lying on his plate. Recognizing the handwriting of the 'squire he opened it, and as he read an expression of extreme perplexity spread over his face. . Dropping the note he eagerly seized the morning paper, and hurriedly looked through it unt? he found an item which, when he had read, he walked slowly toward the bow win? dow of the room, whistling softly to him? self the first few bars of an old hymr tune, Men used to say that you could always tell that Abner Gardiner was puzzled when you heard that air. Pick? ing up the note once more he read it, and whistled again. "What is it, Abner?' asked Mrs. Gar? diner. ! . "Nothing much; the squire wants to see me," answered her husband absent? ly, and Mr*!. Gardiner knew him too weil to ask any more questions. In order that you may see what it was that -puzzled Mr. Gardiner so much, I will reprint the note: SPRINGFIELD, Mass., Oct 24. Homer E. Gardiner, Esq.: DEAR SIB-AA item in Tho Republican of this morning bas attracted my attention. You will find it in the fourth column of the first pago under the headline, "Can This Be Truer* I should be glad to confer with you before I answer it. Yours faithfully, WILLIAM T. JACKSON. The item in question was short and read as follows: CAN THIS BE TRUE? A corresponde at has sent the following note to os, and it see un to call for a reply from Mr. Jackson nt once. With out any information on the subject we cannot answer the query, bat we hope? for the sake of a man who is generally re? spected, it is not true. To the Editor of The Republican: Sia-Gin you tell mo whether the William Tmesdale Jackson who has been nominated by the Democrats for the responsible position ot county Judge is the same William T ru esdai? Jackson who deserted from the Second Massa? chusetts infantry th? ni~bt beforo the battle of Gettysburg, and was condemned by a court mar? tial to suffer the penalty of desertion in the face of the enemy? If he is there ar^ old soldier* enough hereabout to snow him under on election day. Yours, A RSPCBUCAK. Mr. Gardiner Snishol his breakfast with a light heart and made his way down to Mr. Jackson'? house. He never doubted for a second the 'squire had pre? pared a positive denial of the story, and he found himself wondering with a vague curiosity who the deserter could be. Entering Mr. Jackson's house he found that gentleman i:i his library. After greeting each other Mr. Jackson picked up a half sheet of note paper and handed it to his friend. On it Mr. Gar? diner read: To the Editor of The Republican: SIR-Jn auswer to tho qu?ry c mtainod in your ? columns this morning permit nw t > inform you that ? am thc William Truesdale Jack?oa who Ole? serted, not the night befora hut two nights bat ora, the battle of Gettysburg from the Second Mama ch use tts infantry, and who was sobsesuently condemned to the penalty of the military crime. My reasons for that act were and are personal to myself. I have only to add that although I waa thea much younger than I am now aod with much less experience than I now hare, T woold, were I placed in the same position today, again desert before night had fallen. I remain, sir, your obedient serrant, WtixLUt 1*. J arm?n Hr. Gardiner looked np, hie mooth shaping itself for the hymn tone, sod as he looked a faint wave of color fora moment rose to the 'squire's cheek. "You are not going to send this, I hope," said Mr. Gardiner. "Most certainly I am. If my fellow citizens choose to honor me with thei* suffrages, they shall do so with no false pretenses on my part," "Bot, my dear 'squire" "The thing is true; why should I deny itr "There ia no use of a denial Let it alone, say nothing, and there is not a mah in the county who will believe it." Mr. Johnson smiled somewhat sadly. "My friend," he said, "a suppressio veri will not help me in this matter. It is better to tell the truth; better, because it is right, and better policy as we1!. It is easy to identify me with the deserter -in fact, I have no doubt this has been done already. But even were it not, were that paragraph the laut of it, now the question has been raised I could not consent to be silent?." "But the ticket f broke in the unhap? py chairman. "I think it would be better that I re? sign." "Not for z moment That would be absolutely fatal. But 'squire, if yon must acknowledge it, why not tell your reasons for leaving the service? Fm sure they were good ones. Then it would be all right. But that note is so curt; it flaunts your desertion in the face of men as though you were proud of it; it fairly defies all public opinion." "I am proud of it, sir, and I thank my God that he permitted me to desert," broke in the lawyer in his deepest tone, through which there rang an accent of strong emotion. "But neither to you nor any other man living will I tell why I deserted. It must suffice you that I did, and have never regretted it. Un? derstand me, Mr. Gardiner," and as he spoke the faint color once more showed itself, "I know as well as you the dis? grace which attaches to the. name of a man who deserts on the eve of a great battle. I know he is called' a coward and a poltroon. I am of no sterner stuff than other men, and it has required all the trust I have in One who is wiser than I to make it clear to me that the barden was laid on me for some godd purpose. "I have thought that perhaps some other way might have been found and I have been spared, but it was not to be. I do not regret the act, but I mourn over the necessity for it: My name as a man is as dear to me as yours to you. I make* no vain boast, Mr. Gardiner, when I say to you that if my life would benefit my country I would give it gladly. Yet 1 stand before men as one who fled at a supreme moment of that country's peril. This is not easy for me, for I am a proud man, sir, and I am not a coward; but I console myself as best I may by the con? sciousness that there is One who knows better than men, and that he in his wis* dom has afflicted me. But, sir, white this is hard enough, it would be far worse were I to descend to falsehood, for then I should bo ashamed in mine own eyes." Mr. Gardiner's eyes were moist as he grasped the lawyer's hand and stam? mered out an apology for his* mistaken though well meant advice. He offered to carry the note to tito office of The Re? publican himself, and the 'squire, visibly gratified by this, acquiesced gladly. To say that Mr. Jackson's answer to The Republican created a storm of talk ] is to put things in the mildest way. The ! orators opposed to the Democratic ticket i made the most of the weapon which had , been given into their hands. Able edi? torials filled the Republican papers, and the machinery of the Grand Army j was used to increase the excitement. ; While enemies taunted the deserter j friends implored Mr. Jackson to speak, j but to no purpose. Entreaties and abuse seemed to pass him by with equal lack ; of effect. When he appeared at public j meetings-for as soon as the county com- ; mittee had decided he should not with- ! draw the squire showed he was not: afraid to face any music going-there was at first a disposition to hiss on the part of some who were there. This, however, was speedily put down by the majority. It was impossible for these I people, among whom he had lived true j and blameless for many years, to tol? erate open disrespect when shown tb him, and once the man got a hearing there was little danger of his audience thinking of aught save his spoken thoughts. Mr. Gardiner, shrewd as usual, and since that talk with the squire respect? ing him as he never had before, was the first to see the tide had turned, and BOO" I ing rejoiced greatly. It became appa? rent as the days went on, and the first shock wore off, that the impassioned ap? peals, and able denunciations were rapid? ly losing their effect. Three days before the election a speaker who began a dia? tribe against "the coward" and "traitor" was fairly hissed into silence. Men said to each other that while desertion was a mighty bad thing, no doubt, the squire ?aid 'it was right for him to desert, and likely as not he knew. Others thought the man could never have deserted be? cause he was afraid or disloyal: it WM not in him. Once the reaction set in it grew as rapidly as the feeling at first, and when the results of the election were declared there were many who felt no surprise. For it was Judge William Truesdale Jackson now, and his majority was larger than that of any candidate on either side. Whereat Mr. Abner K. Gardiner smiled and chuckled, and smiled again. CHAPTER IL Kneeling by her bedside vxts a boy of about ten year?. In the monta of May, 1841, a woman lay dying in the little cottage which used to stand* on the old "main road" ji outside the then limits of thc town Lynn. Kneeling by her bedside was boy of about ten years, and on his he the wasted hand of his mother resta tb? fingers twining gently through ] hair. She was speaking-this moth who was passing away-and the b drank in every word. She told him feeble and broken sentences his lit sister had no one but him to look to f protection, and she asked him to promi that so long as he should live that pi tection would be given. Satisfied by t unspoken pledge in his eyes as he look at her, for she knew what he was, s spoke of the comfort he had been to h since his rather's death; of that fath who had been taken away so suddenl and of her own joy at the prospect seeing her husband once more. Her sc row, too, at leaving her children dw( in her mind at times, and then he tri* to soothe her by telling her he would brave and true. And so with a pray for them on her lips she became siles and the boy knew when he once mo looked at her that the ears that had nev been deaf to him were deaf now. The two children-Willie, aged te and Hay, aged not quite half a year were not left penniless. Their fa the Dr. William Jackson, had accumula t< a little money, and their mother hr owned property when she marrie Their only living relation, a brother < Mrs. Jackson, lived in New York, ai he at once asked them to come and Iii with him. For five years Willie went * the New York schools and May gre up into as charming a little girl as 01 could find. Then Mr. Truesdale dioi leaving his money to his nephew ac niece, and Willie made up his mind the would move back to Lynn. Here the lived in the house of their guardia} Judge Black, and Willie in due tin; wen!? to Harvard, and, winning his d* gree in arts, passed into the law school He was singularly old for his ag* Even as a boy he was grave, self coi tamed and generally silent, and he care little for the amusements which fille the time of his fellows. He was exceex ingiv fond of reading, and fairly d? voured all the books he could fin* Studying hard, he stood well np in h classes at all times, but it was not unt he got into the law school that he reall showed the stuff in bim. To the min of Mr. Jackson-it was curious how soo the use of his first name was dropped b his friends-the law assimilated as il natural food. The dry est of dry treatise .possessed an interest for him that notl ing else had. He used to astonish hi guardian by reading the code for pleat ure. For Judge Black was one of thos easygoing men who drift forward i life'* race rather than push, doing thei work respectably and living in thoroughly respectable way. However, the judge knew a man whei he 8uw one, and he was only too glad U offer his ward a partnership as soon a he had passed the bar. It was not lonj before the new firm of Black & Jacksoi bogan to attract attention in the courts The senior partner was without a partiel of jealousy, and was only too glad t give the credit for the manner in whicl their cases were presented to his earnest laborious and painstaking junior. Aft? a year or two men said, with a shak< of the head, Lynn could not keep tbx "young judge," as they called him; thai in the natural course of events he woulc go to Boston and seek a wider field foi his abilities. All this while May Jackson was grow ing up into the most winsome little creature imaginable. She was utter!} unlike her brother. She was capricious exceedingly pretty, as full of coque tr} as abe could live; whimsical, but just ai charming as a sweet, bright, lovabh American girl should be, and she lovec her grave, stem brother as she loved nc human being. From a time beyond which she could remember nothing he had been father and mother and brothel all in one. He was never too busy tc listen to her wants and wishes, nevei unwilling to do things for her. He com? forted her in her troubles, rejoiced when she was glad. To him she brought all things that interested her, sure of inter? est and help from him. And this feel? ing for her was an odd compound of pa? ternal and fraternal love. He had never for one moment forgotten his pledge to his dying mother, nor had it in truth been difficult to keep, for his love for his sister was a part of Will Jackson's very being. She amused him intensely as she grew up. Her capriciousness was a source of wonder, and she had the charm for him of a constant series of surprises. The two attracted every one that met them, and the love they felt for each other was a very beautiful thing. In 1838 Will Jackson was 27, and May was a young lady just going into society. The brother had been a partner in the firm for six years, and had built up for himself a business which paid him a handsome income. It was at this time that Miss Carrie Farnham, a connection of Judge Beach, came to Lynn, and Will Jackson met his fate. He fell in love with her as strong men fall in love; he fairly worshiped the ground she walked on. She, too, had not known him very long before she thought she had never seen such a man before. When she went home to Springfield she left the memory of a look from her dark blue eyes for Will Jackson to ponder over, and when, in the following August, he followed hexvto her home, and as they walked along a lane one evening asked her a question the answer was "Yes." To his dying day Will Jackson never forgot that lane and the smell of the twilight time. Friends and relatives ap? proved, and the day was set for the wed? ding. It is probable that May would have alternated between jealousy and gladness were it not that her pretty little head was filled with thoughts of her own just then. The time came for the wed? ding, and Carrie Farnham went to Bos? ton to do some shopping. I must hurry over this part of. the story. There were big headlines in the paper one morning over the story of the railroad wreck, and Will Jackson followed the body of the girl he loved ns the agony of the dead march wailed and sobbed from the great organ! He went back to his desk and plunged into work to find distraction from his sorrow. He never spoke of the girl to any one. repulsing for the first time in his life his sister May. Except that he was graver than before there was little change in the man. The following year May was married to Charlie Farnham, a younger brother of the girl who was gone, and Will Jackson rejoiced over his sister's happiness. He behaved very generously, he transferred all the prop? erty they had together inherited in trust for her and her children. As Mr. Farn? ham was employed in a bank in Boston May went there to live with her hus-1 band, but every we*=k letters from Will and herself crossed each other. When the gun which was fired on j Fort Sumter in 18G1 "echoed 'round the world," Will Jackson was one of tho j first men in Lynn to-volunteer. To such a man the call issued by President Lin? coln came as an order from heaven, and when the Second Massachusetts tn- : fantry was recruited he at once signed the roll His choice of a regiment was natural, for one of its officers, Capt. I and afterward Lieut. CoL C. R. Mudge, j who died at Gettysburg on July 3, 1863, ! and to whose memory the beautiful 1 church of St. Stephens was afterward ! built in Lynn, was his greatest personal i friend. Through the long weary months j of fighting and marcjimg Will Jackson went steadily on, doing his duty as he j did most things in this life-with all his might. CHAPTER IEL Hold the little one for Will to taJce. He had never seen the child before. When Gen. Lee invaded Pennsylvania, and the armies of the north gathered hastily together under Gen. Meade to repel the onward march of "the flag with a single star," the Second Massa? chusetts was in its place prepared to take part in what was to be one of the most momentous and most bloody battles of the civil war. And with his regiment was Will Jackson, a private still, for promotion had been offered to him in vain. The last time when his lieutenant colonel had urged him to accept, for these two were fast friends as ever, he had said with a laugh, "Old man, after this war is over there will be mighty few privates, and Tm. after all the dis? tinction I can get." So the subject was dropped-forever, as it turned out. It was two days before the line of fire which was to end the lives of so many brave men on each side began, as Reyn? olds' corps struck Heth's men, that Will Jackson, coming in from sentry duty, found the mail had arrived and recog? nized the handwriting of his sister. As he read the letter his face grew very stern, and he more than once clenched his fist unconsciously. It was a long letter, full of repetitions and contra? dictions, but he made out that May had discovered her husband was in the power of a lot of men who were urging him to do something, she knew not exactly what, but which would utterly ruin him. In one sentence she declared that Charlie was innocent of wrong doing, and in the next she implored her brother by all the love he had always shown for her, by his love for bis mother, by his lo\ 3 for the girl who was gone, by his love for the baby his sister held in her arms, to save that baby's father. She came to bim. she said, when she could go to no one else-he alone could do anything. As Will Jackson sat there far into the night heedless of military calls a fearful struggle went on within him. He knew as every man in the fast gathering hosts knew that a great battle was pending. His sense of duty to his country, his pride in his own good name, his soldier's instinct alike made the idea of desertion intolerable to him. And yet-it was May's husband and Carrie's brother! As he thought he took out the picture of his dead love and kissed it passionately. If he waited for the battle he might be killed, and then- May was right, there was no one else who could do this thing. But the shame of it! the bitter, intol? erable shame! Men would say, and say with apparent reason, that he had deserted coward fashion! He, Will Jackson, through whoso veins no drop of coward's blood ever ran! He would be false to his country when it needed him, false to that flag he loved and idol? ized as he loved and idolized the mem? ory of his mother! He would be false to the oath he swore before God and man to fight for the Union until the end; he. who liad never consciously broken his lightest word, would do this thing. It was too much to ask, too much to de? mand of him, and burying his head in his hands he prayed the cup might pass from him. "Carrie's brother, May's husband! May's husband. Carrie's brother!" It rang through his brain like a dull refrain of torture. Could he refuse to sacrifice himself? It was true he was asked to lay himself on the altar, and with his own hands he was asked to tear out his pride, his loyalty, his honor! But could he refuse? Could he refnse? It was May's husband aud Carrie's brother who would go-who would drown before his eyes in the foul waters of crime and shame unless he jumped in to save! Could he refuse? Could he refuse? To give his life for the man who had brought this misery on him would, he thought, have been so easy. But to give himself, his honor, his word, his loyalty; it was very, very hard! It was character? istic of the man that he spoke nor thought no word of curse against hi. brother-in-law. To bim the supremo decision he was called on to make was all in all. On the one side were his pledge to his mother (and in the still night he seemed to hear her words again), bis love for the sister and his love for his dead: on the other were his honor, his loyalty, his pride, his plighted faith! No wonder when he rose from his seat and walked down the long line of the bivouac he should have staggered as one who has taken strong drink. For when the morning roll call rang out Private Will? iam Jackson was absent. A hurried search and a yet more hurried court martial followed, but Gettysburg was but one day off and men had too much to think of to spend time in wonder | over the absence of one. His friends j mourned for a brief space, but many of j them died in the angle or along the thin ! lines of blue which charged and repelled \ alternately, and the desertion was for? gotten save aud except for a brief para- : graph in the note l>ook of the adjutant of the regiment. . j That May should weep and langh as ' she felt the strong arms of her brother around her once more, and with the childlike faith she always had in him should know it was all right now, was but natural. It was natural, too, that she should send for her baby, and with the air of a queeu bestowing the most cherished of all decorations hold the lit? tle one out for Will to take. . He had never seen the child before, and he was conscious as she looked up at him with her dark blue eyes-this little Carrie with the other Carrie's eyes-and laughed at the grave, sorrow worn face that 4*efrtftr>tar her, of a great wave of love swelling m ms nearx. uoa was good to Will Jackson. Already bo felt his sacrifice bsd been accepted? The deep lines which suffering had graven on his countenance with her firmest i touch attracted May's attention, but be ? youd exclaiming, "Why, Will, how old you lookr and supposing it came from I "this awful war," she thought little of it. Her brother, as he answered ber gently, smiled somewhat bitterly, j He had reached his sister's house about I ?0 o'clock in the morning, and Charlie Farnham did not come back until din? ner, at 6. When he saw bis brother-in law he flushed up rather uneasily, for while be had known nothing of May's letter he instinctively felt something was coming. After dinner he proposed to take Will around to the club, and the latter went gladly enough. In a hotel corridor afterward Will noticed that Charlie was hailed by two or three men who looked decidedly fast. One of them in particular, a Mr. Cochran, Mr. Jack? son felt a sudden dislike for. The man was tall, well dressed, with a blonde mus? tache and a sufficiently pleasant man? ner, but he had shifty eyes. About half past 9 the two went home, where they saw May for a few moments, and she then bid them good night. As she kissed her brother she whispered, "You prom? ised,** and he satisfied her with a look. For all day long May had pleaded with him that he make it easy for Charlie; like many women, she had jailed in a power of which, when it came, she was genuine? ly afraid. The two men went into the library,lighted their cigars,and as Charlie walked np and down the room somewhat nervously Will sat at the table absently drawing heads on the blotting pad. "Charlie," he said at last without looking up, "when your sister Carrie died I thought there was nothing more for me in this life. Then you and May loved each other, and I gave her gladly to you. You two and little Carrie are all I have in the world. I would give my life for either of you, my brother!** The deep music of the tones ceased as the hand went idly on sketching heads on the blotting pad. Charlie Farnham stood still, his hand pressed on his heart, his face very pale and the cigar buming on the hearth where he had thrown it. "It sometimes happens in this life,** began Will again, "that a man becomes entangled in the nets of scoundrels with? out intentional wrong on his part. Then it is the place, the duty, the privilege of those who love him to set him free. Is there anything that I have a right to do fer you, you who ar? the brother of my dead love and the husband of my sis? ter?** The man spoken to paced rapidly back and forward, while the man who spoke ? did not look up to see the other's shame. "I deserted from the anny"-Charlie j started and looked at Will as the latter moistened his dry lips-"because I heard you were in trouble. It was a great sac , rifice I made for you, my brother, and now I am here to help you and to save." CHAPTER IV. Charlu Farnham broke doten. Charlie Farnham broke down. He flung himself on his knees beside Will and with the latter's arm around him brokenly told his story. He had one evening at the club, when he was with Cochran, written the signature of Mr. Floyd, the president of the bank in which he was a telfr.T. on a piece of. paper. The paper was blank at the time, and be had done this thing more to show he could than anything else. He had no thought of hann, and had for? gotten the whole business until a week afterward, when Cochran had shown it to him with a note written above it at sixty days' time, payable to his own or? der and indorsed on the back to Coch? ran. The signature on the back was as much a forgery ss was that of Mr. Floyd, but the forgery was very good, and one of Cochran's friends was ready to swear he saw Farnham write the in? dorsement Since then they had been making his life a misery to him, demand? ing that he give them the combination of the safe. He had been so afraid he might yield that he had gone to the cashier and asked him to change the combination, so that now he did not know it When he told Cochran of the change that individual had become very angry and had ordered him to find out the new series at once or take the conse? quences. "Why did you not go to Mr. Floyd and tell him the whole story?" asked wm "Because they threatened to have the note discounted in New York, and the bank which cashed it would have held rue." Will Jackson was silent, marveling in his own soul that men could be so weak. "Where is this note?" he asked at last "I think Cochran has it in his rooms He says it is in New York, but he is such a liar 1 do not believe him. Oh, Will, can you get me out of this scrape? I swear 1 will never get into another as long as I live. For May's sake and little Carrie's you will do it. won't you. Will?" "Yes, for Carrie's sake," whispered Will, pressing his arm against the side where the picture rested. "Where does this man live?" he asked. "He has rooms at 17 Milk street, and you can always find him before ll." Long and earnestly the two men talked, the one protesting again and again his repentmce and his resolve to lead a bet ter life, and the other counseling ki kindly fashion. At last they separated, and Charlie, after seeing his brother-in law to his room, went to his own with a lighter heart than he had known for many a day. May was awake, and be? fore he slept he had told his wife the story; but they were both happy, for was I not Will there? In the mean time Will Jjvckson threw himself on his bed and lay there think? ing. It seemed co him that the cause for the awful trial he had gone through was so pitiful, so mean! He could see the men together, foolish Charlie excited with wine and full of a miserable bravado, while the others sat there and lured him into their net And then, a little cour? age, a little open dealing, and he would have been left with his oath to his cotns try unbroken. But he was there to save, and through the silence of the i ni?ht he seemed to hear a dead girl's 1 voice full of gratitude and love! After breakfast Will Jackson walked , down town, and roaching Milk street, , rang the bell at No. 17. From a man i who opened the door he found out where ?O.T. ucearan s rooms were, anu ?a> my; he had business with that person walked upstairs, and k nocked at the door. A sleepy voice called ont, "Come raf and passing through the door Will Jackson locked it behind him. The man in the bed sat np at this and stared. Will walked over to him, and drawing a re? volver covered him with it CHAPTER V. '*/ have come here to get that piece of paper or to letti you.1' "Mr. Cochran," he began in a voice which was as harsh as the sound of sharpening a saw, "my brother, Charles Farnham, tells me that jon and your accomplices have procured from him by fraud a certain document purporting to be a note sighed by John Floyd, the president of the bank, in which roy brother is employed. The signature to this note is a forgery, ez<*mted by my brother, but the note itself was added after the signature was written, and the indorsement has my brother's name forged to it I have come to get that note from yon." Cochran looked at his visitor, and as he looked it seemed to him that Will Jackson's eyes blazed with constrained, repressed ferocity in their deep sockets. He shuddered as he looked. "I-I know nothing," he stammered, involuntarily shrinking away from those awful eyes. "Do not give yourself the trouble of lying to me. Mr. Cochran, because a man of the world like yourself will recognize the uselessness of it I repeat, I am here for that paper." "It is in New York," began Cochran eagerly. "For God's sake. Mr. Jackson, don't point that thing at mef "It is in New York," repeated the vis? itor slowly. "Then I am sorry" "It is in New York, I swear it is!" "Because its absence from Boston will cost you youi* life within five minutes time, Mr. Cochran." "What-what do you mean?" asked the other qnaveringly. "I mean this. I have come here to get that piece of paper or to kill j on, and 1 will have it or your life before fire min? utes. I shall not look at my watch; you can trust me not to make the time too long," he added grimly. Cochran ga j one look at Will Jack? son's face, saw murder there, and knew it was death to refuse. "If you will wait until I get np," he said hastily, "you shall have it" "Very good; that is what I want" The man climbed ont of the bed, and going to a desi: in the corner opened it "Be careful. Don't touch that re? volver or I will press the trigger," came in cold, ? jareb toses from the visitor. "I wasn't going to," hastily replied Cochran. "I only want to get the note. Ah, here it is," and taming he held a slip of paper o<at "Hold it np so that I can read it Now tho other side. Yes; that is right," and taking the paper Will Jackson put it in his pocket Then walking over to tho desk he picked np the revolver lying there. "I will give this to the man down stairs," he said. "Now, Mr. Coch? ran, I have the honor , of bidding you good day. I think you will be able to find pleasanter places of residence than Boston for tl? future," and passing through the door he went down the stair? way, rang the bell and gave the revolver to the servant, and then walked quietly home, where he played with little Car? rie and chatted with May until Charlie came home. "There, Charlie," he said, "is your note, which yon had better burn. Re? member it has cost a great price, and yon will be careful for the future." "How on earth did yon get it?" asked the brother-in-law, after many protesta? tions of gratitude and promises. "Mr. Cochran listened to argument,'" replied Will grimly, and that was all they ever heard. As might have been expected. Will Jackson announced his intention of re? turning to his regiment the next day, where he proposed to face the inevitable trial, confesa his desertion and submit to his punishment But it was not to be. The next morning, after a sleepless night, he complained of pain in his head, and when the physician came the patient was in a raging fever. Before forty eight hours had elapseJ it was evident that brain fever had him in its clutch. The trial and suffering, the mental strain he had gone through had been too much for him, and it became a question wheth? er he had not in fact laid down his life that his brother might remain unstain? ed. Day after day and through the long watches of the night he tossed and talked and tossed again. Charlie Farn? ham and his wife learned to know the sacrifice which Will Jackson had made as they listened to his pitiful pleading to be spared. During that time, too, Char? lie Farnham had an impresnon produced on him which never wore away; there was little fear that he would again put himself in jeopardy. When the patient recovered from the physical sickness it was fonnd that his iniud had received a shock from which it would take years to recover, tie was not exactly insane, but he seemed dull and stupid, and he reinyinbere.l nothi ng at all of the past The physicians who attended him prescribed absolute rest from every kind of lalv/>r, and a home was found for him in one of those asy? lums where kindness rules the applica? tion of scientific treatment Hero he remained four years, patient and uncom? plaining, and gradually his menta! power came back to him. With it carno mem? ory, faint at first, but clearer ami strong? er as the days went by. Had it not been for the deeply religions nature of the mau it is probable that with tho ? recollection of the sacrifice a relapse j would have driven him b;ick, and this j was greatly feared-by his physicians. One day when Charlie w;is with him a j chance paragraph in the uewspaper tell- i ing of the arrest of Cbchran in Chicago | caught Will's eye. ne seemed dazed for a moment and then, like a flash, he re? membered it ali And with the memory an expression came over his face that made Charlie cry out. Will rose, paced hurriedly up and down the wilk, his features working violently, and when '. Dr. Armstrong hurried up to him and took his arm he shook him oil with a gesture of intense anger. The physician there almost sick with apprehension. At last Will paused, ??d* thinking: deeply< stood for a moment Then com? ing np to his brother-in-law he held ont bis hand. .*God saw fit t&httnrtAe me; Charlie," he said solemnly, "and who am I that i should question his wisdom or his love?** The physician gave a sigh of relief as Charlie bent his head, the tears falling, on the hand he held. Three months after" this Will left the asylum and settled in Spr&gfield, where* he began the practice of toe law once* mare. As his mental po-we* returned; more fully he slowly built up for himself a business which gave him more money than he cared to spend. Charlie and May and little Carrie and other little one* that came to them lived happily, and there was no other lapse on the husband and father's part. The work which Wil> ?T?cksen had been called on to do had been done well and thoroughly, and as he looked back at it all he was able to say in time he was glad. And this is the story which Mr. Ab".er K. Gardiner, the chairman of the Demo? cratic county committee who prided? himself on the nomination of William? Truesdale Jackson, never beard told* TEZ EKDw tOtfUO WORDS TO GIRLS. A Woman Doctor Tells Them When Ex-' ercise Is and Is Not Helpful. It is to be remembered that healthy young girls should Bot differ greatly from boys in regard t<yagility<bn>i>only in regard to eadu rance' .ind ?uch muscular strength? as involves boxing, wrestling or the rifting, and carrying of weights. A girl should be able to move her own body swiftly and deftly, but her inferior muscular force* makes it always unadvis able and often mji?rfoos io impose upon her tasks which involve moving other bod? ies if these have any weight. In accordance with this-simple rule girls1 should be encouraged* to* wa?***,, rn nv climb, swim, ride, skate, shoot with the bow anti arrow. A woman expert at firearms Ls au anomaly, unless she be compelled to live in lonely places and requires the know? ledge for her protection. Bowing is a most excellent exercise ii the boat be not too heavy. The exercise of jumping does not seem: advisable, whether that of excessive rope jumping or high leaps at gymnasium. This restriction was not always observed, for Euripides makes a Spartan youth eulo? gize the giri he admired precisely for her skill at leaping. The dangers from this exercise have been exaggerated, yet there is an occasional risk of displacing internal organs by a sudden leap upon the feet. Thc value of the forms of muscular ex? ercise which have been enumerated has scarcely Ixseu exaggerated in the preserva? tion of health. For giris who aro sickly and whose bones and ran seles have never been adequately developed the systematic exercise of each limb, as is obtainable in a gymnasium, is requisite. All exercise must be graduated accord? ing tc* tho previous habits of the giri. It is very injurious to start off suddenly in summer vacations and take walks of tea and fifteen miles, when previous cus? tom had not exceeded a mile a day. Women e?tireJy unable to walk at all from hysterical paralysis may be re-edu? cated to do so by being encouraged to take two steps on one day, four steps on the next day and so on. This principle of gradual increase is of course still more easily applied to well persons. It is never well and sometimes dangerous to prolong any form of exercise too much. This is especially true of skating. Few girls can skate even au hour, because in Uiis climate the ice does not usually last long enough to allow of the gradual in? crease to a period of two hours. It should be unnecessary to add that no exercises can be considered satisfactory which are performed in light clothing or corsets. If no girl wore corsets under tho age of 25 thc chest would have a chance to acquire ita full developement, the habit of proper breathing would bc established and proper Utting corsets could then be worn with impunity.-Mary Putnam Jacoby ha New York Herald. Th? Absurdity of Moorain; Periods. It is seldom that any one who has had a large circle of acquaintances dies thai there is not considerable, and by no means chari? table, criticisai of thc actions of his sur? viving relatives. They are incessantly watched, that they make no departure from thc form* supposed to bc proper under the circumstance.;, and the depth of the mourning of the ladies is minutely noted. It is known to the day when tho first speck of white or color appears upon their dresses, and thc first evening the piano is opened the whole set oftbefr friends raise their hands in horror. The first night they go to the opera or theatre they do so trembling. Nor do they escape censure if they dare too early to take an airing in the park. Thc front windows of the house must bc kept tightly closed or bowed with ri ?boos of black. The very expression of their faces are token account of; a smile declares their heartlessness. The wives, and thc mothers, and the daughters, and Mic sis? ters must never stir out of doors without the long, heavy crape veils hanging down over their faces, and beneath whick they can scarcely breathe.-Progress. How to 3Iakc a Glove Mander. Thc materials required for this useful ard pretty article can be obtained for a small amount at almost any fancy goods store, as follows: One celluloid or ivory ring, about two inches in diameter; one plait or braid of assorted thread, one glove mender, one pair small embroidery scissors, three yards cf No. 1 ribbon, one-half yard of Xo. 12 ribbon, thc same color, and a paper of glove needles. On the celluloid ring cither braid or tie with a loop knot about twenty strands of the assorted thread. Then tie the scissors to the ring by one yard and a half of the narrow ribbon, and with the remainder fasten the glove mender in thc same manner. Next tic thc wide ribbon on the ring in a neat bow, in one end of which weave about four of the needles, and the mender is complete. Not only is it useful for mending gloves, but for sewing on buttons, and it saves many a hunt for the proper shade with which to take the proverbial "stitch in time."-Youth's Companion. Use Hard Pillows. The Japantsc don't have wrinkles be? cause they do not use pillows. Cuddle down to sleep upon a feather pillow,, and notice how it increases the furrows around the eyes. On the other hand, see how beau? tifully a block pillow works. Place it comfortably under the neck, and you will enjoy the position very much, and H is marvelous to note how much and how lit? tle strain is put upon thc facial muscles and how smoothly they lie in consequence. -Exchange. Air Everything Frequently. Thc importance of thoroughly airing ar? ticles of wearing apparel must not be for? gotten, and all trunks, closets and ward? robes should be frequently opened, anti their contents exposed to a generous cur? rent of outside air. There are many otlier sources of air pollution, a ?I fewer people would be sick and there would be much less misery if some of t he simpler precau? tions would be more closely followed. Exchange. --m -^mm~ ?UK VKRY RKSr I?KOPEK. Confirm oorsttrptuea: *hr>n weeay that Arker** Knglish Keine " is in every way superior ??> say and atl other prep -rn rion* f?r tb? Th:n?t nm* L?ne.?. Tr- '"'"?o inj? (Vagh ;?n-" <"r-U!> it i* majic sud rc icve at oner. We . ff r y a a sample bottle free. K?-nvm'??r. ?tt.??? K?iQ*?ly i8 sold on a p>sitiyj ?u?r. ince by Jf. F. Vf, De Lor m e. 3