‘Tis moonlight in Hog Alley! The old coons have retired within doors; the little urchins have gone to roost, and a general silence pervades this, not altogether, lovely spot. We wend our way through this devious passage and reach Chestnut Street, and proceed to Milton dock. Not for the purpose of suicide, but merely an evening walk. Perambulating along the dock, we strike Union Street, and in a short time reach Milton bridge. Here we pause to contemplate the scenery before us. The moon is many degrees above the horizon, and casting its sheen in dazzling splendor, diagonally upon the water of the river. To our left, along the banks of a lagoon nearby, a slight mist is rising in spiral columns, resembling somewhat the smoke from myriad campfires. This mist continues its serpentine ascent, until it reaches a strata of air of its own density, or until the force of the moon’s rays prevents its farther height, when it diffuses itself throughout the atmosphere, and is lost to sight and vision. We stand here amid pleasant surroundings, until surfeited with the view before us, when we proceed on our tour of evening inspection, We enter Magnolia street, which derives its name from the many varieties of Magnolia trees that grow in the meadow and cripple that skirt this thoroughfare on either side, and which in season, fill the atmosphere contiguous thereto, with a delightful fragrance most pleasing to the olfactory nerves. No human step is heard; no human form is seen; all is solitude and silence, save the melodramatic notes of the bullfrog, and the terrapin, learning its young ones-to run the gamut. Mulberry Street is reached, and we turn toward the shores of Fanganzyki. The moon is now fast approaching the zenith, and the tall forms of the cypress that stand upon the banks of the lake are beautifully silhouetted in the clear waters below. A quietness surrounds us; a silence that can be felt; Point Desolation looms up in the distance, and the forest bordering South Fanganzyki forms a pretty background. We look at our watch it is it 11 o’clock.
“The sea fowl has gone to her nest,
The beast has laid down in its lair,
E’en now is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.”[i]
We pursue our way homeward and to bed, where we are soon lost in dreamland.
Memorial Day was observed by a portion of our people in a becoming manner; the graves of the dead soldier were flagged, and many tokens of kind remembrance were paid to the friends and loved ones who lie beneath the sod in the Milton Cemetery. While business coursed in its wonted channels, while the merchant was busy at his counter, and the harsh saw of the carpenter was heard, the few whose thoughts reverted to the past were busy in their work of love. A service was held in School Hall, which was filled with a fine audience, together with the Jr. O. U. A. M. Addresses were made by the Rev. C. S. Baker. D. D., Presiding Elder of Dover District, Capt. W. H. Megee, J. M. Lank and J. A. Ellegood, of Ellendale. A pleasant time was had and all were happy. No accident nor discord occurred to mar the pleasure of the day, and when night drew its sable curtain over the town the participants were satisﬁed with the work of the day. The address of Captain W. H. Megee deserves especial mention. Captain Megee was raised near Milton, and this is the home of his nativity and early manhood. He and his father were both soldiers; and to show his respect for the dead who lie in Milton Cemetery, he came from Philadelphia—accompanied by Mrs. Megee–to be present on Memorial Day. His address was well received, and his reminiscences were appreciated by the people with whom he is wont to mingle when away from the cares of business. Having been a sailor, he gave some very graphic accounts of the scenes around Cuba, and Santiago made memorable by the Spanish American War. Captain Megee is a patriot to the core, as was his father, and as are also all the members of his family. He is now in the prime of life, and will doubtless see many more Memorial Days, and have the melancholy pleasure of participating in their services.
Referring to an item published some time ago about “land-grabbers,” or persons ploughing into the road, Mr. G. W. Atkins, traveling salesman for C. H. Atkins, says in substance: There is a piece of road in the lower part of the county where the farmers have ploughed from both sides of the road to the ruts, and for teams to pass it is necessary for both to drive out on the broken ground. This was his experience last week. The farmers in ploughing, and will in harrowing, keep the rut ﬁlled up, and every passing team will be compelled to break the tracks. And the question is asked, by those interested: how is this to be remedied?
On Decoration Day Prof. W. G. Fearing, in company with three young ladies, was coming from Zion Cemetery, when one of the ladies alighted from the carriage to pick some wild flowers. As she returned to the wagon the team started, causing her to perform a backward somersault out of the vehicle which she did without hurt. It is thought she will go on the trapeze.
Miss Mayme A. Conner spent three days of last week as the guest of Miss Cooper, in Milford.
Mr. George Carpenter’s new building on Chestnut Street, is about ready for the plasterers.
The house near Parker’s Bridge, recently damaged by fire—the property of Dr. J. Hopkins—has been repaired.
Capt. Frank Lacey is at home with his family.
Captain George Hunter and wife, of Philadelphia, are visiting Mrs. Eliza Black, the mother of Mrs. Hunter.
Mr. William P. D. Megee, machinist, of Wilmington, is spending a few days with his mother and sister.
Monday, the first of June, was quite a cool day for the season, Overcoats were worn, and the fifteen dollar Panama hats of our young bloods were superseded by the slouch hats of other days.
The Fourth Quarterly Conference of this Conference year, met on Friday evening. The minister’s salary was fixed at $900–$900 from Milton and $100 from Zion—Presiding Elder, the Rev. C. S. Baker, D, D., preached at the M. E. Church on Sunday evening.
While loading piling on the schooner Stetson and Elison, on Tuesday, Captain Henry Johnson was struck by a swinging pile and knocked from the vessel to the dock. He was removed to the office of Dr. James A. Hopkins & Son, and Dr. B. B. Hopkins rendered the necessary medical aid. Three of more ribs are broken, and injuries internal are feared.
Note: This week’s column was signed Crusader.
Dear Sir.—I saw in last week’s issue of your paper, published in the Milton news, that Conwell & Co, had leased the brickyard of Beardsley & Lofland for this season. This is absolutely an untruth, as Beardsley & Lofland run this brickyard, and what bricks come from there are manufactured by them exclusively. Yours,
Beardsley & Lofland
[i] Excerpt from the poem The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk, by the English poet William Cowper (1731 – 1800)