Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c. Vo1 XII. WEDNESDAY MORNING, JUNE 28, 1876. No. 26. IS PUBLf~SHED At Newberry) S. C. BY'TH03t Ft GRENDKERt Editor and Proprietor. Ter.jis, $2.50 per e1nnum, rnvariably in Advance. gTep~ r is sopped at the expiration Of time or w it is paid. G*70 "hn <- denotes expiration Of sub cription. r SAN~ AND JOE. My heart is strangely sad to-niglit; The put hangs o'er me like a dream: Aud as a bark with ftesh-trimmed sails. W~ thoughts are gliding down the stream. Ah, those were jocund days, my friend, The old, old (lays of Iong -ago Though sometimes shadowed by a cloud, w,ben you were "Sam" and I was "Joe" I see our homesteaft side b~Y fide Gleam white amiid the leafy shade; I he&ithe brawling of the brook, I smll the perfumes through the glade; I feel'Ibe dear ones all around And some have crossed death's stream, YOd -know, But sorows lightly touched our hoarts, For you were "Sam," and I am "Joe." Ouar adF~ laus2=7Lmmind them well ? The mouths which flitted by like hour! The walks, th e talks?-the rides, the driTes? The bows thAboan&the bunch of Ilow ers ? The ringing 6f that old church bell One morn, wbich made the earth heaven below ? For we had each a treasure found. Th6ugb you be ""Sam," and I was "Joe." Andve were men! And manhood's care Have thickly crowded on our path; dropped, with much state, a few care watched over every incident of her daily life, the child grew ev ery day more healthy and beauti-1 ful. Time pased on without lessening the king's devotion to his daughter. Her beauty was the standing theme of conversation in every corner of the palace where the king was like ly to overhear it, and the courtiers rivaled each other in trying to read the wishes of the little princess in her blue eyes, and in endeavoring to forestall them. No wonder the little lady grew up exceedingly self-willed, and with no thought of any one's pleasure but her own. The king hired governesses, it is true, but he forbade them ever to, say a harsh word to his darling; and one who had so far transgres sed this order as to reprove the princess for some fault, was dismis sed in disgrace. Thus it came about that the child grew daily more and more willful and capri cious. Do what every one would it was iinpossible to please her, and as she was allowed to fly into a rage about the most trifling matters, and as she sulked and scolded,and growl ed and grumbled for the smallest annoyances, her voice gradually ac quired a peculiar snarling tone, which was as painful to listen to as it was unbecoming in a young and pretty princess. The whole court suffered from the depressing effects of the young lady's ill-temper. Behind the king's back, the courtiers complained pretty freely, but . before his face no one dared show his annoyance, and two old court ladies, whose nerves were not so strong as they had been, and who feared to betray themselves were obliged to employ a celebrated professor of domestic art to paint smiles on their faces that could not be disturbed by the snarling and grambling of the prin cess ; but the Lord Chamberlain concealed his feelings by a free use of his gold snuff-box, and snuffed away his annoyance pretty success fully. As his daughter grewv up, the king was not without his share of suffering from her ill-temper ; but he bore it all very patiently. "She will be a queen," said he to himself, "and it is fit that she should have a will of her own." The king him self was of an imperious temper but such was his love for his only child, that he bent it completely to her caprices. In private, the courtiers were by no means so indulgent in their views, and the future queen was known amongst them behind her back, as the Snarling Princess. In spite of her ill temper and un pleasing voice, however, she was so beautifulthat--being also heir to the throne of a large kingdom many princes sought her hand in marriage. But the Snarling Prin cess was resolved to reign alone, and she refused every suitor who appeared. .The princess' rooms, were of course the most beautiful in the palace.. One of these,which looked on the forest, was her favorite cham ber, but it was also the source of her greatest vexation. Never did she look out of the window toward the wood without snarling in her harshest tone : "Hateful! Intolerable!1" The source of her annoyance was this: .On the edge of the forest, clearly to be seen from her ~vindow, there stood a tiny cottage, in which lived an aged woman who was known among the poor folks of the neighborhood as the Three legged Wood-wife." This was be cause of a wooden staff on which she leaned to eke out the failing strength of her own limbs. The wood-wife was both feared and hated by the people, amongst whom she bore the character of a very mali cious witch. The king's daughter hated not only her but her tumble down house, and had sent again and again, with large offers of gold, to try and purchase the cot tage. But the wood-wife laughed spitefully at the messengers, and only replied that the cottage suited her, and that for no mo ney would she quit it while she lived. The poor have their rights, how. j eer a well a the rich, and even the Snarling Princess was obliged to submit to the disappointment, at which she could only grumble. At one time she resolved never to go into the favorite room again, but she could not keep her resolu tion. Back she went and some irresistible power always seemed to draw her to the window to irri tate herself by the sight of the wretched hovel which belonged to the Three-legged Witch. At last, however, by constantly snarling and complaining to the king, she induced him to turn the old woman by fo: ce out of her cot tage. The king, who was just and upright, did so very unwillingly, and he built her a new and much better cottage elsewhere. The wood-v/ife could not resist,. but she never put her foot across the threshold of the new house. Meanwhile the old hovel was swept awqy as fast as possible, and by the princess' wish a pretty sum nier house was built where it had stood, and there she and her court ladies were wont to amuse them selves on warm summer evenings to their hearts' content. One evening the princess strolled out by herself into the forest. She had been in several distinct rages ; first with her court-ladies; secondly with her dress-maker; thirdly with the sky, which, in spite of her wishes for fine weather, had become overcast with clouds. In this ill-humor nothing in all the beautiful green forest gave her any satisfaction. She snarled at the birds because they sang too merrily. The rustling of the green fir tops in the evening breeze an noyed her. "Why should pine-trees have needles instead of leaves?" she asked angrily; and then she grum bled because there were no roses on the juniper bushes. Still snarling, she wandered on till she came to a spot where she stood still. and silent in sheer amaze ment. In an open space there was a cir ele of grotesque looking stones, strangely linked together by creep ing plants and ferns of curious growth. And as the Snarling Prin cess looked at them, it seemed to her that the stones took dwarf like shapes, and glared about them with weird, elfin faces. The princess seemed rooted "to the spot. An invisible power ap peared to draw her toward the group, and to attract her by a beau tiful flower whose climax opened at her approach. Unable to resist the impulse, she stepped into the circle and plucked the flower. No sooner had she done so than her feet took deep root in the earth, her hair stiffened into fir-needles, and her arms became branches. She was now firmly fi.xed in the center of the group of stones, a slender, swaying pine-tree, which creaked and croaked, and snapped and snarled, with every gust of wind, as the p'rincess had hardly ev er done in her most ill-tempered moments. As her limbs stiffened under their magical transformation, the hideous figure of the wood-wife might have been seen hovering round the charmed circle, her arms halfchanged into birds wings, and her hands into claws. And as the king's daughter fairly turned into a pine-tree, the wood-wife took the form of an owl, and for a mo ment rested triumphantly on her branches. Then with a shrill "Tu whit ! tu whoo !" it- vanished into the forest. When the princess did not return to the palace, and all search after her proved utterly in vain, the poor old king fell into a state of the deepest melancholy, and spent the most of his time in the summer. house bewailing the mysterious loss of his only child.. One day many months afterward he wandered into the forest. A storm was raging, of which he took no heed. But suddenly he stopped beneath a pine-tree and looked up. "How like my poor daughter's voice !'' said he, "especially when she was the -least bit in the world-" He did not like to finish the sen tence,- but sat down under th< ree and wept bitterly. And foi every tear he shed, the pine-tree dropped a shower of needles. For! I the Snarling Princess* recognized her father and heartily lamented the pain he suffered now, and had so often suffered before on her ac count. "Tu-whit? tu-whoo !" said a voice from a hole beneath the pine-tree. "Who speaks?" said the king. "It is I, cousin," said the owl, hopping into the daylight and gradually assuming the form and features of the fairy godmother. "You did not know me as the Three legged Wood-wife, whom you so un justly sacrificed to your daughter's caprices; but I have had a hand in her education, after all! For twelve months has she croaked and creaked, snapped and snarled, beneath the Summer heat, the Winter snow, and the storms of Spring and Au tumn. Her punishment-andyours is over.'' As the :fairy godmother spoke, the pine-tree became a princess once more, and fell into her father's arms. But the wood-wife took again the form of an owl,and the enchant ed stones became bats, and they. all disappeared into the shadows of the forest. And, as the princess shortly af terward -married a charming prince, she no doubt changed her name. Certainly she was never more known as the Snarling Princess. -_ VsaflantmI. - THE YEAR WITHOUT A SUM MER. The most curious weather, of which we have any record, was that of the year 1816. There are but few persons now living ..who recollect it, but European and American data represent it as being phenominal in almost every partic ular. In New England, that year went by the name of "eighteen hundred and starve to death." The winter was very cold in Europe, and comparatively mild in this con.n try but the following summer' was the coldest ever known in the Uni ted States. January was mild, so much so as to render fires almost needless in parlors. December previous was very cold. February was not very cold; with the exception of a few days it was mild like its predecessor. March was cold and boisterous during the first part of it; the re mainder was mild. A great fresh et on the Ohio and Kentucky rivers caused great loss of property. April began warm, but grew cold er as it advanced, and ended in snow or ice, with a temperature more like winter than spring. May was more remarkable for frowns than smiles. Buds and flowers were frozen, ice formed half an inch thick, corn was killed and the fields were again and again planted, until deemed too late. June was the coldest ever known in this latitude. Frost, ice and snow were common. Almost everything green was killed. Fruit was nearly all killed. Snow fell to the depth of ten inches in Vermont, seven in Maine and three in central New York and Massachusetts. Consid erable damage was done -in New Orleans in consequence of the rap id rise in the river; the shrubs were covered with water, and the roads were only passable in boats. July was accompanied by frost and ice. On the 5th ice was form ed to the thickness of common win dow glass throughout New England, New York and some parts of Penn sylvania. Indian corn was nearly all destroyed; some favorably situated fields escaped. This was true of some of the hill farms of Massa chusetts. August was more cheerless, if possible, than the summer months already passed. Ice was formed half an inch thick. Indian corn was so frozen that the greater part was cut down and dried for fodder. Almost every green thing was de stroyed both in this country and Eu rope. Papers received from Eng land stated that it would be remem bered by the present generation that the year 1816 was a year in which - thee wna no summer. Very little corn ripened in New England and the Middle States. Farmers sup plied themselves from the corn pro duced in 1815 for the seed of the spring of 1817. It sold at $4 to $8 per bushel. September furnished about two weks of the mildest weather of the season. Soon after the middle it became very bold and frosty, and ice formed a quarter of an inch thick. October produced more than its share of cold weather, frost and ice particularly. November was very cold and blus tering. Enough snow fell to make good sleighing. December was quite mild and comfortable. The above is a-brief summary of "the cold summer of 1816," as it was called in ordei to distinguish it from the cold season. The winter was mild. Frost and ice was common in every month in the year. The sun's rays seemed to be destitute of heat through the summer; and nature seemed to be clad in a sable blue, and man exhibited no little anxiety concerning the future of his life. The average wholesale price of flour during that year was $13 per barrel. The average wholesale price of wheat in England was 97 shil lings per quarter. AwcDoTEs.-A lady of rank once said to Napoleon: "What is life worth if one cannot be General Bonaparte ?" Napoleon answered her nicely: "Madame! one may be a dutiful wife and a good mother of a family." Some one asked Sheridan how it was that the "0" was not prefixed to his name. He replied: "I am sure no family had a better right 6 it, for, in truth, we owe every body." Paley writes: "When I set up a carriage it was thought right that my armorial bearings should appear on the panels. All the old folks of the family were consulted, great search was made and at last we found a silver tankard on which was engraved a coat of arms. It was carried by common consent that these must be the 'Paley arms.' They were painted on the carriage, and all went well,until about six months afterward we found the tankard had been bought at a sale." Sydney .Smith said- "Don't talk to me of not being able to cough a speaker down; try the whooping cough." A GREAT Moa.-The mother of Jno.-Quincy A.lams, said in a letter to him, when he was only twelve: "I would rather see you in your grave than grow up a profane and graceless boy." Not long before his death a gentleman said to him: "I've found out who made you." "What do you mean ?" asked Mr. Adams. The gentleman replied : "I have just been reading the published let ters of your mother." "If," this gentleman relates, "I had spoken that dear name to some little boy who had been for weekE away from his mother his eyes could not have flushed more brightly noi his face glowed more quickly that that venerable old man when I pro nounced the name of his mother.' He stood up in his peculiar mannea and said: 'Yes, sir ; all that is good in me I own to my mother.'' PtISHmENr OF A WIFE-WnIpE -An Attica (Ind.) man who was brought before the Polica Couri for whipping and illtreating his wife was fined ten dollars, but h< would not pay it and said he would die befoi-e he would work on the streets. So the Marshal got a vera large cannon-ball, chained it to hii leg, and locked it around a lami post on a street-corner ; after let ting him stand there all forenoon he next rolled a storebox in to the street and placed a chair on it, and the maii, ball and all on top of it ani let him sit there all the afternoon. with a placard with these words 0I it: "He whipped his wife." Th< man took it very coolly and philoso phically, and made no answer to th4 jeers of the boys and the scorn o the people. THAT CURIOUS STORY. For some time past the papers have been publishing a story . that there was a man living in Warren C6unty N. C., named White, who. had never been able to speak to his father. Among others, we did not believe the story, but it turns out to be true, as the following state ment from the editor of the Wilson Advance (whom we know to be a gentleman) will show: "As an old neighbor of Mr. White and having known the family inti mately for twenty-five years, (as far back as we can remember,) we will state all that is known in regard to the strange case. The statement is correct. The son, Mr. Henry White, is now living at the age of about 65 years, and the father has been dead for thirty years or more. As a prattling infant in his swaddling clothes the sight of his father was repulsive, though every means was resorted to in vain by both father and mother to correct the evil in the erring young one. From the age of two to five lit tle Henry possessed all the youth ful vivacity, loquaciousness and ex uberance of spirit characteristic of children generally, but even amid the confusion and hilarious sports, in his mother's chamber or in the yard, the appearance of his father on the scene made him as dumb as an oyster. As he grew older more persuasive and even vio lent coercive me sures were adopt ed by his father to get him to speak to him, but without avail. He never refused to obey his father except in this aparticular.- Would accompany him- squirrel hunting alone, and fish on the creek banks together from day to day. During his fa ther's last illness,the son then being over thirty years of age and a mar ried man, attended his bedside more closely than any member of the household, and the scene, wherein he vainly attempted to obey his father's wish, "speak to me only once," was said to have been peculiarly distressing by those who witnessed 'it. The father died and his son who lived constant. ly with him for thirty years, nev er spoke to him. We have heard him say -often that- he was never able to command the power of speech to his father, but experi enced no difficulty whatever in speaking to.- others in his father's presence. -. The brothir of Mr. Henry White,' John W. White, was for- twenty years the County Court Clerk of Warren County, and died just be fore the war at a ripe old age, without having taken a drink of water in his life. He was succeed ed in office by his son, William A. White, whose peculiar traits of character consist in his ability to pass through all the mutations of politics before, during and since the war and hold the same position, that of Probate Judge, which he will continue to hold till the day of his death if he desires it." Tam.-How beautiful is truth ! In this world where there is so much falsehood and deceit, where by hearts are estranged and recrim inations, assaults and crimes en gendered-how beautiful are the true thought, word and deed. Like the sun smiling out amid the angry storm-like the bright stars shining through the heavy night cloud-like friends clasping the hand of friend-like right rebutting wrong-like' the lance of virtue ring ing on the shield voice-like heav en upon earth, and God in man, is truth! Precious and priceless Dearer than smile of friend, love of parent or pomp or fame. By this we know the nature and value of things. Falsehood is a craven, a dastard. Truth is bold, noble, and God-given beyond every other attribute of the soul. -Men's lives should be like the day-more beautiful in the even ing ; or like the summer-aglow with promise; and like autumn rich with golden sheaves, where good deeds have ripened on the field. -An old convict's advice to his son : 'Never steal a horse my fboy, unless he is faster than any thm- horse in the neighbrhood.' THE OLD FOLKS AT HOME. There is always a liability, when sons and daughters have gone away from the home of their childhood and have foimed homes of their own, gradually to lose the old at tachments and cease to pay those at tentions to their parents which were so easy and natural in the olden-time. New associations, new thoughts, new cares, all come in, filling the mind and heart, and if special pains be not taken, they crowd out the old loves. This ought never to be. You should remember that the change is with you, and not with those you left behind. You have everything new, much that is at. tractive in the present, and bright in the future; their hearts cling to the past, they have most in memory. When you went away you knew not, and will never know till you experi ence it, what it cost them to give you up, nor what a vacancy you left behind. Theyhave not if you have, any loves to take the place of the old. Do not, then, heartlessly de prive them of what you still can give of attention and love. Visit your parents. If you live in the same place, let your step be perhaps daily a familiar one in the old home; if you are miles, yea many niles, away make it your business to go to them. In this matter do not regard time nor ex pense; the one is well spent and the other will be fully, yea a hun dred fold, repaid. When some day the word reachei you, fashed over the telegraph, that father or mother has gone, you will not think them much, those hours of travel, which last bore you to their side. Write to your parents. I have known father and mother wait with sick heart through weary months longing that some word might reach them from an absent son. They have watched the mails till in despair they have ceased to expect any more, and while they may not have the grief of a great bereavement, they have what is al most as bad, the bitter consciousness that they are not in mind enough even to call out a few poor lines from one whose infancy and early years they'watched with sleepless love. Sons are often guilty of this crime-I cannot call it less-from sheer neglect or indolence. While an hour, perhaps a few moments, would suffice to write a letter which would give unspeakable sat isfaction, they let mondhs and even years slip away in utter indifference to all the pain they are causing. Oh, how full is many a mother's heart of sorrow and foreboding, when just a few words from an ab sent son would fill it with joy and praise ! Such indifference or neglect is shameful and wicked. One need not wonder that sons guil ty of it are not prospered, that they wait in vain for those turns of for tune which will send them home, as they dream, to surprise the old neighborhood with their wealth. Their thoughtlessness has been productive only of disaster. Keep up your intercourse with father or mother ; do not deem i1 sufficient to write when something is to be told ; do not say, "No news is good news." If it be but a few lines, write them; write,- if it be only to send the salutation that says they are "dear," or the farewell that tells them that you are "affectionate" still. The little messengers shall be like caskets of jewels and the tears that-fall fond ly dyer them will be treasures for you. Say with a warm-hearted son: "The bills may tower, the waves may rise And roll between my home and me; Yet shall my quenchless memories Turn with undying love to thee." What word is that in the English language the first two letters of which signify a man, the first three a woman, the first four a great man, and the whole a great woman? Heroine. Inebriated gentleman who has fallen down stairs to another who offers to help him up: "Wharzeuse slobberin' round a fella?i I allms come down stairs that way !" It is fruition, and not possession, that rndes ns happy. ADVERTISINIC RATES. Advertisements inserted at the rate of $1.00 per square-one inch-for first iusertion, and 75c. for each subsequent insertion. Double column advertisements ten per cent on above. Notices of meetings, obibumiles and UribWes of respect, same rates per square as ordinsty advertisements. SP 'cal notices in local column 15 cents pernlne. Adverd1sments wot amw&ed wMh the num - ber of insertions will be -kept 1C Mil forbid and charged accordingly. Specia contract zu&de tihW. adver Users, with Ubed dddm oi abow rates jam JWiffra If Done with Neatness and Dispatch Terms Cash. GETTING SHfAVED AND'GET TING EVEN. "Next!I" shouted a barber, who had just finished a customer. Two persons at once srn trom the seats where they had been patiently waiting, and approached the knight of the latber, and-both looking ferociouily and inquiringly At each other. One of them was 'an blderly personage eidently from the country; the other a young sprig of city breed, whose -downi had just begun to indicate the slw. %nd uncertain approach of -beard. - ".Which of you next ?" asked the. barber. "I amn," said the youngechap.~ "No., you are not. -*W6 'both antered at the same time; aird, as I am the oldest I claim. the firAt ohance. Besides, I am in a.great hurry." "Ab, old party, I see you aze. from Lhe country, and of" cours 0. niot know the rules 'of' city sie y gov qrning such came as Atsaid tbd youth. "What isti&erule r