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lewis m. grist, Proprietor. ^n Jnkjjenbent Jarnitg Betas paper: |for tjje ||romotion of tjje political, Social, ^grienltnral anb Comntereial Interests of tjje jSonljj. T RM ?$2.50 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 27. YORKYILLE, S. O., THURSDAY, APRIL 28, 1881. NO. 17. ?hc ?cUcr. CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP. "Confound the hoy ! What does he mean \ Does he think I'm going to be a father tc * hira, and not be obeyed as a father ? Does he think I'm going to give him my money to spend iu business, and take only ingratitude in return ? What can the young dog be thinking of? Plague take the youngster ! What busiuess has he to go and fail in love with a poor piece of trash ! I'll?I'll fix him ! I'll?but here comes the rascal ! the spuruer of my counsels !" And as Captain Jerry Pieman thus spoke he sank into a great stuffed chair, and looked daggers ; and twice he stamped his dumpy foot vehemently to keep up his stern purpose. He was a round-billed, jolly-faced, red cheekpH Imohplor inst five-nnd-fortv. Most of his life he had spent at sea, and had lately settled down ashore with an immense fortune, for the purpose of enjoying the rest of his days "after his own heart," as he expressed it. His pate was just bald euough to carry hi3 jolly face high up over the brow, but yet he had a goodly quantity of dark curls clustering about his short, fat neck. The only near relative he had in the lower world was Jack Kendall, an only child of his only sister. Jerry Pieman had loved his sister fondly, and when she died?she was a widow then?she left a prayer upon record that her brother would care for her orphan boy. For ten years he had provided for his nephew, keeping bim at one of the best schools for awhile, and then paying his way through college. But now that he had settled down fora home, he had Jack to come and live with him. "Ah?you are here, are you ?" growled the uncle, looking up with a very dagger-like expression. Jack Kendall was twenty-three, somewhat taller thau his uncle, but with the same family look. He was a handsome, good natured, generous, affectionate fellow, and loved his uncle Jerry with his whole soul. "Yes, uncle?I'm here," he replied, taking a seat, "and I know you are glad to see me." "Aye?I am glad, for I have something to say to you," the bachelor resumed, looking some more daggers. "Have you seen that baggage again ?" "Baggage, uncle /" Baggage, sir. I said baggage. Have you seen her?" "Her, uncle? Baggage t?Her t Why? what do you mean ? ' "You kuow very well what I mean. I mean that piece of poverty?that hanger-on? that?that baggage?that?that gal 1" "Oh ! You mean Lizzie Brown. The girl that " "Thinks to catch you, and thus catch my money!" interrupted uncle Jerry, emphatically. "It is hardly fair to say that, uncle, seeing that I made all the advances myself." "Nonseuse ! Don't you suppose I know ? I say she set the trap for ye ! But I won't ? r / T J j i / . i x nave it i 11 1 ra 10 oe a rainer 10 ye, you must obey me. Now I've got a choice. I want ye to marry with Susan Garland." "But she's a widow, uncle." "So much the better. She'll know how to make a home for ye." "And^tie'g Older than T hy a dozen vears." "Just five years. She s only iwent^eigirr. It's all the better for that." "But' I cau'tlove her." "Can't love her !" cried the uncle, looking an immense number of very sharp-pointed daggers. "Can't love Susan Garland ! Can't love the woman who was the wife of the most faithful friend I ever had ! Let me tell you, sir, that when the old Gazelle was cast upon the rocks of Barnegat, Bill Garland saved iny life, and lost his own ! He died in these arms, sir ! We sat upon the cold wet rock6, sir! and the last words he ever said to me were, 'Be kind to my poor Susan !' And I will be kind to her !" the captain added, wipiug a big tear from his cheek. "I'll give her a husband?a?a?graceless husband, perhaps?but with money enough to keep her above want. You must marry her, sir," y "But suppose I should refuse." "Refuse! refuse your own uncle? You dare not do it, sir ! I'd turn you out of doors in an instant! I'd see you starve before I'd give you another penny ! I'd?I'd?take , away all I ever did give you !" "Ah?you couldu't do that, uncle. The education I have gained under your noble, generous patronage, is a mine of wealth of which you cannot rob me ! and I would not to day exchange it for all the wealth you ever possessed. I can live by my own wits." "Ah! You threaten me, do you ? You mean to rebel do you ? You mean to disobey me outright ?" "You do not undersold me, uncle. You surely would not force me to belie my own heart. If you could know Lizzie Brown it "Lizzie Fiddlestick !?I don't want to know, her.. I know Susan Garland, and that's enough. I've had my plan fixed ever since I stotvia Ka?v?o T nrnmtcn/1 r^ill T VI falro TP VUIIJV UV/liiVi JL pi UII1IOVU i^iii A. U VMUV vw? W of her?and I must do it?and how can I do it if you don't let me have her for a niece ?" "Why not have her for a wife? asked Jack, quietly. " Wife !?Me ! Why you young rascal, what do you mean? Me?marry! Zounds, do you think I'm crazy? I'm old enough to be her father !" "Only seventeen years, uncle. Just enough to give you a character as a husband." "Silence, villain ! Would you have me make a fool of myself just as I am settling down for comfort and quiet? Don't you never dare to lisp such a thing again. I shall go and see Susan to morrow, and I shall tell her that you will have her. That's enough. I won't hear any more! By the Big Fish ! but I'll keep my promise." Jack knew that it would be useless to say any more at present, so he held his peace. William Garland had been his uncle's first mate during his last two voyages, and the captain had not only liked him much, but he also thought much of Susan, having stop ped at her home while her husband was living. \Vrhen Captain Jerry came home with the care of the widow upon his shoulders, he had hit upon the happy expedient of making her a niece, by murriage, and thus having the right to care for her without exciting scandal. Jack knew how his uncle had cherished the plau, and he feared it would be hard to thwart him. The old fellow was as stubborn as he was kind hearted, and where he felt that he had authority he would not yield. Finally .lark retired to DOtlder UDOn the subject, and before dark he resolved to see the widow in advance ot his uncle; and he went that very evening. Susan Garland was a pretty woman, with a plump form, and a dimpled, cheerful face over which sweet, geuial smiles weie continu ally playing when she was happy. She had been alone two years. She welcomed Jack kindly, aud after some common-place remarks, the young man came to the point He related the conversation which had passed between himself aud uncle that afternoon and expressed the hope that she would hel[ him. "Surely you would not wish to take rn< from the being I love," he said. "Of course not," the widow replied, witl an earnest smile. "I should be decidedly op j posed to any such thing. I know Lizzie ! well, and I know, too, that she will make - you a good wife. You may depend upon my j assistance, for I can tell you I xcon't and that ' will be an end ou't.' ! They chatted a while longer, and then > Jack took his leave. , "He'll' be here to-morrow forenoon," the , young man said, as he reached the door-stone. "I shall be ready for him," was the reply; and a funny light twinkled in the widow's , eyes as she said 30. . About eleven o'clock the following day | Uncle Jerry called upon the widow. She j had left off her weeds, and now appeared as ! fresh and fair as a maid of sixteen. She welcomed the captain with one of her sweetest smiles, and fiually took a seat close by him. By a dexterous turn she got him engaged I ? 1-^; j?r*..! ri: i? * ju relating wouuenui eiuriea ui ma buvcuiuics at sea, and thus an hour slipped away. "O?no, I must go home to dinner," he saitl. "But before I go I have a little business matter to touch upon." "Then you n; st wait, sir," pronounced the widow, decisive y. "It is ray dinner hour, and I must prepare it. Wait, and eat with ineaud then I'll Jisten." And with this Susan drew out her table, and spread the ,aow-white cloth, and soon had the dishes in their places. Then she went away to the kitchen, and presently the captain heard the pots and kettles rattling, the meat sputtering, and a brisk, culinary racket going on generally. "Egad," the old fellow muttered to himself, "she's a splendid craft. What a clean build. If I had come across such a woman years, ago, I believe I should have made a fool of myself." In due time the dinner made its appearance, and the captain was invited to partake. "Now make yourelf at home," the widow said, with a charming smile ; "for I look upon you as one of the very dearest friends I have." "Egad 1 If she ain't a beauty 1" Uncle Jerry said to h;maelf, as he moved up to the table. The lamb chops were done as the captain had never seen them done before. So juicy? so rich?so delicately spiced?and so splendidly cooked. Aud then the little etceteras ; and the pies; and the cake; and the rich, golden coffee. But above all was he entranced by the bright smiles and the sparkling wit of his fair hostess. "Zounds!" he muttered, while she was J gone away with the dishes, "ain't she charm 1Qg\ Finnally the widow came and sat down by the captain's side upon the sofa. Her dimpled cheeks were all aglow ; her bright eyes sparkled with a beaming lustre; and over her pure white shoulder flowed a wavy, curling tress which trembled ever and anon, as though there were some strange emotion in the bosom beneath it. "Now, sir," she said, "I am ready to listen." "Well?well," Uncle Jerry managed to say, after a prodigious effort at clearing his throat, "you must pardon me if I come right to the poiDt." "Of course." "Theu here it is. You know I promised Bill?that is?Bill Garland?my old mate ; or I should sey, my young mate?that I would look after you?care for you. You Itmua tLoi "Yes sir," returned Susan, look. "I know Mat; and I have blessed you many times for your kindness to poor me. Alas! I don't know what I should have done, but for your geuerous bounty." "Tut, tut?don't talk so. How could I help being good to you ? "Ah ?but everybody don't have hearts like yours." The captain rather liked the compliment; and then it came from such an agreeable source, too. So he did not dispute it. But he made another prodigious effort to clear his throat, and then said? "I have tried to be good to you, Susau ; and I hope I have been ; but I can't do all I want to do for you at present. I am coming right to the point now." (Another clearing of the throat.) "You know you are a widow." cm _ j: i i zl one uiu kuuyy u. "And you know you are yet young and very beautiful." "Oh?No. Not beautiful; and, surely, not very young." "But you are not old, and?you are beautiful. Now this won't do. Scandal will reach you. I?ahem?am not so old myself but the shaft of scandal might reach me too." "You old?" uttered Susan, looking up reprovingly *md yet admiriugly. "Why?you are right in the very prime of manhood. A man at your age. and with your genial, happy disposition, has just reached the dawn of life at five-and-forty." Uncle Jerry rather liked this, so he did not contradict as he had at first a will to do. "Then, of course," he returned, applying | the compliment to his own purpose, "it is still | the more necessary that there should be a | new and a nearer relation between us. I ! love you too well to have a single breath of ' suspicion rest upon you. Should you object j to such a relation. The widow's long lashes drooped, and the dark tress 011 her bosom trembled more per1 ceptibly. "If it is your wish, sir, I should have no opposition to make," she said. "And you'll come and live with me?" I "Yes." "And we'll be as happy as kings ?" j "Oh! I should be very, very happy," i she whispered ; ind as she did so her head rested upon the captaiu's shoulder, and the bright tress fell upon his hand, with several tear jewels glit'. ring amid its curls. . "What a tit. e we'll have!" Uncle Jerry cried, winding his right arm around her plump form, and drawing her more closely to ! him. "When you are Jack's wife .we'll ." "Jack!" repeated Susan breaking from his embrace, and stnrting to her feet, "Jack's { wife !"' she uttered, dashing the tears from her eyes. "Why?bless me, yes." "And you meant for me to marry him /" "Lord bless me ! who should I mean ?" "And do you suppose I would marry with i a mere boy ? Are there not girls enough for ' the youngster ? Sir ! you mistake my love? i | if you think I could give my heart to your I I Iff i nepnew : 11 "But bless me! ahem?eh h-h-in !?Jack is?? i! "I know sir?I know him well. He is a fine youth?a worthy youth, and may be a [ noble man if he lives long enough. But I can say no more. I am sorry to disappoint i you. I am?am?deeply grateful for all . your kindness to me, and I will pray to God ; for his blessing upon you continually. But we had better part now. You have spoken i my doom ! Farewell!" ( "But?Susan! Here! Stop! Bless me!?." Susan did not stop, and Uncle Jerry found ; himself alone. He said, "Bless my soul!" I forty three times, and then left the house. ; All the way home lie muttered to himself; . and when he met Jack at the supper-table, he | was moody and silent. When lie went up to his chamber he commenced to mutter again ; ) and he kept on muttering and pondering until he fell asleep. Finally he began to ? dream. He dreamed that Susan Garland became his wife, and he held her to his bosom, i and wondered he could ever have thought of such a foolish thing as allowing Jack to i have her. But while he held her thus, wh i should appear in the nuptial chamber bu Bill Garland, pale and cold, with sea weei , | for hair, and dark, green moss for raiment j And the cadaverous presence said, "Give m ' my wife!" i The dreamer awoke with a sharp cry o : fear, and found the sunlight streaming inti ! his room. Pie arose, and sat down by tlx I window; and finally he said in a deep, fer 1 vent tone? "Thank God, Bill Garland hasn't conx back!" For three whole days Uncle Jerry wai like a newly converted sinner. He could noi eat?he could not read?he could not sleep and the burden of his remarks to Jack was? "Clear out, you rascal!" On the evening of the third day the cap"? . M 1 il tain made an extraordinary toueiie, anu men i went up to see Susan Garland. She wel corned him with a warm greeting, and finally, at his particular request, sat down by his side on the sofa, just as she sat before. "Susan," said he?he spoke bluntly, for his courage and determination had been duly brought up to the sticking-point before he started, "you said the other day that, you should be very, very happy to come and live with me. Did you mean that.you would be willing to become my wife?" There were a dozen tresses upon the white shoulder now, and they shook like aspens." "That's a curious question, sir," she replied. "But tell me plainly, did you mean that?" "If I mistook your meaning, sir, you have no right to questiou mine." "But?Lord bless mo! suppose I should ask you to be my wife ? Answer me that." I "You never did ask me, sir. "Then, by the car of old Neptune, I ask you now. Susan Garland?will you be my wife ?" "Jerry Plemau?I will." "What!" cried the captain, starting back, and gazing into her blushing, tear-wet face? "do you mean that you can love an old man like rae ? that you can love me always?" "You are not old ; and as for loving you, I have loved you for a long while; and if you take rae for a wife I'll love and bless you to ray dying hour." "Then come here. Come here, Susan. Come right here?and if ever I cease to love you, and cherish you, and be true to you? may?may?the sea-weed ghost come back." About ten minutes after this, Uncle Jerry made the following very sensible remark : "Why?bless my soul. We are acting like two fools." The widow only smiled, and said? "Two very happy ones?ain't we ?" And Jerry said? "Bless my soul?we are." * * * * On the following day, Jack happened to pass near the widow's house, and he dropped in. In a few moments he was the happiest fellow imaginable. "But said Susan, earnestly, "don't misunderstand me. I have loved your uncleloved him well and truly?and I believe he loved me, but dared not say so. Had it not been thus, I could not have done this. I would have helped you all the same by simply and flatly refusing you ; but I would not have toyed or trifled with him. He is a good man, jacfc?a good man." "So he is," replied Jack. AncLtW*? ""ftie youth lound his uucle in the library, with a book in his hand, said book being bottom-end up. He sat down and peeped wickedly out of the corners of his eyes, while a very ill manneredsmile kept playingaround the corners of his mouth. "What are you winking, and blinking, and squinting, and grinning at, you young dog?" asked the old captain, with tremendous ferocity. "I was thinking of a story I once read," returned Jack, quietly. "A story, eh ? What is it, you scapegrace?" "I'll tell you uncle," said the nephew, with the smile and the twinkle more wicked than ever. "It was a very funny thing?in fact, it is the funniest thing I ever heard of. A man once went to set a trap in which to catch a very respectable and honorable young friend of his. He had got the trap all nicely set, as he supposed, when What do you think ?" "When what, you graceless rascal ?" "Why, uncle, when the thing was all fixed, there was the funniest thing happened you ever heard of. Instead of catching his respectable, high minded young friend, the old fellow got nabbed himself. In fact?iie got caught in his own trap. Wasn't it " "Get out of ray house, you young scamp." "But uncle?wheu I come back mayn't I bring Lizzie with me to see, and participate in your new and deep felicity ?" "If you will be decent, you daring young villain, you may bring the queen of slatterns herself; but beware how you offend me. I can't bear everything?and I won't. I won't ...:*i. T?ii toi JJUL U[J Willi 11. 1 II J, 11 JUU UUb Ui doors, you ungrateful traitor." After this effervescence, Uncle Jerry's soul settled down to a clear, placid calm; and when Lizzie Brown finally appeared before him, he actually kissed her, and said she was just the girl for his rascally nephew. And in a few weeks thereafter, Uncle Jerry had a wedding party. He was married first, and then he sat down and saw Jack married. "There," said the happy old fellow, after the thiug was all over, as he approached his I nephew and handed him a paper: "There is something to make up for the loss you have sustained in letting me rob you of the best woman in the world." Jack opened the missive, and read it with i tears in his eyes, for it was a certified check [ for twenty-five thousand dollars, with a little i note attached, saying that, if he behaved ! himself, he might, at some future time, have I more. ; Some Cold Winters in Olden Time. Some people call this an "old fashioned Wiii; ter." Here is an accouut of 6ome genuine | old fashioned winters: In the year 401 the i Black Sea was entirely frozen over. In 763, ! not only the Black Sea but the Straits of i Dardanelles were frozen over, and the snow | in some places rose fifty feet high. In 1006, ! most of the travelers in Germany were frozen j to death in the roads. In 1134 the Po was fro| zen from Cremona to the sea and the trees were j split by the action of the frost with immense uoi3e. In 1237 the Danube was frozen to the bottom, and remained long in that state. In 1308 the crops failed in Scotland, and such a famine ensued that the poor were reduced tc feed on grass, and many perished miserably in the fields. In 1303 the wine distributed to the soldiers was cut with hatchets. The successive Winters of 1422 3-4 were uncom monly severe. In 1639, it was excessive!) : cold; most of the hollies were killed; and ' coaches drove across the river Thames, the : ice of which was eleven inches thick. It i 1709, occurred what was long called "the colt; ; fards Winter" when'the frost penetrated three into the earth. In 1716, booths were erec ted on the Thames. In 1809, and again ii 1812, the Winters were remarably cold. It 1814, there was a fair on the frozen Thames _ . B&y All the good things of this world are no further good to us than as they are of use and whatever we may heap up to give t< others we enjoy only so much as we can use and no more. J IWiscrlLwous f?adittg. ! THE VALUE OF A GOOD CHARACTER. Character is that assemblage of moral f qualities that are inwrought iuto the very 3 l warp and woof of one's nature and life, while g | reputation is a garment that public opinion . j enrobes one in, whether he likes the style of j it or not. Character is the product of our a | own agency. Reputation is the estimation in which we are held by those with whom we as 3 sociate. t Now, one of the chief advantages of a good character comes from the fact that a man's ' reputation largely reflects it. Men do not generally believe this. They think they can hide, for instance, a foul, leprous heart under , the garb of a polite and attractive manner ; that they can be crooked and perverse in I their intentions and Yet nass for verv eood , aud proper people; that they can form a reputation for purity and virtue, when their , imagination is a "sour mud swamp," as Carlyle would say, where all kinds of ugly, t loathsome desires and reptile thoughts hatch, craw], hiss and stio^-l that, in short, they can pass for fine-looking solid trees, when they are decayed and hollow from the top to the bottom. Never was there a greater delusion. No such masquerading of character ever was successfully played, nor ever can be. There never was a man that lived five years iu a community that was not generally appraised at all he was worth. A bad character pass itself off for a good one! As well might a foul stench try and pass itself off as a grateful perfume. A bad character will stain through all rosewood amiabilities, mahogauized manners, and show the vulgar weed. No one ever did or could "steal the livery of heaven to serve the devil in," but what it was soon discovered that the garment did not fit him or he did not know how to wear it naturally. Reputation, then, is the shadow of character, and the shadow cannot long impose upon any one unless it is the reflection of real aud substantial worthiness. And then, a good moral character is one that will always redeem a bad reputation. It will sometimes happen that men will get a bad reputation when they do not deserve it. There are few men who have driven their plans of business and ambition over the rough world and not got a little splashed-with mud. One glance at the stage horses and driver and you can tell the condition of the roads. So men will bear the marks of hard struggles they have had to encounter on their way to place and power. To some extent this is unavoidable. There is your stern, positive man, who possesses the pluck and grit, and indepen dence to hurl unpalatable facts and disagreeable truths through the subterfuges and duplicities of political platforms, and bigotry of the church and the tinseled shams of society. Think you be will have an easy time of it? Why, the whole kennel of pruderies, cheats and frauds will begin to bark and bite. Men will go deliberately to work to crush him under some deadfall of destruction and lies. The reader is very lucky, who in the world of labor, skill and invention has never met a rival that has tried to drive him over by BWflifftMtfife pniU&ling lhj8' ha! ???sht his track. ' "*-*nme.obstruction unon Who has never felt the lash of the scurrilous tongue? Who has never had his best motive's suspiciously scrutinized ? But you may settle it as a rule that no man's reputation can be.seriously hurt for a great length of time so long as his character is sound and good. A locomotive may run over it, but it will be as lithe and supple the next day as if nothing had happened. But if the character is bad the slightest jar may dash the reputation into a thousand atoms. A man who is enshrined in the conscious purity of his desire's, the rectitude of his acts and intentions, can never be badly wounded. Keen-edged lies and calumnies may make the blood fly from his reputation, and people who do not know his worth may think he will soon bleed to death, and marvel to see how quickly the wound heals. His character is healthy. A good character can never be seriously hurt. jNo man was ever hopelessly wrecked * * i J a - L ~ on social breakers Due wno aeserveu iu ue. A good character can swim the ocean in a storm, while a bad character, water logged and barnacled, would sink in the still waters of a harbor.? Watchman. I FILIBUSTERING. TIIE MODUS OPERANDI OF OBSTRUCTION IN THE SENATE. When a debate is once begun the brethren on both sides usually pitch in and get so wrought up against each other that at about 5 or 6 o'clock they'are glad wheu some one bethinks himself to make a motion to adjourn, and enough on both sides to vote for it to end one more troubled day. But supposing no debate is begun after the motion to go into executive session is lost, then because something must be before the Senate in the nature of Parliamentary business, and the vote cannot be at once repeated, another Democrat will get up the following game, which serves as an alternate motion : He will say, "Mr. President, as we have done so little to day, and as business of importance awaits our attention I move that wheu the Senate do adjourn it adjourn to meet at 9 o'clock to-morrow morning," (12 o'clock being the regular hour) "and on this I demand the yeas and nays." He doesn't mean it, no more than you and I mean to dye our hair pea green ; but it serves its purpose. Then another Democrat rises and solemnly says : "As that hour would be somewhat inconveniently early for many of the Senators, I move to amend the Senator's motion by substituting 10 o'clock for 9 o'clock, and on this amendment I demand the yeas and nays." Then a third Democrat rises and I says: "I move to amend the amendment offered by the Senator who just rose, by substituting the hour of 11 o'clock for 10 o'clock, j and on this amendment I demand the yeas i and uays." Then the .Vice-President has to j put the amendments to vote, beginniug with j the last; the 79 names are leisurely called, | various Scuators rising to explain that they are naired. This is the formula: "1 desire j to say that I am paired on all questions with , the Senator from (naming the State.) ( If he were here he would vote aye and I ,' should vote no" (or vice versa.) If a Senator I is away when his name is called, his colleague t; (the other Senator from his State) will often , I make the explanation for him. The roll-call -1 being finished, a posse of delinquent Senators I will straggle in from the cloak rooms, where . | they go to talk, or to smoke, or to talk over .! private matters ; and they will raise their - ; hands, denoting that they have not yet voted. | ! The Vice President recognizes them by this > J announcement of each : "The Senator from i j " (naming his State). The Clerk then | ; calls his name from the roll, and he votes still ; j standing ; then, turning his heel goes hack to . i the cloak room or wherever he lists. In this ! i delightful pastime twenty-five or thirty min1 utes may easily be consumed. This disposes of only one amendment. The next is then taken up in the same way, then the original 2 motion, all of which are lost, as it was known ; they would be. That brings the business back ) to a point where it is in parliamentary order i, for some other Senator to make a fresh motion to go into the consideration of executive fa \ business, which is also lost, and thus the game goes on. Here is the "true inwardness" of dilatory motions or "fillibustering," and this state of things is called a "deadlock." I have once seen the House of Representatives in continuous session for three days and two nights, in just such a dead lock, taking a recess of not more than an hour and a half at a time. A great crisis justifies this sort of thing, but no ordinary crisis does. This may after all be a great crisis, for it is deciding the right of the majority to the rule; and also it is meeting boldly the tactics which the Democratic side will be likely to n/lnnf nawf IVinfor A ffor or* oll.ninrltf coo. WUVJ/U IILAll M 1UIV1? ilitvi l*U Ull tngli V uvo sion of the sort, the bits of torn paper will lie on the floor as thick as Autumn leaves in a grove, so serious and restless do the multi tude of idle hands become. It is exceedingly wearisome also for the galleries ; but it is in the midst of just such deadlocks that a spurt of fiery debate that blazes all over the country is liable to arise. It is only within four years past that this sort of tactics has crept into the Senate. Of course, when there is a large majority of either party it cannot occur. It is these nearly evenly divided houses that make tedious and ineffective sessions. OUR TIMES AND OLD TIMES. When my mother was going to get a new dress, or gown as it was called then, sixty years ago, the woman that was engaged to come to the house to cut aud make it told her she was so tall aud large she must get six yards for it. Five yards was a common pat tern, and fifty cents for cutting and making and a dinner found. What a change from that day to this! The cloth cost one dollar and the making fifty cents, and the dress was worn to meeting. The fashion and pay of the preachers has changed. The first Methodist preacher in our town got $100 for one year's salary, and if he had a present of a pair of | socks he must report it. The second preacher had* a wife and got $150. The third preacher had a wife and three children, and $35 was added for each child, Bishop Hed ding in our time got less than $75 a year. Also Priest Clough and Lorenzo Dow, less than either. Our old Methodist preachers worked for a living and for God instead of for reputation and a salary. I was thinking about the fashions in domestic affairs, say music, fifty-five years ago. Governor Trask and I met at Monson for Thanksgiving with the family where he got his wife?at old Uncle Saul Squires', uncle to us both. Their house music was, for treble, the flax spinning wheel, played or run by one or me gins ; ior tne renor me large spinning wheel, played by another girl; for bass, the old lady whacking away at the old loom, all working to make their music profitable and healthy. The fashion of those days was to have a good, healthy family of from eight to ten children all learnt to work for a living. What a change ! Instead of a good healthy family now, all up in the morning early to work, we see from one to three little pimping children, with a sickly mother not able to take care of two a9 easily as our mothers would ten, fifty years ago, without a hired girl. The children now must be in fashionlie in bed until eight or nine in the morning, no appetite, little vitality. They play on some kind of instrument, and go to school to be crowded with more kinds of lessons than our old school teachers ever knew. But this is the fashion and pretended improvement of this age. thesetagsas" fTfObTT tta rfiar'wkitfi* economy and morality are>not improved by getting high wages or a fashionable education. This generation will spend what its fathers have earned. Generally it is watching the pulse of the man who has property, longing for the time to come when it will come in possession of what it has not earned. It is a known fact that the rising generation are spendthrifts. In my travels in different Si otno T aoa mu 11 v nlil hnrd-wnrkinc men come to want in their old age by their children, to whom they have given up their property, who produce nothing, but consume what others have produced. Old men, keep the key of your corn crib in your own hands while you live! What would this educated generation do for a living if they were thrown back upon their own economy as their fathers were sixty years ago ? or where many now live in new sections of the country by tilling the land?the work God desired man to do? I think the time is near when many of the loose, loafing aud tramping class will fall back to tilling the laud or starve?or steal, which is getting so fashionable in many places. What a great change in this respect in sixty years! About one-half of the population have to support the other halt by tilling the land, for there is no intrinsic value, except what comes by digging in the earth.?Letter to Springfield, Republican. CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES. If General Barnes was not possessed of very superior legal attainments, yet as a lawyer, he had the happy faculty of impressing his clients that justice and law were with them in all cases. A rough countryman walked into his office one day and began his application: "General Barnes, I have come to get your advice in a case that is giving me some trouble." "What is the matter?" "Suppose, now," said the client, "that a man had one spring of water on his land, and his neighbor living below him was to build a dam across a creek running through both their farms, and it was to back the water up into the other man's spring, what ought to be done?" "Sue him, sir?sue him by all meaus," said the General, who always became excited in proportion to the aggravation of his clients. "You can recover heavy damages, sir, and the law will make him pay well for it. Just give me the case, and I'll bring the money from him ; and if he hasn't a great deal of property it will break him up, sir." "But stop, General 1" cried the terrified applicant for legal advice, "it's me that built the dam, and it's neighbor Jones that owns the spring, and he has threatened to sue me." < IJ . I he Keen lawyer nesuaieu u muiucuiuciun; he tacked his ship, and kept on? "Ah! Well, sir, you say you built a dam across the creek. NVhaJ sort of a dam was that, sir ?" "It was a mill dam." "Mill-dam for grinding grain, was it?" asked the General. "Yes, it was just that." "And it's a good neighborhood mill, is it not?a public convenience ?" "So it is, sir ; and you may well say so." "And all your neighbors bring their grain there to be ground, do they?" "Yes, sir, all but Jones." "Then, it is a great public convenienceis it not, sir ?" "To be sure it is. I would not have had it built but for that. It's so far to any other mill, sir." "And now," said the old lawyer, "you tell me that that man Jones is complaining just because water from your dam happens to put back-into his little spring, and he is threatening to sue you. Well, all I have to say is, let him sue, and he'll rue the day he ever thought of it, as sure as my name is Barnes." County Newspapers?The following sensible article is from the Cincinnati Trade-List : A gentleman writes to us that his county paper is so poor that he has stopped it; therefore sends us three dollars for the Trade-List. We repeat that W9 do not want subscribers on such terms. A man's county paper is worth more to him than all the papers in the world; if it is not, it is his fault. If the county paper is properly encouraged, it may be relied upon for information of mora value to the people in whose interest it is issued than can be found in all city papers of the United States. No man can afford to be without the paper that publishes the official advertisements qf his county, the public sales, markets, court-news, and other local intelligence. If the paper is poor, the people are more at fault than the publishers for not giving it a liberal patronage. However poor the county paper may be, it is always worth more than it costs to those interested in the affairs of the county. REMARKABLE THING* Brooklyn, April 15.?A cat owned by Thomas Leonard, a south Brooklyn mason, and winch is now sitting upon a nest or eggs, on Thursday afternoon hatched out two chickens, making the twenty-first brood that she has hatched. The cat is a brindle, and is about three years old. She had one litter of kittens before she began to hatch chickens, but since she has usurped the place of a hen she has refused the company of all other cats. About two years ago the cat, which is christened Tibby found a warm resting place in the nest of a sitting hen, when the hen had gone to hunt food, and became so fond of it that it refused to surrender it. There was a fight when the hen returned, and the cat was the victor, the heu retiring from the contest with oue eye scratched out. The cat warmed the eggs every day, faithfully leaving the nest only for a meal, and soon hatched out the chickens. From all of the twenty broods, numbering about fifty chickens the cat has raised about twenty-one. The maternal care the animal exhibited for the chickens was a constant surprise. She followed with her eyes the movements of every chick, and when it strayed too far she stepped softly after it, picked it up by the back of the i neck and returned it to the company of the others. In her frolics she turned upon her back, took a chicken between her paws and played with it. As soon as one brood of chickens was born she seemed restless until a new nest of eggs was provided for her. At the same time she kept an eye upon the last brood, which she warmed beneath her fur at night in the same nest with the eggs. The chickens recognized the cat as their mother, and when she left the cage in which she was kept they ran chirping after her. The cat defended them against another cat, and especially against a hen. Her grown-up chickens Tibby never failed to recognize, and the memory of their feline mother, did not seem to desert the pullets. She played with one of her chickens until it was three or four months old and always seemed to welcome it when it came where she was kept. In the hatching process she seems morose until she hears the first peep or feels the throb of life in the shell. Then she draws the quickened egg to a point in the nest where she can both warm and set, and if the chick in pecking its way thfough the shell needs any assistance she helps break its covering with her teeth. She has now two chicks a day old and two that are about a week old. She hugs them about her in her nest and if one hops out she steps after it, bears it down with her foot, grasps its neck between her teeth and carries it gently back. The cat has been the source of considerable income to Leonard. It is noif? ?>n .ArJi)Ksiion.Jfu/s^miin/u)m. __ WANTED, AN HONEST, INDUSTRIOUS BOY. Young man?we mean you, particularly, who are now reading these lines?have you, ever investigated the real import and true meaning of the expression at the head of this article ? You have, no doubt, often seen the exact words a hundred times repeated in our daily papers, but have you derived that impressive moral lesson which it is intended to convey ? And you, too, of a larger growth than mere boys, have you the requisite qualifications to answer it honestly and truly ? If not?remember it is the language of another ; that an honest, industrious boy is always wanted. He will be sought for; his services will be demanded ; he will be respected and loved ; he will be spoken of in terms of high commendation; be will always have a home ; he will grow up to be a man of known worth and estaDiisnea cnaracter. He will be wanted. The merchant will want hirn for a salesman or clerk ; the mast ter mechanic will want him for an apprentice or journeyman ; those with a job to let will want him for a contractor ; clients will want him for a lawyer; patients for a physician ; religious congregations for a pastor ; parents for a teacher of their children ; and the people for an officer. He will be wanted. Townsmen will want him as a citizen ; acquaintances as a neighbor; neighbors as a friend; families as a visitor; the world as an acquaintance ; nay, girls will want him as a beau, and finally for a husband. An honest, industrious boy! Just think of it, boyB, will you answer this description ? Can you apply for this situation ?? Are you sure that you will be wauted ? You may be smart and active, but that does not fill the requisition, are you honest t You may be capable?are you industrious f You may be well dressed and create a favorable impression at first sight?are you both honest aud industrious ? You may apply for a good situation?are you sure that your friends, teachers, acquaintances, can recommend you for these qualities ? 0, how would you feel, your character not being thus established, on hearing the word "can't employ you." Nothing else would make up for the lack of these qualities. No readiness or aptness for business will do it. You must be honest and industrious?must work and labor. The "Year Without a Summer."?We continue to receive occasional inquiries concerning the "year in which there was no summer." Some persons appear to have a wrong idea as to the time. It was the year 1816. It has been called the "year without a summer," for there was a sharp frost in every month. There are old farmers living in Connecticut who remember it well, it was known as tne "year without a summer." The farmers used to refer to it as "eighteen hundred and starve to death." January was mild, as was also February, with the exception of a few days. The greater part of March was cold and boisterous. April opened warm, but grew colder as it advanced, ending with snow and ice and winter cold. In May, ice formed half an inch thick, buds and dowers were frozen and corn killed. Frost, ice and snow were common in June. Almost every green thing was killed and the fruit was nearly all destroyed. Snow fell to the depth of three inches iu New York and Massachusetts, and ten inches in Maine. July was accompanied with frost and ice. On the fifth ice was formed to the thickness of a window glass in New York, New England and Pennsylvania, and com was nearly all destroyed in certain sections. In August ice formed half an inch thick. A cold northern wind prevailed nearly all summer. Corn was frozen so that a great deal was cut down and dried for fodder. Very little ripened in New England, even here in Connecticut, and scarcely any even in the Middle states. Farmers were obliged to pay 84 or $5 a bushel for corn of 1815 for seed for the next spring's planting. The first two weeks of September were mild, the rest i of the month was cold, with frost, and ice i formed a quarter of an inch thick. October > was more than usually, cold, with frost and ice. November was cold and blustering, with snow enough for good sleighing. December wa3 quite mild and comfortable.? Hartford Times. WILL EDUCATION*YIELD SUBSISTENCE ? An education, yes; but what sort of an education? A bricklayer's education, an artisan's, will, indeed help him to earn a living. A college education would give him a social advantage, but it would not, in itself, increase his chance of earning a living; it would rather diminish it. For, as was pointed out in an interesting paper lately published, our colleges do not, like the French and German universities, instruct a young man in the bread-winning pursuits: the American colleges are, on the contrary, institutions for general culture. The point for us to note is that the educated young American has not a special education as a bread winner, and is worse off, as to his money prospects, than the young American who has no college education at all. Dig he cannot, and to beg he is ashamed. Two of the professions, at least, are overcrowded. The United States, with a population not greatly larger than that of the German Empire, graduates every year five times as many physicians; for the German Empire limits the number of its doctors, and we do not limit that of ours. Very many of our physicians not only wait for years for practice, but never get into practice at all. It is much the same with the profession of law. In both4profeasions there are prizes for a few, and failures, more or less complete for the many. The engineering, mining and other scientific professions offer a somewhat better chance, and public life, almost neglected as a profession, will attract a better class of young men from year to year. But upon none of these, save io favored exceptional .cases, as where a son succeeds to his father's practice, can a young man depend for fortune, or even immediate support. They, too, offer a certain dignity. But as a rule it is the laborer, artisan, or tradesman that has the better chance of supporting himself; it is the educated man that has, more frequently, to wait before ho can pay his.way. "Two Tollar !"?There was a slight blaze on the roof of a house on Russell street a few days ago, and when the insurance adjusters went up to make their survey they found that about two dollars would cover all the losses. "Two tollar," exclaimed the owner, when he heard the decision?"I can't take no two tollar." "But you see for yourself that a dozen shingles and an hour's work will make good all damages." "Gentlemens, you doan' put me off like dot Vhen my vhife finds dot we vhaa on fire she screams boleece and murder und falls down sthairs. Would you let your vmie ian uown sthairs for dot sum ? If sol goes home mit you nnd sees de fun." "We do not insure husbands and wives, but buildings," was the reply. "I know, but mein oldest poy he runs for der fire-box und falls a picket-fence oafer und breaks his good clothes all to pieces. Two doller I Dot doan' bay me for goming op here." "Yes, but we can only pay for actual damamZ' : vhen my house vbas on fire ? Dot dog ish gone, und he vbas ten dollars wort." "We didn't iosurelhe dog." "Und maybe you don't insure dem poys who sot on der fence and called out: 'Dot ole Dutchman's red nose has set his house on fire !' Do you expect I take such sass like dot for two dollar ? Und vhen der firemens ? i i- ?-t-i.1? i:__ J come here cey Dreaa mem ciutues-iiue uvwu mit der ladder?, und dey spill wasser all oafer my carpets. Two dollar 1 Vhell! vbell, you go right aw hay from here, und I takes dot ole insurance bolicy und steps him into der mudt 1" Cadet Whitaker's Case.?The investigation of the case of Cadet Whitaker has been proceeding for several weeks, and up to the present time has cost the Government $100,000. Whitaker was on the witness stanJ the other day. There has been a sharpness in some of his replies to the questions put to him on the cross-examination by the judge advocate, that shows that he is not only not deficient in intellect, but that he has quite a talent for repartee. Witness the following : "Judge-Advocate?You are a candidate for a commission in the army, are you not? A.?Yes, sir. "Judge-Advocate?Don't you think that courage is a necessary requisite for an army officer? A.?Yes, sir. "Judge-Advocate?Wasn't it your duty to submit to the threat of death rather than submit to such an outrage, in view of your candidacy ? A.?No, sir; because death would have ended my candidacy." [Loud laughter.] A little later Whitaker declared, in answer to another question, that he was "not found deficient by the examining board, but was pronounced deficient." "Then why did the board pronounce you deficient if you were. . not ?" "To get rid of me and the case," was the keen, quick reply. He is adroit too. When the questions appeared to have a damaging effect he answered evasively. He did not remember; he could not say; he could not answer a question, &c. During the course of his cross-examination he showed not only weariness, but adroitness, some sauciness and occasionally wit. Chickens Luxuriously Raised.?W. C. ? - - ^ **r t *t._ i 1. Baker, of Urossweii, in. j., is me largest amucial poultry raiser iu the world, and after spending $80,000 in experimenting and getting established, now has a gross income of $80,000 a year, and raised 250,000 young chickens during 1880. He is enlarging his accommodations to keep 3,500 laying hens of the best varieties, but still has to buy eggs. Both hens and chicks are housed and fed in luxurious systematic style, the hatching being done in two incubating chambers, cape.ble of holding 80,000 eggs each, in tiers of shallow drawers, where they are warmed by gas made on the place, and turned daily by women in attendance. The young chick is taken to the breeding house some hours after it is hatched, where it is kept till three weeks old, and creeps under a hen mother of hollow zinc filled with hot water, and lined on the outer side with blanketing. After three weeks the lusty young fowl is put among the laying hens or in the oramming house, where each one is confined in a small box and stuffed for two or three weeks till ready for market.? Dutchess Farmer, Whom to Marry.?When a young woman behaves to her parents in a manner particularly tender, and respectful, from principle as well as nature, there is nothing goojl and gentle that may not be expected from her in whatever condition she may be placed. Were I to advise a friend as to his choice of a wife, my first counsel would be, "look out for one distinguished for her attention and sweetness to hex parents." The fund of worth and affection indicated by such behavior, joined by the habits of duty and consideration thereby contracted, being transferred to the married state, will not fail to render her a mild and obliging companion.