Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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. r ':v; ^ ^ ? A RESOLVE. As the dead year is clasped by a dead Decom? bcr, So let your dead sins with -your dead days lie. ' A now life in yours, and a new hope ? Rom ember We build our own ladders to climb to tho sky. Stand out in the sunlight of promise, forgetting Whatever vour mst linlil of snrmw or wrong; We waste half our strength in a usolesa regretting; Wo Bit by old tombs in the dark too long. Havo yon missed in your aim ? well, tho mark is still shining;. Did you faint in tho race ? well, take breath for the next. Did the clouds drive you back? but Bee yonder their linlug. ? Wtfro yoii tempted and fell? let it servo for a text. Ab each year hurries by 1st it join that procession Of skeleton shapes that march down to the past, While you tako your place in tho line of progression, With your oyea ou tho lieavcnB, your face to tho blast. I toll you the future can hold no terrors For any sad bohI while the stars revolve, If he -rvill but stand firm on the grave of his errors And instead or regretting, resolve, resoloe! It is never too late to begin rebuilding, Though all into ruiiiB your life Beoms hurled. For look ! how tho light of the new year is gilding Tho worn, wan face of the bruised old world ! Ella Wheeler Wilcox, GRANDMA DREW BY M. AKTJIUU. "Grandma Drew, besides being a grandmother to many by relationship, was, from her widespread kindness to everybody and everything, also by courtesy grandma to many more. Grandma, as was her custom, was sitting by her window carly this spring morning,. watching the sun climb high enough to peep into the chambers of later risers to make them uneasy in their sleep, and finally rouse them to the fact that a new da)r was beginning to break on them. She was noticing the dew-ladened leaves ?wet, so wet?waiting for their share of warmth and light from the sun. She noted a poor family opposite waking to life and labor. She wished she was strong and active once more, so that she might help the poor, sickly little woman with her two big babies and cnoug'. work to make a strong man wilt under the load. "I have grown so helpless, so useless, that I wonder the Lord leaves me here iu bumuui me cm ui itiiy muru," inougnt Grandma Drew, with a sigh; 4,I only need attention and care, for which I can make no return. I wish the time had come to take such a useless person to rest." Then she suddenly sat up with a smile on her sweet old face and looked more cheerful, for she knew some one was coming in, and if she could do nothing to help in this great, busy world, she would, at any rate, cast no cloud over those who might. As the day went on, and the family became active, many heads peeped in the door with a greeting, "Good-morning, Grandma," aud the hearty, cheerful response she gave sent away the comers with some reilcetcd sunshine from the dear, bright old face and the kindly voice, which had helped them through many tasks that might else have proved wearisome and long. rr*\ r\ i ^ ' ? i uuii urauuum settled to lier knitting. "Thank the good Lord, T can still use ray hands. 1 must try to make something pretty for Clare's new home." And at that minute there was Clare herself at the door?not the blithe, happy, smiling girl of yesterday, but one upon whose young shoulders a world of woe seemed to be fastened. "Grandma," said Clare, in alow, desponding voice, "may I come in?" "Of course 3*011 may conie in, my dearie, and just as welcome will you be as birds in spring time." "But?but?I don't like, to bring trouble to you, Grandma, dear but I can t keep it all to myself." "My darling, what is the matter?" said Grandma, in a low, soothing voice; and she took Clare's hand. "O Grandma! I am just the most unhappy girl in all the world," sighed Clare. "Why, you dear child! and only yesterday you told me that this part of the earth did not contain one half so happy as yourself." "But that was yesterday," says Clare, wearily; "then I felt so sure Tom loved me, but ho don't: he is tired of me--he is very tired of me." "To be trill with." sav? fimnilmn vnrv C_J 7 J ~ " "" *"J quietly, but positively, "I feel sure that "is a great mistake." "I wish I was ns sure," says Clare, sobbing as if her heart would break; "but it is no mistake, Grandma; it is j\ist a hard, ugly, stubborn fact." 'Now, lookup at me, Clare; let me see your ftice; j*ou thought all was right when you and Tom were up here yesterday afternoon?'' "Oh! yes, I did then, and I_was so? so happy," sighs Clare. "Then tell me, dear, clearly, where did you find the 'little rift' that is spoiling all your music?" "I will!" says Clare, bracing herself Tin to tell ihe un^nm'oitiiblfi fnotn X ,. -1 VI* see, I w?s very anxiovsto go to Minnie's last niijht?not that I '7a.< ho eager to seo Minnie, but it is such 1 nice, long -walk tn her house, and I wa? thinking what a delicious chance it w?s for u good chat with Tom. Well! I proposed . it, never thinking he would not be delighted to go, and?and do you ki^ow, Tom wouldn't go?just wouldn't?" Did he say I xoonH?" asked Grandma. "No," said Clare, "worse than that ? much, much woise." "Well, let me judge, dear, for it will take a great deal to make me change my opinion of your good Tom." "He ia not mine, and I don't believe # - he is so very good, either," sobbed Clare. "This is what he did: first ho was going to say something, nnd then ho got red and stopped; then lie said he thought it might ram, and then in a minute he added that he hadn't time." "And what did you do, Clare?" "Do? Grandma. What could I do but get angry?ever so angry? No time! What a reason to give me! and as for rain, it irasnt going to rain!" "And Tom, dear, what did he say?" 'He tried to make it smooth, and said he had something to tell me, but I was too proud to listen to any more miserable excuses. I said, 'if he had no time to go with me, I had none to listen to stupid stories.' I said stupid, Grandma, and I meant it, and I left the room and banged the door, to hide how very wretched I was, for don't you see plainly, clearly, he is getting tired of me, if lie has learned to make so mueli better use of his evenings?" "No, I don't quite sec it," said Grandma, nnd she smiled. "Oh! don't laugh at my sorrow," said Clare, indignantly; "I did hot believe that of you, Grandma." Grandma smiled again and said: "Shall I tell you what I am smiling about?" "Yes," answered Clare, "but it won't make me smile. I think I shall never smile again." "Oh! yes, you will," says Grandma, "and just as soon as you hear what I have to tell you." dure looked incredulous. "But go on," she said. "I)o you know where Tom spent last evening? Come here, and I will show you," said Grandma, pointing to the little house opposite; "he spent it there, rocking one baby in the cradle and amusing the other with a picture-book. I saw him as I sat here, and I wondered at his pat cncc and goodness; don't you suppose it was something of a sacrifice to him?" "O Grandma!" savs Clare, los*" in as- , tonisliment. "you don't mean i* ?" "Yes, I do; and he went ?"j re to let the poor, sick little mother get a breath of fresh air with her husband while he played the nurse." Tears glistened in Clare's eyes as she exclaimed: "Why didn't that angel tell me where he was going?" "Because," said Grandma, "you wouldn't let him; yesterday afternoon he said something about necessary charity, and you replied in some remarks about 'mawkish hypocrisy' that evideixly hurt him, and when he tried to speak again last night some one banged the door." Clara buries her sunny head in Grandma's lap and murmurs: "If it had not been for my wicked, unfeeling behavior, I believe I would die of happiness." Grandma Drew smiled often to herself that day when she heard Clare singing; it seemed so good to be able to turn tears into songs?if she eonhl do little else. She was just turning the heel in her stocking when Willy thrust his curly head in at the door. "0 Grandma! I have something I must tell some one. I shall die if I don't." "Well, come in, my boy,"said Grandma cheerfully, "and tell it to me." "But it's something so bad, and I did it," says doleful Willie. "Very, ecn/ bad?" asks Grandma. "Yes, it was," said Willie, coining in softly and closing the door, 'Some of the worst boys in tlie school got up the plan, and I knew they were bad boys, too; mother had told me not to make companions of them; yet I let them draw me in; they said it was niicft j'itii!" "Come closer to me; tell me all about it," said Grandma Drew. "The boys called it 'hazing,' and said that young men in colleges always did it, and when 1 iirst heard it I thought it mm funny, but I don't now. I am sure it was cruel." "But I don't know-?" said Grandma. "Oh! no. It was Max Holstene. They said 'He is just a Dutch fellow, and we will duel' liim in A innrin.ni luolnro * naturalize him,' ami tliey laughed so." "Did you do it, dear?" asked Grandma. 4'Yes, we caught him and ran him down to the pond, and said we would keep him in the water till he asked for mercy; and lie was too pfloud and wouldnot, till we got scared to see how white he was and how he shivered, and Grandma, he is too sick to be in school to day. and oh! suppose he should die'" and Willie looked pale and troubled. "It in sad, my boy; I did not think my "Willie could do such a thing;" and the sweet old face had a look of grief which Willie long remcmoercd. "But you arc sorry enough now, I am sure, ana you can only do all in your power to mnke atonement. I hope he is not so very ill. You must go to his house and bcc if there is no way to do something for him. Beg his pardon and his mother's, and ask them to let you show how sorry you are; perhaps he may need some companionship while he is not able to play as usual. I know thev are poor and not able to command much service, so he may bo left quite alone, or you may be able to do some errands that Max is used to do on Sundays." "O Grandma! if I only can T will be so glad," said Willie; "I will go at once;" and he did. Max was able to sit up and be amused; and all that long, bright holiday Willie spent waring on the boy he had injured; and in days that came after they were friends and forgot the trouble that brought them first together. But at the end of this day Willie ran up, bright and glad, to say: "Max is so much better, and you are just a brick. I never would have gone there but for you. Grandma, what would we all do without you!" Again a step caine on the stairs, and .1 wiaiiuuia o . aim y j uppuurciij tired and ??d. "I have come up, m*ther, to try to get a minute's rest, for I am just worn out, mind and body." "Why, what is the matter, Mary?" "Oh! men are* such dreadful selfish, inconsiderate creatures," burst out Mary, without any preamble. ' All but Robert," smiles Grandma. "It was just Robert I was thinking of," tired Mary says; "you see, mo.thcr, he knowa it's washing day, or he ought to?I tell him often enough?and he knows I was up with baby last night and am so worn out, and he knows cook's temper, too; and, in spite of all, he has sent a cheerful note (chcerful, mother) to say he will bring homo two friends to supper. What am I to do? all fast week's stockings were in my lap when that cheerful note came." , "I am glad that is all," says Grandma, softly. "Why, Mary, don't fret away your strength; keep it to welcome Robert's friends; he lias so few and he works so hard, my dear." 4,I know it; but O mother I lie might have selected a better time; cook will be in such a state at extra work on Monday afternoon." "Why need cook have so much extra 1 work?" asks Grandma. 1 "Why, I can't treat Robert's friends to our usual Monday supper. I am a better wife than that.'''' I 1 "But Robert would prefer a smiling i hostess to a tuble loaded with dainties, I am quite sure." After a pause Mary said: "I will try to give him both, but I am 1 tired, mother." 'Let me see if I can help to mend matters; to begin, I can darn the stock- 1 ings while you take a little nap." "Oh! but I haven't time for it." 1 "Listen, and let. us see if we can't 1 manage it. Ask Clare to set the table ' with the best china you have: with her 1 taste and a few flowers it will look like | 1 a holiday feast. Let Willie pick strawberries from the garden, and with <;ood 1 cream these friends of Robert's will for- ' get to be critical. I can make some salad dressing here, and after you have had that nap you can give your whole ' mind to preparing one nice, hot, delicate dish. Cook will be so pleased at her small portion, she will be sure to have the rolls and coffee as perfect as she can." "O mother! thank you; what would I do without you?" exclaimed Mary, as , she rose to go, comfortcd. ! As .Grand ma Drew was thinking of "drawing the drapery of her couch" about her that night, Willie rushed in with "Grandma 1 do love you," and a . hearty kiss. A little later Clare stopped in, hat and cloak on, to take that walk with Tom. She drew the old facedown, and whispered, softlv. "Indeed. I am a happy girl, and it ia all your doing. Grandma." (Juitc late Mary cnmc, her face all radiant. "Just one minute, t mother, to tell you how delighted Robert was. lie said the supper was delicious, and my smiling face as young as Clare's. You good mother?to make me look so." And Grandma Drew, as sho closed her eyes, prayed a silent prayer to the Lord to let her live yet a little longer, for she had found out that all her work was not yet finished.?Arthur's Home Magazine. RUSSIAN COURTSHIP. A Wife Hind If Hop llunbaml Docs Not Whip Her. Mine. "Ilenri Greville," now visiting this country, thus describes courtship and marriage among Russian villagers : "For the first two or three days after the wedding in Russia things co on very well; that is, while the families are exchanging their visits. After that the husband beats his wife; and if lie does not beat her, she thinks it is because he does not love her. Heating is the mark of a proper jealousy. Among the wealthier Russians the mothers on Trinity Pay dress their marriageable aaugntcrs very handsomely, and take them to a city garden, something like Boston Common. The silk dresses of the girls are unlike anything you ever saw here. They are pink, yellow, or sky-blue, with huge flowers of contrast ing colors. The girls are as still as sugar loaves in them. The mothers and daughters seat themselves on benches in the gardens, and all the young men who want wives parade before them. The girls never look at the men. They sit until live o'clock without saying a word. Then they go home and wait. In two or three days, or perhaps a week, an old woman appears. She asks for the mother, and begins to talk to her about everything in the world except the marriageable daughter. She is the matchmaker. It would be highly improper for the young man or his family to appear in the matter. At "length she says : 'You have a turtle dove, and I also have a turtle dove." After a little parrying she comes to the point. "Why should not my pigeon marry your u pigeon V The mother demurs, and says her daughter is too young. "Why did you take her to market, then It is soon arranged after this. The match-maker sets forth the present and propective ad vantages of the match. The girl is summoned and informed that in two or three weeks she will marry the young man. She must not look very much pleased if she likes the match, and she must look somewhat as if she did not like it. She can not refuse. The yonng man comes to a family tea party; perhaps to two. Then his friends return the civility. They see nothing of each other beyond this." A Russian Story. Society at St. Petersburg is just now much occupied with the revival of a very curious story. About three years ago there* was a spiritualistic seance at the Officers' Club in that city, at which the spirit of a famous departed general was called up, and prophesied among other things that there would be a great war in 1880, in which Russia would take the leading part. As the ghost of the deceased warrior mentioned among the names of officers who would gr?atly distinguish themselves in the war those of some men who did not even figure in the army list, the affair was looked upon as a joke and nothing more was thought of it. But, by a strange coincidence, among recent appointments to the ranks of commissioned officers the very names apSear which the spirit had foretold, the carers being men of no family, who nave risen from the ranks. As there is no country in the world where superstition is carried to sucli an extent as in Ru&sia, the incident has caused quite a sensation. Mad.?A musty old bachelor met a woman on a bad crossing the other day and she crowded him oft into the mud. > He writes saying: "Is it any reason because a man is a man that a woman should bo hog ?" We refuse to answer this ungallant question and refer him to the woman herself. > - *" ' " ' . I ' I THE JOKERS' BUDGET. ODDS AND ENDS <2 ATIIF.KRO FOR ^ AN HOUR'S AMUSEMENT. | 4 A PiKKiiNti'd Soldier?An Old AilnKf-Hnliy )j Mine?A liiinliicnN Hint?On the Wrong; Scent?Ouin and I)iinIkii< Etr. H ON Til 10 WRONG SCENT. ^ Thcv were gradually working toward : n copartnership on the usual arrangement the woman to look after the ; I' olliee and the man to do the outdoor | 11 work. He was going to take Iter to the | theatre. She was decked out most j ( handsomely, and her lovely scent bottle t lay tempting a young brother, who was | S;1 loosing nooiit lor misclnet. lie picked it up and disappeared with it. Then he carefully poured out the fragrant perfume and filled it with whisky. Then ^ the happy couple departed, and Meph- n isto Junior chuckled to himself with fiendish glee. They sat entranced in one another, fondly believing they were p enjoying the ballet. He, in a kind of * dream, reached over and took her scent-bottle. She let it go. lie un- j, screwed the to]) and took a long snilT. Ilis dream was dispelled. lie did not n say a word. The love died from hi* Byes, from his heart, and she did not j, find out till she had gone to her room, tearful and sad, what had caused the t< change. She has told him since of her C( young brother's joke. He smiles sadly, He believes her. Uut the smell of that S| whisky forever comes between him and her. ? Cfirixti'tn I nion. A DISGUSTED SOI.DIRK. An Irishman serving in the United States army in Texas, and belonging to the infantry, was in the habit of stand- j ing with his toes pointed inward, to j remedy which the sergeant continually j [iddressed him while on parade with, ! j. ''Stick out your toes, Patrick." It took ' ^ Patrick years to acquire the habit of1 jj sticking his toes out. .Inst about the time he had succeeded he was transferred to the cavalry, where his habit of sticking out his toes interfered much with his usefulness as a horseman. The e: sergeant was continually calling to him: ''Stick in those toe =, Patrick," much to Si his disgust, and h3 exclaimed with some emphasis : "Divil take such a sar- f, vice. For live years it was nothing but! ii 'stick out your toes, Patrick,' and now j it's 'stick in your toes, Patrick.' There ' is no plazin the blackguards."? 2cu'<rx j Sij'tintjx. d obliging the l'hkaciieil. Ki The Rev. Dr. S., who is a prominent divine in a city not far from New York, p had been spending a few days?not in this weather on an isl.uui on the _ Maine coast, and. intending to depart on a certain morning, he started for the boat in company with a friend. A porter followed with the doctor's valise. Arriving at the wharf, they found that to take advantage of the wind or tide the boat had gone before the advertised time. Not aware of the clerical char- > acter of the company, the porter swore several shocking oaths in quick succession. "What do you thinks- of that, doctor ?" asked his friend. "Well," said the doctor slowly and impressively, "there are times when the services of a layman are indispensable." ?Boston liecord. a ntT.sinf.ss ciiance. The son of a prominent divine went Q out to Dakota with the intention of i j going into business, but returned in t very low circumstances financially, havlng walked about half the distance. "Why, I am surprised, my son,"said J, his father; "1 thought there were great opportunities for making money in the Territories. Didn't you strike a chance ?" j h "Well, yes, in a measure; but the t fact is, father, I didn't hold the right kind of a hand. It was good enough, a so I bet all I had on it; but the other fellow's was better and he laked in the pot.'" The next Sunday the minister j v preached on "The Crying Need of Missonaries in the West."?Independent. j, a i'ai.pahtje mistake. 1' Mrs. Smith?I am very sorry, Mrs. Hendricks, but I consider it my duty to 1 inform you that I saw your husband v coming out of a saloon last evening. <1 Mrs. Hendricks?What time was it, Mrs. Smith ? t Mrs. Smith?About 8 o'clock. v Mrs. Hendricks?Did you say lie was j| coming out or goinir in i Mrs. Smith?Coming out. -r Mrs. Hendricks < positively) ? You ^ have mistaken him for some one else. John never comes out of a saloon as ^ euriy as o o ciock.. GENEKOSITY EXPLAINED. Charley (to ( lara, who has already c eaten two dishes of ice cream)?Wiil 0 you have another dish, dear ? ' h Cliira?Thanks, Charley, no more. o Charley-Just one more, for my ji sake ? ], Clara?Well, for your sake, I will e take just one more. ^ To explain the apparent impossibility of Charley's conduct it is necessary to v add that the conversation did not take 0 place at a restaurant, but at an evening party. ? NOT ALWAYS SUCCESSFUL. n Deacon Dexvgood (retrospectively)?I n remember so well, Mr. Goodman, the 4 day that you were installed as minister o of our little church. 'What a pleasant and successful affair it was. Minister ? Ah, yes, deacon, much plensnnter ana more successful than some other installments I can recall. Deacon?You refer to your previous ? charges, I suppose. * Minister?No; I refer to my sidary installments. Many of them have tfeen r far from pleasant or successful.?If. Y. ? Sun. J TUB PLIonT OF TIME. f Visitor (to convict)?I suppose, my poor fellow, that in your narrow quarters the days pass by on leaden wings, a Convict?No. sir. 1 Visitor?No ? But the nights, the t long dreary nights must deal out doublo c porti ons o time ? Convict?Oh, no. The nights fly faster than the days. c Visitor (astounded)?Is it possible ? t Convict?Yes. You see, I am to be g hanged next month. 1 w" V-. *. w ; ~ *?? ~&WrTS' " '1 \ - . ... :. " TIIE PREACHER CORRECTED. "Well, Mr. Talmage is certainly i rrong for once," said Mrs. Snaggs. | mking up from reading that gentlclan's last Sunday's sermon. "How so, my dear ?" asked her liusand. "Why he says there are no perfect icn." "Aud you think you found one when ou married me, 1 suppose," beamed Ir. Snaggs. "Indeed I don't," was the <juick rely. "But I know there was a perfect tan once, and his n&me was Mark." "Mark," repeated Mr. Snaggs in asmishinent. "Yes, Mark, for the Iiible distinctly leaks of 'Mark, the perfect man.'" ? 'ittxbury Chronicle. KOHCINO IJUSINE88. I "Did you sell nny peanuts?" inuired the experienced truiu boy of the e\v recruit. "No,'' was the reply. "Go through the car an' give each assenger a peanut. The new recruit did so. "Now try 'em agin," said the train oy of experience. Presently the new recruit came after lore peanuts. "You want to keep your eyes open 1 this business, young feller," admon- | ihed the expert, refilling the basket. ! Anybocly'll eat a peanut what don't 1 3st him notliin', an' when he once gits i ic tiavor he's gone. You've got to tudy human nature." A llOl'EIiESS CASE. Mother?I think. Clara, that young ; Ir. Sampson is fond of you. Clara (hopefully)?Why, mamma? Mother?Because he was such a long .me buttoning your glove last night. Clara (hopelessly)?Oh, yes, mamma; lit they are six-button gloves, you now, and when he had buttoned the fth one he asked me if that wouldn't e enough. DISPERSING A CROWD. A large crowd had gathered on iroadway, and seven policemen were ndeavoring to disperse it. "I kin make them fellers move on," aid a small boy. Tlw.n J in J x awu liv Sliviuicu xiHWl uuj;: uuu r>ur of the seven policemen were badly ljurctl in the rout that followed. an oi<d adage imi'iiovkd. "All, me!" said a husband, as he laid o\yn his book and gazed thoughtfully ito the tire, -'how true it is, 'Tis better ;> have loved and lost than?than??' "N'ever to have loved at all ?" suplied his wife softly. "No; than to have loved and won." -X. V. Times. 1 i1aby mine. There is no joy in the world like you, No uiufic sweet as your "goo *>'-goo," No skies so cli ar an your eyes ox olue? Baby, oh my baby. But when you ground on the Bccret pin And opeu your valve and howl like sin, No goug can equal your little din, Baby, oh my baby. My heart in glad when your face I see, My joy iri full when you come to me, I laugh with you in romping glee, B ?tiv, oh my baby. And oftentiin-s my midnight Bnore Is broken by your act'earnim; roar, And till morning dawna we walk the floor. Baby, oh my baby. -^-Bukdette. a gkeat 8uccess. "Wife (reading the paper)?I sec that nly four little Newark boys started for 'aris, but 011 the return of the party he number was swelled to Jive. Husband?Is that so ? And yet some icople will not believe that thenewdisovery amounts to anything. easy marketing. Servant (to head of the house)?The mtcher boy, Sorr, is at the door wid he bill. What shall I tell him, Sorr ? Head of the House?Tell him to send ten-pound sirloin roast for dinner. dots axi) dashes. People who "went South for the rintor" this year have found it. It is said, "He laughs best who nug'is last." It may be so; but he has ess time to enjoy himself. "What is a fashionable hotel ?" 'One where you get what you don't k'ant, and have to pay for what you lon't get." It is a Southern negro superstition hat if a twig or bush gets caught in a foman'.i dress and is dragged after her t is a sign that she has a sweetheart. "Now, Sin, you arc better," said a Joston faith doctor to a patient he had icen treating; "tell me just how you eel." "Well," renlicd the victim, "I eel like a darncu fool; how much is our bill ?" It is the custom in Milwaukee ach of the 18 breweries to send a f beer to each newspaper office ev loliday. The struggle of the li tlice to carry its load of beer as wel ts stronger-headed neighbor .ftometim eads to a dizzy newspaper next day, mbellished with tremendously swelled leads. When Dick Thompson, of Indiana, ras made Secretary of the Navy some ne called upon Mrs. Thompson to con;ratulate her upon her husband's elevaion to the head of the Navy Departaent. She could hardly believe that the iews was true, and said to her visitor: 'Why, Richard isn't fit to be Secretary f the Navy?he can't even swim." The Florida Calamity. The Atlanta Constitution says:-- A ;cnt!emen lately from Florida said, "the ree/.e gave Florida a black eye. It desroycd the labor of years. I know a nan who has spent $20,000 in getting a* ;rove, and it was just coming in when he freeze killed every tree. He must iow start over again and wait six years or results." "Are the trees really killed?" "Undoubtedly. It will be denied for i while, but the truth will eome out at ast. Ten million dollars wouldn't put he peninsula where it was a month igo." A Question.?One of the Maine lycums recently wrestled with the ques,ion whether a sardine factory or 200 ummer boarders would be of most K'nefit to the town. 'I " , '' \ ' V j > V v' , ',#v /. ' V nBAcS i - V V N'/^ v' w^" ' ' *? *V1V''- -S-% ' ' .? " ' ? LOST IN THE GREAT STORM. ifonrcb l?r tlio Drnd on tlio 1'liiinn?A Had Htory. A letter from Syracuse, Iva., says.? Although there have been many colder days in Kansas than those experienced during the recent blizzard, there never was a fiercer wind nor a more blinding and cutting snow. For days it seemed as though the earth was wrapped in vapor, and objects not fifty feet away were not distinguishable. When the storm subsided and the intense cold had moderated sutlicicntly to make it s:ife for men to venture Out, reports were received of many fatalities, and since that time men have boon busily at work scouring the plains in search of nncuiMn ?i... i,u..t i t? J/W.WMHV * Wi lllU l/IUDt) UUVl 1UI H1U purpose of visiting remote habitations and relieving distress. Hiding yesterday in the face of a keen northwest wind that scoured the prairies bare in some places, and in others polished tho heaped up masses of snow until thev looked like brightest silver, a rescuing party came upon a little plain board shanty about twenty miles west of here that told plainly enough that death was within. On one side of the building the hard eatth was swept clean, while on tho other side the glittering and hard-crusted snow was piled from five to ten feet high. Against the door of the shanty the snow had beaten until it could scarely be distinguished from the side of tho house, while all about the place were evidences of recent settlement and the hard beginnings of a pioneer life in the wilderness One of the horsemen dismounted at the cabin door, and kicking the ice and snow away, finally forced his way into the wretched abode. Not a sticl-y of furnaturc remained. The one stove was cold, and the tloors and sides of the house were covered with frost. In somo places on the north and west exposures, where little cracks were to be seen, some of them partly ,stulTed with rags, the snow had drifted in. A glance at the furthest corner revealed a mass of bedding, and under it, still in death, with frost on their hair, but eyes closed as in sleep, were the bodies of a young WOIlian and two 111*.InhilHrnn Or?n r?f the latter was wrapped tightly in the mother's arms, and the other was clinging tightly to her back. No one spoke, but a further scrutiny sufficed to show how bitter had been the struggle, and how to the very last the woman had fought against the inevitable. The handle of the axe with which she had demolished the furniture had been burned, the blade itself being fished from the cheerless hearth, and so close had been the economy of fuel that, though everything that could be split had been used not a splinter was to be found anywhere. Pinned against the door was a scrap of paper, on which the woman had written: We are goinp: to bed. [ have used everything that I could tlnd. and the fire is almost gone. We have had nothing to eat to-day. If vou wou'd only come. Little Mary cried for you to-night, and before we went to bod we alt prayed for von and for us. I'm afraid about you the s'orm is dreadful?b ?t I also fear that if you come you will be too late. "Where is the man?" some one asked. "Lost of course." was the reply of nearly all the others in concert. One by one the men filed out into tho bright sunshine and swept the horizon with their hand-shaded eyes. Everywhere snow and bleak, bare spots . stretching away for miles and touching at last the blue above. Slowly the men mounted and by common consent began a search of the country within a mile of the claim. After a half hour or more spent in this way one of the riders spied an object which had been partly uncovered by a preceding horsemen and a moment later the body of a man was brought to view. A little to one side where the snow had been blown away were discovered the footprints of the wanderer and, without much difficulty, though they were lost sight of frequently, they were traced in one instance to a poiut not more than fifty rods from his own home. As he was empty handed it was evident that he had never got more than half a mile away on his search for relief, itnd that perhaps at the very time , when his faithful wife and little onc9 were lying down to their last sleep he may have been plodding aimlessly but painfully in the dreary circle almost within sight of his own door. The man's remains were conveyed to the house, and the men returned here to make arrangements for the burial of the unfortunates, whose names are at present linlf.nnwn ATnnv rttlifip onpli s?na?>a nr? reported from the frontier counties, and it is hardly probable that a full list of the casualties can be had before tho end of the week. ' j! A Western Case. The discovery of a case of'-Irish Landlordism" in Illinois, Kansas, and Nebraska all carried on by one man, a certain Scully, of "Celtic birth," which is reported in the morning papers, is very startling, and shows what an insidious thing this 4'Irish landlordism" is. It appears tha: Scully lives in London, and yet he builds up his system in any State of the Union he pleases. "His rule," it appears, "has reduced two hundred and J fifty (250) tenants," in one county in Illinois, nnrl "flmir fnmilips tn a statfi of serfdom. His process is to make them sign agreements to pay rent and taxes, and sell their grain always in the fall, ho matter what the state of the market may be, and he notifies the grain-dealers . . ' not to bay of the tenants till his rent is paid. How the dealers are kept from buying, or how they are ail notified, the report does not sav, but presumably with bloodhounds, Nor does the report set v! out why Scully's serfs do not fun away, , . ^ but presumably he chains them to the | soil, mediocval fashion. If he would only live here, he night be shot, but the cunning Celtic rascal keeps himself in London, and collects his rents in the regular Irish fashioh, through an agent who . : probably transmits the money to him in ;-%j$ gold. The affair is very startling and :jM calls for some action on the part ofsomobody.?N. T. Eve. Post. Hra Bn,ii.?Editor Morgan," of the Chase County (KanO Lptder, having reccived a note from an irate subscriber ':$jk saying, "Stop your paper, and send reasonable bill, and I will pay it," sent a bill for $5,000, saying that he could nob afford to suspend publication for less. >$tp|