Newspaper Page Text
7* -V s 1
-.is
VOL. II.
JOHN C. VAN SYCKEL & CO.,
Whokisale and Retail Dealers in
CROCKERY,
GLASSWARE,
Hquss Furnishing Goods
Tin-Plate,
Stoves,
Hardware,
&c., <fcc.
MAinrrur nnunu or
TINWARE.
No. 116 Third Street,
_______________M AOON. GA.
_
CARHART & CURD,
OBALERB DK
Hardware, Iron & Steel
WOODENWARE,
Carriage Material,
Cotton Cine,
Circular Saws,
SCALES,
1 i
PAINTS, OILS, &c.
Mnoon. O
K. J DAVAKT. J. 8 WOOD. JR
D:\VANI & WOOD,
114 !<ay troot.
Savannah, Georgia
Special attention given to aale ot
COTTON,RICES NAVAL STORES
aanrs won
DRAKE’S COTTON TIES,
Cash a>lvanM. made on oeiui^nments.
W. B. MELL & CO,
VVho’otnlc ond retail dealers in
SADDLES, BRIDLES, HARNESS,
Rubber and -Leather
BELTING AND PACKING,
French and American Call Skins, Sole, Har¬
ness, Bridle and L’atcnt Leather,
WHIPS and SADDU5RY WARE,
TRUNKS, VALISES,
Market Square, Savannah, Ga
Orders bv mail nromDtlv attended to.
A. J. BRADDY & SON
Wrightsvillk, Ga
BLACKSMITH SHOP.
Baggies, A eprcialty of Plantation Work. Wagons,
etc., made and repaired.
Plows and Plow-Stocks of all kinds, and
every kind of Wood and Iron Work done by
A. J. BRADDY & SON,
Wrightsvilie, Ga.
SID. A. PUGHSLEY. Jr.
ASENT AND SALESMAN,
—WITH—
I. L. FALK & CO •>
CLOTHIERS,
425 and 427 Broome St., New York,
Cor. Congreu and Whittaker Street?,
SAVANNAH. QA,
WRIGHTSVILLE, GA., SATURDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1881.
Lines by the Late Dean of Westminster.
i.
“Till Death us part.”
So speaks the heart,
When each to each repeats the words of doom;
Thro’ blessing and thro’ curse,
For better and for worse,
We will he one, till that dread hour shall come.
n.
Life, with its myriad grasp,
Our yearning souls shall clasp,
By ceaseless love, and still expect ant wonder
In bonds that shall <=*dnre, «
Indissolubly sure,
Till God in death shall part our paths assunder.
in.
Till Death us join.
Oh, voice yet more divine!
That to the broken heart breathes hope sublime;
Thro’ lonely hours
And shattered hours
We still are one, despite of change and time.
IV.
Death, with his healing hand,
Shall once more knit the band
Which needs but that one link which none may
sever;
Till, thro’ the Only Good,
Heard, felt and understood,
Our life in God shall make us one forever.
THE POLISH PEASANT.
In the year 1717, at the fork of the
roads between St. Petersburg and Schlus¬
selberg, stood a humble thatched cot¬
tage of small dimensions and untenant¬
able appearance. This domicile, to¬
gether with ten acres of land, belonged
to the estate of a Russian nobleman,
Count Uwarow, a very rich and power¬
ful baron of the empire, who cherished
in-common with his titled countrymen
a great contempt and dislike for the
Poles.
Among tho number of these volun¬
tary exiles was Stanislaus Kosmierske,
who in the year above mentioned emi¬
grated from Poland with his wife and
one child and leased of Coqnt Uwarow
tbe aforesaid cottage. Stanislaus had
been dragged from his plow’ to serve in
the ranks of Poland’s infantry.
Bugomila—for such was the name of
his wife—had but recovered from a se¬
vere indisposition at the lime to which
our tale relates. A second child had
blessed this peasant pair. When the
children had been put to rest at night
the parents found a pleasure in their
children, and when they were at rest,
and their daily work accomplished, they
would sit and chat and calculate the
proceeds of the coming harvest, ap ply¬
ing the money to he so received to the
purchase of necessaries, in anticipation
of the winter. They had already, in
their mindp, appropriated the whole of
their anticipated w'ealtli, and longed for
the comiBg autumn when they might
execute their plans.
“ Moja koehaua” (my dear, when ad¬
dressed to a woman), w’ould Stanislaus
often say, “ when the count sees we are
honest and pay our rent, he will be lees
severe with us, and may make some im¬
provements in our dwelling.”
“Moj kochany” (my dear, when ad¬
dressed to a nun,) would the loving
wife reply, “I look for nothing from
those great lords. They never, even in
Poland, regarded our sufferings, and in
a strange land we have nothing to hope.
We will aid ourselves, and trust in God
for assistance.”
The fall was approaching. Another
week and Stanislaus intended to gather
his harvest. Alas! how frail are human
calculations. A heavy gale, accompa¬
nied by a pelting hail, laid low all his
hopes. He gazed on Ms ruined fields,
and a tear stole down his cheek when he
contemplated the coming winter. Bu¬
gomila endeavored to console him, but
in vain.
“ If the count would forgive me the
rent,” he said, one evening after this
calamity, “we might, perhaps, get
through the winter, moja koehaua.”
“ Speak to the count, Stanislaus; tell
him the hand of God has robbed you of
your expected money, and that you will
make good the rent next year.”
So that evening it was determined
that on the following morning Stanis¬
laus was to visit Count Uwarow; and,
relying on his clemency, the poor cou¬
ple sought their couch, made soft by
easy consciences and a pious submission
to the will of heaven.
Stanislaus was at his scanty breakfast
when the tramp of horses was heard. It
drew nearer, and Stanislaus, with Bugo¬
mila and her little girl, rushed to the
door to see who might be coming to
that desolate spot. A hope that travel¬
ers were approaching gave a glimmer of
joy to the poor man, for every house
was used as a tavern in those days, and
many a peasant made a penny in supply¬
ing the wants of transient visitors. This
glimmer lighted the heart of Stanilaus
but for a moment, for the recollection
that there was nothing in the honeo for
travelers, however humble their calling
might be, at once extinguished this ray
of anticipated aid.
The sound of many voices was now
heard, and very soon a troop of gayly
mounted men and servants, dressed in
hunting costumes, emerged from the
woods. Leading the merry party came
Count Uwarow himself. As he ep
proached the cottage he saw the little
group gathered about its door. Turn¬
ing to some one of his attendants he in¬
quired who this peasant might be. On
learning his name he at once exclaimed:
“ A Pole!” and rode up to the cot
tage.
“Look ye, you Polish varlet,” com¬
menced tbe count, “ my steward tells
me you are domiciled here. See you
pay your rent, or I’ll have ye turned
out to seek a shelter elsewhere.”
“ Most noble count, my crops have
been ruined by the late storm,” replied
Stanislaus in broken Russian, “ and—”
“That’s not my fanlt. You Poles
come to our country expecting ns to
supply you with food, shelter and
clothing; but I’ll have none of this on
my estates. So pay your rent or go
you shall!” and with a cut of his whip
at Stanislaus he led the party onward
to the chase.
This interview had robbed poor Stan¬
islaus Jof all hope. Despair Btared him
in the face, and he stood gazing after
the count, pale with rage, and agonized
on account of his wife and little ones.
“ Curses on that proud and haughty
lord 1”
“Hush, moj kochany,” exclaimed
Bugomila. “Remember, the lip that
curses shall want bread 1”
Wiping a tear from bis cheek he re¬
turned to the deserted table, and bury¬
ing his face in his hands gave vent to
his tears. Bugomila strove to console
him, but she could point to no hope.
She could devise no means whereby to
extricate him from his gathering embar¬
rassment.
“What are twenty rubles to him?
He spends more money every day in
one meal at bis castle, and yet he string
me, and threatened to cast me, you and
our little ones, upon the wide world,
denniless, and without a homo.”
“ God is just!” ejaculated Bugomila
and crossed herself.
“Niech bedzie pochwalony 1” (May
God bo praised) responded Stanislaus.
“If God be just and kind,” he contin¬
ued, “why do we sufler? We are good,
and say our prayers night and morning;
we bear all without complaint, and yet
these wicked lords have no care, no
wants. They wallow in wealth and sin,
and forget the needy.”
“ True, true 1” responded Bugomila,
suddenly rising from her seat. “Per¬
haps, isolated as we ore, God has for¬
gotten us.”
“He cannot have heard our prayers,
or He would have softened our sorrows
and supplied our wants, Bugomila.”
“Then, moj kochany, let us make
our situation known to Him.”
“ How can we do that ?”
“ Write to Him, Stanislaus.”
“ I can’t write, you know, Bugomila.”
“ Get some one to write for yon.”
“Who can write? And these Rus¬
sians would never write to aid us. They
like to see us suffer.”
“ Some pleasant day, Stanislaus, we
will walk to Donashof Hill, and raise
our voices from its summit at noonday,
and God will hear ns then.”
With this determination Bugomila
commenced the daily household duties,
and Stanislaus went to the fields to
ascertain the full extent of his losses.
The day had become dismal. The
sky of the morning was overcast, and
threatened another storm. The night
was dark and gloomy, and the little
family were gathered around their fru¬
gal board, with only sufficient food to
stay the cravings of their appetites,
then some one knocked at the door.
“Moj boze kochany! ” (Mydear God!
A common exclamation among the Rus¬
sians), ejaculated Bugomila, as she
looked with fear at Stanislaus. They
dreaded a second visit from the count,
and it was not until the knock had been
repeated that the door was opened.
“Dobry wicozor” (good-evening), said
the stranger, as he entered.
The sound of their native tongue
cheered the hearts of the cottagers.
They welcomed their guest heartily,
and, with apologies for so scanty a re¬
past, offered him all their humble dwell,
ing afforded. The stranger seated him¬
self and ate with a sharp appetite. He
was clad in garments that had seen bet¬
ter days, but which had evidently been
made for him. He was well booted,
and the dust on his garments showed he
had traveled far.
During some conversation about their
native country, Bugomila whispered to
Stanislaus that he could ask the stranger
to write the letter for them. The temp¬
tation was too strong to be resisted, and
Stanislaus, in'a blunt way, proposed to
the stranger to write this epistle in li¬
quidation of any claim for his supper
and lodging. Their guest cheerfully
consented to this arrangement, and the
letter was duly finished, after Stanislaus
and Bugomila had inserted a list of
their wants, which included nearly
everything a household like theirs re¬
quired. It was then placed hopefully
upon the public highway.
The road on the north side of the
cottage was frequently traveled, and
bordered a dense forest, in which Peter
the Great occasionally indulged in the
chase. It so happened that two days
after the letter had been deposited the
royal throng of hunters were led by a
stag to the very spot where it lay. One
of the emperor’s attendants saw the
letter and picked it up.
Not being able to read Polish, and
thinking it might contain some clew to
a Polish conspiracy, he carried the sus¬
pected document to his sovereign, who
quietly placed it in his pocket and pur¬
sued his sport. On reaching home he
gave the letter to one of his secretaries
to translate. With a smile upon his
countenance the secretary soon returned
the original with the Russian version.
Peter the Great read tho translation
with marked attention, having been
struck with tbe peculiar idea of those
poor peasants in writing to God, and
immediately commanded one of his
ministers to have a wagon filled with
every article mentioned in the letter, to¬
gether with two hundred rubles, and to
send some person to him who should
drive the wagon whither he might di¬
rect. The next 'morning all was pre¬
pared, and the wagoner presented himself
to tho emperor.
“ Take this wagon on the road to
Schlusselberg, and when you come near
to a small house and farm, at the cross
of two roads, dismount, let your horses
go on with tho wagon, and do you
return. Take a horse with you for your
journey back. Keep this a secret, and
when you have done your errand report
yourself. Go!”
All was done as the emperor com¬
manded, and the horses were left near
the house in the road. Accustomed to
stop by tho wayside, they approached
the door of Stanislaus. Hearing the
neighing of horses at his door, the poor
peasant immediately ran out to welcome
the traveler. He saw the wagon and
horses, but no driver. He called, but
no answer came.
He feared the driver might Lave
fallen and been injured, so ho took his
dog and was abont to depart in search
of the lost wagoner, when Bugomila
suggested the possibility of his being
asleep in the wagon. They went out to
look, but he was not there.
Attracted by the sight of the very
articles she herself desired, she contin¬
ued her examination, and being very
soon convinced that the wagon con¬
tained nothing but tbe things she had
enumerated in her letter, she called her
husband to return. “Niech bedzie
pochwalony !” (God be praised). “Moj
kochany, God has received our letter
and has granted our praysr. Graw’da’
—(it is true)—“ see here I” and she ex¬
hibited to her astonished Stanislaus one
article after the other, until, over¬
whelmed with surprise, he crossed him¬
self and exclaimed:
“God is merciful and kind !”
Now came the joy of taking out all
the little comforts and necessaries. They
were carried into the house, and while
Stanislaus looked to the horses Bugo¬
mila unpacked the presents. Every¬
thing was there that they had prayed
for.
One of the servants of Count Uwarow,
on paseing'the house next morning, ob¬
served tbe wagon, and saw, also, great
changes going on in the cottage. He
mentioned this to his master, adding a
suggestion that the Pole must have
murdered some traveler. That very
evening the count, returning home,
stopped to examine for himself. He
saw lights burning, and a plentiful meal
spread on the table, and everything de¬
noting an improvement in his tenant’s
circumstances.
At once convinced that the suspi¬
cions of the servant were well founded,
he sent to the commissary of police in
St. Petersburg, charging Stanislaus
with murder, and the next day the offi¬
cers were at the count’s castle to receive
further orders. The wish of Count
Uwarow was law to these minions of
the police, and they proceeded to the
humble peasant’s cottage to arrest the
Pole.
Struck with dismay at sight of the
police, Stanislaus could scarcely utter a
sound. His affrighted wife demanded
the cause of his arrest, but received only
brutal treatment in reply. She deter¬
mined to follow her husband. Closing
her house, she took her little children,
and some money in her pocket, har¬
nessed the horses and proceeded to the
city. Stanislaus was brought before
the commissary of police, where, with
innocent simplicity, he related the story
of his distress, the writing of the letter,
and the arrival of the wagon. Such a
tale convinced the commissary that it
was but the invention of his prisoner,
and at once ordered Stanislaus to be
confined in prison for one week, and at
the end of that time be executed.
Lost in despair, Bugomila clung to
the neck of her wronged and injured
husband, until the officers tore them
asunder.
“ Ply to the emperor !” said Stanis¬
laus, as he was forced from his wife and
children. The true wife obeyed her
husband.
Every ready to examine into the
abuses of bis government, the emperor
listened to her story. A few words
served to convince him that her hus¬
band had had written the singular letter
which had fallen into his hands, and
curious to learn more of this Polish
peasant he ordered her follow him to
the palace. Here she explained all.
The commissary was sent for and care¬
fully questioned as to the guilt of the
prisoner.
“ Your majesty, his guilt was estab¬
lished beyond a doubt during his ex¬
amination, and Count Uwarow appeared
as his accuser.”
“Are you willing to swear, Mr. Com¬
missary ?”
“I am, my liege.”
“Be it so. Swear. No,” said tho
emperor, “ I will not let you perjure
yourself in addition to your crime of
intended murder. Now see, sir, what
proof I can adduce of this poor peas¬
ant’s innocence.”
The letter was then brought forward,
the secretary who translated it, the min¬
ister who obtained the wagon and its
contents, and the servant who drove it
to the peasant’s door. The commissary
was confounded.
“Now,” commenced the emperor,
“I shall make an example of you, in
order to show my functionaries that the
rights of the peasants are to be respect¬
ed, that the poor man is still a human
being, and that he is not to be crushed
by arbitrary power and injustice.”
Turning to an attendant in waiting:
“Summon Count Uwarow to appear
before ns to-morrow.”
Then seating himself at a table be
wrote two orders—the one released
Stanislaus and restored him to liberty,
life and to Lis family; tho second was
sentenco upon the commissary to take
the place of the Pole.
The next day Count Uwarow ap¬
peared. Tho emperor reprimanded
him for his conduct, and forced him to
sign a lease of tho cottage and tbe ten
acres to Stanislaus and his son for life,
free from rent, and to keep the house
in good repair during their lives.
“If any ill comes to this Pole, you
Sir Count, must answer for it. Go, and
remember the rights of the humble.”
A Knife Long Imbedded in an Antelope
B. Corey, of Dos Cabezas, Cal., lias
sent to San Francisco a knife taken
from an antelope killed near that place
recently by a Mexican, together with a
letter explaining that the weapon had
evidently been plunged into the animal
long ago, and that it had recovered
from the wound and carried the instru¬
ment for a long time. He says: “The
knife extended on the left side of the
neck, just before the shoulder, passing
about half an inch from the heart, the
point sticking into a rib, holding it in
place. It was entirelv covered by the
skin. The wood part of the handle fell
in pieces as the knife was being taken
out, showing that it had been confined
for some time. The antelope was very
fat, as I had some for breakfast this
morning.” The knife, including the
blade proper, and the handle to which
the wooden covering is fastened, is nine
and a half inches long, and weighs a half
pound. Evidently the knife must have
been in the flesh for years, as the wood
had deoayed, and the skin of the animal
had entirely covered the butt of the
weapon. It is conjectured that the knife
was thrown at the antelope, and the ani¬
mal in brushing it against the ground or
timber pushed it further in the body.
The Academy of Sciences will be asked
to give a theory of the wound.
' A zealous man always finds more
than he looks for.
NO. 20.
To-Day.
Don’t tell me of to-morrow!
If we look upon the past,
How much that we havo left to do
We cannot do at last!
To-day! it is the only time
For all on this frail earth;
Jt takes an age to form a life—I
A moment gives it birth.
Don’t tell me of to-morrow!
Give me the man who’ll say,
Whono’er a good deed’s to he done,
Lot’s do the deed to-day;
We may all command the present,
If wo act and never wait,
But repentance is the phantom
Of the past that comes too late.
PUNGENT PARAGRAPHS.
The combing man—A barber.
“ This is a fit time and place,” as the
mad dog said when he saw the river.
If the tide waves are breakers, it is no
wonder the loose waves smash things.
All the policemen in New Orleans
quote Shakespeare. He is the mayor of
the city.
Peter the Great was a man of an iron
will. There is generally a deal of iron
in all grates.
A great many men are like a rocking
horse. They are always on the go, but
never go ahead.
“Organ-grinders are allowed in the
streets of Chicago between the hours
of 9 a. m. and 9 f. m only. A man who
demands more than twelve hours of
such music ought to get employment in
a boiler shop.
A Detroit doctor says people with
light eyes and hair are those who have
warts. Now if some savant will tell us
what color of eyes and hair denotes
snoring, many unhappy marriages will
be prevented.
Mrs. Myra Clark Gaines says she tried
for ten years to find a flaw in her hus¬
band’s character, but was unsuccessful.
Wonder if she tested him as they do a
steam boiler—tried to blow him up and
•found it wouldn’t work ?
Probably the meanest man on record
keeps a boarding-house in San Domingo.
Last winter an earthquake turned the
edifice upside down, and the very next
morning he began charging the garret
lodgers first floor prices.
It was a youth of modest purst
Saul soft unto a maid :
“ Which would you rather tackle noxt,
Jce cream or lemonado ?”
Across the maiden's rosy clieolt
Fast flits a winning smile :
“ I’ll order some of both,” she said.
Heaven help the young man’s “ pile.”
Luncheon at Middaj.
Physicians assert that a hearty meal
at midday is injurious to the health. A
5 or C o’clock dinner, eaten slowly
with the members of his own family, is
far healthier. A heavy midday meal
unfits professional men for carrying on
any business in the afternoon, as it
makes them heavy and sleepy, for na¬
ture requires some kind of repose to
aid digestion. Our popular system of
eating is wrong. The majority of per¬
sons thrust three heavy meals into
about ten hours, and leave the body
without a fresh supply of food for the
remaining fourteen hours of the day
and night. Two good meals, morning
and evening, would be the proper plan,
with perhaps a light lunch or cracker
at about 1 o'clock in the day. This
would allow both of the heavy meals an
opportunity to digest before the next
was taken. As to a heavy midday meal
for men who have to tear around as if
the next moment were to be their last,
it is perfectly ridiculous, as the food,
instead of digesting and forming blood,
muscle and brain, acts as a block to
those forces of nature—choking up a
sewer, as it wore. It is best to eat light¬
ly in the middle of the day.
The condition of the newspaper fra¬
ternity has improved wonderfully since
the war. Twenty years ago it was cus¬
tomary for an editor to frequently ac¬
quaint his readers with the fact that if
four-story brick houses were selling for
ten dollars apiece he couldn’t raise
money enough to buy a single brick.
Now it is different; the newspaper man
goes to the other extreme, and endeav¬
ors to convey the impression that if
bricks were selling at ten dollars apiece
he could purchase several four-story
brick structures without materially af¬
fecting his bank account .—Norristown
Herald.
The man who can exquisitely cut he
pieco of pie with a fork is not deserving
of all the praise at the dinner-table.
He who can most quickly shove his
plate over the grease spot that appears
on the tablecloth when he spills that
gravy, is entitled to wear laurels.