The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1874-05-10

| destiny and point US to the way.
S.
JESS SO! JESS Soi'-HARD TINES. -
"It's mighty hard times, tell vou'"
We took u short walk yesterday, and
this was the salutation We heard ono
man give another. The speaker was u
tall man. in his shirt sleeves and
slouched hat, and he stood holding in
his strong hsnd rope attached to the
horns Of stunted juvenile steer, that,
with its consumptive little companion,
looked as if the rope were superAuous,
for there was nothing more foreign to
their thoughts or spirits than running
away. The little shambling wagon to
which the attenuated cattle were
hitohed groaned in it's oilless joints
under nine sticks Of green wood. un-
split because too thin. The wood
looked like English hop poles. aud the
man who vowed the times were hard
could have carried the load easily. Iu
ths back part Of the wagon, secured by
a strap, was glazed eurthen Jug, with
corn cob stopper, supplemented by
piece Of red rag. We did not wait to
hear moro of the stale plattude, but
went on; the sight of such teams, such
loads, such men and such statements
have become too common to excite
comment. Late in the afternoon, we
saw the team again, going home
through the mud, rain and increasing
darkness. The driver had the glazed
jug under his head. as he lay on the
two pl"nks that formed the Wagons
bed. We DO not know what the ing
contained, but, whatever it was,. the
man had given all the contents he could
an inside passage. Tho little steers
had visibly shrunken since morning,
looking. poor things. as if they were
gradually washing away and longing
for the Job to be over. This man was
not type of the yeomanry of this
land. Unfortunately. it has no class
corresponding to the yooman. He was
q poor. iguorant white man, with O
wife and largo family, no doubt, and
lie lives in wretched -roomed
cabin, ON piece Of water washed land,
unknown aud uncAred.for, with no
impulse and no aid to rise to nobler
life. Hard times" Who are making
them? The poor wife. with her little
ones huddled about her last night,
knew what brought "hard times to
her wretched abode, when the furnished
brutes stopped, with hanging tongues,
ia the darkness. nnd she heard the
oaths of the creator brute as he stag
gered IN with the glazed jug in MS
hand.
Hard times!" says the man who
never did stroke Of earnest, honest
work to make them better. Hard
times!' says the young man, too proud
to labor with the white hands which
he folds as he waits for chance To give
him an easy job. "HArd finest" says
the planter, ~ he begs the N, reliant
to give him time for the food lie needs,
and pnying 80 or 100 per cent. for his
advances, ho goes back over barbarous
roads to an uncomfortable home to bet
his remaining time aud credit on that
game Of ohance--cotton. Hard
tlmes!" cries the merchant. as notes
fall due and not one dollar of the
thousands owing him comes in to meet
them. Yes, tho times are hard aud
the canse lies at our own door. Our
merchants are the slaves of New York,
and our farmers the vassaIs Of the
merchants. There is too little earnest,
manly effort, too many Of Heavens
blessings to incite to persistent labor.
Six months from now will tell the
story, and the farmer who, from no.
glect, il forced then to buy his food.
deserves all the hard timea it will be
possible to inflict.