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YOUNG MAN, BRACE UP.
A WESTERN EDITOR'S ADVICE TO
HIS Kills.
fTUe Young Man Who Sits Down In Idle
incus, and Wliui Becomes of film.
(From the Milwaukee Sun.]
A lazy man is too contemptible to live,
»nd has no rights his fellow men are
bound to i aspect. Young man, last, you may that
well understand, first as
yon have got to work for all you got in
this world. You there, may not always this get
what you earn, as are men m
world too mean and contemptible togive thorn,
to others what really belong* to
but if von would keep ont of the poor
home, and have a competency in your
old age, you will have to work for it,
To be sure there is a gToat difference in
men. Some are endowed with greater while
intellectual rrowers than others,
fame are greater physically. Homo men
are born low down in the scale of intel¬
lectual ism, but murk you the provided, physical
of such a mam There is a way
however, for every man to better him
aelf. You won’t find it in the gin mill,
neither is it to be found at the and gaming¬ that
table. ltemember one thing, take
is, you yourself have all not the the strong capacity drink to made
info tills let the
In world, and you bad 1 sitter
contract out before you attempt to work
on it. Don’t bet all*you have ou a it bob- the
tail flush, or 1 adore you know
other man will either raise you out of
tliu game or oome in on a straight flush.
Nine hundred and ninety young men
out of a thousand, who started with an
ulna of becoming suddenly rich by bet¬
ting on a sure thing, get luft, and arc
worse off than when they came into the
game. The bay borne is more liable to
get beat if you bold a pool check on him
Out!) he was before you put uncertain- up your
Burney. Hucli certainties are
tn-H, and never give up a certainty with the for tiger; an
uncertainty. Don’t fool
■you can’t most always tell which way the
beast will jump.
When s young man sits down in idle
with an idea t hat the world owes
lum a iving, it’s high time Lis body was
a tted to the dust from whence it
-c-imc. As for his soul, nothing will ever
lx* known of it. It is so smull that it
would rattle round in the shell of a mus¬
tard seed, and when it loaves his lazy
carcass, is for ever lost on account of its
infinite record proportions. the who have
A of young men
been unfortunate enough to have a for¬
tune left them bIiowh that eight, in ten
imver amount to a single atom in the
world, and seven out of the eight die
bankrupts, financially, morally, and
otherwise.
When a father brings up his son in
idleness, never teaching him the first
principle of economy or the value of a
dollar, ho commits a terrible blunder.
The father guilty of such a crime gener¬
ally has to saw wood for a living in his
ohi ago. Nine out of ten of the boys
with fathers who bring them tip in idle
luxury, ere they reach the meridian of
life are teiteLw rooks. Wrecked on the
rocks itejfi.n djr which ho bo
jieuth the stream of life and on whose
■sharp and ragged edges thousands of
fives have been wrecked and ruined.
Money bags may, like bladders, keepyou
above the waters of distress for u time,
but puncture them, let their contents
a. sink.
Young do man, you have undoubtedly
meant to well. No-young man over
goes astray intentionally, but in some
idle thoughtless moment he graduates
from soda water and lemonade tosoine
lliing stronger, and before he is fairly
aware of it he has not only lost caste,
but hss a whole uieuagerio ou his luuids
sudds employing a doctor to help dis¬
pose of his immense laughingly elephants cuddle uml the
makes that in ms
boots. Yes, the world presents too many
temptations for t he minds of nil to with¬
stand, and the only safe way for s young
man is to keep nwuy from the tempta¬ of
tion, If yyu see u man at a wheel
fortune win leu timse running bybetting
off the red, you just keep your hands
■ nit of your pocket and see him lose all
\ie mode at the next turn of the wheel
*nd on the very color or n timber yon
knew would win.
Boys, the recklessness of youth is
■what has caused so many mothers’ lmir
to turn as white as the driven snow. It’s
this that I ms caused so many fathers and
mothers to give up by the wavside and
tie laid in promat ure graves. The follies
of our youth hang heavier upon the
hearts of our fathers and mothers than
the millstone flour. that It’s grinds pity the that kernel into of
the finest a some
our young men of to-day didn’t fall in
between the millstones Indore they have
caused the trouble they have.
Shutting Ont the Nunsliiue.
llic l nit, <1 Presbyterian says : “We
do well to throw open the windows of
our souls and let in the light. Just as
tin grass and flowers need the sunshine.
v do our hearts need it if they are kept
r -h and sweet and give out good &
■ C( s. When the inexperienced
mstonr in floriculture put her rare
ints in a shaded room, which also she
’h - xl up carefully against the bright
: lit, she thought she was doing it the
I- • tost kindness, but her only reward
2 its decline as it wilted ami then died
- y. Christian people oft«n act with
- -me kind of wisdom, or ratlior un
•WlSl lorn, in their moral treatment, nnd
ey have the same resnlt There is
Hcatli when they expected life. They
dr iw down nil the curtuiu of tlieir souls
and fasten the shutters outside, hoping
m the dimness thus produced to live free
Yrom sin and hence grow in grace,
Sometimes the? cull it 'shutting out the
world,’ again they mune it ‘living in a
retreat,’ or probably it is more ambi
tiousiy called ‘retiring in company with
She master, but whatever the name the
«nd is the Earn*. The mold gathers
^here there should be healthy fragrance,
*nd over the life that proper treatment
would have clothed with spiritual beauty.
the heavy folds of ft tattered sackcloth
ft!.’ and hang like the dr.qwry of death.
~*t ie Master is not found in such condi
tions. He is where the song is, the
■conversation, and earnestness, the throbbing and of gives human his 1
iiucrest
tdeesinga as he receives liis praises, in
tkeglaaness of the sunshine and the jov
,jf the gentle winds.”
ME ADO Wi S’ OF GOLD.
Meadows of gold—
I tolling and reeling a-west!
Ye clasp and hold
The milk of the world in your brr aat.
Ye are the nurses who clutch
The ladieo of life, and touch
The lips that famish and burn,
In agony cruel and stern.
Meadows of gold—
Peaching and running awayl
Shod with the mould.
And crowned with the light of the day.
Ye are the chemists of earth,
The wizards who waken to birth;
The, violets blue, And buttercups, too,
Under the dark and the (lew.
Me: down of gold—
Winding and wending along—
Fair to behold,
And merry and mellow with song.
Ye are the poets whose chimes
Are rung by the reapers, whose rhymes
Are written in windrows of grass,
By musical sickles that pass.
Meadows of gold—
Laughing and leaping afar!
Fast in your fold,
Forever the beautiful are.
Ye are the Hebei who dip,
And lift from the loam to the lip
The nectar, whose plethoric flood
Is tinted and turned into blood.
J. N. Matthews.
“It is M*y Heart . 55
THE BtJKOOMASTEIt’s ADOPTED SON.
The burgomaster frowned, and knit
his heavy brows; he was perplexed as
to what should lie done witn the little
figure before him. There he stood in
his wooden sabots and rough peasant’s
clothes, hat in hand, and under one arm
the precious possession of his life—a lit¬
tle black fiddle.
The child's face was what puzzled tht,
burgomaster more than the simple
question of what he should do. When
the boy looked up with his eager, earn¬
est eyes, it somehow seemed to him
strangely familiar.
Where had lie seen it before ?
There was no fear in iiis manner, only
a restless movement of the band holding
the cap showed him to be ill at ease.
The week before he had come into town
with his little old fiddle and strange ac¬
cent, and until to-day had been un¬
molested.
Now, for what reason ho could not
guess, he had been seized upon sudden¬
ly by the town authorities and brought
before the burgomaster. A part only
could he make out of what was said, for
his own language sounded queer on
t liese strange tongues; and us to the ex¬
planations offered, they had seemed a
perfect jargon to the townspeople; there¬
fore the burgomaster, being a learned
man and versed iu the patois spoken in
various sections of the country, the lad
was brought to him.
Their duty, at all events, had been ac¬
complished. They had explained how
day after day the child pursued no call¬
ing—attempted no (to.de—but sat on a
bench or by the road, with the children
clustering about, playing *his fiddle,
content if in return they sometimes
shared with him tlieir huge slices of
bread.
It was a vagrant life, and would
teach their own little ones bad habits,
therefore must be stopped. Either he
must leave the place, or go among the
town poor people burgomaster, and learn an honest
trade. The a stout, red
faced man, had long ago done with sen¬
timent -therefore small leniency was to
bo looked for from him.
Ho Carl stood was before brought, the and now, all
alone, had magistrate.
What he done or what was to be
doue with him, lie did not know.
After a silence, seeing the burgomaster
looking at him, Carl came a step for¬
ward, and, with his impetuous manner,
exclaimed:
“Whatis it, I have done? Naught
but play upon my fiddle to the children.
Tt did no barm, anil they liked it. Is it
an offense to make music ? In other
places, I and my fiddle have made friends
with the townsfolk."
The shaggy brows knit closer, and
away down in the burgomaster’s heart
stirred a chord that for long years had
lain so quiet its existence had well nigh
been forgotten.
UudersUuid what the boy said ? At
the sound o! that patois, so strange to
the ignorant townspeople, there came to
him visions of his youth, aud a long hol¬
iday this in the far-off snnuy hamlet where
dialect- to him had grown the sweet¬
est music in the world ns it fell in liquid
guttural notes from the lips of a young
peasant maid.
So well the momory came—so Cbsh,
it seemed but yesterday—when over
worked with studies, he had gone from
home to gain health aud strength and
’
1 . ve , for awhile to its own do
- Wen had hai1 liis lus father’s father injunction
. 8
named ont in all save the lost,
of disobedience. ^‘i y . 11 all It ) T was 1 hr no 1 ' n 7* T lore 1 - V 1 r ‘'
from books; it sprang up in his heart.
and not until the lesson had been learned
too thoroughly ever existence. to forget, did he
even guess of its
"Como, “Come, lad,” lad.” he he savs says kindiv kindiv. and nod at at
the sound tlio boy's heart rejoices, for
lie hears liis own tongue, a little strange
from disuse, yet perfectly intelligible.
'’* They 1 ‘—---" " give’tip * N
say thou must " thy " fiddle
if ever thou wonldst thrive,
"Ah, no is, min—it is my heart !”—
clasping it closer.
“Thv heart? Then.lsd.it shall not
go; yet first let's hear what thou canst
bring from it"
For a moment Carl looks thoughtfully
into the burgomaster’s face; then *
says;
"Thoushalt he ir what the com sines
when wheu^ths it is growing and the trees w his
breeze touches ‘ them ‘ it
‘ , Ia T ,, t £*. t .. } , I have lain
“V ) bn-'ido!.. f ues watelung w ( ’f n sheep my
, “‘J. 1 over and over.”
rh,> *“** s imaginings touch the
. m'-pr<uuaster art, and
s m smiling, he
nod i® taken out, the Slowly the
°hi *s his chin strings tight
l' r j r0Stu ’8 upon it,
“ttht.y , he drawc the bow The
across.
burgomaster starts; he had thought to
near some childish strains; yet these
notes the boy brings forth from the old
black fiddle have in them all the power
of a master hand.
The picture comes before him of the
quiet night, the restful sheep huddled
together on the hillside, the breeze as it
goes sweeping by moaniDg through the
trees, the gentle rvistle of the distant
grain growing in the darkness, and the
lonely little figure of the watchful lad
gathering these sounds and heaping
them im in his heart until they tremble
forth at his touch upon the vibrating
strings.
Hark! The darkness moves away.
In the east the sun suddenly comes flushing up,
and all the air is pulsing with
the singing of the dawn-birds.
Ah, Carl, Carl 1—lad, with thy heaven
l»orn gift, thou hast won the stern old
heart before tliee. Thou hast saved thy¬
self a world of wandering, and gained a
life of ease.
The one green spot in the magnate’s
heart holds a memory which Carl’s play¬
ing lias brought to life. Again he is
young—a student—and in the twilight
stands waiting for the song of the young
peasant coming home from and her work.
The song comes naarer, when into
her pathway he steps with outstretched
arms, he laughs joyously to see the hap
iness spring up in her eyes.
Yet fate had come between, It was
not fit that the only son of rich old Bur¬
gomaster Van Gmisen should wed with
a peasant; so he had come away at his
father’s bidding, leaving behind his heart
among the green country lanes where
dwelt the impetuous little soul through
whose veins ran the fire of the South.
Ah, God, how he had suffered ! Suf¬
fered as his father, with his phlegmatic
temperament, could not even dream.
He had pined so that his studies and
whole life grew distastefid; then, at
length, the father had relented, consented
grudgingly little field flower to his son’s wearing the
where he had hoped to
a rare
Not waiting for aught beyond a bare
consent, the son started forth, eager to
gain that so long denied. Alas, he came
too late. Elspeth had been but a foolish
maid, the neighbors said, to love the
burgomaster’s son—a foolish maid to
have naught to say to the village lads ;
and when the young stranger left, just
seemed to lose all heart, and one day
came home ill with a fever.
Ho while the stern old man debated,
Death stepped in and gathered the wild
daisy of .. his son’s heart; and when he
came the grass was already green on her
pi.ave, „nd he could but take away with
him the memory of what had been, and
the knowledge that of the two hearts
thus sundered, one had broken.
Long years went by, and the old bur¬
gomaster died. When his son succeeded
him, he had married a boxum, unim¬
pressionable of dame, who linen. brought with
her a dower gold and
Hlio ruled his house, attended to his
wants, and of the two daughters born of
the marriage, hod seen that they both
were well versed in those things a good
housewife should know.
They were too much like their mother
ever to interest him mm n, and his heart
sometimes yearned for a son to bear his
name, but none had con,Wj£ lD''3Ld^
Carl little guessed, as r# his
playing, of all the thoughts he brntfru hai’yton
jured up in the burgomaster’s *
“Well, lad, thou hast a gift, thee and
thy fiddle, of bringing old-time music
iuto my heart. Thou hast a name. What
is it ?”
“Carl Mueller; and I have neither
liffmo nor friends, save those we win to¬
gether, my fiddle and I.”
“Thou iiast not ? So much the bettor,
for now thou canst have both. Wilt
thou be a son to me? Thou shalt be
taught, and if thou art clever, as I take
tliee to be, one day from out thy little
black fiddle thou slialt draw music that
wilt make alt hearts thine.”
Could Carl believe his own senses?
He hardly knew what to say. What
was this life promised him? No more
wandering, sleeping where he might,
tired, and often supperless. The tears
stood in his eyes, then quickly seizing
the Yes, burgomaster’s hand, he kissed black it.
the fiddle; the little old
thing so contemptuously spoken of by
the townsfolk, had gained for Carl what
money oould never have done—a place
in the burgomaster’s heart.
At first the little peasant lad, with In's
strange tongue and odd ways, had been
a sore trial to the burgomaster’s wife;
vet the lad, being gentle and lovable,
had won a place for himself in the
household; and when, after his day’s
studies were over, he sat back in a cor¬
ner softly in playing his the melodies as they
sprang up heart, the active hands
would drop their knitting, and the glit¬
busy tering housewife. needles lay quiet in the lap of the
So time went by. and the little lad was
sent up to one of the great city conser¬
vatories to follow liis culling.
He had not been idle; even the dull
t l>arts . of . lns studles pleasure,
, : ' ' V0IV 11
and day after day ho worked away
through very 'burgomaster love of his art. and that
the the dear dear old old 1 --------------- might see his
kindness had , not been misplaced.
Thus Carl grew, until when, at length,
having wrought out all the themes of
great masters, lie bade the place
a< bildle. beu, carrying with him only the black
I i Of Of how how he he went went flora flora city city to to city city and and
I I bind itUK l to land, land, swaying swaying with with hie his magic magic
tench of the bow the throngs who came
hear, Ioanuot tell you.
Yet Yet to-day to-day there there is is not not a a crowned crowned head head
iu Europe who has not listened to the
little pasants playing, and showered
upon him gifts and medals. Through it
all, Carl s heart is true to the memory
of of the fho wllitA-httirAd white-haired Fllrl old nan man in in far-ruft far-ofl
Germany, who calls him his sou, and
who, almost as much as the lad himself,
prizes the old black fiddle which has
won for him all this honor,
there eomes to him in loving lan
P^ws of each frerh triumph, tears
0im ^ e Tes > and ^ ^i 11 ^ recalls the
time when .
tho townsfolk had said the
stranger lad must part with his fiddle
» U[ “Nein, ] he, clasping neiu it it the closer, cried out;
; is my heart 1”
-
__
A EBurviAS living in Milan has made
a clock entirely ont of bread. This re¬
minds made us of the Philadelphia blacksmith
'vlio an anvil out of bread. The
bread was presented to him by s college
girl, She baked it herself.
SPEAK GENTLY TO EACH OTHER.
A St»ry for the Children.
“Please to help me a minute, sister,’
said little Frank.
“Oh, don’t disturb me,” I said; “I’m
reading. ”
“But just hold this stick, won’t yon,
while I drive this pin through?” said
Frank.
“I can’t now, I want to finish this
story,” said I, emphatically; and my lit¬
tle brother turned away with a disap¬
pointed look in search of some one else
to assist him,
Frank was a bright boy had of ten years,
and my only brother. He been vis¬
iting a young friend, and bad seen a
windmill, and as soon as he came home
his energies were all employed in making
a small one; for he was always trying to
make tops, weeelbarrows, kites, and all
sorts of things, such as boys delight in.
He had worked patiently ail the morning
with saw and knife, and now it only
needed putting together to complete it;
and his only sister had refused to assist
him, and he had gone away with his
young heart saddened.
I thought of all this immediately after
he left me, and my book gave me no
pleasure. It was not intentional un¬
kindness, only thoughtlessness, for I
loved my brottier, and was generally
kind to him; still, I had refused to help
him. I would have gone after him, and
afforded the assistance, but I knew he
had found some one else. But I had
neglected an opportunity of gladdening
a childish heart.
In half an hour Frank came bounding
into the house, exclaiming: “Come,
Mary, I’ve got it up. Jmt see how it
goes!” His tones were joyous, and I
saw he had forgotten my petulance, so I
determined to atone by unusual kindness.
I went with him, and sure enough on
the roof of the out house was fastened
a miniature windmill, and the arms
were whirling around fast the enough windmill to
please any boy. I praised
and my little brother's ingenuity, and
he seemed happy, and entirely forgetful
of my unkindness, and I resolved, as I
had many times before, to be always
loving and gentle.
A few days passed by, the shadow
of a great sorrow darkened our dwelling.
The joyous laugh and noisy glee were
hushed, and our boy lay in a darkened
room with anxious faces around him,
his cheeks flushed, and his eyes unnat
| urally bright. Sometimes his temples
wonlfl moisten pud his muscles relax,
an( j hope would come into our
hearts, and our eyes would fill with
thankful tears. It was in one of those
deceitful calms iu his disease that he
heard the noise of his little wheel, «nd
said: “I bear my windmill.”
“Does it make your headache?” I
asked. “Shall we take it down ?” •
“Oh, no,” he. replied, “it seems as if
I were out of doors, and it makes me
feel better. ” He mused a moment, and
then Mary, added: that I wanted "'Don’t fjfk help remember, fin¬
you m me
ish it, and you were reading, and told
me you could not ? But it didn’t make
any difference, for mamma helped me.”
Oh, how sadly those words fell upon
ear f—and what butter memories
itiey awakeiirtTf Hew I repented as I
kissed little Frank’s forehead that I had
ever spoken unkindly to him ! Hours of
sorrow went by, and we watched his
couch, hope growing fainter and fainter,
and anguish deeper, until one week
from the morning on which he spoke of his
childish sports, we had closed the eyes
once so sparkling, pulseless and folded his hands
over his heart. He sleeps
uow in the grave, and home is desolate;
but the little windmill, the work of his
busy hands, is still whirling in the
breeze, just wliere ho placed it, upon the
roof of the old woodshed; and every
time I see the tiny arms revolving I re¬
member the lost little Frank—and I r%
member also the thoughtless, unkind
words!
Brothers and sisters, be kind to one
another. Be gentle, considerate, and
loving.
Tke Romance of a Pardon.
James MeDongall, who was sentenced
to imprisonment in the Auburn, N. Y..
Prison for ten years in October, 1877,
pardoned. for burglary The in the Governor first degree, has been
gives the fol¬
lowing excellent reasons for his action ;
“The wife of the convict left him and
for some time he could not discover her
whereabouts. He learned that she was
living with another man, ostensibly as a
domestic, but, as it now seems to be con¬
ceded, actually in a very different rela¬
tion. The husband’s repeated requests
that she should return to him and restore
his child,"which she had taken with her,
were refused and his efforts in that di¬
rection were resented by the man with
whom she was living. The crime of
which the prisoner was convicted con¬
sisted in his bursting iuto the house
where his wife had taken up her abode
in the night, apparently with the idea of
reclaiming her and his child. He was
confronted by the man who had alien¬
ated aud was harboring his wife and
was by him shot and nearly killed. As
soon as be had sufficiently recovered of
his wounds to appear in court he was
convicted of burglary in the first degree
and sentenced to prison for ten years.
Nearly having six years expired of his term of imprison¬
ment I had but little dif¬
sentenced ficulty in agreeing him and with the the judge who
attorney who
prosecuted the indictment in their opin¬
ion that he should be released. ”
Too Fast.
A hotel guest iu Columbus, Ga., after
waiting a long time for his supper in a
hotel dining room, grew impatient, and
exclaimed to the dilatoi v waiter, “Bring
me my supper at once !” aud aceompan
ied this peremptory remark by the exln
bition of a revolver, which he pointed at
ihe waiter’s head. He secured his meal,
not for only in abundance, but in solitude,
all the other guests fled at sight of
his weapon; but his eating was followed
obliged by arrest, and the impatient visitor was
to digest the food in jail
“The sick-looking fowlon the ntnety-cent pled ,
Awi*ouiTTitkln thesignTer ltlhead may in
crease. bird itself is , „
Xbousb tbe poor
BARNEGAT TAVERN.
SEA TAI.ES TOI.D IN AN OI.D INN
WRECKS ON THE ATLANTIC COAfT.
Along the Jersey Hhore, and What One
Sees There—Fish«*nnen and their Ways.
The mere name of Bamegat is associ¬
ated in the mind with foaming breakers,
grinding wrecks, and drowned men’s
faces upturned to the sky; yet Barnegat
village, as distinguished point, from the bay,
the inlet, the the shoals—all of
which have the same prefix—is as little
nautical in its characteristics as the most
remote of interior villages. It lies a
mile inland from Barnegat Bay, in the
midst of meadows and cornfields, with
its white cottages grimly disposed in
squares, and cows, objects pigs, and in farm carts
the most familiar its streets—
in fact, with not a whiff of salt-sea
flavor discernible in its precincts. Yet
two-thirds of the villagers are seamen
or dependent on the sea for a livelihood.
Some are masters or owners of coasting
craft, others are baymen proper, fowlers,
fishermen, oystermen, and wreckers.
The tavern is the lion of the village—an
ancient Jersey inn, its wrinkles and
crow’s feet covered by liberal coats of
paint, yet still reminding one of the old
hostelry at Sudbury, with its
“Weather 8 tains upon the wall,
And stairways worn, and crazy doors,
And creaking and uneven floors,
And chimneys huge and tiled and tall,”
One is certain that but a few years
have elapsed since the red-horse sign of
colonial times descended from its post
before the door. It is rather a strange
scene that presents itself on a summer
evening in the bar-room of the old tav¬
ern. The baymen are there in force, in
such variety of attitude, costume, and
physiognomy that one longs for the
pencil of Hogarth lank to adequately sketch
them. The tall, type of the New
Eugland coast is not prevalent here, th6
Jersey waterman being short and bis
“stocky. ’ He wears far less hair on
face, too, than his Northern brother.
He is, however, visiting fully as alert for the
shekels of the stranger, and as
conscienceless in his charges. His
favorite dress in calm weather is a
flannel shirt and stout pantaloons of
corduroy or duck; but as it usually
rains or is threatening rain at Barnegat,
ho oftener appears in oilskin and
tarpaulin. The conversation about the
tavern stove takes a wide range—from
horse racing to wrecking—touching on
such topics Condition as the of crops, the boating, oyster beds, fish¬
ing, the wildfowl.
and the advent of the It was
our good fortune recently to be present
at one of these seances. The presence
of a stranger at first cast a certain
restraint on the social circle, but certain
mild tales he craved of wrecks and
wreckers on Cape Cod, Nantucket, and
Montauk broke the ice, and by exciting
the jealousy of tlw surfmen for the rep¬
utation of tlieir coast, called out many a
tale of direful import. As showing the
capabilities of Barnegat, the reader will
perhaps welcome a few of the most char
acteristic.
“There bronzedbld was'the ship Powhatan.” be¬
gan a ‘which wrecker, ashore shifting his
quid, Beach ‘ with came four hundred in 1855 on
Long German
immigrants on board. Twenty-four
hours after a terrible nor’east snow¬
storm ud sot in, the wust storm, sir,
ever known on this coast. Mebbe an
hour later, the ship Manhattan, with
eighty-tliree souls aboard struck near by,
and out of the hull four hundred and
eighty-three only blowin’ one was saved alive.
The wind was eighty miles an
hour, and the waves swept the vessels
fore and aft, takin’ spars, decks, cargo,
and everythin’ human with clean out of ’em;
they didn’t stop the beach either,
but leaped through the glades between
the sand hills like so many race hosses,
and swept in a sheet of foam clean across
the bay six miles, lodgin’ timbers, and
chests, and cargo, and dead bodies in
the swamps beyond. The bravest surf
man in the town didn’t dare cross the
bay on that night, sir, and no rYelp
could reach the poor critters. Ofte poor
feller with a little girl baby in his arms
managed to get ashore, and crawled up
one of the hills where he tried to make a
shelter for himself in the beach grass
and bayberry, but blesq_you, he and the
little un both, died afore mornin’, froze to
death.”
“I was down at Great Swamp on
Long Beach, ’bout nine miles below the
lighthouse,” said a little man in the
comer, “one foggy mornin’ in ’65, and
seed seven vessels go ashore in two hours
within a mile un’ a half of me. Two of
’em struck within forty feet of each
isfher. and you should have seen the
captain of the fust stamp ’round on the
sand and swear he’d libei the last craft
for runnin’ foul of him on the high seas.
All of ’em was foreign built, mostly
north of Europe craft, and onaeqnainteci
with the coast. One of the captains
’ommandin’ a Swedish bark come as!-on
with a brace of revolvers in his beit, ex¬
pectin’ to have to fight the wreckers for
Kis life and property;” and the honest
fellow chuckled at this instance of
foreign gullibility coast-wreckers. concerning the opera
tions of American
“Tell him how Captain Joe parted
the haul-line on the David H. Yolek,”
said an interested listener, and the first
spokesman began the story:
“The David H. Yolek was a three
masted schooner loaded with sugar from
Cuba, bound to New York, and run
ashore on Long Beach in a light son’
easter owin’ to a mistake in the mate’s
reek’nin’. The gale came on heavier
arter she struck, and ’bout daylight she
begun breakin’ up, passengers and crew
takin’ to the riggin'. In this plight she
was discovered by No. 19, and the crew
about 12 o’clock contrived to git a haw
ser out to her, and set the breeches
buoy to work, after tryin’ several times
to reach the wreck with the lifeboat,
The first to come ashore was the second
mate with the captain's two-year-old
child—a girl—in his arras. Just as they
reac hed the break on the inner bar the
haul-line fouled on the wreck and held
• em in the break with the water bilin* I
- ef t i. j j innpr
over eiu Tn- ^ i pv w „ c a
Wdh tha? they W^dthev ndght the dilY men
couldn't start
, lare broak it . with a hard tug because it
P art jwixt the man and the shore.
0 held the child above water,
, out ue was fast drowuin wii6H Cap*
,
tain Joe stepped out on the strand and
called for volunteers to break the line.
Two brave lads. Jim Mills, of Bamegat,
and Joe Haywood, of West Creek,
stepped out. Then the three men
hauled themselves through the break¬
ers, the ice freezin’ on any part that
showed above water, and hand over
baud along the hawser till they reached
the mate and child, grabbed the haul
line, and snapped it betwixt them and
the ship. We was watch in’ proceedin'*,
and about that time pulled with a wifi,
landin’ the poor critters high and drv ra¬
the beach. The little girl wasn’t hurt
much, and in a few minutes was as spry
and chipper as a cricket; but the mate was
een-a-most gone. We put him on a
roll of blankets in a beach wagon, face
down’ards, and hurried him off to the
nearest house, about half a mile away.
Then he come to in half an hour so as
to speak, and told us that Captain Salter
and his wife were lashed to the riggin’,
dead, havin’ died delirious; but it was
impossible for us to have reached them
if they’d been livin’. ”
Stories of the Sea,
Perhaps the lingerer in the captains'
room thrilling at Nantucket, will hear no mora
tale than the story of the ship
Essex, of Nantucket, Cajffain George
Pollard. One calm day in 1819 she lav
in the Pacific, near the equator, with
every boat out in pursuit, when suddenly
ship, a large whale rose a few yards from the
and, rushing at her with open
jaws, struck her a blow that made every
timber tremble. He then coursed away
in his frenzy for two miles or more, but
returned and struck her again with such
force as to crush in her sides and sink
her before the boats could be recalled.
The crew of twenty took to the open
boats, well aware that the nearest land
—the coast of Chili—was two thousand
miles away. They were three months
making the distance, and endured every
horror to which humanity is subject
heat, tempest, thirst, hunger (even to
the eating of human flesh), insanity and
death—and but eight of the twenty
lived to reach the land. This narrative
recalls a train of reminieences of singular
accidents to shipsgat sea. In 1796, for
instance, while the Harmony, one of Mr.
Botch’s ships, from Dunkirk, was be¬
calmed on the Brazil Banks, a whale
leaped squarely on her deck amidships,
and crushed her level with the water, sg
that she sank in a few moments, tn
November, 1807, the ship Union, Captain
Gardner, was struck in the Atlantic by a
sperm after receiving whale, and sunk in a few minutes
the blow, her crew of
twenty-tLi'Ce men taking safety. to the boats
and reaching Azores in But per¬
haps the strangest accident happened to
Captain Folger, a famous whaling cap¬
tain of the island. As his vessel lay at
anchor one night, in one of the bays of
Newfoundland, with only the dog-watch
on deck, suddenly she was felt to be
hurrying to sea at much more than
her watch usual speed. The frightened
called lustily for help, but before
the captain could reach the deck the ves¬
sel was out of the harbor, and going
swiftly into the darkness. Concluding
that a whale was foul of the anchor, he
shouted t.o cut the cable, this being
done, the vessel soon lost headway and
was got safely back to port.
A Queer Story.
A little story was told us by a lady
lately abroad, which illustrates the
moral obtuseness that is sometimes seen
in the fair sex when they covet the goods
of their neighbors which they cannot
obtain legitimately. The teller of the
story was in Borne and had by much
trouble and care collected a large num¬
ber of photographs of persons and places
which she wished bound up with the
letter-press of a favorite work of fiction. •
For that purpose she went to a Boman
shop and left her book and photographs
to be Naples. bound, while she went on a visit
to On her return, the man of
the shop, who was a German by careless¬ the way,
informed her that through the
ness of his boy the book had been lost
after binding, and he was very much
troubled both at the loss and, being a
poor man, at having to make it good to
his customer. Though rather discour¬
aged, the lady duplicated her former
collection, and succeeded in getting it
into the form that she wished without
further mishap. Soon after, ■j when
showing the volume to a friend in Paris,
she was told that Mrs. Blank, an Ameri¬
can lady of considerable social position,
had the same volumes, illustrated in the
same way, and, on further inquiry, found
that her fair countrywoman, having left
a large order for books at the same
Boman shop, saw and wished to buy the
volumes left there to be bound, and
which were then ready for the owner.
The shopkeeper told her they were not
his and refused to part with them, until
she declared she would countermand her
order and buy nothing from him unless
he would sell her those particular vol¬
umes and tell the owner he had lost
them. At last, rather than lose a prof¬
itable trade, he did so, and the books
now repose among the valued memen¬
toes of an American lady of taste and
fashion .—Boston Post .
A Mixed Case.
A peculiar legal case has arisen in
Chenango county, N, Y. A resident of
the county, who drinks very freely, was
arrested in his native village for drunk
enness and paid a fine of $5. The next
day he was again taken in by the police, ’
and the court again imposed a fine of $ 5
This he was unable to pay, and so tie
court sentenced him to jail* for 30 days,
The man now is preparing to bring a
suit against the court for false imprison
ment. His complaint is that the last
arrest and imprisonment was for “the
same old drunk,” that is, the one for
which he was arrested on one day and
paid a fine of So on the following day.
Having settled for that drunk he con
he a ri g bt **> enjoy ail
fl I e benefits, privileges, and immunities
wtich the payment was supposed to
ha Y e scored him. It is a singular case,
and . exciting considerable merriment
is
*^il « 8 some downright earnest think
mg over the peculiar attitude of the
coalt '
________________
“ Axd the wind is never weary,” was
written by Longfellow while a spectator
^ ^ political convention.