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YOlMr MAN, BRACE IT.
A WESTERN MHTOR’H AO VICK TO
111* hi Os*.
The Vmin« l>loo WSio Nils ll.wn in Irilc
*»*?*«« an«l \Viiat Become* of Him.
[From the Milwaukee Sun.)
A lazy man is too contemptible to live,
and 1ms no rights his fellow men are
bound to respect. Young man, last, you may that
as well understand, first as iu
you have got to work for all you get
this world. You may not always get
xrhat you earn, as there are men in tins
world too mean and contemptible to give
to others what really belongs to them,
but if you wou d keep out of the poor
liouso,'and have u competency in your
old age, yon will have to work for it,
To be sure there is a great difference in
tt.611. Some ure endowed with greater
intellectual no we is than others, while
■ome are greater physically. Some men
Are horn low down in the scale of intel
lectualisiu, but mark you tbe physical
of such H ma»i. There is a way provided,
however for every man to better him¬
self You won’t find it in the gin mill,
neither is it to lie found at the gaming¬
table. Remember one tiling, and that
is you have not the capacity to take
into yourself all the strong drink made
in this world, and you had better let the
contract tad- before von attempt to work
on it. Don’t bet all you have on a bob
tail flush, or before you know it the
other mau will either raise yon out of
■the game or come iu on a straight flush.
Nine hundred and ninety started youDg with men
out of r thousand, who an
idea ol becoming suddenly rich by bet¬
ting on a sure thing, get left, and arc
■worse off than when they came into the
game. The hay horse is more liable to
get beat if you hold a pool check on him
"dSiau he was before you put uncertain¬ up your
money. Such certainties are
ties, and never give up a certainty the for tiger; an
uncertainty. Don't fool with
you can’t most always tell which way the
Beast will jump. sits down in idle¬
When a young man
ness, with an idea that the world owes
him a lining, it’s high time his body was it
committed to the dust from whence
came. As for his soul, nothing will ever
fbe known of it. It is so small that it
would rattle round in the shell of a mus¬
tard seed, and when it leaves his lazy
carcass, is for ever lost on account of its
infinite proportions.
A record of the young men who have
-been unfortunate enough to have a for¬
tune left them shows that eight in ten
never 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, he commits "a terrible blunder.
The father guilty of such a crime gener¬
ally has to saw wood for a living in his
•clu age. Nine out of ten of the boys
with fathers who bring them up in idle
luxury, ere they reach the meridian of
life are total wrecks. Wrecked on the
rocks of total depravity which lie be¬
neath the stream of life and on whose
sharp aud ragged edges thousands of
lives have been wrecked aud ruined.
Money bags may, like bladders, keep you
above the waters of distress for a time,
but puncture them, let their contents
■escape, and .you sink.
Young man, you have undoubtedly
meant to do well. No young man ever
goes astray intentionally, but in some
idle thoughtless moment he graduates
from soda water and lemonade to some¬
thing stronger, and before bo is fairly
aware of it he has not only lost caste,
but has a whole menagerie on his hands
and is employing a doctor to help dis¬
pose of his immense elephants and the
snakes that laughingly cuddle iu his
boots. Yes, the world presents too many
temptations for the minds of all to with¬
stand, and the only safe way for a young
man is to keep away from the tempta¬
tion, If you see a man at a wheel of
fortune win ten times running by betting
•on the red, you just keep your hands
-out of your pocket and see him lose all
be made at the next turn of the wheel
mid ou the very color or number you
ikuew would win.
Boys, the recklessness of youth is
what has caused so many mothers’ hair
i to turn as white as the driven snow. It’s
• this that has caused so many fathers and
•mothers to give up by the wayside and
laid in premature graves. The follies
•of our youth hang heavier upon the
bearts of our fathers and mothers than
fhe millstone that grinds the kernel into
■the finest flour. It’s a pity that some of
our young men of to-day didn’t fall in
|>etw een the millstones before they have
•caused the treuble they have.
Shutting Out the Sunshine.
The United Presbyterian says r “We
-<lo well to throw open the windows of
our souls and let in the light. Just as
the grass and flowers need the sunshine,
do do our hearts need it if they are kept
fresh and sweet aud give out good in¬
fluences. When the inexperienced
amateur in floriculture put her rare
plants in a shaded room, which also she
■closed up carefully against the bright
light, she thought she was doing it the
greatest kindness, but her only reward
was its decline as it wilted and then died
away. Christian people often act with
Abe same kind of wisdom, or rather un¬
wisdom, in their moral treatment, aud
they have the same result. There is
•death when they expected life. They
draw down all the curtain of their souls
nnd fasten the shutters outside, hoping
in the dimness thus produced to live free
from sin and hence grow in grace.
Sometimes they call it ‘shutting out the
world,’ again they name it ‘ living in a
Te treat,’ or probably it is more ambi
the tiously called ‘retiring in company with
master,’ but whatever the name the
is the same. The mold gathers
where there should be healthv fragrance,
and over the life that proper treatment
would have clothed with spiritual beauty,
the heavy folds of a tattered sackcloth
and hang like the drapery of death.
The Master is not found in such condi¬
tions. He is where the song is, the
conversation, the throbbing of human
interest and earnestness, and gives his
blessings as he receives his praises, in
the gladness of the sunshine and the joy
the gentle winds.”
MEADOWS OF GOLD.
Meadows of gold—
Hulling and reeling a-west
V’e clasp and hold
The milk of the world in your breast.
Ye are the nurses who clutch
The ladies of life, and touch
The lips that famish and burn.
In agony cruel and stern.
Meadows of gold—
Beaching and running away !
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 bine, and buttercups, too,
Under the dark and the dew.
Meadows 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 tiie beautiful are.
Ye are the Hebes who dip,
Aud lift from the loam to tiie lip
The nectar, whose plethoric flood
Is tinted and turned into blood.
J. N\ Matthews.
“It is My Heart,”
THE BCTKaOJIASTER’3 ADOPTED SON.
The burgomaster frowned, and knit
his heavy brow s; he was perplexed as
to what should be done witii 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 the
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 he seen it before ?
There was no fear in his manner, holding only
a restless movement of the hand
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 he could not
guess, lie had been seized upon sudden-
1 y by the town authorities and brought
before tbe burgomaster. A part only
could ho make out of what was said, for
his own language sounded queer on
these strange tongues; and as to the ex¬
planations offered, they had seemed a
perfect jargon to the townspeople; there¬
fore the burgomaster, being a learned
mau and versed in 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 bench by the road, no trade—but with the sat children on a
or
clustering about, playing they his fiddle,
content if in return sometimes
shared with him their 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 and learn an honest
trade. The burgomaster, a stout, red¬
faced man, had long ago done with sen
timent- - therefore small leniency was to
be looked for from him.
So Carl was brought, the and now, all
alone, stood before magistrate.
What he had done or what was to be
done with him, he did not know.
After a silence, Carl seeing the burgomaster
looking at him, 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.
It did no harm, and 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.
Understand what the boy said? At
the sound of that patois, so strange to
the ignorant townspeople, there came to
him visions of his youth, aud a long hol¬
iday in the far-off sunny hamlet whore
this dialect to him had grown the sweet¬
est music in the world as it fell in liquid,
guttural notes from the lips of a young
peasant maid.
So well the memory came—so fresh,
it seemed but yesterday—when, over¬
worked with studies, he had gone from
home to gain health and strength, and
leave learning for awhile to its own de¬
vices. Well had his father’s injunction
been carried out in all save the last,
and that truly had been through no gained spirit
of disobedience. It was no lore
from books; it sprang up in his heart,
and not until the lesson bad been learned
too thoroughly ever to forget, did lie
even guess of its existence.
“Come, lad,” he says kindly, aud at
the sound the boy’s heart rejoices, for
he bears bis own tongue, a little strange
from disuse, yet perfectly intelligible.
‘They say thou must give up thy fiddle
if ever thou wouldst thrive.”
“Ah, nein, nein—it is my heart !”—
clasping “Thy it closer.
heart? Then, lad, it shall not
6°-' jet first let’s hear what thou canst
bring from it.”
For a moment Carl looks thoughtfully
into the burgomaster’s face; then says:
“Thou shalt hear what the com sings
when it is growing, and the trees whis¬
per when the breeze touches them at
night. In the times when I have lain
upon the hillsides, watching sheep, my
fiddle and I heard it over and over.”
The lad’s quaint imaginings touch the
burgomaster’s heart, and smiling, he
nods his head to the ■ boy. Slowly the
old fiddle is taken out, the strings tight¬
ened; then, resting his chin upon it,
lightly he draws the bow across. The
burgomaster starts; he had thought to j
hear some childish strains; vet these
noteB 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 moaning through the
trees, the gentle rHslle of the distant
grain growing in the darkness, and the
lonely little figure of the watchful lad
gatheriner these sounds and heaping
them ur> in his heart nntil they tremble
forth at his touch upon the vibrating
strings. The darkness
Hark! moves away.
Iu the east the sun comes flushing up,
and all the air is suddenly pulsing with
the siDging of the dawn-birds.
Ah, Carl, Carl!—lad, with thy heaven
born gift, thou hast won the stern old
heart before thee. 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 has 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 her work.
The song comes naarer, and 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 Gruisen 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 distasteful; then, at
length, the father had relented, consented
grudgingly to his son’s wearing the
liftle field flower where he had hoped to
place a rare exotic.
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 tire
burgomaster’s son—a foolish maid to
have naught to say to the village lads ;
all stranger left, just
seemed to lose sart, and one day
came home ill with a fever.
So while the stern old man debated,
Death stepped in and gathered the wild
daisy of his son’s heart; and when he
came the and grass could was already but take green on her
grave, he 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 dame, who brought with
her a dower of gold and linen.
She ruled his house, attended to his
wants, and of the two daughters born of
the marriage, had 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 muen, and his heart
sometimes yearned for a son to bear his
name, but none had come.
Carl little guessed, as he ended his
playing, of all the thoughts he had con¬
jured up in the burgomaster’s brain.
“Well, lad, thou hast a gift, thee and
thy fiddle, of bringing old-time music
into my heart. Thou hast a name. What
is it?”
“Carl Mueller; and I have neithei
home nor friends, save those we win to¬
gether, my fiddle and I.”
“Thon hast not ? So much the better,
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
thee to be, one day from out thy little
black fiddle thou shalt draw music that
will make all 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 iu his eyes, then quickly seizing
the burgomaster’s baud, he kissed it.
Yes, the fiddle; the little old black
thing so contemptuously spoken of by
the townsfolk, had gained for Carl what
money could never have done—a place
in the burgomaster’s heart.
At first the little peasant lad, with his
strange tongue and odd ways, hail been
a sore trial to the burgomaster’s wife ;
yet 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 playing tiie melodies as they
sprang up in his heart, the active hands
would drop their knitting, and the glit¬
tering housewife. needles lay quiet in the lap of the
busy
So time went by, and the little lad was
sent up to one of the great city oonser
vatories to follow his calling.
Ha had not been idle; even the dull¬
est parts of his studies were a pleasure,
and day after day he worked away
through very love of his art, and that
the dear old burgomaster might see his
kindness had not been misplaced.
Thus Carl grew, until when, at length,
having wrought out all the themes of
the great masters, he hade the place
adieu, carrying with him only the black
Of how he went from city to city and
land to laud, swaying with his magic
touch of the bow the throngs who came
to hear, I cannot tell you.
Yet to-day there is not a crowned head
in 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 the white-haired old man in far-eft
Germany, who calls him his son, and
who, almost as much as the lad himself,
prizes the old black fiddle which has
won for him all this honor.
As there comes to him in loving lan¬
guage news of each fresh triumph, tears
dim his eyes, and his mind recalls the
time when the townsfolk had said the
stranger lad must part with his fiddle,
and he, clasping it the closer, cried out :
“Nein, nein ; it is my heart 1”
A 1’EP.iTviAN living iD Milan has made
a clock entirely out of bread. This re¬
minds us of the Philadelphia blacksmith
who made au anvil out of bread. The
bread was presented to him by a college
girl. She baked it herself.
SPEAK GEYTLY TO EACH OTHER.
A Story tor 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; with and my lit¬
tle brother turned away a disap¬
pointed look in search of some one else,
to assist him,
Frank was a bright boy of ten years,
and my only brother. He had been vis¬
iting a young friend, and he had seen a
windmill, and as soon as 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, and for I
loved my brother, refused was generally
kind to him; still, I had to help
him. I would have gone after him, and
afforded the assistance, hut 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. Just 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 witli him, and sure enough on
the roof of the out house was fastened
a miniature windmill, and the arms
were whirling around fast enough to
please any boy. I praised the windmill
and my little brother's ingenuity, and
lie seemed happy, and entirely forgetful
of my unkindness, and I resolved, as I
had many times before, to be always
loving and gentle. by, and the shadow
A few days passed
of a great sorrow darkened our dwelling.
The joyous laugh boy and noisy glee darkened were
hushed, and our lay in a
room with anxious faces around him,
his cheeks flushed, and his eyes unnat¬
urally bright. Sometimes his temple?
would moisten and his muscles relax,
and then hope would come into om
hearts, and our eyes would fill with
thankful tears. It was in one of those
deceitful calms in his disease that lie
heard the noise of Iris little wheel, and
said: ‘ ‘I hear my windmill. ”
“Does it make your headache?” T
asked. “Shall we take it down ?”
“Oh, no,” he replied, and “it seems as if
I were out of doors, it makes me
feel better.” He mused a moment, and
then added: “Don’t you remember,
Mary, that I wanted you to help me fin¬
ish it, and you were reading, didn’t and told
me yon could not ? But it make
any difference, for mamma helped me.”
Oh, how sadly those words fell upon
my ear!—and what bitter memories
they awakened ! How 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, which until he one week
from the morning on spoke of his
childish sports, we had closed the eyes
once so sparkling, and folded his hands
over his pulseless heart. He sleeps
now in the grave, and home is desolate;
but the little windmill, the work of his
busy hands, is still whirling in the
breeze, just where he 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 re¬
member also the thoughtless, unkind
words!
Brothers and sisters, be kind to one
another. Be gentle, considerate, and
loving.
Tbe Romance of a Pardon.
James McDongall, who was sentenced
to imprisonment in the Auburn, N. Y.,
Prison for ten years in October, 1877,
for burglary in the first degree, has been
pardoned. lowing excellent The Governor gives the fol¬
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 into 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 and was harboring his wife aud
was by him shot and nearly killed. As
soon as he had sufficiently recovered of
his wounds to appear in court he was
eonvicted of burglary in tbe first degree
and sentenced to prison for ten years.
Nearly six years of liis term of imprison¬
ment having expired I had but Id fie dif¬
sentenced ficulty in agreeing with the judge who
him and the attorney who
prosecuted that the indictment in their opin¬
ion he should be released. ”
Too Fast.
A hotel guest in Columbus, Ga., after
waiting a long time for his supper in a
hotel dining room, grew impatient, and
exclaimed to the dilatory waiter, “Bring
me my supper at once !” and accompan¬
ied this peremptory remark by the exhi¬
bition of a revolver, which he pointed at
the waiter’s head. He secured his meal,
not for all only the in other abundance, but fled in at solitude) sight
guests followed of
his weapon; but his eating was
by arrest, and the impatient visitor was
obliged to digest the food in jail.
‘Tne siek-looking fowl on the ninety-cent piec«
Causes many a snicker and giggle;
And our faith in the sign o’er its head may in¬
crease, bird itself is ill-eagle.
Though the poor
UAKNKtUT 1'AVEliN.
SKA TAf.KS TOI.D IN AN OLD INN —
WRECKS ON TIIK ATLANTIC! COAST.
Along the Jersey Shore, amt What One
Sees There—Fishermen and their Ways.
The mere name of Barnegat 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 from the bay,
the inlet, the point, 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 its white of meadows cottages and grimly cornfields, with
disposed in
squares, and cows, pigs, and farm carts
the most familiar objects in its streets—
in fact, with not a wliiff of salt-sea
flavor discernible in its precincts. Yet
two-thirds of the villagers are seamen
or dependent oil the sea for a livelihood.
Some are masters or owners of coasting
craft, others are bavmen 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 stain* 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
Itefore the door. It is rather a strange
scene that presents itself on a summer
evening iu the bar-room of the old tav¬
ern. The baymen are there in force, in
such variety of attitude, costume, and
physiognomy that one adequately longs for the
pencil of Hogarth to sketch
them. The tall, lank type of the New
England coast is not prevalent here, the
.Jersey waterman being short and
“stocky. ’ He wears far less hair on his
face, too, than bis Northern brother.
He is, however, fully as alert for the
shekels of the visiting stranger, and as
conscienceless in his charges. His
favorite dress in calm weather is a
flannel shirt and stout pantaloons of
corduroy rains is threatening or duck; but. rain ns at it Barnegat, usually
or
he 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 as the crops, boating, fish¬
ing, the condition of the oyster beds,
and the advent of the wildfowl. 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 essayed Cod, of Nantucket, wrecks and
wreckers on Cape and
Montauk broke the ice, and by exciting
the jealousy of the surfmen for the rep¬
utation of their coast, called out many a
tale of direful import. As showing reader the
capabilities of Barnegat, the will
perhaps welcome a few of the most char¬
acteristic.
“There was the ship Powhatan.” be¬
gan a bronzed old wrecker, shifting his
quid, “which came ashore in 1855 on
Long Beach with four hundred 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-three souls aboard struck near by,
and out of the hull four hundred and
eiglity-tliree only one was saved alive.
The wind was blowin’ eighty miles an
hour, and the waves swept the vessels
fore and aft, takin’ spars, decks, cargo,
and everythin’ human with clean the beach out of either, ’em;
they leaped didn’t through stop the glades between
but
the sand hills like so many race bosses,
and swept in a sheet of foam clean across
the bay six miles, lodgin’ and timbers, bodies and
chests, and cargo, dead in
the swamps beyond. The bravest surf
man in the town didn’t dare cross the
bay on that night, sir, and no help
could reach the poor critters. One 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 bless 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 tbe
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 oi
’em struck within forty feet of each
other, and you should have seen the
captain of the fust stamp ’round on the
sand and swear he’d libel the last craft
for runnin’ foul of him on the high seas.
All of ’em was foreign built, mostly
north of Europe craft, and onacquaintci
with the coast. One of the captains
commandin’ a Swedish hark come ashon
with a brace of revolvers in his belt, ex¬
pectin’ to have to fight the wreckers for
his life and property;” and the honest
fellow chuckled at this instance ol
foreign gullibility coast-wreckers. concerning the opera¬
tions of American
A Mixed Case.
A , peculiar v i legal i case . has arisen . in
Chenango county N Y. A resident of
the county, who drmks very freely, was
arrested in his native village for drunk
enness and paid a fine of $5. The next
day he was again taken m by the police,
aud the court again imposed a fine of $5
This he was unable to pay and so the
court sentenced him to pul for oO days.
The man now is preparing false to bring a
suit against tne court for imprison
meat His complaint is that the last
arrest and impiisonment was for “the
same old drunk,” that is, the one for
which he was arrested on one day and
paid a fine of $5 on the following day.
Having settled for that drunk he con
tends that he had a right to enjoy all
the benefits, privileges, and immunities
which the payment was supposed to
have secured lum. It is a singular case,
and is exciting considerable merriment
as well as some peculiar^ downright earnest think
ing over tiie attitude of the
C0Urt ’
“ And the wind is never weary,” was
written by Longfellow while a spectator
at a political convention.
r
®
said an interestpd lio+nw lb ^ Yolok ”
spokesman began e story^ ’ he thst
ashore Cuba, bound to New York^i l d fr ' m
easter owin’ on Long Beach in r ' sllt v, son’, I'll li
reck’nin’. to a * m tlie
The sale 6 ll mate’s
arter she. struck, ° 1 Y f avi *‘r
begun brenkin’ and nassenm^ ’bonf 1 7 ' 8 ]’ t ^
fakin’ was discovered to the rigS’Inll up andYf fl 1 '' .<*’* Slle
about bv No p) tol ':;
12 o’clock contrived F"
ser out to her, and set tlie W. ’i'"'
buoy to work, after toyin’ sevenf H ^
The The first to / he come Wreck ashore with tbe the lifeboat ;
ma with the was two-ySd secor,
e captain’s
child—a girl—in his arms. Just fl
reached the break as
haul-line fouled on the inner '
in on the wreck bS ] n
era the break with water
6 T 38 ef the y was bi a dinner
W W « n l; tug as thev might nrg l
couldn’t start that iine, tle
■tare break it mid the rt
with a hard tug hei Zr‘
might part ’twixt the man and tin
The mate held the child above
■ -am »nt he __ .Toe was stepped fast drownin’, wkenTan’.
caHed out on the strand mi 1
for volunteers to break thelio
I wo brave lads. Jim Mills, of Bame c.
■md Joe Haywood, of West g»t,
stepped out. Then the three Creek
hauled themselves through «* u
the freezin’ the break
ers, ice on any part that
showed above water, and baud
hand along the hawser till ov
the mate and child, they reael, htl i
and snapped grabbed the
me it betwixt (hem and
the ship. We was watchin’ proceedin'*
and about that time pulled with a win’
'andin’ the poor critters high aud dry oil
the beach. The little girl wasn’t hurt
much, and in . a few minutes was asspn.
and chipper as a cricket; but the mate was
ecn-a-most gone. We put him on a
roll of blankets in a beach wagon, face
down’ards, and hurried him oil 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 tiie rigrin’
■lead, impossible havin’ for died to delirious; have hut if'was
us reached them
if they’d been livin’.”
--- —---- -- l i -— -—-i
A queer Story.
A little story was told us by a ladv
lately abroad, which illustrates the
moral obtuseness that is sometimes seen
in the fair sex when they covet the good
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 nuni
her of photographs of persons and places
which she wished hound up with tln>
letter-press of a favorite work of fiction.
For that purpose she went to a Roman
shop and left her book and photographs
to be bound, while she went on a visit
to Naples, On her return, the man of
the shop, who was a German by the way,
informed her that through the careless
ness of his boy the book had been lost
after binding, aud he was very much
troubled both at the loss and, being a
his poor man, at having to make it good to
customer. Though rather discour¬
aged, the lady duplicated her former
collection, and succeeded in gettrng it
into the form that she wished without
further mishap. Soon after, 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
Roman shop, saw and wished to buy the
volumes left there to be bound, and
which were then ready for the owner. not
The shopkeeper told her they were
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 books prof¬
itable trade, he did so, and the
now repose among the valued memen¬
toes of an American lady of taste and
fashion .—Boston Post.
Stories of the Sea.
Perhaps the lingerer in the captains
room at Nantucket, will hear no mors
thrilling tale than the story of the ship
Essex, of Nantucket, Captain George
Pollard. One calm day in 1819 she lay
in the Pacific, near the equator, with
every boat out in pursuit, when suddenly
a large whale rose a few yards from the
ship, 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 the twenty ana
death—and but eight of
lived to reach the land. This narrative
recalls a train of reminicences of singular
accidents to ship slat sea. In L96. f | ' r
1D s t ance, white the Harmony, one of Mr.
Eotch ‘ s ’ shipSi from Dunkirk, was te
d ^he Brazil Banks, amidships, a whale
{ . ^ el ^ 011 her deck
level wit h the water, so
, , gank iu a few moments. In
x ovpmhpr igOT the ship Union, Captain
in the Atlauticbya
w j, alo alK i sim k in a few minutes
^ receivi ’ ° g the taking blow, to her the crew boats of
Aching .
and “ Azores in safety. Butper
Stain ,, FoSer st ° n „ est accident whiing happened to
.£ a famons cap
f ,, ^j aI J d As his vessel lay at
® of the bays of
Ytofoumllar.d , ui<dlt in one dog-watch
with onlv the be
< luU e»lr ^ s hc ‘was felt to than
‘
“ 1 ■> to sea at much more frightened
® speed The
“ {, j help, but before
S atc , ed i, lst ily for the yes
! e Pr >nir! reach the deck
" and going
“jfilytotothe , t j, e [ ia rbor. Concluding
darkness. ancto. he
that a whale was foul of the
shouted to cut the cable, th»
done, the vessel soon lost headw y
was got safely back to port.
