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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.