Newspaper Page Text
58
And as he uttered these words, Father Igna
tius turned so pale that he appeared to be about
to faint. A deadly glare shone in the dark eyes,
full of rage, despair and anguish—the white
teeth gnawed the bleeding lips, and his right
hand, thin, nervous, and bathed in moisture,
seemed about to tear his heaving breast.
Loup Noir witnessed this profound emotion in
the priest with no little agitation, but not with
his former submissive look. A species of sullen,
desperate resolution was apparent in his snake
like eyes, and he said with ill concealed men
ace: .
“ How can the poor Indian, the low animal,
know what the great man of the holy church,
the educated pale face, feels? Doubtless he does
not love this woman, since he would thereby be
guilty of an awful sin.”
“Yes, a terrible—terrible sin!” came in a low
faint murmur full of passionate despair from the
bleeding lips of the priest. He seemed to be
unconscious almost of the presence of the Indian,
and his eyes were fixed upon vacancy with a
dreamy look of the deepest anguish. This lasted
only for a moment however. The anguish disap
peared, and violently compressing his thin lips,
Father Ignatius was himself again. His manner
became cold, collected, and commanding; and he
surveyed his companion with a glance of such
superiority that the Indian could not sustain it.
He looked down suddenly, aifd said no more.
“ Loup Noir” said Father Ignatius, “you have
moved mo deeply by your wild words, —too
deeply since they are but the foolish wind that
blows everywhere. I disdain further answers
to your speech, and shall return to the house to
sleep. Before I go, however, listen to theso
words I utter. I again command you. on pain
of eternal punishment, to forego this desperate
and uuholy scheme of carrying off the young
lady. I would long since have warned them,
had I wished to let them know of my connection
with you—but I warn you that this shall not,
must not be. Conquer your madness by going
away; and heaven will smile upon you. Yield
to it, and you shall fall into the clutches of the
evil one, and toss in endless agony. You shall
be anathema niaranathal —and even that is not
all. You can never reach your aim, for it would
be impossible to carry off any one from this re
gion. You would be pursued and killed like the
wolf from whom you tako your name; even now
a party from the house yonder have been on
your track all day.”
“I know it,” said Loup Noir, with a sullen
and gloomy look. “I saw them thrice—and
once they passed directly by the cavern in the
precipico below, where I was hidden. I took to
the shallow water when they were gone—and
they are off the track.”
He had scarcely uttered the words when the
sound of footsteps at some distanoe was heard,
and the low growl of a dog. »
“Histl” said tho Indian, rising to his full
stature with the froo air of tho brave again, and
drawing his knife; “ they are on my track 1 ”
“ Yes —go, this moment! ”
“ Well, that is good advice, father,” was the
cunning reply, “ and perhaps I shall get over
this madness, ltemember not to utter that
curso you threaten—doubtless I shall go back
to the woods and give up *h« trir'"
" Go—tlioy are coming mg.-u ihe 1 tui
a low, hurried voice. “It
v . you. and I an 'osi
, . lie •’mile i 3 t - '• lip, awl
. wh undi '
into the uo.io’v free itauia . .• mid with a
“'I o r., ! t {UP Nor. .“.iiK, than
»-. *«•>•
“, _ tha* though a young man may be r
priei-t, stiltLe canon euppr -s ■■nuiplete ■■ tlm.-
prompting# of the Oarnsi n lure which com i to
till. ’
Tin ■,f ’t"i,i*hnent Ot».puMM upon uw
lY ! the 0 .. i •*- #«id :
“You must explain your meaning, Father
Ignatius. lam either too ignorant or too stu
pid to understand you."
“ I will do bo, my dear young lady; and I
beg you to listen, without offence, as to one
much your senior."
“I shall certainly do so, sir.”
“I would ask then, first, whether the priests
you allude to were quite young ?”
" In two instances at least, but twenty-three
or four, I should have supposed from their ap
pearance.”
“ Very well, then they were young.”
“ Certainly."
“ And had been like other youths beforo ta
king the vows.”
“Ido not understand again, sir; but I an
swer that you are probably right.”
“Then, I ask, my dear youug lady," said
Father Ignatfus, “ whether you are quite cer
tain of one thing—that thpse young priosts of
twenty-three or four—who were, as you ac
knowledge, like other young men a few years
before —you will not be offended now ”
"No, uo, sir!" said Isabel impatiently.
“Are you sure, then, that they did not go
away thiuking of you—remembering your lips,
your eyes, your smiles—toning you, in a word!”
And tho keen eyes, gradually glowing more
brilliantly, blazed full into the young girl’s
face. /
“Loving mol” she exclaimed. “Father Ig
natius 1”
“ You promisod not to be offended, ray dear
young lady."
“ I am not, sir—l am only astonished 1 I
cannot misunderstand you, sir. You mean to
ask if the young priests loved me as young men
love girls ”
“ Precisely.”
“Why, that would be a sin!” said Isabel, im
pulsively, and blushing, she knew not why.
“ Undoubtedly," said the priest, who, attempt
ing to look pleasant, only grinned a ghastly
smile, “a very great sin; but in this world
many sins are committed. Now, there is no
question, that in looking with eyes of love upon
you, these young men were guilty of an awful
transgression —but i cere they not guilty ?"
“ I can’only reply to your singular question,
sir, by saying that I do not remember the least
indication that they took any interest in me.”
"Are you sure?" I
“Certainly,” replied Isabel, who was lost in
wonder at the obstinate adherence of Father
Ignatius to the topic.
“But, might they not have felt thus toward
you and concealed it?"
“It is certainly possible that men or women
may conceal their sin, sir, but I saw no evidence
of any such.”
“ Did they remain long in the tribe ?"
“ Some days."
“ And you saw them frequently?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You conversed with them?”
“ Once or twice, sir.”
“ And they wished you to confess ?”
"Yes, sir, but when 1 informed them that I
was a protesiaut they did not urge me fur
ther.”
“But they urged you to become a Roman
Catholic?”
“ Repeatedly.”
\
tme BowimEMm arxs&i) mu® wmmßmE.
(For the Southern Field end Fireei
A LEAF FROMMY LOG-BOUL
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
The Historiographer, much addicted to smoking
and classical quotations.
The Historiographers Chum.
A Law Student.
The Associate Principal of D e Academy.
A College Student, at home for “ the Long.’’
Skipper of Yacht Gift.
“ Block Bob," mate, deck-band, steward, eta,
etc.
SCENE.
Sometimes on ye yacht Gift, sometimes on ye
island, yclept Cobb’s, in ye Atlantic ocean, off
Cape Charles, Virginia.
“ Three o’clock, old boy, come, turn out I” the
historiographer looks up and sees the cheery
face of his old chum bending over him, gives a
shivering yawn or two, and le is up and dress
ing.
We are on “the sea-side,” under the hospit
able roof of Lebanon, and can hear the deep
booming of the surf and the wind whistling
through the tops of the tall pines, making one
almost think that it is winter. My friend has
already ridden from his plantation to meet me,
and he doesn't feel it cold, so he throws up the
window facing sea-ward, and hums tho gay old
drinking soDg out of Der Freischutz. Basta I
hoV the wind blows! .
historiographer performs his toilet in si
lence, but while taring his cravat, asks:
“ Where is the wind ? " .
The cheery expression disappears, as his friend
answers rather savagely:
“Blowing hard from the northeast; right in
our teeth, and hasn’t hauled a last
night. I wish it would Btay there
He is evidently growing petulant abou&Jffi* B
“Nor-Easter," which lias been blowing
gale for three days; so the historiographer de- <
livers with laudable suavity a very good piece
of advice that Horace once gave to Lollius—
Infection volet esse, dolor quod suaserlt et mens.
“ Stop quoting your infernal Latin, and mako
haste; the yacht sails in half an hour,” says his
North-Easter-hating (rather Homeric) friend, so
he tells him the famous remark of Sam Johnson,
and mutters something to be found in the sev
enth chapter of Matthew, but his chum looks so
fierce (cf. Hor. X. P. 121), that he desists and
can only sigh for the dear old school-days, when
he would have been sent ahead of his form for
saying anything as smart as that.
We pause in the hall a moment to draw on
our heavy pea-jackets, light our cigars, and bid
the kind doctor good-bye, who wishes us God
speed, and go out little maro is impa
tiently pawing the ground® HW quiet and beau
tiful everything looks in the bright moonlight 1
What a grand symphony the sighing of the wind
through tho lofty tops of tho groat pinos and the
heavy roar of tho surfUThe “tiger” stands half
asleep at tho horse’s head, the cheery expres
sion comes again as my chum draws on his
Flovea. takes the reins and cries “ give her her
luue, ’ the little mure springs foi ward, the lawn
j gate -Ivina- • ■ nd w* dash alnug tho “sea- ,
I side road " id. a rate that would have drawn an I
j approving smile from ti of tho 1
J ■ lirond •Rock.” Tli- hi-' HOirraphtr In- ha k j
| iu the comfortably cushi . .d in- /,! ijcd pull
t•» -< his carat, whilst, his .l’*’.' frC-taon-w
■ !" .• .... -V -
i am you ►•earn fFghtcrud.' j
i There whs so innol gloom and anguish
! in the scent of the pi le I no he gazed with a ’
■ iniipi tenderness on . girl, that i> woo pain- I
till O. In .a him op. < leal el decided that h. •
suspicions were correct—that her companion
had been guilty of the sin which he described—
and that he had painted his own suffering, strug
gles, penitence and remorse. Tho conviction
disarmed all her displeasure at tho intrusive
character of meeting with her. and the strange
ness of the conversation. She saw before her
now, ouly an aged man who had sinned—in his
youth, doubtless—and still suffered from the
recollection of his transgression, as his agitation
showed: and she had not the heart to retain tier
offended air toward him.
Thus, when Father Ignatius said in his hoarse,
low voice, full of anguish and yet witli singular
tenderness in its accents, “I am sorry you are
frightened,” Isabel replied with a soft smile,
and in a friendly tone:
“Oh, no! I am not at all frightened, though
your conversation is enough to scare any little
girl like me, Father Ignatius.”
The change in her manner, and her use of his
name in place of “ sir," brought a glow again to
the cheek of the priest, and he murmured :
“You must not think ill of me.”
“Oh, no!—from your conversation? not at
all.”
, “ I would suffer much to ensure vour happi
ness—and I joined you to-day to adjure you not
to let the death of that young mau who loved
you prey upon your health.”
Isabel’s face suddenly flushed, and she turned
away, saying in a low tone:
" I would rather not discuss that subject.”
“ Nevertheless the advice is good, my dear
young friend,” said Father Ignatius, who had,
seeing tho approach of the rest of the party,
suppressed every indication of emotion, “ and it
be well for you to follow it. The dead
cannot return, and, however noble he was, that
is a limit to all grief. Let me beg you to think
of this. And now another request; Our con
versation has been o 5 a peculiar character, and
might possibly be misunderstood by third per
sons. May I beg you not to mention the nature
of it, or anything connected with it ?”
“ I see not the least reason to refuse your re
quest, sir,” said Isabel, “ and I shall not mention
it.”
The priest, who had made his request with
some marks of anxiety, heaved a deep sigli of re
lief; and when the "fine revellers" from the water
came up the bank, his countenance was as hum
ble, smiling, gentle and submissive as usual. It
was the poor priest who in his meditative walk
had encountered by accident the daughter of his
host, and engaged' in mild and holy conversation
with her.
Masks 1 masks 1 What a singular world this
would be without them I —and how very inter
esting I
[to be CONTINUED in odr next.]
».■ s a s
Presidential Election Dat.—Congress pass
ed an act in 1845, “to establish a uniform time
for holding elections for electors of President
and Vice President in all the States of the Union."
This act fixes the election on the “Tuesday
next after the first Monday in the month of
November," which .this year is the 6th day of
the month. All the electors must be chosen or
appointed on that day, except in the case of the
filling of vacancies in the Electoral College, or
where a State has failed to effect an election on
the day designated.
’ -mm*- iii mm
Don’t put off till to-morrow that which should
be done to-day.
| ©loop on her lei m-erds and washed m from
[ the helm, car* i *the idler with fun. ;• at they
hau cut away Vue-yaw’ boat, hut or. . not put
back, as the vessel was right arnuug uio a,readers,
under no contibL and their own Uvea in danger,
that he appes ■ed bewildered, and that the last
they saw of 1 a he was swimming away from
the boat
R. I. P.
We are no r veil out, and the little vessel
seems almos to fly, the spray dashes all over
us, and invol mtarily we trill out, 9 hl a T?
sheet and a f wring sea.” How jolly it sounded
then 1 The s is>er bears down on the island,
we can see tl s servants hurrying to and fro, as
we draw nei •; the yacht “rounds to,” splash
goes the anch ir.her stem swings round, and we
areon“Cobl s.” . .
We walk i fto the dining hall-there is no
office—wherJ vc are introduced to Mr. Cobb,
who gives us rrtdial welcome.
Grief is plain', • written on Ins sun-burnt face.
His eyes blood-shot from sleepless nights, his
long gray beam sassing from under his throat all
tend to make him look haggard. The skipper
whispers that Wives thelostsaibr even as
one of his own/9»lren. They had hunted and
fished together s*ud had made nets and snares
by the same ingle in the long winter nights when
the bleak wiqMbowled around this lone little
island. So the/had lived for five years.
My friend looks a moment at the register, and
ays— I
ii vr » - . » - n
“ You have a great many hare."
“Yes, gentlemen, a great deal of company,
and,” he added in a tone that made us turn
away, “a great deal of sorrow. One ol the bravest
sailors that overlived has just been lost at sea.
Some of these gentlemen will show you a room.
I can’t;” and the poor broken-hearted old man
walked away, great tears rolling down his
weather-beaten cheeks. We honoured the hon
est old islanderfer his feeling.
In a few moments we descendJrom our room
in the Newton House, and meet the rest of our
vnarty, who hav^Treceded us. Breakfast is not
(Sire, iy so wa iull.'t urdsr the cool grape
arbdMfs until the d-ior the hi akfast-room
aro*sWUti>e% ' in. and the
histOr- -rah’ TTt ~ w(li ” ,tad > we all
SXlI'g.P- <•“ ® et at
IC Af cr , e.U*' :!1 go down m the beach
to lot-. '.4 . ivy sea up on
Q ,, e. su-iy’ ai. “the multitu-
S I
is “tre
inti , w,-i X, mto be poeti
cal o Ik ev.-l'ks V 1 - * k hi * 1)0011 and
ciga under the «s*rt wiU. vs, leaving his
frie- J- ■ it . 1 V 1 * s ’ l,e v «y sweet-looking
lat g or *' ■ ■ .■iyfflL.fi 'old. aheard,ahdgay
„ r o *e seen walking
f ov ( . : All. n, sedate hidWrio
eri 1 . 1 t'i<, ‘ flrfes hls^ignity,
( P f , •ki'mt. lrgat. c. iii., Aris-
j O , JHQk'i. .said place—rath
cr diflerent in u *
.t an Mav omplacgr.'ly m««he
.'i p. “
■ ix' v-JMKRMr
1 WISP
, Ri.,o ’i.n Mhe press an : even the pulpit
iectic th ‘i.u o senlinient, hdi! every senoei boy |
• .ratN . isea his nasal menutni/e tea ear split’ :
j till, treble Wlien he strikes upon that harp of a ,
thousand StfU-ga -out /.n free
press, and free people.
Ci.rtaiuly we are a nation in the enjoyment of
“gltrious” independence. Are we not free,
throigh the press, to abuse whom we please to
the txhaustion of the whole vocabulary ofJlil
lingsrate, and to assail the public and private
cliarieter of any individual against whom we
chance to harbour a personal or party spite ?
Most assuredly. And are we not all at liberty
to pot in our oar to aid in rowing the “glorious”
Ship »f State to the other side of JordaD, if
we clioose? Are we not privileged to vote for
as many Presidents as we please, to have as
many Conventions and to nominate our candi
dates ad libitum, ad infinitum , until our republic
bids fair to occupy the positiou of that plantation
out west, celebrated in soDg as having
“00-i little nigger and two oberseerfl“J^
Finally, nave not our religious denominations
the Christianly right to quarrel with each other
to their hwets' content?—and our canaille the
glorious privilege of getting drunk upon their
own liquor,'and rolling in the free mud of their
country as freely as it shall please their inde
pendent sfirits to do? Who disputes it?—
Down with the traitor who insinuates a word
about liberty degenerating into license 1 Inde
pendence forever! “Hoorah for Hooray ! ”
1 have not sharpened my pen to tiud fault
with Freedom in the abstract, or to express any
contempt for the national Spread-Eagle. My
patriotism, I am happy to say, is above suspi
cion—it having been abundantly provan by the
martyrdom of broiling for three hours under the
sun, which T . endured at a recent Fourth-of-July
barbecue, given to "celebrate the anniversary
of the birth of our glorious Father Washington,”
as one of our young Wiregrass orators actually
proclaimed to his "enlightened audience” up
on a late occasion.
I said, I had not begun this article with any
intention of discussing political liberty. Being
a woman, and by no means zealous for that mil
lennium, predicted by Mr. Beecher, when petti
coats shall cluster around the polls, I have
ueither the right cor (let any one insinuate ‘sour
grapes,’ whea 1 add) the inclination to insert the
smallest of my digits iulo the political pie—es
pecially since there would be no possible chance
of extracting the “plum” of office, which, it is
to be feared, is the fbundation of much of the
patriotism that so loudly vaunts its disinterest
edness on electioneering occasions.
Nor am I greatly concerned because the Press
chooses exercise its liberty in the
fabrication and propogatiou of pleasant scandals,
or in indulging in the elegant game of persouai
sparring and vituperation, since nobody believes
the former, while in the latter—harmless —con-
flicts nothing is ever broken but pens and no
thing but ink ever shed. My subject has no
bearing upon the Press, except as the prominent
medium through which are disseminated opin
ions and sentiments —the offspring of an exag
gerated notion of liberty—whose discussion,
since they affect social life and fireside happi
ness, may be within the legitimate scope of even
such desultory female scribblers as myself.
To this exaggerated idea of liberty, this im
patienceof restraint, combined with the resjless
energy characteristic of the American mind,
may be (raced the numerous creeds and isms to
which our country has given birth. of
these, like the gourd of Jonah, grow up and are
withered in a day, but they serve to nourish the
soil that produces others vet more noxious.—
Fear not to .peed the abaft, that on thy Up
Stands trembling for Its flight.
Whereupon we both say many fine things, and
then we begin to talk of our past labours, aad
what we hope to accomplish; and from our
bookish talk, we fall to chatting, of course, and
as any reasonable person would expect, about
women. Don’t be atigry, ladies, we felt kindly
toward you, and both of us had forgotten our
Euripides—“ that notorious old misogynist,” as
Mr. Grote calls him—yes, our Euripides and
Virgil. Ah! a pleasant chat! of beautiful and
brave Antigone in the noble old play, while we
wondered if there could be such a one, and
there by the “sad sea-wave” we could almost
fancy that we heard, borne sweetly and sadly
from across the blue sea, the noble death-song,
so painfully pathetic—
OnUH sunecthein alia svnphidein ephun,
of our noble Andromache, of learned Aspasia,
of high-souled Lucretia, and timid Virginia
standing by the shambles, “piled up with horn
and hide;” and thus we talk of noblewomen
whom the later poets have made us love—of
splendid Beatrice and Petrarch's Laura, of noble
Beatrice Cenei, of golden-hiired Alessandra
Strozzi, and “feyre Geraldine”; of Leonora
D’Este, the love of Tasso, Leonora Baroni, who
enchained the noble English Homer, of Tboza,
so tender and true, “ who drove bade the hell
hounds of King Olaf from the great Jarl of
Lade,” and Bonnie Jean who won the heart of
Robbie Bums.
And we wish for a dear # poet-friend and a
gallant young officer far away on the Pacific
with his regiment, and, as we turn homewards,
we talk wistfully of dear absent friends.
For though we never spoke
Os the grey water and the shaded rock.
Dark wave and stone unconsciously were fused
Into the plaintive speaking that we used
Os absent friends and memories unforsook;
And, had we seen each other’s tsce, we had
Seen haply, each was sad. t
The historiographer, though not at all roman
tic—remember he has taken an evening siesta—
doesn’t care to sleep this fine night, so he sits at
his window watching the Great Dipper slowly
sinking in the northern sky. He has seen to
day some of his old class-mates, and is thinking
ol others scattered throughout this broad con
federacy, and Memory looks him kindly in the
face and leads him softly back to tho careless
old days, when all was sunshine and gladness.
There, his cigar is out. Buenos Koches t
* ********
tfhis is our last day on Cobb’s, and what a
beautiful one it is! The “deep and dark blue
ocean ” on all sides as far as the eye can reach,
save to the westward where “the main,” look
ing such a dreamy blue this fine morning,
stretches away for many a mile. My gallant
compagnons de voyage, as usual, are chatting
with the ladies, so the historiographer throws
aside his dignity and his cigar, and proposes to
the ladies a match at ten-pins; which invitation
they being wicked enough to accept, we all go
down to the alley, where, to complete the requi
site number, we are joined by a small, melan
choly-looking youth with a big badge, thereon
a bad Greek inscription. (My chum whispers
that lie is from "Letvoctiibouguanyhow Col-,
j lege,” which I presume is somewhere north.)
1 , TI.IS 1 ing -n ftlyynv* contrived to roll
; Uviety” t her r exists a mod ideation of iff* mmt 1
I sentiments e.\j ' *-ea by those rt'orm-Iwing
j females, who » 1 /eidotisly proclaim their btten
’ lieu
1- pi. .** Si *l .lie, 111 mi 11* variety,
Ana care not a ng for the laws of society.”
And yet, that this is so, none, who have kept
an observant finger upon the pulse of social lile,
will deny. A spirit is abroad in the land—dis
guised sometimes as an "angel of light”—but
stealthily engaged in undermining the ancient
pillars of society, and in sowing the seeds of
discord around the firesides of our homes.
The Press, the truest stethoscope in such cases,
gives indication of the social disease. Setting
aside tho frequency of its notices of criminal
elopements and broken marriage vows and the
disposition to regard these less gravely than
formerly (apparent in the careless, flippant man
ner in which they are chronicled), there is, also,
discernible, in the same true mirror of life, a
subtle under-current of feeling, which may yet
swell to a tide that shall beat strongly against
the barriers which society opposes to unlimited
freedom.
Whenever Poetry begins to chafe against the
restraining “bit” of social law, and Romance
grows pathetic over the wrongs and injustice of
society; whenever women discover that they
are not understood or appreciated, and there is
raised an outcry of “reform” and “freer life,”
it is safe to suspect that the commotion bodes
something more than is apparent on the surface;
that this angel of Reform, with “ Truth ” and
“ Freedom ” emblazoned so conspicuously on his
helmet, has “falsehood ” and “Licentiousness”
branded beneath it upon his forehead. When
an individual becomes zealous for reform, it is
usually his own morals, instead of those of so
ciety, which need mending. Like the fox of
Kosob, who wished to compel all other foxes to
be “curtailed” because his own caudal append
age was wauting, such individuals would have
the custom and laws of society remodeled to
suit themselves. *
It is eminently fashionable to inveigh against
the “ wrougs of society,” and yet it will be found
that society is seldom unjust, that it rarely fails
to encourage ment, or to punish derelictions
from right and truth. The Great Unappreciated,
who rail at society like so many Zautippes and
bewail tbqir unhappy fates, are generally quite
as highly appreciated as they deserve to be.
The Free Love tendency, to which I have al
luded as manifest through the Press, is by no
means openly so. It is carefully disguised in
sophistry. Those who have aided its advance
ment would themselves indignantly repel the
accusation that their vrritihgs had any such
tendency, and yet, to what else tend those bit
ter, impatient outbursts against the restraints
of custom, that “ keep men from living free anti
full lives ’’; those sketches and romances, that
treat of ill-assorted marriages and domestic mis
ery — assuming that the heart, when it fiuds it
self “ mated, Dot married,” must necessarily be
miserable forever; those ingenious arguments
subtly insinuating the right of individuals so
uncongenially mated to break the galling bond
age-arguments, not put forward as coming from
the writer, hut supposed to rise in the minds of
the hero or heroine, or to be'pleaded by some
impassioned lover, who urges, “Is it not better
to break a single promise—already broken to
the heart—than to live a false-hood all your
life?”
It is the invariable habit of the Press and
other reliable guardians of public virtue, when
ever the laxity of American morals is insinuated,
to excuse themselves afterta fashion set by our
primal father Adam, and faithfully followed by
Gunner a crac’ witb tua tail an ttunicea me no t v
out I kinder fell on ’im, an’ he grebe me by
my leg an’thigh, an’l nuwer will forgit wht. -
I eed jus’ then.”
“What did you say, Captain?”
“Why, I sed ‘Lord have mercy un my soul,’ ar ’
seems if God A'mighty tole me wbat to do, for I j
cotch with my han’ whar he was a-biting me
an’rammed my thum rite in his rite eye, an’, sir
he spit my leg rite out like pison an' made rib ,
off. Well, I jus’ made out to git to my cunne
an’ I laid down an’ bled an’ bled. Bimeby, I c
pushed on ’twards home, an’ brother come tuk
me out I has the print of forty-siven shark
teeth on me.” < y;
Success to captain, most mortals would have
fared worse in such tight quarters. * * * * '
This morning we are to go off to “ the main,”
and are taking a last pleasant chat under the
arbours. There are five or six of these long and
broad arbour-promenades, but unfortunately for c
us, the grapes are not yet ripe. Great clusters
swing down right above our heads, a tempting t
invitation to stay a little longer. The ‘ 1 associate
principal” is going off in the yacht “ Franklin
Pierce,” and we too accept the kind invitation *
of her gentlemanly owner to go off with him.
So after breakfast we go U) bid the ladies adieu, ' )
thank those at the Richmond House especially
for their kindness, and followed by Dennis with ,
our traps, start with rather sorrowful faces for
the pier. A large party are going to spend the j
day at Prout’s Island, and the whole pier-head
is filled with ladies and gentlemen chattering,
and servants with large baskets, which ht' once 1
suggest cold fowls, sandwiches, and champagne.
We shake hands with this gay group—all of |
whom, with that warm hospitality characteristic
of the “ Eastern Shore," press us to join their
party —let go our lines and swing out. Soon we
are flying along under a spanking breeze, the
spray is dashing over us, and we do not find our
pea-jackets uncomfortable. How beautiful the
little vessel behaves 1 She looks indeed like “ a
thing of life,” rising and felling and swaying so
gracefully to the great breezes. The historiogra
pher is amid ships, but desiring to conle aft,
hands his hoisted umbrella to hiWchum; “ there 1”
He looks, and far away on our port quarter
sees his new silk umbrella dancing gaily on the
swell.
“ Haul on your sheets.”
Up flies the helm, and in a twinkling our
little vessel rounds to, her sails flapping in the
the wind; but it is all in vain, for like Mr. Long
fellow’s “ Ship of State” its “ribs” are of “steel,”
and soon it disappears. Our kind friend knows
that it is useless to wait, yet he seems loth to
leave the place; however, the other hoato
decked out with their gay pennoni iru ’ caring
down close on us, and wo persuat bin: to k
on, so we fill away and keep on our course. the
historiographer cracking some disi i joke with
his friends about the umbrella, “Cobb’s’ sinks
until we can only see a little spec! away u, tip
eastward, we glide through the marshes h
keel grates on the sand, and we f id again ?
“ tH* main.” •
At this island, you will meet > ways wia.et
i dial welcome, and the board is < do;..
<fier djam. There are, of cour many cc
I venilWes that it is irapowiblf to obtain, but, •>
I friend who art wearied by long tudyiugor >
i ! pressed vftihrthii heat of the fl.hvJLwn. »
’ ' thwgu* go prepaid iogm fWSSLf*
w*j| 'M
.grugbetil
the genetic term tor' a gobs mine. W
< m Chronicles that “ King So! itcon made
Jof ships in * ij ireber wL his beside
—tat wie euuiv ui xwwvi tfea —and t
navy traded with Tarshish a i Ophir
in three years oame the navy • .ir^'.ii ->
ing gold and silver, ivory, apes, and
Ins Persian poem of the Tenth Century which
describes an expedition frpm Jerusaler to Cey
lon, the outward voyage is stated as occupying
a year and a half—a coincidence which the teg
ular occurrence es the Monsoons, and their ef
fect upon the unscieqtific navigation i the i >-i
renders important Gold and silver hav.- I wen
for ages, and Btill are, produced in 1.• .oral q n
tities from the mines of Malacca- and ivory,
apes and peacocks aro the most pro linent ' (ti
des of export from Ceylon—and f qs-keu of
many times in the Tamil books, in the me or
der as in the Scripture narrative. — [Examiner.
f i
Anticipating Evils. —Enjoy the present
whatever it may be, and be not solicitous for tfoe
future, for if you take your foot from the presbat
standing, and thrust it forward towards to-nar
row's event, you are in a reckless condition. It
is like refusing to quench your present thirst by
fearing you should want drink the next day. If
it be well to-day, it is madness to make fte
present miserable by fearing it may be ill to
morrow; when your belly is full of to-day’s din
ner, to fear that you should want the next diy’s
supper: for it may be that you shall not, and
then to what purpose was this day's affliction ?
But if to-morrow you shall want, your sorrow
will come time enough, though you do not hast
en it; let your trouble tarry till its day comes.
But if it chance to be ill to-day, do not increase
it by the cares of to-morrow. Enjoy the bless
ings of this day if Cod send them, aud the evils
of it bear patiently aud sweetly; for tbis day
only is ours—we are dead to yesterday, and we
are not yet born to to-morrow. He, therefore,
that eDjoys the preseut, if it be good, enjoys as
much as is possible; and if only that day’s trou
ble leans upon him, it is singular and finite.—
“ Sufficient to the day," said Christ, “is the evil
thereof;’’ sufficient but not intolerable. But if
we look abroad and bring into one day’s thoughts
the evils of many, certain and Uncertain, what
will be and what will never be, our load will bo
as intolerable as it is unreasonable. —[Jeremy
Taylor.
Tiie Idea of Fire among the Ancients. —
According to Pliny, fire was for a loDg time un
known to some of the ancient Egyptians, and
when Euxodus, the celebrated astronomer, show
ed it to them, they were absolutely in raptures.
The Persians, Pheniciabs, Greeks, and several
other nations, acknowledged that their ancestors
were once without the use of fire, and the Chi
nese confess the the progenitors. Pom
panius, Mela, Plutarch, and other eminent au
thors, speak of nations who, at the time they
wrote, knew not the use of fire, or had but just
learned it. Facts of the same kind are alSo at
tested by several modern nations. The inhab
itants of the Mariana Islands, which » or; dis
covered in 1521, had no idea of fl Never
was astonishment greater than theirs, -'hen they
saw it on the descent of Magellan on one of
their islands. At first they believed it wns some
kind of aoitpal that fixed to and fed Upon wood.
The inhabitants of the Philippine ai d Canary
Islands were formerly equally ignorant Africa '
presents, even in our own day, some cations in
this deplorable state.
* ' 5