{ title: 'Watertown re-union. (Watertown, N.Y.) 1866-1918, August 15, 1894, Page 1, Image 1', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1894-08-15/ed-1/seq-1/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1894-08-15/ed-1/seq-1.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1894-08-15/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1894-08-15/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
Image provided by: Northern NY Library Network
WAX£2tTO^^ 15, 1894, ON CALAIS 3AND& i £ ; ry> !'Cf On Calais sands the gray began, SChep. rosy red. abov^ the gray.. The morn with, many ftecaxietyas. Leap^&nd thp yforlfj wis glad with May The little waves alonethe fcajr Broke ^vhits upon the shelving strands, The sea mews flitted white as they On Calais sandsl On Calais sands must man with man \Wash honor clean in 0I00& today; Og, spaces wet from water wan Sow white the#ashlnjr;rapiei£;plfty. Parry, riposte and lungel The fray Shifts for awhile, then monrnfal stands The victor; life ebbs fast away On. Calais sands! On Calais sands a little space Of silence, then the plash and spray. The sonnd. of eager waves that ran To kiss the perfumed locks astray, To touch these lii*s that ne'er said \Nay To dally with the helpless hands Till the deep sea in silence lay On Calais sands! Between the lilac and the may She waits her love from, alien lands. Her love is colder than the clay On Calais sands! —Andrew Lang. HALF PAST FOUR. A June afternoon in the year 16i5 the great hall of Pane place was occupied by two persons. The windows were care- fully shuttered, and only a small crack was left open to admit light. The door •was closed. On the table were spread viands, and a gentleman in the dress of a Cavalier was hastily partaking of re- freshments. His companion, a young Woman of prepossessing appearance, ministered, deftly to bis wants, laying her finger on her lips when he attempt- ed to speak. \Hush 1\ she said softly. \Eat Mas- ter QuiviL while thou canst Who knows what may happen nest? My brother Toby watches, and he may bring us news of pursuit at any moment Eat\ He ate and drank, therefore, at her command. But when he had satisfied his hunger Master Quivil rose and stood before her with longing words trembling on his lips. He was young—not more, certainly, than five and twenty—and handsome, with a winning smile and bright eyes. She was perhaps three years his junior and as beautiful as a morn in May. There were indeed some that sighed that there was no court where Mistress Anne Fane might have displayed her charms and won the heart of some great noble by her beauty and her grace. But there was no court now, and the king was in sorrow, and Mis- tress Anne's mechlin lace was sold, and her mother's jewels pawned, and she herself had donned a sad colored robe, and her countenance was careworn. Nevertheless the fugitive from Naseby thought she was the most exquisite sight he had ever seen, and his eyes dwelt tenderly upon her face. \How can I thank thee enough?\ he began. \I came here friendless, and thou hast succored me, I found thee alone— thy father dead, thy elder brother far away, nobody to defend thee but a lad of 15 and a dotard servant And yet thou hast received me, fed me, enter- tained me\ \Hush!\ she interrupted. \Thou tightest in a good cause, and I would die for such. I did it for the king.\ \For the king only?\ he said. \I did i t for the king,\ she repeated, blushing. \But do not tarry, Master Quivil. I pray thee go, for I cannot con- ceal thee here. Even our lumber rooms are bare, and not a mouse could shelter therein safety.\ \Iwill Iwill!\ he cried. \But first, 0 Mistress Anne, should I not wait till sundown? I cannot fly in open day. 'Tis little more than 4 by the clock.\ She followed his gaze to the clock's face. \Mistress I will depart at sundown. Until then my flight would command an easy capture. Harbor me for these few hours, sweet mistress, and I will be gone. Thouknowest not what these few hours are to me. But hast thou forgot- ten our childish days? Hast thou forgot- ten when we played together? I was but a lad and thou a little maid, and yet, mistress, I called thee sweetheart Dost thou recall?\ She did recall, and her pale cheek was flushed with a bright pink spot as he spoke. But she did not reply. ' ' I gave thee once a rose,\ he said. \Dost remember? 'Twas June, so long ago that it seems like a dream. We Walked together in the rose garden. I mind me we had escaped from Henry Dowdeswell and left him sulking. And 1 plucked a rose and said: 'Take it, Nan. Take it as a pledge from the uni- formed boy that the gallant man shall return to woo thee.' And thou tookest it, sweetheart, with a tear glistening i a thy pretty eyes, and thou didst promise to dry its petals and fold them among thy raiment, and keep them till I came back to prove my gallantry and to win thee. Alas, Nan, I have comeback. But my gallantry is unproved, for the day is lost, and I have fled, and how can I hope that thou wilt smile upon me now?\ He caught her hand and kissed it \Ah Master Quivil\ \Wilt not call me Jack, love? Dear heart, I come to thee scarred and luck- less. I dare not offer thee my empty hand. But send me not away comfort- less.\ ' 'Dear Jack,'' she murmured, blush- ing, ' 'thou hast ever been in my heart.'' He caught her to him. \And if happier days should come, Nan, sweet Nan,.when my hands hold a triumphant sword, and when the Mng inarches proudly to London, and when tie gay court gathers again, gayer and Statelier thwi before, say, Nan, wilt ithou take my happy hand and suffer me !fo lead thee to that bright court, which -thou wilt brifiliri'n and adorn as a dia- .rnond adorns thf crown?\ ' '.. \Oh Jack, th'.u speakest too kind- Hy.\ \Nay lniBrrc-.-.s, I am thy humble servant. But wooldsfc thou thus glorify jmy poor life?\ ' \Oh Jnel-.l Drtj Jack!\ i But even as he pressed her to his Joreast something passing the window outside for a moment obscured the one ray of light which streamed through the shutter thuthScV beenleft-ajar,- The-girlj started liotent%* and withdrew from herloyer's embrace.'. \What wastShat?\ she whispered fear- i fully. | \Nothing my queen,\ he saidreasM Euringly. \Nay nay, Jack. Some one passed.\ , '* 'Twas old Diggon, mayhap, or thy brother Toby.\ \No no,\ she said in terror. \Dig- gon is In the field, and Toby watches the road. This is some one who has alight- ed at the postern gate, and who comes through the garden.\ \Then it is some one who knows the louse well, dear love—a friend, belike.\ j \Nay. There i s no one. Young Mas- ter Dowdeswell alone hath come hither, over and again. But he is a traitor and hath come here spying the land. And, Jack, if he should come again he comes as thy enemy. Was he at Naseby?\ \He was, Nan. I saw the prick eared rogue.\ \It may be he. Oh, Jack, Jack!\ In another moment the sound was heard of a handle being turned, and then the heavy tread of one who crossed the outer vestibule and drew near to ths door of the great hall Anne clasped hei lover's arm. \My own love, thou must escape,\ she sobbed. \Through the window? No, no! He will have placed a watah. In the gallery? Alas, no shelter there!\ She looked around wildly. The foot- steps drew yet nearer. Suddenly her eyes lighted on the clock's face. \The clock!\ she cried i n a stifled voice. Throwing open, the case and holding aside the pendulum, she motioned to Quivil to get within. He obeyedher in- stantly and without a word She closed the case upon him, and as she turned away the door of the apartment opened, and a loud and stern voice demanded admittance. Before she had time either for wel- come or denial the speaker entered He was a tall and soldierly man, wanting yet several years of 30—a man whose countenance had acquired the sour ex- pression cultivated by the Soundheads, hut who was not naturally ill favored He looked suspiciously round the room as he came in and finally doffed his beaver to the lady. \Good day, Mistress Anne,\ he said \Good day, Master Dowdeswell\ she returned \I come upon business,\ he an- nounced \I have a search warrant to ransack thy house. I seek the body of Master John Quivil. He is supposed te be in hiding here or hereabouts, and I\ He paused, but she did not speak. \I came this way,\ he went on after a moment \I thought, madam, it might be more agreeable that a friend should search thy house than a stran- ger.\ \ 'Twas kindly done, Master Dowdes- well.\ \Nay madam. Duty is rarely kind, and I have strictly fulfilled my duty and have cut off every avenue of escape from this house by entering myself through the postern gate while direoting my men to follow the public path. I am not kind But I have been minded to make the search as little painful to thee as possible. Is the traitor John Quivil hidden here?\ he demanded \There is no traitor here,\ returned Anne quickly. Dowdeswell smiled grimly. \Mistress Anne, thou knowest what I mean,\ he said \Thine is a willful misapprehension. I ask again, Doth the traitor John Quivil lie here concealed?\ \I conceal n o traitors, Master Dowdes- well.\ \But dost thou conceal the body of John Quivil?\ For a moment she could not answer, and Dowdeswell smiled again. \I per- ceive that thou hast lately eaten,\ he said, then glancing at theolock: \Half past4! \ris marvelous strange that thou shouldst dine or sup at suoh an hour.\ \The times are strange, Master Dowdeswell, and we do strange things in strange times,\ \Aye mistress, even to the harbor- ing of traitors. Who, I desire thee tell me, who hath broken bread in this place? But nay. Answer me not Cover not thy malignanoy with falsehood Thou hast a traitor here, and Iwill drag him forth.\ Then, striding to the door, he shout- ed to his underlings, who had just reached the front entrance of the house. Bidding them searoh the mansion and the outhouses, he seated himself at the table, laying a pair of pistols upon it Anne still stood in front of the great clock, whose hands pointed to 4:30. \Wilt thou not be seated mistress?\ asked Dowdeswell presently in a gen- tler tone. \I do not sit with the king's ene- mies,\ she replied \Ah mistress, reproach me not,\ he protested. \Time was when Henry Dowdeswell could win,a smile from fair Mistress Anne Fane.'' \That sir, was when Master Henry Dowdeswell's heart beat true.\ \It hath beat ever true, Mistress Anne, and never fjuer than now. Didst suppose that Henry Dowdenswell's heart could beat for any but Mistress Anne Fane?\ \Master Dowdeswell!\ \Listen Mistress Anne. Dost forget all the days of youth—all the games that we twain played together; all our intercourse, sweet and bitter by turns; all the jealousies and rivalries between thy humble servant and Jack Quivil? I never liked the lad. But I forbore to caff one upon whom .my mistress smiled Thou didst not often smile upon me, Mistress Anne. Yet there were times when thou call'dst me Henry, and when thy hand would clasp mine as we crossed the rotten bridge returning from church, and when thy thanks came prettily if I brought thee a honeycomb or a dish of yellow plums.\ \Aye I bear in mind thy goodness of yore. But Master Dowdeswell was then a loyal subject of the king.\ \Charles smart, lady, was then ffj loyal king.\ .'5£u£,\tnt sir! JEBs majesty can dc no wrong.\ \Mistress we will not argue that' Speak not we of the king. Speak we only of ourselves. Mistress Anne, ones thou wert little Naa to me.'' \Hush Master Dowdeswell) I can- not hear thee.\ \Because I serve not the king, mad- am?\ \Aye and because\ ,r Not because thou lovest- another; Say not that!\ \I must say it, Master Dowdeswell.\ Ha looked at her gravely. \Mistress is it all forgot?\ he said chidingly. \I twined many a rosy gar- land for thee in the days of my careless- ness and my profligacy, 'and thou frown'dst not always then. Wilt noi smile now, when, i n my new habit o) grace, I, an elect soul, ask thy favor?\ \But I cannot love twain.\ \And thou lovest—whom?\ \Master Dowdeswell, what is that tc thee?' Then there was silence for a space, and presently the trampling of men'f feet sounded in the vestibule. Dowdes- well rose and went to the door. \We have searched, captain, but we have discovered none,\ said a harsh voice. \Only in the statue awornoui nag reposeth, and there be blood upon his flanks and a slight wound, and me- thinks he hath been in the battle, ano in the hdlster was this kerchief embroid- ered with the letters J. Q.\ \Good returned Dowdeswell. \Await me without.\ Then be shut the door and came back to his former position, fronting Anne, and with the clock that still pointed tc half past 4 behind her. \Mistress Anne Fane,\ he began sen- tentdously, \I like thee well, and 1 would fain make thee my wife and gradually draw thee to higher delights and school thy mind to right thinking. To my sorrow, thou dislikest me, and 1 withdraw. But ere I quit thee I con- jure thee to tell me—as thou fearest God and as thou lovest yirtue and de- sirest the rewards of heaven—dost thou oonceal here in some secret chamber oi in some hidden vault the person of the rebel whom I'seek?'' \No said Anne. \As thou dreadest the fires of hell, mistress, I conjure thee to speak the truth.\ \I do speak the truth, sir.\ \Without quibDling, mistress, I bid thee inform me if one lie hid here in some secret chamber whom I account a rebel.\ \There is no secret chamber, Master Dowdeswell.\ \Mistress Anne, is John Quivil here?\ \Master Dowdeswell, thou hast sought throughout the house, and thou hast not found him, and I tell thee there iB no secret chamber here.'' \Then to whom appertaineth the wearied nag in the outer stable?\ \How can I say? Onr stable door hath no key, and he who will may place his beast there.\ \Mistress fear the Lord and speak the tenth! To whom appertaineth the kerchief embroidered J. Q?\ \Master Dowdeswell, thou hurriest to conclusions. Slay no man own the initials J. Q. save one?\ \Parley not with me, madam. I love thee, Mistress Anne, but my conscience condemns me even while I bandy words with thee. Tell me, lest I drag thee to the seat of justice, where hidest thou John Quivil?\ She was almost at her wits' end But she held firm. \How knowest thou that Master Quivil was at the ill fated field of Naseby?\ she asked \How know I? Because I saw him, madam—saw him in the rear company of the man Charies Stuart, whom thou callest king. I saw him, and I know that he fled in this direotion. Madam, the evidence of bis presence here is cir- cumstantial. Here are his wearied steed and his kerchief. Yield him up.'' * 'Were it in my power, Master Dowdes- well, never would I yield him up! The king's loyal servants are my true friends, and I deliver no faithful friend to a-foe.\ \Because thou lovest him, mistress?\. ' 'Not so. Because I love the king.'' Dowdeswell gave a short laugh. '* 'Tis a woman's wile,\ he said \The traitor is here, madam. Thou hast as good as admitted his presence. I must away with thee to the seat of judgment\ But he did not order her to prepare herself to depart. He stood looking at her with blazing: eyas. \Vain and trifling woman!\ he burst forth at length. \Thinkest'thou to dis- semble with me? Thinkest thou to de- ceive the Lord's elect? Know that I see thy wicked endeavor; that I perceive thy bold purpose, and^that I despise thy shallow deceit The man John Quivil is here. Madam, he is here, and I for- bid thee to_ conceal him longer. Ac- quaint me where he-is!\ \Master Dowdeswell, thou saidst but now that thou lovedst me,\ said Anne. \If thou hast ever loved me, ask no more, but depart ia peace.\ \I said I loved theel\ he cried i m petnously. \Yes and I do love thee! Even as Jfecob loved Rachel, love I theel Even as the hart desireth the water brooks, even so I desire theel My sole desire in v life is to content thee, and if needful I would shed my blood for thee. Dear Han, wilt not return my love and come into my arms, confessing thy great fault of teday and telling me where John Quivil lies hid?\ \No Master Dowdeswell,\ said Anne, with dignity. \Take me awjg' and immure me in the vilest dungeons, but for my lore's sake I will' reveal naught\ \But wilt not love mo, Nan?\ \No.\ He was dct-ply mortified. The per- spirKjion sto.d upon his brow, and his heart was hot-within him. He looked at h\f apirn. Then, with an unpre- nydH.ifid fi-r.-'ri?-', lie raised his eyes to tte dock face above her head. Some- thing in its aspect struokhim strangelv. .'\Halfpast4!\he_exalaimei \Half past 4!\ Is i t always half past 4 here, mistress?\ \ \The clock hath stopped,\ faltered she, \Strange that it should stop even as I entered the chamber,\ said he. \Let me set it going for thee.\ \Nay she said quickly. \Why set it going for naught, since thou art go- ing to take me to jaill Iiet the clock be.\ \That would be indeed an unkind measure,\ said he. ,\Evenif thou be taken hence, should not the members oi thy household know the time?\ \I have n o servants,\ said she. \None madam? Beware. Dost thou dwell alone—absolutely selitary?\ \My brother Toby is here; \she ad- mitted, \buthe never looks a t the clock, and our old servant is half blind and cannot read the time.\ \Nevertheless I will set the clock,\ said Dowdeswell. And, putting her aside, he flung the clook case wide, \By St George!\ he exclaimed Quivil stepped forth, his plumed hat in hand \Good day, Master Dowdeswell,\ he said complacently. \We are ill met\ \I arrest thee, traitor,\ said Dowdes- well. \Sergeant Fairchild\ He was about to raise his voice to call upon his subordinates to enter and seize Quivil, but quick as thought Anne circumvented him. Snatching one of his pistols from the table, she darted up the flight of steps into the gallery, and leaning over the railing she cried to Dowdeswell to stay his movements. \Hold!\ she cried imperatively. \See here, Master Dowdeswell! I have thy pistol. It is loaded I hold it to my heart liaise thy voice but one syllable —touch Master Quivil by but one finger —and I fire—I fire, hark ye, and I am dead! And thou lovest me, Master Dowdeswell; thou lovest me I Nay, stand where thou art! Stir but an inch, and I die. See, the pistol i s at my bosom! Listen! Make up thy mind to depart in peace and leave Jack Quivil unharm- ed while I count 10. For if when I come to 10 thou be still here I fire, and I die —thy little Nan, whom, thou lovest, diesl\ She began to count, leaning over the balustrade, with the pistol pressed against her breast and her finger on the trigger and her eyes fixed upon the two men. They dared not stir. The deter- mination i n her eyes held them spell- bound \One she began. \Stop Nan, stop!\ entreated Quivil. \Let me go with him! I care naught Stop, dear love, stop counting and take that pistol from thy breast'' \Two she proceeded slowly. \Three\ \Mistress Anne, I cannot do the thing I would But, oh! for the love of God, take that deadly instrument .from thy breast,\ implored Dowdeswell. ' 'Four,'' she went on. ' 'Five— six\— \Nan thou art killing me, I care not a jot for imprisonment or death.\ \Seven\ \Nan my little Nan, think that man who loves owes duty too. Have mercy on me and come down.\ \Eight\ \Nan sweet soul, forbearl\ \Nan i n God's name, oeasel\ \Nine\ \Forlove'ssake!\ cried Quivil,point- ing his pistol at MB own breast \For conscience!\ exclaimed Dowdes- well, seizing his other pistol which still lay upon the table and thrusting it against his head. Simultaneously the two men fired \Tenl\ It was a mechanical cry. Anne drop- ped the pistol from her hand and rushed down the steps, and as she reached the bottom Dowdeswell's troopers hurried into the room. But the Cavalier and the Roundhead who had lovedMistress Anne so well lay dead, and above them stood the silent clock pointing to 4:80.—Ar- gosy. Building ft House In Bermuda, Any man who chooses may scrape the thin coating of earth off from his pro- posed building site and proceed to lay up the walls of his habitation with the blocks sawed out in the process of ex- cavating his cellar. Thus when the cel- lar is dug the house may be ready for roofing, and if enough roofing material has not already been accumula'tedin the course of the excavation it can easily be had by digging the cellar a trifle deeper, for the roofs in Bermuda are in- variably made out of thin slabs of this same white coral rock. It has the ad- vantage of being so soft that one may cut i t with an ordinary handsaw 10 hours a day for six months or a year without refiling the saw. It may be sawed into slabs 2 or S inches tbiek and 18 inches or 2 feet square without par- ticular danger of breaking the slabs. It looks somewhat like a very soft, chalky variety of marble. Though so workable when first quarried, it hardens upon ex- posure. Moisture permeates it easily, however, and it is desirable that a build- ing should be covered with a thin coat- ing of portland cement or a mixture of common plaster with cement The coat- ing is then treated with a heavy white- wash made of lime burned from the same ever ready coral rock The roofs and chimneys as well as the walls are kept constantly whitewashed and are absolutely as white as the driven snow. —Review of Reviews. SAIL0ES' JONAHS. JACK'S SWERSTIJIONS HAD STRANGE FORMS IN EARLY DAYS. Crushed* His eyes met hers for an instant i n a glance of intense and agonized appeal. A moment later he staggered to his feet \Crushed!\ he moaned. He was ter- ribly pale. \Crushed!\ with faltering footsteps he moved away. \Crushed I\ All he could do Was to tell the police- man on the corner that a girl in a white cap and blue bloomers had run him down with a bicycle. No; he was un- able to furnish a more detailed descrip- tion. She had disappeared very sud- ienly.—Detroit Tribune. Stolen. Wood Mortised Into the Seel te -Make the Vessel Sail Boater—lawyers, Women and Clergymen looked at WltS Slafiaror on Sailing: Vessels. Lieutenant J . D. Jerrold Kelley gives an interesting chapter of \Superstitions of the Sea\ in The Century. Aftei studying them fairly well he doubts ii modern sailors are more superstitious than any other class with equal training and opportunities. He believes that everybody is leavent3 with supersti- tion, notably the noisiest scoffers and those mountebanks, the Thirteen clubs, for these gentry protest too much. H seems to be a human instinct, modified by racial inheritances and developments. In the youth of the world its manifesta- tions were the earliest recorded utter- ances of men concerning the visible phenomena of the universe, and its grij on simple words was an outgrowth oi the fear of the unknown. Of all people sailors must deal at first hand, and help- lessly to s^me degree, with the mosl unknowable, uncontrollable of material problems, the sea, and it is only nat- ural that their folklore should be in part' land stories fitted with sea mean- ing and in part of blind explanation oi sea phenomena, both being maintained valorously by the grewEOme conserva- tism of the seaman, even after rational causes come to the rescue. In earlier days superstition was as much a part of every ship as the watei she was to float in, for it entered with the wood scarfed into her keel and climbed to the flags and garlands wav- ing at her mastheads. It ran riotously at her launching, controlled her name, her crew and cargoes. It timed hei days and hours of sailing and convoyed her voyages. It summoned apparitions for. her ill fortune and evoked portents and signs for her prosperity. It made winds blow foul or fair, governed hei successful ventures and arrivals, and when her work was done promised a port of rest somewhere off the shores oi Fiddler's Green, where all good sailors rest eternally, or threatened foul moor- ings deep in the uncanny locker of Davy Jones of ballad memory. In many countries stolen wood was mortised into the keel, as it made the ship sail faster at night, though if the first blow struck in fashioning this ke«l drew fire the ship was doomed to wreck upon her maiden voyage. Silver—usu- ally a coin—placed in the mainmast step went for lucky ventures, and misguided indeed was, the owner who permitted any of the unlucky timbers to enter into the construction. Something of the cere- monious character given to launehings survives to this day. Whereof old ships were decked with flowers and crowns of leaves flags now flutter. The libation poured on the deck, the purification by the priest, the anointing with egg-and sulphur, find their exemplars in the well aimed and wasted magnums which are shattered on the receding cutwater as the oraf t, released from the ways, slips, well greased, into the sea. The jar of wine put to his lips by the captain and then emptied on deck, the cakes and ale set before the crew, the stoup of wine offered to passersby on the quay and the refusal of which was an evil omen—all are realized in these sadder lustrums by the builder's feast i n the mold loft Lawyers, clergymen and women are ever looked at with disfavor on sailing ships as sure to bring ill luck —lawyers undoubtedly from the antip- athy of sailors to the class, a dislike so pronounced that'\sea lawyer\ is a very bitter term of reproach, and \land shark\ is a synonym. Clergymen— priests and parsons—are unlucky proba- bly because of their black gowns and their principal duty on shipboard—that of consoling the dying and burying the dead—though possibly because the devil, the great storm raiser, is their especial enemy and sends tempests to destroy them. Women—who may reason out their unpopularity?—save that a ship is the last place for them, or perhaps be- cause of the dread of witches, for of al] spell workers in human form none is so dreaded as the female brewers of hell broth. Like the priests of the middle ages, they can raise a prime quality of storm by tossing sand or stones in the air and, like Congreve's Lapland sorcer- ess, are supposed to live by selling con- trary winds and wrecked vessels. Cer- tain families could never get sea em- ployment under their own surnames, not even such members as were born with cauls, for they were tabooed, barred An$ many animals—hares, pigs and black cats, for example—could neither be carried nor mentioned on shipboard save under very stringent conditions. Scarborough wives kept a black cat in the house to assure their husbands' lives at sea, but on voyages every black oat carried a gale in her tail, and if she became unusually frolic- some a storm was sure to follow. Years ago on board the flagship Franklin, up the Mediterranean, we had a yarn that illustrated a survival of this antipathy to certain forms of ani- mal life. Two old quartermasters were heard during the morning watch ex- changing in the cockpit dismal experi- ences of their dreams the night before. One was particularlyharrowing, for the narrator wound up with: \And I say, Bill, I was'never so afeared in my life. When I woke up, it seemed as true as day, and I was all of tremble like an asp on a leal\ \What's that?\ said the other. \Pipe down. Don't mention that reptile. He's a hoodoo on shipboard.\ Figureheads were at first images of gods and later of saints and sea heroes and were held in high reverence, and the eyes glaring from each^ bow of a Chinese junk enable the boatf to voyage intelligently, for \no have two eyes, how can see? No can see, how can do?\ is the shibboleth of their sailors. Ships' bells were blessed, and today if a mis- take in their striking is made by a stu- pid messenger boy they IB«iBtru6lcb\aok- ward to breaJt fia spell. In-one ship to which I vroa attached the bell had come down to* us\ from - the \ TicondorOga,- thibugh the 1 \The^ I think, and was supposed to Ho U[ti<|er i^e'specdal control of a blue spirit or mischief. Why the blue spirit should indulge in suoh va- garies is hidden, but in the middle of deep sea nights, when the moon rode in an auspicious quarter, and the- wind blew with the force and from the direc- tion necessary for the spell, the blue bell was bound to make a complete cir- cle and ring out nine bells stridently. Of course no one aver heard or ought to hear nine bells at. sea, for eight bells are as fixed in limit as the deoalogne, but this was promised Whether the- conditions failed to oo-ordinate I oaanot say, but though the bell was watohed by all sorts and conditions of men the occult ceremony was never performed for our benefit It is necessary to add that by report it was a common event in the other ships mentioned The proverbial desertion of sinking' ships by rats is founded upon reason and undoubtedly occurs, for as rats like to prowl about dry footed and will Btick to One plaoe so long as food is plenty it is probable that the ship they leave is so- leaky and unseaworthy that their un- derdeck work is too wet to suit them. A STORY OF THACKERAY. Whicli Illustrates the Gentle Thoughtful- ness of the Famous Novelist. As toward the end of October a little over 40 years ago the night train of the Chemin de Fer du Nord was about- to leave the station at Paris ah English, gentleman got into a first class compart- ment, and stowing away his small va- lise took his seat in one of the vaoanfc comers. He noticed that on the seat op- posite to him, was a gentleman who ap- peared to be ill. His face was deathly pale; he was breathing very hard and appeared to be in great pain. \Are you ill, sir? Can I be of any assistance to you?\ the gentleman asked \I am very ilL\ the sufferer replied faintly. \I am subjeot to a very pain- ful malady, and feeling an attack com- ing on while in Switzerland I resolved to go home—to England It generally gives me a week's warning. But I feel I shall not reach Calais alive.\ \But you must not go on, my dear sir,\ said his fellow traveler feelingly. \I am a perfeot stranger in Paria I havo come light through from Geneva, and I do not know a word of French,\ replied the sick man, almost in a state of collapse. \It will never do for you to travel in that f.tate. Come, let me help you out before the train starts.\ The kindly gentleman was not a mo- ment too soon. But by the friendly aid of a porter he got the sufferer out of the train, placed him gently in a cab and had him taken to the hotel which he himself had just quitted and where he knew the sick man would receive every attention. Caring for him on the way with all the tenderness of a woman, he bade him cheer up, for he knew a phy- sician who was one of the highest au- thorities on the particular disease from which he was suffering.. All the night the gentleman was ex-, ceedingly ill, nor did he improve much the next day. The followingmoming a relation of the sufferer, who had been telegraphed for, arrived, and the kind hearted gentleman who had put off his journey to England, thrown away his railway fare and spent two nights and a day almost constantly by the sick man's side handed over the sufferer to the care of his friend Then, and not till then, did this gold- en hearted man decide to resume his in- terrupted journey. Going into the patient's room in the evening to bid him goodby, he said: \I must now wish you farewell, as I have important business in London. I wish you a hearty godspeed toward re- covery.\ The sick man was still extremely ill and not able to do more than press his benefactor's hand and whisper a few words of gratitude. The relative of the patient, however, who was no other than his sister, fol- lowed the gentleman out of the room and said: \You have not done me the honor to tell me to whom I and my brother owe so signal an act of kindness as that which you have shown to an utter stranger. Had you not so generously and so disinterestedly taken oompassion on him I fear his relatives and friends would never have seen him again alive. In thanking you again for your kindness, therefore, I should like to know to whom we are so much indebted Besides you forfeited the cost of yourrailway tioket. If you will allow me to reimburse yon the amount\ \Do not mention it,\ said the gentle- man. \It is of no consequence.\ \You will at least do me the pleasure of permitting us to know your name?\ \Certainly. I will give you my card\ With these words the gentleman took out his cardcase and handed the lady his card. She read upon it the name \William Makepeace Thaokeray.\ It was some weeks before the invalid was well enough to resume his journey, but after his return to England one of the first visits he paid was to call upon the great novelist in company with his sister to thank him personally for the great kindness he had shown aim when, as-he believed, he should have died but for his timely assistance.—London Mil- lion. SXme. Iiangrana. There is much talk just now of a new singer,- Mme. Pherore Langrana, an In-', dian lady and a pupil of Sims Reeves.; Royalties are patronizing her, musical people are running after her, and she is to sing before Queen Victoria shortly. Her specialties are Persian melodies ar- ranged as sougs. As far as known she is (Die first Indian woman to attain dis- tinction as a publio singer. Her Bister, passed an examination in. law at Oxford and is now practicing in Bombay.— London Letter. MUM Water St cc ICE CEEA AUTOMAT GEM, &c WATER ( Decorate 1 A very large v $1.90 to § ESPECIA And are V L. E. Ml 14 COURT S'J TIE Former! ture Sto for the i REGARD This mi will do: TI D.JE 3 Flower 1 ii THi He i Youm watch him ai time; $ win handst Itke time; • minute GET I Mil Do You: NeedE \yeh8 tion a latest I comin that yi alterec better height callfc H.Bill
