University of South Carolina Libraries
! lewis m:. grist, proprietor, j % Jnbtptttaf Jfamilg ^tftDspaper: Jfor % |)romofroir of fjio political, Social, ^grirallnral anb Commercial laterals of % Soafjj. j terms--$2.50 a tear, in advance. "VOL. 33. YORKYILLE, S. C., "WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1887. NO. 38. " " ' "" ? I Jk <fnial ftorg. ILLTSEFOflffi BY WALTER BttAStfi* CHAPTER Itt A LUCKY RU2L From the moment Will heafd about the smuggling he began to getzestteoo. He would follow Dan down to the beech and taifr while he looked after the boats, f knew that fie was "punfpfag'lJafi'iiaffventures out of him?a process by, no means difficult. Dan's anecdotes were chiefly of narrow escapes?not from revenue cutters or privateers so much as from sea fogs. Once in a thick fog lie nearly pnt straight into Brldport harbor, there being at the time only a light breeze from the southeast, and a revenue cutter armed and manned lying within the two piers, ready to give him and his cargo a warm welcome. Another time he had to heave overboard the whole of his cargo almost under the vesy nose of his pursuers. He knew the whole of the French coast, from Dnnkerque to St. Malo, and was known in every port He would drop along the shore, hugging the land, so as to look as much as possible like a fishing smack, till he arrived at his destination; when, you may be sure, he took very little time to load and go away again. Or there were tales of heavy seas and 8tiff sou'westers. Dan was 60 years of age or thereabouts at this time, and his memory carried him back for half a century of smuggling. His father before him, and his grandfather before him, had been yeomen of Rousdon, like himself, and, like himself, mainly dependent on the illicit trade. Now, there was hardly anything more likely to excite the imagination of a town bred youth than a tale of a successful and hazardous run. The romance, such as it was, of highwaymen was over. There were still plenty of them, and they were always hanged when they were caught, so that they were not without some glory. But, considered as heroes, they had had their day. The degenerate successors ol Claude Duval were either desperate murderers, like the Blacks of Waltham, or they "were poor, commonplace, ragged footpads. But the smuggler?the man who encountered the dangers of war, of storm and of the revenue officers?was still a hero. So that Dan leaped at once, fa the estimation of Will, from a good natured, cheerful old sailor to the level of a sea king; and this despite the young man's early training and prejudice. Then came evenings in which after the violin had discoursed, we sat round the fire and talked of nothing else but old trips and their results. Countless were the questions put by Will?questions as to the French coast, the French people, their ways, and their manners; as to the boat, . and the navigation of the Channel; as to the danger and the delight of running fifteen knots an hour, everything made snug and taut, carrying all canvas, with heavy seas washing over the gallant little craft I never thought what might happen. I hod lived so long in an atmosphere of carelessness to danger that I had quite oeased to believe in any danger. And when Will begged Dan to take him, too, when he made another run, I laughed . and clapped my hands to think how he would enjoy it. * Dan made difficulties. He said it was not a young gentleman's work; that his lady mother might get to hear of it; that things might happen; that he would never be easy in his mind afterward if anything did happen. Finally, over-persuaded by the eagerness of the young man, he acceded to his request. We were then in the cold evenings, about the middle of October, and in the last few days of a waning moon- The weather was fine and open, with a steady southwesterly breeze springing up most nights toward sunset, and lasting till late the next morning. Dan went over to the V.11I (innnnlt. TtrlfVi .Tnchnn TtrVirt TPJld ily resigned his place to Will, on the condition of his not losing his place in the profits, should the venture be successful. I took this kindly of Joshua. I thought he must have passed into a better frame of mind, although he had not been once to the house since the day he threatened me. Everything being arranged and the weather favojable, they went on board at 8 in the morning. I was in the dingy, carrying things backward and forward for them, and when Dan was satisfied that nothing had been forgotten I dropped Into the little boat and sat in it watching the Dancing Polly slip out of the bay and glide into the durkness, while Will leaned over the taffrail and waved a farewell to me. It was nothing unusual for me to sleep alone in the house. There was no danger of robbers in so secluded a spot as Rousdon, and there was always a sense of protection in the fact of old Isaac Agus and his wife sleeping in the cottage hard by. I had no fears for myself. Only, somehow, things were different now. I had left off thinking of myself and thought all day and night of Will. That night, for the first time, I was timid. I thought of the little boat sailing across the black Channel to the enemy's coast. I conjured up the dangers. Bonaparte might catch them. He was at Boulogne then, preparing for the invasion of England with every ship, craft, boat of any kind which he could collect together. The Dancing Polly might be captured by a privateer; they might be arrested on the French coast; they might be wrecked. I thought of every danger except the one most likely to happen?that they might meet their difficulties on the return voyage. For the first time in my life I was afraid, and while I sat before the fire conjuring up the ghosts of possible disasters I heard a step outside, the latch was lifted, and Joshua Meech showed himself at the door. I thought he had been drinking. His eyes were haggard and bloodshot?those eyes of his which were too close together and too small; his faco was distorted and . his fingers worked nervously together. "They are gone?" he asked, sitting on Dan's settle, with a sort of groan. "Yes," I replied, fearing he was come for no cnod. "Thev nut out at 8. Now. Joshua, if you have anything to say have done with it at once and go." "I've got this to say," he replied hoarsely. "I've been trying to put you out of my mind and I can't. Who's Mr. Campion, that he's to come here and take away my girl?" "I never was your girl, Joshua." "You should have been. I'd set my heart on it. And you shall bo yet. There never was a thing that I wanted as I did not get. I've always looked to marry you and nobody but you, and I will yet." "Will you?" I laughed. "Never!" "Don't think I shall be an unkind husband, my pretty!" he said with a sudden change of voice and manner. "I love you too well. I shall wrap you up warm and give you nothing to do only to make yourself happy." "Now, Joshua," I said, "go! This is enough foolishness for one night. I am going to marry Mr. Campion. Do you hear? I am going to be his wife." "If you won't listen to fair words," he said, springing to his feet, "listen to foul. I've given you one more chance. It's your last. Will you give up that young popinjay?" "No, I will not. Go!" ? "J've warned von." ho saicL "and I'm desperate. Whatever happens, mind, it will l>e all on your own heath Whatever happens, you done it." I had no suspicion, not the least shadow of suspicion, of what he meant If Joshua's anger made me fear anything, it was that he might attempt some desperate deed of personal violence. At; the samo time I was disquieted, and I longed for the return of the boat. They sailed at 8, as I have said. If the breeze continued steady, they might reach the coast of France in the morning. Supposing that all went well, they would receive their cargo in a few hours,, and should be back in the early morning of the following day?say from 1 to 3 o'clock, before daybreak. But that defended entirely on the wind. - _ What a long and dreary day that was! I, who had never before minded being solitary, thought each hour dragged itself along more slowly than its predecessor. I went out in the little boat, but it was only to strain longing eyes across the water to see if haply I could discern the white sails of the Dancing Polly. But there was nothing on the ocean, and presently I rowed languidly home again, and tried to think out somehow the life that was be* fore me. But that was difficult, because I did not know wlAt a lady was like. Only 5 in the afternoon! the whole evening and half the night before me yet! 1 went into the yard and talked to Isaac Agus. He said the wind was favorable, but it would freshen in the night; and then I went back to the house, as it was getting dark and chilly, lit the fire and sat down before it, thinking. "Whatever happens, you done it." At 8 I could, bear it no longer and went to bed. The wind had freshened by this time, and was blowing freely among the boughs and branches. But it came from the right quarter, and it would have to be a big breeze to keep the Dancing Polly out of port when Dan wanted to make it. Tired with the anxiety and solitude, I fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow. That was partly from habit. I always did. It was the last night that I should ever fall into the sweet, childish nrtofrtm When I awoke from confused dreams of trouble, which took no intelligible shape, it was still in the depth of night. There was no such thing in those days as matches, and the strike of a light by means of the tinder box was no easy matter. Yet I could not sleep any more. My nerves were like quicksilver. I sprang from my bed, dressed hurriedly in the dark, tied a thick shawl round my head and neck, and felt my way down stairs into the open air in front of the house. The night was absolutely black. Clouds had come up over the sky, and there was not a ray of starlight, not a glimmer on the sea. It was only possible to make out on the left the steep outline of Pinhay cliff, and on the right a little of the long line of rock?nothing else. But the wind ' blew fresh into my face, and I heard the roar of the waves dragging down the shingle and rolling it up again, and that was companionship to me. I sat there in front of the house, watching the darkness and thinking. It was better to be out in the open, listening to the voice of the waves, than boxed up in a bedroom, a prey to every sort of fear. Presently I arose and went out in the dark, down the steep path that led to the beach. I knew every step, and needed no light to guide mo over the rough way. But about half way down I heard another step on the path below me?the step of one person. It was too dark to see anything, but I thought of Joshua. It must be Joshua come to help unload the cargo. Natural that he should come to look after the venture in which ho had a share. I had no desire to.speak with him, so I stayed where I was, stepping off the path, and sat down on the hillside to wait. And then?good heavens! what did it mean??there came more steps; steps in the distance, steps in the roaa aoove, xne confused tramp of many feet upon the stones of the rough lane which led from Axemouth to Rousdon. Whose could these be? And what could they want, coming to Rousdon bay at 3 in the morning? I was standing on a ledge of rock overhanging the path from the house to the beach. By laying along the ledge I could look over the heads of these men as they came down the hill, and almost touch them. I waited while they passed by the Bilent house. They did not stop there; evidently they had no business with its occupants; and then a pang of terror struck my heart, for I reflected that I was the only occupant; and although they might have no business with me, they might have with those who ought to have been there that night. I lay down on the rock and cautiously looked over through the branches of a bramble. It was not so dark but I could distinguish the figures of the men as they came down the zigzag path, and slowly felt their way along the steep and narrow way beneath me. It was pot so dark but I could count that there were sixteen of them, and I could hear'the clash of arms. Then I knew, without being told or wanting to see any more, what they were and what was their errand. They were the revenue men; they had got the intelligence of Dan's run; they were come to catch him at the moment of landing?in the very act of running his cargo ashore. I thought, by the feel of the air and the look of the sky, that it must be near upon 3 o'clock?say an hour and a half before daybreak. That is to say, it was the very time which Dan would choose, had he a favorable wind,for landing. And the wind was favorable?a steady, strong southwester, before which the Dancing Polly would fly. There could be no doubt that ho was off the coast already. It seemed to me there was just one chance?and only one. The revenue men were all down on the beach at the west side of the bay, under the rocks which were carried away afterward in the great landslip. Suppose I could get, unseen, to the point of land which ran out?just a little point?on the east, and shout an alarm at the moment when the Dancing Polly neared the mouth of the bay. It was the only chance. I knew every rock, and ledee, and stone about the place. I had no net - ?o get down by the path. I slid, jumped and crept, working my way round the bay, so as to get to the point unnoticed. That was easy. I* dare say the men were all half asleep; the night was very dark, and my figure could hardly be made out against the black masses of rock and overhanging brambles. I arrived at the point, and, crouched behind a stone, I sat watching intently the black waves close at my feet and the black sky above me. It grew cold, as it always does before the dawn, but I felt nothing; in the intense moments of life one does not think of such things. I prayed that Dan might be late, and that the day might break, so that he should be able to see me before ho made his port. For, once in the bay, which was, as I have said, but a tiny creek, there was no room to turn, and the opportunity would be lost. Alas! that hope failed. While I sat watching, and almost before I had time to make her out, the Dancing Polly came up out of the blackness of the night, steering straight for the mouth of the bay. I sprang up, and shrieked, and waved my arms. "Back, Dan, back! hard a port!" It was no use. Dan saw mo on the point, but her bows were already in the i creek. Job and Jephthah ran down the canvas, and the boat grounded on the beach. 1 The Dancing Polly had made her last run. I ran round the bay for my life, springing from stone to stone in the dark, crying, "Dan, Dan! they are waiting for you! Run! oh, run, run! Will, run!" There was a shout, a rush, the sudden flashing of dark lanterns. "In the king's name," shouted a rough voice, "surrender!" When I got round they had secured their prisoners. All four were handi cuffed, and the men were standing rorund them in a ring. I broke through them, still shrieking my useless warning, and fell crying upon Dan's neck, "1 lieaftl you, my pretty"/' said the poor old man, "but it was too late. You done your best, but it was too late." I hugged him and kissed him, crying and weeping. Then 1 remembered Will. "He is a passenger," I said to the officer; "let him go. He only went tc look on. He a stranger here. He is not a smuggler, he is a gentleman." "He is my prisoner," said the officer, "and must go with the rest. Fall in, menl Readvl March I" The men had their cutlasses drawn, but there was no bloodshed, as there was nc resistance. Dan was not one of the desperadoes who carried pistols, and arranged beforehand for an armed band ol villagers to help him in landing the cargo. Moreover, resistance to the king's officers, in those days, meant death. I followed the procession up the path. When we arrived in front of the housepoor, deserted house, never again to receive all its occupants!?Dan asked permission for a halt. "Pleasance, my pretty," said Dan, "go and bring out a glass of brandy for this gentleman, and one all round for these brave lads and for us prisoners. 'Tis brandy, your honor, as never" "I know, I know," said the officer, laughing?it was Capt. Pollard, R. N. "Well, we will halt for the brandy." I served them all, beginning with the officer, and going from him to the prisoners. It was now daybreak, and, in the cold gray light, I recognized all theii faces. I knew every one of them. I had seen them at Bridport, at Seaton, and elsewhere, when I went to look out for the revenue cutter. One of them was a Lyme man, a cousin of John Beer, the barber. "There," said Dan, when the brandj had gone round, "now go in, my pretty, and get to sleep, and don't fret. Where are we going, sir?" "To Lyme first, then to Bridport. After that I suppose you will be sent up to Dorchester to take your trial." "I shall walk to Lyme with you," 1 said. No opposition was made. Arrived at the high road, the prisoners were made tc walk together in the middle, all handcuffed and guarded by the men with drawn cutlasses. I noticed that -they all tried to march next to Dan and to whisper in his ear. The whispers were friendly expressions of sympathy and regret. "How did they know I should run into Rousdon bay?" asked Dan of one of them. The man shook his head. He knew nothing about it. "Some informer," he supposed, with a muttered curse against all infornr-TS. I walked beside Will. He was trying to face the situation, which was very serious. "I shall be committed for trial with the rest, Pleasance. Be brave, my girl; il will only bo a term of imprisonment, no doubt. We shall fight it through. But my mother must not know." "Oh, Will, they won't send you tc .prison?" "I doubt they must, my dear. I must think what is best to be done for all of us as well as for myself. You would nol like me to escape at the expense of the poor old man, would you?" There was no reply possible to this. 01 course I would not in my right mind. Just then, however, it seemed as if ever Dan might go provided my Will could bo got out of the scrape. We marched down the steep hill which leads into Lyme at about 5:30. The little town was sound asleep. When we reached the house of Mr. Mullock, justice of the peace, a halt was called and the officer began to knock lustily at the door. His worship was not dressed. Could we come later on? We could not; the case was imperative. His worship must be good enough to get out of bed and receive us at once. We all trooped into the narrow hall, and stood there together waiting for about ten minutes, when the magistrate came slowly down stairs, wrapped in a dressing gown, wearing a night cap instead of a wig, and grumbling us he slowly descended the stairs. He was a portly old gentleman with purple cheeks, eyes which might be described as goggle, and full lips. I knew him for one of Dun's hest customers. The hue of those cheeks was not due to fresh air and exercise, but to port and old French brandy. The narrow hall was nearly dark, lit only by a single tallow candle, carried by the maid who admitted us. The worthy justice looked round him with nngry wonder. "Now, gentlemen," he said, "what is this? Why is a gentleman to bo pulled out of his bed on a cold morning before daybreak? Is Bonaparte landed? Have you got a French spy? Well, who is in command of you?" "I am, Mr. Mallock, if you will allow me to speak," said Capt. Pollard. "Allow you, sir?I am waiting for you. I am up at this ungodly hour on purpose to hear you speak. Mary, go bring a pair of candles to the dining room. Now, sir, speak." "I am Lieut. Pollard, Mr. Mallock, and" "Oh, Pollard?I am sorry i did not recognize you. What with the darkness here?Mary, do fetch those lights!?and the confusion of one's wits at this disturbance?pray excuse. What does it mean, Pollard? We were wishing for you last night, over as good a glass of brandy as ever Dan" Here the captain interrupted him with great alacrity. . , "I am here, Mr. Mallock, officially, as officer in command of his majesty's revenue cutter the Teaser. These are my men; these four are my prisoners. Prisoners, step forward 1" i iHIIa! "A gentleman to be pulled out of his bed?' "Dan Gulliver!" cried the magistrate, as the lights were brought, and he could see our faces, "you are a prisoner? Deai me! dear me!" "I asked for the prisoner to be com! mitted for triul at the next Dorchester assizes, on a charge of smuggling. \V( caught him in the net." "Ta?ta?ta! Fair and easy?" said tin magistrate. "You forget, sir, that I an to hear the case. This way?this way Oh, Dan Gulliver! what a blow! what i blow for all of us!" He led the way into the dining room where was his great chair of justice, ii I which he placed himself. "Caught, sir, landing a cargo of brandj in Rousdon bay," said the officer. "Dc you wish to hear evidence?" | "Evidence, sir? Of course I wish t< | hear evidence, and all the evidence yoi ; nave to oner, i cair ussure juu. uv jut think that respectable people?yeomenslibstantial farmers, like my friend Dai Gulliver and his sons?are to be haled of to prison on your ipse dixit? Ta?ta?ta Call your evidence." There was a general smile at the men tion of Dan's occupation. Everybody, o course, knew exactly what his callinj was. Even the officer, Lieut. Pollard drank no branky except what came fron Dan's secret cellars. One after the other, the men were callei forward by the lieutenant. Each deposei the same thing. They had marched t Kousdon bay by order of the captain meaning Lieut. Pollard; they waitei under shelter of the cliff from 2 o'cloc] till 4 or thereabouts; then the Dancin] Polly sailed into the bay, and they cap tured the crew, consisting of the fou prisoners. When the lieutennuthadcalledfcfllf < dozen witnesses, die justice asked him If i lie had anything else to depose. "Nothing more," replied the officer. ; "Isn't that enough? You can hear the same story from the whole sixteen." i "No, sir," said the magistrate?and I > thought I saw a twinkle in his eye as he i raised the important objection?"no, sir; it is not enough. You have proved to me that Dan Gulliver and the three other I prisoners were on board a boat which you believe to be, and which, in the absence ; of evidence to the contrary, wo may asi sume to be, the Dancing Polly. You had an undoubted right, as *n officer of his majesty's revenue, to board that vessel. ! "Where, in my opinion, you exceeded your duty was in seizing the prisoners; for you have not proved that there was anything on board to justify that violent measure. Prove smuggling, sir, or I shall let the prisoners go and dismiss the case." There was a sensation in the court. The 1 Ua l.n#l . Uiiiuer juutvcu uunii auaoucu. jljlc iiuu actually, in his zeal to seize a well known i ancl notorious smuggler, omitted the most t necessary portion of his case?proof of the i contraband carriage. He was actually so i eager to bring his prisoners to the magistrate that he forgot to carry with him his pieces tie conviction. . ? . "Under the circumstances, therefore," said the justice, with a great sigh of rei lief, "I shall dismiss the prisoners, unless you can at once produce evidence of sraugi gling." Dan smiled. "Will laughed aloud. Job I and Jephthah nudged each other with 1 their elbows, and became solemn beyond what is natural in young men. Lieut. \ Pollard looked, in fact?if one can say so i of a gallant officer who afterward fell fighting the battles of his country? ' foolish. "I could send back to Rousdon bay," | i lie said, "and cause to be brought kegs from the cargo of the Dancing Polly." "Tush, man!" said the justice. "Who is to prove that those kegs were there when you boarded the craft?" The revenue men looked at each other and laughed, glad to find that Dan Gulli; ver was going to escape. Only the captain i looked disconcerted. "And now," said Mr. Mallock, rising t from his judicial throne, "we may dismiss 1 the case. I hope, Pollard, that next time ' you drag me out of bed in the middle of the night, it will be with a better case than this. Dan Gulliver, the next time ? you go fishing in the Dancing Polly, you had better ask Capt. Pollard to go with ' you. Ana now i tinnK i snail go up stairs i and have my sleep out.'' i We all thought the case was over and the cause won, when a young fellow, one ; of the sixteen, Skirling by name?he was a Weymouth man; no man nearer than Weymouth would have willingly testified i against Dan?stepped forward and spoke, ; with many stammers and with much hesi itation. i "Beg your honor's pardon. I broached one of they kegs in the dark. I filled this i here bottle"?he held out a flat bottle, two-thirds emptied?"with John Beer i there"?everybody looked reproachfully i at John Beer, the cousin of our Lyme bari ber?"and we drank it together." i "Swear this man," said the justice, sitting down again. ! They gave him the oath, and he repeated the evidence. The worthy magistrate i tried to cross examine him; but it was i useless. The presence of the brandy could not otherwise be accounted for. l Then they called on John Beer, and i that young fellow, with blushes and much [ unwillingness, was fain to confirm the | statement. The justice of the peace made no further opposition. [ "It must be," he said, with a choke in his voice. "It is in the hope, Dan Gulliver, and you others?Job Gulliver, Jeph; tbah Gulliver and William Campion, all , described as common mariners?that you will have a speedy deliverance and quickly return to your?your farming and the rest of it, that I sign this document. The law is uncertain. Times arc hard. Honest men cannot be spared. Ah, it is a terrible misfortune! And at this juncture, too, when good brandy is almost not to be had and my own cellur, I regret to say, | entirely empty." So they were all committed to trial and i ball refused. Early as it was the whole population of Lyme was in the streets to witness, in ; sympathy and sorrow, the departure of Dan Gulliver and his sons?caught at last?for Dorchester jail. Loud were the lamentations and deep were the curses which were uttered on the unknown informer who had wrought this evil. They put us in a wagon and we drove off?no i one refusing to let me go too?to Bridport , and Dorchester, the dreariest journey I ever made in my life, except one even more sorrowful, which was to come later, i There happened, after the reluctant | justice had granted his warrant, a very I strange thing find one which caused the i sides of nil Lyme Regis to shake with | laughing. We heard the news ourselves | two days afterward. Capt. Pollard, ashamed of his own i haste which was almost the cause of a ! miscarriage of justice, dispatched four of i his men to seize the cargo and the boat ! and to bring +hem round to the cove at i Lynu?. Both boat and cargo were the | prize of the captors, and a very tidy haul I the prize would prove. The men, by their own account, lost no j time in marching back to Rousdon. It | was about 8 o'clock when they got to the farm. Here they found Isauc Agus at I work in the yard and his wife in the I dairy and no one else about the place, j Unsuspiciously they descended the hill and boarded their prize. The Dancing Polly was empty! The whole of her cargo was gone. Not j ono keg left; not a. single trace of any J brandy at all; the prize snatched from j under their very eyes. The men looked at each other aghast. It had been grief to most of them to arrest old Dan at all; lie had ever been a good friend to all who wanted a little cheap spirit; but this laudable repugnance to perform the more ungrateful portion of their duties was moderated by the prosj pect of a prize. The Dancing Polly, | as she stood with all her gear, was worth j something, 110 doubt. And then there j was the brandy. j They looked ut each other in dismay. Where was it? Without a word they . turned and climbed the hill to the farm. I Here Isaac Agus was placidly engaged i among the pigs. He was hard of hearing nnd slow of speech, but at length he was made to comprehend that unknown persons had been at work in the bay since daybreak, i and that lie was wanted to say who they were. lie knew nothing. At tho usual hour [ ?that Is, before daybreak?he had left his bed, and since then had been busy In the farm yard. The absence of Dan and tho boys gave him no concern, because it frequently happened; and he was, in hi3 ! slow way, amazed to learn that they were all then, with the stranger, on their road 5 to Dorchester prison. 1 But he knew nothing. The simple look j of the old man, his deafness, his slowness 1 of comprehension, convinced the men that | he knew nothing. Then they returned to j > the bay and stood sadly contemplating i 1 their empty prize. "Sure for certain," I said one, "folks'll laugh ut us!" 7 "Well they may," said another. ' Then nature, which brings relief in different ways, gave these honest fellows 3 theirs in a volley of oaths, a broadside of 1 oaths, fired by all together. They swore 1 at the unknown informer, in the lirst in- i stunee, for causing them to meddle with \ J Dan Gulliver at all; and then at the un*; known brigands who had robbed the ! cargo; and then at the captain for being j in such a mighty hurry; and then at things in general. ' Before they had anything like finished I swearing?so, that is. as to feel easy and i comfortable in their minds about the past and philosophic as to the future?the thought occurred to one of them that one 1 of the thieves may have been the fourth i partner in the firm, Joshua Meech, of Up 0 Lyme Mill. > It would be an excellent conclusion to 1 the business to find that heroic smuggler ^ in the act of carting the kegs, or stowing S them away in the mill. They lost no time < in marching over the llelds to the mill. r It was 10 o'clock when they got there; the wheel was slowly turning, grumbling ft and grunting us it went round; the water plashed Into tlic deep, Hark hole helow; the grinding of the upper nud the nether stone were heard within; an empty wagon wns -standing "by the door, ready to be loaded; and at the door was Joshua Meccli himself. His coat and flat cap, his boots, his face, j were covered with flour. He asked them Jn roughly what they wanted. in When he heard that Dan was arrested, ey he seemed to reel and catch at the door- g(way. ?f When he heard that the cargo had all j n disappeared, he laughed, but without Qf merriment. And then lie invited the men to search the mill. . There was nothing there. yv MAnd so my uncle is caught," he said, "and the boys with him!"" "Ay, ay, all of them." tn "Life is uncertain," said the Mcthody; te "we are /like the gross. Poor Job and ps Jephthahi And there was a young man dl with them? Was he, too, caught?" Bi "All caught." w "Was there any resistance?" e) "The old man and his son, they were ar quiet enough," replied one of the men. "The other young fellow?he kicked and fought a bit." ?r ''.'Did he now?" cried Joshua, with much ^ igWfcsfc- "Did he? That was rash. Becftuse' resistance to the king's officers Is death. That's a hanging matter. The other three will get off with seven years' th transportation. But he'll be hanged, tli Dear me! How very sad!" m He smacked his lips as if he liked the ]y thought. Some people do like to dwell on th melancholy subjects. , ra [to bk continued.] la WOMAN'S CAPABILITIES. G Men, from the large Ego, doubtless th implanted in them for useful pur- w poses, have a tendency to see things solely from their own point of view, er and to judge things, not as they are, )a but as the world will look at them, isi with reference to their individual HI selves. Their sense of order, their bt power and inclination to take trouble th are rarely equal to a woman's. Her in very narrowness makes her more si: contentious and reliable in matters ar of minute detail. A man's horizon th is wider, his vision larger, his phys- b ical and intellectual strength gener- qi ally greater than a woman's; but he w is as a rule less prudent, less careful, w less able to throw himself out of him- w self, and into the interest of other st people, than a woman is. Granted of a capable woman, and one that has re had even a tithe of the practical edu- m cation that all men have or are sup- th posed to have, she will do a matter of business, sayan executorship, sec- as retaryship, etc., as well as any man, be or even better than most men, be- frj cause she will take more pains. Did to girls get from childhood the same co usiness training as boys, and were it clearly understood in all families, sh that it is not a credit but a discredit th for women to be idle, to hang help- a i lessly on the men instead of doing or their own work, and, if necessary, th earning their own living, I believe tr society would be not the worse but sa the better for the change. Men to would find out that the more they tr elevate women the greater use they m get out of them. If, instead of a I man working himself to death for di his unmarried daughters, and then kf leaving them ignominiously depen- ot dent upon male relations, he educat- tii ed them to independence, made them to able both to maintain and to protect aj; themselves, it would save him and ar them a world of unhappiness. They would cease to be either the rivals? th a very hopeless rivalry?or the play- ht things first and then the slaves of men, and become, as was originally m intended, their co-mates, equal and a. yet different, each sex supplying the to other's deficiencies, and, therefore, fitted to work together, not apart, sn for the good of the world.?Forutn. m re Girls, Read This.?Apropos of th affairs of marriage, it is quite proba- w ble that many young women com- fit mita decided niifcake in supposing that by a display of dressing they ot attract young men. On the contrary, I the young man of this day looks dr upon excessive exhibition in the way th of millinery as a beacon light of se danger. He is willing to dance with in the extravagant girls and let their I IKa killc* k?if ho iloDC In pureuu) 1UUI UIC Ullio, uui nu u<>? II ... not propose to undertake that job at himself. When he fairly eontem- pc plates marriage, he looks out for some n< sensible discreet young woman who lo does not show that dress is the chief consideration of her life. He ad- hi mires vivacity, but he is not taken in with bold and forward young women pi who talk slang, are uncivil to their la mothers, and whose best conversa- H tion concerns some trashy novel, w Marriages still go on, but the frivo- bl lous young women "get left." Their er measure is taken, and they have only ca themselves to blame that all their la toilets and affectations do not bring husbands. All this is perfectly prop- a er. A man is a fool not to exercise ta judgment when he comes to consid- sc er the choice of a wife. fo H The Chemical Composition of th Man.?From a chemical point of view, man is composed of thirteen Jj elements, of which five are gases ni and eight are solids. If we consider ri the chemical composition of a man al of the average weight of 154 pounds, L we will find that he is composed in a large part of oxygen, which is in a i th state of extreme compression. In | p< fact, a man weighing 104 pounds con-1 tains ninety-seven pounds of oxygen, aj the volume of which, at ordinary bi temperature, would exceed 980 cubic in feet. The hydrogen is much less in h< quantity, there being less than.fifteen hi pounds, but which, in a free state, hi would occupy a volume of 2,800 cubic pi feet. The three other gases are nitro- yj gen, nearly four pounds, chlorine tr about twenty-six ounces, and flou- I th riue, three and a quarter ounces. Of! the solids carbon stands at the head j ki nf mofallnirl a tliprp heinf fortv- ' tr V/l VHV uivmwv.w./^ Q w eight pounds. Nextcomesphospho- j w rous, twentyrsix ounces. The most i g< abundant metal is calcium, more fo than three pounds; next potassium, so two and a half ounces; sodium, two pi and a quarter ounces, and lastly, I ai iron, one and a quarter ounces. It j is needless to say that the various at combinations mabe by these thirteen | In elements are almost innumerable. bi When to Laugh.?Laughter at j v< the right time and place both shows [ cl the man and helps to make the man. j N But, as a rule laughter at one's own I lu witticisms or drolleries is as really ei out of place as self-praise. Pie who w does his own laughing at his bright tl sayings or doings?as he who praises b; himself?seems to leave nothing for i ni any one else to do in that line. It j T appears to be generally understood I w in the world that there is about so ! fr much laugh, or praise, fairly due to j ly any man's performances. If he takes ! a'i it on himself to do all that for him- j th solf. that naturallv relieves every- j it body else of responsibility in the same direction; but if he freely leaves at the laughing or the praising for oth- cc ers to attend to, they are generally 01 ready to do their part in the premi- y< ses. There is "a time to laugh;" b( but that time rarely comes to a man to when he has justsaid or done a thing Si which is intended to make others n< laugh. h< ? ? ar aST Pride is located halfway be- g< tween vice and virtue, and a little of ce it won't hurt a saint, and a good deal n< of it often helps a sinner. SI jJtti-scrUatteous fading. BILL NYE CALLS ON JAY GOULD. Facial neuralgia is what is keeping ly Gould hack this fall and preventg him from making as much mon' as he would otherwise. With >od health and his presents methods doing business, Mr. Gould could, a few years he beyond the reach want, but ho is up so much of ghts with his face that he has to ;ep one gas-jet burningall the time, esides he has cabled once to Dr. rown-Sequard for a neuralgia pill at he thought would relieve the innse pain, and found after he had lid for the cablegram that every uggist in New York kept the rown-Sequard pill in stock. But hen a man is ill he does not care for :pense, especially when he controls i Atlantic cable or two. This neuralgia pill is about the size a two-year-old colt and pure white, have been compelled to take seval of them myself while suffering Dm facial neuralgia, fw -neuralgia >es not spare the good, the true or e beautiful. She comes along and no fho nnnp vcnman no uroll aa thp lllionaire who sits in the lap of xury. Millionaires who flatter emselves that they can evade neuIgia by going and sitting in the p of luxury make a great mistake. "And do you find that this large )rcelain pill relieves you at all, Mr. euld ?" I asked him during one of ese attacks, as he sat in his studio ith his face tied up in hot bran. "No, it does me no good whatev," said the man who likes to take a me railroad and put it on its feet by suing more bonus. "It contains a ttle morphine, which dulls the pain, it there's nothing in the pill to cure e cause. My neuralgia comes from digestion. My appetite is four zes too large for a man of my height id every little while I over eat. I en get dangerously ill and stocks icome greatly depressed in conscience. I am now in a position here, if I had a constitution that ould stand the strain, I could get ell off in a few years, but I am not rong enough. Every little change the weather affects me. I see a d-headed girl on the street and imediately afterwards I see one of ese big white pills." "Are you sure, Mr. Gould?" I ked him with some solicitude, as I int forward and inhaled the rich agrance of the carnation in his butn-hole, "that you have not taken Id in some way ?" "Possibly I have," he said, as he rank back in a petulant way, I ought. "Last week I got my feet little damp while playing the hose i some of my stocks, but I hardly ink- that-, was what caused the nuble. I am apt to overeat, as I id, I am especially fond of fruit, o. When I was a boy I had no ouble, because I always divided y fruit with another boy, of whom was very fond. I would always vide my fruit into two equal parts, ?epingoneof these and eating the her myself. Many and many a me when this boy and I went out gether and only had one wormy jple between us, I have divided it id given him the worm. "As a boy, I was taught to believe at half is always better than the )le." "And are you not afraid that this "iralgia after it has picnicked ound among your features may fly your vitals?" "Possibly so," said Mr. Gould, lapping the hunting case of his assive silver watch with a loud port, "but I am guarding against us by keeping my pocketbook rapped up all the time in an old red innel shirt." Here Mr. Gould apse and went it of the room for a long time, and could hear him pacing up and >wn outside, stopping now and len to peer through the keyhole tc o if I had gone away. But in each stance he was gratified to find thai had not. Lest any one should nagine that I took advantage of his isence to peruse his private corresjndence, I will say here that I did )t do so, as his desk was securely eked. Mr. Gould's habits are simple and 3 does not hold his cane by the iddle when he walks. lie wears ain clothes and his shirts and coirs are both made of the same shade e says he feels sorry for any one ho has to wear a pink shirt with a ue collar. Some day he hopes tc idow a home for young men whe innot afford to buy a shirt and colr at the same store. He owes much of his neuralgia tc lack of exercise. Mr. Gould nevei kes any exercise at all. His reain for this is that he sees no prospect r exercise to advance in value. e says he is willing to take anyling else but exercise. Up to within a very few yean ly Gould has always slept well at ight, owing to regular hours foi sing and retiring and his careful jstinence from tobacco and alcohol, ately neuralgia has kept him awake good deal at night, but prior tc lat he used to sleep as sweetly and ?acefully as a weasel. The story circulated some years jo to the effect that a professional jrglar broke into Mr. Gould's room i the middle of the nightand before s could call the police was robbed ol is tools, is not true. People whe ive no higher aim in life than the ?ddlinsr about of such improbable jrns would do well to ascertain the uth of these reports before giving lem circulation. The story that Mr. Gould once illed a steer and presented his hoofs ?the poor with the remark that il ould help to keep sole and body toother, also turned out to have nc undation whatever in fact, but was it afloat by an English wag who was issionately fond of a bit of pleas3try, don't you know. Thus it is that the man who has iquired a competence by means ol onest toil becomes the target for the irbed shaft of contumely. Mr. Gould is said to be a good consrsationalist, though he prefers tc ose his eyes and listen to others, othing pleases him better than tc ire a man on and draw him out and lcourage him to turn his mind rong side out and empty it. He len richly repays this confidence /. saying that if it doesn't rain any lore we will have a long dry time, he man then goes away inflated ith the idea that he has a pointer om Mr. Gould which will materi affect values. A great many men e playing croquet at the poor-house tis summer who owe their prospery to tips given them by Mr. Gould. As a fair sample of the way a story >out a great man grows and be>mes distorted at the same time, ie incident will be sufficient. Some jars ago, it is said, Mr. Gould jught a general admission ticket 1 hear Sarah Bernhardt as Caraille, jveral gentlemen who were sitting ?ar where he stood asked him why 2 did not take a seat. Instead ol lswering directly that he could not jt one he replied that he did not ire for a seat, as he wanted to be 2ar the door when the building fell, tiortly after this he had more seats than he could use. I give this story simply to illustrate how such a thing may be distorted, for upon investi- ] gation it was found to have occurred 1 at a Patti concert, and not at a Bern- ] hardt exhibition at all. , Mr. Gould's career, with its attend- , ant success, should teach us two things, at least. One is that it al- , ways pays to do a kind act, for a great deal of his large fortune has , been amassed by assisting men like ; Mr. Field, when there is a tight ' place and taking their depressed stock off their hands while in a shrunken condition. He believes also that the merciful man is merciful to his stock. He says he owes much of his success in life to economy and neuralgia. He loves to relieve distress on Wall ofrppf anrl i? an nnsainnatel v fond of this as he grows older that he has been known to distress other stock men just for the pleasant thrill it gave him to relieve them. Jay Gould is also a living illustration of what a young man may do with nothing but his bare hands in ^"America. John L. Sullivan and Mr. Jay Gould are both that way.' Mr. Gould and Col. Sullivan could . go into Siberia to-morrow?little as they are known there?and with a small Gordon press, a quire of bond paper and a pair of three-penny! weight gloves they would soon own Siberia, with a right of way across 1 the rest of Europe and a first raort. gage on the Russian throne. As fast as Col. Sullivan knocked out a dynasty Jay could come in and administer on the estate. This would be a powerful combination. It would afford us an opportunity also to get some of those Russian hay-fever names and chilblains by red message. Mr. Gould would get a good 1 deal of money out of the transaction and Sullivan would get ozone.?N. ' Y. World. Irish Aid in the American 1 Revolution.?The Queen's Jubilee year has had many surprises for the Irish race the world over, but none 1 so strange as the information afforded the American section of the children 1 of the Gael in the July issue of the North American Review, which Mr. Duffield Osborne concludes is suffi, cient "to explode forever the fiction of American indebtedness to Ireland on the score of revolutionary succor." Washington's adopted son, George Washington Parke Custis, says in his "Personal Recollections:" "Tell me not of the aid we received from another European nation in : the struggle for independence. That oirl wtoa jrinaf nav nil PSSPntlfll to aiu nao iajvuv) tmj j ? ; our ultimate success ; but remember 1 the years of the conflict that had rolled away, and many a hard field 1 had been fought ere the fleets and the armies of France gave us their powi erful assistance. We gladly and 1 gratefully admit that the chivalry of France, led by the young, the great, the good and gallant LaFayette, was most early and opportunely at our side. But the capture of Burgoyne ! had ratified the Declaration of In depenence. The renowned combats ; of the Heights of Charleston and Fort Moultrie; the disastrous and 1 bloody day of Long Island, of Brandywine and of Germantown; the 1 glories of Trenton, of Princeton, and ! of Monmouth, all had occurred ; and the rank grass had grown over the ! grave of many a poor Irishman who t had died for America ere the Flag of the Lilies floated in the field by the Star-Spangled Banner. * * * "Of the operatives in war?the ' soldiers, I mean up to the coming of 1 the French, Ireland furnished in the ; ratio of a hundred for one of any foreign nation whatever. ' "Then honored be the good old service of the sons of Erin in the War ' of Independence. Let the shamrock be intertwined with the laurels of the Revolution, and truth and jus' tice, guiding the pen of history, in' scribe on the Tablets of America's 1 remembrance eternal gratitude to ' Irishmen!"?North American lie' view. i ? How Water Quenches Fire.? I Now, in the large amount of heat ' which water can take up and the fact that ordinary inflammables must be ' raised to a high temperature in order ! to burn, we have the cause of water 5 putting out a fire. Put a burning match into a very small drop of water and it is extinguished because ! of the very large amount of heat 1 taken from the match in reducing ) the water to steam, which reduces > the temperature of the match too far below 212 degrees, or at least that far, if there is water enough, and so ? carborn and its compounds forming the wood will no longer unite with the oxygen of the air. For the same t reason a hot iron thrust into water is cooled, and water sprinkled on the floor cools the air, the heat of evaporation in the latter case coining from > the air itself, thus cooling it. Now, ' if we could find a fluid, very plenti' ful, which requires much more heat 1 than water to make it boil, evident ly we could put large fires out much s more readily.?Globe-Democrat In1 terview. I The Meaning of Idaho.?Those i who have wandered among the L Rockies and gazed upon the summits 1 of the great Snowy range before the sun had climbed high enough to turn f the crystal rivers into silver and light 1 up the plains with glory, have seen - iu the aim light of the dawning day ! the white peaks suddenly gleaming ! as though the gates of the other ' world had opened and a flood of the radiance from within had been per! mitted to fall on the snow; so high > up that the footsteps of man and the ' dust of the world have never been able to contaminate it. The sheen is brighter than the stars on the sea, > and the dazzling splendor of jewels i cannot compare with it. This glit tering appearance is called by the Indians "Idaho," and the nearest > the English language can express it f is "the gem of the mountains," with ! which name the territory seems to V.o,?q iiidtUr hnon PnrlnwPfl.? Good iUk y V/ juotij uvvn v?v.w Cheer. > The Limitations of Our Senses. ? We cannot see under a certain size 1 or beyond a certain distance. The 1 retina makes no accounting of the s photographic dark beyond the violet, ! and knows naught of the heat dark ' this side the red. In the world of unheard sound about us some notes we cannot hear because they are too ' high and some because they are too low. We live in a world of odors, i of which, to our grave loss, we smell ! a bare hundredth part of what a healthy dog smells. These limita-' tions we daily act upon, and the use ' of all instruments of precision rests upon them.?The Century. Intemperance.?Much is said i and written nowadays in discussion ; of the wisest and surest cure of in, temperance. But not so much is said : as might be of total abstinence as a ' certain preventive of intemperance, f It is a question whether a person who : has become intemperate will be res; cued from the end and doom of the ! intemperate. It is not a question whether a person will escape that i peril if he continues a total abstainer. CAUSE* OP SUDDEN DEATH. The number of sudden deaths is large, perhaps increasingly so, although the popular impression may be false, since the daily press and the telegraph have made a neighborhood of the whole land. One source of sudden deaths is accidents, but many events pass under the head of accidents which might have been foreseen and guarded against. Americans particularly are apt to take great risks; for example, in their eating, their clothing, fcneir building, in crossing railway tracks, and in many other ways. How careless we are ! No staging need ever fall, and it would not if proper care were taken in choice of material and construction. Think of the frightful list of deaths resulting from tne use of oil poured upon a lighted fire to cause it to kindle more quickly! With many other causes of sudden death, our own personal ills seem at first to have almost nothing to do. There may be a fatal break in the physical machinery at a point where weaknegss has not been suspected. The heart, perhaps, becomes unnaturally enlarged, or its tough, muscular fibre turns to fat, and suddenly there is a mortal rupture. Or the enfeebled heart falls to send blood to the brain, and the man drops * dead in the street, of at his business, or, more fortunately, perhaps, in the midst of his family. In other cases there may be a degeneration of the cerebral artery, and high living, or a glass ol wine, or an excitement of passion, may arouse the heart to send the blood to the brain with a force too great for the weakened arterial walls to withstand. These walls give way at one or more points, the outpoured blood presses against the nerve centres, and thus is cut off the necessary supply of nerve force to vital organs. The man falls unconscious, and within a few days dies. We have not space to speak of other causes somewhat similar, but in most of them the weakness of the link at which the chain breaks is due to over-exertion, to too continuous brain work, to excesses in eating and drinking, to passion, to worry. The weak spot being ascertained, the fatal result may be prevented for years, perhaps indefinitely, by a carefully regulated life. INVALIDS AND LUNG LIFE. Care is a prime condition of continued health, even in persons who are physically vigorous, but up to middle life, the recuperative force is so strong and active that carelessness is the rule. Hence, persons who ought to live fourscore years and over, die at the age of sixty or under. When, however, one is stricken with a disease which naturally ends in death, this care is imperative. By care the patient's life may be prolonged many years, while a single act of carelessness may precipitate a fatal result. The consumptive not neglecting medical aid?may do much toward .holding his disease in check; perV*nr\o nioiT oradi/iata if him lJOJ/O U4UJ V/l UU1CUVV * V? MV* mmmmmm spend a large part of his time in the open air and sunshine; take gentle exercise daily; keep the functions of the skin active, by means of friction night and morning, and the bowels in habitual good order; and meanwhile guard against taking cold. To' settle back feebly into the armchair of a sick room, and depend on the medicines of a physician?even the best physician in the world?is to hasten the progress of the disease. Most people, when informed that their heart is seriously affected, feel as if there was but a step between them and death; but the heart is a very strong organ, and even when greatly obstructed or weakened, can manage, with intelligent co-operation of the patient, to keep the blood carrying life through the arteries for many years. Often it has to force the blood through a shriveled openingnot much larger than a goose-quill; and this it does by working harder, thus causing its own enlargement. But the enlargement may at length cause a dangerous thinning of some portion of its walls. Sometimes the walls of the aorta?the large arterial trunk into which the heart emptieslose their elasticity, and swell out into a great thin tumor (aneurism). Sometimes the tough fibres of the heart are changed to fat. In such cases a fatal termination may belong delayed by avoiding undue excitement. So, loo, the diabetic patient may fill out a good measure of life, provided he is willing to abstain rigidly from certain kinds of food. Everyone knows how fatal Bright's disease is, and yet Bright himself, whose researches respecting it have given his name to it, said, fifty years ago: "With care, life may sometimes be prolonged many years, and without care it is materially shortened." The experience of half a century has confirmed and emphasized this truth.? Youth's Companion. The Musquito Wonderously Beautiful.?It ought to console people who are bitten by the musquito to be told by a scientist hof (Ko mncmiitrk ia vvnnrlrnnsl v d?C*V llJVy UIUU\.JM*?V aw ? ? beautiful. "Place one," he says, "under a microscope. Adjust the lenses. Now place your eye to I > eye piece. Presto! The tiny dirt colored speck has vanished, and in place appears the most radiant and gorgeous creature which the mind can conceive of. The wings are of pale amber, the legs and thorax magenta, the body dark green, the eyes purplish black and glittering like diamonds, the proboscis shining like ebon. Compared with this pomp and magnificence of decoration the brightest and most vivid of the painters' pigments are muddy."? Philadelphia Call. When the Moon Changes.? During a long storm persons who are well versed in weather lore, are often heard to cor sole themselves with the prediction that there will be a change of weather when the moon changes. Xasmyth and Carpenter characterize as a popular error in it3 most absurc. form this belief that a gradual turning of the moon's face toward and away from the sun could, at certain points, upset the existing condition of our atmosphere, generate clouds and pour down rain. In England (and the same may be said of America) the weather changes aboutevery three days, and there is a change of the moon every seven days, so that many coincidents mustoccur. Those who believe that the moon rules the weather, always credit such coincidences to lunar influences. But the theory was untenable unless it applies to every case, and unless the same effect is always produced by the same cause. To suppose that a change of the moon will turn dry weather to wet, or wet to dry, indiscriminately, is the merest childishness, and contrary to all meteorological records.?Philadelphia Inquiry. aST Mercy is an unknown trait in the character of a coward. His soul is too small and contemptible to contain anything else than what is vile and low.