The tribune. (Beaufort, S.C.) 1874-1876, December 06, 1876, Image 1
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The Beaufort Tribune;
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VOL. III.?NO. 3. BEAU FORT, S. C., DECEMBER 6, 1876. $1.50 PER AlfNXIMr
Cradle Sons.
Sleop, my baby, beside tlie fire,
Sl6ep, child, fcloep;
Winds arii wailing, nigher and nighor,
Wares are rising higher and higher,
Sleep, child, sleep ;
While the father, ont on tbe eea,
Toils all night for thee and me.
Sleep, ray baby, content and bleBt,
Sleep, childf sleep ;
Whether tuo heart in thy mother'e breaet
. Bo light or heavy?bo beet! bo best!
Sleep, child, sleep!
While thy father, out on the eea,
Toils all night for thoe and me.
DUKE RUTHERFORD.
It was a fnir snnuy day in August.
They were out ou the cliffs, fathoms
above the sea, at play. She a dark
.1 1? * ? * * '
ujuu| tvv'iiiuuusu^ ueiiuwiai gin ox tnirteen;
bo a tall, stalwart boj, a year ber
senior. Tbero was a wide difleronco in
tbeir stations iu life. You bad only to
note tbe richness of ber silk attire, tbe
threadbare scantiness of bis, to feel assured
of that.. No rich man's son would
bave bom dressed quite ho shabbily as
Duke Rutherford; and yet, in spite of
the woruont clothes, tbe boy, in beauty
of form and feature, might have been a
fit son for a nobleman.
The children were gathering mossee ,
from tbe rocks and chatting gayly together,
forgetful of rank or station.
They bad met often thus for the last six
years. . ,
Duke's father was the agent of the
estate of Lucy Dalamere's highbred
mother. Their out tago was bnt a little '
distance from the Flail, and the children,
in search of amusement, wandered out ,
often to tho cliffs and whiledaway sunny
afternoons in juvenile sports. Duke
garnered for his fair playfellow the ,
brightest tinted shflls, and, in return,
she brought him musty old books of
romance and chivalry from the great library
at tho Flail, which he read and reread,
until hia soul v.as filled with
dreams and aspirations, vague and
sweet, and unreal as the visions of an
opium eater.
The Rutherfords had not always been
dependents. G.-ueratious back there
wero nol>l men in the family, but political
differenees "had tak? n title and
wealth from the name. Early in life,
Hugh Rutherford, Duke's father, had
become agent to Mr. Delamere; a post
he had retaine d when Mr. Delamere
died, leaving a widow aud one only
ohild, n girl, as sole heiress to his vast
wealth aud estates. Hugh Rutherford
had married a young wife, beautifnl and
refined but nfh-r ? fnm ? -"?-?
% f ?... ?.W? ? ?vn J ? UlO (liCil milgulafly
happy life was broken. Mrs. .
Rutherford died, and her husband had ^
only his six months' old boy to toil for.
No restraint was put upon the inter- .
course lrotween Duke Rutherford and '
Lucy Delamere by the proud ladj mother
ot the young heiross. If she thought j
of the mat er at all, she trusted to the
inborn pride of her daughter, and to the f
cold contempt hIio had tried so faithfully
to imbue her with?contempt of t
all that wu9 low born or ill-bred. Mrs.
Delamere would n6ver have thought of
lookiug for a princely heart beneath the ,
rough jacket of one she considered too .
far beneath her to raeriteveu the tribute
of a parsing thovght.
The sea broozcR gave a beautiiul
bloom to tlie cheek of Lucy, and the
sports sho shared with Duke rounded
her liuibs and gave grace and vigor to .
her step. Mrs. Dojamere read her favorite
novels, entertained her chosen
oompauy nud reigned queen at the ,
Hall, and Lucy enjoyed the wild frre
aom 01 the clills.
The young girl waH almost reckless in J1
her daring at times. This afternoon 41
she was in her most daugerous mood. A H
cluster of flowers, growing in a cleft of 0
the rock below the snrfaeo of the cliffs, 8
attracted her attention. Sho sprang ^
toward them. Duke waved hor back.
44 It is perilous, Lucy," lie said, hur- a
riedly. 44 Look nt the black rocks beneath.
A single misstep and "?
441 am no coward," she laughed, de- 8
flantly. 44 If you are pale I am not; v
and 1 am going to carry these bright
things home to mamma." ?
Before ho could prevent her she had Jswung
herself over the precipice, and, ?
resting one foot on a narrow shelf of *
rook, her left hand clinging to a frail I
shrub that had taken root in the sparse 41
earth at the top, with the other she
grasped the coveted blossoms. '
. Duke, white and rigid, stood above j"!
her looking down. She shook the
flowers above ner head. 44Seel Idaro P
do what a boy trembles at seeing done!" 11
Sho stopped hastilv in the cuv. l?nnt. c
ing speech she w.is making. Thetroach v
erous rock nudor her feet orum1- let! and
fell; there was only that little swaying t
shrub to hold her back from eternity. i
Duko threw himself upon his face, c
reached over, caught her uplifted hands s
in his and drew her up slowly, laboriously t
?for she was nearly his own weight, I
and he realized too well how mnch hung f
on the result to bo hasty or reckless of \
his strength. He rose to his feet, lift- t
ing her up with him. For n moment, f
breathless and overcome by the thought s
of what she had- escaped, she leaned r
against him ; thou turning away she t
seated herself on a rock. t
"Oh, Duke," she oried, pale with the c
terror of her late danger, "you have c
saved my life! What will mamma say f t
What eau I give yon as n keepsake, to ^
show how grab ful J am t" and she be- 1
gun to detach the heavy gold chain she \
wore at her girdle. 1
The boy's face Hushed proudly as he 8
put it from him. 1
v, "Give mo the bunch of heliotropo in
i
your hair," ho said. " I want nothing
else."
She pulled it oat and laid it in his
hand.
"You will throw it away to-morrow
when it is withered," she laughed.
" No ; I shall never throw it away."
rho day was petting in steel blue
clouds ; great banks of them obscured
the jetting sun. From the troubled sea
vast masses of drenching fog swept up
the rocky coast and su tiled heavily down
on the land.
That night Mr. Rutherford called
Duke into his bedchamber, wliero he
kept his private desk und his meager
store of books. He took from an ebony
casket a ring set with large diamonds.
"There, my son," he said, "this is
tho only thing I have on earth to show
that noblo blood flows in our veins.
That ring belonged to my great-grandfather,
the Duke of Someton. it cost
?1,000. It will bring readily more than
half that sum. I give it to you. Will you
keep it to show the world that your ancestors
were nobles?or "? Ho paused
and looked into tho faoe of the boy.
" Or what, father ?" Duke's face was
eagor, hopeful ; already he had half
divined his father's meaning.
"You lovo books, Duke. I had
thought you might desire an education.
Tlo proceeds of that ring will defray
your expenses at school?maybo help
you through college. But you can keep
it if yon choose. Which shall it bo ?"
" Father 1 knowledge before anything
elre in the world ! What care I if my
body starve, so that my mind be fed 1"
So it was decided. A fortnight afterward
Duko had left Romney and entc:
od the renowned school at C.
Six years passed. Duke had been six
yoi.rB at college and was at home on a
brief vacation.
Miss Delamero had completed her
education and come "out" a wonderfully
beautiful and accomplished yourg
lady, followed by a train of obsequious
admirers.
On still July night she stole away
from the revelry at the Hall and wont,
is of old, to the cliffs ; to the very srot
w < re Duko Rutherford had saved her
life. Chance had taken him that night
to she same spot. He was sitting silent
in the moonlight, looking out at the sea,
Lh'uking of that bygone day when she
hn 1 given him the heliotrope for a
keepsake. All those six years the
heliotrope had been kept by him as his
greatest, treasure. Hor image had been
jver present to him, spurring him on to
ixertions in his duties, makinc huph
. o ? * J I
'r< sh victory, every upward step, a
iriumpli for her pake. Aud yet he never
isked himself why this was or what it
votild end in. It was so and he oonld
nd help it. But he felt that to aspire
sventually to tho hand of tiucy Delanere,
the richest heiress in the countj'.
ho daughter of one of the proudest
romon iu Englaud, was as hopeless an
lirn as au attempt to grasp an ignisatmix.
lie heard her step?perhaps the thrill
it his heart told him who was coming.
3e ropo and turned toward her, waiting
lev pleasure. She might recognize him
?r not, ju t as she chose.
She passed with a haughty glance.
Io did not flinch but stood with folded
irius, his tall, manly figure outlined
g:iinst the purple sky, his face lit up
>y the young moon. A faint flush rose
o her white forehead.
" Is-it Duke Rutherford ?"
Miss Dolamere ? Will yon not welp
>ie me hornet" ?
Siie gave him her baud After all,
Io memories held still their swuv in
ter heart.
Homo secret audacity moved him to
ay it. He bent over her and whinpered:
I have the heliotrope yet, Lucy."
ller eyes blazed ; she snatched her
and from him naif fho tnnnli lio.l ?
or. " Remember to whom you are
p aking!" she said, sharply. ? I have
thcr business thau listening to tho
illy talk of a lovesick boy I Good night
o you, Mr. Duke Rutherford."
Duke gazed after her as she hastened
way."The
time may oome," he muttered,
' yes, it may happen that she will be
lad to unsay those words 1 I can
Six years passed again. Duke Rnthrford
was making a name in the land.
)n his graduation he had studied law,
>ecn admitted to the bar in due time,
nd after two years was in successful
ractlce, one of the most rising men in
lis profession.
Wealth came to him slowly, but fame
?ss not chary. Ho had turned his atsntion
aud his leisure moments to
iteratnre, and already ranked high as a
>oot. His father was dead. There was
o tie, save memory, to bind him to the
Id place at Romnev. Ho he
rbeii he could do so"with benefit.
He frequently met Lucy Delamere in
he gay world. Their old familiar footng
of early days bad given place to a
older and more distant acquaintanoehip.
Ho oould not forget the hint he
tad whispered to her respecting the
leliotrope that hot July night. Her
irido had taken alarm, yet to him she
vas and ever would be the one woman
he world contained. His heart never
or one moment swerved from itspasionate
allegianoe. And she? What
neant that frequent absence of mind,
hat dreamy look in the beautiful eyes,
hat oonntant look of saduoss on the
'xqnisite faoe ? What meant that sudlen
flush, that lighting up of the feaures
at the first moment that his name
ras annonnoed on entering a room?
iVore love and pride having a battle ? It
rould seem so, for on his approaching
ter the light and the flush would die
.way and a oold, proud word would be
lis greeting.
Suddenly it was annonnoed that Mrs.
and Miss Delamero wore going to
America. An illness bod attacked the
elder lady and a sea voyage was recommended
by her physicians as her only
chance of recovery. They had advised
Australia, but to this she would not
listen; so long a voyage seemed to her
like bidding farewell to earth. Sho resolved
to try the efficacy of a trip to New
York.
The news reached Mr. Rutherford,
among others, and startled him. Gould
ho make use of this opportunity ? For
some time past a certain matter of business
had demanded his presenco in
America, but he had been unwilling to
devote the time to the journey. It was
now the commencement of the long vacation,
and so far circumstauces wero in
his favor. As he thought of the long
and close proximity to Lncy Delamere
this voyage would give him, and of what
it might bring about, his heart leaped
with hope aud his face tlushod as the
blood coursed more rapidly through his
veiu"; for the Duke Rutherford of bygone
days and the Duko Rutliorford of
the present, to whom the highest honors
of his profession were possible of attainment,
wero two wholly different men.
So it came to pass that one day he
found himself on board a steamer bound
for New i'ork, and Mrs. aud Miss Delamnrn
tvava n m r\r% < r fl?o *>onaoM/vove
? AW ?? w* w VUW ci?
The second day of the voyage they
were all on deck at snuBet, promenading,
laughing, chatting, enjoying the
fresh breezes. More than over, as Mr.
Rutherford gazed from a distance at
Lucy Delamere, he confessed that her
youth had not made falso prophecies of
the glory of her womanhood. Her
wealth of dark hair rippled away from
her broad white forehead; her eyes
were deep and fathomless as some woodlnml
spring into which tho sunshine
never looks; her lips red, ripe, perfect;
her whole air and bearing were full of
haughty grace.
She was leaning on the arm of a tall,
prond looking man ; but, though she
smiled at his soft nothings, Bhe was gazing
out, over and beyond him and his
range of thought, to the sea stretching
so darkly blue and boundless to meet
the twilight glory.
DuUe Rutherford stopped before her
just as she disengaged herself from her
companion.
"It is the same old ocean which we
n'ed to look gt from the cliffs, MifiB Delamere,"
he said, quietly.
She was leaning over the side of the
vessel, looking down at the water. She
liitod her eyes, shuddered slightly, and
drew np her shawl. Duke assisted
lit r.
"It is liko going back to my lost
bovhood to sco you," ho continued. " I
She stopped him with a haughty gesture.
Her late companion approached.
He was a stranger to Mr. Rutherford,
au-1 she introduced thorn to each other
?' Sir George Trevor, Mr. Rutherford."
Thoy bowed coldly. They would
never be any better acquainted. There
w:>4 nothing in their natures which
would assimilate.
After this Miss Delanaere and Mr. Rutherford
never metalono. Whether she
whs afraid of her own strength if
brought too much into contact with his
winuiug presence ; afraid that her pride
would have to give way to the dictates of
her heart, cannot be known. Certain it
is that she allowed him no opportunity
of pleading his suit.
The voyage was drawing to a close.
They were nearing tho end. A great
st rm arose; the vessel was driven far
out of her track, and drifted down to
tho Capo. Ouo dark, direful night, in
spite of skill and frenzied eiTort, the
ship 3trnck the rocks of a leo shore, and
parted 1
A little moment, to roalize tho dread
horror of their situation, only wan left
for those on board. Miss Delamcro,
pale, but calm, was holding tho arm of
Sir George Trevor ; her friends, shrieking
and i. rritiod, stood near. She was
not looking at tho threatening destrun
tion before her, but over her shoulder,
with a hungry, wistful something in her
eyes, as if she forgot what sho saw not.
The expression died out as Duke Rutherford
appeared ; for au instant their eyes
met. In that moment he knew he was
beloved with a wild fervor even equal to
his owu.
Then there was a dead plunge, a wild
shriek of agony, and tho water swarmed
with struggling human beings ! The
world had grown dark to Luoy, but she
felt herself borne up by some power beyond
her own strength, upward and onward
through the billows, till her feet
touohed the firm shoro of tho Capo.
Then, into tho light and warmth of a
flsher's cottage, and when they had laid
her down on the rudo settle she opened
her eyes, and saw?Duke Rutherford.
44 You saved me ?"
441 had that honor."
44 And my mother ?"
41 Sho is saved also."
The door opened, and Sir George appeared.
Whatever Lucy might have
said by way of thanks, was checked by
his entrance, and dirootly afterward
1 a- * - -
nw) woui out. a lew days later a
vet-sol from the Gape conveyed, among
other passengers, Mrs. and Miss Delamere
and Sir George Trevor back to
England. Mr. Rutherford proceeded to
New York and accomplished his mission.
It was months before he and Miss Delamere
met again, and then it was on
the old place on the eliflV. at Romney.
Mrs. Delameie was "'cad; the shock of
the shipwreck had proved too mnch for
her, and she returned to England only
to die. Lucy bad been to visit her
grave, and on her return sat for a moment
on' tho gray familiar rock to look
on the wintry sea. Her eyes wore still
wol; she had been weeping.
I I
Duke found lior thus, and seating
himself beside her, drow her head down
ou his shouidor.
" Lucy," he paid, " I love you. I defy
your contempt. I dare repeat it to you.
I love you!"
For a moment it seemed to him that
she clung to him, then cast him away,
and rose to her feet. And when she
spoke her voice was cold and unmoved.
" On New 1 ear's eve I am to be married
to Sir George Trovor."
Duke started np?seemed about to
mako somo impetuous speech, checked
himself, and left her.
And she threw herself down where he
hnd stood, moaning out: " Oh, pride !
pride! It will bo my death !"
* ? * * *
It was the last day of the old year.
Duke Rutherford, a stern and gloomy
man, was about to bid adieu to his native
land for a long season.
He did not wish to breatho tho air of
the saino country with Lucy, and she
the wife of another. Peoplo are different,
you know. Somo keep their disap
potutments ever at heart, others put
them eternally out of reach, in the pa t.
Duke wished to free himself from
memory. He had destroyed everything
but the heliotrope, and even that should
be sacrificed, he said, when the ocean
rolled between it and the soil that had
nourished it.
It was a dark, moonless night, with
prophecies of snow in the air. He shut
th> door of the cottage where his fa'her
had < iod, and went out for a walk. He
avoided the path to the cliffs: ho had
closed his heart to all dreams of tenderness.
Almost unconsciously he turned his
st? p<; toward Dolamero Hall. It rose up
a gloomy, massive pile, lighted only by
the red firelight at a Bingle window.
To-morrow night it would blaze with
th<> 1 imps lit to shine upon her bridal.
Ho paused to turn back, but Homethng
led him on?through the deserted
gardens, up to the broad door, which
stood ajar. All was quiet. Tho guests
had retired for the night. Only a few
tardy servants were up?it would do no
harm to glance within,
Ho stepped to the door of the room
whore ho had seen the light, and pushed
it softly opeu. Ho saw no one. Still
he went on, and sat down in a great
lounging chair before the warm blaze.
For a moment, he said to himself, he
would sit in the chair she had recently
occupied; gaze into the dying embers
she too had gazed into.
Some one rose from a sofa at the other
end of tho room. < He started up, an
apology on his lips, for his audaoious
intrusion. She?it was Lucy?clad, not
in bridal robes, but in sable vestments,
and destitute of ornament, came toward
him, looked up into his eyes, and let
her white hands rest upon his shoulders.
"Duke," she said, at last, her eyelids
drooping, her cheeks erimson.
"liave 1 offended past forgiveness?"
Ho did not auswor; only looked at
lier. She went on persistently: "I
will let the truth speak, Duke; I love
yot: 1 I have loved you all along I But
prido camo nigh to being my ruin I
Thank Qod ! at last I have clean bauds
and a pure heart 1 I have dismissed Sir
George Trevor, and true to myself, truo
to you, I cast aside all womanly modesty
and shame aud tell you that I love you."
"Lucy," he said, "is this thing true?
Is all at an end between you and that
man?"
"All?all," she whispered, softly.
"Forever."
Duke Rutherford pressed her more
closely to iiiui, and left his first warm
kiss upo* her lips. She had found her
haven at last. Love, as it ever should,
hail conquered pride.
no gathered her into his arms. " And
whoso are you now ?"'
"Yours, if yon will take me."
And Duke Rutliorford forgot his animosity
to England, and did not go
abroad.
The Food We Eat.
Tho Pall Mall Gazette has the following
: Lovers of half raw beefsteak are
perhaps aware that they have excellent
chances of swallowing thetaenieinermis
in their favorite food, the trouia being a
parasite of tho ox, which knows how to
make itself perfectly at home in the humu!i
stomnch. Nor, in spito of its distinguishing
epithet, is it by any means a
pleasant guest. But Dr. Normand, of
tho French naval medical scrvioe, has
made tho discovery, as ho thinks, of a
still more insidious enemy of man, to
which ho has given the pleasant name of
avyuitlula HtcrcoraU#. It is about onequarter
of a millimeter in length, and
but for its extremo leanness would be
visible to tho naked eye. It is nbsorbed
into tho system either in animal or vegetable
food, and is believed to bo the
cause of the terriblo disease known as
the Cochin China diarrhea, which has
* ?-i
wuiuiutuii manui ravages among tue
French ticops stationed in the east, for
so long as the worm remains in the body
the malady continues, and frequently
ends iu death. The best remody hitherto
discovered is milk, but it is far from
being so efficacious as could be desired.
Fahm Labohehs.?A north of England
paper has mado a careful comparison
of the condition of men and women
regularly employed on farms in Cumberland
in 1768 and now. In brief it appears
that the wages of men and women i
permanently employod on a farm are i
no less than six times greater, and that
on an average the cost of the essential j
articles of food is a little over threo <
tinr-s higher. The wages in the north
of Engl ted arc usually at leaat one-third
high*.r than in the south.
'
Life in High Latitudes.
The next place we stayed at, says a
traveler, was Tromso, Norway, where
we anchored off the town throe days,
and now the snn merely revolved round
the sky, and at midnight was high above
the horizon, and shining with a brilliancy
even greater than that seen under
tropical skies. The effect of this
phenomenon has been often and variously
described, more or less poetically,
by many travelers ; but all unite in one
sentiment?that of its wondrous grandeur
and solemnity. For myself, I experienced
a feeling of mysterious awe
and dread, as if the past had sunk into
oblivion, and we were all phantoms on
the confines of the land of which it is
snid "There is no night there." One
peculiarity in this region is that, although
all nature is hushed and a palpable
silence reigns over all, there is something
in the atmosphere which renders
sleep almost needless. Midnight found
us quite as lively and bright as early
morning?ladies sketching or reading
on deck under parasols; gentlemen
lounging about fishing, igniting their
cigars by aid of burning glasses
from the sun's ray's ; and one had to
darken the cabin windows with thick
curtains even to obtain the four or five
hours' sleep we allowed ourselves during
the twenty-four. From Tromso we
visited the Lapps, and saw a herd of
reindeer. A six-mile walk up the
Tromsodal brought us to some fenced
iuclosnres, and farther ou, three or four
dome shaped huts, about seven feet
high in the center, constructed of mud,
stones, and timber, each having a door,
also a circular shaped opening in the
roof, serving for a chimney and window.
On entering the hut through a doorway
about four and a half feet high, we saw
a very grimy old Lapp woman sitting in
the smoke of a wood fire. On the 1
ground wero what seemed through the
smoke to be several small bundles, and
by four cords from the roof of the hut
hung a smaller bundle; examination,
however, proved the latter to be a baby
about a month old, and the others varioih
members of the family, covered
with reindeer skins. The baby was
laced up with gay cords in a oradle, having
tho form of a large shoe. We were
noi loath to make our exit, and, asking
for the reiudeer, wero told to look upward,
where they wero pointed out?" a
magnificent tribe of four hundred,"
I slowly descending from the bare looking
mountains. In time, by the aid of
sngacious dogs, they were driven into
one of the iuclosnres, and some of the
animals, being adroitly lassoed, were
brought near for our inspection. These
Lipps and thoir reindeer wander into
tho interior of the country during the
winter, and return to their summer
bnunts every spring. It is said that
tb' ir approach is always announced be- '
forehand by tho arrival of wolves, these J
hitter animals making a point of being 1
continually in attendance on the herds \
of reindeer?I am afraid with sinister 1
motives. I
do for Him.
He's a poor, hardworking man trying ]
to pay his honest debts and support his I
family by honest toil: but 44 go for i
hiiu," because he cannot pay you a few i
dollars he owes. He is poor and entitled 1
to no consideration. Keep him down ! I
Help him! He's a rich man, who <
robbed a bank or made an assignment, j
lives in a fine mansion and walks leis- I
urely, enjoying life, while his wife and i
children are deprived of none of the i
luxuries of weulth or the enjoyment of !
soci< ty. He's smart, an enterprising i
business man, and it's a pity he's robbed j
his creditors. Don't say anything to 1
hurt his tender feelings, nor expect him <
to soil his delicate fingers by toil. He ]
compounded with creditors at twenty- i
five or thirty per cent., and now lives in <
luxurious ease, an honored, respected j
citizen and a prominent man.
Go lor him I He's poor?he is trying t
to pay cent lor cent with interest, and i
his hands are hardened by toil?his wife t
ar.d children feel the pinchings of poverty
and the tightness of the times?he ,t
lives in a small house and fares scantily, I
but it is as good as he deserves?he has <
no business to be poor nor honest. He's
a fool for not robbing a bank or stealing
from those who would have trusted him
in prosperous days. Ho ought to be
poor ! Go for him I Keep him down? i
pile upon nim such a weight of obloqny ft
and pocuniary embarrassment that he t
will nover be able to rise. t
I
A Wonderful Horse.
otaruo, one 01 liouert lionuer's j
horses, recently trotted a quarter of a I
mile in thirty-two and one-half seconds, a
A noted horaoman who witnessed the i
feat Rays: When all the facts are con- 1
sidered, the performance was certainly t
the most wonderful ever made. Startle 1
accomplished the feat so easily, and fin- t
ishod so well within himself, that I was c
convinced that, great as was the per- i
formauce, he was capablo of readily ac- \
complishing a still greater. Startle, in f
his physical conformation, is a marvel 1
of power, and the fact that a horse of c
his size oould draw a wagon a 2:10 gait e
under such unfavorable circnmstanoes, t
aud without any special preparation, s
stamps Lim as the most wonderful horse \
of the age. . i
An Omaha girl recently married a man
whoso features woro nearly obscured by t
a heavy growth of whiskers. " Now, c
said she, at the conclusion of the mar- e
riage ceremony, " my first anxiety is to r
get that hair off of your faoe, so that I r
can see who yon look like. I've mai- j
ried a pig in a poke, so far as your fea- n
tures ar.i concerned." Tho barber had \
a call that day. a
THE COD FISHERY.
How the Ploh ore Cankl .ad Car
A correspondent of the Montreal
Gazette, writing from St. Johns, N. F.,
saye : After a few expiring wriggles the
cod is flung from the fisherman's boat
upon the rough " stage," where it is received
by the " out throat," who with a
sharp knife lays open the fish across the
throat and down the belly, and passes it
to the "header." This operator proceeds
to extract the liver, which is
dropped into a vessel by his side, to be
oonverted into ood liver oil. He then
extracts the entrails and wrenobes off
the head, and throws these into another
receptacle, to be preserved for the farmer,
to mix with bog and earth, thus
forming a most fertilising compost for
his fields. The tongues, however, are
takon out, and also the "sounds," and
those, fresh or pickled, are an exoellent
article of food. The fish is then passed
to the "splitter," who by a dexterous
movement cuts out the bftk bone nearly
to the tail, and thus lays the fish entirely
open, and capable of being laid flat on
if. hnnlr Tk.'o i- fl.. fk.
XUiO AJ IIUO UiUOTII ^Jiu V V? KUO
operation, and the "splitter " always
commands higher wages than the other
operators. The "Salter" next takes
the fish and washes it well from all parti
o'ha of blood, salts if, and places it in
piles to drain. After lying the proper
length of time it is washed, and spread
to dry on the "flake," which is formed
of spruce boughs, supported by a frame*
work, resting on upright poles. Here
the cod are spread out individually to
bleach by exposure to sun and air, and
during this process require oonstant attention.
At night, or on the approaoh
of rain, tli6y are made up into little
round heaps, with the skin outward, in
whioh state they look very much like
Bmall haycocks. When the "bloom,"
or whitish appearance, whioh for a time
they assume, oomee out on the dried
fish, the process is finished, and they
aro then quite ready for storing. On
being conveyed to the premises of tfre
exporting merchant, they are first
" culled," or assorted into four different
kinds, known as " Merchantable,''
"Madeira," "WestIndia," and "Dun,"
or broken fish. The first is the best
quality; the seconds grade lower; the
third is intended for the stomach of
West Indians, and the fourth, whioh is
inc ij able of keeping, is used at home.
The cod sent to hot oountriee is packed
by Rcrew power into small casks called
"drums;" that which goes to the Mediterranean
is usually exported in bulk.
Wo ship large quantities of dried oodfish
to Bnuril, ana there is hardly an inhibited
corner of that vast empire in
which the Newfoundland ood is not to
be fonnd, being carried on thd backs of
mnles from the eoa coast into the most
distant provinces of the interior. . The
negroes of the West Indies weloome it
iis a grateful addition to their vegetable
flit t. To all parts of the Mediteranean
it finds its way?Italians, Greeks and
Sicilians equally relishing the produce
of our sea harvest. The Spaniards and
P< i tuguese are our best customers, and
?li over the sunny peninsula the "bacalo"
have been a standing dish sinco
tlm days of Cervantes, who makes
*!> . eial mention of onr ood in ** Don
Quixote " under that name. In Gre.t
Britain and the United States we have
kh( usands of customers. In the warmer
regions of the earth, however, the
pecple seem to have a special liking for
bit; dried and salted ood, and to them it
is aii almost indispensable article of
rood. The more extensively Brazil,
3] -.liii, and Italy are opened np by railways
and other means of transit^ the
greater becomes the demand for ood, as
;be cost is lccBened. Soman Catholic
xn in tries are our be?t oustomers, and
Newfoundlanders have no reason to
wh h for the abolition of Ijent or a reluction
in the number of fast days appointed
by the Soman Catholic Church,
the advancing prioe of fresh meats of
ill kinds in various countries is also
a} idly increasing the demand far ood,
ind has considerably enhanced its value.
I1?five or fourteen years ago the
tvAranrA nrion ftf H aY% woe frnm fwftlva f/>
Iftcen shillings per quintal. Ii is now
exactly double that price.
I ?
A Curious War Scene.
A correspondent of the London
Standard, writing from the Turkish
iriuy, says: The offioers on their way
o Nieh at the first cannon shot returned
o their regiments, but I was detained
>y a sight whioh, even in the. midst of
his sanguinary fight, reserves to be resided.
Among the drivers who bring ,
>rovisions to the camp in cart* drawn
>y oxen, to return the next day with the
founded to Nish, was a young Bulgaian
girl, about fourteen years old, dnvog
a pair of buffaloes. Along the road
reversed by the girl thousands of
fosni-Basouks daily pass, and it leads
hrough the midst of at least 80.000 sol
tiers. The girl appeared in the camp
nstead of her father, who, she told me,
ran ill, bnt did not wish fo lose his
hare of the rich harvest which the war
irings, and although many of the aoltiers
oast stolen glances at the unwontd
apparition and perhaps reckoned np
he time sinoe they had last seon a
roraan, the girl passed uninjured, and
rithout the slightest fear, through the
nidst of their ranks.
Hal Nicart, a noted manager of minor
boaters at Paris a generation sinoe, is
leail. He opened a theater but to fail
aid be imprisoned for debt, and was alnost
as speedily discharged to open another
theater. One day Oumas went to
ul to see him. ** He has Just been set
t liberty," said the keeper. *f Very
veil," said Dnmas, taking a chair, "I
vill wait for him."