The Sumter banner. (Sumterville, S.C.) 1846-1855, April 23, 1851, Image 1
DEVOTED TO SOUTHERN RIGHTS, DEMOCRACY, NEWS, LITERATURE, SCIENCE AND THE ARTS.
M. J. fFRANCIs, Proprietor.TERR.-TW@ Deles P
VOL. V. SUMTERVILLE, S. C. APRIL 23, 181.
An Interesting Oriental Story.
Vhe Modern Baroun-al-athaschd.
In the dietrict of Ferdj Onah,
Xlgeria, (which signifies Fine Coun
-try) Dives a Scheik named Bon
Akas-bon-Achour. He is also dis
-tinguished by the surname of Bou.
-Djenoni (the Man of the Knife)
and may be regarded as a type of
%the eastern Arab. His ancestors
%conquered Ferdj' Onah, but he has
been found to acknowledge the
supremacy of France, by paying
a yarly tribute of 80,000 francs.
His dominion extends from Milah to
Rabouah, and from the southern
oint of Babonah so within two
eagues of Gig-Il. He is forty-nine
years old, and wears the Rahlve
costume; that is to say, a woollen
gandoura, confined by a leathern
belt. He carries a pair of piscols
in his girdle, by his side the Rahyle
fisea, and suspended from his neck
a small black knife.
Bofore him walks a negro carrying
his gun, and a huge greyhound
bounds along by his side. le holds
despotic sway over twelve tribes; and
should any neighboring peoile
venture to make an incursion on his
territory, Bou-Akas seldom conde
scends to march against them in
persons, but sends his negro into the
principal village. This envoy just
displays the gun of Bou-Akas, and
the injury is instantly repaired.
He keeps in pay two or three
ndred Toibas to read the Koran to
io people: every pilgrim going
to Mecca, and passing through Ferj
Onah, receives three francs and may
remain as long as he pleases to enjoy
the hospitality of Bou-Akas. But
whever the Scheik discovers thit
r e~ ~'th t ~sorr-ho,
wherever he is, fmd him, throw him
dowu, and give him fifty blows on the
soles of his feet.
Bou-Akas sometimes entertains
three hubdred persons at (inner; but
instead of sharing their repast he
4'alks round the tables with a baton
in his hand, seeing that the servants
attend properly to his guests.
Afterwards, if anything is left, lie
eats; but not until the others have
finished.
When the governor of Constan
tinople, the only man whose power lie
recognises, sends him a traveller; ac
cording to the rank of the latter, or
the nature of the recommendation,
Bou-Akis gives him his gun, his dog,
orhis knife. If the gun, the traveller
takes it on his shoulder; if the
dog, he leads it in a least; or if the
knife, he hangs it round his neck: and
with any one of these potent talismans,
of which each bears its own degree of
honor, the stranger passes through
the region of the twelve bribes, not
only unscathed, but, as the guost of
Bou-Akas, treated with the utmost
hospitality. When the traveller is
about to leave Ferdj' Onah, lie con
signs the knife, the d1og, or the
gun to the care of the first Arab lie
meets. If the Arab is hunting, he
loaves the chase; if labroring in the
field, he leaves his plough; and,
rtaking the precious deposit, hastens
ito restore it to Bou-Akis
The black-handled knife is so well
Iknown, that it has given the surname
re1 "Bou-Djenoni, the man of the
Jcnife,"' to its owner. With this im
aptement he is accustomed to cut
toff heads, whenever he takes a fancy
rio perform that agreeable office with
Ghis own hand.
When first Bou-Akas assumed the
-government, the country was infested
-'with robbers, but lhe speedily found
sneans to extirpato them, lie dis
:guiised himself as a poor merchant;
nwalked out, and dropped a douro (a
.gold coin) on the ground, taking care
mnot to lose sight of it. If the person
whlo happened to pick up the douro,
put it into his pocket and passed on,
ron-Akas made a sign to his chinux
,(who followed him, also in disguise,
and knew the Scheik's will) rushed
'forwar d immediately, and decapitated
the offender.
Ln consequence of this method of
administering justice, it is a sayinig
amongst the Arabs, that a chil
might traverse the regions which own
au - Akas's sway, weaing a golden
crown on his head, wvithout a single
hand being stretched out to take it.
T1heo Scheik has great irespect for
woman: and has ordered that when
the females of Ferdj' Onah go out t<
draw water, every man who mcti
them shall turn away his head.
Wishing one day to ascertair
whether his commands were attendei
to, he went out in disguise; and
meeting a beautiful Arab maiden or
her way to the well, approached ani
saluted her.
The girl looked at him witl
amazement, and said,
"Pass on, stranger; thou knowes
not the risk thou hast run.'
Ani when Bou-Akas persisted it
speaking to her, she added:
"Foolish man, and reckless of thj
life; knowest thou not that we are it
the country of Bou-Djenoni, wh<
causes all women to be held it
respect?'
Biou-Akas is very strict in hi.
religious observances; he never omit
his prayers and ablutions, and ha,
four wives, the number permitted h)
the Koran. Having heard that thi
Cadi of one of his twelve tribei
administered justice in an admirabh
manner, and pronounced decisions it
a style worthy of King Solomot
himself, Bon-Akas, like a secom
Haroun-Al-Raschid, determined t<
judge for himself as to the truth of thi
Accordingly, dressed like a privati
individual, without arms or attendants
he set out for the Cadi's town
mounted on a docile Arabian steed.
lie arrived there, and was jus
entering the gate, when a cripph
seizing the border of his burnous
asked him for alms in the namo o:
the prophet. Bou-Akas gave hitr
'kauoum but the cripple still maintain
ad his hold.
'What dnst thou want!' asked the
Scheik-'I have already given thec
alms.'
'Yes;' replied the beggar, but th<
a v sis jot only--'Thi shalt giv
shall do rqor thy ther" Rteoei
tnou canst.'
'Vell! and what can I do for thee?
'Thou canst save me- pooi
crawling creature that I am!-frou
being trodden under the feet of men
horses. mules and camels, whicli
would certainly happen to me it
passing through the crowded square
in which a fair going on.'
'Anil how can I save thee?'
'By letting me ride behind you,
and putting me down safely in the
market-place, where I have business.
'13 it so,' replied Bou-Akas And
stooping down lie helped the cripplc
to get up behind him; a busines,
which was not - oi-omnlished withoul
in uch difficulty.
The strangely assorted rideri
attracted many eyes as they passed
through the crowded streets; and al
length they reached the market-plac<
place.
'Is this where you wish to stop?
-Yes.' asked Bou-Akas.
"'Then get down.'
'Get down yourself.'
'What for?'
'To leave me the horse.'
'To leave you my horse! Whal
mean you by that?'
'I mean that lhe belongs to me
Know you not that we are now in th<
town of the jnst Cadi, and that if w<
bring the~ case before him, he wvil
certainly decide in my fav'our?'
'WhTly should he (10 so, when th<
animal belongs to me?'
'Don't you think when lie sees m
two, -you with your stroing stra igh1
limbs, which Allah has given you fo'I
the pur'pose of walking, and I with
my weak legs andi distorted feet,-h<
will decree that the horse shall belong
to him who has most need of him?'
'Should lhe do so, lie would rnot bc
the ,just Cadi,' said Bou-Akas.
'Oh! as to that,' replied the cripple
laughing, 'although lie is just, he i~
not infallible.'
'So!' thought the Scheik to himself
'this will be a capital opportunity o
judging the judge? lie said aloud
'I am content--we will go before th<
Cadi.'
Arrived at the tribunal, where tht
,judge, according to the eastern cus
tom, was publicly administerin
justice, they found that two triab
were about to go on, and would o
course take precedenice of theirs.
The first was between a talebs oi
learned man, and a peasant. Th<
pinto in dispute was the talel'. wife
whom the peasant had carried off
and whiom lie asserted to lbe his owi
hetter half, in the face of the phiiloso
phier, who demanded her restoration
The~ woman- strange cireamstmma
remained obstinately silent, and would
not declare for either; a feature in the
case which rendered its decision ex
i cessively difficult. The judge heard
i both sides attentively, reflected for
a moment, and then said 'Leave the
i woman here, and return to-morrow.'
The savant and the laborer each
bowed and retired; and the next cause
was called.
This was a difference between
a butcher and an oil-seller. The
latter appeared covered with oil, and
the former was sprinkled with blood.
The butcher spoke first:
'I went to buy some oil from this
man, and in order to pay him for it,
I drew a handful of money from my
purse. The sight of the money
tempted him. He seized me by the
wrist. I c.-ied out, but he would not
let me go; and here we are, having
come before your worship, I holding
my money in my hand, and lie still
,rasping my wrist. Now, I swear by
the Prophet, that t8is man is a liar,
when lie says that I stole his money,
for the money is truly mine own.'
Then spoke the oil merchant:
'This man came to purchase oil
from me.-When his bottle was filled,
lie said, 'Have you change for a piece
of gold?' I searchied my pocket,
and drew out my hand full of money,
which I laid on a bench in my shop.
le seized it, and was walking off
with my money and my oil, when I
caught him by the wrist, and cried
out 'Robber?' In spite of my cries,
however, lie would not surrender the
money, so 1 brought him here that
your worship might decide the case.
Now, I swear by the Propha% ilia.
this man is a liar, wh'n he anys that I
want to steal his money, (or it is truly
mine own.'
'The Cadi caused #ach plaintiff to
repeat his story,, but. neither varied
one jot from his or-ill .statement.
saidl, 'LeaLVC th m'oneyWvith me and
return to-morrow.'
The butcher placed the coins.
which he had never let go, on the
edge of the Oadi's mantle. After
which he and his opponent bowed to
the tribunal, and departed.
It was now the turn of Bou-Akas
th and crinnle.
'My Lor''Cadi.' said the former, I
conic hither from a distant country
with the intention of purchasing mer
chandise. At the city gate I met
this cripple, who first askee for alms,
and then prayed me to allow him to
ride behind me through the streets,
lest lie should be ti odden dewn in the
crowd. I consented, but when we
reached the inarket-place, he refused
to get down, asserting that my horse
belonged to hin., and that your
worShini, would sr.rely adjudge it to
him, who wanted it inost. That.my
lord Cadi, is precisely the state of the
case-i ewear it by Mahomet!'
'My lord,' said the cripple, 'as I
was coming on business to the market,
and riding this horse, whien belongs
to mec. I saw this manm se-ated by thme
road-side, appairenitly half dead from
fatigue. I good-naturedly offered to
take han on the crupiper, and let him
ride as far as the market-place,
and lie eagerly thanked me-, but what
was my', astonishment, when, on ourm
Iaririval, he refused to get, downm, and
said that my horse was his. I
immediately requir-ed hanim to appear
be-fore your worship, in order that
yonu mighit decide betweeni us. That
is the true state of the case.
I swear it by Mahcmet!'
I laving miade each repeat his dep'o
sitioni, anid having reflected for a
moment, the Cadi said 'Leave the
lior-se here, amid return to-mn-ow.'
It was donme, and Bou-A kas and the
cripple withdrewi in dliffereint direc
tions5. (On the morrow, a nmbe~cr of'
persons be'sidles those inunediately in
te-reste-d in the trials, assembled to
hear the judge's decisions.
Th'fe tale-b and thme pe-asant were
called first.
Take away thy wife,' said thme Cadli
to the former, 'and keep lier-, I ad
vise thee, in goodl order.'
Thleni tlunin to'wartds hiS chinuflrU,
lie added puointinig to the peasant
'Give this nman fifty lows.
lI e was instantly obeyed, and the
tailct carried of f his wife.
-Theni came forward the oil-mer
chant andl thme butcher.
'Ilere,' said tho Cadli to the butch
er, 'is thy money; it is truly thine,
and not his,' T1hien pointing to the oil
-merchant, ho said to his '$n'naz.x,
'Give this man fifty blows.
away in triumph with his money.
The third case was called and Bou
Akas and the cripple camnei forward
'Would'st thou recegnise thy hors(
amongst twenty other?' said th<
judge to Bon Akag.
'Yes my Lord.' 'And thou?'
'Certainly, my lord,' replied th<
cripple.
'Follow me,' said the Chdi to Bou
Akas.
They entered a largo stablo and
Bou-Akas pointed out his horst
amongst twenty which were standing
side by side.
"Tis well,' said the Judge. 'Re
turn now to the tribunal, and sent
thine adversary hither.'
The disguised Scheik obeyed, de
livered his message, and the cripplh
hastened to the stable, as quickly ai
his distorted limbs allowed. He pos
sessed quick eyes and a good meme
ry, so that he was able, without th
slightest hesitation, to place his han
on the right animal.
'Tis well,' said the tCadi; returi
to the tribunal.'
His worship resumed his place
and when the cripple arrived, judg
ment was pronounced.
'The horse is thine;' said the Cad
to Bou Akas 'Go to the stable an<
take him.' Then to the chinaux
'Give this cripple fifty blows.'
'It was done, and the Bou-Akai
went to take his horse.
When the Cadi after concludin;
the business .of the day, was retirinj
to his house, he found Bou-Akai
waiting for him.
'Art tlh - di::crontented with m'
awarA t'i' ;i.be judge.
'No, quite 'he contragj r-get
the Scheik. But I aan-t:-to ask .
what inspiration tho4. hat "eDderci
justice; for I doubt rt that the othe
two cases were deci4d as capitall;
as mine. I am not ignrcan
~g
and I wanted to judgeor iyself
thy reputed wisdom.'
The Cadi bowed to the ground
and kissed his master's hand.
'I am anxious,' said Bou-Akas, 't
know the reasons which determine
your three decisions.'
'Nothing, lay lord, can be mor
simple. Your highness saw that
detained for a night the three thing
in dispute!' 'I did.'
'Well, early in the morning I cam
ed the won.an to Le called, and I sai<
to her suddely-'Put fresh ink i1
my inkstand.' Like a person whi
had done the same thing a hundret
times before, she took the bottle, re
moved the cotton, washed them bot
out in the cotton again, and pourc<
in fresh ink, doing it all with the ut
most neatness and dexterity. So
said to myself, 'A peasant's wili
would know nothiig about inkstands
she must belong to the tablet.'
'Good,' said Bou-Akas, noddinj
his head. 'And the money'
'Did your highness remark, tha
the merchant had his clthes an<
hands covered with oil?'
'Certainly I (lid.'
'Well, I took the money and place<
it in a vessel fdlled with water. Thil
morning 1 looked at it, and not apa
tiele of oil was to be seen on the sur
face of' the water. So I said to my)
self, 'If this money belonged to th<
oil merchant. it would be greasy froe
the touchi of. his hands; as it is not so
the hutcher's story must be true.'
Bou-Akas nioddled ini token of ap
proval.
'Goo'd,' said lie. 'And my horse?
'Alh! that was a dificient business
and, until this morning, I was greatlj
piuzzledl.'
'VTe eriplelt, I suppose, did no
recogise the animal?'
'On the contrary, he pointed In
out immiedliatelv.'
'llow then did v'ou discover tha
lie was not the owner?'
'My object in bringing you separ
ately to the stable, was not to wheth
er yoru would know the horse, hu
whether the horse would acknowhledg
you. Now, when you appronehet
hinm, the creature tmn ,ed tow~atrds you
laid back his ears. and ieighed wit]
delight ; buot wheii the eripplde touchet
him. lie kickedh. TFhetn I knew tha
you were trulyh his uster.'
Bou-Akas thought for a moment
and then said:
'Allah has giv'en thee great wis
dotn. Thou oughtest. to' be in m
plaae, and I in thtine. And yet
know not; thou art certainily wortht
to be Schoik, hut I fear that I shiouh
but b~adly fill thy place as Cadti !'
Di),' . uaeho. wwn-de
into. spoRit with infinite glee. in
these things he remained a chid to
the end of his days; while In iot'ees
bility to tears he had the heart of a
woman. Thus, to the last hour of
life, he kept his affections fresh and
flowing.
He had the delicate organisation
of genius. His frame vibrated to
music like an Eolian harp. He had
the most exquisite relish for the beau
ties of poetry. He was extravagant
ly fond of works of imagination. He
devoured romances. And whet, in
his reading he met with a passage
which gratified his taste, he was nev
er weary of repeating it to himself,
or reading it to the friends who came
to see him.
In conversation, perhaps the most
prominent faculty of his mind was
fancy-sportive, playful, tender, and
pathetic. His conversation was a
stream which never ceased to flow.
His brilliant imagination, and the
wat mth with which he entered into
everything, gave it a peculiar fascin
ation. Byron said that Curran had
spoken more poetry than any man
had ever written. In a circle of ge
nial friends, after dinner, his genius
was in its first action. His counte
nance lighted up, and his conversa
tion beginning to flow, now sparkled,
now ran like wine. Flashes of wit
played round him. Mirth gleamed
from his eye and shot from his tongue
le had an endless store of anecdote,
to which his extraordinary dramatic
student enabled him to gilve the hap
piest efect. He told stories, and
hitting off the point of Irish charac
ter by the most exquisite mimicry;
he "set the table in a roar.' following
perhaps with some touching tale
which instantly brought tears into
evey eye. 'You wept,' says Phil.
Vot'oujaughiu , and you won
your equal, and was quite willing, if
you chose to become your auditor.'
The wit of Curran was spontane
ous. It was the creation of the mo
ment, the electric sparks shot from
a mind overcharged with imagery
and feeling. In this it differed from
the wit of another great Irishman.
Sheridan bad more of the actor a
bout him. His brilliant sayings were
prepared beforehand. le aimed at
display in the receptions at Hol
land House as much as when writing
a comedy for Drury Lane.
Perhaps no foreigner, who has
visited England, has had a better op
portunity of seeing distinguished men
than Madame de Stiel. She was
constantly surrounded by the most
brilliant society of London. Yet even
in that blaze of genius, she was most
struck, as she often told her friends,
with the conversational powers of
Curran. This, too, was in 1813. when
his health had sunk, and his spirits
were so depressed as to make it an
effort to support his part at all in soci
ety.
From the vivacity ofhtis cortversation
one would hardly have suspected the
depth and seriousness of his charac
ter. In talking with ladies, or with
young persons, his mmnd was remark
able for its constant playfulness. A
gleam of sunshine illumined his whole
being. Yet those who knew him in
timiately were aware that he was
subject all his life to coinstitutional
melancholy. Like many other men
celebrated for their wit, his gaiety
alternated with deep depression.
Th'le truth was, that lie sympathized
too intensely with the scenes of real
life to be uniformly gay. In his
country he saw so much to sadden
him, that his feelings took a melan
choly tone. The transition was often
instantaneous fgom humor to pathos.
Ihis friends, who saw him in his light
or moods, were surprised at tho. sud
decn change of his countenance. 'In
grave coinversation, his voice was re
mnarkable for a certain plaintive sin
cerity of tonet-a sadnes which fas
cinated the listener like mournful
music.-Athenaeum.
A swanansIng Feat.
"It was on the same track, by
which we have thus gained safely our
island home, that a swimming feat
was performed, a fesv years ago, by
a native woman in peril, which sur
p asses all other achist'ements of the
kid on record. When abouit mid
way between the outoiost points of
llawaii and Kahoolawe, or thirty
miles from land on either side, a
small island vessel, poorly managed,
and leaky (as thain generally are)..
Curran, The Orator.
Curran sprang from the people.
He was born at Newmarket, an ob.
P sCure town in the county of Cork, in
i 1760--being thus four years young.
er than Grattan. On the father's
side, he was descended from one of
i Cromwell's soldiers. Passing his
childhood in the country, he was
thrown much among the people. He
loved to recall the days when he
I played marbles in the street of New
i market, or assumed the part of
Punch's man at a country fair. He
loved to visit the peasantry in their
cabins, and to listen to their tales.
I There he saw the Irish character
its wit, its humor, its sensibility to
mirth and tears. There, too. in those
rough natures, which appear so sul.
i len and savage, when brought, face
- to face. with their oppressors, he
- found the finest and tenderest affec
tions of the human heart. There,
i too, he found a natural poetry and
eloquence. He was a constant at
i tendant at the weddings and wakes of
his neighborhood. It was customary
at that time to employ hired mourn.
ers for the dead, and their wild and
solemn lamentations struck his youth
i ful imagination. In after years, he
I acknowledged that his first ideas of
eloquence were derived from listening
to the laments of mourners at the
Irieh burials.
When transferred to Trinity Col
lege, in Dublin, he became distin.
r guished chiefly for his social powers.
Full of the exuberant life of youth,
overflowing with spirits, and fond of
fun and frolic, he was always a wel.
come companion among the students.
His mother had designed him for
the church. When he came out o
college, his tastes took another turp.
r But his mother never got .evr hei
r disappointment at his nt heing
premchet eteyou hisiirilllant we
COI~ I~iw e a
CU cou , sausCvuwM". .-a s
lived to see the nation hinging oi
the lips of this almost inspired orator
Yet even then she would lament ovel
D him. "0 Jacky, Jacky, whati
I preacher was lost in you!'
H1er friends reminded her that sh:
0 had lived to see her son one of the
I judges of the !and. 'Don't speak t<
s me ofjudgea,'she would reply, 'Johi
was fit for anything: and had he bu
followed our advice, it might hereat
ter be written upon my tomb that ]
a died the mother of a bishop.,
But no one as yet knew that h<
had extraordinary talent for clo
quence. Indeed he did not suspec
it himself. In his boyhood he had a
confusion in his utterance, from which
he was called by his school-fellows
[ stuttering Jack Curran.'
It was not until niany years after
while studying law at the Temple
that he found out that lie could speak.
After his fame was established, a
friend dining with him one day,
t could not repress his admiration of
Curran's eloquence, and remarked
that it muist have b'een born with him.
'Indeed, mry dlear sir,' replied Curran.
'it was not, it was born twenty-three
Iyears and1( som months after mec.
.But when lie hand made the importani
.c3overy of this concealed power.
.lhe employed every means to render
his elocution pefect. lie accustomed
hiinself to speak very slowly to cor
ret his precipitate utterance. HeI
Ipracticed before a glass to make hii
.gestures gr aceful. Ie sp~oke aloud
the most celebrated orations. Ont
>piece lie was never weary of repeat
.ins, the speech of Antony over th<
'body of Cmsar. 'This lie recommnen
ded to his young friends at the bai
as a model of eloq1uence.
And while lie thus usedl art to smnootl
a channel for his thoughts to flow in
no man's eloquence ever issued mort
tfreshly and sponitanecously from thc
heart. it was always the heart ol
.the man that spoke.' It was becaust
.his own emotions were so intense,
t that lie p)osused such power ovet
the feelings of others.
h Iis nautuiral sympathies were strong.
, Like every truly great man, lie was
ias simple as a child, lie had all
ithose tastes which mark a genun
man. ie loved nature, ie loved
children, lie symipathized with thc
,poor, it was perhiaps from these pop
ular sympathies that lie prefer.edI
.Rousseau amoing the French writers
, and that his frieindshsip was so strong
with M~r. Godwin.
r is nature was all sensibility. 1i<
I was muost keenly alive to gay, or ti'
mournful scenes. ie had a boyish
love of fun and frolic, ie entere(
muddenly shiNeO' cargo6s j
wind, plunged bows urdeaanl
dowD, there being on boatd be
tirty and forty M ens, and -17
of them in the' cabin; Tit (4
after dinner on, Siunday
tives that happened to be en
were at once. all together -nt
waves, with no means otescae 44
their skill in swimming. .. A
tain man, by the name of Miuae
who had conducted morning wdrt
and a sabbath service with
ple in the forenoon, nowcIle *
round him in the water, and implored
help from God for all. Then, as a
strong current was setting to
north, making it impossiblef
to get to Hawaii, whether".tieyWer
bound, they all made in different
ways for Maui and Kahoolawe.;
"The captain of the schooner,.,a
foreigner, being unable to swim, was
put by his Hawaiian wife on an oar,*
and they two struck out together for
the distant shore; but on Moidag
morning, having survived the first
night, the captain died; and in .te
afternoon of the same day his wife
landed on Kahoolawo. A floating
hatchway from the AWeck gavo a
chance for life to a strong young man
and his brother; but the latter perish
ed before the daylight of Mona;
while the elder reacbed the i0 Mn
safety by eight or nine - o'colM -A
feeble boy, without any euppoit,
swam the same distance of nea g
thirty miles, and arrived safe to ..i.d
before any of the others. Mane
and his wife had each secured a cov
ered bucket for a buoy; and 'tites
young men kept them company f1 4
evening; but all disappeared one af
ter another, during the night, either,
by exhaustion, or getting bewilde -
and turning another way, 6 *
comm& the prey of sharks..
f wnorning the faithil p
td th
W14 hing U aternco
Mauae became too weak to go e
The wife stopped and lomilomie.M
(a kind of shampooing common hero)
so that he was able to swim again
until Kahoolawe was in full view,
Soon, however, Mauao grew so weae
ry that he could not even hold to tbe
bucket; and his faithful wife, taUUg
it from him, bade him cling to .the
long hair of her head, while she till
hopefully held on, gradually nearing
the shore! Her husband's hnd#,
however soon slipped from her air,
too weak to keep their hold, and she
tried in vain to rouse him to furt&
efforL She endeavored, according
to the native expression, to colmia
kona manao, to make 7i# hope sim
to inspire him with confidence
pointing to the land, and telling li m
to pray to Jesus; but he could only
utter a few broken petitions. Pt
ting his arms, therefore, around her
own neck, she held them fast on' *e
bosom with one hand, and still swam
vigorously with the other until-near p
nightfall, when herself and her now
lifeless burden were within a quarter
of a mile from the shore. She hla&
now to contend with the raging surf,
and finding the body of her hiusband,
which she had borne se; " , stog
dead, she reluctantly cas oQ', 4nd
shortly .fter reached ~ arng.
"But there she wat rafg beW
off than at sea, folong expostfee 4'
the brine had so blind he~ ~ S
that it was somne time r~
could see; her st~bgtb& .(~
spent to travel, and the so itit
she landed was barrei.f~~
opposite side of the isaoWA -
tlemnent. Food-and *ae'she5ut
find or die. Provideintlafl ga t~*
tained the latter in ta rain t
recently fallen, nd thatW Mai d
ing for her in the en~ o
Mlonday nigtuedy~
end Thursday Va'i d wo
out relief, while she crept oh~ graul
ly as she could towvarda theinhib d
parts of the laid. EAt lat w~~
day mrnuiag, whe her na~kq
her swimming hojje thathd4d
its h~adl so .lone above th*'w eg,
was fast ftaing with he~
strenth, by ia ueletly
she dise~ve~ed t4 Watera~hji
fruit. Eatin :oo, ahoer~ 4
enlightened,' ie Jonthn . .
honey; *eo o sh~e
a pay j ftlihormesi, bjyI~
for, and conducted te
anhd the tedagvttn
ed shoonet ad i
before?--Rev. &# 'U&eeeb.
loniWor4 in teag ~