NORWALK
\
TH E DiAL’S SHADOW.
Go, Cupid; say to her I love
That roses fall and time is fleeting.
[ watch the dial‘s shadow move.
And wait—and wait—to give her greeting.
For youth is sunshine on the dial,
And love is but an old, old story;
The years may dance with lute and Viol—-
The shadow moves—so ends their glory!
Go, Cupid, beckon with your wing,
That sweetest chance may waft her hither:
For we must woo, remembering
llow fast the roses fall and wither.
And oft the dial long ago.
The pavement sunk with messy edges,
Saw Youth and Love meet all aglow.
And whisper by the old yew hedges.
Go, Cupid, tell the maid 1 prize
How many in the courtyard wandered,
What laughing lips and witching eyes,
In love‘s delight their beauty squandered!
The rails. brocade. and buckled shoes,
How softly down the path they pattered
\Yilh gallau‘is gay in old world hues,
When crowns and kingdoms little mattered.
check is pale;
.in the sages;
is but a weary t-tle
all the i
loinanct
)lonottmons from
.. :‘r 1‘
from yonder door;
if "it forever;
.h before.
(-vcr ‘
33y bruit: Sir: c.’
_-\.I_i-l time and:
tail. ‘
“ railroad
boy-t" 'l'2;; ir i'at'uur an engineer on one,
of the gin-:2." iii-strip roads, and they had
been born and brought, up in a comfortable
little co: t-rte by the very sidth-l' the track, 14:)
that they c-nill not re 'i'Pilll) ' 1 when
rushing trains, screaming v . . , aiming
bells and the maid smcil of coil smoke had
not been familiar thir'rs to tii;;‘":.
l. 1‘. 1:?” l‘ ‘,:>:',\.
\‘t'l'l'ffi
I‘ ¢ :. ‘ . ' u \ , .. ..
Smar. ..tf ‘ zznl. (, to}! «. Kim; ~ at ages
when ‘ .. boys hardly known fl ' v.1l.- from
a revel 2015.“; t.;r'-.' h'rl b». 5:. un—
. .l 3,.. . .... 1.. .
~ miniminu Nun, (ia‘y‘
spent at, the
p-
,- hours
station shops, or while the
yard ma.”- ‘I‘ f “.l with a trip on the
queer lizf; shifting . ne which pulfed up
and-ionn the interlininj; side Ticks. from
morning till night.
As they t'rmv older. 1'“ ‘r father occasion-
ally look i .;:.> of them v." 1 him on the great
eXpri-.~‘s 3o ., m. :1 Eve 110;). where they learned to
stop and start the magnificent machine, and
even to l‘illl it on safe stretches ofroad. Often
Ben relieved the big, good natured fireman
at the short-l. and fed the box under his di-
rections. while [toga-r attended to the bell and
wh'sile r.“ i 1.1 rned to manage the air brake.
Of em. all this was against the rules of
the road. .. rules have their exceptions, and
the pair oz' young engineers were such excep-
tions llvt-zi that stern potentate, the divis—
ion snp.-rii:t‘emlent, utter-ed never a word of
objectiini when he saw the two youthful
faces in the cab, black with smoke and beam-
ing vith pleasure, while train hands and
station men smilingly waved their caps to
lien or linger leaningr out of the window and
watching for signals and switches as if the
whole train depended upon his vigilance.
“Tiny: can run an easv piece as well as I
can,” llr. Tiloore once pr wily said:
“An‘ they’d do prutt; .. All in a toight
place. too,” added the fireman. But Mr.
Moore shook his head at this.
“Perhaps so, Mike; but it isn’t knowing the
machine that pulls a man through tight
places. It‘s pluck and grit and a cool bea ,
and thinking of your train first and yourself
last—t hat‘s what it is.”
“Sure. But if iver th’ b‘ys have to Show
what’s in ’em, you won’t find ’em lackin’.
Oi’ve seized ’em oop, an’ Oi till yez they’re
th’ roight soort. lVait till they’ve the
chance, an‘ ye’ll see.” .
Only a short time afterward they actually
did have the chance, and I Will leave it to
you whether or no Mike Murphy was mis-
taken.
“that's the matter with that car? It‘s
moving off of itself!” exclaimed Roger, while
he and his brother were standing at the sta-
tion awaiting their father’s train. Down the
track at the end of the yard a flat car loaded
with ties was slowly gliding along without
any visible means of propulsion.
"Brakes loosened," replied Ben. “She’ll be
stoppedin a. minute. Yes, there goes some-
body new.”
A man climbed on board and made his way
to the brakes. He turned the wheel vigor-
ously, but without effect. Another joined
him, and both, throwing their weight on the
brakes, could be seen heavily leaning outward
and swinging half around as they strained to
stop the ponderous car.
“No use. Brakes must be out of order,”
said Roger, after a minute’s observation.
“Yes, that‘s it,” assented Ben, carelessly.
But, even while yet speaking, he gave a sud-
den start of excitem» n .
“Roger, there‘s going to be trouble. See
how it gathers speed. It must be just getting
on the down grade outside the yard.”
“And that goes clear to the Gravelly Iluu
bridge," replied Roger, also becoming ex-
cited. “The flat will be running like light-
ning by the time it gets there.”
"Yes, and it‘ll pitch off the bridge, be—
sides,” continued Ben. “But I don’t see what-
wall in: done about it. The men have given
“I .3 'ilhey’re jumping off—and it’s time
p...
up.
they .
“ if. , the company will lose some money,”
said linger, “out that’s all the harm, for
'here‘s a clear track and no train coming up
'or two hours.”
But lit-n all at once grasped his brother by
he wrist.
"0, Roger, don’t you remember? There's
.gang repairing the bridge at the brook!
They’re clear down in the gully where they
can’t see or hear the car, and it’ll fall right
over upon them! They’ll all be killed! they’ll
all be killed!”
Roger could not say a word. He stood
staring after the disappearing car, pale faced
and breathing hard. Ben looked around
hopelessly until his eyes fell upon something
that made his heart leap with joy. It was
the change engine waiting to relieve their
father’s when, his train came in. It stood on
the main track near the two boys, but with
no one aboard, for the engineer and fireman
were eating their noon lunch at the round-
bouse, as they generally did.
“Jump aboard, quick, quick!” cried Ben,
dragging Roger toward the locomotive.
“We can't stop to call the crew—we must
run her ourselves. I’m the strongest; I’ll
fire and you—you start her up! Hurry!”
Roger instantly understood. He sprang
upon the footboard after his brother, and
grasped the lever and throttle. It was no
time for careful handling, and the great eu-
gine fairly jumped on the rails as the abrupt-
ly opened valves sent the steam rushing
through it. Ben seized the whistle lever, and
along scream of warning sounded in the ears
of the astonished men who were watching
the runaway car, while, almost at the same
moment with the sound, the roaring locomo-
tive leaped by them over the rattling,
switches, and shot down the line like a me-
teor.
Both boys, now that they were actually at
work to avert a disaster, the very thought of
il:.l
..
ll
which had unnerved them a. minute before,
were cool and steady. >toger, with his hands
occupied and feet braced firmly against the
heavy shocks and lurches of the flying engine,
moved his eyes from the track ahead only
for a swift glance at the gauges. Ben fed the
fire box with all the skill he knew, recalling
Mike Murphy’s ' instructions and doing his
best to keep a. steady, hot fire without smoth-
ering it by putting on too much coal, the
common mistake of inexperienced firemen.
Never once since starting had he looked from
his work, or even taken a single glimpse
from the window directly in front of him.
Yet all the time his mind was busy. He
had set upon this wild race with the single
idea of chasing the flat car and in some way
preventing the destruction it. was sure to
create if left to itself.
But now the question was whether the car
could be overtaken, and. if it could, what
should then be done. Knowing how far the
bridge was away from the station, be men-
tally calculated the probable speed of the flat
and the time i: would occupy in making the
distance. Tin-n, between shoveli'uls of coal,
.hc fixed the pace. neccsz-‘ary to come up with
the chase sufficiently far from the. bridge to
allow opportunity for sit-tiring the runaway
by n. plan which had just; occurred to him.
“There it is!" cried linger, as they swept
around a long,“ curve. "it‘s running nearly
2’03 fast. as we are."
l'bl' the first. time lien la‘aolu‘d out at the fly-
ing 't"l'.'L"l'tll:ll poles, \x bib.- inting the jars of
int- 11"; on El.» jtiiiiis with.) rails.
“(live hrr a little more. linger,” said he.
The engineseemed to drop from undzr them
will: in. increased :ipz‘czl on the down grade,
' iltl pitching liken ship at ."i n. Ahead
flat was bounding along the rails. strew—
i ,, the frat-k :~l:lt‘ as it. ran whit hurry ties,
for its load had l.;-t‘-n sliii'tud lg: the shock of
l'fl .ling the curve. Srveral inn-"s the pur-
suing; cngnic ~21 rink illl~l Hart-1'.- u. "
‘ > some of
g... which had inllfli partly .i-i'i'.«.; the
i".
,i
tlli‘
rails.
lv‘eari'ully dan' trons it. was, but l: -r did
not. even think of slowing up. do the con-
trary, b: 'o'x'.z.~3:.l his inaebinca little harder.
'l'l 'o \’.'.. ‘ of ii‘, for ill-1,: bridge was 1055
:.n a mi -av.'aj,',and a mile at this speed
was only a few seconds over a minute.
lion also knew that. He threw down his
l
' shovel, caught up an iron pin, and. opened the
doors leading out upon the boiler. Roger
looked at him anxiously, butnevcr spoke.
The thing must be done if both his brother
and himself gave up their lives in doing it,
for there, down under the bridge, were twen-
ty i:irn-——lu:.—sbands and fathers, many of them
——wm'king away, unconscious of the death
that \\’:‘.:-'. l'll:lllll,£',‘ upon them at ti ‘f'y miles an
hour.
Clinglng to the bras-‘3' railing and a most
choked by the fierce rush of air that the en-
gine created as it tore along, Ben crawled
slowly to the buffers, and from there let him-
self down till his feet rested upon the frame
of the pilot. Half sitting, half standing, he
held on to a brace with one hand, and with
the other raised the heavy coupling rod
wliichlmng along the front angle of the pilot.
It was a. terrible place. Stunned by the
furious noise, smothered in dust and bewil-
dered by the dizzy s'.vec;iii‘.;.j; of the roadbcd
under him, his head swam, and for a moment
he thought he should fall. But the weakness
passed away before the thought of what de-
pended upon him.
He must save tacse lives.
he was there for.
The engine was gaining rapidly, but still
not rapidly enough. A few seconds more
would render all this struggle useless.
He leaned out and waved his hand. In-
stantly another of those headlong leaps told.
him that Roger had seen his signal, and that
all steam was on.
The distance decreased. A hundred yards
—-fit'ty——twenty-five! Now the rumbling,
swaying mass of timber was directly over-
head, and Ben rose to his feet as cool as he
had ever been in his lif-c.
W'itb pin and coupling rod in hand, he
stood balancing himself on the narrow frame
that jarred and jumped beneath him, notic-
ing even then the steady skill with which his
brother was reducing the engine's speed to
correspond with that of the car and prevent
a heavy shock. Another second, and he
dropped the rod in place, passed the pin
through and fell backward upon the pilot.
The wheels screamed and grated, the steam
roared, and the whole. engine groaned under
the racking strain of the reverse, but the
car’s way was being checked, and slower and
slower it went, until its impetus was finally
overcome. and destroyed by the drag and pull
behind it. Right before, not fifty feet 03,
was the bridge, but the car had stopped.
lVell, you can imagine what a scene there
was—the terrified workmen swarming out
from among the timbers down in the ravine,
learning what they had escaped, who had
saved them, and how it had been done. And
you can imagine another scene, an hour or
two later, when the shouting procession of
grateful men and wives and mothers and
sisters, crying for joy, brought the two young
heroes up to the station, where Engineer
Moore was waiting. But you cannot imag-
ine what the father’s feelings were on hearing
the story, nor how he was proud and glad
and frightened and thankful all at once. No~
body could imagine that.
Mike Murphy was simply uproarious.
“l'Iurroo! Didn’t Oi till ycz?” he kept say-
“Didn't Oi say ye‘d see what was in ’em
wbin they had the chance? An’ they’ve had
the chance, an’ ye do see! Hurrool"———Z\Ian-
ley H. Pike in Youth‘s Companion.
That- was what
nvr
“3'
The Pocahontas Story Not a. illyth.
The story of Pocahontas is absolutely true.
Nobody doubted it till 1866, when Charles
Deane started the present skepticism on the
point. Henry Stevens believed Smith im-
plicitly, and he is the greatest authority of
our age. Before I edited Smith’s works I
knew of all this doubt. and I went coolly and
warily into the matter, determined to find
out the truth. Bit by bit the evidence accu-
mulated, until the honesty of statement and
high character of the Lincolnshire captain
came out refulgently. Of Pocahontas’ exis-
tence and services to the English colony no
man doubts. The questiomis, did she render
this peculiar service to Smith? No one was
present there but himself? Did he invent it
afterwards? IVas he a liar generally? Cer-
tainly not. In my reprint many greater hair-
breadth escapes than that are recorded in his
life, and in later Indian stories captive men
have often been saved from death blendian
squaws. Such an incident is almost com-
monplace. So, after a most rigorous test, I
was happy to believe that the Pocahontas
story is not a myth like the W'illiam Tell one,
but a solid, historical fact—Athenmum.
He Missed His Stimulant.
Said a New Haven businessman last even-
ing: “On my way to my office this morning
I felt miserable and when I took my seat at
my desk I hadn’t energy enough to hold a.
pen. I had slept well and had not been out
of health in any way and could not account
for the condition in which I found myself.‘
After doing the little work that was impera-
tively necessary I started for a walk, hoping
that exercise would help me. I dragged my.-
self along until I had walked three miles and
then again tried to attend to business; but it
was no use, and at noon I went home double,
ing whether I should be able to come down
town again. On the dinner table I found
the cup of coffee I had forgotten in the
morning. Down it went the first thing, and
from then until now I have been feeling like
a bird.”-——New Haven Palladium.
subsistence.
GAZETTE, WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 16 1889.
" GRACEFUL IDLING.
The Art That Is Not Always Understood.
The Charms of Variety.
Some people never understand dolce far
niente. There are souls so restless that, when
their longed for holiday at length arrives,
they fly off, in utter disregard of all the tire-
some trials of traveling, to climb mountains
in Switzerland, or to explore miles of picture
galleries in Italy. Others, rashly giving
themselves to the keeping of hospitable ac-
quaintances, find themselves, jaded and worn
out, involved in all the doings of friends,
fresh enough to crave exercise and excite-
ment, which torture their exhausted guest.
How can people who never put pen to paper
save to write some hurried note realize the
brain weariness of those to whom pens are
broad winners? It is to them a thing incred-
ible that long eveutless (lays, utterly eu-
grossed in lounging on turf and gazing on
trees, can have charms for any 0110. Shoot-
ing, fishing, cricket are sweet enough, but
that utter unoccupation can be sweeter they
will never believe. Yet it is complete quies-
cence which makes the happiness of tired hu-
manity. Not to read, not to write, not to
think; merely to eat, sleep and lounge as
much as possible, is the no plus ultra of ex-
hausted systems.
No one who has not been utterly \vcarictl
*an realize the delicious feeling,r of' repose
when body and mind grow gradually rested,
until slowls , slowly, a wish to do something
once again springs up. The energetic beings
who devote themselves to t'ravel‘s toils miss
this delight; they 1ii:i_‘.',perh:ips, return in-
vigorated if they have not worn themselves
to thread paprrs by violent: clinibings, for
which a stroll down Piccadilly or St. Janics’
street has been their onlytraining; battlic
. repose won by those who understand the dolce
far niente is: an unknown 1,: tity. To trav-
( ‘.er.: a keen remembrance of ‘ es and iii-um—
ains makes the conimonres»; of London
streets intolerable, the {ltllbnzillii’i‘t} sec-ins odi—
ous and the whole 'hing horrible. The disci-
ples of dolce far niente, on the other band,
have garnered in such store of rcposefnl men:-
0 ‘ies that they have but to close their eyes to
find themselves again dreaming where the
waves break close to their fectpvhcrcheather
scents the air. or in some sheltered nook
where stately trees shut out all sight of cv—
erythiug, save a patchwork dome of blue sky
softened by white fleecy clouds. Even to
those whose business is but pleasure, this do—
ing nothing is most sweet——only for a. time
of course, and probably a very short time; _
but for that brief period the joy of having no
dinner to be late for and nowhere to “go on”
to is very great.
In Corney Grain’s magnificent sketch of
the different periods of the London season he
makes every one wind up somewhat despair-
ingly with thoughts of the “bills to come in
by and by ;” but butterflies do not, as a rule,
allow themselves to be much disturbed by
bugbears of this description. Butterfly busi-
ness seems an absurd anomaly to the. bees,
but to the butterflies themselves it is most
real; and an escape to regions where there is
no necessity to be agreeable, no one to be
amused, or, more arduous tmsk, to be amused
by, is peace indeed. Such peace will proba-
bly pail with great rapidity, but it is real
enough while it lasts. The butterfly seekers
after dolce far niente number many more fe-
males among heir tribe than do the bees,
although it is hard, well nigh impossible, to
persuade people that any London lady can
exist Without some dissipation. Probably
she could not for any length of time, but for
the uonce she revels in an evcntless existence,
which would be utterly intolerable to any
country cousin. If the town rat visits the
country rat her life will be probably wearied
out and vexed by endless tennis parties, to
which the country rat will drag her, deem-
ing them the one thing that makes rural life
endurable. N0 arguments will convince her
that on the weary Londoner they exercise
the contrary effect. She cannot be made to
see the boredom caused by strange dullards,
whose efforts to amuse a London beauty, dif-
ficult to interest at any time, goad her, in
desperate Weariness, to call for the carriage
and insist on being taken home.
No one ever seems to take that most excel-
lent maxim, “Variety is charming,” to heart.
Every one tries to give his or her friends
what they are used to, when it is just for
what they are not used to that they are pin-
ing. It always seems strangely difficult for
any one to understand tastes diverse from his
own; and the person who likes to be taken
somewhere every day, to have people to din-
ner every night, and to be perpetually enter-
tained, cannot be expected to sympathize with
the man whose ideal household is one where
they let you do nothing, and where “there are
never any ruins to see after luncheon.” In
one such elysium for exhausted humanity the
hostess iswont to remark, when apologetic
guests appear desperately late for a 9:30
breakfast, “\Vhat does it matter? there is
nothing to do.” She fully comprehends the
dolce far ‘nien be, and makes her house a heaven
to all who, saying with Calverley,
Under the trees, who but agrees,
That there is music in woods such as these?
are faiu to stretch themselves 011 yielding
turf, and spend long days reveling in all the
sweetness of blissful niente—London ll'orld.
A Peculiar Industry.
The raising of kids for their skins is a prin-
cipal industry among the French mountain-
eers, and it supplies no small part of their.
Softness, delicacy of texture
and freedom from blemish are principal fac—
tors in the value of kid skins. and to secure
these great pains are taken. Diet is the prin-
cipal thing and mother’s milk is what keeps
the kid in perfect condition for the uses of the
glover. As soon as the young animal begins
to eat grass the value of its skin declines, for
with a grass diet its skin immediately begins
to grow coarser and harder in texture, and
its chief merit vanishes. It is. therefore, kept
closely penned, not only to prevent it from
eating grass, but also to secure its skin from
accidental injury from scratches, bruises,
etc., which are fatal to perfection. When
the kids have reached a certain age, at which
the skins are in the best condition for the
use of the glover, they are killed, and the
skins are sold to traveling hawkers, through
whom they reach the great centers of the
tanning industry air \nu'onuay, Milbau, Paris
and Grenoble.
The superior quality of these kid skins, due
to climatic causes, it is that has given France
the supremacy in the manufacture of the
finest grades of real kid gloves—a supremacy
that Will doubtless be long maintained, inas-
much as foreign manufacturers must in gen-
eral rest content with second rate skins, un-
leafs they maintain agents on the ground, a
policy that some nglish and American
houses have found :necessary.~Haberdasher.
A Rare 01d Book.
Quite a. rarity in the way of an old bpokeis
exhibited in a second hand book store on
Pearl street. The volume is a well preserved
copy of the “Works of Lucius A. Seneca,
translated into English by Tho. Lodge, D.
in Physics.” It was published by William
Stansby, in London, in 1614. Evidently it is
a first edition. The typographical Work is
excellent, in quaint old characters, but very
clear. The paper is of remarkably fine tex-
turefiand much thinner than is usually found
in works of that date. The volume itself,
which comprises about 1,000.folio pages, has
geen rebound by a modern binder.—Hartford
mies.
l CELESTIAL COBBLING.
PICKED UP IN THE SHOP OF A
CHINESE SHOE REPAIRER.
Bow Sing Lee
Wear—Serviceable Leather Unknown in
China—Interesting Facts About. the Shoes
of the Mongolians.
Although there are no Celestial shoemakers
in Boston’s little Chinatown, there is one old
Celestial who, if he doesn’t pretend to be able
to manufacture shoes in the advanced state
of perfection in which they are made in the
land of tea, yet he can repair the sabots with
neatness and dispatch, and While he does not
make that his sole means of support, he man-
ages to earn 82 or 33 every week by mending
the dilapidated shoes of some of his almond
eyed brethren.
It was for the purpose of finding out some-
thing about the curious looking shoes that
the writer paid old Sing Lee a visit. I-I’is
shop is situated in the cellar of one of the
houses of the block on Harrison avenue, be-
tween Essex and Beach streets.
Everything was as dark as pitch in the cel-
lar, which smelled close and damp, while the
air was laden with the stale fumes of opium.
rr nuixss inn EVERY TIP-ll).
“\‘i'lnit you wantee!” came in a treble key
from the occuparl‘. of the room, who was as
vet invisible to 11..) intruder, who, neverthe-
less shouted, “lIo-la-inztli?” which is the Chi-
nese for how do you do? and further added,
“I came to see you mend some shoes, Sing.”
“Me not mend shoe; you go home,” said
be old Celestial, who was now seen in the
dim light that struggled through the little
grated cellar window, sitting on a bunk on
which, previous to the interruption, be bad
evidently been sneezing.
It wasn’t a very warm reception, but then
Chinamen are seldom polite or pleasant to
white people who may chance to intrude
upon them in their own apartments, that is,
unless there is money in it. The writer fully
appreciating this fact, made his way to
where the old “Chink” was seated, and, put-
ting a quarter into his hand, offering him at
the same time a cigar, and mentioning the
name of tlie Chinaman who sent him, pro-
ceeded to make himself as comfortable as
possible by appropriating a stool that was
near.
It was curious to see the effect of the money
and the cigar on the old man, who, with a
“smile that was childlike and bland,” said:
“Oh, me see. You likee lookee see how
China boy shoe be mended.”
“Yes, that is it,” returned the
“You mend shoes, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, me mendee shoe,” he said with a
grin. “Before me not know who you be,
me likee you to go away. Now me know,
you stop and see.”
“All right, I'll watch you mend a shoe, and
then I won’t bother you any more.”
writer.
a pile of shoes that lay in a heap on the floor
at the foot of the bunk. Picking out one on
which the sole had been badly worn, be pro-
big sheet of thick felting from a drawer and
bler, to cut a new sole.
it upon the sabot, and then taking an aw],
run, he placed the point on the surface of the
felt, the shoe being held firmly bet-ween his
knees.
he gave it a peculiar twist and the awl went
through the new felt and the old sole that re-
mained on the shoe.
Repeating this operation several times, he
stuck small pegs in the holes to hold the felt
in position and then proceeded to bore holes
in rows all over the surface of the sole of the
shoe, until there were eight or ten rows of
many holes each. Then the sewing com<
meuced, and it was surprising to watch how
dextrously'he used the needle. When sewed
on it would seem that a sole would never rip
Repairs Damaged Foot;
u . n '. " n. n \ . ,
N 0 ti ouble, said Sing, and he leached fox ; vessel.
ceeded to rip off a portion of the old felt, and, ;
getting a smooth surface at last, he pulled a ?
proceeded, after the fashion of a Yankee cob- .
Th1s done, be fitted = Arctic regions, discovered this chronometer
through the handle of which a thong was .
Then, taking the thong in both hands, 3
off, and, in fact, Sing said they seldom do. _
That part of the work finished, he took a
sharp knife and pared the new sole down at
the sides until it exactly fitted with the old,
and then dipping alittle stiff brush into some-
thing that looked like Whiting he daubed it .
all around the edges and over the bottom,
and after rubbing it over with a cloth, the
shoe was pronounced complete.
SOME FINE ONES.
The writer, during the above operations,
asked many questions, and, as Sing had
warmed into a. pleasant and communicative
mood, the following very interesting infor-
mation regarding shoes was gleaned: .
In China, where of course the greater por-
I‘rish Coast Poverty.
Beside fishing up herring and bake the poor
people at the head of Bautry bay fish up sand.
Sand raising, as it is called, is as important
an industry as catching fish. This kind of
sand, known sometimes as coral sand, is used
for farm manure and costs from eight to nine
shillings a boat load——a poor price consider-
ing the toilsome character of the work and
cost of the boats required to carry it on. A
sand boa") costs £35 when new and £2 a year
in repair. The utmost a. boat owner or part-
ner can do in a day’s work is to bring to
shore two boatloads. The proceeds have to
be divided among a number of Workers, while
the working season lasts for a portion of the
year only.
In spite of all their lifelong labor from
morning to night, in winter and summer, and
in calm and in storm, these crofter fishermen
are in a state of chronic poverty. They do
not live by their scrappy patches of holdings.
They earn with difficulty from the sea barely
enough to buy sleeping room and a foothold
on the land.
They even do more than that; th 73y partly
create, with the help of the sea, the very
soil for which they pay rent. The deposit
which they call coral sand they have used to
reclaim these shores of rock and bog. They
have used the sea weed for the same purpose,
cutting it up from the deep water with a
primitive machine, which maybe described
as a marine scythe, and the seaweed has to
be paid for, if not as a separate item, then
as included in the holding. Coral sand, sca—
weed, the refuse of house and pig sly, and
basket loads of soil found among the bowl—
ders, these are the ingredients out of which,
after years of‘ work, the croft-er fishermen
have produced the tiny green patches which
dot innumerably the rocky shores and the
gray brown sides of the sterile but incom-
parably picturesque mountains that surround
Clengraiff the beautiful.
And the dwellings of these hardworking
people! They are more fit for the pigs that
go grunting and snouting in and out of them
than they are for beings created in the image
of God. A dry stone box with earthen floor
and without. windows, two or three recesses
stuffed with straw for beds and the whole
filled with peat reek, such is the ordinary
type of house where a fisherman and his wife
live with half a dozen or more children. In
one such house which I visited there were
seven children.———London Daily News.
A Ship’s Historic Clu‘onometcr.
On the desk of Edson C. Brace, chief clerk
of the bureau of equipment and recruiting in
the navy department, is a little rosewood
case bound and inlaid with brass and bronze,
It is in the form of a cube, about eighteen
inches high, and contains a chrouometer such
as are used on all naval vessels. This little
instrument has quite a tragic history and is
held of considerable value. It was the ship’s
chronometer of the unfortunate Polaris, that
was sent- out on an Arctic expedition by the
navy department in 1871. \Vhen the Polaris
was nipped in the ice Capt. Hall saved this
instrument and some other things from the
As long as Capt. Hall survived he
kept the. chronometer with him. \Vhen he
perished it was buried in the Arctic snows
and abandoned. This was some time in 1872.
For four winters it lay buried in snow and
ice. In 1876 Capt. Neres, of the British
navy, now Sir George Nares, then in com-
mand of the last royal expedition to the
at Newman’s bay. Ho dug it out of the
snow and took it. to England with him on his
return. It had then been buried in the snow
for four yearsin a region where the ther-
mometer sinks to 104 degrees below freezing
point. It was fraud to be in perfect order,
and was wound and ran all right as soon as
taken from its cold bed. On returning to
England Capt. Nares turned the instrument
over to the British admiralty office, from
where it was sent as a present to this gov-
ernment. lVith all this experience it loses
only a single second in twenty-four hours.—
\Vashington Cor. Philadelphia. Telegraph.
A Smart Boy.
Sometimes children are Wise beyond their
years. Up on one of the South Side avenues
is a lady who is the mother of a bright
youngster aged 4 years. This youngster of
: hers has annoyed her greatly by running
' away, during the day, to the house of a
neighbor about a block away and hiding him-
self there until some one is sent after him.
, Rather than be annoyed in hunting after him
his mother called on the lady who owned the
' children in the next block, and came to an
tiou of all the shoes worn by Celestials in i
this country are made, there is an absence of
well tanned leather, and it is for this all
important reason that the leather soled
shoes are made so thick. If a thin layer of
that poor leather were used the shoes would
wear out in no time, and as they are rather
expensive from a. Celestial point of viewa.
wearer of thin soled shoes would have a
heavy bill for foot wear to pay. It is for
the same reason that the uppers of all the
shoes are made of cloth, for there is very lit-
tle of the thin, ornamental leather in the
country, and as the Chinese are not very
progressive they would never think of im-
porting that very useful article so as to make
their shoes more durable.
Of the cloth tops there are many varieties,
although by far the greater percentage of
Chiuamen wear those of black silk or cotton,
ornamented with embroideries of different 3
sorts.
sabots cost as high as $12 or $15 a pair, while
The designs upon them take many .
forms, and some of the more elaborate of the ,
those worn by the rich maudarius in China ‘
are even more expensive than that. An or-
dinary pair of shoes, however, can be pur- ;
chased for about $3, and it is only the well to 3
do merchants or laundry men or the Celestial
dudes who buy the more expensive sorts.
Chinese dudes, by the way, often wear
shoes the uppers of which are made of blue,
purple or red satin or silk embroidered with
some other contrasting color, but these, as a
rule, are sent to them direct from China,
where some sweetheart or living almond eyed
wife has worked on them for many days, so
that her absent lord may cut a dash among
the swells of Chinatown.
The shoes with felt soles are much more
.popular than the other, and it is thought by
the wearers of them that they last longer and
look better than those made of leather. The
soles are also easier to whiten, and this is a 1
great point in their favor.
The Tartar ladies,
their feet, wear the same sort of shoes as the
men, but the soles are made thicker.
The only reason Sing could give why the '
soles of the shoes were sewed all the way
across was that if the felt or leather used
'was sewed only around the edge it would
warp out of all reasonable shape on the first
wetting. ,
1 There are also Chinese slippers that are
1quite a novelty in their way and very cheap.
They are made of either woven straw or
bamboo, with flat soles, no heels or counters,
and resemble what are known in New Eng-
land as slipshods. In the front. beneath the
woven bamboo, are placed strips of different
’colored paper, which have quite a good'etfect.
-—Boston Globe.
who do not follow the :
custom of Chinese ladies of rank in cramping '
understanding with her. “When I am will-
ing that Georgie should call on your chil-
dren," she said, “I will write a note to that
effect and pin it on his arm. In the note I
will state what time I want him sent home,
and you can act accordingly.” \Vell, the
other lady agreed to this plan. A day or so
later the youngster appeared at her house
with a note pinned on his arm. She thought
it was all right, and she allowed him to play
with her children until she thought it time to
look and see when he was to be sent home.
When she unfolded the paper she saw noth-
ing but a lot of scribbling, and she asked
the youngster what it meant. “lVell,” he
said, “my mamma was asleep when I wanted
to come up here, so I wrote the note myself.”
The lacy was dumfounded. The Wise young-
ster had seen his mother write the notes
which gave him his freedom, so he thought,
as she was asleep when he wanted to go, that
he might as well write a note himself rather
than disturb her. That boy will never get
left. ——Chicago Herald.
Stopped the Clock.
A jeweler on Shawmut avenue lately had
an old fashioned, wooden “grandfather‘s”
clock sent to him for repairs. The owner
said it had been in the family ever since the
days of John Hancock, and that until a few
weeks ago it had always run regularly and
kept good time. He wished to have it “doc—
tored” and put in running order.
On taking out the works the jeweler found
a large mouse nest made of straw and shreds
of, carpet firmly imbedded on top of the
wooden cogwheels, and in this nest were four
young mice as pink and pretty as babies.
The mother mouse had gained access to the
clock by gnawing a hole in the back; and,
although the bell struck the hours regularly
and this tinkling went on continually, the
little animal had no hesitation in selecting
the place as a home in which to rear her off-
spring.
And now comes the continuation of the
story. The jeweler had in his window a fe-
male guinea pig, which had just had her
young taken from her. The young. mice
were put in the box instead of the “pigs,”
and the mother at once adopted them and
gave them Sitck, as if they had been her own
progeny. T ey grew until they were large
enough to leap out of the box, when they
ran away and never returned. —Bost0u Globe.
‘Mcn of the Present.
Says an Englishman: “You Americans are
getting so that you have no interest for any
time but the present. Years ago We used to
think we were pretty Wide awake when we
coined .the phrase ‘men of the day.’ But,
bless me, you have no use for men of the
day; you only care to know about ‘men of
the hour.’ And I expect that you will very
soon ignore everybody but men of the min-
ute. The Arneriean people live on the sharp
points of the passin moment, and seem to
enjoy it.”-—New Yor Tribune.
Then he clasped her with emotion,
vDrew the maiden to his breast.
Whispered vows of true devotion,
The old, old talc,—you know the rest.
From his circled arms upspringinc
With a tear she turned away. 0,
AP." her veicc With sorrow ringing,
I shall not sec my bridal day.”
This dramatic speech broke him up badly;
but when she explained that her apprehen-
sions were fonudcd on the fact of an inher-
lth' predisposition to consumption in her
family, he calmed her fears. bought a bottle
of Dr. Picrce's Golden Medical Discovery for
her, and she is now the incarnation of health.
Consumption fastens its hold upon its victims
while they are unconscious of its approach.
The “Golden Medical Discovery” has cured
thousands of cases of this most fatal of male.—
dics. Butit must be taken before the disease
15 too far advanced in order to be effective.
If taken in time, and given a fair trial. it will
cure. or money paid for it will be
refunded. '
For “real: Lungs, spitting of Flood,
Shortness of Breath, Bronchitis“
Asthma, Severe Coughs, and kindred
affections, it is an efficient remedy.
L“ Copyright, 1838, by WORLD'S Dis. MED. Ass’zr.
for an incurable case of Ca-
- e5 -- tan-h in the Head by the
proprietors of Dr. Sage’s Catarrh Remedy. By
Its mild, soothing and healing properties, it
cures the worst cases. no matter of how long
standing. By druggiste. 50 cents.
CLEAR, Billllli
Is the Cigar
known now as
SLEEP-Eli’s
EYE.
Finest in America.
Sold for l0 cts.,
everywhere.
Allil inn
‘ .hu-m, . ..
Trade-M ark.
S. S. SLEEPER it (30..
Factory, Boston.
Dougie Wagons,
Single Wagons,
Road Carts,
Horse Carts,
Coat
Wood.
Grain.
Flour,
. Hay,
Straw
—A.ND——
Building Material,
Etc. Etc.
ill ' Br
South Norwalk.
For Sale at a. Sacrifice-
Will to sold if applied for soon,
TEN ROOM COTTAGE.
within five minutes walk of the
bridge, with never failing well of
excellent water, and a cistern
holding three hundred hogs-
heads, for laundry purposes
all modern improvements
conveniences, etc. Cost
owner $8,000, and
will be sold for
$5,000 with only
$1,500 down,
to satisfac-
tory party.
1m33 Enquire at GAZETTE OFFICE.
PORTRAITS
.__. 1N—
OIL. PASTEL OR CRAYON
Elegant work, at lowest Prices, by
E. T. WHITNEY,
Formerly of Norwalk. Leave orders at Art De-
partment of BOSTON STORE, 2d Floor, Nor-
walk, Conn. 36
large Office Room to Rent.
N GAZETTE Building. second floor front
formerly editorial rooms of the GAZETTE
Enquire of _
CHAS.:OLMSTEAD, Norwalk.
Norwalk Chronicler