I!" WEEKLY - NORWALK -.GAZETTE. 3w. A Morocco AT SEA CHAPTER I. Y dandy-rigged yacht, the Spitfire, of twenty-six tons, lay in Boulogne harbor, hid- den in the midnight shadow of the wall against which she floated. It was a breath- less night, dark despite the wide spread of cloudles sky that was brilliant with stars. It was hard upon the hour of midnight, and low down where we lay we heard but dimly the sounds of such life as was still abroad in the Boulogne streets. Ahead of us loomed the shadow of adouble-funnelled steamer,—an inky dye of scarcely deter- minable proportions upon the black and silent waters of the harbor. The Cape- cure pier made a faint, phantom-like line of gloom as it ran seawards on our left. with here and there a lump of shadow denoting some collier fast to the skele- ton timbers. We were waiting for the hour of midnight to strike, and our ears were strained. ' “ What noise is that ?” I exclaimed. “ The dip of sweeps, sir.“ answered my captain, Aaron Caudel; some smack . a-coming along.—ay, there she is.” And he shadowily pointed to a dark square heap betwixt the piers, softly approach- ing to the impulse of her long oars. “ How is your plug now, Caudel?” said I, in a low voice, sending a glance up at the dark edge of the harbor wall above us, where stood the motionless figure of a dowm'er, with a button or two -of his uniform faintly glimmering to the gleam of a lamp near him. “ Right for the job, sin—right as your honor could desire it. There’s but one consideration which ain’t like a feeling of sartinty; and that, I must say, con- sarns the dawg." “ Smother the dog! But you are right. We must leave our boots in the ditch.” “ Ain’t there plenty of grass, sir?" said he. “ I hope so; buta fathom of gravelwill so crun’ch under such hoofs as yours that the very dead buried beneath might turn in their cofllns, let alone a live dog. wide awake from the end of his beastly cold snout to the tip of his tail: Does the ladder chafe you?” “ No, sir. Makes me feel a bit asth- matic~like, and if them dum'ers get a sight of me they’ll reckon I’ve visited the Continent to make a show of myself,” he exclaimed, with a low deep sea laugh, whilst he spread his hands upon his breast, around which. under cover of a large, loose. long pea-coat, he had coiled a length of rope~ladder with two iron hooks at one end of it which made a hump under either shoulder-blade. There was no other way. however, of conveying the ladder ashore. In the hand it would instantly have challenged attention. and a bag would have been equally an object of curiosity to the two or three custom-house phantoms flitting about in triangular-shaped trousers and shake-like head-gen r. “ There goes midnight, Caudel. As I listened to the chimes a sudden [it of excitement set me trembling. “Are ye there, J ob?” called my cap- tain. “ Ay, sir.” res ended a voice from the bows of the yes t. ‘ ‘ Jim ?” sir I" cried “Here, sir," answered a second voice V out of the darkness forward. “ Dick ‘9” “ Here, sir.” “Bobby?" “Here, sir, note of a boy. “Lay aft, all you ship’s company, and don't make no noise,” growled Caudel. I looked up; the figure of the douam’cr had vanished. The three men and the boy came sneaking out of the yacht’s head. .. “Now, what ye’ve got to do,’ said Caudel, “is to keep awake. You’ll see all ready for hoisting 'and gitting away the hinstant Mr. Barclay and me arrives aboard. You onderstand that ‘1’" “It‘s good English, cap‘n,” said one of the sailors. _ “No Skylarking, mind. You’re a-list- ening, Bobby?" “Ay, sir.” “You’ll just go quietly to work and see all clear, and then tarnto and loaf about in the shadow—Now, Mr. Barclay, air, if you’re ready I am.” “ Have you the little bull's-eye in your pocket ?" said I. ~~ He felt, and answered yes. ‘ ‘ Matches ?” “ Two boxes." “Stop a minute,” said I, and I de- scended into the cabin to read my dar~ ling’s letter for the last time, that I might make sure of all the details of our romantic plot ere embarking on as hare- brained an adventure as was ever at- tempted by a lover and his sweetheart. The cabin-lamp burned brightly. I see the little interior now, and myself stand- ing upright under the skylight which found me room for my stature, for I was six feet high. My heart was beating fast, and my hands trembled as I held my sweet— heart’s letter to the light. I had read it twenty times before, but my nervous excitement obliged me to go through it ancc more for the last time, as I have said, to make sure. The handwriting was girlish; how could it be otherwise, seeing that the sweet writer was not yet eighteen? The letter consisted of four sheets, and on one of them was very cleverly drawn, in pen and ink, a tall, long, narrow. old- responded the squeaky fashioned chateau, with some shrubbery, in front of it. a short length of wall, shen a tall hedge with an arrow pointing at it. under which was- written, “ Here Is the hole." Under another arrow, in- dicatingabig square door to the right of the house. where a second short length of wall was sketched in, were written the words. “Here is the dog.” Other arrows—quite a flight of them, in- deed, causing the sketch to resemble a weather-chart —pointed to windows, doors, a little balcony, and so forth. and against them were written, “Ma’m’- selle’s room.” “ The German governess’s room,” “Four girls sleep bereft—with, other hints of alike kind. I put the let- ter in my pocket and went on deck. “ Where are you. Caudel?" “ Here, sir." cried a shadow in the starboard gangway. “ Let us start,” said I ; there is half an hours walk before us. and. though the . agreed time is one. there is a great, deal to be done when we’ arrive." . We said little until we had cleared the Rue de l’Ecu and were marching up the broad Grand Rue. with the church of St. Nicholas soaring in a dusky mass out of the market-place. and the few lights of the wide. main street rising in fltful ' twinklings to the shadow of the rampart ' walls. A mounted gendarme passed; . the stroko'of hie‘horeo's hoofs sounded JobI’rinting-noetly done at this on“! hollow in the broad thoroughfare and accentuated the deserted appearance of the street. ' “ I shan’t be sorry when we’re there," said Candel. “This here ladder makes my coat feel a terrible tight fit. I sup- pose it'll be the first job of the sort ye was ever engaged in, sir i’” “ The first,” said I, “and the last too. believe me. It is nervous work. would rather have to deal with an armed burglar than with an elopement." “And I don’t suppose the young lady feels extray comfortable. either)” he ex- claimed. “ Let me see; I’ve got to be right in my latitude and longitude, or we shall be finding ourselves ashore. It's for us to make the signal, ain’t it, sir?” “Yes," said I,- pufling, for the road was steep and we were walking rapidly. “ First of all, you’ll have to prepare the ladder. You haven’t forgotten the rungs, I hope?” referring to three brass pieces to keep the rope extended, con- trivances which had been made to my order, resembling stair—rods with forks and an arrangement of screws by which they could be disconnected into pieces convenient for the pocket. “ They’re here, sir." he exclaimed, slapping his breast. - “Well, we proceed thus. The bull’s- eye must be Cautiously lighted and dark- ened. We have then to steal noiselessly to abreast of the window on the left of the house and flash the lantern. This will be answered by the young lady strikng a match at the window.” “ Won’t the scraping of the lucifer be heard?” inquiréd Caudel. “ No. Miss Bellassys writes to me that no one sleeps within several corri- dors of that room." “ Well, and'then I think ye ‘said, sir,” observed Caudel, “ that the young lady'll slip out onto the balcony and lower away a small length of line to which this here ladder," he said giving his breast a ttliiinip, “ is to be bent on, she hauling of 1 up!” “ Quite right,” said I. “ You must help her to descend. whilst I hold the lad- der taut at the foot of it. No fear of the_ ropes breaking, I hope?" “Lord love ’ee,” he cried heartily, “ it’s brand-new ratline—stuff, strong enough to hoist the main-mast out of a first—rate.” By this time we had gained the top of the Grande Rue. Before us stretched an open space dark with lines of trees; at long intervals the gleam of an oil lamp dotted that space of gloom; on our right lay the dusky mass of the rampart walls, the yawning gate-way dully illum- inated by the trembling flame of a lan- tern into a picture which carried the imagination back into heroic times, when elopements were exceedingly com- mon, when gallant knights were to be met with galloping away with women of beauty and distinction clinging to them, when the midnight air was vocal with guitars, and nearly every other darkling lattice framed some sweet. pale. listen- ing face. “ Which’ll be the road. sir?” broke in Caudel’s tempestuous voice. I had explored the district that after- noon, had observed all that was neces- sary, and discovered that the safest if not the shortest way to the Rue de Maquetra, where my sweetheart Grace Bellassys was at school, lay through the I-Iaute Ville, or Upper Town, as the English called it. The streets were utterly deserted; not so much as a. cat stirred. One motionless figure we passed, hard by the cathedral—a police- man or gendarme—he might have been a statue. “ Foreigners is a queer lot.” exclaimed Caudel. “I dunno as I should much relish living between them walls. How much farther off is it, sir?” " About ten minutes,” said I. . “A blooming walk, Mr. Barclay. sir, begging your pardon. Wouldn’t it have been as well if you’d have ordered a fee- hggre to stand by ready to jump aboard o . “A fee what?” said I. “ What’s the French for a cab, sir ?" “Oh! I see what you mean. No. A carriage makes a noise; and then there is the cabman to be left behind to tell all that he knows. ’ . Caudel grunted an assent, and we strided onward in silence. A few minutes walk brought us to the grounds belonging to the house, which were divided from the lane by a thick hedge. We came to a stand and listened, star. ing our hardest with all our eyes. The house was in blackness; the line of the roof ran in a clear sweep of 'ink against the stars, and not the faintest sound came from it or its grounds, save the delicate tinkling murmur of a fountain playing somewhere among the shrub- bery in front. “Where'll be the dawg?” Caudel, in a hoarse whisper. . “Behind the wall there,” ‘I answered, —“ yonder where the great square door is. Hark! Did not that sound like the rattle of a chain?" We listened; then said I,— “Let us make for the hole in the hedge. I have its bearings." We crept soundlessly past the house, treading the verdure that lay in dark streaks upon the glimmering ground of this little-frequented lane. “One bell. sir,” said Caudel, “it's about time we turned to, and no mis- take. Lord, how I'm a-perspiring! yet it ben’t so hot, neither. Which side of the house do the lady descend from ?" “ From this side," I answered.- “Well clear of the dawg, anyhow.” said he. “ and that’s a good job." “Here’s the hole,” I cried, with my voice shrill beyond recognition of my own hearing through the nervous ex- citement I labored under. We squeezed through and found our- selves in a. sort of kitchen garden. as I might imagine from the aspect of the shadowy vegetation; it seemed to run clear to the very walls of the house on this side in dwarf bushes and low ridged growths. “Here’ll be a path. I hope,” growled Caudel. “What am I a-treading on? Cabbage? They crackle worse nor gravel, Mr. Barclay. “Clear yourself of the rope-ladder, and then I'll smother you in your big exclaimed _pea-coat whilst you light the lamp," said I. “ Let us keep well in the shadow of the hedge. Who knows what eyes may be star-gazing yonder?” " With a seaman’s alacrity, Caudel slipped off his immense coat, and in a few moments had unwound the length of ladder from his body. He wore a colored flannel shirt: I had dreaded to find him figuring in white calico! He dropped the ladder to the ground, and the iron hooks clanked as they fell to- gether. I hissed a sea blessing at him through my teeth: . . “Have you no wicks in these tallow— candle fingers? Hush! Stand motion-. less.” . As I spoke. the dog began to bark. That it was the dog helongin house I could swear. The soun . never- ;theless proceeded from the direction of ' the yard in-which my, sweethearttold . ~ ._ __ _._-.....»_. _.-._. ....----_- 1 F. , Job Printing neatly done at this omce. t t , . . 0 he had carefully handed Grace throughsilzhe me the dog was chained. The deep and melancholy note was like that of blood-hound giving tongue. ' _ “He’ll be a wooper, sir. Big as a pony, sir, if his voice don’t belie him," said Caudel, fetching. a deep breath. “Iwas once bit.by a dawg ” He was about to spin a yarn. “ For heaven’s sake. now, hear a hand and get your bull’s-eye alight.” I angrily whispered, at the same moment snatch- ing up his coat and so holding it as efiectually to screen his figure from the ' house. Feeling over the coat, he_ pulled out the little bull’s-eye lamp and a box of matches, and, catching with oceanic dexterity the flame of the lucifer in the hollow of his hands. he kindle ‘~. the wick, and I immediately closed the lantern with its glass eclipsed. “ Pick up that ladder,-—by the hooks; see they don’t clank; crouch low; make a bush of yourself. as I do. and come along,” said I. Foot by foot we groped our way towards the tall thin shadow of the house through the cabbages, and pres- ently :: area at the edge of the sward; and now we had to wait until the clock struck one. This side. of the house lay so black against the fine. clear, starry dusk of the sky that it was impossible to see the out- lines of the windOws in it. I could manage, however. to trace faintly the line of the balcony. My heart beat fast as I thought that even now my darl— ing might be standing at the window peering through it, waiting for the signal flash. Caudel was thinking of her too: “ The young lady, begging of your pardon, sir, must be a gal of uncommon 'spirit, Mr. Barclay.” “ She loves me, Caudel, and love is the most animating of spirits, my friend.” “ I dorn’t doubt it. sir. What room’ll it be that she’s to come out of?” “The dining-room,—-a big deserted apartment where the girls take their meals.” “ ’Tain’t her bedroom, then?” “ No. She is to steal dressed from her bedroom to the salle-a—manger—” “ The Sally what, sir?" “ No matter, no matter,” I answered. “ It’s oncommon queer,” he persisted, “to feel one’s self ina country where one's language ain’t spoke. The weary soil don’t seem natural. As to the language itself, burst me if I can under- stand how a man masters it." The convent clock struck one. “ Now," said I, “ stand by.’_’ I held up the lamp, and so turned the darkened part as to produce two flashes. A moment after. a tiny flame showed and vanished above the balcony. “ My brave darling l” I exclaimed. “ Have you the ladder in your hand?” “ Ay, sir.” . “ Mind these counfounded hooks don’t clink.” We stepped across the sward and stood under the balcony. “ Grace, my darling, is that you I” I called, in a low voice. “ Yes, Herbert. Oh,‘ please be quick. I am fancying I hear foot-steps. My heart is scarcely beating for fright.” I could just discern the outline of her figure as she leaned over the balcony and see the white of her face vague as a fancy. “ y darling, lower the line to pull the ladder up with. Very softly, my pet; there are iron hooks which make a noise.” In a few moments she called. “I have lowered the line.” I felt about with my hand and grasped the end of it,——a piece of twine, but strong enough to support the ladder. The deep blood-hound-like haying of the dog recommenced, and at the same time 1I heard the sound of footsteps in the one. “Hist! Not a stir,—not a whisper.” I breathed out. It was the staggering step of a drunken man. He broke maudlinly into a song when immediately abreast of us, ceased his noise suddenly, and halted. This was a little passage of agony, I can assure you. The dog continued to utter its sullen, deep—throated bark in single strokes like the beat of a bell. Presently there was a sound as of the scrambling and scrunching of feet, followed by the noise of a lurching tread; the man fell to drunkenly singing to himself again, and so passed up the lane. Caudel fastened the end of the twine to the ladder, and then grunted out, “All ready for hoisting.” “Grace, my sweet,” I whispered. “do you hear me?” “ Distinctly, dearest; frightened l” “ Pull up this ladder softly, and hook the irons on to the rim of the balcony.” “ Blast the dawg !” growled Caudel. “ It is hooked, Herbert.” “ All right. Caudcl swing off upon the end of it.—test it, and then aloft with you, for mercy’s sake !" . The three metal rings held the ropes bravely stretched ' out. . The seamen sprang, and the ladder held as though it had been the shrouds of a man-of—war. “Now Caudel, you are a seaman, yo must do the rest ” said I. ‘ He hzul removed his boots, and mount- ing with a eat like agility, gained the balcony then, taking my sweetheart in his arms, he lifted her over the rail and lowered her down with his powerful arms until her little feet were half way down the ladder. She uttered one or two faint exclamations, but was happily too frightened to cry out. “Now, Mr. Barclay,” hoarsely whisp- ered Caudel, “you kitch hold of her, sir” I grasped the ladder with one hand and passed my hand around her waist; my status made the feat an easy one, thus holding her to me I sprang back,then for an instant strained her to my heart with a whisper of joy. gratitude and encour- agement » ' “You are as brave as you are true and sweet Grace. ” “Oh, Herbert 1” she panted. ”I can think of nothing. I am very wicked, and feel horribly frightened ;” “Mr. Barclay ” softly called Caudel from the balcony. "what’s to be done with this here ladder.” - “Let it be. let it be.” I answered, “Bear a hand, Caudel, ‘ and come down.” He was along side of us in s trice.pull- ing on his boots. I. held my darling’s hand, and the three of us made for the hole in the hedge with all possible speed There seemed little doubt from the persistency of the creature’s deep de- livery that it scented mischief going for- ward despite its kennel standing some considerable distance away on the other side of the house. I glanced back . as Caudel was squeezing through the hole, but the building showéd as an impene- but I am so . trableshadow against the winking bril- liance of the sky hovering over and past it, rich with radiance in places of motoric dust ; no light gleamed; the, night hush. deep 'as death, was upon the chateau.‘ ‘ ’ In a few monien'tsmy captain an 1 hole and got her safe in the lane, and of we started. keeping well in the deep Advertise in the Gun-ml. gloom cast by the convent wall, walking. swiftly, yet- noiselessly, and scarcely fetching our breath till we were clear off: the lane, With-the broad glimmering St.' 12:11:“ road running ina rise upon our [ To be continued} vvv A STRANGE INCIDENT. A Tree Dropped Upon a Moving Train by 3 Lightning Stroke. Recently as the special express train conveying relief for the sufferers of the Colon disaster was proceeding to its destination, it came within an ace of itself suffering an equally frightful fate to that which overwhelmed Colon the previous night. A heavy rain storm that commenced soon after leaving Pan- ama continued with ever increasing vio- lence until it developed into a terrific electric storm that was at its height when the train passed Lion Hill. On the stretch thence to Gatun, where the line runs partly through dense forests, and about midway between these sta- tions, the incident to which we refer occurred at 1 :05 A.M. The train, being an express, was rush- ing along at about thirty miles an hour, when an extraordinary sharp flash of lightning illuminated the darkened inzm'ior of the car, accompanied by a peculiar showing crash and tending, the startling effect of which was not lessened by the plunging and oscillating of the cars which immediately followed, as if they were about to jump the track. In a second every one was on his feet. Although no visible damage had so far been sustained. all seemed to intuitively apprehend that the train had been struck by lightning, and awaited further developments. In a second or two. but which seemed minutes. the train came to a standstill. when a rush was made to gain the doors and throw up the sashes. It was now discovered that a tree with long, bare trunk, about thirty or forty feet high and twenty inches in‘ circum- ference. had been struck by lightning just as the train was passing under, and splintered about six or eight feet from the ground, it fell with all its weight of branch and foliage upon the cars. The train, however, had dragged from under, shaken indeed slightly, but none the worse for the unique experience. There a delay was made to clear the debris from the track. and scarcely had the train resumed its interrupted mission of compassion when another lightning-pros- tated tree was encountered right athwart the track. This too, had to be cleared away, thus necesitating another delay, the train ar- rived at Colon some five and twenty min- utes later that would otherwise have been the case. Had the first tree fallen but two seconds Sooner, before the engine, nothing could have averted the smash up thar must have followed: and had it crashed into the car there might have been none left to tell the tale. -—Panama Star Russia's Newest Creed. Never was such a place as Russia for eccentric and mysterious creeds. The peasants in the Government province of Uflm have been disquieted for some months past by the appearance of a new religious sect. Although no man has yet seen with his own eyes an individual member of this sect, its extraordinary doings have filled many a village with panic. The “Shavers ”—or “Shearers,” as they are properly called—carry on their mad work at night and in secret. Thus the inhabitants of a village dis- cover early in the morning that all their fowls have been plucked of their feathers, all their sheep closely shorn, and the horses have had their manes and tails out off. The hair, wool, and feathers thus gained are made into a sacrificial pile and burned in an open place on the road. In village after vil- lage the cry has been raised, “The Shavers have been here.” The advent of the “Shavers” was foretold, they say, by the appearance of a “ besom ” (a. comet) in the heavens. The peasants are persuaded that the “Shavers” are inspired by an evil spirit, and that their object in making these burnt sacrifices is that the ashes, blown about by the wind, may seatter the seeds of the plague through the country—Pall Mall Gazette. . Attire of London Swells. The smartest beans in London expend annually for dress sums ranging from. $1,500 to $2,000. This includes two dress- .suits at $100 each, although a very fair dress-suit can be had for $35. Yet no London tailor can duplicate the dress- suit made by a New York tailor and sold for $85. A morning suit such as is worn ,by the wealthy young men here costs $25; the average price for a business or knockabout suit is $15. So far as over- coats are concerned, there is nothing in the market here that will compare with the goods manufactured by American tailors. The tailors say that the average middle-class young man in London ex- pends about $60 a year upon his ward- robe. It is pretty generally conceded outside of England that the English are the worst dressers in the world. The men look bad enough; as for the women —well, their clothes look as if they had been shot on.-—Chicago News. Abraham Lincoln’s Father. Within seven miles of Mattoon is the farm which Abraham Lincoln’s father used to own. and where he lived. Abe was of age then and he didn’t live on the farm, but he visited his father once a year, and always brought him presents. Thomas‘Lincoln died on his farm and is buried in Gordon’s graveyard near by. Besides his grave is that of his second Wife. For many years the graves were unmarked. Later on. Mr. Dunlap of this city brought the matter to the atten- tion of several leading citizens of Mat- toon and Coles County. The result was that a plain monument marks the place. Robert Lincoln hearing of the subscrip- tion ‘sent Mr. Dunlap a check for 3103.— Chicago Tribune. . , . How to Take Care of the Brain. The brain stands most abuse of any organ in the body. Its best tonic and stimulant is s'uccess. The worst and most depressing thing to it is failure." The most injurous efi‘ects come'by using stimulants in early life. Young people should never use liquors, tea or coffee. The latter two may not exactly do harm but they are conductive of no good. They act mostly on the brain and injure its growth very materially, Abundance of sleep is necessary. Eight hours is not more than enough. "Sleep is the time of relatively lowered expenditures and in- creased repair. ' What England's Little Wars Have Coot. Sines 1857 England’s small wars have 'cost her about $110,000.00). The war with China. in 1857;152:5091; her. summon; the: Abyssinl'un'expedltion in 1&7-70. $41.- : ' 6W‘Ill)‘;the‘80'uth African war in 1879-8), minnow: the Nile expedition mm..- ’ meow: the “chums -bet'rscn m. if? x The, Latest Styles of Menu - Cards. Dance Orders Ball Tickets; RECEPTION CARDS, I WINE - LISTS. Show Hangers, W edding Invitations. Business Cards. Visiting (lords w—AT THE--—-— Daily Gazette JOHN con-1n Sanitary Plumber, IOBBIIIB A SPECIALTY. Having taken the basement under the Lib- rar .108 Washington street. South Norwalk. an fitted it for ALL ogINDs “ PLUMBING. I respectfully solicit ashare of public atron- age. I refer to plumbing I have done or the past seven years.1n the employ of W. H. Meek- er & Co. 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