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6 Wind Ana Sea. BT BAYARD TATLQB. The sea is a jovial comrade He laughs wherever he goes Hia menment shines in the dimpling lines That wrinkle his hale repose He lajs himself down at the feet of the sun, And shakes all over with glee And the broad backed-billows fall faint onlfat Shore, .tt-^" In the mirth of the mighty sea. J^*n% p- if But the 'wind is sad and restless,? And cursed with an inward pain Tou may kark as you will, by valiey or hm,??** But vou hear him still complain. He wails on the bairen mountains And shrieks on the watery sea He sobs in the cedar, and moans in the pine, And shudders all over the aspen-tree. We]come are both their voices And I know not which is best The laughter that slips from ocean's lips, Or the comfortless wind's unrest. There's a pang in all rejoicing, A joy in the heart 01 pain And the wind that saddens, tile sea that glad dens. Are singing the self-same strain. FERE COVIN. CHAPTER I. I was at the top of my coura grassy slope, thickly set with apple-treeswe should call it an orchard in England, where a ourt" teems to suggest pavement, which it is far from doing in Normandy. Not but what there are plen-y of stones in my cour, and Gracie, my precious, only daughter, sits in the sun shine making Druidic circles with them Gracie, who is a vision of delight, the small tyrant of our fields and home. Mirza, the big dog, i watching her with a grave and puz zled mem, some occult resemblance in the flint stones to well-polished bones seeming to enchain his interest. There is another circle maker close bythe cowtethered by a chain patsed round her horns to an iron pin, driven firmly into the soil. To give the cow a new center of operations is my present ob jectbut where to put her? She has eaten up all my grass, and is now looking wistfully at the green yeil tied round Grade's hat, as if she would like to eat that too. My speculations are cut short by a low growl from Mirza, the object of which, I see nest mwment, a man leaning over the eate the one that leads fore twarda sallow, heavy-browed man, in the universal blue blouse and closely fitting fur cap, this last quite out of keeping with the climate. He touched his cap politely. 'Monsieur has a nice cow but she looks thin. And the grass of the courit is worth nothing." "The grass is not bad," I remarked, "if there were only more of it." "Ah! Monsieur should see the grass in my cour, thick and luscious, and I have no cow to eat it. Will Monsieui bell the cow?" No, I would not sell the cow. It had cost me too much to acquire a 1 eal practical work mgcow, whose mils foams in the pail, milk that will develop into cream and butter. I would not part witn the cow, but would my new friend sell his grass "Oh!" cried Gracie, running up at this mo mens, "it is my little pere Covin. Bo'jour, petit pere, and have you made the little boat you promised me?" "Not jet," said covin, stooping down to kiss the proffered face. I have not found a piece of wood suitable." 'But there is wood everywhere." Covin, in spite of his heavy and forbidding look, is kind and obliging. He certainly has got a nice piece of grass, with not so many flint stones cropping np. We strike a baream at once, without troubling the notary to put it into writinga lease of his cour for an indefi nite peuod, at a rent of 5' francs per year, payable quarterly in advanee. As we came out I saw the Professor coming along, and paused to wait for him The P10- fessor and his wife reside in the neighboring town, our only compatnots within a circle of many miles. The character I heard of Covin from the Professor, hardly tended to reassure me. He was a fisherman, it seemed, having a boat ou 1 the river, and often sleeping on board it. No one in the vulagelikedhim he was"sauvage,' morose ad uncommnnicative, living anuttci ly lonely life. The only person who had a good woid for him was the cure. "Covin," he said, "is industiious and attentive to his religious duties. I have known him to spend hours in the church, praying, his face woikmg with strong emotion, his eyes fixed upon the sa red images But the cure added gravely that although estimable in some points, he feared the man was paosionate and revengeful. His unbridled temper had already broueht him into trouble, about whieh xhe cure declined to say any more. I found out what the trouble had been from another quarter. He had attempted to assas sinate his "proprietoi" (his landlord), and had only lately finished a term of imprisonment for the offense. I comforted mysell by the thought, tnat even the most ungovernable of men would not assassinate a tenant who paid his rent regularly, and I determined that Covin should get his quarterly payment with most scrupulous punctuality. Soon after this I exchanged my cow for a pony, an operation which called forth many jeers from the Professor. Of course, having a ponv and no cow, I no longer wanted grass but hav. And so next spring I put down both cours for hay. One evening, 6oon after, I wanted some fresh grass for the pony, and took my scythe and went np to Covin's cour to cut a swathe of the rich, sweet herbage. The clank of the scythe brought Covin ont of his cottage, and he watched me for a few moments with low ering brow. "Itisforbiddentocutthis grass," he Said just as I had finished. "How!" I cried, "I may not cut my own gra-s? Do I owe you any rent, Monsieur Covin?" "I did not let it for such a purpose, I forbid you to cut any more." "I don't want any more at preasant, but in a fortnight's time I began to cut the hav." "I forbid you!" he cried, in a voice "husky with passion. "All the same, I shall begin." 1 "And I shall prevent you." "Good we shall see!" He followed me to the gate, muttering and talking to himself. 1 went home with the un pleasant feeling that it was my destiny to have a desperate feud with M. Covin. All the same I would not give way. The hay should be cut, if I had to cut it myself, This turned out to be the alternative No one would come to cut Covin's cour, not for is,any inducement I could offer. It was "in the prime of summer-time a sweet, fresh morning, when I rose and shoul dered my scythe to begin on Covin's cour I kissed my sleeping wife with a kind of feeling. that I was bound on a dangerous errand I -reached quickly the cour, and takin- "mv -u stand, under a tree, began to sharpen mv scythe. At the sound of the whetstone and scythe Covin appeare on tnc scene, his face jWhite and wrathful, and began an harangue 1 At last, with a kind of a fierce war-hoop he ]bounded forward and placed himself in front ,of me "No* another strokenot another blade of grass!" Had I been prudent I should have should ered my scythe and walked away. But prim itive instincts of comoat were roused within =^ff*T^y ?TTT^- me. It 6eemed to me impossible to give way I was not going to cave into a fellow like that. '*I don't want to quarrel with you," I said, slowly, and feeling white ^all over "but I mean to cut the grass. Stand away," and I raised the i-cythefor a sweep. Covin leaped forward and planted himself in himself in the way of the scythe. I turned place. With a wild bound he leaped in front of me^ the scythe gave a sickening jai CHAPTER II. Quite faint and queer, I leaned upon my scythe,looking at Covin, who with eyes blaz ing forth from a face of deadly palor, swayed to and fro, as if about to fall. I sprang for ward to hel- him, but he thrust me away Avith an indignant sture. I had wounded him, but I could not tell where. I uiight have severed an artery his death might'be upon my head. Covin sank upon one knee and threw off bis shoe the scythe had cut through the leather, it waB full of blood. There was an ugly wound on his foot, which he began to staunch with wisps of grass that he snatched from about him. The sight of his own blood seemed to increase his fury, and supply him with an access of strength "he bounded to his feet and dashed at me. With his face close to mine, pouring forth burning woids.he was feeiing for something at his side, his knife, no douot, which he habitually wore, sailor fashion, hanging from his waist. A glance, however, showed me that the knife was not there. Covin, too, had arrived at the same conclusion. The knife had been there a few minutes beforeit must have fallen on the grass. We were both searching tbe ground with our eyes, and I felt sure that if Covin could get hold of it before me that I stood a good chance of a deadly wound. We held each other by a hand, ready to wrestle for posses sion ofthe weapon. 'Bo'jour, pere Covin! Now you will make me a little boat. See, pere Covin, here is your knife you have dropped it." It was Gracie, who had picked the knife from the grass and placed it in Covin's disen gaged hand Gracie who had come up behind us unseen. Covin snatched the knife from her I saw it gleam in the air. Then he threw it far from him into the hedge. "This time I spare thee, for the child's sake, but I have not done with thee, miserable cow ard! savage! assassin!" And he limped off to his cottage, turning back every now and then to repeat the triplet of epithets. ''Hallo! What the dickens is the matter?" It was the Professor, who, it seems, had ac companied Gracie up the cour, and who, not so nimble as the child, had been distanceed in the ascent. "He has some cause to abuse me I have cut open his foot with my scythe." "In a fracas "Something of the kind "By Jove" cried the Professor, "what an awkward thmg,and in this country,where per sonal violence is punished without respect of persons. I'll show \outhe section in the Penal code "I had no intention to hurt him." That will be judged by the attending cir cumstances. If there has been a quariel, high words, you will find that justice will hardly take the most lenient view. But even involuntary wounding is punished with im prisonment." I drove into town and went to the office of the piincipal huissier, an official who com bined the functions of usher and bailiff of the local court, collects debts and bills, and re covers them if necessary, by a legal process, is the auctioneer, valuer and factotum in all affairs of judgment or execution. It was bet ter to take the bull by the horns, and get the first word in the ear of justice. Besides, the huissier and I weie already in fnendly relations, as I had bought furniture of his sales and had done other business with him. The huissier listened with a grave face to my story. He bad nothing to do with crim inal cases himself, they rested with the po iice but clearly 1 was in amess I urged the provocation I had received, hindred fiom eutting the grass in the cour I had paid foi. "As far as that went," remarked the huis sier, "the man was probably right. The cour attached to a house was generally re served for pastures only The man was only defending the rights of his propi letalre." "A likely thins, when he has just come out oi prison for wounding him." "Ah! is that so?" said the huissier, bright ening np. "In that case, accompany me, if you please, to the greffier, and we will ar ranse the affair." It now appealed that Covin, luckily for me, was on the official black books. Only lately out of prison and reputed a dangerous char acter, it was hardly likely he would ventme to the gendarmerie, or be listened to if he wenttht.re. A man with an evil leputation who might be expected some day to commit a desperate ciime. "Bring a process against him, then," sug geated the huissieur. "Yes, bring a process!" echoed the greffier, a stout, jovial-looking man. The preliminary process is termed a '-conciliation." I trusted that Covin would consider it conciliatory, but I feared otherwise. However, nothing happened till the day audience, when 1 presented myself at court supported by the goodly person of the profes sor. "Otez vos chapeaux," cried the huissier, and the little Judge entered in state in his robes, with the Calvinisticlooking velvet cap and the stout groffler behind him with the book. "Barton et Covin," drawled the greffier, poping his head out of the door. The Judge heard both stories, and then, eye ing Covin, severely, told him that he had a very bad opinion of him, asid,e, and began my storke at another ply. Thereupon, after three several demands for admittance, the door was broken open. There was nothing inside but a worm-eaten oaken "buffet" and a pile of fishing-nets. The place was cleared out and the nets deposited at the mairie and now I thought I should he able to let tbe cottage, and thus diminish the cost of the cour. Already I had had several applications for it, houses being in great de mand but I had not yet settled upon a tenant, being anxious to get"a neighbor to my ta6te. But when I offered the place to the man I had chosen, to my surprise he declined at once to take it. And it was the same with all the rest of my proposed tenents. They were very sor ry, but the house would not suit. Presently I found out the reason. Covin had made it known in the village that he had sworn a great oath that the first intruder who slept in his bou6e should not leave it alive. In vain I rallieu the people upon their cowardice.' "Well," said the stoutest and most courage ous among them: "If Monsieur 11 himself sleep there for the first time, I agree to take the cottage without another word." I soon saw that this was the only way to quench the dread of Covin in the minds of the villagers, and as long as that dread lasted there was no chance of letting the cottage. I felt too that tb^re was a kind of challenge to my courage in the man's insolent threat. Therefore I made knows in the village that on such a night I would sleep at Covin's cottage. I should be armed with a loaded revolver, and let jokers beware for I should certainly fire up on any one who disturbed me. The wind howled in a melancholy fashion, with a great swaying, rushing sound from the forest, as I stumbled along the 6teep winding path that led to Covin's. I had to grope 'or the garden gate in the darkness, and as I touched the handle, the door of the loft went to with a loud bang. I had not thought of locking that, and now the wind had got it open and was blowing about it, or perhaps it was Covin on the lookout for me. I climbed up the outside stair that led to the loft, shel tered by the overhanging eaves of the thatch ed gable, closed the door and locked it, first lighting my lantern in the shelter and looking carefully around. Then I made mvwayto the front door along the garden path all choked up by luxuriant vegetable growth The branches and tendrils of the unpruned vine caught at me and drew me back, like de taining: fingers, but I went on and opened the aoor boldly. Tne first thing I came in contact with was an object hanging from the rafters, something in the shape of a man swinging slowly around. It was Covin no doubt. Yes, there he was in his habits as he lived, coat, trowsers and fish erman's bootsbut nothing inside them. Sim ply Covin's clothes hanging there. It was a relief for the moment, and yet the fact itself was startling. The clothes were Covin's they conveyed a distinct impression of their owner. They had not been there in the morning. Covin must, therefore, have visited the place very recently perhaps even now he was hid den somewhere within. Perhaps, too. there was a secret meaning and significance in this hanging suit of clothes. Was a challenge conveyed in it? Why was not the Professor here to tell me what it signified in his wretch ed code of primitive morals? I soon satisfied myself that Covin was not concealed on the premises, and I discovered too how he might have effected both exit and entrance. There was a window unfastened in the inner room quite big enough for the purpose, and the marks of muddy feet fresh upon it. But why should he have taken all the trouble Oh! there was a paper pinned to the suit of clothes. It was the summons Covin had re ceived to appear in "conciliation." There was a signficance about this, as if it had eeu put there in mockery. Anjhow, whatever might be meant, Covin should see how I esti mated his thrests. I cut down Covin's clofheb, and, squeezing them into a bundle, threw them out of the window. Then I closed all the shutters and fastenings, and lay down on the mattress I had sent up for the pWpose, with my raugs carefully wrapped about me and the loadtd revolver ready to my hand. I had lit afire in the hearth witb faggots, and that at first threw a bright glow, but by degrees the light dwindled and went ont The wind roared and bellowed as if the for est had been full of wild beasts. But I was tued and must have slept, although I was not conscious of it when I finally found myself awake. I was awake, but with some delusions of sleep. I had an idea that I was being tried for making away with Covin, and that the verdict was "Guilty, to be beaten with a rod of fire." And there was the fiery rod, sure enoughfloating in the air, as it seemed to me. Aroused the full consciousness, I gazed at it in a panic of neivous horror. The fiery rod resoh eel itself into a glare of light, shining through a lougitudiaal crack in the wooden shutter. That window looked over toward my house. That wa6 the cause of the light? There was no moon. Could it be a fii I threw open the shutter. There was a bright fire of light from just below and luminous smoke rising through the trees. At the mo ment the terrible thought shot thiough my brain: "My house has been fired. Perhaps heie is Covin's revenge!" In my mad rush towaid home I remember ed that a ladder was the most indispensable thing, and that there wasone under the eaves of the stable. I'd save precious moments if I caught this up on my way. There was now no doubt of the fire tie sky all of a glow, and a vivid tongue of fiame darting heavenward. The ladder had been removed the fiend who had planned this had carried out his wicked work completely. I hurried on. The village was already alive, and I heard the great church bell clanging out the alarm vigorous ly. Myhomewasin a blaze what had be come of wife and child? Happily my wife was safe she stood by the garden-gate wrapped in a cloakhalf dis tracted, wringing her hands and crying. Where was Gracie? No one answered my frantic demand, and the next momeut I was trying to clamber up to the upper windows by the trelliswork, that, rotten with age, gave way beneath me. But Hetty seized me. "She is not there she is safe from the fire, but she is srone, snatched away from me." "By whom?" "By Coyin." "Which way?" 'Over the hedge there." I ran in the direction pointed out, where was a weak place the hedge, through which the high road might be reached. Some thing had caught in the bramblesa morsel of Gracie's litile night-dress. There were footsteps dowa to the road, and there they ceased to be traceable in the 6lur. I could not tell which way he had turned. I must go back to the house and ask my neighbors to help me in the pursuit, to run in Various di rections, For my own part, I would make f.r the river, for in that direction I judged he had gone. When I reached the house again the fire was out. The neighbors had smothered it with blankets and carpets. It had been a pe troleum fire, "soon kindled and soon burned," The maire was on the scene at this time, and the cure. I told them what had happened, besought them to aid me at once the search for the man who had fired mv house and stolen my child. They couldn't hardly be lieve such an outrage to be possible in this law-abiding country, but'there was the patent fact. Gracie was gone, and Covin had taken her. tand that he would not advise him to come before the court too often. But in the meantime he had left his cour to Monsieur Anglais and received the money. Had he paid his rent to his pro prietor? Covin admtttcd that he had not. No, not for more than a year. Not since the dispute they had together when the proprietor ran against the point of his knife. "Ah!" said the Judere, shaking his head 8ageiy,"whatdidlsay?" And then he an nounced his decision briskly. "Let the Monsieur Anglais take Covin's cour and house off his hands, paying the arrears of rent. Covin to haye a mo-ath in which to rpmove his furniture, and then to make himself scarce, and betake himself to a neighborhood where he may be better appreciated because not so well known." A verdict that dissatisfies both plaintiff and defendant must necessarily be based on the immutable principles of justice. They were there, no doubt, these principles, although we could not see them. "But my foot!" cried Covin. "Served you right for putting it in the way of a scythe." "And the arreas of rentwhy should I pay them?" I argued. "Consider what might have happened from your want of care and judgment." We left the court at the same moment. "And this is conciliation," I murmured. Covin gave me one sidelong glance full of malice. Were we reconciled? It hardly seemed so. T^A CHAPTER III My new "proprietor" seemed quite satisfied with the decision of the court, as well he might be Inlfact, like every one else, he had been afraid of Covin. Even when the latter was in prison he dared not to evict him. But BOW it was a different thing altogether. I was the animal selected to' bell the cat Whatever steps were taken to evict Covin, that individual would give me the credit of it all But at the end of the month he had disappeared the house was locked up and no vestage of occupation about it. We gave him plenty of ro e, but at the end of another two months,legal steps were taken for his eviction. The Judge, the Mayor, the Greffierall the officials were in attendance. The cottaee was summoned to surrender. It made no re. "He will not harm her, I guarantee that," sa'd the cure. "Ah! you always had a better opinion of him than he deserved," remarked the maire drily. "But compose youaseU" monsieur the police will find her quickly. To a poor man like Covin a child is not a valuable treasure. But to set fire to your house, ah, that was malice. Here Hetty drew me aside. "It was not Covin," she whispered in a faltering tone, "who set fire to the house it was I, accidently." "Not Covin, but you*" I repeated, quite be wildered. "Yes I wanted plentlv of light, as you had let me all alone, and before I went to bed I lighted the big 'petrolo' lamp. And I upset it the flames were between me and the door. I ran to the window and screamed." "Well and what then "Why, a man came with a ladder, and we escaped I and Fracie." "And the man was & "Covin." This cast anew and startling light upon the affair. Covin the rescuer, and not the crimi nal! But why should he have taken Gracie? Probably, although some instinct of courage and humanity had brought him to the help of my wife, yet finding his enemy's daughter in his hands, the impulse to revenge himself had become to stronjr. "In the meantime," said the maire, "before doing auything we must dress a proces-verbal. And, first, for the person who gave the earliest alarm of the fireof course, monsieur will recompense him handsomely. Let him come forward." But no one came forward to claim the re ward or the thanks of the commune. This was a curious circumstance among people not giving to hiding their good deeds, especially when a reward is in question. "And who set the bell going?" asked the cure, "and roused us all from our sleep? The same brave fellow,toubtless." "Perhaps he is still the church," said the maire. "Ltt us go and see," suggested the cure. The church is only just across the road, and the cure admits us through the sacristy door. A rude ancient church, grotesque with age, thick 6quat columns, with quaint curved volutes, looking in the dim light like 60 many huge horned monsters. There is alight shin ing in the Snace behind the Altar, where there is a highly-tinseled shrine of the Virgin. A taper is burning before tbe shrine, and by the light we can make out a bundle of something lying in front. The cure stoops down and lifts the corner of a shawl there is a child fast asleepit is Gracie. The cure takes her up tenderly in his arms She wakes and begins to crv, till, seeing her father's face among those about her, she glad ly nestles his arms. I hurry away, too full of joy and gratitude to say a word. Was this, then, Covin's revenge For a long time after that I tried in vain to find Covin. I let it be known in the village that he might come back to his cottage when ever he liked and not a word be said about arrears. Enousrh money to furnish it well, or to buy a new boat. But although I fancy that he heard of the offer, he never took advantage of it. One day, however, 1 heard that he had been seen in the village, and that his boat was moored in the river close by. I managed to intercept him with Gracie, and offer him my hand. Covin put his behind his back. "Come, let us be friends," I said. "Can I be friends with aman who has treat ed my best clothes like this?" said Covin, un doing his bundle and holding up the suit that I had thrown out of the window. I had thought nothing more about it, and certainly the clothes had suffeied not a little from ex posure. "I am very sorry, but you shall have a new suit." "Pardon, monsier, the old ones suited me very well." Come! for the child's sake," I said, let me thank you." 'Monsieur," began Covin, with dignity, "I deire no thanks, for had it in my heart to do you agreat injury. I thought te come upon dou as you slept in my cottage, and I hung yhese clothes up as warning to vou, and I said to myself, if he respects my clothes I will not haini mm. But you did not respect my clothes, and then I detei mined to attack you as you slept. Then I saw agleam of fii e, and heard the scream of a woman. I am a French manyou know the rest. But do I love vou, Monsieur, any better for that9 Yo Lav turned me away from my hearth, it was but a poor hearth, cold and neglected, but once I had a little daughter like yours, a wife too, industrious and careful, and then there was happiness around it, of which have now on ly the memory. And from this hearth you thrust me forth "Come back to it, Covin, come and be my neighbor." "Adieu, Mon&ieur," as if he] had not heard me "Let me be your friend for what you have done for me and mine." "Adieu, monsieur," repeated Covin, stonily, as if an injury were a precious possession of which none should deprive him. "Gracie, speak to him," I said to the child "go and ask him to stay." "Do stay, pere Covin," she cried "Papa will no more be wicked with you, and you shall make me again a little boat." Covin shook his Ijead sternly, but he snatched up the child and kissed her warmly. Then, as if he could not trust himself any longer, he sprang hastily into his boat and pushed off. He glided away down the slow feullen stream, and was soon lost to 6ight in the mist and gloom of coming night. Nor has he ever been seen in our neighborhood since. His cottage is still empty, and no one willyenture to occupy it. The people in the village believe that he stil watches over the place, and that any one who ventured to oc cupy it would have to reckon with Covin's re venge. Eccentricitle s. Danbnry News. There are men who can face a stuffed lion witoout the quiver of an eyelid or thought of fear who have been known to walk boldly up to the Cardiff giant and touch his forbidding limbs with the free dom of a child toying with, a flower. And yet these same men cannot hear a littie woman at home speak to them without their knees giving way and a cold chill ranning down their back. What is the planation of this? It's all very well in these times ot financial pressure, weighed in the balance with which the tightness of a new boot, or even the toothache, is nothing to tell a man to look jolly and to affect a fortune it ne have it not, but when his bed-room bis last refuse from unreasoning credi torsis invaded by the maid of all-work, howling tor the three months' ages which he is in arrears, that she may get marriedthere is no comfort for such a man, not even in the traditional flowing, bowl (to which desrjeration drives so many. Tommy won't tie any more tinware to any more dog's tails. Thinking to have some fun with which to regale his com panions the mother afternocu?j he borrowed his mothers' nefr tea-kettle quite unbe known to her. "A neighbor's 8cotch-ter rier furnished the motive power, and for a while the boys had a good laugh as the dog ran round and round in a vain at tempt to keep the object appended to his narative at a respectable distance. It was comical to be sure, and the ooys slap ped their knees and fairly hugged them selves with delight, but "when Tommy's mother and the owner of the dog appear ed on tne scene, coming in opposite di rections and unexpectedly seized him, the one by the left ear, and the other by the right, and attempted to lead hira off by different ways, the fun was over at least for Tom, and the subsequent pro ceedings of the dog interested him no moxe' 4fle 0 tliat Loveth is Bora or God." I hold that Cristian grace abounds Where charity is seen that when We climb to heaven 'tis on the rounds Of love to men. This I moreover hold, and dare Affirm where'er my rhme may go: Whatever things be sweet or lair, Love makes them so. I i 'Tis not the wide phylactery, Nor Stubborn fast, or stated prayers, That makes us saints: we judge the tree By what it bears. WhUtier. The Greenlander. Our friend is up early in the morning, and, unheeding the smarting frosts on his sore face, he puts on his water-proof jack et once more to try a match with fortune, and alter so many days of ill-luck I will let him catch an enormous seal, of great regsuk. When he is seen coming back there is a shout from the shore of "Ada KaligpekJ" Adam is towing! When he lands there will be hands enough to drag the seal ashore and up to the house. It would be better for the owner it there were not so many, but reinernber, it is the season of famine. The greedy young sters of the place gathered round his wife, who is already busy flensing, and has distributed about the half of the skin and blubber in tit-bi% "tamorasats,' to the children of the place. Then thero are some very urgent presents to be made ot the flesh, either raw or boiled. How ever, they will not forget themselves, and in the hut all is topsy-turvy with excite ment and joy. The lamps are relighted the diamonds are gone! On the stove which is fitted for cooking purposes, the pot sputters and steams the precious blubber is used for fuel. The rest of the skin, with the remainder of blubber is precipitately brought to the shop of the Danish monopoly, there to be exchanged fur other articles not half its value, but which dainties now belong to the daily wants of ihe natives whenever they can af fordt hem. So the urchins now eat away at biscuits from Copenhagen and ties from Symrna. The coffee, from Rio or Jamai ca, is roasted in the out-of-doors kitchen represented by two large flat stones 01 the ground, and roasted with a wih. The house-wife has resumed her sea beside the pot, and stirs it with as mucl ease as if she never had been out of th. habit. Delicious, most blessed kitche smells fill the room, and taere never havt been such a happy lot of people as these. If now, perchance, the husband continues bringing a seal now and thensay every third, daythe family will soon be metamorphosed with regard to its appear ance, and the household will be furnished with the most necessary utensils, such as pots, pans, teacups, spoons and so forth, all of which will probably be failing at the same time next year. And why not sell your pot and spoon when you have nothing to cook in your pot and" nothing to eat with your spoon? The future ac cording to Esquimau philosophy, must not be considered when you can get a morsel of dried fish or blubber to appease your immediate cravings in exchange for his valuable iron pot or copper stew pan, even though it cannot be bought for twicr or thrice the value of the morsel of foe*1 for which he has sold it. That the Green lander cares nothing for just now, and never will, I am afraid. Besides, there is this consolation, that some day he mav have the chance of getting another's top or pan, or boots, if he nappens to have' two pairs or evenbut this must be said, in a very low whispereven his kayak' for a tit-bit of some kind or other. Po tunately, there is still so much ambitio left that this very seldom occurs. Bui there is no end to the light-heartednesei, of these child people, and our friends ir the miserable hut will in no way tak their recent bereavements as a warning for tbe future. When Summer come' round they will enjoy themselves in thpi usual easy going, careless fashion it all come right"ayussassimangilak is what they would say if ever a though of the coming Wmler should cross thi minds, which, however, it will not. 1 all manner of danger they will resign fate the same as in the time of famir ,1 and one of the remarks we often hear 1 "Namigiuarpara." I must submit to th will of the Lord.TlieFidd. Heaven on Earth. Some people have singular ideas perfect happiness. An industrious Scotcl man, who resided near New Yorkf twenty years, andwho had accumul-L a very handsome propertv, recently st to the 'ould countrie" for'his rattnr, wit the view that he should share his prosp ity, and slip away from his lease of L' as smoothly as possible. One day a frie of the family paid a visit to the elegt I mansion on the Hudson, where the un man was living with his son, ~nd occasion to compliment the proprieto the estate on its surpassing loveliness cosy comlort. The owner, full of for his beautiful house, said he looke upon it and its surroundings as a "kin of heaven on earth." "Heaven on eartt growled *he venerable Scot"heaven earth, and no' a thimblefu' o' whiskey the hail hoose! na, na, nae heaven here .tfjggKK. ^*S^SafL^i i -ear A