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