Arkansas ladies' journal., August 09, 1884, Image 2

About Arkansas ladies' journal. (Little Rock, Ark.) 1884-1886

Image provided by: Arkansas State Archives

                
A FARM-HOUSE STORY.
BY A YOUNG LADY OF LITTLE ROCK.
The delay of getting neighbor White’s
boat that night had given him time to take a
schooner that sailed at sunrise that morning
and when John went to the wharf after find
ing out all this, he was told that the schoon
er was “one of them white specks he saw
way off there.”
There was nothing to do but wait patiently
for his return, and after nursing John through
his illness, I began to count how long it would
be before the schooner’s return, and finally it
was time; but John said we must allow for
rough weather, and I tried to be patient. At
last, as day after day went by, even John
grew anxious, and went over to the city to
inquire, and was told it was squally up the
lake, and the schooner ivas past due.
That very night the storms that had swept
over the lake came to us, and we had a most
terrific gale, with the wind howling like wild,
and the lightning struck one of our poplar
trees, while the stormy light made the water
look green as it dashed over the sand. “ God
save all on the water to-night,” said John, as
we went to the window and looked out, and
my heart stood still with fear, as we saw
through the rain and darkness, two rockets
sent up as signals for help. It must be some
vessel in distress. We watched all night, and
by the grey light of the morning, John went
out for the boat and tried to launch it, but
the surf would toss it back like a leaf onto
the shore. As it grew brighter, what was
that we saw on the rocks way up the shore;
surely it couldn’t be a wreck. But there it
was, and we could only see that it was a
schooner in distress. John was like wild; he
tried again and again to launch his boat, and
was lost to fear, for he did finally succeed in
pushing it off in the waves that seemed bent
on taking it under. They dashed around
and over it, and I, with my* hand over my
eyes, strained every nerve to watch him, as
the wind blew and the water was without
mercy, for now he was out of sight, and now
a mere black dot on the water.
It seemed hours that I walked up and
down in the blustering wind waiting for John’s
return. 1 saw other black specks hovering
around what must be the wreck, and such a
confusion up there, 1 couldn t make it all out.
But there was a boat coming this way, it
must be John. Yes, it was, and as he grew
nearer, a great horror seized me, for his face
told a dreadful story, and I could not go
near the boat.
Dash swam out to him and put his head
over the side of the boat, though the water
was so rough he could hardly brave it. I
turned my face away, and tried to accept this
last stroke that God had given me, for I was
sure now that my boy was in that boat, and
something dreadful had happened.
I can’t tell you all that followed, it was so
terrible to think of; but John tried to tell
me what the sailors had told him of our boy.
How brave he had been, had given up his
place in the life boat to some woman, and
had stayed on the wreck, and how they had
found him after the storm lashed to one of
the masts, dead.
We found a note in one of his pockets,
scribbled on a piece of paper that night when
he knew they were in such danger, and still
so near his old home. He asked his father’s
forgiveness, and said how he wanted us to
know he always loved us so, if he was
drowned, and couldn’t tell us himself.
I have it in here, the old woman said in a
shaky voice, and going to a cupboard brought
out a little box to show us, “ and this is a
piece of his hair,” tenderly holding up one
brown curl, which clung around her finger.
“He lies out there where I can always
watch him,” and we looked out where she
pointed to the spot so dear to her, and saw
the little grave covered with blue flowers.
“It may be we loved him too well, John
and I ” she concluded, “ and the good Lord
took him from us.”
Ah, how thoughtlessly we had entered her
home, little knowing, as we had lightly talked
to her, what a tragedy her life had known.
Her hair was white, it is true, but her kindly
blue eyes told no story, except a great peace
which seemed to lie in their depths. The
peace that God gives to those he has brought
nearer himself by trial.
Our row home was quiet and subdued,
and there were tears in Jeannies eyes, for she
had shaken the honest old farmer’s hand at
parting, and asked him to come to see us
sometime in Buffalo.
Ed and Perry were silent over this revela
tion of life in the red farm house, and Ed
said “ why, he had sailed by there dozens of
times, but never thought of it having a story
before.”
BRIGHT DAYS ABROAD.
MRS. S. TATE.
This city'is immortalized by Rousseau as
the scene of his “nouvelle Helvise,” and is a
paradise for Americans, and is held in high
esteem as a place of schools. It is beauti
fully situated on the lake, and the picturesque
pensions terraced on its heights are favorite
resorts for tourists. It is also a favorite place
for bathing and swimming matches, and it
was at Vevay that a young man, well known
in this community, was given a medal for his
heroic rescue of a young lady from drown
ing. We had the joy of meeting some home
friends here, and as we sat together at lunch
eon, all merrily telling where we had been,
what we had seen, and showing little souven
irs of travel intended for loved ones at home,
I was reminded of an enjoyable luncheon
given me by a foreign Consul and his fair
English wife, when a well known American
Consul was my escort. After luncheon, yet
while we sat at table, our host said he had
lately traveled in the United States, and had
collected some curiosities, in the form of
American toys, which he would take great
pleasure in showing us, The first placed on
the table was a mechanical toy, repress
a very black boy, dressed in gilt boots
striped clothes and a scarlet cap, p/'
astride a velocipede, and when set in niQ( .
rolled as gaily around the table as I
his twin brother on our nursery floor. 7
next was an organette, a size larger thanf
one our children, and our neighbor’s
and our monkey enjoyed so often at hrm
but it ground out about the same close]
linked, ridiculous variety of familiar u
and if the half-mile of musical paper J
been allowed to run its course, I should b
been hopelessly homesick. The last Cj
osity was a mechanical figure represent)
Ben Butler, who, when wound up in “jarle
style, quietly walked around with all the!
nity, conceit and ugliness that nature and;
had endowed the man and puppet, (j
host said “when I bought this
figure, they told me it was not
out the leetle spoons in his hand. I dot
quite understand, can you explain madam
Then he filled Ben Butler’s hands witht
silver spoons, and he walked off with 4
like one who had practised it. I could t
enjoyed explaining, but national pj
restrained me, and in a spirit of mischid
referred him to the American Consul, i
was Butler’s personal friend. The Coo
rallied from my little attack, and led then
versation with so much cleverness and;
away from the subject, there was no rd
for explanations.
A trouble had arisen among the singes
a certain church, and on one Sabbath mo
ing the good minister found himself with
a choir. He read the old familiar hyi
commencing “ I love to steal awhile aw
In the absence of the choir one of
deacons threw himself into the breach i
undertook to lead off. He pitched theti
and sung “I love to steal',' but had it
high that he broke down. He tried i
second time, and again broke down aU
it was so low. Not discouraged, he tried
the third time, and sung “ 1 love to $
and then went down as before. At I
point the audience became amused, and
minister arose and said: “It is greatly
be regretted. Let us pray.”
Says the Burlington Hawkeye:
ten years old can stand out in the street»
quiet village on a calm summer astern?
and make the air quiver and startle the dos
population out of a year’s peace by shriek
to a boy three-quarters of a mile a" ! ‘
‘ Oh, Skinnee! Coinin’ nout taster supp l.
And the other lad will yell back with
distinctness and care: ‘Yes!
shooter’n’ come to the store!’ And
will converse in the same thrilling pitch *
maddening force if they are only ten
apart. But, twenty or thirty years
wards, either of those boys will ll ?
address a public meeting in a hall n
feet deep, and ten feet away from the sp e
not a living soul can hear a word he sap