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Dangers of the Ocean
New England Fishermen Ply Their Voca* ticn Amid Imminent Perils Fog and Sudden Storms Their Chief Menace. (Special Correspondence.) OW often while seated beside your cos e y breakfast room fire, with your steaming cup of coffee, your plate of muffins done to a delicious brown, with perhaps a tender bit of swordfish or mackerel ready for H your discussion, do you stop to think of the men who just at this season of the year are braving the dangers of old ocean in order that your table MASSACHUSETTS COASTLINE, ma.. be well supplied with all the delicacies which, as a part of their call’ng, they take from the grudging waters and place at your disposal. When you read in your morning !>ap?r of a fisherman run down and suu-x in tae treacherous fog-shrouded wa ers off Georges do you even for a ino rient regard the matter as one which in the least concerns your per sonal well-being, or simply pass it off as one of those happenings over which you have no control, or as something Vi be taken as a matter of course and f) be immediately forgotten? If you do there are scores of homes in the fishing towns all along the coast of the Bay state where the news Mhich interests you for the moment only comes with tragic force to people in whose life tragedy plays a far too prominent part. The fog and the gale are the dan gers from which the men of the fleet have most to fear. A smooth sea and a bright sky in the morning is scanty guarantee that the fog will not shut everything in before night, or that a “northeaster” r ill not swoop down, leaving destruction in its path. Witß a tooting of fog horns, too * often but a poor guide along a dark ened path, the dories are recalled from the scene of the day’s labor. To be lost in the fog is a r.ot uncommon occurrence, and then it is that the luckless fisherman becomes a prey to the dangers that lurk in the dark ness. Fortunate is he if nothing more serious than a night out in the all surrounding, nerve-testing silence falls to his lot. Many a time an overturned dory tells the story of lives lost in a vain effort to locate the vessel which in the brightness of the morning stands out as a shining mark, only to disap pear* in an incredibly short space of time when the fog once settles down. The seining fleet which operates off the Grand Banks figures in the dis aster columns of the newspapers quite as frequently as does the fleet which confines its activity to the vi cinity of Georges. There is plenty of the picturesque to be found could one but spend the time on any one of the vessels which at the end of the sea son make port at Gloucester, Boston, New Bedford, or any of the towns which in the old days sent larger numbers of this class of vessels than in recent times. The early morning haul has more about it, perhaps, to attract the lover of the beautiful, for the sight is beau tiful beyond the power of pen or brush to properly describe. With nets dripping sparkling gems of rainbow hues under the morning sun, with thousands of mackerel, their bodies of blue black and silver re flecting the light, enmeshed in their watery prison, endeavoring in vain to get free from the bonds that are drawn closer and closer, a sight is furnished not soon to be forgotten. Sometimes it happens that before the net is drawn the fish become frightened, and in a mad rush for freedom overturn men and dories, and carry away net and gear with them. Then it is that the profits of a trip ' are materially cut down. PORTLAND HEADLIGHT. The day long looked forward to is the day when, with salt pens full of mackerel, with ice che3ts filled to overflowing with halibut, cod, sword fish and other denizens of the deep, the order “up archor” is given, and the fleet with all sails set starts on the race toward home. MARK TWAIN IN THE LONG AGO A Thin, Scrawny Fellow When He Was a Wheelsman In California. Capt. Selwyn Ramsey of San Joa quin City, Cal., claims the unique dis tinction of once having employed Mark Twain as second wheelsman at a. salary of $lB a week. Capt. Ram sey is one of the old pioneers in Cali fornia river navigation. He command ed the first steam packet that ever ran up the Sacramento river, and although he is over 80 years old and hasn’t been on the bridge for more than 12 years, yet he still loves to talk of the good old river days. “Yes, I used to know Sam Clem ens,” said Capt. Ramsey to an inter viewer, “and he was one of the best wheelsmen I ever had. It was along in 1868. I was on the old John Wallace at that time, on the Sacramento river. “About the time I met Clemens I was pretty hard up for help. Wages were good and lots of men deserted for the mines. All the wheelsmen had to be broken in, as there were no experienced river men in the country in those days. And I was pretty glad when I heard of a young fellow w*ho had been in a pilot house on the Mis sissippi. The minute I tied up in San Francisco I w*ent right over to the United States mint, where I got his address. As soon as I saw him at tb.e wheel I engaged him on the spot “Mark Twain was a thin, scrawny looking fellow then, but he was a great hand making friends, and all of us liked him. I think he was on the Wallace about five months—it’s so long ago that I forget the exact time. He was a straight out and out wheels man, and he learned the river like a book. The country was pretty wild in those days and a man had to watch out for himself, but .Clemens got along with the best of them.’’ THE CHILD’S CALL. We calls with quick, Insistent cry. He calls at work or play. And I must put my business by. And all my books away. He summons me from household cares. Back to his sunny room. And up the stairs and up the stairs In happy haste 1 come. Sweeter than lark and mavis dear. And nightingales in May, The little voice so shrill and clear That I must yet obey. While up the stairs and to the door My heart runs on in glee, I hear a voice I knew of yore That never calls for me. Ever through shadow time and sun I hear a baby call, That is not you. my precious one. That is not you at all. Afar, where heavenly waters flow, 'Mid Paradisal calms. All on a sward where lilies blow The shepherd counts his lambs. Afar, beyond the wintry cold ‘Upon the heavenly hill, A little lamb a few weeks old Bleats for his mother still. O mother's love and mothers joy! But while I come in haste, I hear another lovely boy Cry from the lonely past. And while I kiss your curls aside And hold you to my breast. I kiss the little boy that died. That will not let me rest. —Katherine Tynan. School for Cats. This school does not exist in fairy land, but in the midst of the city ol Paris. Prof. Bonnetty is very fond of cats and has started a school for them. His pupils are generally stray cats that no one wants. He takes them, keeps them in a large room, and feeds them well. He does not immediately, begin to teach them, but wathes them to form some idea of their character. He feeds them on bread and milk and liver. It is surprising to see how the most miserable, starved-looking cat under his good treatment turns into a beautiful, sleek pussy fit for any lady’s drawing room. These cats are taught to jump through hoops, over chairs, climb ropes, etc. All these lessons are taught by kindness. Prof. Bonnetty never has to punish his pupils. He depends on their affection and can uo with them wiiat he likes.—Cincinnati Enquirer. All the Men Are Princes. There are about 12,000 people scat tered over the twenty-odd rocks or islets which constitute the Foroe group, between the Shetlands and Iceland. Every man in the country is in some way the descendant of a king—that is. Norse sea-kings, whA fled to the islands in the ninth cen tury and peopled them. In spite of his home spuns, his turf hut, and his primitive life, every good Foroese is conscious and proud of his ancestry, and he bears himself like a prince. He has no newspapers or social problems; but he knows the history of his island home, and he is a constant reader of books, mostly Danish. His literary taste is inferior only to that of the Icelanders, who for 1,000 years have raised and main tained an ideal national literature o t merit. 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