And as the boy and the bird went by, They were gripped by a man, with a drowning cry "And so the crew went one by one, Some with gladness, and few with fear; Cold and hardship such work had done That few seemed frightened when death was near. "Now, lonely Fisherman, who are you, KYARLINA JIM. FISHERMAN'S HUT, CHESAPEAKE BAY, 1876. A darkey named Kyarlina Jim, Dat yonder's him, Kyarlina Jim, Yes-dat's de way he spen's each day Eben when clouds 'ull come in crowds, An' de beatin' win's 'ull blow, He still keeps settin', pashunt, dar An' de sweet sunlight, 'tis jes like night, Ter po' Kyarlina Jim He's weak an' bline; so rain an' shine Dat chile you see dar on his knee, I seldom cries, but when my eyes Another chile he los' long while I 'specs, bekase o' what he says, MAT AND HAL AND I.-ONLIE AMA SNOW. 'Tis while reviewing o'er my life that's past, I'm brought to youth, the spring-time of my life, I still remember well the autumn day A constant help to us in life's great sea. At school, how many happy hours we spent Our school days o'er, true duties claimed us now; I got no message from my truant twain. The years rolled on by Time's relentless will, I went to find them in their foreign land, But sought in vain each nook from strand to strand; To leave the place, and look for them no more. I learned that Hal while drunk had shot Mat Reed, I saw two tombs, and on them "Bess" and "Nell.” OUR VISITOR, AND WHAT HE CAME FOR. He came in with an interrogation-point in one eye, and a stick in one hand. One eye was covered with a handkerchief and one arm in a sling. His bearing was that of a man with a settled purpose in view. "I want to see," said he, "the man that puts things into this paper." We intimated that several of us earned a frugal livelihood in that way. "Well, I want to see the man which cribs things out of the other papers. The fellow who writes mostly with shears, you understand." We explained to him that there were seasons when the most gifted among us, driven to frenzy by the scarcity of ideas and events, and by the clamorous demands of an insatiable public, in moments of emotional insanity plunged the glittering shears into our exchanges. He went on calmly, but in a voice tremulous with suppressed feeling, and indistinct through the recent loss of half a dozen or so of his front teeth, "Just so. I presume so. I don't know much about this business; but I want to see a man, the man that printed that little piece about pouring cold water down a drunken man's spine of his back, and making him instantly sober. If you' please, I want to see that man. I would like to talk with him." Then he leaned his stick against our desk and spit on his serviceable hand, and resumed his hold on the stick as though he were weighing it. After studying the stick a minute, he added, in a somewhat louder tone, *Mister, I came here to see that 'ere man. I want to see him bad." We told him that particular man was not in. "Just so. I presume so. They told me before I come that the man I wanted to see wouldn't be anywhere. I'll wait for him. I live up north, and I walked seven miles to converse with that man. I guess I'll sit down and wait." He sat down by the door, and reflectively pounded the floor with his stick, but his feelings would not allow him to keep still. "I suppose none of you didn't ever pour much cold water down any drunken man's back to make him instantly sober, perhaps?" None of us in the office had ever tried the experiment. "Just so. I thought just as like as not you had not. Well, mister, I have. I tried it yesterday, and I have come seven miles on foot to see the man that printed that piece. It wasn't much of a piece, I don't think; but I want to see the man that printed it, just for a few minutes. You see, John Smith, he lives next door to my house, when I'm to home, and he gets how-come-you-so every little period. Now, when he's sober, he's all right, if you keep out of his way; but when he's drunk, he goes home and breaks dishes, and tips over the stove, and throws the hardware around, and makes it inconvenient for his wife; and sometimes he gets his gun and goes out calling on his neighbors, and it ain't pleasant. "Not that I want to say any thing about Smith; but me and my wife don't think he ought to do so. He came home drunk yesterday, and broke all the kitchen windows out of his house, and followed his wife around with the carving knife, talking about her liver, and after awhile he lay down by my fence and went to sleep. I had been reading that little piece: it wasn't much of a piece; and I thought if I could pour some water down his spine, on his back, and make him sober, it would be more comfortable for his wife and a square thing to do all around. So I poured a bucket of spring-water down John Smith's spine of his back." "Well," said we, as our visitor paused, “did it make him sober?" Our visitor took a firmer hold of his stick and replied with increased emotion,— "Just so. I suppose it did make him as sober as a judge in less time than you could say Jack Robinson; but, mister, it made him mad. It made him the maddest man I ever see; and, mister, John Smith is a bigger man than me and stouter. Bla-bless him, I never knew he was half so stout till yesterday; and he's handy with his fists too. I should suppose he's the handiest man with his fists I ever saw." "Then he went for you, did he?" we asked innocently. "Just so. Exactly. I suppose he went for me about the best he knew; but I don't hold no grudge against John |