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“Unele's aâ€"goiu’ t’ tan me good this time,” he muttered dismail'ly, and, feeling very seedy, he crept quietly downstairs. His uncle was waiting outside the house, and engaged in whittlng a stick. His face was stem, and he addm'exised his nephew harshly. “Follow me!” Franl; was aroused by his uncle at an early hour next morning, and, feel- ing sick and penitent, he drressed with- out taking the usual precautions. His mother was still a-bed, and Shorty, with a bad taste in his mouth, and his mind a complete blank after his re- collection of the first two drinks of Long Dick’s rum, was oppressed with a fqgeboding of trouble. Shorty began to exhibit signs of consciousness, and Captain Clarkl turned to the other. “I’l'l carry th’} lad home, Dick. Don’t say anythin" about this to a soul. His mother ’ud go crazy ef she thought th’ boy had1 bin du'inrkin’. Keep it quiet, an’ tellj th’ Rings t’ do th’ same.” And ghoul-3 dering‘ his inanimate burden, the big“ tsi‘kiliper trudged up the hillside in the! us: i “No, siree,” replied the other re- gretfully. “ ’Twas th’ best Jamaica ru'm there is. I got it from Joe Spinâ€" ney, mate 0’ the Ella McKay, what jest come up from th’ south’ard two days ago, an’ now ’tis wasted on a cougle 0’ young spulpinsâ€"â€"-” “He ~gimme a kick," muttered the boy, feebly protesting against the cold dogghg. ‘iLemme git at himâ€"â€"_"» Unvcle Jerry gaxvm him a shake “Vi-{me up,_ Frank. Rouse} yourself!” Shorty beat him, and a species of Bacchanalian Marathon ensued be- tween the pair until the rum defeated them both. Lem was the first; to suc- cumb, and he sat on an upâ€"ended trawl tub holding his head and trying to regain an equilibrium which seemed to be whirling and gyrating like a chip in an ed‘dy. Shorty lay prone inside a dress keeler or gutting-table, feeling very dizzy and sick at times and happy and hilarious by turns. The long-neck lay between them, its re- maining contents spilled on the floor, and thus they lay until Uncle Jerry, Long Dick, and Ezekiel Ring found thegAla-fce that evening. __ “Waal. I be everlastin‘ly cussed ef this don’t beat all my goin’ aâ€"fish’in’,” ejaculated Dick Jennings when he dis- covered the pair. “They’ve bin in here all afternoon a~bmachin’ my rumâ€"th’ yogng dgyils." ' ZeEe Ring strode over and yanked hisrlq-ung brother on to his Afe_et. _ "I'll matter ye, you young swab,” growled Zeke; “Home ye come now, an’ ef I don’t set ye up good an’ prgperfl my name ain't what it_i_s.” Frank was dead to the world, and repeated shakings, nudxgin-gs, and punvchings by his uncle and Dong Dick failed to elicit a sign of consciousness from him. Uncle Jerry’s rage gave way to fear, and he turned to Long Dick. “What kind 0 ’rum was that ye hail ’Tgin’t no cheap rqtâ€"g‘utl is it?” “Bet ye kain’t,” returned the other. To back up his words Lem called his chum’s attention to the high-water mark on the bottle neck, and, tilting it up, proceeded to lower it by the process of absorption into his own. “There!” he grunted with a gasp as he passed the rum over. "I’ve drunk it down to that nick. Beat that ef ye kin.” “Go‘n gdt a bucket 0’ water, Dick,” interrupted Captain Clark, and when the fisherman returned, he poured it libgglal‘ly _over his _nephew‘s head.» “Whasimmer?” mumbled Lem 5139??!“ CHAPTER ONEâ€"(Cont’d.) A MOST STRENGTHENING BEVERAGE CHAPTER TWO BLUE WATER IIz-EARLIO We 7“ ,ATLANTIC CITY.N.J. BY FREDERICK WILLIAM WALLACE. [CprHéth by the Mussdn Book Company] ppohp’g Dlstemper compound 1 ye break 51 7: put! get Gum ban In candida . *ears' use his " pohuo" 1 diapenn 19 In than“ as 0 i an Col {1 In net): Distem . win: the}? remit! complicadom. and él’axhcases o: if; throat. nose, and In E. Acts muvelous prevenrlva acts «wall? m 1 well u a euro. For sale a 5 stores. ‘ . 3,0" “D10” 0037‘". GONE. "1)., 0.8.; A TALE OF THE DEEP SEA FISHERMEN \p‘fi AILANTIC CIT_Y.N.J. flu: NEWEST HOTEL AT THE WORLD‘S MOST FAMOUS RESORT Eurapcus plan. Nave Riuinnovationwnique «do: wheeze flinging!) autumn: ova-{coking Beach and Ocean. ' inTreUis Room and Ritsz-m. Sing-II: coma $5.00 up Don I: ooms $8.00 up _. All room: with Prim“ Bath andfull Ocean Vieu ALERT KELLER aviafivz TOT] u “with. Director t Man-gar EDI-“B OOUGmI'G? 1733 I “Boy,” he said at last, “I want t’ 'tell ye a story, an" you listen. See? ‘Once there was a very fine manâ€" 4 name was Frank tooâ€"- a fisherman he iwas, an’ a big, handsome. strappin’ fellaâ€"smart as a steel trap, an’ a. great favorite with all th’ gangs what sailed with him. He had only one bad .fa'u‘lt; and that was a kinder love for rum. He warn't a soaker, ye know, only he jest liked t’ have a jug allus handy so that he c‘d git a nip when- ever he felt like it. He was a smart man, as I said afore, an’ got on t’ command his own vessel. He was more careful in them days, went easy Shorty made no answer, and his uncle proceeded: “You don’t seem to understand Wham ye’re doin’. Think 0’ lyer ma. Ain't she got a bird of a son for people t’ be gossipin’ about? I don’t mind yer tricks, but what I mind yis yer sneakin’ ofi" an’ drinkin’ that irum. What made ye breach that lliqllll‘qr? lDid _yle_ go fipWI! aâ€"pulfposge?” Leading the way to a seat under a giant spruce, the Captain seated him- self and motioned to the boy to fol- low suit. It was a glorious morning, sunny and clear, the bright blue of the sky flecked with fleecy white clouds racing past on the wings of the fresh westerly breeze which ruf- ‘fled the waters of the bay into foam- 'streake'd azure. The surf was thunder- ing in on the rocky beach, and as far as the eye could see the blue water stretched before them with the white sails of the inshore fis‘hermen’s dories dotting the watery expanse. A large, 'lumbervladen squaredriyg‘g'er was stand- iinig out of Anchor-ville Bay, amd her ldingy topgaI-lant sail‘s could be seen 'fiaxpping in the fresh breeze as she :made sail. Yes, it was a grand morn- ring, when one felt glad to be alive, but ’to Shorty’s jaded soul these things appealed not. I “No, I don't,” replied the boy firmly. “Sooner hev lemonade or apple cider." Uncle Jerry granted again, and seemed to be debating in his mind what to say next. Picking up the stick, he commenced w‘hittling d‘éâ€" livbeEatelya “Who broached the bottle first. you or Lem,” queried the skipper. “Give me a straight bill nowâ€"no yarns. Was it you?” “What did ye do when ye breached the stuff? Sit down an’ enjoy it?” “No,” replied Shorty. “Me’n Frank had a try 13’ see who c’d drink bh’ most at qgegylp.” “Huh.” Uncle J em'y nodded grimly. Staring hard into the blue-grey eyes of his nephew as if to Tea-d his soul, he Eqddep-ly enquired: "D’ye lilze thA’HVtva'sâ€"t-e 0’ that stuff, Frank?” “No, sir. I" jeEt blundm‘d ifi'éha’fi with Lem.” “NOW-answered the lboy. The big skipper seemed relieved. “Then I cal’llate ’twals Lem that fog-pd the rum, eh?” “Yesterday’s shine in th’ schoolâ€" roo-m has jest about cooked your goose, my son. A fine character you’re a-makin’ for yerrself. First dodvgin’ school, then smokin’, then drivin’ that ox, fightin’ with one 0’ yer schoolâ€" mates right afore my eyes, an’ fin- ishin’ up by stealin’ a bottle 0’ rum an’ gittin’ drunk. Boy! what d’ye think ye’re aâ€"comin’ b0?” Frank nodded. It went sorely against his grain to inform on his chum, but there was an underlying severity in his uncle's questions which brooked no subterfuge. “Boy.” began his uncle, Whittling away, “do you know that you are goin’ a bit too far?” Shorty sarid nothing, and the cap- tain continued: !Minard‘s Liniment for 'Irippe and Flu “Now that’s whar’ you make a. big mistake, son,” returned his uncle. “I may be a highâ€"line fishin’ skipper an’ all that, but all th’Ksame I wish I had had a decent eddicaution. I kain’t pass a pleasant hour in readrin’ a noos- paper; I kain’t figure up a simple sum ’bh‘out cal’latin’ on my fingers; I’m cut off from writin" a letterâ€"thing's what any T Wharf lumxper kin do, an’ here I am, forty-two years of age, an’ more ignorant than you are. Many’s th’ time. Frank, I’d wish t’ God I c’d ha’ had th’ chanst t' git th’ schoolin’ pou’re gittin’, an’ here you are deliberately ohuckin’ yer chances away! Boy, ye must be crazy! D’ye think yer mother hez no pride? D’ye think she want her hev a son what kin hardly sign his own name? An’ let me tell ye, if I’d ha’ bin eddiwted I c’d be in a better po- sition than I am today. I c’d ha’ bin runnin’ a plant 0' my own instead 0’ runnin’ a vessel, but there’s whar’ I’ve got t’ stick until I die. Livin’ a dog’s life at sea ’eount o’ knowin’ nawthin’. You’re goin’ a-fishin’, ye say, but ye want t’ be somethin’ more’n a fisher- man all yer lifeâ€"at least I hope soâ€" but, ark my words, boy, ef ye keep up t game ye’re playm’ now, ye’ll Ipass yer days as a poor, miserable, ignorant fisherman, fiit only for baitm’ ’up an’ haulin’ ti-awls. By th’ Lord ‘Harry, Flank, of ye only knew what I’d give 15’ go t’ school again, yed never be in a hurry t’ git away from it.” Shorty was listening with bowedl head, and with his bare toss he was nervously tracing patterns in the dust. His uncle regarded him with earnest .eyes. “Now, son, I’ve jest a few more words I want t’ say 12’ ye. Frank, you’ve got t’ stick t’ s-c‘hool, an’ quit this dodgin' an’ skulkin’ game. I want ye to, an" yer ma. wants ye. It’s for yer own good t’ git all "th’ l’arning ye him, even ef you don‘t think so. Now take me, f’rinstance, I kin only jest sign my own name, am’ I hev t’ (.0 all my figgerin’ an' t-alzlyin’ by notches an’ strokes ” “Aye,” interrupted Shorty, “but you’re a high-line fisherman all th' same, Unrele. I’m a-goin’ flsxhin’ when I git old enough, so what’s th’ use b’ l’arnin’ a lot 0’ stuff that ain’t no goog] a-fishin’?” “My father?” cried the boy in- credul‘ously. There was a trembling of his lips and a suspicious mistines's in his eyes. He swallowed hard upon a lump which rose in his throat, and his uncle regarded him with a sympa- thetic gaze strangely out of keeping with his rburly, weather-beaten ap- pearance. “Will you want t’ tech liquor agen, Fran’k, after what I’ve told ye?” an’ he was for broachin' another bot- tle when th’ vessel hit th’ Sable Island No’th-East Bar. She had all four low- ers flyin’, so she struck hard, an’ with a how‘l‘in’ gale drivin’ a wild sea on th’ lee shone where they lay, th’ ves- sel soon went t’ pieces but before she went, ten 0’ her crovni went too. Jest fancy, boy! Ten menâ€"all friends 0’ th’ skipperâ€"droppin’ from th’ riggin’ inter th’ sea an' drownin’ afore his eyes. The captain knew it was his faultâ€"knew that these men had bin Sagrifice‘d _thrrough his tumâ€"swiggin’, “No,” replied the lboy in horrified wonder. “Never!” replied the boy vehement- ly, and his uncle believed him. on him. Now he was a good feller, an’ only laughed at his wife when she'd tell him about th’ drinkin’, but: th’ men as sailed with him was beginnin’ t’ talk aroun’ th’ ports about th’ rum their skipper took t' sea with him. He‘d stay sober at home, an‘ be half drunk all th' time at sea, and it warn’t long afore this skipper an’ his wife he-d a quarrel. Then he goes ofl’ on a fishin’ trip, an’ when they got their salt wet they swung ofi‘ for home, but not afore th’ skipper takes a shoot inter Sant‘ Pierre for a little rum. It was breezin’ up for a proper Novem- ber bl-ow when they left Sant’ Pierre, but th’ skipper, he started broachin' his liquor an’ wouldn’t take notice 0’ signs, an’ swinging his whole four lowers, he starts running for Glo’ster afore a no’the-easter. All that day they carried their kitesâ€"even though it was blowin’ a breeze 0’ wind with rain an’ snow at timesâ€"an’ when th’ gang asks th’ skipper t’ shorten sail he only laughs them out of it an’ passes his jugs aroun’. Purty soon half 0' th’ crowd were feelin’ good an’ not carin’ a hoot for anythin’. Th’ skipper had been below drin‘kin’ all day, an' he gave th‘ course for t’ raise Ca-pe Sable ’thout botherin’ t’ check it up by th’ log or lead. As I said, it was blowin’ some, an’ thick 0’ rain an’ snow. an’ long about two in th’ mornin’ they found themselves gittin’ nervous as to their whereabouts. “Th’ skipper was still purty full, an’ when th’ gang asks him about haulin’ up for a cast, he jest laughs, an’ he had t’ ligng' on t’ his vessel’s cross-trees an’ watch ’em drmp into-th’ sea. He h’ard them prayin’ for their Wives an’ children, 311’ with never a word t’ say to him they’d let go an’ drop. Ten 0’ them he saw go out that night, any then he goes himself. All through a little nip 0’ rum. Frankie! Eleven good men drowned, an’ many a widow an’ orphan t’ mourn them; D'ye know who that skipper wasl Frankie ?” Slowly and quietly the fisherman spoke. “Frankie, it was your own father!” on th’ booze, but as he got on, his wife c'd see that it was gittin’ a hold 8111 kir mere lore ime. [ th’ tin’, kin’ ; be a no hev own ha’ IX)- hm :1 0’ T’vn The real reason lo twofold. In the first place, the stars are thousands and thousands of times more distant than the planets, so that their rays have to pass over far greater distances of space to reach us. Now, though there {-8 no air in space, there are cofin'tless millions of tiny bodies constantly travelling through it. Some are no bigger than pebbles others are of great size It is those bodies passing through the rays of a. star that are the main cause of its twinkling. In Sumatra the length widow must wear her wee‘ mined by the wind‘ Am band‘s death she plants 3 her door, upon which a flag While the flag remains un1 wind etiquette forbids that marry. But as soon as a re . no matter how tiny, she ca discovers: timated t Lumber a. European The other ream 1: that, whils‘t the planets have no light of their own, but merely reflect the sun's brilliance, the stars are always sending out their own light, which is more bril‘li‘ant at some times than at others, Now, why should planets shine steadily and s-tars«tw1nkle? Some peo- ple are satisfied with the answer that twinkling is caused by the mist-Mess of our atmosphere. Butgrthat is no ex~ planation at all, tor planets must send their rays through just the same amount of atmosphere as stars. Those which shine with unwavering brilliance are the planets, worlds like our own earth, which revolve as it does, round the sun. But the twinklers me stars. They are themselves dis- tant suns, many of them bigger than our own. Our sun, for instance, is 800,000 miles in diameter, but Betedgeuse, a star in the great constellation of Orion, is no less than 200,000,000 miles across. It you look at the heavens on a clear, starry night, you will notice that some of the myriad bright points twinkle, whilst others shine with a perfectly steady light. “Aye,” s-aid a Scotch fish-Wife with whom a tourist chanced to fall into a conversation in which Lady Nairne was mentioned. “Aye, ma’am, she was a. Ieddy, nae doot; but the hairt in her was juist wumman!” “I was persecuted to avow whether I had written it. or not, or where I got it," she wrote in 1823. “However. I kept my counsel in spite of the gratifi- cation of seeing a reward of twenty guineas offered in the newspapers to the person who shouid ascertain the point past doubt. I must also mention the Laird of Dalziel's advice, who in a tete-a-tete afterwards said. "My dear, the next time you sing that song try to change the words a wee bit and, in- stead of singing, "To make the croun a pund young Jamie gaed to sea,” say "To make it twenty merks"; for a Scottish pound is but twenty pence, and Jamie was na scuh a gowk as to leave Jennie and gang to sea to lessin his gear. It is that line,’ Whispered he,=‘which tells me that sang was writ- ten by some lassie that didna ken the value of the Scot’s money quite so well as an auld writer in the town of Edinbro’ would have kent it.’ ” Lady Nairne made no such slip when she was m0ved to composition by the cry of the fislhwives passing along George Street, Edinburgh, bur- dened with their creels of fiSLh that weighed from one and a. half to two hundred pounds and calling musically the traditional words, ‘Caller (fresh) herrin'! Caller hre-rrin’! Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?” She set the words of her song to an old familiar tune of Neil Gow, and they caught the public heart, and fancy at once. There is no smallest false touch of ladyship to mar the unforget- able appeal of the fishermen’s wives: Wha’ll buy my called herrin’? 0h, ye may ca‘ them~vu1gar farln’; Wives and mithers, maist despairin', Ca’ them lives 0’ men! It is odd that two of the most ap- pealing and renowned Scottish songs of lowly lifeâ€"songs that anyone not informed to the contrary would surely guess to be true folk songs born 0f the peopleâ€"were written by titled ladies. Auld Rohln Gray was written by Lady Anne Barnard, and Caller Herrin' by Lady Nairne. Both are admirable achievements of sympathetic imagi- native art; yet the shrewd Laird of Dalziel was able to pick a flaw in Auld Robin Gray, as Lady Anne herselt has appreciativer recorded. She was the" eldest daughter of the Earl of Balear- res, and never a professional writer; and she tried hard to preserve her anonymity. But in the end the im- mense vogue of the song proved too much for her. 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