The Lady from
the Sea.
BY
CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY-
Author of " Vhn BItc?f Ar Out and Lova'i Af.sld," " Tonn with th Sliip,"
'A Doctor of Philosophy," Tho SoutKoi nr," to.
Cpyrtirhl. by J. R. Lipincott Company.
All ritf tit a ronerved
few
y 1
4m
HE LADY FROM THE SEA is the
graphically appropriate title of this most
fascinating and interesting serial. The
story is from the pen of Cyrus Tovvnsend
Brady, author of a number of works of
fi:tion that have received attention in the
best literary circles.
EHen Smith, the heroine of the story,
is the daughter of a Confederate officer
who owns a privateer, and the scene is
laid during the War of the Ribelhon. Elen is atypical
southern girl proud, self-reliant and daring. Thomas
Beekman Smith is a naval officer of the Government, and
captures a blockade runner. They learn through a letter
found aboard the ship, the location of the privateer, and
also capture that craft, with Ellen aboard.
Some very entertaining and interesting chapters are
devoted to life on the ocean and love-making later. Ellen
appears to have betrayed Smith to the Confederates, and
he barely escapes death as a spy. Later still, her father
is made a prisoner on board a ship of the enemy. The
hot-headed southerner disowns his daughter, when she
acknowledges her love for Smith, is set at liberty and the
discarded E'len becomes the wife of the man she loves.
This story is intense in its war flavor and original in
its treatment of plot and incident. The naval adventures
are thrilling and well depicted, and the serial will be recog
n zed as a very superior war story.
CHAPTER I.
Romance, in boo'-.s is ass.x-iatcd al
ways with the beautiful, generally with
tihe best. We go backward into (he prist
for a theme, since " 'tis dis'aur lend
enchantment to the view." We fancy that
the heart beats more warmly certainly
more gracefully beneath satin and lace
than beneath calico and fustian; that the
love that quotes poetry is purer and more
admirable than that which th rough hard
necessity expresses itself ungrammatical
ly ; that diamond-buckled shoes, capering
nimbly upon a carpet to the "pleasing of
a lute," carry a man whose ideals must
inevitably transcend those of his lowly
brother who Is upborne by the sabot or
the brogan.
It is a dictum that there is no romance
among tdie common people. The hero and
the heroine, in the novel, must be disso
ciated from real life by unusual qualities
and characteristics, else no one will care
for their story so, at 'least, it is- imag
ined. Yet as the saddest tragedies are
those of the commonplace, so the finest
romances are those of the common people.
To pick up at random any of the cur
rent stories of the day is to find one evi
dence of a concession to the supposed
popular yearning for the beautiful and
the unusual in the descriptions and, eke.
the names of the puppets who give title
to the story and strut through their brief
hours iion the written stage. With rare
exceptions the heroines are beautiful in
person, cultivated in mind, ancient in
family I-ady Clara Vere de Veres, in
hort : while the hero is no longer beau
tiful, but he is strong, tall, brave, noble,
generous; and if dissipated, will ultimate
ly reform. The names, as I have suggest
ed above, of these godlike persons corre
spond, so far as names may and they
may to a great degree, notwithstanding
Shakspeare to these attributes. They
fall trippingly from the tongue and linger
musically in the memory. Invention which
might better be devoted to the story is
wasted on a name that, like Wordsworth's
famous light, "never was on sea or land."
T have invented several myself, therefore
i know !
The heroine of ' the. ensuing story is
named Jones, the hero. Smith. These
names have been selected deliberately.
That sets this romance at once apart from
II other stories that have ever been writ
ten. That it may live up to its uniqnity
is the prayer of the writer. There must
of necessity be thousands of romances in
the Smith and Jones families, there are
no many of them and they are not dying,
but, on the contrary, are increasing at a
rapid rate! Cannot a Smith love as well
as a Montniorenci? Is not the blood of
a Jones filled with the same passionate
ichor as that of a Howard?
Miss Jones her first and only other
name was Ellen was a young woman of
no particular ancestry which need be
dwelt upon. While it must be frankly ad
mitted that she was not strikingly beauti
ful. It may be affirmed with equal truth
that neither was she paiufully homely.
She was just a tall, well-formed, healthy
American girl, such as you meet with in
plenty in any community in the land. Her
l;air was brown, her eyes were blue, her
checks were red, and her teeth were white
. these are the usual colors, I believe.
Her tamper was quick, her disposition
cheerful, her will honest nor are these
qualities at all uncommon. She had been
reasonably well educated for the period
in which she lived, and in addition to
what tiie had learned at the "Female
Academy" she could sing a song, make a
dress or cook a dinner happily, ability
of this sort is not rare. There was noth
ing extraordinary alout her from any
point of view. Thousands of women like
that Smiths, Joneses, Browns, etc. ore
leing loved, wooed and married every
day; and the future of the country de
pends ujKn the steady continuance of a
aypply adequate to meet the demand.
As for Smith, the hero of this vera
cious tale, his first name wag Thomas.
Intimately abbreviated to Tom. If he
could have won Ellen Jones for his wife,
he would have been supremely happy as
well as very fortunate. If Miss Jones had
no family to speak of, Mr. Smith had ab
solutely none at all. He had been raised
I use the word advisedly, it was more
like raising then rearing in an eleemosy
nary institution to wit, a public orphan
asylum. The superintendent of the in
stitution, not being gifted with imagina
tion, had named him Smith. He had a
regular list of names for the. foundlings
which he bestowed upon his charges in
unvarying succession, and Smith fell to
the lot of this unfortunate. One of the
women attendants had further called him
"Tommy" after her sweetheart. To iden
tify the little waif from the New York
streets and to differentiate him from other
"Tom" Smiths, of whom there were not
a few, the authorities had inserted a mid
dle name. He had been picked up in
Beekman street, and in the records his full
name, therefore, ran this way, Thomas
Beekman Smith.
He was an unusually bright boy and as
homely as they make them freckled, red
headed, and, for all his name, evidently of
Irish parentage. He was a jolly, cheerful,
willing, hard-working little rat, however,
who dearly loved a joke, yet who was as
ambitious as a ward politician. The
superintendent of the orphan asylum hap
pened to have a brother who was a cap
tain in the I'nited States navy, one of the
old-time, "1N1'," sailing-frigate captains.
The superintendent's interest had been
excited by young Smith. He had com
municated some of this interest to his
brother, and in short, at the age of
eleven the boy went to sea as a captain's
servant.
By and by old Commodore Bainboro,
observing there was good stuff in the lad,
had hi in warranted a "reefer." Smith
went through the usual course of the
young aspirant in those days. He served
creditably as a midshipman in the Mexi
can war, and thereafter, being still young
enough, sought and received permission
to go through the Naval Academy, from
which lie graduated in the class of Ti2.
Behold him in the fall of 1801 a full
fledged lieutenant in the I'nited States
navy, still freckled-faced, still red-headed,
still homely, still fond of a jest, still
happy, and still ambitious also in love.
He was one of those rare mortals who
can be happy, ambitious and in love at
one and the same time.
The war between the States had just
begun. Opportunities for distinction
would be many. That some of them should
fall to bis lot and be embraced according
ly was the determination of Smith. He
owed everything to the United States,
and was resolute to discharge some of the
obligations. Things did not look very
promising at first, however. Being with
out influence for old Commodore Bain
boro was long since dead the best as
signment he could get for duty at the
outbreak of the war was the old-fashioned
sailing frigate St. Lawrence. Smith had
promptly applied for an appointment to
one of the new steam sloops-of-war, but
his application had been passed over and
he had been relegated to his useless relic
of the past.
The commander of the St. I-iwrence
was Commodore Hiram Paulding, who
had been a midshipman in the War of
1S12 and commended for his gallant con
duct while executive officer of the Tieon
deroga at the battle of Lake Champlain.
The veteran also chafed at his relegation
to the St. I-awrence, but there was no
present help for it. In modern times he
would have been retired long since, so he
might perhaps consider himself lucky at
being given any command at all.
As I have paid, the war had just begun.
Blockade-running was in its infancy, pri
vateering in behalf of the Confederates
was, however, beginning vigorously. Had
it not been nipped in the bud by the
prompt efforts of the Federal cruisers it
might have done enough damage to have
rendered unnecessary the appearance of
ths Alabama later on. The United States
had proclaimed n blockade of the southern
coast, but as yet it was laxly maintained,
owing to paucity of force, and the Con
federate privateers came and went pretty
much as they pleased.
The St. Lawrence, attached to the
North Atlantic blockading squadron, had
I been out two months and hail not made a
single capture. Officers and men were
disgusted. Why they should have expect
I ed to capture anything in a sailing vess.'l
i when the Confederates usually employed
the swifsrst steamers for privateers and
blockade-runners is a question. One af
ternoon in late July the St. Lawrence
utii'cr easy sail was swinging along to
the southward of Cape Hat terns. A week
before she had been sokeu by a dispatch
boat, which had transmitted a general
order from the flag otliver commanding the
squadron to the effect that a certain Con
federate privateer called the l'etrel was
fitting out in Pamlico sound for a dash to
sea, and that all the M'.iips of the squad
ron were cautioned to look out for her.
"Nice notice to send us," remarked
Smith, who was the executive officer ef
the frigate, to the second lieutenant of
the ship. "We couldn't catch her with
this old hooker if she were anchored. Oh,
why don't they lay up this tub as a
gnardo or store ship somewhere and give
us a chance in a steamer? something
that has heels as well as guns?"
This was a poser for the second lieu
tenant, lie did not attempt to answer it.
but left Smith, who was enjoying a leis
ure hour, standing on the lee side of the
quarter deck 'staring over the rail at the
empty sea and vacant sky to starboard.
Empty sea and vacant sky? Well, not
quite. When there was nothing else to
command his attention Smith could al
ways see Ellen Jones in the ambient on
the horizon. He was looking straight
west. Beneath the sky line some fifty
miles away rose the low sands of the
chain of islands that separated Pamlico
and Abemarle sounds from the ocean. On
one of the broad estuaries of Pamlico
sound stood the home of old Major Jones,
Ellen's father. For aught Smith knew
the object of his dreams was there. At
any rate, he did not know that she was
anywhere else, and he embodied her there
without hesitation.
Major Jones was of somewhat humble
English birth. As a child he had come
to the United States with his elder broth
er, a man of much shrewdness and mer
cantile ability. The elder Jones, who
had settled in North Carolina, had amass
ed a considerable fortune. With an Eng
lishman's love for iosition, he had suc
ceeded in getting a commission in the
army for Ellen's father. While Smith had
been stationed at the Brooklyn Navy
Yard and Ellen's father at Governor's
Island, the young people had met. Smith
had loved madly, Ellen had been deeply
interested. Her father had been abso
lutely opposed to Smith's wooing. He had
sent him about his business ; his brother's
influence had been exerted, and the young
man had been ordered away on a three
years' cruise in Asiatic waters, whence
he had just returned at the outbreak of
the war.
The year before that Major Jones'
brother had died, leaving him all his prop
erty in North Carolina. The Major had
resigned his command and gone down to
live on his brother's plantation, taking
with him his daughter, his only child.
Ellen, save for her inclination towards
Smith, was still heart-whole and fancy
free. It is falsely urged that the absent
are always wrong. Someone has said that
a proverb is a lie or a platitude. In- this
case the wise saw quoted above was both.
If she had been allowed free and unre
stricted intercourse with the homely Mr.
Thomas Beekman Smith. Ellen Jones
might have found it impossible to have
made him the object of her romance
which is uoitig contrary to all the theories
stated in the introduction! However that
may be, severed from him by the stern
edict of a practical parent, the interest
engendered by the ardent wooing to which
she had been subjected ripened into a
deeper feeling. She grew to love the ab
sent sailor almost as the absent sailor
loved her. For his sake she had refused
many offers of marriage which she had
rceived both from the army and from the
surrounding people of her North Carolina
home. It is not only the superlative wom
en who have men at their feet, be it re
membered. The social position of the
Jones family in proud, aristocratic tide
water North Carolina was only fair. Yet
Major Jones had money, his daughter was
distinctly likable, and of young visitors
the plantation had not a few.
Smith had come back from his Asiatic
cruise with a determination, fruit of three
years of absence and repression, to seek
Ellen and take her. willy nilly, for his
own. The war had interrupted all that.
When he might see her now was a ques
tion. (To be continued.)
1n, cards can no traced banc for thou
sands of years by the Chinese. Their
New Year's visiting curds are curiosi
ties. Each one sets forth not, only the
name, but all the titles, of its owner,,
and, us all Chinamen who have nny
social position at nil have about a
dozen, it innkes the list quite appalling.
These curds are made of bI lie or else of
line paper bucked with silk and are so
large that they have to be rolled up to
be carried conveniently. They nre, In
deed, so valuable that they are return
ed to their owners.
NEW YEAR THOUGHTS.
The Magi came, at Christ mast ide,
Into the night, with gifts resplendent
Coursers, camels, robes of pride,
Wealth of satellites dependent!
They came with pomp; they came
from far,
And followed fast the "Morning" Star!
Low, in a cradle made of hay,
A monarch from the heavens lay 1
Was it a king in glory dight?
No 'twas a cherub in pink and white!
It, too, had traveled alone from far.
And came in the arms of the "Eveniug"
Star !
Which of the twain shall we worship
most,
The Star with the train and the splendid
host
The Star of triumph? the Star of power?
Or the Star that twinkles at twilight
hour?
The "Love Star" tender? Now, watch
and see,
It is the Magi bend the knee!
Ah, glory of genius, pride or wealth!
Splendor of wisdom, knowledge, health !
Powers of busy brain and feet,
All of tlie treasures of earth complete !
Spirit of beauty and love, at last,
At Thy tiny feet, all crowns are cast!
John Ward Stinison.
iiietisiil
Horse' Seimn of Daniter.
That a horse has the Instincts of
impending danger was demonstrated
the other afternoon when tin animal be
longing to M. D. Swisher, county road
overseer, refused to act on the bit, run
up the mountainside and saved its rider
from death in a cloudburst, says the
Cripple Creek correspondent of the
Denver News.
Swisher was riding along Box can
yon, a narrow gulch, when the horse
turned from the road, and paying no
attention to the rider ran up the moun
tain side and stopped on a ledge twenty
feet above. Swisher was mystified un
til he saw water about eight feet deep
rushing- down the canyon tearing up
bushes and upending everything mov
able. The water was from a cloudburst
about half a mile farther up the gulch
and the horse had beard the noise of
the rushing water before the rider.
Half a mile of the Rx canyon road
lending to Florissant was washed out
and bridges carried away. Swisher re
mained on the mountain side for an
hour before he considered It safe to re
enter the ennyon.
Companionship Ilarrrd.
"Rastus," said the man who gives
advice, "if you want to prosper In thin
world you must go to bed with the
chickens."
"Yasslr," answered Mr. Pinkley. "I'i
wlllln' to go to bed wlf Vm. But d
folks dat owns chickens aln' sufficient
ly trustful." Washington Star.
Mr. and Mrs. Reminiscent sat com
fortably back In soft leather chairs,
watching the crackle and Maine of u
real log In the grate.
"What an odd custom it Is, isn't It,
John that of hanging up one's stock
ing on Christmas eve?" said ifrs. It.
"Yes, It is queer. I wonder who
first thought of It?"
"I haven't the faintest Idea. In fact,
I never even wondered about It be
fore." "That part of It doesn't matter, af
ter all," observed Mr. Reminiscent.
"It isn't necessary to know the origin
of everything In this world. But that
stocking Idea was a good one. Do
you know, of all the memories of my
life, I believe that of hanging up my
stocking on Christmas eve and look
ing Into It In the morning was really
the happiest !"
"I hadn't thought of it in years."
but now that you mention it, I believe
I agree with you," and as she stopped
speaking, Mr. Reminiscent looked it
little more thoughtfully into the fire.
"Isn't It odd, too, the way one re-.memlM-rs
those things?" said John.
"Why, I know just the way that stock
ing felt, when I was a little toddler,
and used to hang mine up. The first
ones I remember were red."
"Mine were black, always. I think."
"Yes, dear. I was older than yon.
Black ones became the fashion soon
after I put on long trousers. But the
first stockings I bung up were red."
Mrs. Reminiscent smiled. "And did
you wear copper-toed shoes, John?"
"'es," he admitted, slowly. "I think
I did!"
"How perfectly delicious! I wjsh I
could have seen you !"
"I don't blame you for laughing. I
think it must have been funny. But
I had good times In those old days!"
Mr. Reminiscent leaned a little more
comfortably back, and was silent ab
sorbed In the tender thoughts of those
red stocking days away back forty
years ago.
"John, dear," said his wife, who had
kept quiet as long ns possible.
"Yes?"
"Were there ever any holes In those
red stockings?"
"Io you know," he laughed, "I was
Just thinking of that. I guess as long
as hoys have toes, there will be holes
In stockings. I was Just thinking r
one Christmas when I had hung up n
pair of stockings with n hole In the toe.
I can see that Jumping Jack's leg that
was sticking out of that hole. In the
morning. Just ns plainly as if I were
looking at It now! Isn't It queer that
we don't forget those little things, when
so many bigger things since then have
gone completely from our memories?"
"I'll wager you can't tell what I
gave you for Christmas last year!"
laughed his wife, apropos of testing
the idea. Mr. Reminiscent thought a
moment and then shook his head. "I
haven't the faintest idea!"
"A solid silver toilet set."
"And I us,? the things every day!
Well, it's funny. Isn't It? And yet I
can remember everything that was In
th stocking with that Jumping Jack.
There was a brass stem-winder watch,
for one thing."
Mr. Reminiscent was silent again.
He was looking so serious that, after
watching him curiously for a while,
his wife laughingly asked what was
the matter.
"I was thinking of that watch," he
answered.
"Well, what became of Itl
"It was a rare toy. In those days,
and until that moment of my life I had
never possessed anything so perfectly
wonderful. It made more noise than a
clock, to wind It up, and then it would
go like lightning, for a few seconds.
have never known time to fly as fast
ns It did on that watch," and he laugh
ed as he thought of the way the little
brass hands flew around the dial.
"What finally became of it, dear?
Did you wear it with your red stock
ings and copper toes?"
He shook his head negatively.
"I think the ending of that watch
was the greatest blow of my life. You
know Stanislaus Blank?"
"Yes, of course. Your cousin that
yon don't like."
"He was at our house that Christ
mas. He was a few years older than
We sleep, but the loom of life never
stops, ami the pattern which was weav
ing when the sun went down Is weav
ing when It comes up in the morning.
II. W. Needier.
We nre not In this world to do what
we wish, but to be willing to do that
which It is our duty to do. Gounod.
It is the every days that count. They
must be made to tell, or the years have
failed. W. 0. Gannett.
Soberly and with clear "yes believe
In your own time and pluci. There Is
not, there never litis been, a better thin .
or a better place to live in. Only with
this belief can you believe in hope.
Phillips Brooks.
We may make the best of life, or we
may make the worst of It, and It de
pends very much upon ourselves wheth
er we extract joy or misery from It.
Smiles.
The darkest shadows of life are those
which a man himself makes when he
stands in his own light. Lord Ave
bury. Our life is short, but to expand that
span to vast eternity is virtue's work.
Shakspeare.
The hour that is gone I cannot recall,
but to-morrow I will do hotter than
yesterday; and all tomorrows shall be
better than the yesterdays. Let us
"leave behind our low-vaulted past."
Dyer.
Life Is fruitful In the ratio In which
it is laid out in noble action or pa
tient perseverance. Llddon.
A f" Chi-lftMnaa.
Every Christmas should be a new
center of Christ-life in this world
That Is what Jesus meant when lie
said, "The kingdom of God Is within
you." He wants us to be so filled with
his life that his Influence shall pour
out through our lives for the brighten
ing and sweetening of the world. He
wants us to start n new Christmas
every day, wherever we are. J. R.
Miller.
A Backward Look.
Chrls'nius kin be made so mnch
pleasanter ef the stern - pa runt will
'THE WORLD IS MINE."
I, and It makes a good deal of differ
ence between the ages of 0 and 10.
I handled that little brass
watch as If It had been sacred. But
about an hour after I had taken It out
of my stocking, 'Stan' got It away from
me."
"John !"
"Yes, he did! And when I cried, he
called me a baby. So I choked down
my tears, and didn't even tell anybody,
because he threatened to call me a
tattle-tale if I did."
"And didn't he ever give it back?"
"Yes later in the day. But by that
time he hail broken the stem winder,
and the rest of the works. I know
you have wondered why I never liked
Stanislaus Blank, but I have never
told any one before."
"But you didn't cheat him In busi
ness the way he said you did, hist
year?"
"No, dear. I never cheated any one.
I Just got him In a corner, that was
all. AjkI all the time he was wom'.ng
for fear he was going to lose his money,
I was thinking of that little brass
watch and the way he made me suffer
when h took It away from me. Maybe
it wnsn't a very manly spirit, but I
can't help It. It's human nature, and
a fellow Is awfully human when he's
onlv fi I" Detroit Tress.
!Ww Yrar'a Call.
The custom of visiting and sending
presents and cards on New Year's day
Is recorded almost as far hnck as his
tory goes. The practice of using vlslt-
on'y let his min' wander hnck tew the
time-when he made a dash fur the ol
chimney-piece himself. N. Y. Truth.
A MlniiiiilerMtandlnnr.
"I notice Jenks doesn't speak to you.
What's the matter?"
"I can't help it. I started to talk to
him about Christmas decorations the
other day and he thought I lefcfTed to
the black eyes he got in a broil with a
mutual friend recently." Judge.
'Tbi Kver Thaw.
Ted I've been trying to catch Dolly
under the mistletoe, but Miss Autumn
seems to be the only one I can find
there.
Ned It seems to be an instance of
the wrong girl in the right place.
Judge.
Chrlntma a( tha Huni-tUng llnn
It 'M
1 s
Mrs. Eaton House Well, you've got
the largest piece of the wlshlmne, Mr.
Sklnnle! Now, what do you wish for?
Orvllle Sklnnle A larger piece of
the meat, ma'am.