fishermen's biemoriai^ and eecokd book. 121 



ardent Catholics, and very fond of pictures representing their patron 

 saints. There is quite a settlement of them in Gloucester, and, taken 

 as a class, they are industrious and law-abiding citizens. Many of 

 them own houses and are well-to-do in the world. 



Then there is quite a sprinkling of Irish, Swedes, Norwegians, and 

 Danes ; in fact, every nation on the face of the earth is represented 

 among the fishermen. Among them are men of education, who by 

 their gentlemanly bearing betray their good-breeding, and by the class 

 of reading matter they select, are at once known as men of culture. 

 "How did they become fishermen?" asks the reader. There is but 

 one , reply. Something went wrong with them at home ; as, for 

 instance, the case of an Englishman, who followed the business for 

 twenty years in succession, as steward, — and a good steward he 

 was. His father was wealthj^, had a good position, and this son 

 George had a brilliant future in prospective. He loved a girl moving 

 in his own station in life, and they were betrothed. He staked all 

 on her whom he so fondly loved. She trifled with him, oftentimes 

 cutting him direct, and finally encouraged another suitor, a man of 

 the world, who seduced her. The rest is soon told. George lost all 

 faith in humanity — the world looked dark to him. He left England 

 as a common sailor, came to Boston, and from thence drifted down to 

 Gloucester, where he followed fishing. He never returned home. 

 One winter evening, as he sat with us in our sanctum, he told us the 

 story of his life, and as he related it the tears rolled down his 

 cheeks, at the contrast from what he was, and what he might have 

 been, perhaps, with a family around him, if the girl of his heart 

 had only proved true and returned the love which he had so freely 

 bestowed. 



He has a snug competence, and the evening of his life is passed in 

 quiet contentment. No more he follows fishing, or ventures on 

 Georges in midwinter ; but amid the quiet of a family boarding- 

 house, he is awaiting the summons which shall call him to that home 

 be3^ond, where there is no more sorrow. 



Another we call to mind, a Swede ; a man of commanding pres- 

 ence, bold as a lion, a good navigator, and, if he had let rum alone, 

 would have made his mark in the world. But, alas ! he was a slave 

 to appetite, and the noble attributes which God had given him were 

 prostituted. None knew this any better than he, and yet he would 

 drink, and oue night his body was found in the harbor. Many a tear 

 was dropped as his remains were prepared for burial, and then we 

 knew that the bottle had obtained one more victory — had secured 

 one more victim. 



