OVER THE STREAM. 
BT GEORGE WIl.IiOlTOIIHY. 
Over the stream! It was May-time then. 
In the smile of the summer’s morn. 
And the boughs, half robed, rejoiced again 
With the flower buds Just horn ! 
Ye were dreaming hours, ye gladsome days, 
And the carols of birds In the gleam 
Chimed with ours as we wandered there 
Over the rippling stream 1 
’Twas a darlln;- brook—a thread of light 
That kissed the valley’s face! 
Ho"' the bubbles chased, in tireless flight. 
Each other from place to place! 
The violet banks, the bough-trimmed shore, 
Where shadows come and go— 
We crossed It there on the mo^sy stones, 
We two, in the long ago. 
Yes, over the stream by the hud-lined walk, 
Bound, bound In the strange, old socll, 
Midst the wreaths wo twined and the spirit talk 
In that nook of the tell-tale dell 1 
Oh ! our hearts, wo said, were Btreamsthut day, 
As they touched In thought and theme, 
But how non apart 1 mid thu vows we sealed 
li'ur “ fm ever ” -over the stream ! 
Foreverl there is no endless time— 
only the now nd the past; 
And vows arc nly the sweet, sweet rhyme 
Uf soidiets o tender to last— 
8 ongs whose ..oles are the deep refrain 
Of the sung of an empty dream, 
That til rill hut to leave ua In gloom ugaln 
Like min , since over the stream. 
Over the Stream t Ay long since gone— 
The stream of “ .Vo Ret uni ” 
With her to>ld, false heart that would ohill thedawn. 
Of the day for which 1 yearn, 
So dark It seems. Should I meet her, f rr. 
As wo met In our earthly dream, 
1 wonder If flowers wo’tl gather thero 
Over that other stream ? 
Over the Stream ! how many rills 
if outh, and Juys or fours 
My feet Iiiitc urossed. as nature fills 
Tne days of ui> numbered years I 
Years wliuse sands are almost nut— 
At longest .k transl nt gleam ! 
And 1 wait the hurst <<f thu setting sun 
To light me ever the ttream. 
Scutch III Ige, 0. y October, 1870. 
<v i 
Stones for Runt lists. 
IN THE WHIRLWIND. 
BY E. BUHAnT. 
“ Mother, I may as well have it out, T 
am tired of this 1 1 have been lieinnied in 
all of my life ami denied and denied. Even 
ns a child, when 1 uslted all the doughnuts 
1 wanted, it. was, ‘No, no, they will make 
you sick.’ So it always is from doughnuts 
up to a piano. 1 never have just what I 
want—am getting desperate. Look out for 
me, mother I” 
Roxie had thrown the half-finished gar¬ 
ment across a chair back, and was rustling 
with the impetus of an express train up ami 
down the room, ller head was erect, her 
eyes flashing, tier lips trembling. A live 
face — capable of genuine laughter or 
weeping. 
The mother put a hand across her eyes, 
and away down in what we call heart, 
ejaculated, “ Lord, Thou hast the key to this 
wild nature; teach her for me I" Then she 
looked out on the tields with a troubled 
face, and presently turned to Rome. 
“ Wind would you like, child ? Tell me 
all about it.” 
“ Why, 1 would like, for once, to drink 
the cup of pleasure to its very dregs, and 
not, a voice to say ' Nay ’—not even con¬ 
science." 
“ What, do you call the cup of pleasure?” 
“ Shall I he absurd and tell you the truth ?” 
“ Yes.” 
“ Well! I would like money and constant 
change, and that gayetv that is full of light, 
and fragrance, and music, and fun, and 
fashion, ami elegance, and—in a word—the 
best lairy land this world affords.” 
“ My child, the only fairy land it affords 
is simple pleasures—possible only to the pure 
and unselfish in heart.” 
“That is such a trite story, mother; and 
one likes to test these truisms one's self. 
Wouldn’t /, if 1 had the chance?” 
“ Would you give tip Charlie for these?” 
Roxie paused before the window, and her 
face grew quiet and sad. She looked 
dreamily away to the distant, mountains, 
which, draped in haze, seemed a type of her 
fairy world. 
“ Yes, 1 think so, I respect Charlie, cer¬ 
tainly ; hut he is rather prosy, like the work- 
a-day world. Then when I get into one of 
mv obstreperous moods, his great sad eyes 
follow me around like an accusing spirit. I 
couldn’t endure that a life time— no, no.” 
She sal down, and began to hem furiously, 
as a vent for her surcharged imagination. 
“ Well, mother, speak ! just give me a scold¬ 
ing, or else condole with me; why don’t 
you?” site half laughed. 
The mother made no reply. She was 
striving to solve a problem. She knew the 
large capabilities of this nature. Yet. how 
ignorant it was of itself, how impatient of 
control, how inwrought with enthusiasm. 
The problem was.—Should she carefully 
shield her from contact with the world, or 
put her in the midst of it. to learn her mis¬ 
take? She decided to give her that “fairy 
world.” And while she arose, and spread 
the cloth upon the tea table, and arranged 
the dishes, and put the tea “ to draw,” she 
thought she would send her to the city for 
the winter, to visit friends. She would have 
her own wedding silks made over for her, 
and then sell all the turkeys, and the brin¬ 
dled yearling, and two jars of butter, which 
would make a beginning, at least, to her 
career. She lovingly thought out all these 
ridiculous details of the plan. 
Evening shadows were gathering about, 
the corners of the room before Roxie put 
her work away. She then went out to 
the gate to see the sunset; hut her eyes 
roved curiously down the road. Presently a 
young man Appeared around the corner. 
When he saw the figure at the gate his face 
was suddenly illumined. Perhaps the sun¬ 
light. struck it. lie came up laughingly ex¬ 
claiming: 
“ How goes your world, Madame Roxie ?” 
“ It doesn’t go ! It stands still; so i have 
been on the rampage.” 
“Oh, no! Is that it? Tell me some 
pleasanter news.” The face went a little in 
shadow again. 
“ They tell me there is no gold at the end 
of the how ; and I don’t believe it. Do you ?” 
“ Yes, I believe it.” 
“ I mean to see for myself.” 
“ What! Go all alone to seek it?” 
“ Oh, yes I” petulantly. “What’s the use 
of faithless ones along?” 
“The sun may go down—” 
“ Then I can seek by starlight.” 
“The wolves may follow you.” 
“ Don’t croak, Charlie 1” 
“ Don't go, Roxie I” 
The plain, true face went all in shadow, 
and the brown hands twisted the fringe of 
her shawl, just as they would like to have 
twisted her destiny; hut she drew it from 
him and braided it fancifully, as bIiu would 
braid the strands of her life. She opened 
the gate, and they walked silently up to the 
house together. 
Charlie said to himself:—“She does not, 
care lor me. I do not meet her require¬ 
ments, that is plain. She wishes me to he 
what I never will be —no, not even for her. 
Loyalty to my principles, first, of all things! 
The cli'ld little knows what crooked courses 
men often take to gratify their own folly 
or the whims and luxurious tastes of the 
women they love. So I must let her go, 
though she is dear to me us my own right 
eye.” 
He did not tell her this. Perhaps it was 
as well, for people will choose their own 
schoolmasters, lie was a great favorite 
with the mother; so he went into the sit¬ 
ting room and sat down beside her, as she 
quietly darned her stockings; and they talk¬ 
ed of their mutual interests, the crops of 
the season, the new breed of chickens, the 
news in general, anil particular. Perverse 
Roxie sewed, and listened only now and 
then, interposing some ludicrous suggestion. 
She had dubbed Charlie “ Mother’s sweet¬ 
heart,” Surely, ibis mother was a “sweet¬ 
heart” whom lie admired greatly. He liked 
her spirit, which did not scorn petty sacri¬ 
fices and petty services, and thoughtfulness 
for others, knowing these all go to make up 
the sum of a household's happiness. Yet, 
with that curious perversity of human na¬ 
ture, he loved a woman of quite a different 
stamp. 
He hade her “ good night” in a most in¬ 
different. manner. This disturbed Miss 
Roxie slightly ; but she did not reason over 
it, for that would involve an anahsis of self 
—a process she did not practice; she did 
not choose to he her own inquisitor. Her 
lot in life she deemed a sufficient inquisition, 
tflte had grown up a child of strong likes 
and dislikes, of generous impulses, yet. with 
a selfishly pleasure-loving nature. She was 
not indolent, hut she desired immunity from 
restraint and work ; yet she would play with 
all the intensity of hard labor She had her 
duties, which she was compelled to perform, 
and then she acted her pleasure, which was 
to gallop over the farm on the. horse's hare- 
hack, to seek out birds’ nests, to gather nuts 
and berries, to climb the highest, trees, and 
let the wind play with tier floating hair, 
while she strained her eyes to behold what 
was beyond their vision. 
All at once she stepped out of childhood, 
and childish pursuits. She craved some¬ 
thing else, and knowing not what it was to 
satisfy the want, applied herself to romance 
reading. She soon arose from Ibis slough 
of sentimentalism, more nauseated than sat¬ 
isfied. She next applied herself to hard 
work. She washed, and ironed, and churned, 
aud baked, and swept, and sewed, without 
intermission. Her good mother was rejoiced 
at this sensible turn of the erratic nature. 
At length she found it made tier irritable, 
and she felt it was not (his she required. She 
wanted a romance of her own ; and so fell 
into a way of dreaming: but, being an ener¬ 
getic nat ure, she soon desired to realize those 
dreams. 
They lived in a retired place, far from re¬ 
latives, with only a few friends living about 
them. Charlie was their most frequent 
visitor. He did not till her dreams, how¬ 
ever. His life was too tame and uneventful 
to her; and she thought he lacked ambition. 
His father aud brother and sisters died in 
quick succession. At every death his nature 
was severely wreuebed, but he only grew 
more grave and earnest, and stoutly shoul¬ 
dered Ins added responsibilities, laboring 
the more zealously to improve the old home 
and to surround ‘.he few left him with every 
comfort. He, too, was longing for some¬ 
thing he did not possess, but he did not pro¬ 
pose to go out of the line of manifest dut 3 r to 
gain it. 
While Roxie sat in her little room that 
night, her mother came and revealed the 
plan she had made for her pleasure. It put 
the girl in a whirl of delight. They discussed 
the project in all its details, and, when bIic 
was at last, left alone, and she lay her wildly 
throbbing head upon the pillow, she lightly 
reviewed her life, thankfully thought, of her 
mother, and drew rare pictures of t he future, 
— until the November wind rustling the 
dead leaves without, lulled her to .dumber. 
Roxie’s winter would make a story of 
itself. Indeed, some single days would, or 
single hours. Life runs so rapidly in cities. 
Country stones gather n^oss, hut city stones 
gain the polish. Country people long for 
friction ; city people long for repose. So it 
goes. It is well all people are not content, 
else the world would stagnate. Let. repose 
and action alternate. Let the world he 
quickened and quieted. Let conservative 
and radical clash and shape each other. 
Perhaps the happy mean will come some 
time. Perhaps extremes will interfuse. 
Would this he well ? 
Roxie was in a perfectly new atmosphere. 
These people with whom she dwelt were 
gay, amiable, polite. Their sole philosophy 
of existence was “ to have a good time.” j 
There was not a trace of that sturdy effort 
for existence which her people were com¬ 
pelled to exercise. These did not pause 
over a dollar, und ask for which of the many 
needful things should it he spent. Abundant 
cash Came somehow, and went lightly—with¬ 
out thought, and anxious questioning. They 
took the most genuine interest in passing life, 
taking “ no thought for the morrow,” which 
was not so great, a virtue as might appear; 
for to-day was so crowded there was precious 
little room for yesterday or to-morrow. 
Roxie enjoyed the diversity and richness of 
character in this family; tint., she also missed 
something in them— what she wus hardly 
analytical enough to discover. 
They had visited her home in summer; 
and, unlike some guests you and I have 
known, they desired to make a full return; 
therefore she received a sincere welcome. 
She found it odd to fall into the ways of 
the family. To lie in bed mornings staring 
up at the mouldings on the ceiling, weaving 
all sorts of imaginations, and all the house¬ 
hold slumbering—while at. her home “the 
early birds ” were trying with all their might 
to “ catch the worm.” After breakfast to 
plan, and write notes, and drive, and study 
fashions, and sew, and gossip of the last 
night’s party. To lunch, to dress, to prink, 
to “ try effects” in toilette, to go out and 
remain late and return home brilliant, and 
excited with novelty and compliments, yet 
ho weary, and sit down in the quiet of her 
own chamber, to scratch a few lines begin¬ 
ning “ My dear mother.” 
Roxie was original, independent, truly re¬ 
fined, yet frank almost to bmsqueness. This 
frankness was objectionable; she should dis¬ 
semble more. She only wanted “ manner,” 
and “grace,” to make her “an angel,” Sue 
told her. She possessed these in perfection. 
She donned them when she went, out, and 
was superb; and, the moment she entered 
home, without guests, she slipped out of 
them as she did from her best silks, and was 
delightful. Then she was absurd, and 
changeful,and ridiculous,and romping; and 
her mother dutifully protested, while laugh¬ 
ing out of the corners of her eyes And com¬ 
pressed mouth. 
Roxie is under tuition, but she has so 
much to unlearn! 
Sue says, “ Come, girls, Roxte is in a de¬ 
plorable state of ignorance. It will never do. 
Let’s have a school for her. Here, Nell, go 
to the piano and play. I am Mr. ‘Tukvky- 
drop,' at your service!" She spreads out 
her skirts with a sweeping bow, then lifts her 
dress, and places her dainty feet. “Now, Miss 
Roxi e. do precisely as I do. I dace your feet 
so, and thus, and so forth. Try it again. 
There, you will do. Now the waltz; now 
the Sehottisehe. Next, my dears, we will 
have one grand * German.’ IIere ? t here, turn, 
now (play slower, Nell) this way, so. Isn’t 
that, charming, my dear? Only you must 
imagine 1 am a gentleman, you know.” 
They are fairly screaming with laughter, 
when the door hell rings, and there is an in¬ 
stant ami general stampede. 
In the evening there is a small card party 
—only three gentlemen and three ladies are 
introduced, “ which will make just two ta¬ 
bles, with you and me, Roxie." 
“ But I do not play.” 
“Not play!” interposed a negligent, ele¬ 
gant fellow, who lounged beside her. “ Be 
my partner, I know you can help me, not¬ 
withstanding.” 
And she sat down and soon caught the 
ways of the game, which were simple And old Train, as the vapor so gratefully curled 
enough. They won the first, and every sue- Round hi * n ” 8e ' was the happle8t man ln the world - 
ceeding game, until the table was in quite Then they talked of the weather, the news and the 
an excitement, and the others came over to .. cr0pa '7 ... 
o.-u T , Of the relative profits of barley and hops, 
inspect, bull ’ luck was with Roxie and (Sacking slow at the compound, and licking their 
her partner. One of the opponents lost his chops;)— 
tempei and las politeness, and said they For thelr 8Wrtmp8 ftm , cnr iching their 
were cheating. It grew more exciting every ground, 
moment. And the policy—then very much on the gain— 
Of expending In fodder the most of their grain, 
“ There ! I stake my amethyst on Miss And restoring the crop. In that, way, to the plain. 
Roxte,” exclaimed one of the spectators V*rm Jeiymy Train-An lUu»t rated Poem, bv Dr. Uol- 
. ’ 1 ’ laud, tn Scribner * Monthly. 
drawing a valuable ring from bis finger. _ +++ _ 
Roxie was startled. She arose from the GOOD-NATURED PARAGRAPHS, 
table, and no one could induce her to resume _ 
the game. After this she received all the at- How Mike Cored Hi« Pig. 
leu linn any reasonable young lady could re- Mike Fagan has a liuie patch of ground 
quire. She looked well. She had not much behind his house, where he supports a few 
beauty, hut she possessed something more, ducks and chickens; and the freshest eggs 
Her imperative, yet winning nature, some- \ n tlie neighborhood can always be found 
Imw fascinated and controlled others; but on his premises; for he never allows him- 
ahe did not value her power as yet. self to be possessed of more than a single 
Presently hot whisky punch and cakes dozen at a time, 
were passed. She took the glass from her In addition to his stock of poultry, Mike 
elegant partner, hesitated a moment, and purchased this summer a young pig, which, 
asked herself why she should turn censor; after four months’petting and nursing, lie 
then smiling, put the glass to her lips, and prided himself upon exhibiting to his friends 
sat it down. Her friend sipped his enjoy a- and acquaintances as the “ svvaitest erathur 
bly, until only the circles ol lemon remained hi the world.” But Mike's pig took sick 
in the glass. Then all grew wondrous merry last week, and from his coughing and sneez- 
for a lime and then they went away. | ing symptoms, it was certainly evident, that 
he had contracted a bud eoid. 
va x a I V Close by the residence of 
I \ \ \ iilV ^ tl,ls Hibernian there dwells 
% Ijfi \\ V ' 'll the village physician—a kind 
I % ^VvVyT I'V /-#v' lV d® hearted man ami very skillful 
A ML- ,7/i' v / Iff tW | —Whose practice is none of 
■ Jji&'/TM ‘K 4smjtl WM tlie largest As he ... (ran, 
If. la I his house, a few mornings 
si " cc ' M ! k0 ' ,i9 
V ih/f ' i ruminating upon the chances 
' n favor of his favorite young 
^ i i|gf\ 1 1 porker; and, observing the 
doctor, hailed him : “ The top 
I o’ ll “‘ iwmiin’ to ye, doethur!” 
jl J j Wmjajl I iJfllt ly “ Ah ! Mike, how are you ?” 
' — : f Id “ It’s very well T am meself, 
I *3 /fill i 7 jq iln doethur; hut. perhaps ve’li he 
H ^^ T XT:' 1 ' 
and what's the matter with 
how THEY BARGAINED. “ Sure lie’s very had indade, 
a, „ 80 l 1(i A cowld, doethur. 
She also learned “style” of Sue. Said Snazin’ and barkin’ the head off him a’most, 
ub, “ You must not be so nice. Fashions nu d I’d like to know what I’ll be doin’ with 
lumge every day; so, to keep pace, you him y” 
met learn to throw things together, and get •* Well, really, Mike, I can’t say. I’m not 
good effect. Have quantities of bust, and a pig doctor at any rate!” 
uslle, and train, and trimming. You must i L > s me8 elf as could say that, sure. But 
et perfect grace in the ‘ bang’ of your gar- s’posiu’ it were a baby instead — tlie sweet 
lents—no one looks at stitches now. Above erathur—wot wud I be doin’wuth him for 
II, put everything on with taste, tact, hide- the cold lie li.is?” 
emlence and stunning careful negligence. •• Well,” continued the doctor, considerate- 
his is High Art. It will tell." . ly, “if it were a child, Mike, perhaps I 
is not Sues high ari creeping into should recommend a mustard plaster for his 
imethlng beside lady's dress these days? back, and that his feet be placed in hot 
Roxie was an apt pupil. She put on this water.” 
style.” She also had occasion to practice *• it j 9 much obleeged to you, doethur, I 
l itKVKYDROP s lessons in deportment am,” responded Mike,as Uicphysician passed 
nd dancing; lor she appeared Constantly along; and he entered liis domicile. 
. society. She was learning her power. “Biddy!” he added, addressing his good 
he wielded the scepter of her personal woman, “ we’ll cure the pig, so we will.” 
I.arins, and ruled wherever she went, taking A ml in a little while the struggling porker 
ceitain satisfaction in it. She, who lnul was enveloped in a strong mustard poultice, 
ever been vain, fed on flattery, and then f rom | lis t . !ira to bis tail! Notwithstanding 
locked it,. She had indeed found her ],is struggles, and his sqeuling and torture 
laity world. It glittered like gold and from the action of the unyielding plaster, a 
Lscinated her. She had not asked for a p,;, of almost boiling water was prepared, 
insolence, nor did she gain one; she rather }tn( | j nt0 j t . po0 r piggy was soused above the 
as losing the little she did possess. She knees. The result may he easily conceived, 
new all this delightful whirl of excitement Next morning, bright and early, Mike 
:mld not last forever with her. So she stood at his gate once more, awaiting the 
lentnlly said she would take a practical cnmillg of the doctor, who soon made his 
nurse, and secure it for herself if possible; appearance, ns usual. 
Ise would she not have to go back to the “Good morning, Mike; how’s the pig?” 
Id dull life at home ? Fortune favored her he gorrah, doethur! It wuis mighty 
i her scheme.—[To he continued. 0,u:lvil ° n - ve *° be traitlu ’ a neighbor that 
L way, so it was. 
“ Why, what has happened, Mike?” 
021, pQ “Happened—is it! I put the powltis on 
Mlltf fin'll 41 miltfTT tb<! Ph£> 80 I — an > l ,e squalled bloody 
W,V* number, to be sure; an’ the wull came off 
H* 9 his hack 1” 
- " ' ' - “ What !” 
HOW THEY BAEQAINED. “ An ’ thin I put the await baist’s feet into 
- tlie hot wather, as ye bid me do, an’ be 
They are out In tlie rain: tbey are breasting the jailers, in Jive minits the hoofs drapped off o' 
winJ i him entirely , too, so they did!’’ 
J 1 1 i I n tlui fu eniGV iin/1 thu hnhln/f 1 * 
L / a r\ 
m 
S : - ■ ; 
H 
m 
HOW THEY BARGAINED. 
She also learned “style” of Sue. Said 
Sub, “You must not la: so nice. Fashions 
change every day; so, to keep pace, you 
must learn to throw things together, and get 
a good effect. Have quantities of bust., and 
huslle, and train, and trimming. You must 
get perfect grace in the 1 hang’ of your gar¬ 
ments—no one looks at stitches now. Above 
all, put everything on with taste, tact, inde¬ 
pendence, and stunning careful negligence. 
This is “ High Art.’ It will tell.". 
Is not Sue's “high art” creeping into 
something beside lady’s dress these days? 
Roxie was an apt pupil. She put on Ibis 
“ style.” She also had occasion to practice 
“ Turvkvdrop’s” lessons in deportment 
and dancing; for she appeared constantly 
in society. She was learning her power. 
She wielded the scepter of her personal 
charms, and ruled wherever she went, taking 
a certain satisfaction in it. She, who had 
never been vain, fed on flattery, and then 
mocked it.. She had indeed found her 
“ fairy world.” It glittered like gold and 
fascinated her. She had not asked for a 
conscience, nor did she gain one ; she rather 
was losing tlie little she did possess, She 
knew all this delightful whirl of excitement 
could not last forever with her. So she 
mentally said she would take a practical 
course, and secure it for herself if possible; 
else would she not have to go back to the 
old dull life at home ? Fortune favored her 
in her scheme.—[To he continued. 
nxtb lutmar. 
HOW THEY BARGAINED. 
While the funner before nnrt the drover behind 
Make their way to the stable, and into the stall. 
Where the heifer uwaits them, as comely and tall, 
Aud us keen in the eye und as clean In the shank, 
And as broad In the back and as fat in the Hank— 
So old Jeremy sees—us a heifer can be. 
“ And. now, what will you take for the creature?” 
Bald he. 
But our farmer Mackay hadn't made uphls mind ; 
And, to tell Just the truth, he wus rather inclined 
To reserve her till spring, as the market for beef 
Was improving a little, and she was his chief— 
Nay, his only—reliance, so far as lie knew. 
For the taxes and Interest then to be due 
Ou the farm that he hold. He would see ; he would 
think: 
fn t he meantime, he thoutfhfthut a little more drink 
Would perhaps Rive his slow calculation a jog. 
Fur In cmoothlngatradethere was nothing like grog; 
And he wished to accommodate Train if he might, 
After coining so far, on bo stormy a night. 
So they took a good look nt the heifer once more, 
And went out of the barn and refastened the door. 
And returned le the ilreside, where Maggie, (kind 
soul,) 
Was prepared with a flip-iron red as a coal, 
And the mugs and the beer and a newly filled flask 
To refresh the cold night-farers after their task. 
Then they doffed their wet wrappings, and toasted 
their feet. 
And they sipped at their mugs till their bliss was 
complete; 
How the Coat Fitted, 
A singular illuslnilion of the clanger of 
impersonal personalities, was lately afforded 
in Pottsville, Pa., when the Miners’ Journal 
inadvertently stated that there was a man in 
the place who had been drunk for thirty-five 
years. The editor was thereupon called to 
account by at least twenty different persons, 
who insisted that the item was a personal at¬ 
tack upon them. The man he really referred 
to, the editor says, “ is sharp enough to keep 
his mouth shut about it, but keeps ou drink- 
iug just as if not a word had been said.” 
Par at a Shipwreck. 
A party of young men were telling what 
they would do if they were shipwrecked far 
out upon the seu, und left buffeting with tlie 
waves wilhout a plank to sustain them. 
Each one gave his opinion (excepting Paddy 
Murphy, who, after being asked for his, re¬ 
plied :—“ Bail cess to ye for a cowardly set 
of spalpeens; ye'd nil he after savin’your¬ 
selves, an’ not tbrying’ to save aimther. 
Why, it’s Paddy Murphy that would swim 
to shore an’ save himself, an’ thin come buck 
and tkry to save onutiier.” 
