CHARLOTTE MESSENGER.
VOL. I. NO. 26.
Tiro Epitaphs.
f“ Memento mori.” ” Oedenke eu Leben”)
Think of Death!” the gravestones aay—
“ Peace to Life’B mad striving!”
Bat the churchyard daisies— *‘ Nay,
Think of living!”
Think of Life !” the sanheartis say,
< )’or the dial flying;
But the slanting shadows—“ Nay,
Think of D} ing !”
‘Think of Death!” the night birds say,
On the storm-bla.'t driving;
Sat the building swallows—“ Nay,
Think of Living!”
? Think of Life !” the broad winds say,
Through the old trees sighing;
Bat the whirling leaf dance—” Nay,
Think of Dying!”
Think of Denth I” the sad bells say,
Fateful record giving;
Tiash the rnervy Yufe-peal—” Nay,
Think of Living!”
Dying, Living, glad or loth*
On God’s Rood relying;
Fray He fit m all for both—
Living, Dying!
— Chart** W. Btv.bbs.
“MONCHEEB.”
ii < *
I still W-member distinctly, although
it was many years ago, the afternoon
when,, just as I was finishing my cjin
•) or. I heard Ted Perron® shotting to
me from the street.
I ran out and • found him j sitting \
lstride the fence, looking, ad if he !
would burst with excitement.
“ T say, .lean! half holiday this I
afternoon ! Big funeral over at Bo!las- ;
ville, and Mr. Liincox is off? of the
barren* 1 liuoray!” rTSMiIS
.lust Ashe spoKS Mr. LimMx, the
■teacher, drove by toward TlollosviUe in
Deacon Wright’s buggy.
Mother had been putting up elierrips
that morning, and had kept me from
school to solder the cans, *o that I was
late in hearing the good -news. But
the soldering had been finished, and I
was ready for the afternoon's fun. Ted
and I started off at once, and had not
gone far down the road before we ,
joined the other boys.
- Let’s go berryin’,” said Phil Burr.
“Ther’s somethin’down in Wright's I
swamps tiiat ketches our ohiekens,” j
said Tod. “Bet ye a dollar it’s a lynx. '
Let’s get some dogs and go' for him.” !
“Lynx!” said Ilarviy Douglas, i
” You dunce, mebbe it’s a Bengal j
tiger! I’m goirt* erabbin’.’’
The dust,y roan led to the inlet which
was bordered by brown swamps and
stretches of gray sand, and to-day was
dark blue and sparkling in the sun
light. Beyond lay the sea.
All the boys straggled down the road
after Harvey. We had been horn and
reared in the fishing village, and took
to the water as naturally as did the
crabs. In five minutes, armed with
crab nets, we were up to oor waists in
the water and chasing the brown “hard
shells" as they scurried overthe sandy
bottom.' ' ,
Tothis day I can feel the delight Os
that chase, the cool water plashing
shout my legs, the bright sunlight and
tiie free salt breeJe.
“ There’s Monclieer !” cried Harvey,
who was near me. . “ Bight alongside
of the shore, too. Let’s skeer the old
man.”
The oth»r iboys, smelling misohjef in
the air as they saw us consulting, chine
hurrying up, and we all went through
the nhdul Water together to the shore.
An old scow was lying there that had
!»■< n dragged up and left by so no clam
digger.
he* oki F rchSMMi, Mwissiw, ciw
the people of Cellar Haven galled him,
Moivhcer, was -ittiag in the 4cnw,
tmsy with some herbs which ha had
spread out to dry.
As we drew near he took off his
f eied old cap to us with a laugh and
nourish, lie was gentle and smiling,
evsi to the roughest tmys in the vii
l.ige. and seemed anxious to ooneiliate
and make friends. I ean reineinlsT
now that theft' was a sad. lonely look
in his eyes. as if he was dreaming of
Ii ippier days in bis far-off native land.
But at that time such Mio’iglits never
isiterisl my head.
Back of the sandy beach where he
w it sitting in the scow was his little
ci! in. A rojie,siretched ln-tween two
i-'-l iri growing near if,was hung with
clothes freshly dried. Between his
dyeing and hcrlegitlierlng the poor
o!,I Treiicbmnn managed to pick up a
sc.nit,y livi lilgiod.
" lie's the reglarest old I'.iward
iibve ’’’ said Ted. “ He’s as fpareil of
the water naif he had the liyderplioby.
My lather aay* ’taint lilts a Human
bein’ to be so skeert of water.”
CHARLOTTE, MECKLENBURG CO., N. C., DECEMBER 16, 1882.
By this time we had ranged our
selves about tiie scow. Moncheer
looked up confidingly from his herbs
and nodded to ns with a smile.
“Mais, niessiijiira," lie said, in his
gentle voice. “Que voulez-vous?”
■ Now it was heartless in us to think
of playing the friendly old man a cruel
Hick. He hail seen Ted making a kite
ope day, and had given him an old
piece of scarlet silk and showed him
hiiw to ooverthe frame with it. He had
1 fought me soine eougli syrup for ii
sore throat the winter before. And
when we were rigging a tiny schooner
he had volunteered to dye the sails for
us— a bright blue. Indeed, there was
not one of us to whom lie had not
done some little kindness.
j But the whole village had received
Moneheer, when he had come among
them a year before, under protest—not
because he was poor, for we were all
poor. But he was a foreigner and a
Catholic, and following the fashion of
njost of the world the people of Cedar
Haven looked with suspicion on him
because he differed with them in
language and religion.
But the women were the first to be
toon over by his gentle, kindly ways,
mhey were not used to such profound
Bows and such deference as they re
ceived from him.
The men soon began to tolerate him
as a quiet, harmless old body, and the
boys found him a shrewd, merry com
rade. They would have liked him
heartily but for his terror of the water.
They could Hot help despising him for
! that.
U- Years afterward I heard from Dr.
j D<-‘beett, the physiciun of the village,
! to wfiioin the old Frenchman had’told
| much of his'stoiy, that this physical
terror was due to a terrible experience
<)f his childhood, since which sudden
contact with water in motion had
always brought on a dangerous affec
tion of the heart.
Now,the boys had never seen Mdn
ehrrj hctuaUv ip the water.
•‘Let's heave him in,” whispered
Ted, “ an’ see what lie will do."
But though Moncheer was lean and
: old, lie looked wiry, and the hoys
were a little unwilling to grapple with
| Him. And so, as we were really afraid
l to touch tbe poor old man, we east
about for a safer method of accom
' plisliing our mean design.
“ Pull the scow down to the water,”
j suggested Harvey.
We were all leaning over it looking
j at Moncheer, who was sitting in the
I middle. From the place where the
boat lay the sandy beach sloped sud
denly away to the brakers. To start
the scow was but tiie work of a
1 moment. A pull, a push, a shout—
j and tbe rotten tub was rocking on
the surf.
j The, old Frenchman had started
wildly to his feet with ii ury, but the
j shove of tiie boat had thrown him
violently down. He rose to his knees
in the scow and stared out at the
heaving breakers about him. His
face was the color of lead, ilia teeth
chattered.
, “ Jles enfants r Boys! Ah-h, you
do not understand !” and with a shud
der be sank down. We thought lie
was dead. ,
“Now you’ve done it! You’ve
! killed him !” shouted Harvey, who was
always first to get into a scrape and
first to get out of it.
Two or three of the larger boys
| wailed into tiie water and dragged tiie
scow up again ou the beach. The old
i fnan was unciVnsinotip When we lifted
j him out and laid him on the sand,
j But he soon staggered to his feet and
| crept away to his cabin.
, I suspect tiiat his trouble arose
largely from mortification at the dis
ofesure of his weakness. Some of us
ran along by his side.
“ I’m real sorry,” whimpered Ted.
“Yes, Jet,” Ife murmured, quietly.
“ But let the Md mah alone now, inbn
; enfant." ,
He seemed to recover before long
! from the effects of his fright, except
that lie looked stfll thinner and paler
than before, and be seemed to shun
I tli? village people more than ever.
Among my boyish recollections I
find hut few remembrances of the poor
1 old foreigner for the two years that
followed.
l lie dyed the old clothes of the tVc.li
; ermen and parked his little bundles of
herbs for the city market. On sunny
! days His thin, bent figure trotted to
| and fro in the swamps or up throogli
tlio laurel thickets on the hills.
One day I, ventured to peep into Ills
cabin. There was a little white cot in
the corner, a fire with a pot of temp
1 simmering at the side, and a shelf of
i books with rare bindings.
' Old Dr. Debrett, wlio was ids only
visitor, was there, and they were en
gaged in a heated argument over one
of the books. Dr. Debrett could never
be induced to talk to any one of Mon
clieer. Hut tiie village was certain that
if there were any mystery about him
the physician had guessed it.
Cedar Haven treated tiie old man
with silent but universal contempt
after the day we had pushed into the
water. Ted Berrone’s father said lie
“hadn’t no use fur a man that was
sech a coward,” and he expressed the
feeling of the whole community.
One day late in August all tiie men
in tiie village had gone to the banks,
four miles distant, in their fishing
boats. During the afternoon Harvey
and Ted started off in an old skiff for
an island that lay about two miles out
to sea.
The I Joys had planteu some clams
there, and meant to bring home a
couple of bushels of them. It is proba
ble that they overloaded the boat. But
this, at any rate, is certain, that not
long after they hail left the island one
of the planks in the rotten bottom
gave way. the clams fell through, and
the boat filled with water.
The sun was sinking in a sold, gray
sky, and a chill wind was rising. I was
strolling along the beach and caught
sight of a dark object, rising and fail
ing into tiie sea Two figures were
clinging to it.
It was ton far for them to swim
ashore, and if they lost their hold of
the boat they were lost.
There was not a boat on the beach
with which to reach them. As I looked
hurriedly about I saw a man down in
the marsh, and ran toward him,
shouting:
“ It’s Ted and Harvey! They’re
drowning! Oh, it’s you!” for it was
only old Monclieer, and what could
that coward do?
But poor Moncheer came running
toward me. H i had evidently under
stood uiy cry and appeared much agi
tated.
He drew me to the beach, where
the old scow lay, anil motioned me to
help him in shoving it down to the
water.
His face was drawn and set, and his
voice was shrill, as if lie had lost con
trol of it.
“Is dere no men but me?”
“ No, Moncheer.”
He pushed the scow into the surf.
It seemed to me that he was trying to
look over the water and to. see only the
drowning boys.
lie got into the scow and so did I.
We had no oars—only two boards for
paddles; but I thought we could make
them answer.
There would have been no trouble
if the sea had been calm. But there
was a heavy under-swell and a cur
rent dead against us.
Moneheer did not speak. He put
all his strength into the paildle, but lie
shook from head to foot. I could see
plainly enougli that he was simply
sick with fright in body and soul.
However, we urged the old scow
along until she readied the outer
ridge of the breakers; there she
stopped. Built as she was it would
have taken two of the strongest men
in Cedar Haven to get her over tiiat
mighty breaker.
“We can’t do it, Moncheer,”
I said, after we had tried a
dozen times in vain. I was wet with
a cold sweat, and my bones all felt as
if they were broken. “It's no use ;
they’ve got to drown.”
The old man stood on the bow,
shading his eyes witli his hand anil
trying to catch sight of tiie boys. They
were not far distant now, but between
us and them was this solid advandng
wall of incoming breakers, green and
dark.
Even to me, who had always lived
by the water, it looked horrible then ;
it was a visible death.
1 remembered wondering what the
shivering old man, who was so afraid
of the calmest water, thought of this.
Whatever he thought, it quieted him.
When he turned to me he had ceased
to tremble.
“ 1 must go,” he said, taking up the
end of a rope which was coiled up in
tlio bottom of the boat and tying it
under Hia arms. “You shall draw us
in—ven I have reach zem.”
Before 1 could catch his meaning he
had thrown himself into the rushing
waves, and tiie coil of rope at my feet
was playing out with terrible speed.
He passed under the breaker, but
was brought bock and again hurled out
by the current
Harvey saw him and understood
what he was trying to do. Seizing the
moment when Moucheer was washed
nearest to him he threw himself to-
Ward him, caught the rope, and swam
back a stroke or two to bring it within
Ted's reach.
The next moment both boys were
grasping it, and I began to draw them
in. It -was an easy task, for the in
coming breaker dashed them toward
the scow. As soon as they were along
side the boys scrambled in and pulled
Moneheer in after them.
He rallied when we reached the
shore, and laughed once or twice gayly,
as the women, who had gathered on
the beach, crowded about him, crying
and piaying to God to bless him. But
when he tried to stand on his feet he
fell down helpless.
We carried him to his cabin and
sent for Dr. Debrett.
Moneheer beckoned to me as he lay
on the heil and asked for a penoil and
piece of paper, and then be scrawled
two or three words. It was a telegram
directed to some one in Washington,
anil written in French.
“It is the time to send it now !” he
muttered. “ Quick, my boy 1 quick !”
Dr. Debrett came in and he looked
up to him with a gentle smile on his
poor, thin, old face. I never saw him
ulive again. That night he died.
The next morning, by the early
train, two gentlemen arrived and
hurried to Moncheer’s little cabin. It
was said that they were men of rank
—members of the French legation.
“We have found him at last,” one
of them said to Dr. Debrett; “hut
only when it is too late.”
The story was whispered about in
Cedar Haven that Monclieer had given
up his little income in France and emi
grated, tiiat his grantlson might be
educated, marry and live in comfort.
It was Jor tiiis purpose that he tiail
h idden himself for years in Cedar Ha
ven. Ido not know, even now, how
true the story was. But it is certain
tiiat his body was sent back with great
ceremony to Bordeaux, ana that the
members of the French lega
tion, who superintended the arrange
ments, paid the most profound respect
to his memory.
I remember the quiet summer Sun
day when the village people went in a
funeral procession to tlio little cabin
to say good-bye to “ Old Monclieer.”
We boys came last, together. The
old man was dressed in a faded uni
form which had been stored away for
many years in his trunk, llis white
iiair was pushed back from his gentle
face.
One of the strangers had fastened on
Moncheer’s breast a little symbol at
tached to a Hit of red ribbon. Dr.
Debrett, standing beside the coffin with
uncovered head, pointed it out to us.
“ He hail the soul of a hero always
in his weak body,” he said. “ That
was given to him when he was scarcely
more than a boy for signal bravery on
the field of Marengo. It is the Cross
of the Legion of Honor.”— Youth's
Companion.
,* J—'MP ' 1-1*
Thnrlow Weed's Span of Life.
The lateThurlow Weed’s life almost
spans the history of the country under
its present Constitution, says a New
York paper. He was born before
Washington died, and when Webster,
Clay and Calhoun were making theii
reputations lie had edited several coun
try newspapers and fought in the bat
tles of liis country. lie was older
than Seward or Lincoln or Greeley,
and when Clay, Webster and Calhoun
were dead he hail not entered u|x>n the
most important part of his career. He
was alive when Napoleon’s star ap
peared in the darkness of the French
revolution, and was already a young
man when the battle of Waterloo was
fought. He lived imd worked with
three generations of public men. Most
of the men who are now beginning to
attract attention might have been his
grandsons. Benjamin Franklin died
seven years before Mr. Weed was Imm
The lives of these two journalists take
tin l world back into the reign of Louis
XIV.. and beyond the birth of Fr<id
erick the Great. Another such would
very nearly reach the time of Sliakiw
peare. .
Texas leads the Union in ecopa this
year. According to the United States
crop reports, Texas scores nothing lie
low ninety, and runs from that, the
lowest, to 106, tiie highest. Other
States get down to forty’s and fifty’s,
and sometime* crawl above 100 in one
article alone. But there is not one in
the whole lest of thirty-eight States
which has the general average given
to Texas crops.
The Harvard fauidty have forbidden
any student after this year to row in
any crew unless shin to swim.
V. C. SHTH. Pabfcber.
The Bank or England.
The following is an interesting ac
count of the manner in which the
greatest financial institution in tho
world is conducted: Tbe constitution
and government of the Bank of Eng
land are not fully understood, even by
many otherwise well-informed resi
dents in the city of Loudon itself. It
differs from most corporations in the
, fact that it has no "permanent gover
nor nor chairman, and furthermore
t that the remuneration paid to the di-
I rectors for their services is individ
ually smalL The governing body con
sists of twenty-six directors, that is to
say, one governor, one deputy-go* er
i nor and twenty-four directors. This
i body does not change except by death
or resignation, etc., but the governor
and his deputy, who act as chairman
[ and deputy-chairman of the hoard or
court of directors, change every two
! years, the deputy becoming gov
| eraor and all the direct
' ors being deputy and governor in ro
tation. The salary of the governor,
as well as that of the deputy governor,
is now £1,600 per annum, while that
of the other twenty-four directors is
£SOO each. According to Francis,
whose history of the Bank of England
is practically out of print, the man
agement of the bank is vested in the
whole court of directors, which meets
weekly, when a statement is read Os
the position of the bank as regards its
j securities, bullion and liabilities. The
! directors have equal power, and should
a majority disapprove of the arrange
ments they may reconstruct them.
Eight directors go out and eight come
in annually, elected by the court of
proprietors. The list of candidate
recommended by the uourt of
directors is transmitted to the
proprietors. and the eight so
recommended uniformly coma
in. When any person is pro
posed as a new director, inquiry is al
ways instituted concerning his private
character. Those who survive this
fiery ordeal, ana are approved of by
the court of directors, never fail to bo
elected. The qualifications for a di
rector are the possession of bank stock
to the amount of £2,000; for the dep
uty-governor, £3,000, and for the gov
ernor, £4,000. The directors are re
sponsible fer the management of tbe
affairs of the bank, and penalties are
| attached to their office individually
and collectively on certain occasions
| By their charter, however, they are
| not answerable to the government sot
j the management of the monetary de-
I partment, and the security which tho
public has for a good administratioa
of affairs depends upon the discretion
of the directors, subject to the charter.
A Pretty Experiment.
The following experiment in the
of physics without apparatus is given
by a correspondent - f 1.0 Xr.turr. A
clay pipe is laid over the top us a largo
wine glass, and a person is required to
bring it down to the table, without
touching either pipe or glass, without
agitating the air or moving the table.
The solution of the problem consists
in taking up another like glass, rub
bing it vigorously on your sleeve, then
bringing it near the pipe stem, which in
thereupon strongly attracted, so that
the pipe falls. This experiment Is a
i pretty variation of the •-teethe pendu
| lum. and shows that pipe clay, a very
j bad conductor of electricity, yield*
j readily to the attraction of an electn
i (led body.
Music Hath Charms.
He who has rot heard the merry
matin -ong of the tuneful mill-', knows
nothing of the power and jMtency of
music in her wildest, freiwt mood.
■ When in solo or concerted opera, the
I four-footed choir is head ,ad ears
i above all human porwihilitim. The
I music begins with an andante sum*,
j rnent. soft and sweet as the ungreased
! wheelbarrow's pluntiv - - >i.~; th.-u
! comes the staccato fnrh—-e the luagm
fortissimo, splityourearso. follow -»l l»y
the tremulous y---haw. which is the
crown and summit, the >food-capped
mountain top,of, rstai-y and joy Talk
not of music, fellow-citizens, Uil you
hive heard the song of th ■ air!-.
ll'nLrO Ts ill r-j*!
The fastest time ia 'vh-.-h i mil*
has been run in Ui- i Intel. States in
1:33], made by Ten Uruefk. ;i* e years
old. ill a rue against tint- o T.ouVs
ville. Ky.. May 24. 1577 T»n Broeek
earned 110 poumts. i»l tips ha I thw
fastiwt hail-uole petthmuaner to lev
endit, she making the di-fan- it
Saratoga, July 2A. ldT4. tn 47* *-,»
ouds. She was two Tears oM and rai
led ninety--”;* en pounds.