fit company
for any dish. The free masonry of cultivated men is agreeable, but
artificial, and I like better the natural grip with which manhood
recognizes manhood.

X. has one good story, and with that I leave him, wishing him with all
my heart that little inland farm at last which is his calenture as he
paces the windy deck. One evening, when the clouds looked wild and
whirling, I asked X. if it was coming on to blow. "No, I guess not,"
said he; "bumby the moon'll be up, and scoff away that 'ere loose
stuff." His intonation set the phrase "scoff away" in quotation-marks as
plain as print. So I put a query in each eye, and he went on. "Ther' was
a Dutch cappen onct, an' his mate come to him in the cabin, where he sot
takin' his schnapps, an' says, 'Cappen, it's agittin' thick, an' looks
kin' o' squally, hedn't we's good's shorten sail?' 'Gimmy my alminick,'
says the cappen. So he looks at it a spell, an' says he, 'The moon's due
in less'n half an hour, an' she'll scoff away ev'ythin' clare agin.' So
the mate he goes, an' bumby down he comes agin, an' says, 'Cappen, this
'ere's the allfiredest, powerfullest moon 't ever you _did_ see. She's
scoffed away the main-togallants'l, an' she's to work on the foretops'l
now. Guess you'd better look in the alminick agin, and fin' out when
_this_ moon sets.' So the cappen thought 'twas 'bout time to go on deck.
Dreadful slow them Dutch cappens be." And X. walked away, rumbling
inwardly, like the rote of the sea heard afar.

THE ROAD TO A WOMAN'S HEART

BY SAM SLICK

As we approached the inn at Amherst, the Clockmaker grew uneasy. "It's
pretty well on in the evening, I guess," said he, "and Marm Pugwash is
as onsartin in her temper as a mornin' in April; it's all sunshine or
all clouds with her, and if she's in one of her tantrums she'll stretch
out her neck and hiss like a goose with a flock of goslin's. I wonder
what on airth Pugwash was a-thinkin' on when he signed articles of
partnership with that are woman; she's not a bad-lookin' piece of
furniture, neither, and it's a proper pity sich a clever woman should
carry sich a stiff upper lip. She reminds me of our old minister Joshua
Hopewell's apple-trees.

"The old minister had an orchard of most particular good fruit, for he
was a great hand at buddin', graftin', and what not, and the orchard (it
was on the south side of the house) stretched right up to the road.
Well, there were some trees hung over the fence, I n