Columbia Democrat and Bloomsburg general advertiser. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1850-1866, 1861-04-13


wavy and auctuating Bowster became in
his personal appearance. One moment
Bowster would recede from me and from
his own mahogany at so rapid arate, that
when looked at him saw him glaring
dimly at me from the furtherst end of
lane Of decanters and black bottles, half
a mile long at the least. This was rather
bewildering; but this was nothing to Bow
ster, when, instead Of receding, he advan-
ced upon me with frightful degree Of
velocity, like jolly red railway engine,
bearing down upon me at the rate of sixty
miles an hour. And then the West In.
dian pupils. If they would have been
the same number for two consecutive min.
utes, would have forgiven them but
they wouldn't. One minute, there they
were, serene and smiling, rather pale, but
very happy, and only their normal num-
ber, two; the next time looked at them
there were four of them at the least; and
three minutes afterwards, these dreadful
boys swelled, dilated, and multiplied in
such manner that l found myself face
to face with closely packed regiment of
yellow.faced and frizzy-haired natives of
the Island of Demerara, formed in square.
IL think we went into the drawing room:;
and l know that. in crossing the hall some
body, whose name forget, fell into scut.
tie of GOALS; and, strange to say, my shins
were sore all the evening and then the
Admiral's niece sang US a song, such a
sweet, pretty song, about love and truth
and fidelity, which the young lieutenant
said was the sweetest that was ever written;
but as she sang it, it all of a sudden
changed into the Bay of Biscay,' and
there was the dear old Admiral leading
the chorus, and We singing at the top of
treble voices, how she lay, all the day, in
the bay-ee CHATS how we sang it, the
bay-ee) o of Biscay, oh = Oh ! dear, hap.
py, ,never-to-be-forgotten Christmas! How
many changes and chances have experi-
enced since that departed time How
many sad December, how many bitter
grief, to take the brightness out of the
glistening holly, and the sweetness out of
the rich plum-pudding; to make turkey
an abomination, and all the jolly, festive
sounds so many strokes upon funeral
bell ! How many cruel shock, to change
the face of that joyous time into pale
and saddened mourning visage, terrible to
look upon, and far too terrible to recall
But never, never while l live, shall I for
get that 25th of December, and that glo-
rious old Bows;er roaring out the brave
seafariug ditty, in his great, honest, bass
voice, never more to be heard on this side
of the stars.
"But before he had done singing the
Bay Of Blscay, we were far away on the
dark starless, snowy country road. How
we came there, | have never to this dav
discovered; but there we were, huddled
close together, and wrapped in one of the
Admirals great coats, and driven in the
tour-wheeled chaise by the Admiral's S con-
fidental man, Jacob Scrother. Jacob
Scrother didn't say word to US; and
though | know l wanted dreadfully to
talk to him, and tell him all about his
majestys ship, the Gallant Bowster, some
how the words dried up, as it were, and
stuck to my lips, and l couldn't tell him
anything; and after riding for space of
time, which seemed to me something be-
tween century and a century and a half,
Scrother pulled up with sudden jerk, and
told me to get out.
81 think l demonstrated; at least I
| know | wanted to remonstrate-but 1
had a peculiar sensation, which can only
compare to the Highfyer mail coach, out
side and inside passengers, coachman and
guard, and four hcrses-to say nothing Of
luggage-all lying on my chest, and the
outside passengers seemed to be rising in
my throat, and couldn't speak word.
So | tumbled into forty-seven. Into forty
seven. Into forly-seven millions of square
miles of nothing Into forty-seven track
les r.alms of space, did l, boarder and
pupil at Dr. Martinez S Rilston Kagster,
fall, on falling into number forty seven.
"'A little salts and selma, and he'll be
all right said a voice al the bottom of
number forty-seven. 1t was the voice of
Martha Morris, the young person who
ooked after our linen, mended our socks,
and washed our heads, at DR.. Martinets
academy.
~ was in bed, in the eight,Ledded room,
and it was tomorrow morning; and I'd
never been to St. Mary's church-yard at
all and had been brought home by
: Jacob Scrother fast asleep, and safe and
sound, but rather the worse for Madeira,
Port, and rum punch, But a dose of salts
and senna made me all right again, and
the Admiral promised the doctor that he'd