Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1869-02-19
a story OF Long Ago.

ring which, in fsherman's hut ashore,
sat young girl at her spinning wheel,
and looked out on the dark driving clouds,
listened. trembling, to the wind and the
sea. The morning light dawned at last.
One boat that should have been riding
on The troubled waves was missing-her
fathers boat ! and half mile from the
cottage, her fathers body was washed
upon the Shore
This happened fifty years ago, and fit
ty years is a long time in the life of a
human being; fifty years is long time
to 90 on iii such course MS the woman
did of whom | am speaking. She watch
ed her fathers body, accQri ling to the
custom of the people, till be was laid in
the grave. Then she laid down on the
bed and slept, and by night got up and
set candle in her easement, as beacon
to the fisherman and guide. She sat by
the candle all night, and trimmed it, AMI
spun; then when day dawned she went
to bed and slept in the sunshine. So
many hanks as she had spun before for
her daily bread, she spun still; and one
over to buy her nightly candle, and from
that time to this, for fifty years. through
youth, maturity. and old age, she has
turned night into day, and in the snow
storms of winter, through driving mists,
deceptive moonlight, and solemn dark
ness, that northern harbor has never
once been without the light of the can
die.
How many lives she saved by this
candle, or how many meal she won by
it for the starving families of the boat,
men, it is impossible to say; how many
dark night the fishermen, depending on
it went tearlessly forth, cannot now be
told. There it stood, regular as light
house, steady as constant care could
make it. Always brighter when day
light waned, they had only to keep it con-
standy in view and they were safe. There
was but one that could intercept it, and
that was the rock. However far they
might have stretched out to sea, they had
only to bear down straight for that light
ed window, and they were sure Of safe
entrance into the harbor.
Fifty years Of life and labor--ffty
years Of sleeping in the snnshine-ffty
years Of watching and self denial, and
all to feed the flames and trim the wick
of that one candle ! But if we look
upon the recorded lives Ct great men and
just men and wise men, few of them
can show fifty years Of worther, certain
" not of more successful labor. Little,
indeed, Of the midnight oil'' consumed
during the last half century so worthiy
deserved the trimming. Happy woman.
and but for the dreaeed rock, her great
charity might never been called into ex-
ercise.
But what do the boatmen and the boat
mems wives think of this Do they
pay the poor woman ? No; they are
very poor; but poor or rich, they know
better than that. Do they thank her q
No. Perhaps they feel that thanks of
theirs would be inadequate to express
their obligations, or perhaps long years
have made the lighted casemate so IA
miIiar that they look upon it as a matter
of course. Sometimes the fishermen lay
fish on her threshold, and set a child to
watch it for her till she wakes; some
times their wives steal into her cottage,
now she is getting old, and spin a hank
or two of thread for her while she slum
bcrs; they teach their children to pass by
her door quietly, and not TO sing or shout
before her door lest they should disturb
her. That is all. Their thanks arc not
looked carcely supposed to be due.
Their grateful deeds are more than she
expects, and rs much as she desires.
How often in the far distance Of my
English home. have awoke in 3 wild
winter night, and while the wind and
storm were rising, have thought Of that
northern bay, with the waves dashing
against the rock, and have pictured to
myself the easement, and the candle
nursed by that bending aged figure =
How delighted to know that through her
untiring charity the rock has long lost
more than half its terrors, and consider
ed that, curse though it may be to all
beside, it has most surely proved bles
sing to her.
You, too, may perhaps think with adj
vantage on the character of this woman,
and contrast it with the mission of the
Rock. There are many degrees between
them. Few. like the rock, stand up
wholly to work ruin and destruction;
few, like the woman, 4" let their light
slime" so brightly for good. But to one
of the many degrees between them we
must all most certainly belong-we ali
lean towards the woman or tue rock
On such characters you will do well to
speculare with me, for you have not been
cheated into sympathy with ideal ship
wreck or imaginary kindness. There is
many a rock elsewhere as perlous as the
one have told you of-perhaps there
are many such women; but for this one,
whose story is before you, pray that her
candle may burn little longer, since
this record of her charity be true.-Jean
LageloW.