Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1870-06-23
Translated from the French.1
THE LITTLE WOODEN SHOE.

jacques was a fisherman-a lIcky one
too. He had little house, all his own,
and Jeanne who had for seven years been
his wife, and Ange, the joIliest little
scamp that over roamed a fisherman's cot
tage. But these are not all his treasures.
He has besides n store OF nets and boat
called the Fine Anguille. The sea was
never yet too rough for either. For it
never stormed until the Fine-Anguille
had come with her crew. snug and dry
to her mooring. The captain of this
frigate was Jacques; the mate-and what
mate be was-was Fanor, Newfound
land, peer and prince of all dogs
Everybody knew the Fine Anguille.-
Everybody knew Fanor. And we'll it
was for many of them that they did.
They had made his acquaintance under
memorable circumstances. For, when
Fanor looked from bis kennel at night
along the dark coast, he could see the
glow of many fireside. which would
have long been dark and cherries if he
had not rescued from the waves the
strong arm that earned its fuel. Many q
mother felt queer sensation in her throat
and in the corners of her eyes, when she
saw the great shaggy brute, and thought
of certain little head that might long
ago have been pilowed in the sea-weeds.
But when the feast of our Lady of
Larmor came, alb then Fanor was in his
glory. Did he walk in the procession
Of course he did! Did he not know
what was the proper thing for respect
able dog 10 do, and where bis right place
was, after the banners? "Ah!" said Jac-
ques, she's christian. He's no dog; be
is almost man."
After Jacques, and Fine-Anguille, and
the sea, Ange was the dearest friend of
this dog. Fanor paid the most delicate
attentions TO this little fellow. He kept
back his strength and RETAINED from
those boisterous leaps; he gave Ange a
thousand tender caresses with his great
cold nose and with bis paw; and, when
he licked his hands, be scarcely moisten-
ed them. 1t was plain that he was in
love with this baby. And as for Jeanne,
she loved nothing in the world besides
Jacques and Ange and the dog.
For you and me, and the thoughtless
of busy world, what grand sight to
watch the sea in September! so deep. so
dark, it falls and rises with ever-increas-
ing majesty. There is a menace in its
ceaseless roll, its beauty is terribly grand,
and from the shore we admire its strength
and its immensely. But how differently
it appears to the poor fishers wifel For
her there is nothing to admire in the
ocean. For her it is only source of
anxiety and dread. How gloomy to her
is the evening rs il settles over this ever
tossing plain; how her heart starts ut the
vague threats of the wind! This blue
and white crested mass is perhaps a
shroud. Is there no moaning save that
which the listless water makes? And,
when the horizon lowers, is the wild call
Of the sea-bird the only strange cry that
can be heard9 And, as the wind sweeps
from the stormy offiug. we perhaps think
it beautiful. But to the fishers wife it is
dreadful. She fears for him who tolls
in the abyss. What can little shell like
Finc-Anguille and man and dog do
against the ocean2
We may say, "How beautiful" But
she cries, "HoIy Virgin!" the sea is too
high! it blows too, too hard"
One day Jeanne was with Ange on the
beach, and jacques was preparing Fine.
Anguille for fishing. Jeanne sat knit
ting, by the waters side. Ange had
kicked off one of his little wooden shoes,
and with his rosy little foot was playing
in the water. He laughed, he shouted,
he splsshed the little waves that ran eoft-