The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1888-01-14

rich with turpentine. Within the cavity
place profusion of pine spiinters and
WRITINGS. Some are tiny shayines
and all of them | have to keep under
my hat to prevent them blowing away.
The wind is sweeping across the river,
and snow-f1akes have begun to fall.
Finally all is ready in the little pocket
in the pine. take out my match box
and find but four matches there. O.
for the half dozen l had wasted an hour
ago in lighting my pipe! Under the
hat slide the matchbox; l bend nv
body over the spot and to the wind
ward; my right hand creeps stealthily
under the rim of the hat, the fingers
grasp match, my left hand presses
the felt brim tightly over my wrist;
draw the PHOSPHORUS gently across the
rough surface Through ventilation
hole in the top of the hat l see the well
come light l press the match down
ward toward the finder, and-a flicker.
and it is out!
But never mind, say to myself,
still have three matches left. With one
of them I shall surely succeed. I'll be
more careful than ever now. A second
trial, with no better success. How the
wind does blow! 1t seeks out every
nook and Granny. At this moment l
remember that in an inside pocket of
my jacket is half-pint flask of oil
which had always carried TO refill my
lantern with. Imagine, if you esH the,
delight the discovery gives me. lpour
a little of the oil over the nest of shay
ings and splinters. But q touch of fire
will set it all off now. Perhaps I am
over-contident, or may be my fingers
are getting numb in the freezing cold
and the wind, for rub the third match
so roughly that its head scrapes off,
smouldering and useless.
What is that little to my left? A
flash of pale light, now little brighter,
and now great orb? 1t is the head
light of the locomotive of No. Z, rush
ing out of the long tunnel. The crisis
is now upon me. Now for the
last match. Quick! In a minute it
will be too late. 1 hold my breath; my
heart seems to stop beating; crouch
with my body about the hat-covered
hole as she-cat might protect her
threatened kitten; wait for lull in the
wind, and-there springs up an eager,
glorious blaze; take away the hat, and
by the light of the growing flame can
see my hands, my arms, my body and
the ice-foe. The pine-knot is blazing
tiercely-but viii the engineer see it?
The locomotive is now almost oppo-
site me- l can hear the rumble OF the
wheels above the whistling of the wind
in the tree tops. Another inspiration
comes to me. Tearing the red lining
from my hat l wrap the thin fabric
around the half-emptied bottle of oil.
L hold the bottle, neck downward,
over the blaze at the pine knot.
In an instant my bottle of oil
is blazing beacon, as red as
blood. l have a danger signal, the
oslinous red lamp! 1t burns me, but
in my excitement l do not mind that.
swing it to and fro and shout like a
mailman. How can they fail to see
such a strange thing out here on the
river? Again swing the hot, blazing
bottle forward and back-the signal to
stop. They mast see it. And yet the
train is speeding by me. have failed.
| No-across the water comes the sweet
est sound l ever heard-one sharp,
short blast of the locomotive whistle
my signal is seen and understood
The young superintendent here
paused to relight his now cold cigar.
His hand trembled as he held the burn
ing match. He had been living those
twenty minutes over again.
"Herc on my wrist" he added, "are
the scars left by my burns. And here"
he concluded, taking out a plain
nickel Matchbox to which a gold plate
containing some inscription, had been
affixed, lis the box from which | took
the last but lucky match. ~ Walter
Wellnaa'e, IN DrGbe's Magazine.