, 1888-10-18
HOW TEDDY CAME HOME.
As the Sun Sank They Brought
His Dead Body In.
A Homely Funeral---Sad scenes In q
Hamlet that Nesties Under the
Navesink Hills.

And the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep.
And good bye to the bar and its moaning.
Tragedy of fisher hamlet. Ye dwellers
in cities who have pleasures and tragedies
so constantly about you that your. sensi-
bilities become dulled to both, do you
realize the gloom, the despair that falls
over the fishing village when the sun
sinks and the boat comes not back with
its fnny load and the sinewy forms at the
oarsI -,
Or, perhaps, if bit Of poetry does call
up some such picture in your mind, you
think of it as happening on IL rock-bound,
rugged coast, far away from where you sit
in your cosey room and listen to the hum
and roar of the city.
Not far from New York--about twenty
mies.-.near the mouth OF the Shrewsbury
river. snupgled at the foot of the Nave
sink Highlands, lies Parkertown. The
tall hills, crowned now with dark green
foliage, sprinkled here and there with
spots of gold and red and brown, look
down with protecting care upon the little
cole ction OF weather. beaten huts, scarce
one of which boasts of more than three
rooms.
Parkertown has one paved street, paved
with shining shells and haunted with the
smell of fish in all states of preserS alton.
There are some houses that have fences of
wooden paings about them, houses and
fences white with time and made bright
With ''scarlet lightning" and marigolds.
'Tis but few steps from any corner OF
farkertown to the shore of the river lined
with fshermen's boats. Strange boats are
these, all broad, some deep for use on the
OCEAN, and others shallow to rake the CLAIMS
that cover the rivers bottom.
e oil nn Ia
Beside them sit women stringing CLAIMS
and packing them in wooden pals. In
tie afternoon the men of Parkertown
gather upon the shore, too, and the con-
tents of the boats that come around the bar
from the ocean are packed in wicker bas-
kets and made ready to put on the little
schooner that carries them to the city.
THE MEN WHO FISH.
The men of Parkertown when they are
not bare.footed wear tall rubber boots that
reach to their hips. "Galluses" support
their trousers and flannel shirt usually
completes the costume, unless it be a rainy
day, when yellow oil-skins cover every
thing except the ruddy faces that look
out into the mist and wet. The women
wear gowns of calico that fall in lank,
shapeless folds about their figures. Sun
bonnets cover their heads, and, In fact,
seem to be part of them, for it is rarely
that Parkertown woman ID seen without
one.
It was evident that something had oc-
cured yesterday to disturb the quiet that
usually prevades the village. The bell in
the little yellow church that stands half
way up the hill, almost hidden by the
clustering trees, tolled, and its long, slow
sounds spread out on the stiffness OF the
summer afternoon.
Groups of men stood about the stoop of
the village store. The faces looked ia.
miliar, but the stiff white collars and
shirts and the black clothes seemed i'll at
ease with the wearers. These men talked
low and stopped whenever the bell rang
oui its mourning sound BY twos and
th-ees the women. they. too, in black,
walked up the shel-lined road to the
church
When the bell had stopped its rinRi ng
they were gathered in the church, men
aud women, old and young. 1t was u
simple service, soon over, like the life OF
ths handsome young fisherman who lay 80
pale in the coffin near the altar.
Some of his mates lifted it, when the
choir had sung the last hymn and the min
isler had prayed for comfort to come to
them who were left, and carried 1t to the
open grave in the little yard near by.
IIere the dlrt rattleu on lts Top anu sooh
hid it from sight. The people about the
gave went away. The men sought their
favorite spots about the boats and the
women spread the supper for their men, y
For men must work and women must
weep" and tomorrow the boats must &c
cut to the sea.
''YE ARE LUCKY, MY LAD.
It was fisherman's funeral. An old
man, too old to longer handle an oar
smoothed the sod over the grave and said
70 himself as he shook his head and teal
ran slowly down his wrinkled cheek. "Ah
Teddy, lad, you re dead. but it's lucky u
are to have yer bones lie here on the hill
where ye can look out on the ocean,
Yes, Teddy was lucky, as the old fisher
nan thought, for out, way out in the deeI
gaters Of the ocean, lies the body of a com
rade. -.
On Monday morning Teddy Weaver, hi