The courier., 1900-07-28
THE POPE IS DEAD.


Dsudet, by Katharine MelickD
passed my childhood in large pro-
vincial town. cut in two by river, very
much obstructed, very turbulent. where
I early acquired the taste for travel and
the passion for life on the water. There
was, in particular. . corner Of the quay
near q certain foot-bridge, st. Vincent,
Of which / never think. even today,
without emotion. see again the sign
nailed to the end Of q yard, 'Cornet-
Boats to Let;" the little stair that went
down into the water, all glistening and
blackened with wetting. the fotills Of
little boats, freshly painted in light col
ors, in line at the foot OF the stair.
balancing lightly side by side. as alleged
BY the pretty names they bore in white
letters on the stern, "The Humming-
Bird" and The Swallow"
Then. among the long sculls, shining
with white lead, in train to dry on the
slope. Father Cornet, going with his
paint bucket, his great brushes, his
face tanned, wrinkled. rippled With a
thousand little dimples. like the river on
fresh, windy evening.-Oh, Father
Cornet! He was the temper Of my child.
hood. my unhappy passion, my trespass.
my remorse. What crimes he made me
commit with his boats! 1 missed school,
/ sold my books. What would l not
have sold for an afternoon of boating.
All my class Looks at the bottom Of
the boat, ny jacket thrown OF. my cap
pushed back, and in my hair the fresh
tanning Of the river breeze, I drew
firmly on my oars, wrinkling my eye
brows to give me the air of an old sea-
wolf. So long as was in the town. 1
kept to the middle Of the river, at equal
distance from the two shores where the
old sea-wolf might be recognized.
What triumph to mihgle with that
mighty movement Of barks, RATS. trains
Of woods, light steamboats,, which, coast.
ing BY, passed. separated only by thin
thread Of foam! Then there were heavy
boats that turned to take the current,
displacing throng Of others.
All at once, the wheels Of steamboat
struck the water, close to me; or rather,
Q great shsdow came over me. It was
the bow Of q boat laden with apples.
"Rave . care there, sonny" said .
coarre voice. and perspired. l strug-
gled, caught in the ebb and flow Of that
waterway where the highways, crossing
incessantly at all those bridges and foot.
ways. throw reflections Of the omnibus
under the stroke Of the oar. And the
current, % strong under the arches and
tho eddies, the whirlpools, and the ia
nous gulf Of "Death in Disguise!'
Think whether it is q small affair to
guide ones self there with an arm of q
dozen years, and no one to hold the
tilier.
Sometimes had the good fortune to
encounter tug. At once locked with
the end Of the long lines Of boats it
towed, and. with oars motionless. held
out like lowering wings, abandoned my
self to that silent swiftness that cuts
the river in long ribbons Of foam and
made the trees and houses of the quay
spin by on each side. Before me, far,
very Tar, heard the mouotonous beat
ing OF the helix, dog barking on ono
Of the boats Of the tow, where, from .
long chimney, q little thread of smoke
arose; and all this gave me the illusion
OF great voyage-of the true life of the
strand.
Unhsppily, those encounters with the