it was her own mother, for she spoke a few words in French, and called me 'mamma.' Tell her, Rody, that-" Mrs. Jardine turned away, and again burst into honest, irrepressible tears. "But still, mother, how did you comehow did you hear?" She could not speak, but she put into his hand a little note, dated two days before, written in pencil, and in a hand very feeble, very shaky, but neat and clear: "DEAR MR. BLACK,-If you should hear I am likely to die, will you go at once to Richerden and fetch Mrs. Jardine? You know her. No one will comfort my husband like his mother. "Yours truly, "SILENCE JARDINE." accustomed to think him, Mrs. Jardine had the sense to accept the position and make the best of it. For her son's wife-the "poor lamb," as she had called her, and whom, as Roderick afterward found out, her good sense, firmness, and devoted care, coming in at the last ebb of hope, had greatly contributed to save from death-Mrs. Jardine took to loving her, as strong natures are prone to love those whom they have saved, and who depend upon them, as for many days Silence had to depend upon her practical and sensible mother-in-law, in that total, sweet helplessness which was the very best thing to win the old woman's heart. She was an old woman now--no doubt about it; and years ripen and sweeten many women to an almost incredible degree. Besides, as Silence often whispered to her husband when little things jarred upon him and irritated him, she was his mother, and she loved him-in her own odd way, perhaps, but with a love of which there could be no doubt and no denial. "And now," said Mrs. Jardine, smiling through her tears, the brightest, sweetest smile, Roderick thought, that he had ever seen on her face, "go you to your wife, and let me go to my grandson. My son will not now want his mother to comfort | Still, even love can work no miracles, nor him-thank the Lord!" CONCLUSION. blend together opposing natures, characters, and lives into sudden and everlasting harmony; and when, having nursed her "child," as she called Silence, into comparative health, and given her grandchild his grandfather's name, Mrs. Jardine proposed to go home, earnestly begging her A warm, honest heart and a generous nature will cover a multitude of sins-or let us say errors-especially in a grandmamma. Over that baby's cradle the hearts of the two women, young Mrs. Jar-son to leave Blackhall, and come and settle dine and old Mrs. Jardine, soon came to meet in the most wonderful way; as they met, too, over another thing, or rather person-often an endless "bone of contention" between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law when they happen to be weak, selfish, or jealous women, which these were not the man whom each loved best of all the world. Roderick's wife and mother, however opposite their characters, had certain points in common, out of which grew an unmistakable sympathy, namely, strength of will and thoroughness of purpose, great sincerity and affectionateness, the power of self-devotion, and an entire absence of that petty egotism which is always on the watch to guard its own rights, and has no vision for anybody's rights except its own. Besides, meeting her son afresh, as it were, with that great gulf of sorrow between, which had sorely changed both him and her, and finding him now a man-a husband and a father-in many ways very different from the "boy" she had been in Richerden, Roderick gently but steadily declined. He did not say so, even to his own wife; but he felt it would be far better that they two should continue to live at Blackhall, and his mother and sisters at Richerden. All, and especially Bella, were "quite well and happy," Mrs. Jardine said. How much she knew of the events of last Christmas, or the differences between Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Thomson, did not transpire. At all events, she never talked about these troubles: it was not "respectable." But despite their diverse way of viewing things, there was a straightforwardness and rightheartedness about Roderick's mother, which, when her son saw it with fresh, clear eyes, and especially through his wife's eyes, sufficed to blind him wholesomely to her faults. No fear of any more "difficulties" to the end of their days. And when, the last Sunday she was with him, he went, a little against his will, but just to please her, to the ugly Presbyterian church six miles off, and sitting between his wife and his mother, listened to the My head with oil Thou dost anoint, his heart melted, for he felt his cup did His "table," too, was likely to be "furnished"-better than he had once had any hope of. When his mother spoke of business matters, and insisted on his giving up his work at the mill, and living as a "gentleman," he had refused point-blank, declaring his determination to carve out his own fortune, and make his own independent way in the world. But when, on the day of baby's christening, he found that Mrs. Jardine, who never did things by halves, and was as generous in her loves as ungenerous in her dislikes, had settled upon baby's mother-not fathera sum of several thousand pounds, sufficient to remove all fear of the future from the parents' hearts, Roderick was deeply moved. "She is a good woman-my mother! My father was right to respect her and love her as he did, to the very last. God bless them! I have need to be proud of both my parents." "Yes," said Silence, gently, as she stooped and kissed her son, who lay fast asleep on her lap. But her own life taught her to understand other lives-what they were and what they might have been. to be truly "rich" people, because they always have a little more than they spend; they use their money without abusing it, and therefore enjoy it to the uttermost, and cause others besides themselves to enjoy it too. But their sons are all brought up to abhor extravagance, waste, or selfindulgence, aware that each will have to make his own way in the world, as is best for every man, and woman too, perhaps. Sometimes Roderick says, if he had many girls he would bring them up, like the boys, to earn their own living as their mother once did-so that they might taste the sweetness of independent bread, and never be tempted to marry for aught but love. But he has only one girl, his little 'Tacita"-her right name is Silence, but he will not have her called so-one of "papa's odd ways." Roderick will have a good many odd ways" as he grows older. 66 He may never be, strictly speaking, a "great" man, but everybody recognizes him as a cultivated man of very considerable talent-"known in the gates," as his wife delightedly sees, every year more and more. But it is more by his pen than his personality, for he seldom goes from home, except once a year to Richerden to see his mother and the family. A not too attractive family, but he is very kind to them, even to Mrs. Alexander Thomson and her numerous brood of sickly, illtempered children, whom she brings with her sometimes to get a breath of wholesome life, within and without, in the happy atmosphere of Blackhall. "Young Mrs. Jardine," as she continues to be called, for old Mrs. Jardine may live to be ninety, still looks so young, so fair!-her peaceful, contented heart shining through her "heavenly" eyes. The world has never heard of her, never will hear, except through her husband and her sons. And her life is all before her still, for she is yet comparatively a young woman, though her boys-and she has not one, but several-begin to measure heights with her, and to reckon how soon they will be "up to mother's shoulder." "Father" is a standard which none of them hope to arrive at, either physically, mentally, or morally. To be so tall, so clever, or so good as he-none of these lads could ever imagine such a thing. They do not merely love him, they adore him. And they are right; or at least two people, their mother and their grandmother, believe so. Roderick Jardine lives still at Black-portant things to think about. As wife, hall, keeping up the old family home in comfort, but yet in great simplicity, as is wisest, with his increasing family. Besides, his early experiences have given him a horror of luxury, of that wealth which is mere wealth and nothing more. The Jardines of Blackhall hold themselves She does not greatly "shine in society," though she is well able to keep up the dignity of the family wherever she goes. But of her own dignity, her own praise, she thinks very little, having, indeed, far too many other and more im as mother, as mistress, her burdens are often pretty heavy, but never more than she can bear. And he helps her, as she helps him-the husband of her youth, who will, please God, be the faithfulest, fondest lover of her old age. That time is still a good way off, and they may yet have much to bear together. They will bear it, because it is borne together. And I think, if any one were to ask Roderick Jardine what has been-in plain English-the backbone of his life, his preservation from evil, his incentive to all good, he would say it was that strong first love and venturous early marriage; because he had sense to see and to take hold of the blessing that Heaven dropped in his path-that treasure "above rubies," which most men desire, and so few win, or deserve to win. But Roderick did. He says sometimes that he should like to have carved on his tombstone, as the root of all his happiness, all his success, that line, written by one great and good man of another-perhaps the noblest man of this century "Who loved one only and who clave to her." "But," he adds, "it was because my wife was Silence Jardine." IT FIRST FAMILIES OF THE T is the popular supposition that none but predestinated suicides are in the habit of seeking diversion in the fat pages of volumes known as "Pub. Docs.," and that the value of such of these books as wander into the market is to be measured by standards avoirdupois rather than literary. Yet the report of The Award of the Fisheries Commission, in more than three thousand large pages, contains some material which is more entertaining than that of the average novel, and more instructive than many a text-book. The Commission was an outcome of the Treaty of Washington, now six years old, and its duty was to ascertain whether in the mutual concessions of fishery rights made by that document Great Britain gave more than she received, and to award her such compensation as might seem her due, in case the investigations proved that her claim was just. The fact of an award of more than five millions of dollars to Britannia has been abundantly made known by the press, without eliciting much enthusiasm from the American public, but some of the testimony upon which a majority of the Commission based its calculations is curious and interesting enough to compensate any inquisitive tax-payer for the loss of that portion of the award which must come from his own pocket. Among the many persons examined by the Commission were hundreds of fishermen and two specialists, the object of the examiners being to learn something of the numbers, habits, and favorite sea-side resorts of certain fish of prominent commercial standing. Although the marine jurisdiction of a country extends for only a league from the shore, the habit of drawing from headland to headland the dividing line between free and protected territory has the effect of placing under national jurisdiction most of the favoring fishing grounds on the North American coast. Cod, mackerel, and herring, like many other notable sea-side visitors, have local habitations in obscure spots, and they become objects of interest only when found reasonably near to land. During the course of the examination some marvellous fish stories and theories were offered by old sailors; but as truth is stranger than fiction, the testimony of the specialists leads all others in interest. These gentlemen-Professor Henry Youle Hind, who was called on the part of Great Britain, and Professor Spencer F. Baird, the principal witness for the United Statesastonished commissioners and counsel with a mass of information which they had collected upon a subject apparently so difficult of investigation. Pro The fish to which principal attention was given was naturally the cod, he being the leading commercial fish of the civilized world. Besides being the most prolific of food fishes, he is large, easily taken, and quickly prepared for market, while his different parts are utilized as generally as those of his land rival, the hog. fessor Baird says that besides the muscular parts, the sounds and roes are used as food, the oil is valuable for medical and mechanical purposes, the offal is converted into a valuable manure, the bones make good fuel, while the skins serve many nations for leather and clothing. This fish, like the more prominent of his relatives, is at home only in cold water, the latitude of Cape May being his extreme southern boundary, while he lives as close to the pole as he can without risk of being frozen in. He probably exists farther south than the line indicated above, but if so, it is in cool depths too retired to admit of successful interviewing. At certain points off the Massachusetts coast he finds a sufficiently low temperature in shallow water, and at these places he is frequently seen and caught of fishermen, but his favorite American haunts are the semi-inclosed waters of the coast of Canada and adjacent islands. Fond, however, as he is of very cold water, there are temperatures which he will under no circumstances endure, even though they be but two or three degrees removed from the normal. Among these is the water that comes from melting salt ice, and slowly sinks to the level to which its specific gravity entitles it. In such water the cod will not remain; he will not go through it, even though his dinner be on the opposite side, the distance very short, and the cod very hungry. He prefers to circumnavigate such an inhospitable region if he has business on the other side, as fishermen have learned to their own exceeding profit. There are different varieties of the cod, and the entire lack of evidence of mixed blood, and the rarity with which more than one variety is found in any given locality, prove either that the cod is a non-migratory fish, or that he regards the preservation of caste as a paramount duty. Like aristocrats everywhere, he is an omnivorous feeder. The "dredge" is considered by naturalists to be the best implement with which to obtain information upon deep-sea life, but Professor Baird says that the stomach of the cod is the best of all dredges, for it generally contains morsels of every sort of marine resident within reach. With a high-born contempt of the requirements of trade, the cod feeds largely upon herring and mackerel, but he is partial to crabs, lobsters, and most other shell-fish. As his digestion is not equal to the task of assimilating these last-named items of the ocean menu, he stows them away in the side of his stomach, and when the quantity becomes burdensome, he disposes of them according to the method to which Jonah owed his escape from submarine lodgings. While not migratory by inclination, any failure or deterioration of his habitual larder will cause him to remove to the nearest resort of good livers. Years ago cod-fish were quite plentiful off Newburyport, Massachusetts, but disappeared as the Merrimack River was depleted of fish; since the restocking of the river, however, with shad and alewives, the cod has re-appeared at his old diningplace, gladdening the hearts of the fishermen, and gracing the Sunday break fast table of the descendants of the Puritans. The cod resorts to the shore for feeding purposes; but who that is not a cook or a scullion cares always to be in the vicinity of the dining-room? Naturally he is an off-shore, deep-water fish, for at a distance from the land he is always sure of finding those strata of cold water in which he delights. There are times when he will not leave these, even for food; but the seasons in which fresh-water fish revisit the scenes of their childhood are also the seasons when the water is cool inshore. While hot weather remains, with seawater warm enough to lure human beings into the surf, the cod abhors the beach, and takes what food is nearest at hand, preferring, like summer lodgers elsewhere, to endure the plainest fare for the sake of cool quarters. When, however, the temperature of the water allows him to follow the shad and other fish to the shore, he never travels alone; if he is not accompanied by a family, he takes so much company with him that those who extend hospitable seines to receive him take sometimes as many as thirty thousand fish at a single haul. The cod is wonderfully prolific, depositing from three to seven millions of eggs at a time. It not only prefers to spawn in the winter months, but in the coldest water it can find, and yet avoid an icy coverlet; a temperature of 32° is the favorite, while nothing above 40° is tolerated. The largest spawning grounds of the cod are in the vicinity of the Loffoden Islands, though the American members of the family put up with such accommodations as they can find near home. The domestic arrangements of this fish are so informal that the eggs have no special abiding-place, nor any protection whatever. Of the millions of eggs that are deposited by a single female, not more than a hundred thousand, probably not more than ten thousand, result in full-grown fish. Like the small boy who, if he could not whip a larger boy, could at least make faces at his sister, the smaller fish upon which the cod preys find delicious revenge in eating the eggs of the latter, while the mass of "lowdown" inhabitants of the ocean are true to the instinct of low-downers everywhere to prey upon aristocracy, particularly upon the younger scions thereof. It is probable, too, that many of the eggs which escape the keen eyes of searchers | discreetness of the fish under such circumafter delicacies do not become fertilized. stances is highly praised by scientists, and The mackerel, which commercially is cheerfully recognized by the honest ranks next to the cod among salt-water fishermen, who welcome the fugitives fishes, is also partial to a cool home, heartily upon their arrival, and care for though it is found somewhat farther them so effectively that when next the south than the cod. Like the last-named tooth of the tormentor threatens them it fish, it seeks very cold water in which to will be unfelt and uncared for. The spawn, preferring that of which the temmeans of welcoming the mackerel are perature is but little above the freezing- several, seines, nets, weirs, and pounds point. Instead of enjoying cold water being as effective as the hook. The sucall the year round, however, as the cod cess of the last-named implement is due to seems to do, there is a possibility that the plebeian habits of the fish while dinthe mackerel hibernates. Seeking a soft ing. It seldom bites, nor does it prolong muddy or sandy bed at the approach of the enjoyment of a choice delicacy by nibwinter, it buries itself therein, first draw-bling, but it vulgarly swallows at a single ing a scale or film over each eye. Wheth- gulp whatever is set before it. Selecting er this film is an apology for a night-cap, its food by appearance instead of flavor, or the result of a dropping of the eyelid it is not wonderful that a bit of red flanthrough extreme drowsiness, or due to nel, a bright "spoon," or even a bare fishprovidential design, or development ac- hook may seem worth taking. What discording to environment, à la Darwin, is appointed fishermen on "the Banks" are yet to be decided, but the existence of such pleased to term the (qualified) fastidiousa covering to the eye during hibernation ness of the fish seems to contradict this has been proved by examination of mack-statement of the mackerel's gustatory haberel which have been dragged from their comfortable couches by the dredges of intrusive scientists. It is not impossible that it may yet be discovered that the film is the result of disease, and that the muddy bottom is resorted to, not as winterquarters, but as a hospital where "earthcure" is practiced as a specialty. Whether sick or only sleepy, however, the mackerel has an intense aversion to a cold bed, so in selecting a resting-place he avoids ground over which salt ice is likely to drift, and drizzle its chilling water downward. How the fish arrives at certainties or probabilities on this subject is something that no fellow not a mackerel can find out, but the dredge has never found one of these fish in localities where salt ice melts. The mackerel is quite a sociable fish among those of its own blood, moving always in great families or schools. When it comes inshore from the deep sea it is always with an innumerable company, which seems to move with a sort of regimental front, and wheeling from left to right, the point d'appui being that portion of the shore, naturally the southernmost that it frequents, where earliest in the season the fresh-water fish return to their native streams. The mackerel's shoreward movements are not always due to its own hunger, but frequently to that of the tunny and other predaceous fish which are fond of fresh mackerel. The its, but the apparent capriciousness with which these fish appear and disappear at a vessel's side is due to temperature instead of taste. Lying at a depth of perhaps two hundred fathoms, in cool water, the fish hurry to the surface for the chopped bait which fishermen throw overboard to attract them; the surface water, however, is generally too warm to be endured for more than a few moments, and they hurry back home as soon as comfort becomes more desirable than food. When the mackerel disappear-which they do frequently during the season, and afterward for a long time-they seek for depth rather than distance. They remain off the coast, but far this side of the Gulf Stream, throughout the warm season, but in water sufficiently deep to meet their views in point of temperature. They often lie in vast schools within a mile or less of equally numerous herring, for which fish the mackerel has a yearning throat; but while the mackerel are two hundred fathoms down, the herring are within fifteen or twenty fathoms of the surface. Between these two zones, a distance of only a few seconds, mackerel time, the water is too warm to permit even a hungry mackerel to enjoy the pleasures of the chase, so these life-long enemies remain within sight of each other in a state of truce-until the coming of cold weather. |