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HOW A BUOY SAVED THE BOYS.

BY MATTHEW WHITE, JUN.

It was one fine morning in early summer that Sam Finney rose a full hour earlier than usual, quickly disposed of his breakfast, hurried through his chores, and then hastened off down the main street of the village to the steamboat dock.

Now Tom was a city boy, and had only passed one summer at Fair Farms; still, that was long enough to allow of his becoming the most intimate friend of Sam, who had lived in the little village all the twelve years of his life. Together the two had rowed, crabbed, fished, and fallen overboard to their hearts' content, the only drawback to their complete happiness consisting in the fact that they had never had a boat exactly suited to their wants. Sam's father, to be sure, owned two or three, but all were used by his older brothers for clamming and oystering, while the Van Dauntons' Whitehall was very safe and pretty, but altogether too large for two boys not yet in their teens.

Nevertheless, as has been said, the lads managed to enjoy themselves immensely: and now that Tom's father had given him as a birthday present a sum of money with which to have a boat built for his own use, there seemed to be no limit to the good times ahead.

Tom had promptly hastened to inform his friend by letter of the luck they were in, asking at the same time for suggestions as to the sort, size, and color of the prospective craft.

And now it was all finished, and to-day the Van Dauntons, and Tom, and the boat were expected at the pretty little Swiss cottage on the river-bank, which was just across the road from the Finney farm.

It was one afternoon late in the season that the boys determined to venture upon a more extended trip than any they had hitherto undertaken.

"'Twould be great fun to cruise along the bay shore, with land on only one side of us." It was Sam who spoke, and thus suggested the voyage, as he had afterward good cause to remember. "We might leave Vin in one of the little coves there, and then steer out toward the sea. What do you say, Captain?"--for it happened to be Tom's turn at the "wheel."

What could the latter say but that he was of the same mind? And as the day was fine, it was decided to put the brilliant idea into effect without delay; for around the point to the bay shore and back was no trifling distance, and it was already past one.

"Lucky the tide's with us," remarked Sam, as he answered the bell by pushing off and rowing leisurely down stream.

"But it's pretty near low water now, so you'll have to hurry up if you want it to help you all the way;" and Tom cast a nautical eye shoreward to see how great an extent of snails was exposed.

And now they had rounded the point, and the wide expanse of the bay, stretching far off to the city on the one side, and to the ocean on the other, was before them.

"Oh dear! how hot I am!" said Vin, eying with envy a clump of stunted cedars that grew close to the shore on their left.

"So am I," returned his brother; "but duty calls us to explore still further these watery wastes, so we'll just set you down here, where you can amuse yourself by making railroads in the sand till we come back." And as he spoke, Tom pulled on his left tiller-rope, and then gave Chief Engineer Finney the signal to slow up, as they ran into a convenient little cove.

Vin lost no time in getting out and seeking the scanty shade which the trees afforded, and then the two "big boys" pushed off again, promising to call for their passenger in about half an hour.

Further and further in the rear the clump of cedars was left, and still the sandy cape that marked the division between sea and river appeared as far away as ever. Finally Tom, losing patience at their seemingly slow progress, took one of Sam's oars, and together the two made the boat fly through the water.

But if the Captain had remained at his post in the stern a little while longer, he would have noticed something ahead that might have led him to turn around and hasten back instead of hurrying onward. That something was what at first seemed to be merely a harmless white cloud rising out of the ocean, but which grew ever larger and larger as it advanced toward the land.

And still the boys, eager to pass beyond the line of breakers on their right, wasted not an instant in turning round to look before them, until at last they gained their point, left the white-capped billows behind them, and the next moment awoke to the fact that they were completely enveloped in the densest fog. Where but a few seconds previous all had been bright and beautiful, there was now naught apparent but the heavy curtain of mist, blotting out the blue of sea and sky and all the glorious sunshine.

For half a minute the boys were so amazed that they just sat and stared mutely at as much as they could see of one another; and then, with the single cry of "Vin!" Tom splashed his oar into the water, and began to row the boat around. But in which direction should he head it? Where was the clump of cedars now? or where, in fact, was anything but fog, thick and penetrating, shrouding everything?

"Oh, Sam, what shall we do?--which way shall we go?" exclaimed poor Tom, for an instant losing his wonted courage and hopefulness as he thought of his ten-year-old brother off there alone on that barren beach waiting and watching for them to come back for him.

"Maybe the fog'll lift soon," replied Sam. "They don't generally last long this time of year." And the lad endeavored to speak cheerfully, although his heart beat fast and loud, for was it not he that had first proposed the foolish expedition?

"But I can't sit here, and do nothing but wait. It's too awful. Oh, if we only had a compass!" And Tom gazed out into the mists about him as if determined to pierce through their heavy folds.

At that moment a sharp, short whistle was sounded disagreeably close at hand, and served to add a new terror to the situation. A vessel might run them down.

"Quick! the bell!" shouted Sam; and snatching up the string, he rang it at regular intervals all through the terrible hours that followed.

The boys grew pale as they realized the extremity of their danger, and clutched the sides of the boat to save themselves from being thrown out.

And yet they were quite helpless. Even little Vin, alone there on that deserted shore, was to be envied, for he was at least in temporary security.

Tom still rowed slowly on, while Sam strained his eyes to the utmost, and kept up the monotonous ringing of the bell. Neither of the lads said much; but the expression of Tom's face, although all its usual bright color had left it, showed that he was determined to bear up bravely to the end, whatever that might be.

The water still remained quite smooth; even the long easy swells were growing less and less noticeable, and the boys were beginning to hope that they were at least headed for the shore, when--thump went the boat into a great black object, and both gave themselves up for lost.

"It's a ship," thought Tom, momentarily expecting the dark waters to close over his head.

"Help! help! We've run into a steamer!" cried Sam, tugging away in a crazy fashion at the bell-cord.

But, as it turned out, the great black object was neither a ship nor a steamer, but a huge buoy, and instead of being lost, the lads were saved; for, attaching themselves to this marker of shoals, they were out of the course of vessels, and all that was necessary for them to do was to wait.

And this they did patiently, although it proved a hard task, with the thought of Vin all alone there on that distant beach. Sam kept up the sounding of the bell, for it was a sort of company for them, while Tom counted the minutes on his watch until it grew to be after five, when a faint glimmering became perceptible through the mist, and gradually the fog lifted and rolled away.

And now where did the young mariners find themselves? Why, half way up the bay in the direction of the city, and a long pull they had of it back to the clump of cedars.

But on arriving here no Vin was to be seen, and the boys were beginning to grow quite desperate in their anxiety, when Sam stumbled upon the following, written in the sand:

"Don't worry about me. I am going to walk home by the bridge at Leafic.

"VIN."

"It's a good four miles," said Tom, "and I know he's never been over the road."

But when they came in sight of the Van Dauntons' wharf, there was Vin on the end of it, anxiously looking out for them.

ABOUT POISON-IVY.

BY A. W. ROBERTS.

At this season of the year, when so many of our young folks are gathering wild flowers, ferns, berries, leaves, and mosses in the woods and along the hedges, I can not think of a more useful lesson in wood and field botany than that which teaches how to know and distinguish two of the most poisonous vegetable substances to be met with in the woods. I mean the poison-ivy, poison-oak, and mercury-vine, which are the common names for one and the same vine, found climbing up the trunks of trees, on rail, board, and stone fences, over rocks and bushes, in waste lands and meadows. In fact, everywhere and anywhere it can secure a foot of ground, no matter how poor, or how much exposed to the scorching rays of the sun, this wretched vine prospers, happy and contented to spread out its poisonous arms hidden beneath its glossy and graceful foliage. In Fig. 1 is shown a close study from nature of a specimen growing at the west end of Coney Island, where it is to be found in abundance between the highest sand-dunes on the north and south sides of the island. Here when the ivy has a chance to climb up a tree or bush, up it goes, throwing out its aerial rootlets in all directions. But when growing away from any support, in the sand which is being constantly displaced by the strong ocean winds, it then grows stout, erect, and bush-like. Under these peculiar circumstances of growth it has received the name of poison-oak, and was supposed by many botanists to be a separate variety, though in fact the poison ivy and oak are one and the same thing. When the stem of the poison-ivy is wounded, a milky juice issues from the wound. The leaves, after being separated from the vine, turn black when exposed to the air.

The stem of the vine is nearly smooth in texture; the aerial rootlets , which start from all parts of the stem, are of a bright brown color when young. The masses of berries when unripe are of a light green color; when ripe, of an ashen gray. Below the mass of this year's berries are generally to be found those of last year. The leaf has a smooth and somewhat shiny texture, and curves downward from the midrib. To many people the slightest contact with the leaves of the ivy will produce poisoning. I have known of instances where persons in passing masses of ivy-vine, particularly when the wind was blowing from the vine toward the passer-by, became severely poisoned. One of our most beautiful native vines, the so-called Virginia creeper, which frequently grows side by side with the ivy, is often mistaken for it, and blamed for the evil doings of its neighbor, and yet is so innocent and beautiful a vine that I have figured it in full fruit . The Virginia creeper has a leaf consisting of five lobes, which are distinctly notched, and which curve upward from the midrib. Instead of aerial rootlets like the ivy, it has stout tendrils more or less twisted and curled, often assuming the form of a spiral spring. These tendrils are provided with a disk by means of which an attachment is made to any object within reach .

The stem has the appearance of being jointed. The berries are large and grape-like in the form of the cluster, and when ripe are of a deep blue color, with heavy bloom. In the fall of the year the leaves turn to a deep red and brownish-red color.

The poison-sumac, swamp-sumac, or dogwood is ten times more severe in its poisoning qualities than the poison-ivy. It grows from six to ten feet in height, in low marshy grounds. The berries are smooth, white, or dun-colored, and in form and size closely resemble those of the ivy.

This sumac is terrible in its effects, often causing temporary blindness. Some years ago it became the fashion to wear immense wreaths and bunches of artificial flowers inside and outside of ladies' bonnets. The flower-makers, being hard pressed for material, made use of dried grasses, seed-vessels, burrs, and catkins; these were painted, dyed, frosted, and bronzed to make them attractive. I became greatly interested in the business and the ingenuity displayed, and spent much time examining the contents of milliners' windows. On one occasion when standing before a very fashionable milliner's window on Fourteenth Street, I was horror-stricken on discovering that an immense wreath of grayish berries which constituted the inside trimming of a bonnet was composed entirely of the berries of the poison-sumac, just as they had been gathered, not a particle of varnish, bronze, or other material coating them. The bonnet, when worn, would bring this entire mass of villainous berries on the top and sides of the head, and a few of the sprays about the ears and on the forehead. Stepping into the store, I addressed the proprietor, and asked her if she knew that the bonnet was trimmed with the berries of one of the most poisonous shrubs known in the United States. After staring at me in a sort of puzzled way, she informed me that I was mistaken; that she had received those flowers from Paris only a week ago.

"Madam," I replied, "there must be a mistake somewhere, for those are the berries of the poison-sumac, which does not grow in Europe."

She gave me one angry look, asked me to please attend to my own business, and swept away from me to the other end of the store.

A few days after this I read in the daily papers an account of the poisoning of a number of small girls employed in a French artificial flower manufactory in Greene Street. I at once guessed the cause. I visited the factory mentioned, introduced myself to the proprietor, told him what I knew about the poison berries--and was rudely requested to make myself scarce. After these two adventures I made up my mind to keep my botanical knowledge to myself.

When in the army I came across a very curious case of poisoning with swamp-sumac and poison-ivy. A creature having the form of a human being, and wearing the uniform of a soldier, was found in a solitary tent, which was pitched in an abandoned and desolated plantation. This creature's body had the appearance of having been scalded, and his eyesight was nearly gone: in fact, we were afraid to touch him, fearing that he had some terribly infectious disease. But why was he there, alone and deserted?--not even a sanitary guard over him to prevent all communication except by the doctors. He did not seem to care to talk much about himself or his situation, or state why his comrades had left him there to die. Being on the march, all we could do was to leave him extra rations, water, and tobacco. But we afterward learned from members of his regiment that to avoid duty and an engagement he had poisoned himself by building a fire of green poison-ivy and swamp-sumac, and had actually submitted himself to a vapor-bath of these two poisonous materials. He was a professional bounty-jumper, and had taken this means to get out of the army. He was never heard of afterward, as he fell into the hands of the enemy where his comrades left him.

When poisoned with ivy or sumac , if time and cooling medicines are taken, the poison will slowly exhaust itself; but it is a tedious and slow operation. A cure which is in use with the Indians of California and the Territories is to eat a few of the leaves after the poison has made its appearance on the skin. The Editor of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE tells me that he has tried this method, and that in his case it effected a complete cure within twelve hours.

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