The truth of the old saying "that it is sweet to die for one's country" shows itself in the spirit which animates most of those who compose the navy of the United States to-day, whether they are officers or sailors. A notable instance of this was seen during the recent civil war in Brazil. The rebels at Rio Janeiro blockaded the port, and would not allow our merchant ships to go into the harbor. Admiral Benham, in command of our squadron, notified the ships of the rebels that he intended to take our merchant-men into the harbor, and that if they were interfered with he should fire on the rebel fleet. Our war-ships were cleared for action, and every man waited a single word before he plunged into a fight that must have meant death to many of them. One of the spectators of that scene has declared that he never saw a more inspiriting sight than the way our sailors, probably not a dozen of whom had ever had experience in war, responded to the call of duty. To a man they were ready to die for one's country if necessary. Surely, if it is sweet to die for one's country, it is honorable at all times to wear the uniform of that country, and that doubtless explains why our naval service is so popular nowadays, and is composed chiefly of native-born Americans.
In order to induce good men to return to the service, there is a law of Congress which gives to every man on re-enlisting three months' pay of the grade that he held at the time of his discharge, providing he enlists within three months from the date of his discharge. Then the regulations of the department, as another inducement for men, give a continuous-service certificate to all men receiving honorable discharges, which certificate entitles a man at every re-enlistment to one dollar's additional pay.
[OLD TOOLS AND NEW ONES.]
BY BARNET PHILLIPS.
I bought a gimlet with a metal handle for five cents, and it turned out to be a good tool. Five cents seemed cheap for a gimlet. Then I read that when manufacturers turned out gimlets in large quantities they could afford to sell them for less than a cent apiece. I happened to remember how a friend of mine showed me, some years ago, a handsome otter-skin pouch neatly ornamented, and told me that when he was in Alaska he had given an Indian a gimlet for it.
"That was a hard trade for the Indian," I said, "for that skin is worth twenty-five dollars."
"I did not take any advantage of the Indian," was my friend's answer. "The man was perfectly satisfied with the barter. A week afterwards I would have given the skin back, and more besides, to have had a gimlet. Skins were plenty in Alaska, gimlets scarce. The real cost of a thing often depends on how much you need it—and that is called the demand; and to something else—the distance from the place where the thing is made. You see, the subject of transportation comes in there, which has to do with supply."
When I thought it over I came to the conclusion that my friend had not got the better of the Indian, and that it was a fair swop.
I have the credit with my own children of being a very poor tinkerer, with a reputation for breaking tools; and I wanted a gimlet, and did not have one, when, strangely enough, the United States National Museum at Washington sent me one, not to use, but to look at, and here is an exact outline of it: