“Si monumentum requiris, circumspice." THE SAILOR'S SNUG HARBOR. In the summer of 1776, Captain John Lee, of Marblehead, in Massachusetts, under a commission of Congress, was cruising upon the high seas for British prizes. Finding himself short of supplies and munitions, he entered the port of Bilboa, in Spain, where, upon complaint of some English officers whom he had captured, he was arrested for piracy. The British minister in Spain used all his influence against him, but while the case was pending, the news of the Declaration of Independence reached Madrid; the complaint against Captain Lee was dismissed, supplies and aid in refitting his ship were furnished, and Spain declared that the new flag of the United States should henceforth be as welcome in her ports as the old flag of Great Britain. She further sent a million of francs to her ambassador at Paris as a free gift for the young nation, and hinted that three thousand barrels of powder in New Orleans were entirely at its service. This timely friendship, like that of France, and, we must reluctantly confess, like all international friendships, was not wholly disinterested; neither Spain nor France were in love with democracy or revolution, but they were heartily hostile to Great Britain, and were ready to strike the "ruler of the waves" whenever a blow would tell. Spain wished to solace her wounded honor by recovering Gibraltar, and she was greedy of territory beyond the Mississippi. Don Bernardo de Galvez, the brilliant young Governor of New Orleans, which was then a little city of scarcely four thousand inhabitants, and was described by the glowing French tourists as the most enchanting of cities, obeyed with ardor the direction of the home government. He retaliated the seizure of an American schooner upon the lakes, by the seizure and confiscation of all British vessels within his reach, and early announced that the port of New Orleans should be wide open for the sale of the prizes of Yankee privateers. This was good news to a thrifty Scotch trader in that city named Randall, who had crossed the sea to make his fortune, and who now quietly fitted out vessels which took the sea as privateers, and brought him rich returns. There is no tradi tion of peculiar harshness in his captures, which could cause a curse to cling to his gold, which rapidly increased, and was invested in plantations in Louisiana. When he died, his only son inherited his estates. This son, Robert Richard Randall, died three-fourths of a century ago; there is no record of his life, and there are none living probably who knew him. It was his custom to leave his Louisiana plantation every summer, and come to breathe the cooler airs of the northern coast, much as his successors in that region used to be seen at Newport and Saratoga before the war. Probably he was the counterpart of many a bachelor who may haply sit upon a pleasant piazza some sunny morning, snuffing the sea air, or the wind from the mountains; if any such there be, let him be the counterpart of Randall, and so provide that his may become a name of interest to the unborn bachelor of another generation, if not of gratitude to hundreds and hundreds of "aged, decrepid and worn-out" fellow voyagers of life. Among the associates of Randall's summer sojourn by the sea, was a certain Mr. Farquhar, a family name which was familiar to New Yorkers in the beginning of the century, James Farquhar being the President of the Marine Society at the time of Mr. Randall's death. Farquhar was an invalid, and was compelled every year to go to a southern and softer climate, and it naturally occurred to the friends that it would be convenient if their estates lay in the air that was most agreeable to their health; they discussed the subject, and growing interested, compared their fortunes, which proved to be nearly equal, and after due consideration and debate, they agreed to exchange estate upon condition that Mr. Randall |