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Alas! too late the ship returned—too late her life to save ; My father closed her dying eyes, and laid her in the grave. He was a man of ardent hopes, who never knew dismay; And, spite of grief, the winter-time wore cheerfully away.

He had crossed the equinoctial line full seven times or more; And, sailing northward, had been wrecked on icy Labrador. He knew the Spice Isles, every one, where the clove and

nutmeg grow, And the aloe towers, a stately tree, with clustering bells of

snow. He had gone the length of Hindustan, down Ganges' holy

flood ; Through Persia, where the peacock broods, a wild bird of

the wood; And, in the forests of the West, had seen the red deer

chased, And dwelt beneath the piny woods, a hunter of the waste.

Oh! pleasant were the tales he told of lands so strange and

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And in my ignorance I vowed I'd be a sailor too :
My father heard my vow with joy; so in the early May
We went on board a merchantman, bound for Honduras

Bay.
Right merrily, right merrily, we sailed before the wind,
With a briskly heaving sea before, and the landsman's cheer

behind. There was joy for me in every league, delight on every

strand, And I sat for days on the high foretop, on the long look

out for land.

There was joy for me in the nightly watch, on the burning

tropic seas, To mark the waves, like living fires, leap up to the freshen

ing breeze. Right merrily, right merrily, our gallant ship went free, Until we neared the rocky shoals within the Western Sea.

Yet still none thought of danger near, till in the silent

night The helmsman gave the dreadful word of “Breakers to the

right!" The moment that his voice was heard, was felt the awful

shock; The ship sprang forward with a bound, and struck upon a

rock.

“All hands aloft !" our captain cried : in terror and dismay They threw the cargo overboard, and cut the masts away: 'Twas all in vain, 'twas all in vain; the sea rushed o'er the

deck, And, shattered with the beating surf, down went the part

ing wreck!

I kn broken amid the thun

The moment that the wreck went down my father seized

me fast, And leaping 'mid the thundering waves, seized on the

broken mast. I know not how he bore me up, my senses seemed to

swim, A shuddering horror chilled my brain, and stiffened every

limb.

What next I knew, was how at morn, on a bleak, barren

shore, Out of a hundred mariners, were living only four. I looked around, like one who wakes from dreams of fierce

alarm, And round my body still I felt, firm locked, my father's arm.

And with a rigid, dying grasp, he closely held me fast,
Even as he held me when he seized, at midnight, on the

mast.

With humble hearts and streaming eyes down knelt the

little band, Praying Him who had preserved their lives to lend His

guiding hand.

And day by day, though burning thirst and pining hunger

came, His mercy through our misery preserved each drooping

frame : And after months of weary woe, sickness, and travel sore, He sent the blessed English ship that took us from that

shore.

And now, without a home or friend, I wander far and near,
And tell my miserable tale to all who lend an ear.
Thus sitting by your happy hearth, beside your mother's

knee, How should you know the miseries and dangers of the sea ?

MARY HOWITT.

LITTLE MINNIE.

ART thou weary, little Minnie ?

Lay thy head upon my knee :
It makes the old man's heart rejoice

Thy sunny face to see.
Well may the aged falter,

Who tread life's rugged way,
When even little Minnie

Grows weary of her play.

Tell thee a story, Minnie ?

Nay, I am growing old,
And all the stories of my youth

Long since to thee were told.
But if thou'lt listen, darling,

There's something I would say,
That you may oft remember
When I have passed away.

Minnie ! my sweetest thought for years,

That's cheered me many a day,
Is the memory of the mother

Who taught me first to pray.

Minnie ! do you remember

Your gentle mother too, Whose only grief in dying

Was the thought of leaving you ?

Ah, child! I mind me of the time

A tiny babe wert thou-
When the pure baptismal water

Was sprinkled on thy brow.
Thy niother gave her one pet lamb

One of Christ's flock to be :
Now in the fields of Paradise,

She waiteth there for thee.

Ah, Minnie! little Minnie !

When at the close of day
You kneel beside your little bed

Your evening prayer to say ;
Then pray to God to aid thee

To keep thy mother's vow,
That sin's dark shadow may not rest

Upon thy fair young brow.

“Remember thy Creator !"

These words were kindly given,
Even as a Father's hand, that leads

His little ones to heaven.
Ah, Minnie! closely hold His hand

As through life's path you roam :
Though rough and stormy be the way,

'Twill safely lead you home.

And when they lay me by her side,

In the peaceful church-yard there, And you sometimes gaze with tearful eyes

Upon this vacant chair, These words, perchance, your lonely heart

Will soothe 'mid grief and pain; Think, darling, we who loved you here

Will meet with you again.

Good-night, my little Minnie !

You're weary now, I know ;Yes, twine your arms around me,

And kiss me ere you go ;
Then hie thee to thy chamber-

Another day has gone ;
Good-night, my precious Minnie ! -
God bless thee, little one !

Anon.

THE SOUND OF THE SEA.
Thou art sounding on, thou mighty Sea,

For ever and the same !
The ancient rocks yet ring to thee,

Whose thunders nought can tame.

Oh! many a glorious voice is gone

From the rich bowers of earth, And hushed is many a lovely one

Of mournfulness or mirth;

But thou art swelling on, thou Deep,

Through many an olden clime;
Thy billowy anthem ne'er to sleep

Until the close of time.
Thou liftest up thy solemn voice

To every wind and sky;
And all our earth's green shores rejoice

In that one harmony !
It fills the noontide's calm profound,

The sunset's heaven of gold;
And the still midnight hears the sound,

E'en as when first it rolled.

Let there be silence, deep and strange,

Where crowning cities rose ! Thou speak’st of One that doth not changeSo may our hearts repose.

HEMAKS.

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