have never met; and the same might be said of Irish Dan, another hard subject, who had been imprisoned for mutiny and general insubordination, beaten, cut and bruised, till his features were the reverse of anything pleasant to look upon.

Every Sunday in the dog-watch those who wished took their places aft and listened to a plain talk based on some simple Scriptural text from Captain Christian.

Though "watch and watch" was given, I never saw a larger amount or more thorough work done in the same given time when the whole crew were on deck all day. In Cronstadt, the men stayed by the ship helping to remove the cargo, and reload for New York, it being distinctly understood that the first one who came on board intoxicated at any time should be discharged. We brought every man back to New York, and after the "Guardian" was made fast, the entire crew went aft headed by Irish Dan as spokesman, who, in a speech punctuated by embarrassed pauses, held forth in this wise:

"Cap'n Christian, sur! For all we're nothin' but ould sailors, we know what daycint usin' is. And if all Cap'n's was like yerself, it 'ud make it better for us and thim too. Here's wishin' ye h'lth, happiness, and

God bless ye for a gintleman and a sailor ev'ry inch of ye. Which that same is the meanin' of the whole bilin' of us through me shpeakin'. Good bye sur!" And when Captain Christian kindly shook hands with every one of them, adding a few simple words of good advice, I think that his "native dignity" was not lowered the fraction of an inch; rather the reverse. I am fully convinced that a kindlier form of treatment on shipboard would make the work of Missions and Bethels on shore far more effectual. Forecastle Jack will seldom voluntarily raise himself from the mire, but he will often accept a helping hand, especially if it is proffered him on his own element where he is for the time beyond the reach of temptation. I do not say that Captain Christian's particular method is infallible or always advisable; but with modifications suited to circumstances, I firmly believe that it will pay, both from a moral and worldly point of view. I have simply stated the plain facts as to the three different forms of treatment that Forecastle Jack may meet in his unrestful life. Which of them is best I leave my readers to decide.

Frank H. Converse.

Ir was noon, and the "Juliet," lying in the port of Civita Vecchia, was to sail at sunset. Her captain, Neils Krumpe, a Dane, with a kind heart lodged under gruff manners like a sweet nut-kernel in a harsh, prickly shell, walked the wharf scanning the vessel and the movements of the men who were loading her cargo.

A few yards away stood a little boy with a violin, and a very small parcel tied in a soiled handkerchief. His melancholy velvety black eyes were fixed wistfully on the "Juliet." He might have been only ten or twelve years old, he was so small and spare, or he might by a certain prematurity of look, have been fourteen, which he actually

was.

"I wonder what that boy wants," thought Neils Krumpe, very crossly, as he paced to and fro with his hands behind him, looking askance at the boy, between the orders and answers he gave to his men. "He's been here ever since daybreak; he was here yesterday and the day before; blest if I don't believe he's been leaning on that pile o' boxes-what's your name?”

Neils Krumpe had turned suddenly on the boy.

"Beppo Luigi di Cioni," said the boy, springing from his lounging attitude into one of intense eagerness.

Neils Krumpe examined him from head to foot with sharpest scrutiny.

"Well, Beppo, never mind the Lucy G.

said Neils.

Beppo answered in pantomime; pulling out his ragged pockets; turning his cap inside out; untying his handkerchief parcel, to show that it held only a tiny brass crucifix, a comb, a few fiddle-strings and a scarf; opening and spreading his claw-like brown hands; shrugging his shoulders;-all this with the greatest rapidity and an air of the most piteous appeal. Then he snatched his violin to his breast, drew the bow and with suffused eyes, played from his slender repertoire of popular Italian airs, accompanying with his faint, sweet voice.

As he played, a little girl not more than twelve years old, though as tall as Beppo, came in, drew near and presently joined in the song, with a rich, healthful voice that overpowered Beppo's feeble strain.

Neils Krumpe looked at them in silence. At the conclusion of the song, the girl said quickly in Italian :

"I am Ninetta-Ninetta Rosseli; I'm going to America-to be a great singer, Monna Terésa says. Are you going to America? What is your name?"

Beppo gave his name, but looking at Neils Krumpe, again drew his bow.

"Put it up," said the Dane. "You can go as coal boy, as far as Genoa,―there I'll see; why do you want to go to America?"

“Because my sister is there," said Beppo, turning with a sigh of relief, as Neils Krumpe went out.

Ninetta led Beppo into the cabin, where they sat down side by side on her bunk.

but hers was the normal leanness of rapid growth. Her features were good, her countenance animated; her movements were awkward, but there was nevertheless an air about her which would have distinguished her, in any ordinary group of children. After calmly observing Beppo and turning his violin about with contemplative interest, she said:

"I have castanets. Now I wish you would tell me about your sister-what is her name?"

"Francesca Agnése di Cioni." "Can she sing?"

"I don't know."

"How does she look? Is she beautiful? Monna Terésa says I will be beautiful when I am a woman; do you think so, Beppo?" Beppo looked at her, and his great, dreamy eyes caught her attention.

"You are not pretty, Beppo, but you have beautiful eyes and if you should get fat you would look well. It is because we are growing, that we have no flesh-so Monna Terésa says. But where in America is your sister? America is big you know; almost as big as the whole of Italy."

"I don't know where is Francesca," said Beppo, with a slight quiver of the lip, and then he began to speak rapidly—“and I can't tell you how she looks, because I don't remember her. She was taken away by the padre when she was a very little thing, and sent away to America, years ago; I can remember it made mia madre cry so; night and day was she always mourning and speaking of little Francesca, poverina, and telling me to be sure and find her. She is dead-my mother; dead for ten days now, and I promised her I would go to America and find my sister Francesca. She said that when once I got to America, I was to tell about Francesca to every signora that I could make stop and listen to me, until I found Francesca. Some one would know, she said, and❞—in a whisper-" the Vergine Santissima had given her a sign that I should surely find Francesca."

"Yes, certainly you will," said Ninetta firmly, laying her hand for a moment on Beppo's knee, with an air of protection.

"Can you-will you?" exclaimed Beppo. "Will your Monna Terésa let you go with me?"

Ninetta rested the back of her head in her clasped hands and looked at Beppo, with a smile full of pride and independence. "I can go where I choose, Beppo; I can do as I like! Monna Terésa is not here. I too am going to America, all alone. I have not father, mother, brothers or sisters, -nobody in all the world but just myself, Beppo." Her eyes flashed: "Ah, ciel! it is lovely to be alone, Beppo! Monna Terésa was kind, but she was afraid-afraid all the time the padre was so cross! And there was a man who used to come suddenly and scowl at me and beat me because I sang. He used to shake Monna Terésa till her beretta fell over her eyes-it was so funny it made me laugh, but I was sorry for Monna Terésa, and I hated that man!" Ninetta's eyes glowed wrathfully; she took down her hands and rested her chin in them. "You see, Beppo, I've run away, I think I mean Monna Terésa has done it, to save me from that bad man. At any rate, she sat up all night writing, and she put what she wrote in this little bag-" Ninetta pulled away her dress at the throat, and showed a small, dark silk bag or purse, fastened around her neck by an old silver chain-" and she told me never to part with it and never to open it, unless I came in some great trouble, and then I was to show it to some good people, and she thought when they read it, they would help me. But I shall not need to do that, for I shall sing, sing in beautiful, grand theaters, Beppo! to crowds and crowds of people; and I shall be rich! I shall only wear the little bag for poor Monna Theresa's sake."

There was at this moment a curious light of passionate expectation in Ninetta's eyes, which fascinated Beppo.

"Well, early this morning, while it was yet dark," said Ninetta, coming back from her reverie, "Monna Terésa waked me up and put me in these new clothes, and covered me with a thick veil, that almost choked me, and brought me here. And she

Beppo gazed in rapt attention at Ninetta. "That's all," said she, leaning back and smiling. "O, have you any money, Beppo?" Beppo blushed and began his pantomime, but Ninetta stopped him.

"Never mind, I have plenty; besides, you will play the violin when I sing, and so half my fortune will be yours."

So these children were agreed to begin life in America together. When the "Juliet" touched at Genoa, Beppo's heart was in his mouth for fear that Neils Krumpe would put him off there. He clung to Ninetta.

"I wouldn't care, only I must find Francesca," said he, with a passionate emphasis on his sister's name, that was almost startling; for Beppo, unlike Ninetta, was habitually languid and dreamy.

"Of course; of course!" said Ninetta, impatiently and yet soothingly. "You will see I shall take care of you."

She went straight to the Dane; asked that Beppo might go all the way with her, and offered the rest of her money for him.

"He must find his sister," said she, with decision, untying her small hoard of silver from the corner of her handkerchief, “and he has no money."

Neils Krumpe looked down at Ninetta, without taking his hands from his pockets. "What will you do when you get to Americą?" said he; "you will have to eat, drink and sleep, and you have to pay for these things."

"O, as to that," said Ninetta, smiling confidently, "Beppo will play and I shall sing, and there are always good people who will give milk and bread to children. When the little children from the convent looked in at the gate, Monna Terésa always gave

them milk and confetti. Here!" held up the money.

Neils Krumpe shoved back her hand so roughly that some of the coins fell.

"So! There are always good people who will give milk and bread to children-and there are always bad people who will take their money-you think!”

Ninetta's quick mind received this reproach in full force. She blushed scarlet, dropped the rest of the coin and caught one of the Dane's hard hands between her soft brown palms. "I did not mean that," said she.

Then she stooped, picked up the money and went back to Beppo, who, his fears being set at rest, fell back into his dreamy, inattentive mood; but Ninetta sat a long time in disturbed thought.

The weather was calm, and the "Juliet," being a sailing vessel, made the voyage leisurely. It was when it was about half accomplished, that Neils Krumpe took an opportunity to unburden his mind to one of his passengers, a widow lady who was returning to her home in New York. He told her what he knew concerning Beppo and Ninetta, their unfriended condition, and their ignorance of the evils and difficulties before them. He besought her interest for them on their arrival in New York. The lady, Mrs. Van Broum, listened kindly and promised to see and question the children on the next day. Neils Krumpe's heart was so much lightened that he spoke more crossly than usual to Beppo and Ninetta.

In the night a storm arose. It lasted for three days. Beppo was very sea-sick, but Ninetta had not a qualm, and took very good care of Beppo.

Mrs. Van Broum, already in delicate health, became very ill. When the "Juliet" arrived in New York, Mrs. Van Broum, still unable to sit up, had with difficulty been conveyed to a carriage, when a telegram announcing the death of her little daughter was given to her; and this, for the time, drove all remembrance of Beppo and Ninetta from her mind. And before Neils Krumpe, in the bustle of coming into port, had time to think about them, they had

Before the "Juliet" sailed from New York, Mrs. Van Broum had seen Neils Krumpe again, only to find to her regret that the children had slipped fatally from sight on the day of the Juliet's" arrival. She was a woman who had heard of that old text, "Inasmuch as ye do it unto the least of these," and had both the heart and the courage to have acted on it.

The days passed. Beppo and Ninetta carried out literally the little plan they had often and so confidently discussed on board the "Juliet." He played and she sang, and the people passing paid them small sums; some pityingly and some carelessly, because others did. Many noticed Beppo's great melancholy eyes, always wandering with vague quiet in them; and many observed the richness and promise of Ninetta's voice, but none were actually arrested to touch the fate of these waifs in a strange land.

It was summer-time, and they slept any where; sometimes stirred perhaps by latent instincts of respectability, they hired straw pallets in the cellars for two cents a night; but oftenest they laid down together under the old steps of poor tenements, or under old sheds near the water, or in the shadow of piled-up boxes on the wharves.

Sometimes, at night, standing in the dusky margin of the brilliant theater entrances, and watching the gaily dressed, smiling crowd go in, Ninetta thought it strange she had not yet been engaged to sing, but with the thought she only gave an elastic pressure to Beppo's languid hand; her spirit was unbent; she knew she should sing in those places yet.

As for Beppo, he ate what she brought for him, he played when she sang, on the street corners and before carriages that drew up in front of the great stores; and he slept where she said, but he talked very little, except to call out "Francesca!" in