farther and wider, the negro's voice lifted up its supplications:

"O Lord, we's ben mighty wicked, an' we knows dat we 'zerve to go to de bad place, but good Lord, deah Lord, we aint ready yit, we aint ready-let dese po' chil'en hab one mo' chance, jes' one mo' chance. Take de ole niggah, if you's got to hab somebody.- Good Lord, good deah Lord, we don't know what you's a gwine to, we don't know who you's got yo' eye on, but we knows by de way you's a comin', we knows by de way you's a tiltin' along in yo' charyot fiah dat some po' sinner's a gwyne to ketch it. But good Lord, dese chil'en don't belong heah, dey's f'm Obedstown whah dey don't know nuffin, an' you knows, yo' own sef, dat dey aint 'sponsible. An' deah Lord, good Lord, it aint like yo' mercy, it aint like yo' pity, it aint like yo' long-sufferin' lovin'-kindness for to take dis kind o' 'vantage o' sich little chil'en as dese is when dey's so many ornery grown folks chuck full o' cussedness dat wants roastin' down dah. O Lord, spah de little chil'en, don't tar de little chil'en away f'm dey frens, jes' let 'em off jes' dis once, an' take it out'n de ole niggah. HEAH I IS, LORD, HEAH I IS! De ole niggah's ready, Lord, de ole

The flaming and churning steamer was right abreast the party, and not twenty steps away. The awful thunder of a mud-valve suddenly burst forth, drowning the prayer, and as suddenly Uncle Dan'l snatched a child under each arm and scoured into the woods with the rest of the pack at his heels. And then, ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep darkness and shouted (but rather feebly):

There was a moment of throbbing suspense, and then, to the surprise and comfort of the party, it was plain that the august presence had gone by, for its dreadful noises were receding. Uncle Dan'l headed a cautious reconnaissance in the direction of the log. Sure enough "the Lord" was just turning a point a short distance up the river, and while they looked, the lights winked out and the coughing diminished by degrees, and presently ceased altogether.

"H'wsh! Well now dey's some folks says dey aint no 'ficiency in prah. Dis chile would like to know whah we'd a ben now if it warn't fo' dat prah? Dat's it. Dat's it!"

"Uncle Dan'l, do you reckon it was the prayer that saved us?" said Clay.

"Does I reckon? Don't I know it! Whah was yo' eyes? Warn't de Lord jes' a comin' chow! chow! CHOW! an' a goin' on turrible an' do de Lord carry on dat way 'dout dey's sumfin don't suit him? An warn't he a lookin' right at dis gang heah, an' warn't he jes' a reachin' for 'em? An' d'you spec' he gwyne to let 'em off 'dout somebody ast him to do it? No indeedy!"

"Well, Uncle Dan'l, I think that- My! here comes another one up the river! There can't be two!"

"We gone dis time—we done gone dis time, sho'! Dey aint two, Mars Clay-dat's de same one. De Lord kin 'pear eberywhah in a second. Goodness, how de fiah an' de smoke do belch up! Dat mean business, honey. He comin' now like he fo'got sumfin. Come long, chil'en, time you's gwyne to roos'. Go 'long wid you- · ole Uncle Dan'l gwyne out in de woods to rastle in prah-de ole niggah gwyne to do what he kin to sabe you agin." ANONYMOUS.

PROGRAMME NO. 11.

*

THE LITTLE STOWAWAY.

* "Would ye like to hear about it?

I eagerly assent; and the narrator, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, folds his brawny arms upon the top of the rail, and commences as follows:

"'Bout three years ago, afore I got this berth as I'm in now, I was second engineer aboard a Liverpool steamer bound for New York. There'd been a lot of extra cargo sent down just at the last minute, and we'd had no end of a job stowin' it away, and that ran us late o' startin'; so that, altogether, you may think, the cap'n waren't in the sweetest temper in the world, nor the mate neither; as for the chief engineer, he was an easy goin' sort of a chap, as nothing on earth could put out. But on the mornin' of the third day out from Liverpool, he cum down to me in a precious hurry, lookin' as if somethin' had put him out pretty considerably.

"Tom,' says he, 'what d'ye think? Blest if we ain't found a stowaway.' (That's the name, you know, sir, as we gives to chaps as hide themselves aboard outward-bound vessels, and gets carried out unbeknown to everybody.)

"The dickens you have!' says I. Who is he, and where did you find him?'

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'Well, we found him stowed away among the casks for'ard; and ten to one we'd never ha' twigged him at all, if the skipper's dog hadn't sniffed him out and begun barkin'. Such a nice little mite as he is, too! I could ha' most put him in my bacca-pouch, poor little beggar! but he looks to be a good-plucked un for all that.'

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"I didn' wait to hear no more, but up on deck like a skyrocket; and there I did see a sight, and no mistake. Every man-Jack of the crew, and what few passengers we had on board, was all in a ring on the fo'c'stle and in the middle was the fust-mate, lookin' as black as thunder. Right in front of him lookin' a reg'lar mite among them big fellers was a little

bit o' a lad not ten years old-ragged as a scarecrow, but with bright curly hair, and a bonnie little face o' his own, if it hadn't been so woful thin and pale. But bless your soul! to see the way that little chap held his head up, and looked about him, you'd ha' thought the whole ship belonged to him. The mate was a great, hulkin', black-bearded feller, with a look that 'ud ha' frightened horse, and a voice fit to make one jump through a keyhole; but the young un warn't a bit afeard he stood straight up, and looked him full in the face with them bright clear eyes o' his'n, for all the world as if he was Prince Halfred himself. Folk did say arterwards ”— lowering his voice to a whisper-" as how he com'd o' better blood nor what he seemed; and, for my part, I'm rather o' that way o' thinkin' myself; for I never yet see'd a common street harab-as they calls them now-carry it off like him. You might ha' heered a pin drop as the mate spoke.

"Well, you young whelp,' says he, in his grimmest voice, 'what's brought you here?"

"It was my stepfather as done it,' says the boy, in a weak little voice, but as steady as could be. 'Father's dead and mother's married again, and my new father says as how he won't have no brats about eatin' up his wages; and he stowed me away when nobody warn't lookin,' and guv me some grub to keep me goin' for a day or two till I got to sea. He says I'm to go to Aunt Jane, at Halifax; and here's her address.' And with that, he slips his hand into the breast of his shirt, and out with a scrap o' paper, awful dirty and crumpled up, but with the address on it right enough.

"We all believed every word on't, even without the paper; for his look, and his voice, and the way he spoke, was enough to show that there warn't a ha'porth o' lyin' in his whole skin. But the mate didn't seem to swallow the yarn at all; he only shrugged his shoulders with a kind o' grin, as much as to say, 'I'm too old a bird to be caught by that kind o' chaff; and then he says to him, "Look here, my lad, that's all very fine, but it won't do here-some o' these men o' mine are in the secret, and I mean to have it out of 'em. Now you just point out the man as stowed you away and fed you, this very minute; if you don't, it will be the worse for you! "The boy looked up in his bright, fearless way (it did my heart good to look at him, the brave little chap!) and says, quietly, I've told you the truth; I ain't got no more to say."

"The mate says nothin', but looks at him for a minute as

"The men all looked at each other, as much as to say, 'What on earth's acomin' now?' But aboard ship, o'course, when you're told to do a thing, you've got to do it; so the rope was rove in a jiffy.

mate, in a hard, square kind

"Now, my lads,' says the o' voice that made every word seem like fittin' a stone into a wall, 'you see that 'ere rope? Well, I'll give you ten minutes to confess; and if you don't tell the truth afore the time's up, I'll hang you like a dog!

"The crew all stared at one another as if they couldn't believe their ears (I didn't believe mine, I can tell ye), and then a low growl went among 'em, like a wild beast awakin' out

of a nap.

"Silence, there!' shouts the mate, in a voice like the roar of a nor'easter. 'Stand by to run for'ard!' as he held the noose ready to put it round the boy's neck. The little feller never flinched a bit; but there was some among the sailors (big strong chaps as could ha' felled an ox) as shook like leaves in the wind. As for me, I bethought myself o' my little curly-haired lad at home, and how it 'ud be if anyone was to go for to hang him; and at the very thought on't Í tingled all over, and my fingers clinched theirselves as if they was agrippin' somebody's throat. I clutched hold o' a handspike and held it behind my back, all ready.

"Tom,' whispers the chief engineer to me, d'ye think he really means to do it?'

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"I don't know,' says I, through my teeth; but if he does, he shall go first, if I swings for it!'

"I've been in many an ugly scrape in my time, but I never felt 'arf as bad as I did then. Every minute seemed as long as a dozen; an' the tick o' the mate's watch, reg'lar, pricked my ears like a pin. The men were very quiet, but there was a precious ugly look on some o' their faces; and I noticed that three or four on 'em kep' edgin' for'ard to where the mate was, in a way that meant mischief. As for me, I'd made up my mind that if he did go for to hang the poor little chap, I'd kill him on the spot and take my chance.

"Eight minutes,' says the mate, his great deep voice breakin' in upon the silence like the toll o' a funeral bell. If