not the terror of the past have so unnerved him as to prevent him from taking the necessary measures for safety? She did not know the magic influence which her few words exercised over him. She did not know the strength that the sound of her voice, so calm and steadfast, had given him --as if the little thread that carried to him the hope of life once more, had conveyed to him some portion of that faith in God, which nothing ever destroyed or shook in her pure heart. She did not know that, as she waited there, the words came over him:

Why art thou cast down, O my soul? why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou in God.”

She lifted her heart to God for hope and strength, but could do nothing more for her husband, and her heart turned to God and rested on him as on a rock.

There was a great shout. "He's safe, mother, he's safe!" cried Tom.

"Thou hast saved my life, my Mary," said the husband, folding her in his arms. "But what ails thee? thou seemest more sorrowful than glad about it."

But Mary could not speak, and if the strong arm of her husband had not held her up she would have fallen to the ground-the sudden joy, after such fear, had overcome her.

"Tom, let thy mother lean on thy shoulder," said his father, "and we will take her home."

And in their happy home they poured forth thanks to God for his great goodness, and their happy life together felt dearer and holier for the peril it had been in, and the nearness of the danger had brought them unto God. And the holiday next day—was it not indeed a thanksgiving day!

THE DEMON-SHIP.-THOMAS HOOD.

'Twas off the Wash-the sun went down-the sea looked black and grim,

For stormy clouds, with murky fleece, were mustering at the brim ;

Titanic shades! enormous gloom!-as if the solid night
Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light!

It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye,

With such a dark conspiracy between the sea and sky!

Down went my helm-close reef'd-the tack held freely in
my hand-

With ballast snug-I put about, and scudded for the land.
Loud hiss'd the sea beneath her lee-my little boat flew fast,
But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast.
Lord! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail!
What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of
hail!

What darksome caverns yawned before! what jagged steeps
behind!

Like battle-steeds, with foamy manes, wild tossing in the
wind.

Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase,
But where it sank another rose and galloped in its place;
As black as night-they turned to white, and cast against the
cloud

A snowy sheet, as if each surge upturned a sailor's shroud :—
Still flew my boat; alas! alas! her course was nearly run!
Behold yon fatal billow rise-ten billows heaped in one!
With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling fast,
As if the scooping sea contained one only wave at last!
Still on it came, with horrid roar, a swift pursuing grave;
It seemed as though some cloud had turned its hugeness to
a wave!

Its briny sleet began to beat beforehand in my face

I felt the rearward keel begin to climb its swelling base!
I saw its alpine hoary head impending over mine!
Another pulse-and down it rushed-an avalanche of brine!
Brief pause had I, on God to cry, or think of wife and home;
The waters closed-and when I shrieked, I shrieked below
the foam!

Beyond that rush I have no hint of any after deed-
For I was tossing on the waste, as senseless as a weed.

"Where am I? in the breathing world, or in the world of
death?"

With sharp and sudden pang I drew another birth of breath;
My eyes drank in a doubtful light, my ears a doubtful

sound

And was that ship a real ship whose tackle seemed around?
A moon as if the earthly moon, was shining up aloft;

But were those beams the very beams that I had seen so oft?
A face, that mocked the human face, before me watched alone;
But were those eyes the eyes of man that looked against
my own?

Oh! never may the moon again disclose me such a sight
As met my gaze, when first I looked, on that accursed night!
I've seen a thousand horrid shapes begot of fierce extremes
Of fever; and most frightful things have haunted in my
dreams-

Hyenas, cats, blood-loving bats, and apes with hateful stare,
Pernicious snakes, and shaggy bulls-the lion, and she-bear-
Strong enemies, with Judas looks, of treachery and spite-
Detested features, hardly dimmed and banished by the light!
Pale-sheeted ghosts, with gory locks, upstarting from their
tombs ;

All phantasies and images that flit in midnight gloomsHags, goblins, demons, lemures, have made me all aghast,But nothing like that GRIMLY ONE who stood beside the mast!

His cheek was black, his brow was black, his eyes and hair as dark:

His hand was black, and where it touched, it left a sable mark;

His throat was black, his vest the same, and when I looked

beneath,

His breast was black-all, all was black, except his grinning teeth.

His sooty crew were like in hue, as black as Afric slaves! Oh, horror! e'en the ship was black that plowed the inky waves!

"Alas!" I cried, "for love of truth and blessed mercy's sake, Where am I? in what dreadful ship? upon what dreadful lake?

What shape is that, so very grim, and black as any coal?
It is Mahound, the Evil One, and he has gained my soul!
Oh, mother dear! my tender nurse! dear meadows that be-
guiled

My happy days, when I was yet a little sinless child,-
My mother dear—my native fields, I never more shall see:
I'm sailing in the Devil's ship, upon the Devil's sea!”

Loud laughed that sable mariner, and loudly in return
His sooty crew sent forth a laugh that rang from stem to stern;
A dozen pair of grimly cheeks were crumpled on the nonce,
As many sets of grinning teeth came shining out at once:
A dozen gloomy shapes at once enjoyed the merry fit,
With shriek and yell, and oaths as well, like demons of the pit.
They crowed their fill, and then the chief made answer for
the whole:-

"Our skins," said he," are black ye see, because we carry coal; You'll find your mother sure enough, and see your native

fields,

For this here ship has picked you up-the Mary Ann of Shields!"

A COCKNEY WAIL.

The great Pacific journey I have done;

In many a town and tent I've found a lodgment.
I think I've traveled to the setting sun,

And very nearly reached the day of judgment!
Like Launcelot, in the quest of Holy Grail,
From Western Beersheba to Yankee Dan

I've been a seeker; yet I sadly fail

To find the genuine type American.

Where is this object of my youthful wonder,
Who met me in the pages of Sam Slick?
Who opened every sentence with "By thunder!"
And whittled always on a bit of stick?

The more the crowd of friends around me thickens
The less my chance to meet him seems to be;
Why did he freely show himself to Dickens,
To Dixen, Sala, Trollope-not to me?

No one accosts me with the words: "Wa'll stranger!"
Greets me with "festive cuss," or shouts "old hoss"
No grim six-shooter threatens me with danger,

If I don't quickly "Pass the butter, boss."

I, too, have sat, like every other fellow,

In many a railway, omnibus, street car;
No girl has spiked me with a fierce umbrella,
And said: "You git, I mean to sit right thar!"

Gone are the Yankees of my early reading!
Faded the Yankee Land of eager quest!
I meet with culture, courtesy, good breeding,
Art, letters,-men and women of the best.
Oh! fellow-Britons, all my hopes are undone;
Take counsel of a disappointed man;

Don't come out here, but stay at home in London,
And seek in books the true American.

SHELTER.-WILLIAM J. LEE.

There's mony a wee sweet lily sair nipped wi' the cold; There's mony a cannie sparrow fa's upon the bleakie wold; The wind hae aft times killit wee birdies on the tree;

But He will gaither in His nest weak bairns like you and me.

The bending heather i' the field, the primrose down the brae, The hawthorn, fragrant i' the glen, and ilka milk-white slae,

He sifts the biting frost upon, and wings the blast wi' cold; But gently shields His lammies a' within His safe, warm fold.

When hawk, wi' dark wings, swoopeth adown the simmer sky,

The mither ca's, and frichtened brood aneath her wingies fly;

When shadows, swooping, fa' on thee--warld sorrows-trouble stings

He ca's for limpin', helpless weans to run aneath His wings!

The world hae, whiles, its dangers, and wingéd blasts o' care, Yet the Father flecketh mony spots wi' hopings, bright and fair.

We gang to find a city where we hope wi' joy to sing:

And our pilgrim heads are sheltered aneath His feathery wing.

'Mang mists we sometimes stimble, and hunter's darts fa' fast,

The nicht comes down upon us, and nae starlight cheers the blast!

But nae sparrow e'er escapeth His watchfu', kindly ee; And his gentle wings coine drooping down to shelter you

and me.

Wha's on before wi' bleeding feet, atween me and the storm? My shield by day, my guide by night-that meek and weary form?

Each burden that my heart doth bend, He first the burden bore;

And His guid hand will lead me safe the last dark river o'er!

The bairn hath loving mither, and wee birdies leafy nest; The calms are cradles of the storms, and ocean waves have rest!

We dinna ken how soon may fa' upon our hearts sae sair, Down frae the gowden gate the cry, "Ye need nae journey mair!"

So gird the loins, and brichten up the sword, and forward gang!

We'll meet wi' mony trials, but it winna be for lang.

And as shepherd leads his lammies, and ca's them a' by name, Our Friend will open wide the gate, and bid us a' come hame!