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Her beads while she numbered,

The baby still slumbered,

And smiled in her face as she bended her knee.

"Oh, blest be that warning,

That sweet sleep adorning,

For I know that the angels are whispering to thee!

"And while they are keeping

Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
Oh, pray to them softly, my baby with me!

And say thou wouldst rather

They'd watch o'er thy father,

For I know that the angels are whispering to thee."

The dawn of the morning

Saw Dermot returning,

And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see: And closely caressing

Her child with a blessing,

Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with

thee."

-SAMUEL LOVER.

THE DUTCH BOOR AND HIS HORSE

When I was a small child and went to school, too young to read, I heard a thing read, of a horse, that made both my cheeks wet with hot tears. The man

who owned the horse lived at the Cape of Good Hope, and was called a Dutch boor, which means that he was a poor man of Dutch blood who was born on the soil of that hot land, and tilled it with the plow and hoe.

He was a kind man at heart, though rough in look and speech. He loved his mare, and she loved him, and was with him by day and near him by night. She was proud to have him on her back, and would dash through swamps, ponds, and fire, too, if he wished it.

But a day came that proved the faith and love of her stout heart and the soul of the man. A great storm came down on the sea. The waves roared,

and rose as high as the hills.

Their white tops

foamed with rage at the winds that smote them with all their might.

Night drew near, and it was a scene to make one quake with fear. Right in the midst of all this rage and roar of wind and sea, a great ship, with sails rent, and helm gone, came in sight. It rode on the high, white waves, straight on to a reef of rocks, too far from the shore to be reached with a rope.

The ship was full of young and old, whose cries for help could be heard, loud as was the voice of the

storm. Their boats were gone like the shells of eggs. There was no wood with which to build a raft. The waves leaped on the ship like great white wolves bent on their prey.

be saved?

How could one soul of them all

[graphic]

The men on shore could but look on the sad sight.

They could give no help. They had no boat nor raft, and their hearts were sick within them.

Then the Dutch boor was seen to draw near at full speed on his horse. Down he came to the beach, nor did he stop there one breath of time.

He spoke a word to her which she knew, and with no touch of whip or spur she dashed in, and, with a rope tied to her tail, swam the sea to the ship's side. She wheeled, and stamped her way on the white surge with a row of men to the shore. There she stayed but for a breath.

At the soft word and touch she knew so well, she turned, and once more plowed through the surge to the ship, and brought back a load of young and old. Once more she stood on the beach, amidst tears of joy that fell from all eyes. She stood there weak, as wet with sweat as with the sea. The night fell down fast on the ship. There were still a few more left on it, and their cries for help came on the wind to the shore.

The thoughts that tugged at the brave man's heart will not be known in this world. The cries from the ship pierced it through and through. He could not bear to hear them. He spoke a low, soft word to his horse; he put his hand to her neck, and seemed to ask her if she could do it. She turned her head to him with a look that meant, "If you wish it, I will try." He did wish it, and she tried to the last pulse of her heart.

She walked straight into the wild sea.

All on

shore held their breath at the sight. She was weak, but brave. Now and then the white surge buried her head; then she rose and shook the brine out of her eyes.

Foot by foot she neared the ship. Now the last man had caught the rope. Once more she turned her head to the beach. Shouts and prayers came from it to keep up her strength.

own.

The tug was for a life she loved more than her She broke her veins for it halfway between ship and shore. She could lift her feet no more; her mane lay like black seaweed on the waves while she tried to catch one more breath; then, with a groan, she went down with all the load she bore, and a wail went out from the land for the loss of a life that had saved from death nearly all of a ship's crew of men.

Thus dared and died in the sea the brave Dutch boor and his horse. They were as friends, one in life, one in death; and both might well have place and rank with the best lives and deaths we read of in books for young or old.

- ELIHU BURRITT.

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