Colder and louder blew the wind,

A gale from the north-east :
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm and smote amain

The vessel in its strength;

She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so;

For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coa
Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.

"Oh, father! I hear the church bells ring; Oh say, what may it be?"

""Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" And he steered for the open sea.

66

Oh, father! I hear the sound of guns;
Oh say, what may it be?"

"Some ship in distress that cannot live
In such an angry sea!"

"Oh, father! I see a gleaming light;
Oh say, what may it be?"

But the father answered never a word-
A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face turned to the skies,

The lantern shone through the gleaming snow,
On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That savéd she might be ;

And she thought of Christ who stilled the wave On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf,
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bow
She drifted a dreary wreck;

And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from the deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool;

But the cruel rocks they gored her sides
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds all sheathed in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank-
Ho! ho! the breakers roared.

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,

A fisherman stood aghast,

To see the form of a maiden fair

Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
The salt tears in her eyes;

And he saw her hair like the brown sea-weed
On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus ;
In the midnight and the snow;

Christ save us all from a death like this
On the reef of Norman's Woe!

H. W. Longfellow.

MAN, BEST AS HE IS.

Henry: Oh, papa, what pleasure we should have if we were both as tall as you!

Mr. Jones: I do not believe that in that case you would be contented.

Henry: It is true that I had rather be still taller; for instance, as tall as the giant who came to show himself for money at the fair.

Frederick: That would be but a trifle. As we are wishing, and as wishes cost so little, we need hardly stop there. You know our tallest cherry tree? Well, then, I would wish to be as tall as that.

Mr. Jones: But why, pray?

Fred.: Because I should not want either a ladder or pole when the fruit was ripe. Do but think a little, brother, how delightful it would be to walk about the orchard with our heads among the branches of the

trees to eat cherries, pears, and apples from the branches, without being at the trouble to gather them! Would not this be indeed charming?

Henry: We might likewise walk along the streets, and look into the rooms on either side the way three storeys high. Ha! ha! I fancy we should put the people in a fright.

Fred. I should not fear the carriages when I had occasion to cross the street. It would be only making a stride, and I should see carts, wagons, coaches, men, and horses all pass under me, and should smile in contempt at their littleness.

Henry: You know the river that flows by our house, which now we must cross in a boat, or go round by the bridge? Well, I might walk through it then, which would be very cooling in the summer.

Fred.: Besides we should be stronger if we were bigger. If a bull should venture to attack me, as I crossed the field, I would twist his neck off, just as if he were a rabbit, or else throw him up in the air a hundred yards high; and when he was come to the ground, he would be so occupied with thinking about his fall that he would forget to get up again.

Henry: We should not then want horses for the plough, as we might draw it easily ourselves, and in ten steps get quite across a very large field. I saw last Thursday more than fifty men at work in driving piles to make a causeway. How hard they worked! Well, then, with such a hammer as my size would allow me to raise, one man might in a single day perform their work, and not be very much tired at night.

Mr. Jones: Fine talking, truly! But do you know that after all these grand wishes you are no more than two simpletons?

Henry: How, papa? Is not our scheme good?

Mr. Jones: It would not in any way increase your happiness-nay, it would rather expose you to hardships and troubles.

Fred. But would it not be convenient for reaching things that are placed very high, and for travelling at a quicker pace than we can at present?

Mr. Jones: Before I answer you, tell me if when you became so very tall, you would wish everything besides to remain the same size that it was before?

Frea. Certainly, papa.

Henry: Yes, yes; there should be none but us three giants.

Mr. Jones: In the first place, if you were as tall as that cherry tree, how would you be able, as at present, to take your walk among the many trees in an orchard You would be obliged to crawl on your hands and feet, and even then you would find it very difficult to get along.

Fred. But you forget, papa, how easily I might put out my foot against the first tree stand'ng in my way, and root it up. It would be nothing but a wheat stalk to me.

Mr. Jones: So as you would want a larger amount of fruit to satisfy your increased appetite, you would destroy the trees that bear it? But let us go a little further than an orchard. There are many roads about us, upon one side shaded by a row of trees, whose branches overhang the pathway. Men of ordinary height can walk underneath them with ease, and find the shade comfortable in the heat of summer. You would, however, be obliged to walk along the middle of the road, and be exposed to the scorching rays of the sun. Then again, what would become of you