Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye; Ah! what is that sound which now 'larms his ear? 'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky! 'Tis the crashing of thunder, the groan of the sphere!

He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck,
Amazement confonts him with images dire;
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck;
The masts fly in splinters; the shrouds are on fire.

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell,
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save;
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death-angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave.

O sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss, Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright,Thy parents' fond pressure, and home's honeyed bliss?

O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again

Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay.

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge;
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge !

On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid,-
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll;
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye,-
O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul.

Our neighbors have a big sneaking cat,
That won't catch a rat or a mouse,

But is after each robin, phoebe, and wren
That dares build its nest near the house.

One day Jet was wagging his tail in the door,
When there came such a flutter of wings;
O, how those robins did chatter and scold,
And no wonder, poor little things!

For, down in the grass, with a bird in her claws,

Was crouching that sneak of a cat ;

And I tell you Jet bristled, for even a dog

Would'nt do such a mean thing as that.

He was just a black streak as he shot out that door,

And, before that cat knew what to do,

Jet had her and shook her as he shakes a rat,
And-well, you may know the fur flew.

Yes, that's just like "Jet," he's a wonderful dog.

Speak! Give me your paw, sir!
Dead dog, for the gentleman.

See that?

Yes sir, he's kind;

But oh, he is death on a cat!

XXI. CASABIANCA.

THE boy stood on the burning deck,

Whence all but him had fled;

The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;

A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though childlike form.

The flames rolled on-he would not go
Without his father's word;

The father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud-"Say, father, say,
If yet my task is done?"

He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once again he cried,
"If I may yet be gone!

And-" But the booming shots replied

And fast the flames rolled on.

"I've fought beside thee in the field,
And 'neath the greenwood tree;
It is but fair for thee to give
Yon vacant place to me.'

"It is not just," a statesman cried, "This soldier's prayer to hear, My wisdom has done more for thee Than either sword or spear.

"The victories of the council hall
Have made thee more renown,
Than all the triumphs of the field
Have given to thy crown.

"My name is known in every land,
My talents have been thine,
Bestow this Earldom, then, on me,
For it is justly mine."

Yet, while before the monarch's throne
These men contending stood,

A woman crossed the floor who wore
The weeds of widowhood.

And slowly to King Alfred's feet
A fair-haired boy she led—
"O King! this is the rightful heir
Of Holderness," she said.

"Helpless he comes to claim his own,

Let no man do him wrong,

For he is weak and fatherless,

And thou art just and strong.

"What strength of power," the statesmen cried, "Could such a judgment bring?

Can such a feeble child as this

Do aught for thee, O King?

"When thou hast need of brawny arms To draw thy deadly bows,

When thou art wanting crafty men

To crush thy mortal foes.”

With earnest voice the fair young boy

Replied: "I cannot fight

But I can pray to God, O King!

And Heaven can give thee might!"

And children coming home from school Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend