Clinging to the wave-washed deck,
Men and women in wild despair
Sent their pleading from off the wreck,
Shuddering on the startled air.

Then spoke Huldah, the fisher's wife:
66 'Does not a man to save them dare?
Will ye stand for a worthless life

While they cry in their wild despair?

"Shame on ye, men! A woman's hand
Shall do the deed ye dare not try!
Who'll go with me from off the land?"
"I will! and I! and I! and I!"

There they stood in the dying light,
Down by the boat with oars in hand,
Five brave women-a braver sight
Never before was seen on land.

Up spoke gruffly Old Fisher Ben,
Scarred old Triton of the sea:
"Man that boat! Such a sight, my men,
Never on earth was seen by me.

"All we can do at worst is die.

Better die," the old Triton said,
"Than to live as cowards 'neath the eye
Of the women of Marblehead."

Abner Jackson then stepped out,
Jotham Davis, and Skipper Ben,
Bijah Norcross and Ireson Stout-
That they felt was the place for men.

Out past the point, where mountain-high
Crested billows in foam were tost,
Sometimes plain on the stormy sky,
Sometimes hidden, and sometimes lost.

Round the point on the stormy wave
They reach the rock and gain the wreck;
Every life they seek to save

Safe is taken from off the deck.

And now strain hard, the goal is near,
Each hand presses a bending oar.
Shout, O fishermen! cheer on cheer-
Shout, for they have reached the shore.

That was many a year agone-
Many a fisherman is dead

Who saw the ship come sailing on
The cruel rocks of Marblehead.

And he overheard the alto, one night, whisper to the bass, That a man with such a moustache was a palpable disgrace."

And the bass informed the elder that he sacrificed his views When he came and joined the elder's choir, to help fill up his pews;

He was an Episcopalian, and if the people thought he'd take Any nonsense from a Baptist, they had made a great mistake.

Then the organist and alto both put on an injured look,
Saying something in an undertone about a change of book;
And the elder overheard them as he gently closed the door,
Use the words, "A poor old fogy," and "A sentimental bore."
And he scratched his poor old noddle, as he ambled down
the street,

With his spectacles on forehead and his slippers on his feet;
And I really think the elder has a hope of pouring oil
On the troubled sea of music, to allay the sad turmoil.

In the meantime service opens with old "China" or "Bethune," And the deacon with his tune-fork gives the people all the tune;

And the organ gathers cobwebs, and the people gather grace, While they roar out "Coronation" to the deacon's hoarsest bass.

THE MAIDEN MARTYR.

The following touching incident characterizes an important era in the history of the Scotch Covenanters :

A troop of soldiers waited at the door,
A crowd of people gathered in the street,
Aloof a little from them bared sabres gleamed
And flashed into their faces. Then the door
Was opened, and two women meekly stepped
Into the sunshine of the sweet May-noon,
Out of the prison. One was weak and old,
A woman full of tears and full of woes;
The other was a maiden in her morn,
And they were one in name, and one in faith,
Mother and daughter in the bond of Christ,
That bound them closer than the ties of blood.

The troop moved on; and down the sunny street
The people followed, ever falling back

As in their faces flashed the naked blades.
But in the midst the women simply went
As if they two were walking, side by side,
Up to God's house on some still Sabbath morn,

Only they were not clad for Sabbath day,
But as they went about their daily tasks:
They went to prison and they went to death,
Upon their Master's service.

On the shore

The troopers halted; all the shining sands
Lay bare and glistering; for the tide had
Drawn back to its farthest margin's weedy mark,
And each succeeding wave, with flash and curve,
That seemed to mock the sabres on the shore,
Drew nearer by a hand-breadth. "It will be

A long day's work," murmured those murderous men
As they slacked rein. The leader of the troops
Dismounted, and the people passing near

Then heard the pardon proffered, with the oath
Renouncing and abjuring part with all

The persecuted, covenanted folk.

But both refused the oath: "Because," they said, "Unless with Christ's dear servants we have part, We have no part with Him."

On this they took
The elder Margaret, and led her out

Over the sliding sands, the weedy sludge,
The pebbly shoals, far out, and fastened her
Unto the farthest stake, already reached
By every rising wave, and left her there:

And as the waves crept about her feet, she prayed "That He would firm uphold her in their midst, Who holds them in the hollow of His hand."

The tide flowed in. And up and down the shore
There paced the Provost and the Laird of Lag--
Grim Grierson-with Windram and with Graham;
And the rude soldiers, jesting with coarse oaths,
As in the midst the maiden meekly stood,
Waiting her doom delayed, said "she would
Turn before the tide-seek refuge in their arms
From the chill waves." But ever to her lips
There came the wondrous words of life and peace:
If God be for us, who can be against?"

Who shall divide us from the love of Christ ?"
"Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature."
From the crowd

A woman's voice cried a very bitter cry-
"O Margaret! My bonnie, bonnie Margaret!
Gie in, gie in, my bairnie, dinna ye drown,
Gie in, and tak' the oath."

The tide flowed in;
And so wore on the sunny afternoon;

And every fire went out upon the hearth,
And not a meal was tasted in the town that day.
And still the tide was flowing in:

Her mother's voice yet sounding in her ear,

They turned young Margaret's face towards the sea,
Where something white was floating-something
White as the sea-mew that sits upon the wave;
But as she looked it sank; then showed again;
Then disappeared; and round the shore
And stake the tide stood ankle-deep.

Then Grierson

With cursing vowed that he would wait
No more, and to the stake the soldier led her
Down, and tied her hands; and round her
Slender waist too roughly cast the rope, for
Windram came and eased it while he whispered
In her ear, "Come take the test, and ye are free,"
And one cried, "Margaret, say but God save

The King!" God save the King of His great grace," She answered, but the oath she would not take.

And still the tide flowed in, And drove the people back and silenced them. The tide flowed in, and rising to her knees, She sang the psalm, "To Thee I lift my soul;" The tide flowed in, and rising to her waist, "To Thee, my God, I lift my soul," she sang. The tide flowed in, and rising to her throat, She sang no more, but lifted up her face, And there was glory over all the skyAnd there was glory over all the sea-A flood of glory, and the lifted face Swam in it till it bowed beneath the flood, And Scotland's Maiden Martyr went to God.

THE RIFT OF THE ROCK.-ANNIE HERBERT.

In the rift of the rock He has covered my head, When the tempest was wild in the desolate land. Through a pathway uncertain my steps He has led, And I felt in the darkness the touch of His hand Leading on, leading over the slippery steep,

Where came but the echoing sound of the shock, And, clear through the sorrowful moan of the deep, The singing of birds in the rift of the rock.

In the rift of the rock He has sheltered my soul When at noonday the toilers grew faint in the heat;

Where the desert rolled far like a limitless scroll
Cool waters leaped up at the touch of His feet.
And the flowers that lay with pale lips to the sod
Bloom softly and fair from a holier stock;
Winged home by the winds to the mountains of God,
They bloom evermore in the rift of the rock.

In the rift of the rock Thou wilt cover me still,
When the glow of the sunset is low in the sky,
When the forms of the reapers are dim on the hill,
And the song dies away, and the end draweth nigh;
It will be but a dream of the ladder of light,

And heaven dawning near without terror or shock,
For the angels, descending by day and by night,
Will open a door through the rift of the rock.

THE VAUDOIS TEACHER. JOHN G. WHITTIER.

Dr. Baird states, in his interesting and useful volume, entitled, "Protestantism in Italy, with sonie account of the Waldenses," that in the middle ages, under the humble garb of the itinerating merchant, the MISSIONARY was often concealed. The following lines, descriptivé of this traffic as conducted by the Waldenses, were published in the (London) CHRISTIAN OBSERVER, a few years ago, and are now given to the American public by Dr. Baird.

"Oh, lady fair, these silks of mine
Are beautiful and rare,

The richest web of the Indian loom
Which beauty's queen might wear.

And these pearls are pure and mild to behold,
And with radiant light they vie;

I have brought them with me a weary way;
Will my gentle lady buy?"

And the lady smiled on the worn old man,
Through the dark and clustering curls,
Which veiled her brow as she bent to view
His silks and glittering pearls;

And she placed their price in the old man's hand,

And lightly turned away;

But she paused at the wanderer's earnest call,

'My gentle lady, stay!”

"Oh, lady fair, I have yet a gem

Which a purer lustre flings

Than the diamond flash of the jeweled crown
On the lofty brow of kings;

A wonderful pearl of exceeding price,
Whose virtue shall not decay;

Whose light shall be as a spell to thee,
And a blessing on thy way!".