And swift as steel to magnet,
The far tones and the near
Unite and are blended together
Smoothly upon the ear.

I thought, if one had the power,
What a beautiful thing 'twould be,
Hearing Life's manifold music,
To strike in one's self the key;

Whether joyful or sorry, to answer,
As wind-harps answer the air,
And solve by simple submission
Its riddles of trouble and care.

But the little maid knew nothing
Of thoughts so grave and wise,
As she stole again to her teacher,
And lifted her merry eyes.

And neither dreamed what a picture
They made, the young and the old,
With his thronging locks of silver,
And her tresses of ruddy gold.

CELIA THAXTER.

As the day broke, one fearfully stormy morning, a large bark ran on a bank of sand, eight miles from the British coast, and lay there at the mercy of the tempest, filling with water. She rapidly began to settle, the waves breaking fiercely over her.

Her boats were knocked to pieces, her hatches were stove in. Eighteen men were in the rigging, clinging to the shrouds of that broken foremast; the mainmast was gone. No hope was in their hearts, no help was nigh.

But is there no hope, no help? They are seen from shore. No sooner is the word passed, "A wreck! a wreck!" than the gallant boatmen spring to the beach. "Man the lifeboat!"

Yes, but the waves are driving furiously in to the shore.

"Man the lifeboat!"

Yes, but the snow is drifting in blinding squalls. "Man the lifeboat!"

One by one the noble fellows take their places.

Out they dash, in the teeth of the gale.

"Oars out, my men. Steady! Oars out!"

They are knee-deep in water. The waves beat upon them; they are drenched, and all but drowned. Yet how cheerfully they bend their backs to the ashen oars! "Hold on, every man of you!'

Every man holds on to the thwart before him, whilst an immense wave rolls over, burying them fathoms deep. They rise, and shake their locks. But where is the wreck? The weather is so thick they cannot see her. Now there is a break in the drift; there she lies, the starboard bow the only part of the hull visible. Are there any men in that tangled rigging? Yes, see! the rigging is full of them.

"Now, steady, men, steady!

Keep clear of the wreck. Steady! Ah, we have them now."

She lies alongside; and one by one the one the poor, halfdrowned, half-frozen wretches drop into the boat, and out she drifts, into the boiling sea.

Amid the peril of the return, with the waves hissing after them, how steadily they row! And now the lights break upon them from the shore, and soon the lookers-out on the beach hail them.

"Lifeboat, ahoy! Are they all safe?"

"Aye, aye, every man safe!"

How they cheer! and the cheer is louder and more hearty than that which greets the champion in a boat race. And why? Because these men saved human life.

JOHN B. GOUGH.

THE SONG OF AMIENS.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,

That dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot;

Though thou the waters warp,

Thy sting is not so sharp

As friends remembered not.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.