grandmother sitting apparently sound asleep in her chair. Her distaff lay at her feet, and her cruise was nearly extinguished, but the fire still burned briskly, and a full moon shed its hallowed light through the lattice.

"O waken, grandmother! and come to me, for I have had & fearsome dream," cried the poor girl.

"Grandma is asleep, and will not waken," said her little brother. The stern silence of the old woman was so unusual, that, after repeated cries, the children in alarm jumped from bed, and ran to their grandmother's knee.

"Waken, grandmother, waken! Speak to me! cried Catherine, getting more terrified.

Kiss me!"

"Kiss sister, grandma," said the little boy," and we will say our prayers.

"Listen, grandmother! I saw a ghost in a winding-sheet in the minister's pulpit, and all the kirk-yard was crowded with ghosts —and it was always your face that I saw-that face!—O grandmother, will you not speak?"

"Speak to sister, grandma, for she is frightening me," said the boy.

"Speak! speak!" repeated the girl. "And kiss me! And here is little Willy to kiss too! Only speak, and we will be good children."

But, alas! that ear was now deaf which had ever been open to their cry, and that voice now dumb, which had ever spoke in tenderness to them. She, who had all her life ministered to the wants of others, and had hung in undecaying love over the death-bed of an undeserving husband and son, had died without a kind eye to watch her, but the eye of HIM who neither slumbers nor sleeps!

It was long before the forlorn orphans could comprehend their situation, but when the dreadful truth came across their minds, they clapped their little hands, and screamed in terror and dismay. There was no house beside them; the frightful churchyard stood between them and their nearest neighbour; yet they could not stay within, but rushed to the roadside, and wailed beneath the silent face of heaven. At that moment the hand of mercy was upon them, and their deliverance was wrought even from the depth of their desolation. A gentleman passing on horseback was attracted by their cries, and inquired into the cause. He proved to be one of the princely merchants of Glasgow, with a heart as liberal as his means were unbounded. The case was fitted to his generous spirit. He not only gave immediate help, and saw the grandmother decently interred, but took the little ones under his own roof, and reared them, without distinguishing them from his own family. Thus was good

brought out of apparent evil, and when the hand of Providence seemed to fall heaviest on the orphans, it was but "tempering the wind to the shorn lamb," for had the grandmother been carried away under ordinary circumstances, the fate of the grandchildren might have been very different. The result of the matter is not the least pleasing point of the anecdote, for Catherine is at this hour the happy wife of her benefactor's eldest son, and her brother conducts an important branch of his business in a foreign land.

W.

TO A CAGED SKY-LARK

SELF lies hid in all our feelings,
All our doings, all our dealings,
All our thinking, hearing, seeing;
Ev'n the things that round us stir are
But the echo or the mirror

Of our individual being!

Therefore in the scenes that meet us,
Therefore in the sounds that greet us,
Something kindred seems to glisten,
Or to breathe a tone, that reacheth
Deep into the heart, and teacheth
Lore that Wisdom's self might listen!

Hence, sweet bird, whom thoughtless mortals

Lured from yon celestial portals,

Here in slavish bonds to languish,-
Hence, as in thy cell thou singest,
Many a moral charm thou bringest
To beguile my bosom's anguish!

There thou trill'st in grated prison,
Blithe and bold, as when uprisen
Whilom on the morning's pinion,-
As when earth, and air, and ocean
Seem'd to share thy sweet emotion,
Seem'd to own thy mild dominion!

As intensely thou'rt adoring

Nature's God, as when high-soaring

Thou hast sought his glorious temple!

The meaning of this word has become so perverted that it may be requisite to state, that Self signifies our existence as Individuals-and not a seeking after personal aggrandizement as it is usually thought to do.

Praises flow from thee as grateful,
Now life's cup is low and hateful,
As when stored with blessings ample!

Oh! that thus the bard-neglected,
Friendless, homeless, unprotected,
Gall'd with wrongs yet unresented,
Wrongs his better self despiseth,
Though his feebler nature riseth
Writhing still, and discontented-

Oh! that he were thus pervaded
With the past! were thus persuaded
Of his proper sphere and powers!
Oh! that he could sing as sweetly!
Oh! that he could praise as meetly,
Him who sendeth adverse hours!

Yes! in every scene that meets me,
And in every sound that greets me,
Something kindred seems to glisten,
Or to breathe a tone, that reacheth
Deep into my heart, and teacheth
Lore that wisdom's self might listen!

J. M.*

AN ADVENTURE AT SEA.

IT was somewhere near the middle of the ocean, on our homeward passage from Jamaica, that we fell in with the wreck of a vessel, and several poor souls clinging to the rigging.-The weather, for some days before, had been rough, with hard gales from the N. N. E., and our ship being heavy laden, we were much afraid that she would founder. For a time we gave ourselves up to despair, seeing nothing around us but certain death. We drove at the mercy of the tempest, without being able to set a stitch of sail, and we expected every moment that our masts would go by the board. Several large seas broke over us; one of which carried away a boy and two seamen, as well as our best boat, upon which we mainly relied for assistance, in case we had been forced to leave our vessel. When we were in the greatest extremity, however, and every one on board, like the seamen in the ship of Tarshish, was calling upon his God, the storm suddenly abated, and the wind, veering round to the S. W., blew a brisk and steady breeze.

*We have much pleasure in laying this highly beautiful piece before our readers. It is the production of a young gentleman of Glasgow, at present residing in Holland.-Ed.

After some days' sail, the man at the mast-head, one evening, called out, "On deck there! Breakers a-head!" and the vessel, which was then going at the rate of ten knots an hour, was immediately brought to. The old seamen said that no breakers were known in that part of the ocean, and that they had sailed in that course twenty times, and had never seen any. The captain took his spy-glass, and going up into the fore-shrouds, soon found that it was the hull of a vessel, half sunk, and part of a mast standing, which the man had mistaken for rocks. He looked sulky when he came down, and ordered us to proceed. As we approached the wreck, we observed the people upon it making signals to us with their hats and handkerchiefs; and the captain having gone below for a few minutes, the mate hoisted the English jack as a token that we had observed them; but the captain, when he came again upon deck, was angry with him for so doing, and ordered the jack to be instantly hauled down, at the same time telling the mate, that if he acted so again without orders, he would punish him for his presumption. Our captain was a hard man, and when he was out of humour, carried it with a high hand both to his officers and crew. When we came alongside the wreck, we discerned that the men, five in number, who were clinging to it, were pale and sickly, and seemed as if they had been some days in that situation. It is probable their vessel had suffered in the same tempest from which we ourselves had escaped. They stretched out their hands towards us, and seemed delighted with the prospect of deliverance; and one of them hailed us and told us they were from Quebec-that their vessel was timber-loaded-and that they were the only survivors of the crew. Our captain replied that he could not take them up, for we had already had a long voyage ourselves, and would soon be on a short allowance of provisions. "But some other vessels are behind," said he," and will relieve you." The poor man then cried out earnestly, "O! for the love of God, do not leave us here. We have been waiting for nights and for days, but no ship has come near us, and we are dying of hunger and cold. Our shipmates are all dead, and buried in the waves, and we are alone and helpless on the wide ocean, and we have no one to comfort or save us. O! if ye be men and Christians, have mercy upon us, and do not leave us here!" His companions then raised their voices, and joined their entreaties to his so piteously, that every man in our ship shed tears of sympathy and commiseration except our unfeeling captain. He stood upon the quarter-deck, and looked upon the poor supplicating wretches with coldness and indifference, sometimes humming a tune, and sometimes giving directions to his men, as if he saw not the scene of misery which lay before him.

The mate then went up to him, and asked whether he would hoist out the boat, but the captain swore that he would not shorten sail, or hoist out his boat, to save all the lubbers that ever stepped between stem and stern. "By heaven, Morris," said he, "we have mouths enow already, and we will not have a biscuit a-day to each, by the time we make the Land's End." The mate, who was a humane man, and a methodist, said, "We have received mercy ourselves from the Highest, and how can we deny it to others who are our fellow-creatures, and the beings of His hand? Let us save these unhappy men, that we ourselves may be saved in the time of need-for by what measure we mete, it shall be measured unto us again." But this only enraged the captain more. He cursed the mate for a canting scoundrel, and swore if he did not keep quiet, and mind his own business, he would have him started up with a rope's-end. The mate saw it was needless to remonstrate any longer-so he left him, and walked away.

It was mournful to hear the cries of the poor men, when they saw we were deserting them. They cried out, and entreated mercy in such heart-rending accents of distress, as would have moved the compassion of a savage. Greatly did I regret that our crew did not then take the command of the ship into their own hands, and rescue the sufferers-but such was our habitual reverence for our captain, and so much were we lost in astonishment at his strange and inhuman conduct, that we were utterly incapable, at that moment, of acting otherwise than in obedience to his will.

They continued to call after us till we were far past them, and their voices were lost in the whistling of the wind. I kept my eyes fixed upon the wreck, where my fellow-creatures were struggling for existence, till the intervening waves hid it from my sight.

ous.

The breeze now freshened, as the darkness of night approached, whereby we were obliged to close-reef our mainsail and topsails, in order that we might be prepared for the worst. It was my turn at the helm that night, and my thoughts often wandered back to the poor wretches we had left behind, and I thought they must soon perish in the waves, for the sea was now running high and dangerThe crew had all gone below, except the watch, who were on the forecastle, looking out a-head, and managing the rigging. It was sometime past midnight, I think, when I heard the captain bawling as loud as he could," About ship!" and at the same time he came running towards me, followed by the mate, and taking the wheel out of my hand, turned the ship's head round to the wind in a twinkling. "We must go back," said he to the mate, 66 and save these poor men on the wreck-I cannot sleep for thinking of them." The mate looked mournfully out to the sea-then shook his head-but remained silent.