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fine powerful-looking man, greatly tattooed over the body. His shoulders, and indeed the most of his body, was greatly scalded from the wash of the sea continually over him, and on placing my hand on his skin, he felt icy cold. We bathed him over with some fresh water, and rolled both him and the poor child, which was about four years old, up in thick blankets, and got them brought down into the cabin; after which, some warm wine and water contributed greatly to recover him. He then embraced his child, gave his deliverers a long look of deep-felt gratitude, that no painter could depict, nor any pen describe, covered himself up in the blanket, and fell off into a sound sleep.

A SAD CATASTROPHE.

THE Glasgow papers mention a painful circumstance, which has had precedents enough in number, and known enough, it might have been thought, to prevent the recurrence of the like calamities. On Saturday afternoon, three boys-two sons of Mr. James Wilson, a builder, in Gallowgate-state, and a nephewwere missed, "As the rest of the family, with the exception of Mr. Wilson, were down the water (at Helensburg, in the Frith of Clyde,) the boys' absence occasioned at first no great uneasiness, as it was supposed that the youngsters, the eldest of whom was about eleven years of age, had set off to join their mother and the rest of the family. As nothing had been heard of them, Mr. Wilson left home early on Tuesday morning, with the intention of proceeding to Helensburg, to ascertain if the runaways were there. He had not, however, been long away, before a carter, who takes charge of a horse belonging to Mr. Wilson, went to the stable attached to the wood-yard, to get some food for his horse. The provender was kept in a corn chest-a box six feet long, and about three

deep, with three separate compartments—and secured on the outside with an iron hasp, which fits into a staple in the side of the chest. On opening the lid, the man was horror-stricken at finding the three young boys lying motionless at the bottom of the chest, each occupying one of the compartments. He immediately summoned assistance, and they were taken out; but it was found two of them were quite dead, and had been so apparently for a considerable length of time. The youngest, a boy between seven and eight years, son of Mr. Wilson, showed some signs of life, and gradually revived, so as to be able, during the day, to state in a coherent manner what had led to the melancholy catastrophe. The brothers and cousin had gone into the chest, in search of beans; and while so engaged, the lid closed on them. In falling, the hasp fixed into the staple; and all the united strength of the poor captives was insufficient to enable them to burst the bands. On the side at which the youngest boy was found, the lid did not fit so close as the other parts; and from the limited supply of air which had been admitted through this crevice, is to be attributed his preservation. They had endeavoured to support each other's courage as well as they could in their dismal dungeon; and, before giving up hope, one of them broke the blade of a penknife in the attempt to make an incision through the side of the chest. After they had exhausted themselves by unavailing shouts and cries, which were not heard on earth, they all joined in prayer to the hearer and answerer of prayer. This is the last circumstance which the surviving sufferer recollects, as he soon after became insensible. To account for no noise having been heard, or no one within call, it may be mentioned that the wood-yard in which the stable is situate is locked up early on the Saturday afternoon, and is not again entered till Monday morning. The distress of the bereaved and

afflicted families, who are well known, and highly respected, may be imagined." The Glasgow Constitutional furnishes the following additional particulars :

"It is melancholy but gratifying to think on the conduct of the poor boys to one another, when placed in their awful position. They endeavoured to support cach other's courage as well as possible; they cried as long as they could for assistance, but no one heard them, though they were not fifteen yards from their parents' roof. They pushed their heads up so as to raise the lid at the end in which Robert, the youngest, was confined; and with a discrimination beyond his years, he fortunately put a marble in the chink to keep it open, which served him, of course, to breathe more freely. James was next to his little brother, being in the mid compartment, where there were some beans, and, with the utmost sagacity and consideration, he managed to pass through a few of them to his companions in distress to appease their hunger. He directed them not to eat many, for fear of becoming thirsty, and expressed his fears that he would soon die. Before giving up hope, Charles, the eldest, endeavoured to cut a hole in the chest, but in this attempt he cut his hand, and the blade of his penknife broke. They then resigned themselves to their sad fate, and after being exhausted with unavailing shouts and cries, which were not heard on earth, they praiseworthily and solemnly repeated portions of the paraphrases, and finally addressed themselves to the hearer and answerer of prayer. Charles died first, after bidding his cousins farewell: James then bade his brother good bye, and spoke of his dear mamma, who would never see him again. He became so faint, he said he had just other three breaths to draw, and requested that Robert would not speak to him. There was a loud heavy breathe, in a few seconds another, and, in about a minute, a deep loud sigh, and death closed his eyes for ever. Robert

soon after fell asleep, but he awoke on the Sabbath morning, and heard distinctly the ringing of the bells during the day. He slept occasionally till the Monday morning, at six o'clock, when he heard the men about the stable, when he was able to make such a noise as led to his discovery."

THE DYING MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER.

BEND, closer, love, and do not weep

So bitterly for me,

But listen to my words whilst I
Have power to speak to thee.
The dew of death is on my brow,
Life's pulse is quickly ebbing now:

And thou will soon be left alone,
Without a mother's care,

In the wide world, which may appear
To thee all bright and fair;
For little does my Mary know

Its sins, its trials, and its woe.

Pleasure, with all its pomp and show,
May for a while delight,

But never let its vot'ries lure

Thy heart from what is right.
Let virtue be thy constant guide,
A spotless name my Mary's pride.
Remember there is One above
Who knows thy every care,
Oh! may He grant thee fortitude

Thy every ill to bear.

He will thy friend and guardian be,

And that sweet thought should comfort me.

Oh, never, never, love, forget

Thy dying mother's prayer,

Lift up thy heart to heaven, my child,
And pray to meet me there.

How much I love thee none can tell,
But we must part-farewell, farewell.

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