were yet furiously breaking over her; ice had formed on various parts of the deck, bulwarks, and rigging; bodies were frozen stark and stiff. All was as silent as the grave-not a living soul in sight on board. But few bodies were washed ashore until the next day, and one had been thrown up near where I stood. I leaned and reached forward and drew it in. It was the body of a man; his overcoat had been twisted over the face, and was stiff with a casing of ice. We turned the corpse over, loosened the garment, and drew it down, showing the face. "Merciful God! it was our Jamie! As we were afterward informed by a shipmate of his, he had planned it to come home and surprise us Christmas Day." The old man sobbed a moment or two, and then exclaimed: "Yes, our Jamie did come home, and he did surprise us, but what a sad surprise it was. You will not wonder now I remember so well the night of the wreck of the Atlantic, when our Jamie came home." HE DIDN'T AMOUNT TO SHUCKS.* There was Bijah, Ben an' Bart, Who war smart; Sons of old Abijah Blander- On the cart? But Bill the younges' watched the ducks, I tell ye, Bijah, Ben an' Bart Did their part! W'y, ye never see sich bustlers, But Bill he useter loaf an' stop, From "The Yankee Blade," by permission of the Author. An' Bill wuz lazy, so they said, Never useter laugh an' holler, He'd take some tarnal books an' shirk, An' they sent Bill to General Court Curus sport! An' he with them air legislaters, Men, I s'pose, uv sim'lar natur's, His speeches wuz so full er snap He talked so well an' knew so much, Thet now he lives away up yander It's too much! The chap who useter watch the ducks But what uv Bijah, Ben and Bart, Never fear thet they'll forsake us― Butcher cart. An' all three brag about the ducks A DUDE-JOSEPH BERT SMILEY. A dude from Chicago* went north one July, This dandy dude's collar was three inches high, His cuffs were too long, and his gloves were too light, *Change to suit locality. Ah, there! This dude from Chicago went out for a ride, Of a mean little mustang he sat him astride, The pony, when spurred, like a wild spirit fled, AN HOUR WITH WHITTIER.-PHEBE A. HOLDER. "I have never been in any place so dark that Whittier's poetry could not light it up." Poet beloved, again I come On thy sweet verse to ponder, To lords of thought, while peaceful waves I see the "School-House by the Road," The little girl who "spelt the word," The "Hazel Blossoms" gleam with gold, Touched by the Poet's loving hand, The "Last Walk in the Autumn" days, After the regal splendor, A lingering grace and tender. When "Snow Bound" by the wintry storm I read, and find the day has flown The "tree bolls chandeliers of frost" Comes to my raptured vision, The "white bride coming down from heaven" "My Psalm" is like a soft, dear voice Life's full rich blessings numbers. "Eternal Goodness" like a chime "My Triumph" with its stirring words Is touched with finer grace and walks No place so dark but thy glad songs No heavy burden but thy words Can make the load seem lighter. Like wood thrush sweet whose liquid notes So "echoes roll from soul to soul" The love of myriad lives made sweet, -Journal of Education A SHADOW FROM AN INSANE ASYLUM.* HORACE B. DURANT. The following sketch is founded on fact, and occurred when the subject of in quests and insane asylums was less understood than at the present day, am when abuses were more easily practiced. John Brown had lands and gold enough, they say, But thinking he might squander them away, Twelve men accordingly convened, and swore At once to awe them and to air his wit. Until his gaping auditors were dumb! In fact, 'tis doubtful where he would have stopped, No longer having strength or will to bear At once his weighty logic and his chair, All sudden opened inwards like a flash, And doctor, chair and all, went with a crash *Written expressly for this Collection. |