"How long ere Buffalo be reached?"

Arose an eager cry,—

"About three quarters of an hour," John Maynard made reply.

Then forward rushed the passengers,
Dismay'd with terror sore;

John Maynard standeth at the helm,
As steadfast as before.

Now dreadful clouds of smoke arise,

And sheets of flame divide;

"John Maynard, are you at the helm ? The Captain loudly cried.

"Aye, aye, sir!" was the quick reply ;

66

"Then say, how does she head? "

South-east, by east," the answer came
Above the uproar dread.

"

"Head her south-east," the Captain cried,

And run her quick ashore,"

"Aye, aye, sir!" But the quick response

Was feebler than before.

"John Maynard, can you but hold on Five minutes longer still?"

The Captain's ear scarce caught the words,—

Scorch'd were the old man's face and hair,

One hand disabled hung,

Yet with the other to the wheel

As to a rock he clung.

He beach'd the ship; to all on board,
A landing safe was given;

But as the latest leaped on shore,

John Maynard rose to heaven.

ANONYMOUS.

THE PASSIONATE FATHER.

"Greater is he who ruleth his spirit than he who taketh a city.”

"COME here, sir! said a strong, athletic man, as he seized a delicate-looking lad by the shoulder. "You've been in the water again, sir! Haven't I forbidden it?" 'Yes, father, but—”

"No buts;' haven't I forbidden it, eh?”

"Yes, sir. I was-"

"No reply, sir!" and the blows fell like a hail-storm about the child's head and shoulders.

Not a tear started from Harry's eye, but his face was deadly pale and his lips firmly compressed, as he rose and looked at his father with an unflinching eye.

"Go to your room, sir, and stay there till you are sent for. I'll master that spirit of yours before you are many days older."

Ten minutes after, Harry's door opened, and his mother glided gently in. She was a fragile, delicate woman, with mournful blue eyes, and temples startlingly transparent. Laying her hand softly upon Harry's head, she stooped and kissed his forehead.

The rock was touched, and the waters gushed forth. "Dear mother!" said the weeping boy.

"Why didn't you tell your father that you plunged into the water to save the life of your playmate?"

"Did he give me a chance?" said Harry, springing to his feet, with a flashing eye. "Didn't he twice bid me be silent, when I tried to explain? Mother he's a tyrant to you and to me!

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Harry, he's my husband and your father!"

What have I ever had Look at your pale cheeks It's too bad, I say!

"Yes, and I'm sorry for it. but blows and harsh words? and sunken eyes, mother!

He's a

tyrant, mother!" said the boy, with a clenched fist and set teeth; " and if it were not for you, I would have been leagues off long ago. And there's Nellie too, poor sick child! What good will all her medicine do her? She trembles like a leaf when she hears his footsteps. I say 'tis brutal, mother.”

Harry "and a soft hand was laid on the impetuous boy's lips-" for my sake-."

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Well 'tis only for your sake-yours and poor Nellie's or I should be on the sea somewhere-any where but here."

Late that night, Mary Lee stole to her boy's bedside before retiring to rest. "God be thanked, he sleeps! she murmured, as she shaded her lamp from his face. Then, kneeling at his bedside, she prayed for patience and wisdom to bear uncomplainingly the heavy cross under which her steps were faltering; and then she prayed for her husband.

"No, no, not that!" said Harry, starting from his pillow, and throwing his arms about her neck. 'I can forgive him what he has done to me, but I will never forgive him what he has made you suffer. Don't pray for him,—at least, don't let me hear it!”

Mary Lee was too wise to expostulate. She knew her boy was spirit-sore, under the sense of recent injustice; so she lay down beside him, and resting her tearful cheek against his, repeated, in a low, sweet voice, the story of the crucifixion. "Father, forgive

them; they know not what they do!" fell upon his troubled ear. He yielded to the holy spell.

"I will! 66 he sobbed. Mother, you are an angel; and if ever I get to heaven, it will be your hand that has led me there."

There was hurrying to and fro in Robert Lee's = house that night. It was a heavy hand that dealt those angry blows on that young head!

The passionate father's repentance came too late,— came with the word that his boy must die.

"Be kind to her! said Harry, as his head dropped on his mother's shoulder.

It was a dearly-bought lesson! Beside that lifeless corpse Robert Lee renewed his marriage vow: and now when the hot blood of anger rises to his temples, and the hasty word springs to his lip, the pale face of the dead rises up between him and the offender, and an angel-voice whispers, "Peace, be still!"

FANNY FErn.

THE DROWNED CHILD.

'Twas a soft summer morn, and all nature look'd gay, Scarce a breeze stirr'd the dust on the ground,

The sun in his race, as he led on the day,

Shed his brightness and glory around.

The notes of the whistling thrush thrill'd through the grove,

And the lambs gamboll'd quick o'er the glen, All hearts as by magic seem'd warm'd into love, And delight crown'd the beautiful scene.

As I stray'd by the cottage long built near the wood,
With brown moss and green ivy o'erspread,

I thought of the widow and child it enclosed,
And I thought of the tears they had shed.