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“We scarce were two days' sail from port,

Ere many a back was flayed;
He flogged us oft in wanton sport;
His heart was of stone, not flesh-in short,

He was fit for such a trade.

“ Though each in turn was treated ill,

'Mongst all the crew alone Bill Jones opposed our tyrant's will; For Bill was cross and old, and still

Did give him back his own.
" And many a brutal harsh command

Old Bill has grumbled at;
Till once he was ordered a sail to hand,
When Bill was so weak he scarce could stand,

But the captain scoffed at that.
“ For a lazy old brute, poor Bill he abused,

And forced him aloft to go: But their duty to do his limbs refused, And at length from the ropes his hands Bill loosed,

And he fell on the deck below. “ Towards him straight the captain flew,

Crying Dog! dost serve me so ?' And with devilish spite his sword he drew, And ran Bill Jones quite through and through,

And the blow was a mortal blow. " At the point of death poor Bill now lies,

And stains the deck with gore; And fixing his own on his murderer's eyes, • Captain ! alive or dead,' he cries,

'I ne'er will leave you more!' 6. You wont ? ' says the captain : “time will show

If you keep your word or not;
For now in the negro kettle below,
Old dog! your scoundrel limbs I'll throw,

And I'll see what fat you've got!'

“So he caused the cook make the water hot,

And the corse, both flesh and bones, (To see what fat Bill Jones had got) The captain boiled in the negro pot;

But there was not much fat in Jones. “ If well his word the captain kept,

Bill Jones kept his as well; For just at midnight all who slept, With one consent, from their hammocks leapt,

Roused by a dreadful yell. “Never was heard a more terrible sound :

Fast to the deck we hied, And there, by the moonbeam's light, we found The murdered man, in spite of his wound,

Sitting close to the steersman's side. “ And from that hour, among the rest,

Bill served, nor left us more;
With bloody trousers, bloody vest,
And bloody shirt, and bloody breast,

Still he stood our eyes before.
" And he'd clean the deck, and fill the pail,

Or he'd work with right good will To stop a leak, or drive a nail ; But whenever the business was handing a sail,

Then specially ready was Bill.
" And to share in all things with the crew,

Did the spectre never miss;
And when to the cook for his portion due,
Each sailor went, Bill Jones went too,

And tendered his platter for his. “ His face look'd pale, his limbs seem'd weak,

His footsteps fell so still, That to hear their sound you'd vainly seek, And to none of the crew did Bill e'er speak,

And none of us spoke to Bill.

"But when three weeks had crept away,

As you just now have heard, The captain came upon deck one day, And quoth he “My lads, I've something to say—

Bill Jones is as good as his word.
“He never leaves me day nor night,

He haunts me-haunts me still ;
By the midnight lamp I see the sprite,
And when at morn the sky grows light,

The first sunbeam shows me Bill
666 At meals, his pale lips speak the grace,

His cold hand gives me wine :
At every hour, in every place,
To whatever side I turn my face,

Bill's eyes are fixed on mine.
“Now, lads, my resolution's made,

One means will set me free,
And Bill's pursuit for ever evade-
He comes-he comes! then away !' he said,

And plunged into the sea.
“None moved a joint the wretch to save,

All stood with staring eyes;
Each clasp'd his hand, a groan each gave,
When, lo! on a sudden, above the wave,

Once more did the captain rise. “Fixed and fearful was his eye,

And pale as a corse his brow,
And we saw him clasp his hand on high,
And we heard him scream with a terrible cry,

Bill's with me, with me now! “ Then down he sunk through the foaming flood,

To hell, that worst of havens !
Now, heaven preserve you, master good,
From perilous rage and innocent blood,

And from meeting with three rayens !”

LONDON CHURCIIES.

LORD HOUGHTON, D.C.L.
I stoon, one Sunday morning,

Before a large church-door,
The congregation gather'd,

And carriages a scoreFrom one outstepp'd a lady

I oft had seen before.

Her hand was on a Prayer-book,

And held a vinaigrette;
The sign of man's redemption

Clear on the book was set,-
But above the cross there glisten’d

A golden coronet.

For her the obsequious beadle

The inner door flung wide, Lightly, as up a ball-room,

Her footsteps seemed to glidem There might be good thoughts in her

For all her evil pride.

But after her a woman

Peep'd wistfully within,
On whose wan face was graven

Life's hardest discipline-
The trace of the sad trinity

Of weakness, pain, and sin. The few free-seats were crowded

Where she could rest and pray; With her worn garb contrasted

Each side in fair array“ God's house holds no poor sinners,”

She sigh'd and crept away. Old heathendom's vast temples

Held men of every fate;

The steps of far Benares

Commingle small and great ;
The dome of St. Sophia

Confounds all human state;
The aisles of blessed Peter

Are open all the year;
Throughout wide Christian Europe

The Christian's right is clear
To use God's house in freedom,

Each man the other's peer.
Save only in that England,

Where this disgrace I saw
England, where no one crouches

In tyranny's base awe-
England, where all are equal

Beneath the eye of law.
There, too, each vast cathedral

Contracts its ample room-
No weary beggar resting

Within the holy gloom-
No earnest student musing

Beside the famous tomb !
Who shall relieve the scandal

That desecrates our age-
An evil great as ever

Iconoclastic rage ?
Who to this Christian people

Restore their heritage ?

THE GIRL WHO TROD UPON BREAD.

Hans CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. You have doubtless heard of the girl who trod upon bread not to soil her pretty shoes, and what evil this brought upon her. The tale is both written and printed.

She was a poor child, but proud and vain. She had a bad disposition, people said. When she was little more

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