and entreaties, questions and ejaculations with which on all sides he is beset, sees that if he can but keep the helm hard up for three-quarters of an hour the vessel, instead of driving straight onwards, as she is is now doing, will, by taking a diagonal course, run ashore. But how is he to accomplish this? The fire, as the ship speeds rapidly on, is driven over the stern so near the wheel that it seems impossible for any one to remain there. How then is this to be accomplished? How is it, in the midst of this difficulty, when its achievement seems almost hopeless, that the Almighty power and loving kindness of a Divine being are manifest in providing for every emergency?

As at Lucknow, when so many hundreds were in imminent danger of being subjected to the most horrible deaths and cruelty, when hope was almost o'er, a Henry Havelock was raised to accomplish such superhuman feats, and so nobly meet the requirements of the moment; so here, when there was but a shallow hope between the life or death of so many, a John Maynard was not searched for in vain. He had watched the progress of events; he saw what was wanting, and manfully resolved that, forlorn as was the hope, and almost certain as was death to the perpetrator of the scheme, it should not remain untried. "Get for'ard, get for'ard every one of you !" he cried; and as all instinctively obeyed, John Maynard stations himself at the helm.

The captain, passengers, and crew all crowd to the front part of the ship as far from the flames as they can get. Three-quarters of an hour must elapse before they can reach the shore, and oh! what an age does that short time seem to look forward to, and what little expectation have they of surviving it! They look back-the whole midships is one mass of flame, as that mighty element, in an apparently inexhaustible manner, rushes up from below, dealing destruction around, and so fast approaching their very feet. All huddle as closely together as they could get in their endeavours to escape the fearful heat. They cannot see the stern

of the vessel, and anxious lest their only hope should be driven from his post the captain applies the speaking trumpet to his mouth. "John Maynard, ahoy!" “Ay, ay, sir!” Are you at the helm, John ?" 66 Ay, ay, sir!"

66

Round revolve the paddles, but quick as is their motion, slow indeed does it seem to those anxious hearts. Yet slowly as the time seems to go, still it does progress, and, lengthy as each minute appears, still minute after minute elapses.

Now a fearful suspicion is whispered among the crowd; they are afraid that the boiler of the engine will burst. As this circulates among them the terror it produces is fearful, and many can, with difficulty, be prevented from putting an end to their fears of the one element by casting themselves into a not less merciless

one.

Minute after minute as it elapses brings with it in nearer and rearer proximity to their very persons that fearful monster the raging flame. It is impossible to get more forward; and there as they stand, those who have the misfortune to be nearest, for the most part the weakest and more delicate, are now almost in contact with it. Still round revolve the paddles. It is a race of life; each turn brings them nearer the shore, but still allows time for the approach of the fire; and now as the greater part of the time has elapsed, and the crisis arrives, their hopes and frantic prayers for deliverance are all absorbed in the death-like struggle of each to force himself further forward away from the fearful agony to which from actual contact with the fire they are now suffering. A few minutes more, and should they continue in their present course the vessel will be on shore; but should they not do so-should John Maynard be compelled to release his hold of the helm the current will carry them out again, and all must either be burnt to death or drowned. The captain sees this, and fully sensible of the momentous importance of the next few minutes, again applies the speaking trumpet.

"John Maynard, ahoy!" "Ay, ay, sir!"

"Are

you at the helm, John?" Ay, ay, sir!" "Can you hold on five minutes longer, John?" "By God's help I'll try, sir!" Still round revolved the paddles. Five minutes and they will be on shore. But what hope is there of this? John Maynard is still at the helm. He is literally surrounded by the flame; still his heroic determination wavers not. The flames encircle his very body, still he grasps the helm. One arm hangs uselessly by his side; all the hair is burnt from his head. His clothes fall in pieces from his blackened and charred body. The soles of his shoes curl upwards. An unfathomable darkness comes before his very eyesstill he holds on, for there, as with one hand he grasps the wheel, with that one limb he holds tottering on the verge of the precipice of eternity the souls of four hundred human beings.

A terrific shock is felt throughout the vessel as, with her keel grating on the beach, she runs high and dry upon the shore. They are aground! they are aground! God be praised! every man, woman, and child on board that ship were saved as the shrivelled remains of John Maynard fell over the stern, and were launched into eternity.

[It is due to Mr. J. B. Gough, the celebrated temperance orator, to say that the facts of this true narrative are such as I remember from hearing him describe the event in one of his orations five or six years ago.-S. G.]

(Copyright-contributed.)

THE TWO PICTURES.

J. G. WHITTIER.

IN sky and wave the white clouds swam,
And the blue hills of Nottingham
Through gaps of leafy green
Across the lake were seen.

When in the shadow of the ash,
That dreams its dream in Attilash,
In the warm, sunny weather,
Two maidens sat together.

They sat and watched in idle mood,
The gleam and shade of lake and wood,
The beach the keen light smote,
The white sail of a boat.

Swan flocks of lilies shoreward lying,
In sweetness, not in music, dying,
Hardhack and virgin's bower,
And white-spiked clethra flower.

With careless ears they heard the plash,
And breezy wash of Attilash,

The wood-bird's plaintive cry,
The locust's sharp reply.

And teased the while, with playful hand, The shaggy dog of Newfoundland, Whose uncouth frolic spilled

Their baskets berry-filled.

Then one, the beauty of whose eyes
Was evermore a great surprise,
Tossed back her queenly head,
And lightly laughing, said,-

"No bridegroom's hand be mine to hold,
That is not lined with yellow gold;
I tread no cottage floor;

I own no lover poor.

"My love must come on silken wings,
With bridal lights of diamond rings-
Not foul with kitchen smirch,
With tallow-dip for torch."

The other, on whose modest head
Was lesser dower of beauty shed,
With look for home-hearths meet,
And voice exceeding sweet,

Answered "We will not rivals be;
Take thou the gold, leave love to me;
Mine be the cottage small,

And thine the rich man's hall.

"I know, indeed, that wealth is good;
But lowly roof and simple food,
With love that hath no doubt,
Are more than gold without."

Behind the wild grape's tangled screen,
Beholding them, himself unseen,

A young man straying near,
The maidens chanced to hear.

He saw the pride of beauty born,
He heard the red lips' words of scorn;

66

And, like a silver bell,

That sweet voice answering well.

foolish eyes

?

Why trust," he said, "my
My ear has pierced the fair disguise;
Who seeks my gold, not me,
My bride shall never be.”

The supreme hours unnoted come;
Unfelt the turning tides of doom;
And so the maids laughed on,
Nor dreamed what fate had done.

Nor knew the step was Destiny's,
That rustled in the birchen trees,
As, with his life forecast
Anew, the listener passed.