She knew she was sinkin' quickly, she knew as her end was nigh,

But she never spoke o' the troubles as I knew on her heart must lie,

For we'd had one great big sorrow with Jack, our only sonHe'd got into trouble in London, as lots o' the lads ha'

done;

Then he'd bolted, his masters told us-he was allus what folk call wild.

From the day as I told his mother, her dear face never smiled.

We heerd no more about him, we never knew where he went,

And his mother pined and sickened for the message he

never sent.

I had my work to think of; but she had her grief to nurse, So it eat away at her heartstrings, and her health grew worse and worse.

And the night as the Royal Helen went down on yonder sands,

I sat and watched her dyin', holdin' her wasted hands.
She moved in her doze a little, then her eyes were opened

wide,

And she seemed to be seekin' somethin', as she looked from side to side;

Then half to herself she whispered, "Where's Jack, to say good-bye?

It's hard not to see my darlin', and kiss him afore I die!"

I was stoopin' to kiss and soothe her, while the tears ran down my cheek,

And my lips were shaped to whisper the words I couldn't speak,

When the door of the room burst open, and my mates were

there outside

With the news that the boat was launchin'.

wanted!" their leader cried.

"You're

"You've never refused to go, John; you'll put these cowards

right.

There's a dozen of lives maybe, John, as lie in our hands

to-night!"

'Twas old Ben Brown, the captain; he'd laughed at the

women's doubt.

We'd always been first on the beach, sir, when the boat was goin' out.

I didn't move, but I pointed to the white face on the bed"I can't go, mate," I murmured; "in an hour she may be dead.

I cannot go and leave her to die in the night alone."

As I spoke Ben raised his lantern, and the light on my wife was thrown;

And I saw her eyes fixed strangely with a pleading look on me,

While a tremblin' finger pointed through the door to the ragin' sea.

Then she beckoned me near, and whispered, “Go, and God's will be done!

For every lad on that ship, John, is some poor mother's son."

Her head was full of the boy, sir—she was thinking, maybe, some day

For lack of a hand to help him his life might be cast away. "Go, John, and the Lord watch o'er you! and spare me to see the light,

And bring you safe," she whispered, "out of the storm to

night."

Then I turned and kissed her softly, and tried to hide my

tears,

And my mates outside, when they saw me, set up three hearty cheers;

But I rubbed my eyes wi' my knuckles, and turned to old Ben and said,

"I'll see her again, maybe, lad, when the sea gives up its dead."

We launched the boat in the tempest, though death was the goal in view,

And never a one but doubted if the craft could live it

through;

But our boat she stood it bravely, and, weary and wet and

weak,

We drew in hail of the vessel we had dared so much to seek.

But just as we come upon her she gave a fearful roll,

And went down in the seethin' whirlpool with every livin'

soul!

We rowed for the spot, and shouted, for all around was dark

But only the wild wind answered the cries from our plungin' bark.

I was strainin' my eyes and watchin', when I thought I heard a cry,

And I saw past our bows a somethin' on the crest of a wave dashed by;

I stretched out my hand to seize it. I dragged it aboard,

and then

I stumbled, and struck my forrud, and fell like a log on Ben.

I remember a hum of voices, and then I knowed no more Till I came to my senses here, sir-here, in my home ashore. My forrud was tightly bandaged, and I lay on my little bed-I'd slipped, so they told me arter, and a rulluck had struck my head.

Then my mates came in and whispered; they'd heard I was comin' round.

At first I could scarcely hear 'em, it seemed like a buzzin' sound;

But as soon as my head got clearer, and accustomed to hear 'em speak,

I knew as I'd lain like that, sir, for many a long, long week. I guessed what the lads was hidin', for their poor old shipmate's sake.

I could see by their puzzled faces they'd got some news to break;

So I lifts my head from the pillow, and I says to old Ben, "Look here!

I'm able to bear it now, lad-tell me, and never fear.”

Not one on 'em ever answered, but presently Ben goes out, And the others slinks away like, and I says, "What's this

about?

Why can't they tell me plainly as the poor old wife is dead ?" Then I fell again on the pillows, and I hid my achin' head. I lay like that for a minute, till I heard a voice cry "John!" And I thought it must be a vision as my weak eyes gazed

upon;

For there by the bedside, standin' up and well, was my wife.

And who do ye think was with her? Why, Jack, as large as life.

It was him as I'd saved from drownin' the night as the life

boat went

To the wreck of the Royal Helen; 'twas that as the vision

meant.

They'd brought us ashore together, he'd knelt by his mother's bed,

And the sudden joy had raised her like a miracle from the dead;

And mother and son together had nursed me back to life, And my old eyes woke from darkness to look on my son and wife.

Jack? He's our right hand now, sir; 'twas Providence pulled him through

He's allus the first aboard her when the lifeboat wants a crew.

ROBERT BRUCE AND THE SPIDER.-BERNARD BARTON.

Not in prosperity's broad light,

Can reason justly scan

The sterling worth which, viewed aright,
Most dignifies the man.

Favored at once by wind and tide,

The skilful pilot well may guide

The bark in safety on;

Yet, when his harbor he has gained
He who no conflict hath sustained,
No meed has fairly won.

But in adversity's dark hour

Of peril and of fear,

When clouds above the vessel lower,

With scarce one star to cheer;

When winds are loud, and waves are high,
And ocean, to a timid eye,

Appears the seaman's grave;
Amid the conflict, calm, unmoved,
By truth's unerring test is proved
The skilful and the brave.

For Scotland and her freedom's right
The Bruce his part had played;

In five successive fields of fight
Been conquered and dismayed.
Once more, against the English host
His band he led, and once more lost
The meed for which he fought;
And now, from battle faint and worn,

The homeless fugitive forlorn

A hut's lone shelter sought.

And cheerless was that resting-place
For him who claimed a throne;
His canopy, devoid of grace,-
The rude, rough beams alone;
The heather couch his only bed,
Yet well I know had slumber fled
From couch of eider-down;
Through darksome night to dawn of day,
Immersed in wakeful thought he lay,
Of Scotland and her crown.

The sun rose brightly, and its gleam
Fell on that hapless bed,

And tinged with light each shapeless beam
Which roofed the lowly shed;
When looking up with wistful eye,
The Bruce beheld a spider try

His filmy thread to fling

From beam to beam of that rude cot;
And well the insect's toilsome lot
Taught Scotland's future king.

Six times his gossamery thread
The wary spider threw:

In vain the filmy line was sped;
For, powerless or untrue

Each aim appeared, and back recoiled

The patient insect, six times foiled,
And yet unconquered still;
And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,
Saw him prepare once more to try
His courage, strength, and skill.

One effort more, the seventh and last,-
The hero hailed the sign!

And on the wished-for beam hung fast
The slender, silken line.

Slight as it was, his spirit caught

The more than omen; for his thought
The lesson well could trace,

Which even "he who runs may read,"
That perseverance gains its meed,
And patience wins the race.