It never dies,-the memory of a wrong Done to an innocent and trusting heart; And wounds thus healed are never known to die. They never die,-the kindly deed and word Who pass not over to the other side; And crumbs thus cast upon the sea of life In every landscape, be it bleak or fair. For God's own hand had placed the token there; They never die,-the moon, and stars and sun OUR GUNNER'S SHOT. A noble ship lay at anchor in the Bay of Tangier, a fortified town in the extreme northwest of Africa. The day had been extremely mild, with a gentle breeze sweeping to the northward and westward; but, toward the close of the afternoon, the sea-breeze died away, and one of those sultry, oven-like breathings came from the great, sun-burnt Sahara, Half an hour before sundown, the captain gave the cheering order for the boatswain to call the hands to“ go in swimming," and, in less than five minutes, the forms of our tars were seen leaping from the arms of the lower yards, into the water. One of the studding sails, with its corners suspended from the main yard-arm and the swinging boom, had been lowered into the water, and into this most of the swimmers made their way. Among those who seemed to be enjoying the sport most heartily, were two of the boys, Timothy Wallace and Frederic Fairbanks, the latter of whom was the son of our old gunner, and, in a laughing mood, they started out from the studding sail on a race. There was a loud ringing shout of joy on their lips as they put off, and they darted through the water like fishes. The surface of the sea was smooth as glass, though its bosom rose in long, heavy swells that set in from the Atlantic. The vessel was moored with a long sweep from both cables, and one of the buoys of the anchor was far away on the starboard quarter, where it rose and fell with the lazy swells of the waves. Toward this buoy the two lads made their way, young Fairbanks taking the lead; but, when they were within about twenty or thirty fathoms of the buoy, Wallace shot ahead and promised to win the race. The old gunner had watched the progress of his little son with a great degree of pride, and when he saw him drop behind, he leaped upon the quarter-deck, and was just upon the point of urging him on by a shout, when a cry was heard that struck him with instant horror. "A shark! a shark!" was sounded from the captain of the forecastle, and, at the sound of these terrible words, the men who were in the water leaped and plunged toward the ship. Right abeam, at the distance of three or four cables' lengths, was seen the wake of a shark in the water, where the back of the monster was visible. His course was for the boys. For a moment, the gunner stood like one bereft of reason; but, on the next, he shouted at the top of his voice, for the boys to turn; but they heard him not. Stoutly the two swimmers strove for the goal, all unconscious of their imminent danger. Their merry laugh still rang over the waters and, at length, they both touched the buoy together. Oh, what agony filled the heart of the gunner! A boat had put off, but he knew that it could not reach the boys in season, and every moment he expected to see the monster sink from sight,-then he knew that all hope would be gone. At this moment, a cry reached the ship, that pierced every heart,-the boys had discovered their enemy! The cry started the old gunner to his senses, and quicker than thought, he sprang from the quarter-deck. The guns were all loaded and shotted, fore and aft, and none knew their temper better than he. With steady hand, made strong by sudden hope, the old gunner seized a priming-wire and picked the cartridge of one of the quarter guns; then he took from his pocket a percussion cap, fixed it in its place, and set back the hammer of the patent lock. With a giant strength the old man swayed the breach of the heavy gun to its bearing, and then seizing the string of the lock, he stood back and watched for the next swell that would bring the shark in range. He had aimed the piece some distance ahead of his mark; but yet a little moment would settle his hopes and fears. Every breath was hushed, and every heart in that old ship beat painfully. The boat was yet some distance from the boys, while the horrid sea-monster was fearfully near. Suddenly the air was rent by the roar of the heavy gun, and, as the old man knew his shot was gone, he sank back upon the hatch, and covered his face with his hands, as if afraid to see the result of his own efforts; for, if he had failed, he knew that his boy was lost. For a moment after the report of the gun had died away upon the air, there was an unbroken silence; but as the dense smoke arose from the surface of the water, there was, at first, a low murmur breaking from the lips of the men; that murmur grew louder and stronger, till it swelled to a joyous, deafening shout. The old gunner sprang to his feet, gazed off on the water, and the first thing that met his view was the huge carcass of the shark, floating on his back,-a mangled, lifeless mass. In a few moments the boat reached the daring swimmers, and, greatly frightened, they were brought on bard. The old man clasped his boy in his arms, and then, overcome by the powerful excitement, he leaned upon a gun for support. I have seen men in all phases of excitement and suspense, but never have I seen three human beings more overcome by thrilling emotions than on that startling moment when they first knew the effect of our gunner's shot. UNCLE IKE'S ROOSTERS.-AARON W. FREDERICKS. Las' Sunday while I'se settin' on de bench beside de do', An' feelin' sort o' chilly, kase de sun was gittin' low, An' wishin' dat de winter time wa'nt comin' on so fas', For I pintly hates de cuttin' ob a Janewary blas',— I knows de one what's comin' too, is gwine be stingin' cold, Kase de 'simmon trees is hangin' jest as full as dey can hold. De pigs is 'gun der squealin', when de keen win' cut 'em so, An' de wild geese, like der betters, all is flyin' "westward, ho!" I was studyin' 'bout dem 'ar signs, as 'pon de bench I sot, When I see my two young roosters come a-struttin 'cross de lot; Dey was showin' off der elegance, an' dandifyin' ways, Dey all will strut an' show dersef when hens is knockin' roun'. One rooster he was black-like, wid some red upon he wing; Rale ole Virginny game stock, dat kin beat mos' anything; T'other one was game, too, ob de berry self-same breed, Dey was bofe de same hen's chickens, an' was raised upon one feed. De las' one was de han'somest, he had a golden bres', An' he make an' back was yaller, like Melindy's Sunday dres'. I know jes f'um de minute dem two roosters come in sight Like he had a heap o' business for de public on his min’, No matter what he business was, dem roosters spied him out, An' bofe pounce down upon him wid a crowin' sort o'shout. Bofe let go de worrum, in der anger an' surprise, An' stared at one anudder wid der fury-flashin' eyes. Den dey buckled to de business like der min' was set at res'; Dey was fightin' for "a principle" an' bound' to do der bes'. Each knowed the worrum' was his'n, an de odder was a thief, An' greedy and rapacious, too, an' mean beyond belief; Each thought the other's sassiness was past all standin', too (An' den de hens was watchin' fer to see de fightin' fru). Dey fit and fit untwill de blood was runnin' from der head, An' I thought I'd hab to part 'em fo' dey kill one 'nudder dead. I had jus' got up to do it when I see'd de big black hen |