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warn't a bit afeard--he stood straight up, and looked him full in the face with them bright, clear eyes o' his'n, for all the world as if he was Prince Halferd himself. Folk did say arterwards"-lowering his voice to a whisper-" as how he comed o' better blood nor what he seemed; and, for my part, I'm rayther o' that way o' thinkin' myself; for I never yet seed a common street-Harab-as they calls them now-carry it off like him. You might ha' heerd a pin drop, as the mate spoke.

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Well, you young whelp,' says he, in his grimmest voice, 'what's brought you here?"

"It was my step-father as done it,' says the boy, in a weak little voice, but as steady as could be. 'Father's dead, and mother's married again, and my new father says as how he won't have no brats about eatin' up his wages; and he stowed me away when nobody warn't lookin', and guv me some grub to keep me goin' for a day or two till I got to sea. He says I'm to go to Aunt Jane, at Halifax; and here's her address.' And with that, he slips his hand into the breast of his shirt, and out with a scrap o' paper, awful dirty and crumpled up, but with the address on it, right enough.

"We all believed every word on't, even without the paper; for his look, and his voice, and the way he spoke, was enough to show that there warn't a ha'porth o' lyin' in his whole skin. But the mate didn't seem to swallow the yarn at all; he only shrugged his shoulders with a kind o' grin, as much as to say, 'I'm too old a bird to be caught by that kind o' chaff;' and then he says to him, ‘Look here, my lad; that's all very fine, but it won't do here-some o' these men o' mine are in the secret, and I mean to have it out of 'em. Now, you just point out the man as stowed you away and fed you, this very minute; if you doan't, it'll be the worse for you!'

"The boy looked up in his bright, fearless way (it did my heart good to look at him, the brave little chap!) and says, quietly, 'I've told you the truth; I ain't got no more to say.'

"The mate says nothin', but looks at him for a minute as if he'd see clean through him; and then he faced round to the men, lookin' blacker than ever. 'Reeve a rope to the yard!' he sings out loud enough to raise the dead; 'smart now!'

"The men all looked at each other, as much as to say, 'What on earth's a-comin' now?'-But aboard ship, o' course, when you're told to do a thing, you've got to do it; so the rope was rove in a jiffy.

"Now, my lad,' says the mate in a hard, square kind o' voice, that made every word seem like fittin' a stone into a wall, 'you see that 'ere rope? Well, I'll give you ten minutes to confess; and if you don't tell the truth afore the time's up, I'll hang you like a dog!'

"The crew all stared at one another as if they couldn't believe their ears, (I didn't believe mine, I can tell ye,) and then a low growl went among 'em, like a wild beast awakin' out of a nap.

"Silence there!' shouts the mate, in a voice like the roar of a nor'easter. Stand by to run for'ard!' as he held the noose ready to put it round the boy's neck. The little feller never flinched a bit; but there was some among the sailors (big strong chaps as could ha' felled an ox) as shook like leaves in the wind. As for me, I bethought myself o' my little curly-haired lad at home, and how it 'ud be if any one was to go for to hang him; and at the very thought on't I tingled all over, and my fingers clinched theirselves as if they was a-grippin' somebody's throat. I clutched hold o' a handspike, and held it behind my back, all ready.

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"Tom,' whispers the chief-engineer to me, 'd'ye think he really means to do it?'

“I don't know,' says I, through my teeth; but if he does, he shall go first, if I swings for it!'

“I've been in many an ugly scrape in my time, but I never felt 'arf as bad as I did then. Every minute seemed as long as a dozen; and the tick o' the mate's watch, reg'lar, pricked my ears like a pin. The men were very quiet, but there was a precious ugly look on some o' their faces; and I noticed that three or four on 'em kep' edgin' for'ard to where the mate was, in a way that meant mischief. As for me, I'd made up my mind that if he did go for to hang the poor little chap, I'd kill him on the spot, and take my chance.

"Eight minutes,' says the mate, his great deep voice breakin' in upon the silence like the toll o' a funeral bell. If you've got anything to confess, my lad, you'd best out with it, for ye're time 's nearly up.'

"I've told you the truth,' answers the boy, very pale, but as firm as ever. May I say my prayers, please?'

"The mate nodded; and down goes the poor little chap on his knees and puts up his poor little hands to pray. I couldn't make out what he said (fact, my head was in sich a whirl that I'd hardly ha' knowed my own name,) but I'll be bound God heard it, every word. Then he ups on his feet again, and puts his hands behind him, and says to the mate quite quietly, 'I'm ready!'

"And then, sir, the mate's hard, grim face broke up all to once, like I've seed the ice in the Baltic. He snatched up the boy in his arms, and kissed him, and burst out a-cryin' like a child; and I think there warn't one of us as didn't do the same. I know I did for one.

"God bless you, my boy!' says he, smoothin' the child's hair with his great hard hand. 'You're a true Englishman, every inch of you: you wouldn't tell a lie to save your life! Well, if so be as yer father's cast yer off, I'll be yer father from this day forth; and if I ever forget you, then may God forget me!'

"And he kep' his word, too. When we got to Halifax, he found out the little un's aunt, and gev' her a lump o' money to make him comfortable; and now he goes to see the youngster every voyage, as reg'lar as can be; and to see the pair on 'em together-the little chap so fond of him, and not bearin' him a bit o' grudge-it's 'bout as pretty a sight as ever I seed. And now, sir, axin' yer parding, it's time for me to be goin' below; so I'll just wish yer good night."

HANS AND FRITZ.-CHAS. F. ADAMS.

Hans and Fritz were two Deutschers who lived side by side,
Remote from the world, its deceit and its pride,
With their pretzels and beer their spare moments were spent,
And the fruits of their labor were peace and content.

Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one day,

And, lacking a part of the Geld-as they say

Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan,

To help him to pay for his beautiful roan.

Fritz kindly consented the money to lend,
And gave the required amount to his friend;
Remarking-his own simple language to quote-
Berhaps it vas bedder ve make us a note."

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The note was drawn up in their primitive way-"I, Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars to-day When the question arose, the note being made, "Vich von holds dot baper until it vas baid?"

"You geeps dot," says Fritz, " und den you vill know You owes me dot money." Says Hans: "Dot ish so: Dot makes me remempers I haf dot to bay,

Und I prings you der note und der money some day."

A month had expired, when Hans, as agreed,
Paid back the amount, and from debt he was freed.
Says Fritz," Now dot settles us." Hans replies, "Yaw:
Now who dakes dot baper accordings by law?"''

"I geeps dot, now, aind't it?" says Fritz; "den you see
I alvays remempers you baid dot to me.'

,,

Says Hans, "Dot ish so, it vos now shust so blain

Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows again."

WHAT THE TEMPERANCE CAUSE HAS DONE FOR JOHN AND ME.-JOHN F. COLES.

My story, marm? well, really now, I haven't much to say;
But if you'd called a year ago, and then again to-day,
No need of words to tell you, marm, for your own eyes could

see

How much the temperance cause has done for my dear John and me.

A year ago we hadn't flour to make a batch of bread,
And many a night these little ones went supperless to bed,
Now just peep in the larder, marm, there's sugar, flour and

tea,

And that is what the temperance cause has done for John and me.

That pail that holds the butter, John used to fill with beer, But he hasn't spent a cent for drink for two months and a

year;

He pays his debts, is strong and well, and kind as man can be And that is what the temperance cause has done for John

and me.

He used to sneak along the street, feeling so mean and low. As if he didn't dare to meet the folks he used to know;

But now he looks them in the face, and steps off bold and free

And that is what the temperance cause has done for John and me.

A year ago those little boys went strolling through the street, With scanty clothing on their backs and nothing on their

feet.

But now they've shoes and stockings, and warm garments, as you see

And that is what the temperance cause has done for them and me.

The children were afraid of him, his coming stopped their play,

But now, when supper time is o'er, and the table cleared

away,

The boys all frolic round his chair, the baby climbs his knee, And that is what the temperance cause has done for John and me.

Ah! those sad, sad days are over, of sorrow and of pain,
The children have their father back, and I my John again.
Oh, pray excuse my weeping, marm,-they're tears of joy

to see

How much the temperance cause has done for my dear John and me!

Each morning when he goes to work, I upward look and say: "Oh, heavenly Father, help dear John to keep his pledge to-day!"

And every night before I sleep, thank God on bended knee, For what the temperance cause has done for my dear John and me.

TO THE RESCUE.

Up for the conflict! let your battle peal
Ring in the air, as rings the clash of steel
When, rank to rank, contending armies meet,
Trampling the dead beneath their bloody feet.
Up! you are bidden to a nobler strife-
Not to destroy, but rescue human life;
No added drop in misery's cup to press,
But minister relief to wretchedness;
To give the long-lost father to his boy;
To cause the widow's heart to sing for joy;
Bid plenty laugh where hungry famine scowls;
And pour the sunlight o'er the tempest's howls;
Bring to the soul, that to despair is given,
A new-found joy, a holy hope of heaven!

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