And as the boy and the bird went by,
Swinging away on a tall wave's crest,

They were gripped by a man, with a drowning cry
And together the three went down to rest.

"And so the crew went one by one,

Some with gladness, and few with fear; Cold and hardship such work had done

That few seemed frightened when death was near.
Thus every soul on board went down--
Sailor and passenger, little and great;
The last that sank was a man of my town,
A capital swimmer-the second mate."

"Now, lonely Fisherman, who are you,
That say you saw this terrible wreck?
How do I know what you say is true,
When every mortal was swept from the deck?
Where were you in that hour of death?
How did you learn what you relate?"
His answer came in an under-breath-
"Master, I was the second mate!"

KYARLINA JIM.

FISHERMAN'S HUT, CHESAPEAKE BAY, 1876.
When you was here some sixteen year
Or so, aback, you says

A darkey named Kyarlina Jim,
He fished f'om dis yer place?

Dat yonder's him, Kyarlina Jim,
On de bench dar by de do';-
He have been po' an' weak an' bline
Sence dat long time ago.

Yes-dat's de way he spen's each day
O' de blessed year, 'dout fail,
Wid face turned out'ard to's de bay,
Like watchin' fur a sail.

Eben when clouds 'ull come in crowds,

An' de beatin' win's 'ull blow,

He still keeps settin', pashunt, dar
In his old place by de do'.

An' de sweet sunlight, 'tis jes like night,

Ter po' Kyarlina Jim

He's weak an' bline; so rain an' shine
Is all de same ter him.

Dat chile you see dar on his knee,
She never fails ter come
About dis time o' ev'ry day
Ter fetch Kyarlina home.

I seldom cries, but when my eyes
Lights on de chile an' Jim,
Dar's sumpin sort o' makes me feel
Kind-ter his gal an' him.

Another chile he los' long while
Ago, I'se heard him say,
Is out dar waitin' in a boat
On de blue waves o' de bay.

I 'specs, bekase o' what he says,
Dat chile he los' 'ull come
'Fo' long, jes like dis yer one does,
And fetch Kyarlina home.

MAT AND HAL AND I.-ONLIE AMA SNOW.

'Tis while reviewing o'er my life that's past,
And only lives in memories that last,

I'm brought to youth, the spring-time of my life,
When all with joy and happiness was rife;
'Twas then I formed a friendship, lasting, true,
With two dear lads, the first my childhood knew.
How many pleasant banks we wandered o'er!
And gathered shells how oft upon the shore!
Oh, why were not our lives to be as then,
Always as pure, and free from care and sin?
For then we knew no lasting tear nor sigh,
'Twere nought but bliss with Mat and Hal and I.

I still remember well the autumn day
When Mat and Hal and I were sent away
To gain an education which might be

A constant help to us in life's great sea.

At school, how many happy hours we spent
With comrades dear, or else o'er lessons bent;
But most of all enjoyment there, I fear,
We each soon learned to know a little dear:
Mat thought the world and more of Bessie Bell;
Hal loved a wealth of curls, her name was-Nell:
Time came, at last, for us to say "good-bye";
We left our dear ones, Mat and Hal and I.

Our school days o'er, true duties claimed us now;
Were we to preach, to plead, to war, or plow:
I chose an avocation, humble, plain,
The raising clustered fruit and golden grain.
One pleasant day while trying hard to teach
An amber grape to grow beside a peach,
I got two missives of the grandest style,
Containing wedding cards of Mat and IIal.
Of course I went to town their wedding-day,
Ate of the cake, and saw the grand display:
To seem the gayest there each one did try,
But none were pleased like Mat and Hal and I.
Dear Mat and Hal went on a wedding tour,
Returned, then left our little town obscure.
They would not stay with us, some foreign land
Must be their home, where they could live more grand.
At first from them, each mail a letter bore-
They grew less frequent, came at last no more;
I often wrote but waited all in vain,

I got no message from my truant twain.

The years rolled on by Time's relentless will,
But far more vain, no message from them still;
I thought at last to know the reason why
We thus were severed, Mat and Hal and I.

I went to find them in their foreign land,

But sought in vain each nook from strand to strand;
I journeyed to a city on the shore,

To leave the place, and look for them no more.
While walking down a street that star-lit night,
Te board a ship which sailed at early light,
I heard a scream; and looking just before,
I saw some person stagger from a door-
Another staggered out-I heard a shot-
He also screamed and fell near the same spot.
I hastened to the place--my God on high,
Why thus?-we'd met, dear Mat and Hal and I.
Both dead: by light of the pale, weeping moon,
I looked and read, " Hal Gregory's Saloon."

I learned that Hal while drunk had shot Mat Reed,
And killed himself when conscious of the deed.
I saw and wept that Mat and Hal had sown
A sin so deep that thus they must atone.
We laid them in the quiet graveyard there,
And offered up to God our strongest prayer,
And as the clods upon their coffins fell,

I saw two tombs, and on them "Bess" and "Nell.”
I read it all, heart-broken both did die;'
And thus we parted, Mat and Hal and Í.

OUR VISITOR, AND WHAT HE CAME FOR.

He came in with an interrogation-point in one eye, and a stick in one hand. One eye was covered with a handkerchief and one arm in a sling. His bearing was that of a man with a settled purpose in view.

"I want to see," said he, "the man that puts things into this paper."

We intimated that several of us earned a frugal livelihood in that way.

"Well, I want to see the man which cribs things out of the other papers. The fellow who writes mostly with shears, you understand."

We explained to him that there were seasons when the most gifted among us, driven to frenzy by the scarcity of ideas and events, and by the clamorous demands of an insatiable public, in moments of emotional insanity plunged the glittering shears into our exchanges. He went on calmly, but in a voice tremulous with suppressed feeling, and indistinct through the recent loss of half a dozen or so of his front teeth,

"Just so. I presume so. I don't know much about this business; but I want to see a man, the man that printed that little piece about pouring cold water down a drunken man's spine of his back, and making him instantly sober. If you' please, I want to see that man. I would like to talk with him."

Then he leaned his stick against our desk and spit on his serviceable hand, and resumed his hold on the stick as though he were weighing it. After studying the stick a minute, he added, in a somewhat louder tone,

*Mister, I came here to see that 'ere man. I want to see him bad."

We told him that particular man was not in.

"Just so. I presume so. They told me before I come that the man I wanted to see wouldn't be anywhere. I'll wait for him. I live up north, and I walked seven miles to converse with that man. I guess I'll sit down and wait."

He sat down by the door, and reflectively pounded the floor with his stick, but his feelings would not allow him to keep still.

"I suppose none of you didn't ever pour much cold water down any drunken man's back to make him instantly sober, perhaps?"

None of us in the office had ever tried the experiment.

"Just so. I thought just as like as not you had not. Well, mister, I have. I tried it yesterday, and I have come seven miles on foot to see the man that printed that piece. It wasn't much of a piece, I don't think; but I want to see the man that printed it, just for a few minutes. You see, John Smith, he lives next door to my house, when I'm to home, and he gets how-come-you-so every little period. Now, when he's sober, he's all right, if you keep out of his way; but when he's drunk, he goes home and breaks dishes, and tips over the stove, and throws the hardware around, and makes it inconvenient for his wife; and sometimes he gets his gun and goes out calling on his neighbors, and it ain't pleasant. "Not that I want to say any thing about Smith; but me and my wife don't think he ought to do so. He came home drunk yesterday, and broke all the kitchen windows out of his house, and followed his wife around with the carving knife, talking about her liver, and after awhile he lay down by my fence and went to sleep. I had been reading that little piece: it wasn't much of a piece; and I thought if I could pour some water down his spine, on his back, and make him sober, it would be more comfortable for his wife and a square thing to do all around. So I poured a bucket of spring-water down John Smith's spine of his back."

"Well," said we, as our visitor paused, “did it make him sober?" Our visitor took a firmer hold of his stick and replied with increased emotion,—

"Just so. I suppose it did make him as sober as a judge in less time than you could say Jack Robinson; but, mister, it made him mad. It made him the maddest man I ever see; and, mister, John Smith is a bigger man than me and stouter. Bla-bless him, I never knew he was half so stout till yesterday; and he's handy with his fists too. I should suppose he's the handiest man with his fists I ever saw."

"Then he went for you, did he?" we asked innocently. "Just so. Exactly. I suppose he went for me about the best he knew; but I don't hold no grudge against John