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THE BROKEN PITCHER.

As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping,

With a pitcher of milk, from the Fair of Coleraine, When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled,

And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain. "Oh, what shall I do now?--'twas looking at you nop

Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again! 'Twas the pride of my dairy: 0 Barney M'Cleary!

You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine." I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her,

That such a misfortune should give her such pain. A kiss then I gave her; and, ere I did leave her,

She vowed for such pleasure she'd break it again. 'Twas hay-making season,,I can't tell the reason,

Misfortunes will never come single, 'tis plain; For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster

Sure, never a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.

THE LOST STEAMSHIP.-Fitz-JAMES O'BRIEN.

"Ho, there! Fisherman, hold your hand!

Tell me what is that far awayThere, where over the Isle of Sand

Hangs the mist-cloud sullen and gray ? See! it rocks with a ghastly life,

Rising and rolling through clouds of spray, Right in the midst of the breakers' strife

Tell me, what is it, Fisherman, pray?" “That, good sir, was a steamer stout

As ever paddled around Cape Race; And many's the wild and stormy bout

She had with the winds in that self-same place; But her time was come; and at ten o'clock

Last night she struck on that lonesome shore; And her sides were gnawed by the hidden rock,

And at dawn this morning she was no more." “Come, as you seem to know, good man,

The terrible fate of this gallant ship, Tell me about her all that vou can;

And here's my flask to moisten your lip. Tell me how many she had aboard

Wives, and husbands, and lovers true

How did it fare with her human hoard;

Lost she many or lost she few ?”
“Master, I may not drink of your task,

Already too moist I feel my lip;
But I'm ready to do what else you ask,

And spin you my yarn about the ship: 'Twas ten o'clock, as I said, last night,

When she struck the breakers and went asbore: And scarce had broken the morning's light

Than she sunk in twelve feet of water, or more. “But long ere this they knew her doom,

And the Captain called all hands to prayer; And solemnly over the ocean's boom

The orisons rose on the troublous air. And round about the vessel there rose

Tall plumes of spray as white as snow, Like angels in their ascension clo es,

Waiting for those who prayed below. “So these three hundred people clung

As well as they could to spar and rope;
With a word of prayer on every tongue,

Nor on any face a glimmer of hope.
But there was no blubbering weak and wild-

Of tearful faces I saw but one,
A rough old salt, who cried like a child,

And not for himself, but the Captain's son. “The Captain stood on the quarter-deck,

Firm, but pale, with trumpet in hand; Sometiines he looked at the breaking wreck,

Sometimes he sadly looked to land. And often he smiled to cheer the crew

But, oh! the smile was terrible grim-'Till over the quarter a huge sea flew;

And that wils the last they saw of him. "I saw one young fellow, with his bride,

Standing a-midships upon the wreck; His face was white as the boiling tide,

And she was clinging about his neck. And I saw them try to say good-by,

But neither could hear the other speak; So they floated away through the sea to die

Shoulder to shoulder, and cheek to cheek. "And there was a child, but eight at best,

Who went his way in a sea she shipped; All the while holding upon his breast

A little pet parrot, whose wings were clippes

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 neur. 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, CHIESAPEAKE 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' shino

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-ier his gal an' him.
Another chile he los' long while

Ago, l'se heerd 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 Ial 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 ainber grape to grow beside a peach,
I got two missives of the grandest style,
Containing wedding cards of Mat and Hal.
Of course I went to town their wedding-day,
Ate of the cake, ard 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,
To 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 has tened 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.

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