rolling of the sea kept it immovable as if stupefied. then!" said the man. It seemed to listen.

Suddenly it jumped towards him. The man escaped the shock.

The struggle began. A struggle unheard of. The fragile wrestling with the invulnerable. The monster of flesh attacking the brazen beast. On one side force, on the other a soul.

All this was passing in a shadow. It was like the indistinct vision of a prodigy.

A soul! a strange thing! one would have thought the cannon had one also, but a soul of hate and rage. This sightless thing seemed to have eyes. The monster appeared to watch the man. There was--one would have thought so at leastcunning in this mass. It also chose its moment. It was a kind of gigantic insect of iron, having, or seeming to have, the will of a demon. At times, this colossal grasshopper would strike the low ceiling of the battery, then fall back on its four wheels like a tiger on its four claws, and commence again to dart upon the man. He, supple, agile, adroit, writhed like an adder in guarding against all these lightning-like movements. He avoided encounters, but the blows he shunned were received by the vessel, and continued to demolish it.' An end of broken chain had remained hanging to the car. ronade. One end of it was fastened to the carriage. The other, free, turned desperately around the cannon and exaggerated all its shocks. The chain, multiplying the blows of the ram by its lashings, caused a terrible whirl around the cannon, an iron whip in a fist of brass-and complicated the combat.

Yet the man struggled. At times, even, it was the man who attacked the cannon; he crouched along the side, holding his bar and his rope; and the cannon seemed to understand, and, as though divining a snare, fled. The man, formidable, pursued it.

Such things cannot last long. The cannon seemed to say all at once-" Come! there must be an end to this!" and it stopped. The approach of the denouement was felt. The cannon, as in suspense, seemed to have, or did have,-because to all it was like a living thing,—a ferocious premeditation.

Suddenly, it precipitated itself on the gunner. The gunner drew to one side, let it pass, and called to it, laughing--“ Try again." The cannon, as though furious, broke a carronade to larboard; then, seized again by the invisible sling which held it, bounded to starboard towards the man, who escaped. Three carronades sunk down. under the pressure of the cannon; then as though blind, and knowing no longer what it was doing, it turned its back to the man, rolled backward and forward, put the stem out of order, and made a breach in the wall of the prow. The man had taken refuge at the foot of the ladder, a few steps from the old man who was present. The gunner held his handspike at rest. The cannon seemed to perceive him, and without taking the trouble to turn around, fell back on the man with the promptness of an axe-stroke. The man if driven against the side was lost. All the crew gave a cry.

But the old passenger, till then immovable, sprang forward, more rapidly than all those wild rapidities. He had seized a bale of false assignats,and,at the risk of being crushed, he had succeeded in throwing it between the wheels of the cannon. This decisive and perilous movement could not have been executed with more promptness and precision by a man accustomed to all the manoeuvres of sea gunnery.

The bale had the effect of a plug. A pebble stops a bulk; a branch of a tree diverts an avalanche. The cannon stumbled. The gunner in his turn, taking advantage of this terrible juncture, plunged his iron bar between the spokes of one of the hind wheels. The cannon stopped.

It leaned forward. The man using his bar as a lever, made it rock. The heavy mass turned over, with the noise of a bell tumbling down, and the man, rushing headlong, trickling with sweat, attached the slip-knot of the gun-tackle to the bronze neck of the conquered monster.

It was finished. The man had vanquished. The ant had subdued the mastodon; the pigmy had made a prisoner of the thunderbolt.

-From "Ninety-Three."

THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS.-PETER PINDar.

There is a knack in doing many a thing,
Which labor cannot to perfection bring:
Therefore, however great in your own eyes,
Pray do not hints from other folks despise:
A fool on something great, at times, may stumble,
And consequently be a good adviser:

On which, forever, your wise men may fumble,
And never be a whit the wiser.

Yes! I advise you, for there's wisdom in 't,

Never to be superior to a hint

The genius of each man, with keenness view

A spark from this, or t'other, caught,

May kindle, quick as thought,

A glorious bonfire up in you.

A question of you let me beg

Of famed Columbus and his egg,

Pray, have you heard? Yes."-Oh! then, if you please I'll give you the two Pilgrims and the Peas.

A TRUE STORY.

A brace of sinners, for no good,

Were ordered to the Virgin Mary's shrine, Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood,

And in a fair white wig looked wondrous fine.

Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel,

With something in their shoes much worse than gravel. In short, their toes so gently to amuse,

The priest had ordered peas into their shoes;

A nostrum famous in old Popish times

For purifying souls that stunk of crimes,

A sort of apostolic salt,

Which Popish parsons for its powers exalt,

For keeping souls of sinners sweet,

Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat.

The knaves set off on the same day,
Peas in their shoes, to go and pray:

But very diff'rent was their speed, I wot:
One of the sinners galloped on,
Swift as a bullet from a gun;

The other limped, as if he had been shot.
One saw the Virgin soon—peccavi cried—
Had his soul white-washed all so clever;

WWW

Then home again he nimbly hied,

Made fit, with saints above, to live forever.
In coming back, however, let me say,
He met his brother rogue about half way-

Hobbling, with out-stretched hands and bending knees;
Cursing the souls and bodies of the peas:

His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat,
Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet.

"How now," the light-toed, white-washed pilgrim broke,

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You lazy lubber!"

“Odds curse it," cried the other, " 'tis no joke

My feet, once hard as any rock,

Are now as soft as any blubber.

"Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swearAs for Loretto I shall not get there;

No! to the Devil my sinful soul must go,

For bless me, if I ain't lost every toe!

But, brother sinner, pray explain

How 'tis that you are not in pain:

What power hath worked a wonder for your toes :
While I, just like a snail am crawling,

Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling,
While not a rascal comes to ease my woes?

"How is't that you can like a greyhound go,

Merry, as if that naught had happened, burn ye?" "Why," cried the other, grinning, "you must know, That just before I ventured on my journey,

To walk a little more at ease,

I took the liberty to boil my peas."

GOD'S-ACRE.-H. W. LONGFellow.

I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls
The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,

And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown
The seed that they had garnered in their hearts,
Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,

In the sure faith that we shall rise again
At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth;
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume

With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth.

With thy rude plowshare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the field and Acre of our God,

This is the place where human harvests grow!

LOST AND FOUND.-HAMILTON AIDE.

Some miners were sinking a shaft in Wales-
I know not where, but the facts have filled
A chink in my brain, while other tales

Have been swept away, as when pearls are spilled,
One pearl rolls into a chink in the floor;

-Somewhere, then, where God's light is killed,

And men tear in the dark, at the earth's heart-core,
These men were at work, when their axes knocked
A hole in a passage closed years before.

A slip in the earth, I suppose, had blocked
This gallery suddenly up, with a heap
Of rubble, as safe as a chest is locked,

Till these men picked it; and 'gan to creep

In, on all-fours. Then a loud shout ran

Round the black roof" Here's a man asleep!"

They all pushed forward, and scarce a span

From the mouth of the passage, in sooth, the lamp Fell on the upturned face of a man.

No taint of death, no decaying damp

Had touched that fair young brow, whereon
Courage had set its glorious stamp.

Calm as a monarch upon his throne,
Lips hard clenched, no shadow of fear,

He sat there taking his rest, alone.

He must have been there for many a year.

The spirit had fled; but there was its shrine,
In clothes of a century old, or near!