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Oh I never may the moon again disclose me such a sight
As met my gaze, when first I looked, on that accursed night I
I've seen a thousand horrid shapes begot of fierce extremes
Of fever; and most frightful things have haunted in my
dreams—

Hyenas, cats, blood-loving bats, and apes with hateful stare,
Pernicious snakes, and shaggy bulls—the lion, and she-bear—
Strong enemies, with Judas looks, of treachery and spite—
Detested features, hardly dimmed and banished by the light I
Pale-sheeted ghosts, with gory locks, upstarting from their
tombs;

All phantasies and images that flit in midnight glooms— Hags, goblins, demons, Temures, have made me all aghast,— But nothing like that Grimly One who stood beside the mast!

His cheek was black, his brow was black, his eyes and hair as dark:

His hand was black, and where it touched, it left a sable mark;

His throat was black, his vest the same, and when I looked beneath,

His breast was black—all, all was black, except his grinning teeth.

His sooty crew were like in hue, as black as Afric slaves! Oh, horror! e'en the ship was black that plowed the inky waves!

"Alas!" I cried, " for love of truth and blessed mercy's sake, Where am I? in what dreadful ship? upon what dreadful lake?

What shape is that, so very grim, and black as any coal?
It is Mahound, the Evil One, and he has gained my soul!
Oh, mother dear! my tender nurse! dear meadows that be-
guiled

My happy days, when I was yet a little sinless child,—
My mother dear—my native fields, I never more shall see:
I'm sailing in the Devil's ship, upon the Devil's sea!"

Loud laughed that sable mariner, and loudly in return
His sooty crew sent forth a laugh that rang from stem to stern;
A dozen pair of grimly cheeks were crumpled on the nonce,
As many sets of grinning teeth came shining out at once:
A dozen gloomy shapes at once enjoyed the merry fit,
With shriek and yell, and oaths as well, like demons of the pit.
They crowed their fill, and then the chief made answer for
the whole:—

"Our skins," said he," are black ye see, because we carry coal; You'll find your mother sure enough, and see your native fields,

For this here ship has picked you up—the Mary Ann of Shields!"

A COCKNEY WAIL.

The great Pacific journey I have done;

In many a town and tent I've found a lodgment. I think I've traveled to the setting sun,

And very nearly reached the day of judgment! Like Launcelot, in the quest of Holy Grail,

From Western Beersheba to Yankee Dan I've been a seeker; yet I sadly fail

To find the genuine type American.

Where is this object of my youthful wonder,

Who met me in the pages of Sam Slick?
Who opened every sentence with " By thunder!"

And whittled always on a bit of stick?
The more the crowd of friends around me thickem,

The less my chance to meet him seems to be;
Why did he freely show himself to Dickens,

To Dixen, Sala, Trollope—not to me?

No one accosts me with the words: " Wa'll strange* !K

Greets me with " festive cuss," or shouts " old hoso" No grim six-shooter threatens me with danger,

If I don't quickly " Pass the butter, boss."
I, too, have sat, like every other fellow,

In many a railway, omnibus, street car;
No girl has spiked me with a fierce umbrella,

And said: You git, I mean to sit right thar!"

Gone are the Yankees of my early reading!

Faded the Yankee Land of eager quest!
I meet with culture, courtesy, good breeding,

Art, letters,—men and women of the best.
Oh ! fellow-Britons, all my hopes are undone;

Take counsel of a disappointed man;
Don't come out here, but stay at home in London,

And seek in books the true American.

SHELTER.—William J. Lee.

There's mony a wee sweet lily sair nipped wi' the cold;
There's mony a caimie sparrow fa's upon the blcakie wold;
The wind ban aft times killit wee birdies on the tree;
But He will guither in His nest weak bairns like you and me.

The bending heather i' the field, the primrose down the brae, The hawthorn, fragrant i' the glen, and ilka milk-white slae,

He sifts the biting frost upon, and wings the blast wi' cold; But gently shields His lammies a' within His safe, warm fold.

When hawk, wi' dark wings, swoopeth adown the simmer sky,

The mither ca's, and frichtened brood aneath her wingies fly;

When shadows, swooping, fa' on thee—warld sorrows—trouble stints—

He ca's for hmpin', helpless weans to run aneat h His wings!

The world hae, whiles, its dangers, and winged blasts o' care, Yet the Father flecketh mony spots wi' hopings, bright and fair.

We gang to find a city where we hope wi' joy to sing: And our pilgrim heads are sheltered aneath His feathery wing.

'Mang mists we sometimes stimble, and hunter's darts fa' fast,

The nicht comes down upon us, and nae starlight cheers the blast!

But nae sparrow e'er escapeth His watchfu', kindly ee; Aid his gentle wings come drooping down to shelter you and me.

Wha's on before wi' bleeding feet, atween me and the storm? My shield by day, mv guide by night—that meek and weary form?

Each burden that my heart doth bend, He first the burden bore;

And Hisguid hand will lead me safe the last dark river o'er!

The bairn hath loving mither, and wee birdies leafy nest; The calms are cradles of the storms, and ocean waves have rest! .

We dinna ken how soon may fa' upon our hearts sae sair, Down frae the gowden gate the cry, " Ye need nae journey mair!"

So gird the loins, and brichten up the sword, and forward gang!

We'll meet wi' mony trials, but it winna be for lane.

And as shepherd leads his lammies, and ca's them a'byname,

Our Friend will open wide the gate, and bid us a' come hame!

A SCENE FROM DOUGLAS. —Rev. John Home.
Characters.Norval, Glenalvon, andLord Randolph.

Glen. His port I love; he's in a proper mood
To chide the thunder, if at him it roared. [Aside.
[Aloud.] Has Norval seen the troops?

Norv. The setting sun

With yellow radiance lighten'd all the vale,
And as the warriors moved, each polished helm,
Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beams.
The hill they climbed, and halting at its top,
Of more than mortal size, lowering they seemed
A host angelic, clad in burning arms.

Qlen. Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our host
In sounds more lofty talks of glorious war.

Norv. If I should' e'er acquire a leader's name,
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty
Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration
Vents itself freely; since no part is mine
Of praise pertainmg to the great in arms.

Gkn. You wrong yourself, brave sir; your martial deed/
Have ranked you with the great. But mark me, Norva),
Lord Randolph's favor now exalts your youth
Above his veterans of famous service.
Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you.
Give them all honor: seem not to command,
Else they will hardly brook your late-sprung power,
Which nor alliance props nor birth adorns.

Norv. Sir, I have been accustomed, all my days,
To hear and speak the plain and simple truth;
And though I have been told that there are men
Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn,
Yet in such language I am little skilled;
Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel,
Although it sounded harshly. Why remind
Me of my birth obscure? Why slur my power
With such contemptuous terms?

Glen. I did not mean

To gall your pride, which now I see is great.

Norv. M j pride!

Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper;

Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake,
I will not leave you to its rash direction.
If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men,
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn?

Norv. A shepherd's scorn!

Glen. Why yes, if you presume

To bend on soldiers those disdainful eyes

As if you took the measure of their minds,
And said in secret, You're no match for me,
What will become of you?

Norv. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?

Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me?

Norv. Didst thou not hear?

Glen. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe
Had not boon questioned thus; but such as thou—

Norv. Whom dost thou think me?

Glen. Norval.

Norv. So I am;

And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes?

Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar boy; At best no more, even if he speak the truth.

Norv. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?

Glen. Thy truth I thou'rt all a lie; and basely false
Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph.

Norv. If I were chained, unarmed, or bedrid old,
Perhaps I should revile; but, as I am,
I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval
Is of a race who strive not but with deeds.
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valor,
And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,
I'd tell thee—what thou art. I know thee well.

Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalvon—born to command Ten thousand slaves like thee?

Norv. Villain, no more!

Draw, and defend thy life. I did design
To have defied thee m another cause;
But heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee.
Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs!

Enter Lord Randolph.

Lord R. Hold! I command you both ! the man that stirs Makes me his foe.

Norv. Another voice than thine
That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph.

Glen. Hear him, my lord: he's wondrous condescending! Mark the humility of shepherd Norval!

Norv. Now you may scoff in safety.

Lord R. Speak not thus,

Taunting each other, but unfold to me
The cause of quarrel; then I judge betwixt you.

Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much,
My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment.
I blush to speak; and will not, cannot speak
The opprobrious words that I from him have borne.
To the liege lord of my dear native land
I owe a subject's homage; but even him
And his high arbitration I'd reject!

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