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shooting, with intent to kill. He was discharged, however, for want of evidence, for the Italian wisely staid away, and so escaped being scalped, a thing that Noozell expressed himself anxious to do.

So, to quote a popular saying, there was "nobody hurt."

A TALE OF THE ATLANTIC COAST.

GEO. ZEAGLES.

We are sitting to-night by the fire,
My Mary and me, all alone,
A-watchin' the blaze as it flickers

In its play on the old hearthstone.
A-watchin', a-thinkin' an' talkin',
About days that have long since gone,
Before we were feeble and childless;
Ah me! how the seasons fly on.

As the light of the burnin' driftwood
Flares out on the sober brown wall,
It shines on a sailor's sou'wester,

Hung just where the gray shadows fall.
'Tis the hat of our brown-haired Willie,
And winters and winters ago

The waves washed it up on the sea-beach
In the rush of their hungry flow.

These thoughts make my bosom feel heavy,
They've silvered an' whitened my hair,
And thus, as I sit in my corner,

A-musin' and nursin' my care,

I'm dreamin' I see our boy Willie,
I have dreamed it often before,

A-floatin' out there 'mongst the seaweed
That fringes the rock-girded shore.

There are times when, sleepin' or wakin',
His face, beamin' joyous an' gay,
Steals upon me from out the corners
An' nooks where he nestled in play;
And it looks so lovin' an' cheerful,
So fond in its innocent joy,
That my heart seems almost a-breakin'
With grief for our sunny-haired boy.

Yet, now, when it 's late for repentance,
I know I was hasty an' mad,

I might a-spoke tender an' soft like,
I ought to been kind to the lad.
I told him to leave me, forever,

Yes, never to darken my door,
And I can't forget how he answered,
Nor the look that his brown eyes wore.

"Ah, father," sez he, " for some reason
You've kinder got tired o' me,
But I s'pose it 's time that we parted,
An' now I'm a-goin' to sea.

I've tried to be upright an' truthful,

Still, somehow, there 's somethin' I lack, Let's part then in peace an' in friendship, For mebbe I'll never come back.

“I know, as you say, I'm soft-hearted,
The tears sometimes come in a tide,
But I'll try to act my part manly,
I am young an' the world is wide.
Think well as you can of me, father,

I know I've not always done right."
Then I turned but only the shadows
Were there by the summer moon's light.

I went to the door and I called him;
The echoes went soundin' along,
No answer came in through the twilight,
Exceptin' the whip-poor-will's song;-
The sweet singin' bird seemed a mockin'
My call as it rang through the glen,
And I thought its melody whispered,
"You'll never see Willie again."

So, the days and weeks kep' a-passin',
And, still we thought, mebbe he'll come;
We looked, an' we longed, an' we waited,
With lips that were whitened an' dumb.
The months became years, an' the seasons
Went slowly a-driftin' away,

An' Mary an' me we grew weary,

As the hair on our heads got gray.

Yes, many a night when the breezes
Came sighin' in over the sea,

We would think of our boy who wandered
Away on its bosom so free;

And, whenever the storm was 'risin',

And the breakers were white with foam,

We'd light up the window for Willie,

For we thought that he might come home.

YUCU*

I remember, well I remember,

'Twas the close of a wintry day,

The waves on the rocks were a-dashin'
An' hurlin' their silvery spray,
That Mary an' me set a-thinkin'

As we would when the night grew wild,
A-breathin' out prayers for the safety
An' peace of our wanderin' child.

The darkness fell 'round, an' the moanin'
Of the wind, as it swept along,
Grew sad-like an' drear in our seemin',
As it murmured its cheerless song.
It rang 'round the weather-worn gables,
And it sighed through the leafless trees,
Then swept to the snows on the hillsides,
And the cots by the inland leas.

So, we set there, thinkin, an' listenin',
A-watchin' the firelight run,

When sharp through the breakers' deep roarin'
Came the sound of a signal gun.

Quick I knew some ship was in danger
With them big, black rocks on her lee,
And Mary, she whispered, " God bless them
Poor sailors that 's out on the sea!"

I called to old Lion, the house dog,

A-thinkin', perhaps, we might save Some tired out wretch in his strugglin' From the chill of a watery grave; And away for the sands we started, The guns of distress booming strong,

And rockets sent out a red glarin'

Through the sky as we hurried along. Them reefs had wrecked many a stranger, I'd seen many a brave ship strand, Heard many a cry come a-wailin'

For help to the rock-girded land; But I never felt the strange flutterin'

'Round my heart with each incoming breath That I did that night while a-workin',

To save them poor fellows from death.

Strong arms and brave hearts faced the danger
To bring them off safe from the wreck,
Yet the waves quenched many a heart-throb
As they swept o'er the quiv'rin' deck ;
Till the light of the new day dawning
Broke in over hillside and sea,
A-floodin' the waters with glory.

That danced in their murderous glee.

But, somehow, it seemed as though somethin'
Was chainin' me then to the spot;
It kinder appeared as if Willie,

The boy I had waited an' sought,
Was somewhere asleep in the ocean,
'Mid the shells an' the pearly stones,
With sea-moss a-twinin' his garland,
And the coral around his bones.

As I stood, and with achin' vision

Gazed out, 'mid the breakers' roar,
A body came borne by the billows
Along to the wreck-littered shore.
Nearer and nearer it floated,

The face I had seen in my dreams,
An' lay at my feet on the shingling,
In the light of the sun's bright beams.
All stiffened and pallid and death-like,
Life's troubles an' cares were past,
After seven long years of waitin'

Our Willie came to us at last.

We buried him under the poplars

Where in summer the harebells wave,
Where soft sighin' winds from the woodland
Murmur gently around his grave.

His Bible, a birthday offerin'

From Mary, we found on his breast,
And though it's her heart's dearest treasure,
Yet I love his old hat the best.

For a look at my boy's sou'wester,
As it hangs on the old brown wall,
Brings many a memory of Willie
When the shadows of evening fall.

THE VILLAGE PREACHER.-OLIVER GOLDSMITH. AN EXTRACT FROM "THE DESERTED VILLAGE." Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came softened from below; The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school;

The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind,—

These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And filled each pause the nightingale had made.

*

*

*

Near yonder copse where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden flower grows wild,
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich, with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,

*

Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place.
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power,

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;
Får other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain;
The long-remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard, descending, swept his agéd breast;
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed;
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,

Sat by his fire, and talked the night away;

Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,

Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,

His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side;
But in his duty prompt at every call,

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all:
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed,
The reverend champion stood. At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul:
Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faltering accents whispered praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray,
The service past, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, each houest rustic ran;

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