comprehending, it seemed, from the kind expression of Adam's countenance, that he intended her no

harm.

"The person you speak of won't come back, I fear; so you must come with us, little maid, and if God wills we will carry you safely on shore," answered Adam, folding the clothes tighter round the child, and grasping her securely in his left arm as a woman carries an infant, and leaving his right one at liberty, for this he knew he should require to hold on by, until having made his way across the heaving, slippery deck, he could take the necessary leap into the boat.

"It is wet and cold, we must cover you up," he said, adding to himself, "The child would otherwise see a sight enough to frighten her young heart.” The little girl did not again speak as Adam carried her through the cabins.

"You must let go those things, lads, and stand ready for lending me a hand to prevent any harm happening to this little dear," he said, as he mounted the companion-ladder.

Before reaching the deck he drew the blanket over the child's face, and then, with an activity no younger seaman could have surpassed, he sprang to the side of the ship and grasped a stanchion, to which he held on while he shouted to the crew of his boat, who had for safety's sake pulled her off a few fathoms from the wreck, keeping their oars going to retain their position.

"Pull up now, lads! We have got all there is time for," he cried out. "Ben and Tom, do you leap when I do. I have a little maid here, my lads, and we must take care no harm comes to her."

While he was speaking the boat was approaching. Now she sank down, almost touching the treacherous sands beneath her keel-now, as the sea rolled in, part of which broke over the wreck, she rose almost to a level with the deck. Adam, who had been calculating every movement she was about to make, sprang on board. Steadying himself by the shoulders of the men, he stepped aft with his charge. Ben and Tom followed him.

The men in the bows, immediately throwing out their starboard oars, pulled the boat's head round, and the next instant, the mast being stepped and the sail hoisted, the Nancy was flying away before the following seas towards the shore. Adam steered with one hand while he still supported the child on his arm.

"You are all right now, my little maid," he said, looking down on her sweet face, the expression of which showed the alarm and bewilderment she felt, he having thrown off the blanket.

"We will soon have you safe on shore in the care of my good dame. She will be a mother to you, and you will soon forget all about the wreck and the things which have frightened you."

As Adam turned a glance astern, he was thankful that he had not delayed longer on board the wreck. The wind blew far more fiercely than before, and the big seas came hissing and foaming in, each with increased speed and force.

The Nancy flew on before them. The windmill, the best landmark in the neighbourhood, could now be discerned through the mist and driving spray. Adam kept well to the nor'ard of it. The small house near the pier-head, which served to shelter pilots and beachmen who assembled there, next came into view, and the Nancy continuing her course,

guided by the experienced hand of her master, now mounting to the top of a high sea, now descending, glided into the mouth of the harbour, up which she speedily ran to her moorings.

Adam, anxious to get his little maid, as he called her, out of the cold and damp, and to place her in charge of his wife, sprang on shore. Jacob, who had been on the look-out for the return of the Nancy since dawn, met him on the landing-place.

"All safe, boy, praised be His name who took care of us, and no thanks to that poor creature, Mad Sal, who would have frightened the lads and me from going off, and allowed this little maid here to perish.'

"What! have you brought her from the wreck ?" inquired Jacob, eagerly, looking into the face of the child, who at that moment opened her large blue eyes and smiled, as she caught sight of the boy's goodnatured countenance.

"Is she the only one you have brought on shore, father?" he added.

66

"The only living creature we found on board, more shame to those who deserted her, though it was God's ordering that she might be preserved,' answered Adam. But run on, Jacob, and see that the fire is blazing up brightly, we shall want it to dry her damp clothes and warm her cold feet, the little dear."

"The fire is burning well, father, I doubt not, for I put a couple of logs on before I came out; but I will run on and tell mother to be ready for you,” answered Jacob, hastening away.

Adam followed with rapid strides.

The dame stood at the open door to welcome him as he entered.

"What, is it as Jacob says, a little maid you have got there?" she exclaimed, opening her arms to receive the child from her husband.

The dame was an elderly, motherly-looking woman, with a kindly smile and pleasant expression of countenance, which left little doubt that the child would be well cared for.

"Bless her sweet face, she is a little dear, and so she is!" exclaimed the dame, as she pressed her to her bosom. "Bless you, my sweet one, don't be frightened now you are among friends who love you!" she added, as she carried her towards the fire which blazed brightly on the earth, and observed that the child was startled on finding herself transferred to the arms of another stranger.

"Bring the new blanket I bought at Christmas for your bed, Jacob, and I will take off her wet clothes and wrap her in it, and warm her pretty little feet. Don't cry, deary! don't cry!" for the child, not knowing what was going to happen, had now for the first time begun to sob and wail piteously.

"Maybe she is hungry, for she could have had nothing to eat since last night, little dear," observed Adam, who was standing by, his damp clothes steaming before the blazing fire.

"We will soon have something for her, then," answered the dame.

Jacob brought the blanket, which the dame gave Adam to warm before she wrapped it round the child.

"Run off to Mrs. Carey's as fast as your legs can carry you, and bring threepennyworth of milk," she said to her son. "Tell her why I want it; she must

send her boy to bring in the cow; don't stop a moment longer than you can help."

Jacob, taking down a jug from the dresser, ran off while the dame proceeded to disrobe the little stranger, kissing and trying to soothe her as she did so. Round her neck she discovered a gold chain and locket.

"I was sure from her looks that she was not a poor person's child, this also shows it,' ," she observed to her husband; "and see what fine lace this is round her nightgown. It was a blessed thing, Adam, that you saved her life, the little cherub; though, for that matter, she looks as fit to be up in heaven as any bright angel there. But what can have become of those to whom she belongs? Of one thing I am very sure, neither father nor mother could have been aboard, for they would not have left her."

"I'll tell thee more about that anon," observed Adam, recollecting the poor coloured woman whose wretched fate he had discovered; "I think thou art right, mother."

The child had ceased sobbing while the dame was speaking, and now lay quietly in her arms enjoying the warmth of the fire.

"She will soon be asleep and forget her cares," observed the dame, watching the child's eyelids, which were gradually closing. "Now, Adam, go and get off thy wet clothes, and then cut me out a piece of crumb from one of the loaves I baked yestere'en, and bring the saucepan all ready for Jacob when he comes with the milk."

"I'll get the bread and saucepan before I take off my wet things," answered Adam, smiling. "The little maid must be the first looked to just now."

Jacob quickly returned, and the child seemed to enjoy the sweet bread-and-milk with which the dame liberally fed her.

A bed was then made up for her near the fire, and smiling her thanks for the kind treatment she received, her head was scarcely on the pillow before she was fast asleep.

CHAPTER IV.-MAY'S NEW HOME.

"WHAT are you going to do with her?" asked Jacob, who, having stolen down from his roosting-place after a short rest, found his father and mother sitting by the fire watching over the little girl, who was still asleep.

"Do with her!" exclaimed Dame Halliburt, looking at her husband, "why, take care of her, of course, what else should we do?"

"No one owns her who can look after her better than we can; we have a right to her, at all events, and we will do our best for the little maiden," responded Adam, returning his wife's glance.

"I thought as how you would, father," said Jacob, in a tone which showed how greatly relieved he felt. "I knew, mother, you would not like to part with the little maid when once you had got her, seeing we have no sister of our own; she will be a blessing to you and to all of us, I am sure of that.”

"I hope she will, Jacob; I sighed, I mind, when I found you were not a girl, for I did wish to have a little daughter to help me, though you are a good boy, and you mustn't fancy I love you the less because

you are one."

"I know that, mother," answered Jacob, in a cheerful tone; "but I don't want her to work instead of me, that I don't."

"Of course not, Jacob," observed Adam; "she is a little lady born, there is no doubt about it; and we must remember that, bless her sweet face. I could not bear the thoughts of such as she having to do more work than is good for her. Still, as God has sent her to us, if no one claims her we must bring her up as our own child, and do our best to mako her happy, and she will be a light and joy in the house."

That I'm sure she will," interrupted Jacob; "and Ben and Sam and I will all work for her, and keep her from harm, just as much as if mother had had a little maid, that we will."

"Yes, yes, Jacob, I am sure of it," exclaimed the dame, smiling her approval as she glanced affectionately at her son.

So the matter was settled, and the little girl was to be henceforth looked on as the daughter of the house.

"Of course, dame, I must do what I can, though, to find out whether the little maid has any friends in this country," observed Adam, after keeping silence for some minutes, as if he had been considering over the subject; "she may or she may not, but when I come to think of the poor dark woman who was on board, and who I take to have been her nurse, she must have come from foreign parts. Still, as she speaks English, even if her fair hair and blue eves did not show that, it is clear that she has English parents, and if they were not on board, and I am very sure they were not, she must have been coming to some person in England, who will doubtless be on the look-out for her. So you must not set your heart on keeping the little maiden, for as her friends are sure to be rich gentlefolks she would be better off with them than with us."

"As to that, Adam, I have been thinking as you have; but then you see it's not wealth that gives happiness, and if we bring her up and she knows no other sort of life, maybe she will be as happy with us as if she were to be a fine lady," answered the dame, looking affectionately at the sleeping child.

"But right is right," observed Adam; "we would not let her go to be worse off than she would be with us, that's certain; but we must do our duty by her, and leave the rest in God's hands."

Just then the child opened her large blue eyes, and, after looking about with a startled expression, asked, "Where ayah ?" and then spoke some words in a strange-sounding language, which neither the fisherman nor his wife could understand.

"She you ask for, my sweet one, is not here," said the dame, bending over her; "but I will do instead of her, and you just think you are at home now with those who love you, and you shall not want for anything."

While the dame was speaking, the two elder lads came down-stairs, and as the appearance of so many strangers seemed to frighten the little girl, Adam, putting on his thick coat and sou'-wester, and taking up his spy-glass, called to his sons to come out and see what had become of the ship.

They found it blowing as hard as ever. The sea came rolling towards the shore in dark foaming billows. The atmosphere was, however, clear; and the wreck could still be distinguished, though much reduced in size. While Adam had his glass turned towards it he observed the mizzen-mast, which had hitherto stood, go by the board, and the instant

afterwards the whole of the remaining part of the hull seemed to melt away before the furious seas which broke against it.

"I warned you that the ship was doomed, and that no human being would reach the shore alive," shrieked a voice in his ears; "such will be the fate, sooner or later, of all who go down on the cruel salt sea."

Adam turning saw Mad Sally standing near him, and pointing with eager gestures towards the spot where the wreck had lately appeared.

"Ah, ah, ah!" she shouted, in wild, hoarse tones, resembling the cries of the sea-gull as it circles in the air in search of prey.

"Sad news, sad news, sad news I bring,

Sad news for our good king,

For one of his proud and gallant ships

Has gone down in the deep salt sea, salt sea,
Has gone down in the deep salt sea."

"Yonder ship has gone to pieces, there is no doubt about that, mother," said Adam; "but you were wrong to warn us not to go off to her, for go off we did, and brought one of her passengers on shore who would have perished if we had listened to you, so don't fancy you are always right in what you say."

"If you brought human being from yonder ship woe will come of it. Foolish man, you fought against the fates who willed it otherwise."

"I know nothing about the fates, mother," answered Adam; "but I know that God willed us to bring on shore a little girl we found on board, and protected us while we did so."

"Think you that He would have protected you when he did not watch over my boy, who was carried away over the salt sea?" she exclaimed, making a scornful gesture at Adam. "He protects not such as you, who madly venture out when in his rage he stirs up the salt sea, salt sea, salt sea," and she broke out into a wild song—

"There were three brothers in Scotland did dwell,
And they cast lots all three,
Which of them should go sailing
On the wide salt sea, salt sea;
Which of them should go sailing

On the wide salt sea;"

and, wildly flourishing her arms, she stalked away towards the cliffs, up which she climbed, still making the same violent gestures, although her voice could no longer be heard, till she disappeared in the dis

tance.

A number of people had collected along the beach, eagerly looking out for any portion of the wreck or cargo which might be washed on shore, but they looked in vain; the sands swallowed up the heavier articles, while the rest were swept by the tide out to sea. Nothing reached the shore by which the name or character of the vessel which had just gone to pieces could be discovered.

Adam Halliburt, finding that there was no probability of the weather mending sufficiently to enable the Nancy to put to sea, returned home.

"Look you, lads," he observed, calling his sons to his side;" you heard what that poor mad woman said. You see how she was all in the wrong when she told us not to put off to the wreck, and warned us

that we should come to harm if we did. Now, to my mind, she is just a poor mad creature; but if she does know anything which others don't, it's Satan who teaches her, and he was a liar from the beginning, and therefore she is more likely to be wrong than right; and when you hear her ravings, don't you care for them, but go on and do your duty, and God will take care of you; leave that to him."

"Aye, aye, father," answered Jacob; "she would have had us leave the little maiden to perish, if we had listened to her; I will never forget that."

While the elder lads went on board the Nancy to do one of the numberless jobs which a sailor always finds to be done on board his craft, Jacob and his father entered the cottage.

The little girl was seated on the dame's knee, prattling in broken language, which her kind nurse in vain endeavoured to understanh. She welcomed the fisherman and his son with a smile of recognition.

"Glad to see you well and happy, my pretty maiden," said Adam, stooping down to kiss her fair brow, his big heart yearning towards her as if she were truly his child.

"Maidy May," she said, with an emphasis on the last word, as if wishing to tell him her proper name. "Yes, our Maiden May' you are," he answered, misunderstanding her, and from that day forward Adam called her Maiden May, the rest of the family imitating him, and she without question adopting the name.

CHAPTER V.-DAME HALLIBURT.

DAME HALLIBURT was a good housewife, and an active woman of business. Every morning she was up betimes with breakfast ready for her husband and sons waiting the return of the Nancy, and as soon as her fish-baskets were loaded, away she went, making a long circuit through the neighbouring country to dispose of their contents at the houses of the gentry and farmers, among whom she had numerous customers. She generally called at Texford, though, as Sir Reginald Castleton lived much alone, she was not always sure of selling her fish there, and had often to go a considerable distanceout of her way for nothing. If Mr. Groocock, the steward, happened to meet her on the road, he seldom failed to stop his cob, or when she called at the house to come out and inquire what was going on at Hurlston, or to gain any bits of information she might have picked up on her rounds.

Maiden May had been for upwards of a year under her motherly care, when one morning as sho was approaching Texford with her heavily-loaded basket, she caught sight of the ruddy countenance of Mr. Groocock, with his yellow top-boots, ample green coat, and three-cornered hat on the top of his well-powdered wig, jogging along the road towards her.

"Good-morrow, dame," he exclaimed, pulling up as he reached her; "I see that you have a fine supply of fish, and you will find custom, I doubt not, at the Hall this morning. There are three or four tables to be served, for we have more visitors than Sir Reginald has received for many a day."

As he spoke, he looked into the dame's basket, turning the fish with the handle of his whip.

a

"Ah, just put aside that small turbot and couple of soles for my table, there's a good woman,

will you? You have

"I will not forget your orders, Mr. Groocock," said the dame; "and who are the guests, may I ask?"

"There is Mrs. Ralph Castleton and her two sons, the eldest, Mr. Algernon, who is going to college soon, and Mr. Harry, a midshipman, who has just come home from sea; a more merry, rollicking young gentleman I never set eyes on; indeed, if the house was not a good big one he would turn it upsidedown in no time. There is also his sister, Miss Julia, with her French governess, and Sir Reginald's cousins, the Miss Pembertons. One of them, the youngest, Miss Mary they call her, is blind, poor dear lady; but, indeed, you would not think so to see the bright smile that lights up her face when she is talking, and few people know so much of what is going on in the world, not to mention all about birds, and creeping things, and flowers. The other day she was going through the garden, when just by touching the flowers with her fingers she was able to tell their colour and their names as well as the gardener himself.

"Then there is a Captain Fancourt, a naval officer, a brother of Mrs. Ralph Castleton, and Mr. Ralph Castleton himself is expected, but he is taken up with politics and public business in London, and it is seldom he can tear himself away from them."

"I suppose Mr. Ralph, then, is Sir Reginald's heir?" observed the dame.

"That remains to be seen," answered the steward. "You know Sir Reginald has another nephew older than Mr. Ralph, who has been abroad since he was a young man. Though he has not been heard of for many years, he may appear any day. The title and estates must go to him, whatever becomes of the personalty."

"You know when I was a girl I lived in the family of Mr. Herbert Castleton, their father, near Morbury, so I remember the young gentlemen as they were then, and feel an interest in them, and so I should in their children."

"Ah! that just reminds me that you or your husband may do Master Harry a pleasure. He has not been on shore many days before he is wanting to be off again on the salt water, and who should he fall in with but Miles Gaffin, who came up here to see me about the rent of the mill. Master Harry found out somehow or other that Miles had a lugger, and nothing would content him but that he must go off and take a cruise in her. Now, between ourselves, Mrs. Halliburt, I do not trust that craft or her owner. You know, perhaps, as much about them as I do; your husband knows more, but I think it would content the young gentleman if Halliburt would take him off in his yawl, and he need not go so far from the shore as to run any risk of being picked up by an enemy's ship."

"Bless you, Mr. Groocock, of course Adam will be main proud to take out Sir Reginald's nephew, and for his own sake will be careful not to go far enough off the land to run the risk of being caught by any of the French cruisers," answered the dame. When would the young gentleman like to come? He must not expect man-of-war's ways on board the Nancy, and it would not do for Adam and the lads to lose their day's fishing."

"As to that, he is not likely to be particular, and the sooner he can get his cruise the better he will be

once he is comfortable on shore, should wish to be tumbling about on the tossing sea. Though I have lived all my life in sight of the ocean, I never had a fancy to leave the dry land. Give me a good roof over my head, plenty to eat and drink, and a steady cob to ride, it's all I ask; a man should be moderate in his desires, dame, and he will get them satisfied, that is my notion of philosophy."

"Ah! and a very good notion too," said Mistress Halliburt, who had great respect for the loquacious steward of Texford. "But you will excuse me, Mr. Groocock, I ought to be up at the Hall. I will tell Adam of Master Harry's wish, and he will be on the look-out for him."

"Here comes the young gentleman to speak for himself," said the steward.

At that moment a horse's hoofs were heard clattering along the road, and a fine-looking lad in a midshipman's uniform cantered up on a pony, holding his reins slack, and sitting with the careless air of a sailor. He had a noble broad brow, clear blue eyes, and thick, clustering, brown curls, his countenance being thoroughly bronzed by southern suns and sea air. His features were well formed and refined, without any approach to effeminacy.

"Good-morrow, Mr. Groocock," he exclaimed, in a clear voice, pulling up as he spoke. "Goodmorrow, dame," he added, turning to Mrs. Halliburt.

"I was just speaking to the dame here about your wish, Mr. Harry, to take a trip to sea. Her husband, Adam Halliburt, has as fine a boat as any on the coast, and he is a trustworthy man, which is more than can be said, between ourselves, of the tenant of Hurlston Mill. Adam will give you a cruise whenever you like to go, wind and weather permitting, though, as the dame observed, you must not expect much comfort on board the Nancy."

"I care little for comfort-we have not too much of that sort of thing at sea to make me miss it," answered Harry, laughing. "If the dame can answer for her husband, I will engage to go as soon as he likes."

"Adam will be glad to take you, I am main sure of that, Mr. Harry," said the dame. "But as the Nancy will be ready to put off before I get back, I would ask you to wait till to-morrow afternoon, when she will go out for the night's fishing."

Harry, well pleased at the arrangement, having wished the dame good-by, accompanied Mr. Groocock on his morning's ride.

IN

A FORGOTTEN POEM.

N or about the autumn of the year 1824, the following verses, describing the Coronation of Charles the Tenth of France, appeared in the Poet's Corner of a west country newspaper. We believe the authorship was never acknowledged, and we have never met with them in print since that time. Half a century has elapsed since the present writer cut them out and transferred them to his scrap-book. He was struck when he read them by the prophecy involved in the concluding lines of the ninth stanza, and was not unwilling to learn how far that prophecy might be fulfilled. We need hardly remind the reader that it was virtually if not literally fulfilled six years afterwards. Charles the Tenth was de

Strangers, from far habitations who run

throned unceremoniously enough in 1830, and in the following year he made a formal abdication and accepted the proffered hospitality of England. There must be many persons yet living in Edinburgh who can well remember him as leading a quiet unobtrusive life at Holyrood. He died in 1836.

Our readers will not suspect us of endorsing in all respects the sentiments of this remarkable and spirited production. We reproduce it here because it is interesting as an eloquent expression of feelings and opinions much more prevalent in England fifty years ago than they are now, but certainly not a whit more prevalent in France at the present time than they were then. It is further interesting from its own intrinsic merit. Its chief claim to notice now, however, consists in its remarkable relation to late and to existing predicaments in France-to the possibilities -now coming forward to the front, now retreating far into the background-of a return to circumstances singularly similar to those under which it was composed. From the maze of saddening events and political entanglements of the last two or three years, another Bourbon emerged-another claimant, under the boasted sanction of Divine Right, to the throne of France. History, it is said, repeats itself. How far will the repetition go in this case? Will the "king-crowning city," so lately in the grasp of the conquering Teutons, ever again enthrone a legitimate ruler? And if so, why may not this high-sounding litany with its oracular voice serve to warn the consenting powers and the jubilant people-those of the fragile nature of all earthly greatness, and these of their duty to secure all the guarantees they can for their liberties?

CORONATION OF CHARLES X.

King-crowning City of Rheims, rejoice!
Your banners be waved from each steeple;
Let your bells be rung, and the cannon's voice
Unite with the shouting people,

And the trumpet, the drum, and the cymbal make
Your time-worn walls to their basement shake!

Kings in the Cross and the Gospel's right,
Sultans upholding the Crescent;

Let a Moor, and a Turk, and a Christian knight,
From each as a pledge be present;

For when monarchs are crowned ye should all combine,

And every creed own a right divine.

Bishops and priests in your mitred array,
By the Cardinal legate recruited,
(Finger-posts pointing to heaven the way

While your feet in the earth are rooted,)
Rebuke other idols-pour oil on your own,
And teach us to worship the god of the throne.

Nobles and chiefs whom our monarchs have made
Their puppets to brighten the pageant,
Boastfully blazon your pomp and parade,
And ennoble the act by the agent;

For your pride to your fellows will better accord
With the meanness that kneels to its sovereign
Lord.

Frenchmen, who rivet the crown upon one, That millions may grovel dependent,-

To gaze at a bubble resplendent,—
What is the glory that dazzles your eyes,
And what is the deed that ye solemnise?
Charles! thou art crowned as a sovereign dread,
O'er the realm of France appointed;

Thy brother was such-yet they cut off his head-
The head of the Lord's anointed!
Learn from his fate that "legitimate" might
Is vain when it wars with a nation's right.

Ye rulers! Dey, sultan, king, emperor, pope,
United in holy alliance,

Who see in this act an additional hope

That the world may be held at defiance, Remember, 'twas this single people of Gaul, When roused by oppression, that humbled ye all. Bishops and priests who have lavished your oil, And given the Bourbon a blessing;

Such were your prayers, and your oaths, and your toil,

When his Corsican rival caressing:The God ye dishonour your mockery loaths, When ye consecrate kings with such prostitute oaths.

Frenchmen, who smote from one monarch his head,
To install him a canonised martyr,

And took back the brother to reign in his stead,
Who broke both his oath and the charter;
This is a Bourbon, a brother-beware!
And uncrown him at once if his oath he forswear.

Ye chosen of chivalry, noble and great,

Who grace this august coronation; Ye beauties whose splendour confers on the fête Its brightest and best decoration;

Ye numberless crowds who are hailing your king,
Ye troops whose reply makes the firmament ring-

Like quick-falling stars shall your glories die,
When time is a little older;

The head ye have crowned in the sod shall lie,
And your own beside it moulder,
And all that is left of this proud array
Shall be dust and ashes, and bones and clay.

THE NEW WORLD AND THE OLD: AMERICAN ILLUSTRATIONS OF EUROPEAN ANTIQUITIES. BY PRINCIPAL DAWSON, LL.D., MONTREAL. I.-EXPLANATORY AND INTRODUCTORY.

SOMI

OMEWHERE in the past, the long ages of the prehuman geologic record join and merge into the human period. The day when the first man stood erect upon the earth and gazed upon a world which had been shaped for him by the preceding periods of the creative work, was the definite beginning of the Modern Period in Geology. If that day could be fixed in the world's calendar, on reaching it the geologist might lay down his hammer and yield the field to the antiquarian and the historian. On that day a world, for long ages the abode of brute creatures, became for the first time the habitation of a rational soul. On it the old and unvarying machinery of nature first became amenable to the