night! Strike eight bells! All's well at one o'clock in the morning! Strike two bells! How the water tosses from the iron prow of the Huron as she seems moving irresistibly on! If a fishing-smack came in her way, she would ride it down and not know that she touched it. But, alas! through the darkness she is aiming for Nag's head! What is the matter with the compasses? At one o'clock and forty minutes there is a harsh grating on the bottom of the ship, and the cry goes across the ship, "What's the matter?" Then the sea lifts up the ship to let her fall on the breakersShock! shock! shock! The dreadful command of the captain rings across the deck and is repeated among the hammocks, "All hands save the ship." Then comes the thud of the axe in answer to the order to cut away the mast. Overboard go the guns. They are of no use in this battle with the wind and wave. Heavier and heavier the vessel falls till the timbers begin to crack. The work of death goes on, every surge of the sea carrying more men from the forecastle, and reaching up its briny fingers to those hanging in the rigging. Numb and frozen, they hold on and lash themselves fast; while some, daring each other to the undertaking, plunge into the beating surf and struggle for the land. Oh, cruel sea! Pity them, as, bruised and mangled and with broken bones, they make desperate efforts for dear life. For thirty miles along the beach the dead of the Huron are strewn, and throughout the land there is weeping and lamentation and great woe. A surviving officer of the vessel testifies that the conduct of the men was admirable. It is a magnificent thing to see a man dying at his post, doing his whole duty. Who can see such things without thinking of the greatest deed of these nineteen centuries, the pushing out of the Chieftain of the Universe to take the human race off the wreck of the world. Rev. T. De Witt Talmage. LITTLE FOXES. LITTLE foxes spoiling beloved vine Trusted to my tending Have ye leaped the fences? Through a tiny space; And I watch by daytime, I have kept the earth-worm For the little foxes Have assailed the vine Trusted to my tending By the One Divine; And though I've been faithful Since its birthday morn, They were in the garden When the babe was born. For they are the failings That I now despise, And I chide her often, But I do it always Bowed down to the dust, With a face all crimsoned And sometimes it seemeth Like the voice of God And it says, "Poor coward, On a child's frail body Till I hear it moan, And see its soft flesh quiver Oh, my Father, pity, Oh, my Father, hear me, That both vines may be To be offered Thee. Mrs. Mary Cram. N "NOT TO MYSELF ALONE." OT to myself alone," The little opening flower transported cries, "Not to myself alone I bud and bloom; With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume, And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes. The bee comes sipping every eventide The butterfly within my cup doth hide "Not to myself alone," The circling star with honest pride doth boast, "Not to myself alone I rise and set; I write upon night's coronal of jet His power and skill who formed our myriad hostA friendly beacon at heaven's open gate, I gem the sky, That man might ne'er forget, in every fate, "Not to myself alone," The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum, Content if he repay my ceaseless toil "Not to myself alone," The soaring bird with lusty pinion sings, I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue, And God adore; I call the worldling from his dross to turn, |