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not gone yet," was the cry of one; "he climbed yon tree as if he had been a water-rat. "There let him sit if the wind will let him," cried another. "That he should have been carried straight to a tree after all!"" Stand fast! here comes the gale again!" shouted a third.

The gale came. The tree in which Horner had found refuge bowed, cracked,-but before it fell, the wretch was blown from it like a flake of foam, and swallowed up finally in the surge beneath. This was clearly seen by a passing gleam. "Hurra! hurra!" was the cry once more, "God sent the wind. It was God that murdered him, not we.

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THE HOURI.

A PERSIAN SONG.

SWEET Spirit! ne'er did I behold
Thy ivory neck, thy locks of gold;
Or gaze into thy full dark eye,
Or on thy snowy bosom lie;

Or take in mine thy small white hand,
Or bask beneath thy smiling bland ;
Or walk, enraptured, by the side
Of thee, my own immortal bride.

I see thee not-yet oft I hear
Thy soft voice whispering in my ear;
And when the evening breeze I seek,
I feel thy kiss upon my cheek;

And when the moonbeams softly fall

On mead and tower, and flower-crowned wall,
Methinks the patriarch's dream I see-
The steps that lead to heaven and thee.

I've heard thee wake, with touch refined,
The viewless harp-strings of the wind;

And on my ear their soft tones fell
Sweet as the voice of Israfel! *

I've seen thee, in the lightning's sheen,
Lift up for me heaven's cloudy screen,
And give one glimpse, one transient glare
Of the full blaze of glory there.

Oft, 'midst my wanderings wild and wide,

I know that thou art by my side;

For flowers breathe sweetlier 'neath thy tread,
And suns burn brighter o'er thy head;
And though thy steps so noiseless steal,
And though thou ne'er thy form reveal,

* Israfel, the angel of music.

My throbbing heart and pulses high
Tell me, sweet spirit, thou art nigh.

O for the hour, the happy hour,
When Azrael's wings shall to thy bower
Bear my enfranchised soul away,
Unfettered with these chains of clay!
For what is he whom men so fear-
Azrael! the solemn and severe-
What but the white-robed priest is he,

Who weds my happy soul to thee.

Then shall we rest in bowers that bloom
With more than Araby's perfume,

And list to many a lovelier note

Than swells th' enamoured bulbul's + throat;
And gaze on scenes so fair and bright,
Thought never soared so proud a height,-
And one melodious ziraleet +

Through heaven's unending year repeat.

HENRY NELLE

THE CHILD'S WISH IN JUNE.
MOTHER, mother, the winds are at play,
Prithee, let me be idle to-day.

Look, dear mother, the flowers all lie
Languidly under the bright blue sky.
See, how slowly the streamlet glides;
Look, how the violet roguishly hides;
Even the butterfly rests on the rose,
And scarcely sips the sweets as he goes.
Poor Tray is asleep in the noon-day sun,
And the flies go about him one by one;
And pussy sits near with a sleepy grace,
Without ever thinking of washing her face.
There flies a bird to a neighbouring tree,
But very lazily flieth he,

And he sits and twitters a gentle note,
That scarcely ruffles his little throat.

You bid me be busy; but, mother, hear
How the hum-drum grasshopper soundeth near,
And the soft west wind is so light in its play,
It scarcely moves a leaf on the spray.

I wish, oh, I wish, I was yonder cloud,
That sails about with its misty shroud;
Books and work I no more should see,

And I'd come and float, dear mother, o'er thee.

MR GILMAN.

Azrael, the angel of death. 1 Bulbul, the nightingale. Ziraloot, a song of rejoicing.

A NIGHT AT THE RAGGED-STAFF, *

OR A SCENE AT GIBRALTAR.

The mists boil up around me, and the clouds
Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury,
Like foam from the roused ocean of deep hell.

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I am most sick at heart-nay, grasp me not-
I am all feebleness-the mountains whirl
Spinning around me-I grow blind-what art thou?

BYRON.

THE first time I ever saw the famous rock of Gibraltar was on a glorious afternoon in the month of October, when the sun diffused just sufficient heat to give an agreeable temperature to the air, and shed a soft and mellow light through the somewhat hazy atmosphere, which enabled us to see the scenery of the Straits to the best advantage. We had a rough and stormy, but uncommonly short passage; for the wind, though tempestuous, had blown from the right quarter; and our gallant frigate dashed and bounded over the waves, "like a steed that knows his rider." I could not then say, with the poet, from whom I have borrowed this quotation, "welcome to their roar!" for I was a novice on the ocean in those days, and had not yet entirely recovered from certain uneasy sensations about the region of the epigastrium, which by no means rendered the noise of rushing waters the most agreeable sound to my ears, or the rolling of the vessel the most pleasant motion for my body. Never did old seadog of a sailor, in the horse latitudes, pray more sincerely for a wind, than I did for a calm during that boisterous passage-and never, I may add, did the selfish prayer of a sinner prove more unavailing. The gale, like Othello's revenge," kept due on to the Propontic and the Hellespont," and it blew so hard that it sometimes seemed to lift our old craft almost out of the water. When we came out of port, we had our dashy fair weather spars aloft, with skysail yards athwart, a moonsail to the main, and hoist enough for the broad blue to show itself to good advantage above that. But before the pilot left us, our topgallant poles were under the boom cover, and storm-stumps in their places; and the first watch was scarcely relieved, when the boatswain's call-repeated by four mates, whose lungs seemed formed on purpose to out-roar a tempest-rang through the ship, "All hands to house topgallant masts, ahoy!" From that time till we made the land, the gale continued to rage with unintermitted violence, to the great delight of the old tars, and the manifest annoyance

From "the New York Mirror."

of the green reefers, of whom we had rather an unusual number on board. If my pen were endued with the slightest portion of the quality which distinguished Hogarth's pencil, I might here give a description of a man-of-war's steerage in a storm, which could not but force a smile from the most saturnine reader. I must own I did not much relish the humour of the scene then-pars magna fui-that is, I was sea sick myself; but

Quod fuit durum pati-meminisse dulce est ;

and I have often since, sometimes in my hammock, sometimes during a cold mid watch on deck, burst into a hearty laugh, as the memory of our grotesque distresses, and of the odd figures we cut during that passage, has glanced across my mind.

But the longest day must have an end, and the stiffest breeze cannot last for ever. The wind, which for a fortnight had been blowing as hard as a trumpeter for a wager, blew itself out at last. About dawn on the morning of the day I have alluded to, it began to lull, and by the time the sun was fairly out of the water it fell flat calm. It was my morning watch, and what with sea-sickness, fatiguing duty, and being cabined, cribbed, confined for so long a time in my narrow and unaccustomed lodgings, I felt worn out, and in no mood o exult in the choice I had made of a profession. I stood holding by one of the belaying pins of the main fife-rail (for I had not yet, as the sailors phrase it, got my sea-legs aboard), and looking I suppose as melancholy as a sick monkey on a lee backstay, when a cry from the foretopsail-yard reached my ear that instantly thrilled to my heart, and set the blood running in a lively current through my veins. "Land, oh!" cried the jack-tar on the look out, in a cable-tier voice which seemed to issue from the bottom of his stomach. I have heard many delightful sounds in my time, but few which seemed to me more pleasant than the rough voice of that vigilant sailor. I do verily believe, that not seven bells (grog time of day) to a thirsty tar, the dinner bell to a hungry alderman, or the passing bell of some rich old curmudgeon to an anxious heir, ever gave greater rapture. The how-d'ye-do of a friend, the good-bye of a country cousin, the song of the Signorina, and Paganini's fiddle, may all have music in them; but the cry of land to a sea-sick midshipman is sweeter than them all.

We made what, in nautical language, is termed a good land-fall -so good, indeed, that it was well for us the night and the wind both ceased when they did; for had they lasted another hour, we should have found ourselves landed, and in a way that even I, much as I wished to set my foot once more on terra firma, should not have felt particularly pleased with. On its becoming light enough to ascertain

our whereabout, it was discovered that we were within the very jaws of the Straits, completely land-locked by the "steepy shore," where

Europe and Afric on each other gaze,

and already beginning to feel the influence of the strong and ceaseless easterly current which rushes into the Mediterranean through that passage with a velocity of four or five knots an hour. A gentle land-breeze sprung up in the course of the morning watch, which, though not exactly fair, yet coming from the land of the "dusky Moor," had enough of something in it to enable us to get along at a very tolerable rate, beating with a long and short leg through the Straits.

It would be uncharitable to require that the reader should arrive at the rock by the same sort of zig-zag course which we were obliged to pursue; so therefore, let him at once suppose himself riding at anchor in the beautiful but unsafe bay of Gibraltar, directly opposite and almost within the very shadow of the grand and gigantic fortress which nature and art seem to have vied with each other in rendering impregnable. No one who has looked on that vast and forted rock, with its huge granite outline shown in bold relief against the clear sky of the south of Europe-its towering and ruin-crowned peaks— its enormous crags, caverns, and precipices-and its rich historical associations, which shed a powerful though vague interest over every feature-can easily forget the strong impression which the first sight of that imposing and magnificent spectacle creates. The flinty mass rising abruptly to an elevation of fifteen hundred feet, and surrounded on every side by the waters of the Mediterranean, save a narrow slip of level sand which stretches from its northern end and connects it with the main land, has, added to its other claims to admiration, the strong interest of utter isolation. For a while, the spectator gazes on the "stupendous whole" with an expression of pleased wonder at its height, extent, and strength, and without becoming conscious of the various opposite features which make up its grand effect of sublimity and beauty. He sees only the giant rock spreading its vast dark mass against the sky, its broken and wavy ridge, its beetling projections, and its dizzy precipices of a thousand feet perpendicular descent. After a time, his eye becoming in some degree familiarized with the main and sterner features of the scene, he perceives that the granite mountain is variegated by here and there some picturesque work of art, or spot of green beauty, that shines with greater loveliness from contrast with the savage roughness by which it is surrounded. Dotted about at long intervals over the steep sides of the craggy mass, are seen the humble cottages of the soldiers' wives: or, perched on the very edges of the cliffs, the guard houses of the garrison, be

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