heart—be merciful in thy power," and it bears safely along the slender ship and the helpless raft, whilst men bless the mighty ocean for the comforts and joys it brings them. "Toil on, toil on," they cry to the student; dive deep, for the richest pearls are farthest down;" and the ocean opens a yawning gulf, and, far below, shows its priceless stores of treasure, "Hop on, hope ever," they say to the weary one, and far on the horizon appears an island of beauty and rest, to cheer the drooping wayfarer, "Be patient and heed my works. Impeded and condemned, I beat against the towering rock for ages; atom by atom I wear away its strength, and the day comes when my waves are rolling above it, and their white crests are whispering softly as they rise and fall over the spot where once it stood and defied my strength." "Be true, be true," they say to all, "Love not a falsehood for its sweetness. My waves are salt and rough, but they bear not deceit within their depths, and they roll unchanged for ever and ever."
Such is the voices of the deep—such are the lessons they teach. Far away, round our dear old island home, they are rising and falling and rolling along as they are here around us. They are solemnly unswerving(illegible text) their quaint and(illegible text), word to the loved ones there, who are thinking and preying for the wanderers. They are bearing their memories away to the scenes of the far past, or painting bright pictures of the visionary future; but though they beat with them a gentle sadness, they will strengthen and refresh us with courage for the present and hope for the future, if we hearten to their voices, and rightly interpret their meanings.
During the past week, we sighted several Portuguese men-of war. Our "devil" signalled them to ascertain longitude, but from his imperfect knowledge of their language (and indeed we may also add, of his own) he failed to read their reply.
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Mary.
I see thee Mary now before me
As I saw thee long ago,
Dreams of youth, are rushing o’er me
With resistless rapid flow
Time and worldly cares have found me
Each has left its mask behind
Still those day dreams hover round me—
Saddening treasures of the mind.
Far from childhood’s home I wander,
Sorrows come and disappear;
Still when on the past I ponder
Thou art present, Mary, dear.
Scenes of boyhood—scenes of gladness—
Parents’ love and friendship’s ties,
Bearing mingled joy and sadness,
Now ’neath memories wand arise.
Crush them not, their spills will render,
Truer, kinder, every heart;
Crush not feeling pure and tender,—
Scenes of youth, Oh! ne’er depart.
E’en though sad, yet still I’ll cherish
All those dreams as time flies on;
Base ’twould be to let them perish
Now that all their joys are gone.
May they still my memory fetter,
Still their spells around me cast;
Teach me to grow wiser, better—
’Till life’s dream itself is past
To
’Tis sweet to ride on our fleetwinged ship,
As bird she skims away,
Before the wind, all her sails adrip,
With the rainbow tinted spray.
And sweet it is in the calm to rest;
To gaze on the depth of blue;
To feel the swell of its heaving breast;
And to watch each varying hue
