the love of a great people bore the pale sufferer to the longed-for healing of the sea, to live or to die, as God should will, within sight of its heaving billows, within sound of its manifold voices. With wan, fevered face tenderly lifted to the cooling breeze he looked out wistfully upon the ocean's changing wonders; on its far sails, whitening in the morning light; on its restless waves, rolling shoreward to break and die beneath the noonday sun; on the red clouds of evening, arching low to the horizon; on the serene and shining pathway of the stars. Let us think that his dying eyes read a mystic meaning which only the rapt and parting soul may know. Let us believe that in the silence of the receding world he heard the great waves breaking on a farther shore, and felt already upon his wasted brow the breath of the eternal morning.

A SMOOTH DAY.-JOE Jơt, Jr.
We walked along that slippery street,
Malinda Ann and I;

Of all the thousands that we'd meet
None were so blest as I.

Her ringing laugh was very smooth;
No smoother had I known,
And I was slicked up in my best-
The slickest man in town.

Smooth was the way of life to me
As we walked smoothly on;
Her gentle fingers grasped my arm-
I thought I weighed a ton.

So gently did we glide along

I hardly marked the way;

Her tones were polished and refined

Our conversation gay.

They said we were a happy pair,

So full of life and youth,

Whose path through all the years to come

Should be most smoothly smooth.

I never made a slip of tongue
In all I had to say;

My feet seemed light as if they wore
Light slippers on that day.

I fondly gazed on that smcoth cheek
With smoothly glancing eyes,

And wished my hopes would not slip up
Of making her my prize.
How proudly did I walk along

As one of higher birth

Until I struck a patch of ice

And then I left the earth

Just for one second. Had I stayed
In space all had been well:

I had slipped up and must come down,
And thus, of course, I fell.

Oh, slipperiest slide that ever was!
"Twas a fell stroke to me;

The gentle maiden shared my fate,
For also down came she.

Oh, slippery day, slip off my mind!
Slide, glide from memory!

Fade, fade into oblivion

And no more torture me!

That day saw all my fond hopes slip,`
And all my gladness glide,
Because that maiden madly rose
And-well, she let me slide.

IN THE HARBOR.-GEORGE R. SIMS.

Go for a sail this mornin'?-This way, yer honor, please. Weather about? Lor' bless you! only a pleasant breeze. My boat's that there in the harbor, and the man aboard's my mate.

Jump in, and I'll row you out, sir; that's her, the Crazy Kate.

Queer name for a boat, you fancy; well, so it is, may be, But Crazy Kate and her story's the talk o' the place you see; And me and my pardner knowed her,-knowed her all her life;

We was both on us asked to the weddin' when she was made a wife,

Her as our boat's named arter was famous far and wide; For years in all winds and weathers she haunted the har

bor side,

With her great wild eyes a-starin' and a-strainin' across the

waves,

Waitin' for what can't happen till the dead come out o' their graves.

She was married to young Ned Garling, a big, brown fisherlad;

One week a bride, and the next one a sailor's widow-and mad.

They were married one fearful winter as widowed many a wife;

He'd a smile for all the lasses; but she'd loved him all her life.

A rollickin', gay young fellow, we thought her too good for him;

He'd been a bit wild and careless-but, married all taut and

trim,

We thought as he'd mend his manners when he won the village prize,

And carried her off in triumph before many a rival's eyes.

But one week wed and they parted; he went with the fisher fleet,

With the men who must brave the tempest that the women and bairns may eat;

It's a rough long life o' partin's is the life o' the fisher folk, And there's never a winter passes but some good wife's heart is broke.

We've a sayin' among us sea folk as few on us dies in bed; Walk through our little churchyard, and read the tale of our dead;

It's mostly the bairns and the women as is restin' under the turf,

For half o' the men sleep yonder under the rollin' surf.

The night Kate lost her husband was the night o' the fear

ful gale.

She'd stood on the shore that mornin', and had watched the tiny sail

As it faded away in the distance, bound for the coast of

France,

And the fierce wind bore it swiftly away from her anxious glance.

The boats that had sailed that mornin' with the fleet were

half a score,

And never a soul among 'em came back to the English shore. There was wringin' o' hands and moanin', and when they spoke o' the dead

For many a long day after the women's eyes were red.

Kate heard it as soon as any,-the fate of her fisher lad,But her eyes were wild and tearless; she went slowly and surely mad.

"He isn't drowned," she would murmur; "he will come again some day,"

And her lips shaped the self-same story as the long years crept away.

Spring, and summer, and autumn, in the fiercest winter gale, Would Crazy Kate stand watchin' for the gliṛt of a far-off

sai.;

Stand by the hour together, and murmur her husband's

name;

For twenty years she watched there, for the boat that never

came.

She counted the years as nothin'; the shock that had sent her mad

Had left her love forever, a brave, young, handsome lad. She thought one day she should see him, just as he said

good-by

When he leaped in his boat and vanished, where the waters touched the sky.

She was but a lass when it happened;-the last time I saw her there,

The first faint streaks o' silver had come in her jet-black hair:

And then a miracle happened,—her mad, weird words came right,

For the fisher lad came ashore, sir, one wild and stormy night.

We were all of us watchin', waitin, for at dusk we heard a cry, A far-off cry, round the headland, and strained was every

eye,

Strained through the deepenin' darkness, and a boat was ready to man,

When, all of a sudden, a woman down to the surf-line ran.

'Twas Crazy Kate. In a moment, before what she meant was known,

The boat was out in the tempest--and she was ia it alone.

She was out of sight in a second-but over the sea came a sound,

The voice of a woman cryin' that her long-lost love was found.

A miracle, sir; for the woman came back through the ragin' storin,

And there in the boat beside her was lyin' a lifeless form. She leapt to the beach and staggered, cryin', "Speak to me, husband, Ned!"

And the light of our lifted lanterns flashed on the face o' the dead.

It was him as had sailed away, sir, a miracle sure it seemed. We looked at the lad, and knowed him, and fancied we must ha' dreamed.

It was twenty years since we'd seen him,-since Kate, poor soul, went mad,

But there in the boat that evenin' lay the same brown, handsome lad.

Gently we took her from him-for she moaned that he was

dead;

We carried him to a cottage, and we laid him on a bed; But Kate came pushin' her way through, and she clasped the lifeless clay,

And we hadn't the heart to hurt her, so we couldn't tear her

away.

The news of the miracle traveled, and folks came far and

near,

And the women talked of spectres, it had given 'em quite a skeer;

And the parson he came with the doctor down to the cot

tage, quick—

They thought as us sea-folks' fancy had played our eyes a trick.

But the parson, who'd known Kate's husband, as had mar

ried 'em in the church,

When he seed the dead lad's features he gave quite a sudden lurch,

And his face was as white as linen, for a moment it struck him dumb;

I half expected he'd tell us as the Judgment Day was come.

The Judgment Day, when the ocean, they say, 'ull give up its dead;

What else meant those unchanged features, though twenty years had sped?