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rolls like a cunning beetle from wave to wave, as light as the bubble from which he can not be distinguished.

8. Even the albatross flapped his strong pinion and wheeled away when he saw the winds gathering dark in the heavens ; the cape-pigeon lingered a little, as though caring lightly for the ruffling of his mottled plumage, and then spread his butterfly-embroidered wings and hurried after ; but the stormy petrel, though small and delicate as the timid wren (I will take a lesson from thee, busy, daring little spirit that thou art, bright velvet-winged petrel), scorns to seek safety but by breasting the gale. And here he remains, carousing amid the foam as though these liquid pearls, leaping high in air and scattering themselves upon the wind, had a magic in them to shield him from danger.

9. He dips his wing in the angry tide as daintily as though it were stirred but in silver ripples; then he darts upward, and then plunges and is lost in the enshrouding foam. But no, he is again in air, whirling and balancing, wheeling and careering, up and down, as though stark mad with joyousness, and now he vaults upon the back of the nearest foam bank and disappears to rise again as before. And still the billows roar and bound and lash the sides of the trembling ship, and sweep with strange force her decks ; and still we reel and plunge, down, down, surely. No, we are up again, leaping skyward ; we pause a moment andwhat a fearful pitch was that! Ah, my brain grows giddy, but still I can not hide myself in my dark cabin.

10. Onward we trip buoyantly and blithely. Up from the chilling south come we to regions of perpetual warmth and sunshine. Up, hurrying on like the lithe roe-buck among his native hills, bounding and dancing, oh, so gayly! and here we are, where sleep in purple mist the fair islands of Eastern India. Blithely, still blithely speed we onward, and still softer grow the breezes, while the light gushes warm and golden from the fleecy clouds, and far away by the verge of the horizon a slumbrous vail like silver gossamer is settling down on sky and wave. A piece of half-molten gold seems to have grazed the luxuriously sleepy blue from the south around to the west, leaving everywhere its traces rich and glowing, but with none of the harsh glare which is com

mon to sterner skies. As it reaches the west it is entirely melted and circles around the setting sun, a girdle of glory, but still subdued into a soothing softness.

11. This is a rare East Indian scene, such as can not be copied where frosts have made the sun pale and set the clouds in a shiver. And now the sun nears the water, dips his lower disk in the tide, and drops down behind it with but little of the ceremony that marks his exit on land. And now for other beauties, since the storehouse of creation is exhaustless. But look upon the surface of the water! One half is of a pale flickering orange, while the other displays fold on fold of crimson, lost in the blackness of approaching night; and far behind us we are dragging in the wake of the ship long lines of green and amber and purple, each rarer than ever robed a Tyrian princess. A still dimmer haze, though all of a dark rich purple, creeps on the face of the sea as twilight deepens, and one by one the stars open their bright eyes on the misty scene below.

12. Land at last,—the strange land that for us bears the fond name of home. In a long chain, made up of irregular links, which it seems that a breath might dissever, stretches from the south, far up to the head of the bay, the shore of Burmah. The faint wind dallies about the deck, and creeps over brow and cheek with a soft, soothing deliciousness, but there is only a breath of it stirring, and that is “dead ahead.” We have been beating landward with but little success during the past week, but patience! the goal is now in sight, and it matters little whether we reach it to-day or to-morrow, or the day after.

13. Surely we will not murmur at a day more or less tacked to the end of a twenty-weeks' voyage. Thank God, that he has spread the land before our eyes at last ; that he has shielded us when wrath was stirring in the heavens, and darkness was upon the waters; that he has pinioned the wings of the wind, and said to the waves, “Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther.”

14. Last night a poor, tired little land-bird, with a head like a blue violet in the spring-time, and a neck slender and most gracefully arched, entered at the window of the saloon, and nestled down on the cushions of the transom with the fond confidence of our own tuneful robin. It was a sweet harbinger, and most joyfully welcomed. It needs not the olive-leaf to be a dove to us,—the beautiful little stranger !

15. On-on-on-slowly-very slowly ; but the land gradually becomes more distinct; the purple hue of the hills is changing to emerald; masses of trees appear like small clumps of shrubbery ; the glass discovers to us the tiny sails of fishermen close in shore, and hark! the cry, “ Amherst !"

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H. N. DUNNING.
1. The Watcher stood on Carmel's height,

With eager, longing eye,
Gazing across the sobbing sea,

Scanning the burning sky;
While with bowed head between his knees,

Scorched by the sun's fierce glow,
The Prophet, pressed with anguish sore,

Prayed in the vale below;

2. Watched for the coming of the cloud,

Prayed for the blessed rain,
To shade the burning of the sky,

To cheer the earth again,-
The cloud with wind, like breath of God,

Among the thick tree-tops,
The rain, like rush of angels' wings,

Murm'rous with pattering drops !

3. “Nothing ! nothing !” the Watcher cried

“No cloud, no sign of rain !
The same fierce sun that burns the earth

Burns o'er the watery main.”
Again the Prophet bowed his head

Between his knees and prayed ;
Again the Watcher's eye looked for

The blessing still delayed.

4. “Nothing! nothing !" the Watcher cried

“No cloud, no sign of rain!"
The Prophet, laboring in prayer,

Bowed 'twixt his knees again.
And thus twice, thrice, seven times they strive,

With faith that can not fail
One watching on the mount above,

One wrestling in the vale !

5. “Oh can it be the God whose breath

Burns like consuming fire,
Scorching the earth and sky and sea

With blast of judgment dire-
Oh can it be the God whose flame

Consumes the sacrifice-
The wood, stones, water, all ablaze

In incense to the skies

6. “Oh can it be this God whose wrath

Our prostrate souls approve,
So burning in his holiness,

Is not a God of love?
Oh Heaven! for thy dear Mercy's sake,

Accept our sacrifice !
Dissolve this spell of burning wrath!
· Oh melt these brazen skies !"

7. Seven times the two souls watched and prayed,

Seven times with faith and hope,
When from the sea a little cloud

Pushes its finger up!
A hand! A hand! A cloud-formed hand!

The hand God's chosen find
Always revealed to point before

When God is close behind !

8. And swelling in proportions vast

Reveals an awful form ;
God coming in his majesty,

God in the blessed storm ;

Blackening the heavens with clouds and wind,

Pouring the welcome rain ;
Filling the thirsty earth with floods

Of life and joy again!

9. Oh watchers on the mountain height,

Stand with eye steadfast there!
Oh wrestlers in the vale beneath,

Cease not your sevenfold prayer!
God will not always frown-he will

Accept your sacrifice
Of loving hearts and praying hands-

God will in love arise !

10. A finger, hand, an arm, a form

Of power and grace divine !
The heavens shall swell with blessed showers,

· The earth with rain-drops shine !
Oh dare with loving hearts to bring

The sacrifice of blood !
While Hope stands watching on the mount

And Faith lays hold on God !

XXXIII.-A FLOWER FOR THE WINDOW.

LEIGH HUNT.

1. Why does not every one who can afford it have a geranium in his window, or some other flower? It is very cheap; its cheapness is next to nothing, if you raise it from seed or from a slip; and it is a beauty and a companion. It sweetens the air, rejoices the eye, links you with nature and innocence, and is something to love. And if it can not love you in return, it can not hate you ; it can not utter a hateful thing even for your neglecting it; for, though it is all beauty, it has no vanity ;. and such being the case, and living as it does purely to do you good and afford pleasure, how will you be able to neglect it?

2. But, pray, if you choose a geranium, or possess but a

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