to the men; to which the captain, at my intercession, caused their chests and clothes to be added, which they took, and were very thankful for.

And thus I left the island, the 19th of December, as I found by the ship's account, in the year 1686, after I had been upon it eight-and-twenty years, two months, and nineteen days; being delivered from this captivity the same day of the month that I first had been cast ashore. In this vessel, after a long voyage, I arrived in England the 11th of June, in the year 1687, having been thirty-five years absent.

FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN
By THOMAS HOOD

YOUNG Ben he was a nice young man,

A carpenter by trade;

And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
That was a lady's maid.

But as they fetched a walk one day,
They met a press-gang crew;
And Sally she did faint away,

Whilst Ben he was brought to.

The boatswain swore with wicked words

Enough to shock a saint,

That, though she did seem in a fit,

'Twas nothing but a feint.

"Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head,

He'll be as good as me;

For when your swain is in our boat
A boatswain he will be.'

So when they'd made their game of her,
And taken off her elf,

She roused, and found she only was
A-coming to herself.

"And is he gone, and is he gone?" She cried and wept outright; "Then I will to the water-side, And see him out of sight."

A waterman came up to her;
"Now, young woman," said he,
"If you weep on so, you will make
Eye-water in the sea."

"Alas! they've taken my beau, Ben,
To sail with old Benbow;"
And her woe began to run afresh,
As if she'd said, "Gee woe!"

Says he, "They've only taken him
To the tender-ship, you see."

"The tender-ship," cried Sally Brown"What a hard-ship that must be!"

"O, would I were a mermaid now,
For then I'd follow him!
But O, I'm not a fish-woman,
And so I cannot swim.

"Alas! I was not born beneath

The Virgin and the Scales, So I must curse my cruel stars, And walk about in Wales."

Now Ben had sailed to many a place
That's underneath the world;
But in two years the ship came home,
And all her sails were furled.

But when he called on Sally Brown,
To see how she got on,

He found she'd got another Ben,
Whose Christian name was John.

"O Sally Brown! O Sally Brown!
How could you serve me so?.
I've met with many a breeze before,
But never such a blow!"

Then, reading on his 'bacco box,
He heaved a heavy sigh,
And then began to eye his pipe
And then to pipe his eye.

And then he tried to sing "All's Well!" But could not, though he tried;

His head was turned,-and so he chewed

His pigtail till he died.

His death, which happened in his berth,

At forty-odd befell;

They went and told the sexton, and

The sexton tolled the bell.

IN

THE MARINER'S DREAM

By WILLIAM DIMOND

slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay;

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;

But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While Memory stood sideways half covered with flowers,

And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.

Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide, And bade the young dreamer in ecstacy rise; Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch, And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the wall;

All trembling with transport he raises the latch, And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear;

And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast; Joy quickens his pulses, his hardships seem

o'er;

And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest,

"O God! thou hast blest me,-I ask for no more."

Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye?

Ah! what is that sound which now 'larms on his

ear?

"Tis the lightning's red gleam, painting hell on the

sky!

"Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the

sphere!

He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck; Amazement confronts him with images dire; Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck;

The masts fly in splinters; the shrouds are on fire.

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell;
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save;
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,
And the death-angel flaps his broad wings o'er
the wave!

O sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss. Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright,

Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss?