OOK alive, men!" was the shout,

Scarce heard above the roar Of the thundering billows tumbling

out

From the night up the grating shore: "Look alive!" "Ay, ready!"

And far out from the foam again Shot a rocket-a burning star, Blood-red-through the blinding rain. "Now, never a wilder night

Have we launched us to sea, God knows! But the Goodwins sent up that light; Hurrah! to the storm she goes.

"Bend to it, my mates! pull all!

Drive her out through the racing foam! We'll save those for help who call Before we again see home. Steer coolly, now, old mate-steer! You hold their lives in your hand:

Through all we'll pull; never fear

But we'll get the poor souls to land. Our boat is the queen of tight boats; How well to that sea she rose! Nothing beats our beauty that floats: Hurrah! to the wreck she goes!

"To leeward! I hear their cries:

That shout, it came down the gust.
Steady all, men! ah, there she lies;

Pull under her lee, we must.
Now, quick; stand by with the coil!

Cool, cool, steady, mate! Now throw! They have it! The sea may boil,

But safe to the shore they go.

The children! That woman first! Wrap them aft! Thank God for those!

Now, in with the rest! The worst

Is past. Off to the shore she goes!"

འ།

HOPE I may never omit, morning and evening, to thank God for His great love toward me, and pray that I may, by His help, be led to do what is right, and not be stopped from reading His

Word by the railings and jeers of my messmates. I am sure that the real way on board a ship is to commence soon-at once-what you intend to practise, and it will not be so difficult afterwards."

'Always sleeping, and dawdling, and wasting your time, and hindering everybody! Get along out o' the house a while, will ye? I've got to clear up, and can't do nothing with you lounging about. You men always in the way. Will you get along?"

are

The room didn't appear to need much in the way of "clearing up," for it was neat as wax already. Every chair stood in its place, and not a speck of dust was visible. Betsy Perret's own attire was scrupulously tidy; and she was a fine-looking woman too in the main, if only she had not been quite so large, and quite so stern about the lips. And then that voice! Tim couldn't get over it at all. He felt a new and most unaccountable sort of timidity creeping over him. Still he was not accustomed to be ordered about in this fashion, and he attempted a faint remonstrance.

"I tell you I can't have you here. Will you go!" was all the response he obtained. "And mind when you come back that you take off your boots before you walk across the room, or you 'll dirty my carpet."

My carpet! Tim felt insulted. Was he only an appendage to the household, instead of being its head ?

"And I am going to wash and scrub, so you needn't be back till dark. Well,- -are you going? What are you dawdling about like this for ?

this," faltered Tim. "Turning him out of his house and home."

"Ain't fair! I wonder who does the most

work, you or me. A lazy idle fellow like you! Talk of not being fair indeed. What next ?"

Tim felt greatly injured. He did not feel quite clear yet as to whether he was really Tim Teddington or Harry Perret; but in either case, he knew he had not been idle of late. Both Harry Perret and Tim Teddington were very tolerably steady and industrious working men. So he felt quite safe in protesting with warmth against this accusation.

Ah, Tim, Tim! you never knew before what it was to rouse the ire of a passionate

woman.

Tim stood aghast at the outburst which followed. For with arms akimbo and flaming cheeks Betsy Perret stormed at Tim, and Tim listened submissively with his eyes cast down. What else could he do? Words against that hurricane of speech were as straws against the tide. Tim had counted himself a brave man up to this day. He knew himself now for a coward. It was not prudence or patience, but downright nervous fear, which chained his lips. How was it-oh, how-that in envying Harry Perret's prosperity, he had never remembered the bitter make-weight of Betsy Perret's tongue?

The storm passed at length, and with the assistance of a parting push Tim found himself landed outside the cottage door, wondering not a little if he should ever have courage to creep in again.

He stood there mournfully, -looking over the town. What should he do? How could he bear it? Talk of trials and troubles! Tim felt perfectly certain now that no trial on earth was equal to that of such a wife as Betsy, and no blessing on earth was equal to that of such a wife as Mary. Why, oh why, had he so recklessly thrown aside his happiness ?