HOW TO TELL BAD NEWS.

Mr. G. Ha! Steward, how are you, my old boy? how do things go on at home?

Steward. Bad enough, your honour; the magpie's dead.

Mr. G. Poor Mag! so he's gone.

he to die?

Stew. Over-ate himself, sir.

How came

Mr. G. Did he, faith? a greedy dog; why, what did he get he liked so well?

Stew. Horse-flesh, sir; he died of eating horseflesh.

Mr. G. How came he to get so much horseflesh?

Stew. All your father's horses, sir.

Mr. G. What! are they dead, too?
Stew. Ay, sir; they died of over-work.

Mr. G. And why were they over-worked, pray?
Stew. To carry water, sir.

Mr. G. To carry water! and what were they carrying water for?

Stew. Sure, sir, to put out the fire.

Mr. G. Fire! what fire?

Stew. Oh, sir, your father's house is burned down to the ground.

Mr. G. My father's house burned down! and how came it set on fire?

Stew. I think, sir, it must have been the torches.
Mr. G. Torches! what torches?

Stew. At your mother's funeral.

Mr. G. My mother dead!

Stew. Ah, poor lady, she never looked up after it.
Mr. G. After what?

Stew. The loss of your father.

Mr. G. My father gone too?

Stew. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it.

Mr. G. Heard of what?

Stew. The bad news, sir, and please your honour. Mr. G. What! more miseries! more bad news? Stew. Yes, sir, your bank has failed, and your credit is lost, and you are not worth a shilling in the world. I made bold, sir, to come to wait on you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the

news.

CASABIANCA.*

THE boy stood on the burning deck.
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck,
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though child-like form.

The flames roll'd on-he would not go,
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer heard.

*Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the Nile,) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned; and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder.

He call'd aloud-" Say, father, say
If yet my task is done?"

He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, Father!" once again he cried,
"If I may yet be gone!"

And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames roll'd on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair;

And look'd from that lone post of death,
In still, yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,

66

My Father! must I stay?"

While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,

And stream'd above the gallant child

Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound-
The boy-oh! were was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strew'd the sea!

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part-
But the noblest thing that perish'd there,
Was that
young faithful heart.

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS.

THE breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast; And the woods, against a stormy sky, Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark,

The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted, came ;— Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,

In silence, and in fear :

They shook the depths of the desert's gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard, and the sea;

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free.

The ocean-eagle soared

From his nest, by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared :— This was their welcome home.

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band:

Thy had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas? the spoils of war?—
They sought a faith's pure shrine.

Ay, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod!

They have left unstained what there they found― Freedom to worship God!

WORKS OF THE CORAL INSECT

THOUGH Some species of corals are found in all climates, they abound chiefly in the tropical regions. In particular, the larger and more solid kinds seem to have chosen those climates for their habitation; while the more tender and minute, the Flustras for example, occur in the colder seas.

These animals vary from the size of a pin's head, or even less, to somewhat more than the bulk of a pea; and it is by the persevering efforts of creatures so insignificant, working in myriads, and working through ages, that the enormous structures in question are erected.

Enormous we may well call them, when the great Coral Reef of New Holland alone is a thousand miles in length, and when its altitude, though yet scarcely fathomed in twenty places, cannot range to