in the far-off horizon, the almost exhausted sailors pulled gallantly on. David, after having convinced himself that the grey line just showing in the far distance was really land, served out half the remaining store of biscuit and water, and two-thirds of the remaining rum. Thus refreshed, the poor fellows, with some of their former energy, used their oars in good earnest; David having prudently divided them, and made four row while four rested. Presently the wind set so fair towards the land, that David could not repress a wish for a sail—anything to serve as a sail! Poor Martha with tears unrolled the cold, placid form of little Johnny from her shawl, and held it mutely to him. Though not much suited to such a purpose, it answered tolerably well; and they made such way, that before it was dark they were actually close in shore.

'David scanned the green coast carefully, and guided his boat into a small creek that ran up into the land, where, in comparatively tranquil water, they could land. Who can describe the deep gratitude of the survivors of that awful voyage, when they found themselves safe on land once more! They found their way inland, where, at a short distance, they came upon a Dutch settlement, and were warmly and hospitably received and nursed by the kind-hearted people, who were horror-struck at

their gaunt forms and haggard faces. Not satisfied with giving the homeless wanderers warmth and shelter, and the best food they had, they collected comfortable clothes for them all, and spared enough from their thrifty earnings to enable the shipwrecked people to travel as far as Cape Town.

'They kept them first, however, quartered in several comfortable homesteads, until they were recovered from their exhausted state. And one of the first things that was done, was to bury poor little Johnny in the green sloping graveyard of their little "kirche." For the weary party had carried the little body by turns from the boat, and all seemed thankful that their poor little favourite should lie under green turf and pleasant sunshine, instead of being thrown, like those who had died before, into the awful sea, over which their perilous travelling had lain so long.'

How the dark waters sweep above the dead!
What sighs, like odours shed,

The sea nymphs breathe above the early lost,
Decking their sleep with pearls of priceless cost!
Yet more, oh more: upon that ocean floor,
Paved with the richest gems that ever shone,
How pale death sets his throne !'

R. SHELTON MACKENZIE.

HE next story I want to tell you,' murmured the shell, is one I heard long

ago, but I can give it you nearly in the words of the narrator; for we shells, who can echo so faithfully the sound of the wave, have wonderfully tenacious memories, and are, as it were, the echoes of the sea, as you can believe from our exact repetition of the voices of the waves. I must

begin by telling you that, among the crew of your Uncle David's vessel, during one of his earlier voyages, there was a young Cingalese (or native of Ceylon) on board, who entered as second mate; and a very steady, trusty fellow he proved to be, with mind and manners far above his birth and station, so that he became a great favourite with your uncle and his young wife. On one occasion, when they were far out at sea, they fell into the region of the equatorial calms, lying between the passage of the trade winds.

Here they were detained for some days, the ship making little or no way through the heavy, quiet sea, which seemed to have fallen asleep from the influence of the sultry air, and her sails hanging in heavy limp folds from the mast, where not the slightest zephyr came even to stir the dust from the heated deck. But nothing could be done, and your Uncle David, remarking that "time and the tide would wear through the longest day," submitted with the characteristic patience of a seaman, and set his crew every task he could devise, to pass away the time which hung so heavily upon them, chained with an invisible chain, as they seemed to be, in that windless sea. And when all the decks had been scrubbed and holystoned to a marvellous cleanliness, and every sail repaired and reefed with methodical care,-every rope put in its place, every

bolt and stanchion thoroughly cleansed, and all done that could be done to while away the time, he set them to "spinning yarns" (as the sailors call telling stories) of their lives and adventures, to which he and his wife listened with as much interest as the rest. Nor was he wanting in his part of the entertainment; for I must relate to you afterwards his story of some very strange adventures he had when he first went to sea.

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'One day when they had diverted themselves with angling, baiting their hooks with bits of salt junk, but catching little worth mentioning save a small shark, they all sat idly down on the deck, growling and grumbling at the weather as usual, and whistling without avail for a wind, when the Cingalese mate joined them and volunteered an autobiography, which was gladly enough accepted. Seating himself on a hencoop, he was speedily surrounded by a group of eager listeners, when he began his story in something like the following words :

"The first thing I can distinctly remember is rolling about on a patch of green herbage in front of my mother's hut, in a coffee plantation on one of the mountain ranges of the beautiful island of Ceylon. I did not then realize its charms, or become aware of them indeed; but now, after many years, the memory of them comes fresh and green

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