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could not keep ourselves full, we luckily suited the course of the boat; so that, after a tedious beating about-for the wind not only gives blows, but takes a great deal of beating-we came to an island. Here we landed, and our first impulse on coming to dry land was to drink. There was a little brook at hand, to which we applied ourselves, till it seemed actually to murmur at our inordinate thirst. Our next care was to look for some food; for though our hearts were full at our escape, the neighbouring region was dreadfully empty. We succeeded in getting some natives out of their bed, but with difficulty got them open; a common oyster-knife would have been worth the price of a sceptre. Our next concern was to look out for a lodging; and at last we discovered an empty cave, reminding me of an old inscription at Portsmouth, "The hole of this place to let." We took the precaution of rolling some great stones to the entrance, for fear of last lodgers,―lest some bear might come home from business, or a tiger to tea. Here, under the rock, we slept without rocking; and when, through the night's failing, the day broke, we saw, with the first instalment of light, that we were upon a small desert isle, now for the first time an Isle of Man. Hood.



T draws the grossness off the understanding,
And renders active and industrious spirits.

He that knows most men's manners must of necessity
Best know his own, and mend those, by example.

'Tis a dull thing to travel like a mill horse,

Still in the place he was born in, lamed and blinded;
Living at home is like it. Pure and strong spirits,

That, like the fire, still covet to fly upward,

And to give fire, as well as take it, cased up and mew'd here

I mean at home, like lusty-mettled horses,

Only tied up in stables to please their masters,

Beat out their fiery lives in their own litters.

Beaumont and Fletcher.

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IT was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea:

But we loved with a love that was more than love--

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me—

Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-

Of many far wiser than we

And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee :

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling-my darling-my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

E. A. Poe.


ARTHUR PENDENNIS'S schoolfellows at the Greyfriars School state

that, as a boy, he was in no ways remarkable either as a dunce or as a scholar. He never read to improve himself out of school-hours, but, on the contrary, devoured all the novels, plays, and poetry, on which he could lay his hands. He never was flogged, but it was a wonder how he escaped the whipping-post. When he had money he spent it royally in tarts for himself and his friends; he has been known to disburse nine and sixpence out of ten shillings awarded to him in a single day. When he had no funds he went on tick. When he could get no credit he went without, and was almost as happy. He has been known to take a thrashing for a crony without saying a word; but a blow, ever so slight, from a friend, would make him roar. To fighting he was averse from his earliest youth, as indeed to physic, the Greek Grammar, or any other exertion, and would engage in none of them, except at the last extremity. He seldom if ever told lies, and never bullied little boys. Those masters or seniors who were kind to him, he loved with boyish ardour. And though the Doctor, when he did not know his Horace, or could not construe his Greek play, said that that boy Pendennis was a disgrace to the school, a candidate for ruin in this world, and perdition in the next; a profligate who would most likely bring his venerable father to ruin and his mother to a dishonoured grave, and the like-yet as the Doctor made use of these compliments to most of the boys in the place, (which has not turned out an unusual number of felons and pickpockets,) little Pen, at first uneasy and terrified by these charges, became gradually accustomed to hear them; and he has not, in fact, either murdered his parents, or committed any act worthy of transportation or hanging up to the present day.





WHAT wisdom more, what better life, than pleaseth God to send? What worldly goods, what longer use, than pleaseth God to lend? What better fare than well content, agreeing with thy wealth? What better guest than trusty friend, in sickness and in health? What better bed than conscience good, to pass the night with sleep? What better work than daily care from sin thyself to keep? What better thought than think on God, and daily Him to serve? What better gift than to the poor, that ready be to starve? What greater praise of God and man than mercy for to show? Who, merciless, shall mercy find, that mercy shows to few? What worse despair than loath to die, for fear to go to hell? What greater faith than trust in God, through Christ in heaven to dwell? Tusser.



AID in my quiet bed, in study as I were,

I saw, within my troubled head, a heap of thoughts appear;

And every thought did show so lively in mine eyes,

That now I sigh'd, and then I smiled, as cause of thoughts did rise.

I saw the little boy, and thought how oft that he

Did wish of God, to 'scape the rod, a tall young man to be;
The young man eke, that feels his bones with pains oppress'd,
How he would be a rich old man, to live and lie at rest.

The rich old man, that sees his end draw on so sore,
How he would be a man again, to live so much the more.
Whereat full oft I smiled, to see how all these three,

From boy to man, from man to boy, would chop and change degree.

Earl of Surrey.

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