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3. There will come an eve to a longer day',
That will find thee tired',—but not of play'!
And thou wilt lean, as thou leanest now,
With drooping limbs, and aching brow,
And wish the shadows would faster creep,
And long to go to thy quiet sleep.

Well were it then, if thine aching brow
Were as free from sin and shame as now!
Well for thee, if thy lip could tell
A tale like this, of a day spent well.

4. If thine open hand hath relieved distress',
If thy pity hath sprung to wretchedness',
If thou hast forgiven the sore offense',
And humbled thy heart with penitence',-
If Nature's voices have spoken to thee
With her holy meanings eloquently',-
If every creature hath won thy love',

From the creeping worm to the brooding dove',-
If never a sad, low-spoken word

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Hath plead with thy human heart unheard',-
Then', when the night steals on, as now,
It will bring relief to thine aching brow,
And, with joy and peace at the thought of rest,
Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother's breast.

QUESTIONS.-1. What had the child been doing? 2. What questions did the mother ask? 3. What did she tell the child would come? 4. What is meant by eve to a longer day, third verse? 5. What, by quiet sleep, samo verse? 6. What ought we to do in life, in order to have a joyful and peaceful death? 7. What rule for the rising inflection on restless one, first verse? See page 32, Note I. 8. What rule for the falling inflection on playing, second verse? See page 29, Rule II. 9. What rule for the rising inflections in the fourth verse? Rule V., page 31.

LESSON XXXII.

NORTH-EAST ER$, north-east winds.
EX HAUST ED, (x like gz,) tired out.
VIG'I LANT, watchful.

DE TECT ED, discovered.

LEE WARD, pertaining to the part to

TORTURE, anguish of spirit. [doned.
DE $ERT ED, relinquished; aban-
RA PID' I TY, speed; swiftness.
EN VEL OP ED, inclosed; covered.
GEN' ER A TED, produced.
LETH' AR GY, drowsiness; dullness.
RES' CUE, deliverance.

ward which the wind blows. RE CED' ING, retiring; passing away. BRILL' IAN CY, brightness; luster. TILL' ER, bar used to turn the rudder. CON' TACT, (CON, together; TACT, touch,) a touching together; close union.

IN EV' I TA BLY, surely; certainly.
E SPY' ING, Seeing; discovering.

THE RESCUE +

BY A SEA CAPTAIN.

1 ON a bright moonlight night, in the month of February, 1831, when it was intensely cold, the little brig which I commanded, lay quietly at her anchors, inside of Sandy Hook. We had a hard time of it, beating about for eleven days off this coast, with cutting north-easters blowing, and snow and sleet falling for the most part of that time.

2. Forward, the vessel was thickly coated with ice, and it was hard work to handle her; as the rigging and sails were stiff, and yielded only when the strength of the men was exerted to the utmost. When we, at length, made the port, all hands were worn down and exhausted.

3. "A bitter, cold night, Mr. Larkin," I said to my mate, as I tarried for a short time upon deck. The worthy downeaster buttoned his coat more tightly around him, and, looking up to the moon, replied, "It's a whistler, captain; and nothing can live comfortably out of blankets to-night."

4. "The tide is running out swift and strong, and it will be well to keep a sharp look-out for this floating ice, Mr. Larkin," said I, as I turned to go below. responded the faithful mate.

"Ay, ay, sir,"

5. About two hours afterward, I was aroused from a sound sleep by the vigilant officer. "Excuse me for disturbing you, captain," said he, as he detected an expression of vexation in my face, "but I wish you would turn out, and come on deck as soon as possible."

6. "What's the matter, Mr. Larkin,” said I. "Why, sir, I have been watching a large cake of ice, which swept by at a distance, a moment ago; and I saw something black upon it, something that I thought moved. The moon is under a cloud, and I could not see distinctly; but I believe there is a child floating out to the sea, this freezing night, on that cake of ice."

7. We were on deck before either spoke another word. The mate pointed out, with no little difficulty, the cake of ice floating off to the leeward, with its white, glittering surface broken by a black spot. "Get the glass, Mr. Larkin," said I; "the moon will be and then we can see distinctly."

out of that cloud in a moment,

8. I kept my eye upon the receding mass of ice, while the moon was slowly working her way through a heavy bank of clouds. The mate stood by me with the glass; and when the full light fell upon the water, with a brilliancy only known in our northern latitudes, I put the glass to my eye. glance was enough.

One

my

9. (") "Forward, there!" I hailed at the top of voice; and, with one bound, I reached the main hatch, and began to clear away the little cutter, which was stowed in the ship's yawl. Mr. Larkin had taken the glass to look for himself. "There are two children on that cake of ice!" he exclaimed, as he hastened to assist me in getting out the boat.

10. The men answered my hail, and walked quickly aft. In a short space of time, we launched the cutter, into which

Mr. Larkin and myself jumped, followed by the two men, who took the oars. I rigged the tiller, and the mate sat beside me in the stern sheets.

11. "Do you see that cake of ice, with something black upon it, my lads? Put me alongside of that, and I'll give you a month's extra wages when you are paid off," said I to the men.

12. They bent to their oars, but their strokes were uneven and feeble; for they were worn out by the hard duty of the preceding fortnight; and, though they did their best, the boat made little more headway than the tide. It was a losing chase, and Mr. Larkin, who was suffering torture as he saw how little we gained, cried out, " Pull, lads! I'll double the captain's prize: two months' extra pay: pull, lads! pull for life!""

13. A convulsive effort at the oars told how willing the men were to obey, but the strength of the strong man was gone. One of the poor fellows washed us twice in recovering his oar, and then gave out; and the other was nearly as far gone. Mr. Larkin sprang forward and seized the deserted oar. "Lie down in the bottom of the boat," said he to the man; and, captain, take the other oar; we must row for ourselves."

14. I took the second man's place. Larkin had stripped off his coat, and, as he pulled the bow, I waited for the signal stroke. It came gently, but firm; and the next moment we were pulling a long, steady stroke; gradually increasing in rapidity, until the wood seemed to smoke in the row-locks. We kept time, each by the long, deep breathing of the other.

15. Such a pull! We bent forward until our faces almost touched our knees; and then throwing all our strength into the backward movement, drew on the oar until every inch

covered by the sweep was gained. Thus we worked at the oars for fifteen minutes; and it seemed to me as many hours. The sweat rolled off in great drops, and I was enveloped in a steam generated from my own body.

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16. "Are we almost up to it, Mr. Larkin ?" I gasped out.

Almost, captain," said he; "and don't give up! for the love of our dear little ones at home; don't give up, captain!" The oars flashed as their blades turned up to the moonlight; for the men who plied them were fathers, and had father's hearts.

17. Suddenly Mr. Larkin ceased pulling; and my heart, for a moment, almost stopped its beating; for the terrible thought that he had given out, crossed my mind. But I was re-assured by his voice. (p) "Gently, captain, gently: a stroke or two more: there, that will do;" and the next moment Mr. Larkin sprang upon the ice. I started up, and, calling to the men to make fast the boat to the ice, followed him.

18. We ran to the dark spot in the center of the mass, and found two little boys. The head of the smaller was resting in the bosom of the larger; and both were fast asleep. The lethargy, which would have been fatal, but for the timely rescue, had overcome them.

19. Mr. Larkin grasped one of the lads, cut off his shoes, tore off his jacket, and then, loosening his own garments to the skin, placed the cold child in contact with his own warm body, carefully wrapping his overcoat around him. I did the same with the other child; and we then returned to the boat,

20. The children, as we learned when we had the delight of restoring them to their parents, were playing on the cake of ice, which had jammed into a bend of the river, about ten miles above New York. A movement of the tide set the ice

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