And years and days that long are passed,
And the scenes that seemed forgot,
Rush through the mind like meteor-light
As we linger on the spot;

And little things that were as nought,
But now will be our all,

Come to us like an echo low

Of the last, the last footfall!

Your Mission

F you cannot on the ocean
Sail among the swiftest fleet,
Rocking on the highest billows,

Laughing at the storms you meet,-
You can stand among the sailors
Anchored yet within the bay,

You can lend a hand to help them
As they launch their boats away.

If you are too weak to journey

Up the mountains steep and high,
You can stand within the valley

While the multitude go by;

You can chant a happy measure
As they slowly pass along,-
Though they may forget the singer,
They may not forget the song.

If you cannot in the conflict

Prove yourself a soldier true,
If where smoke and fire are thickest
There's no work for you to do;

When the battle field is silent,
You can go with careful tread,
You can bear away the wounded,
You can cover up the dead.

Do not, then, stand idly waiting
For some greater work to do;
Fortune is a fickle goddess,

She will never come to you.
Go and toil in any vineyard,-
Do not fear to do and dare,
ou want a field of labor,

can find it anywhere.

Little Meg and I.

OU asked me, mates, to spin a yarn, before we go below:
Well, as the night is calm and fair, and no chance for a

blow,

I'll give you one,-a story true as ever yet was told-
For, mates, I wouldn't lie about the dead; no, not for gold.
The story's of a maid and lad, who loved in days gone by:
The maiden was Meg Anderson, the lad, messmates, was I.

A neater, trimmer craft than Meg was very hard to find;
Why, she could climb a hill and make five knots agin the

wind;

And as for larnin,' hulks and spars! I've often heard it said That she could give the scholars points and then come out

ahead.

The old schoolmaster used to say, and mates, it made me cry, That the smartest there was little Meg; the greatest dunce was I.

But what cared I for larnin' then, while she was by my side; For, though a lad, I loved her, mates, and for her would have died;

And she loved me, the little lass, and often have I smiled When she said, "I'll be your little wife," 'twas the prattle of a

child.

For there lay a gulf between us, mates, with the waters running high;

On one side stood Meg Anderson, on the other side stood I.

Meg's fortune was twelve ships at sea and houses on the land; While mine why, mates, you might have held my fortune in your hand,

Her father owned a vast domain for miles along the shore; My father owned a fishing-smack, a hut, and nothing more; I knew that Meg I ne'er could win, no matter how I'd try, For on a couch of down lay she, on a bed of straw lay I.

I never thought of leaving Meg, or Meg of leaving me,
For we were young and never dreamed that I should go to sea.
Till one bright morning father said: "There's a whale-ship in

the bay:

I want you Bill, to make a cruise-you go aboard to-day."
Well, mates, in two weeks from that time I bade them all good-

bye.

While on the dock stood little Meg, and on the deck stood I.

I saw her oft before we sailed, whene'er I came on shore.
And she would say: "Bill, when you're gone, I'll love you more

and more;

And I promise to be true to you through all the coming years." But while she spoke her bright blue eyes were filled with pearly

tears.

Then, as I whispered words of hope and kissed her eyelids dry, Her last words were: "God speed you, Bill!" so parted Meg

and I.

Well, mates, we cruised for four long years, till at last one summer's day

Our good ship, the Minerva, cast anchor in the bay,

Oh, how my heart beat high with hope, as I saw her home once

more,

And on the pier stood hundreds, to welcome us ashore;

But my heart sank down within me as I gazed with anxious

eye

No little Meg stood on the dock, as on the deck stood I.

Why, mates, it nearly broke my heart when I went ashore that

day,

For they told me little Meg had wed, while I was far away. They told me, too, they forced her to't-and wrecked her fair

young life

Just think, messmates, a child in years, to be an old man's

wife.

But her father said it must be so, and what could she reply? For she was only just sixteen-just twenty-one was I.

Well, mates, a few short years from then-perhaps it might be

four

One blustering night Jack Glinn and I were rowing to the

shore,

When right ahead we saw a sight that made us hold our

breath

There floating in the pale moonlight was a woman cold in death. I raised her up: oh, God, messmates, that I had passed her by! For in the bay lay little Meg and over her stood I.