And children, coming home from school They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks, that fly He goes on Sunday to the church, He hears the parson pray and preach, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, He needs must think of her once more, And, with his rough hard hand, he wipes Toiling-rejoicing,—sorrowing, Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, Thus, at the flaming forge of Life, THE DEATH OF NELSON. Longfellow. THE death of Nelson was felt in England as something more than a public calamity: men started at the intelligence and turned pale, as if they had heard of the loss of a dear friend. An object of our admiration and affection, of our pride and of our hopes, was suddenly taken from us; and it seemed, as if we had never till then known how deeply we loved and reverenced him. What the country had lost in its great naval hero-the greatest of our own and of all former times-was scarcely taken into the account of grief. So perfectly, indeed, had he performed his part, that the maritime war, after the battle of Trafalgar, was considered at an end. The fleets of the enemy were not merely defeated, but destroyed; new navies must be built, and a new race of seamen reared for them, before the possibility of their invading our shores could again be thought of. It was not, therefore, from any selfish idea of the greatness of our loss, that we mourned for him: the general sorrow was of a higher character. The people of England grieved that funeral ceremonies, and public monuments, and empty rewards were all which they could bestow now upon him, whom the king, the Parliament, and the nation would alike have delighted to honour; whom every tongue would have blessed; whose presence in every village, through which he might have passed, would have wakened the church-bells, have given school-boys a holiday, have drawn children from their sports, and "old men from the chimney-corner," to look upon Nelson, ere they died. The victory of Trafalgar was celebrated, indeed, with the usual forms of rejoicing, but they were without joy; for such already was the glory of the British navy, through Nelson's great genius, that it scarcely seemed to receive any addition from the most signal victory that ever was gained upon the seas; and the destruction of this mighty fleet, by which all the naval schemes of France were totally frustrated, hardly appeared to add to our security or strength; for while Nelson was living to watch the combined squadrons of the enemy, we felt ourselves as secure as now, when they were no longer in existence. There was reason to suppose, from the appearances upon opening his body, that in the course of nature he might have attained, like his father, a good old age. Yet he cannot be said to have fallen prematurely, whose work was done; nor ought he to be lamented, who died so full of honours, and at the height of human fame. The most triumphant death is that of the martyr; the most awful, that of the martyred patriot; the most splendid, that of the hero in the hour of victory; and if the chariot and horses of fire had been vouchsafed for Nelson's translation, he could scarcely have departed in a brighter blaze of glory.-Southey. THE DEATH OF NELSON. O'ER Nelson's tomb, with silent grief oppress'd, But those bright laurels ne'er shall fade with years 'Twas in Trafalgar's bay And hearts of oak our men. And now the cannon roar For vict'ry crown'd the day! For England, home, and beauty: At last the fatal wound, For England, home, and beauty." That day had done his duty.-S. J. Arnold. ON the morning of the 10th of November, 1813, a ship stood in for Halifax harbour in very thick weather, carefully feeling her way with the lead, and having lookout men at the jib-boom end, fore-yard-arms, and everywhere else, from which a glimpse of the land was likely to be obtained. After breakfast, a fog signal-gun was fired, in the expectation of its being answered by the light-house on Cape Sambro, near which it was known they must be. Within a few minutes, accordingly, a gun was heard in the N.N.W. quarter, exactly where the light was supposed to lie. As the soundings agreed with the supposed position of the ship, and as the guns from the At-a-lan-té fired at intervals of fifteen minutes, were regularly answered in the direction of the harbour's mouth, it was determined to stand on, so as to enter the port under the guidance of these sounds alone. By a fatal coincidence of circumstances, however, these answering guns were fired, not by Cape Sambro, but by His Majesty's ship "Barossa," which was likewise entangled by the fog. She, too, supposed that she was communicating |