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the hand of a man on shore, moving here and there. Thus Columbus knew that land was there, with men upon it. What words can tell the joy of his brave and noble soul!

In two hours after this a gun was fired from the "Pinta,” the glad signal for land. It was now clearly seen. They took in sail, and waited for the full light of day.

The thoughts and feelings of Columbus, as the day dawned, must have been almost too strong to bear. Through the power of faith and trust, he had overcome every trial and trouble. With three such poor, mean, small ships, and most unworthy crews, he had sailed across the ocean, and a new world lay open before him. His life's labour would for ever tell on ages yet to come, so long as the world might endure.

“The greatest works of mind or hand have been Done unto God; so may it ever be.”

Crompton's "Life of Columbus."

COLUMBUS' FIRST VOYAGE.
A THING of life on the roaring tide,
Seems that fair ship in her strength and pride !
Though howl the winds, though leap the waves,
Her path she ploughs, their wrath she braves;
A fit ship that for that spirit bold,
Who guides her on to a land untold !
Her crew has not a heart that fears
To sail, where bold Columbus steers!
far
away

from their native shore.
That crew are now, to return no more;
About the sails the winds are shrill,
And that to the seamen bodeth ill.
But what bright speck is afar off seen,
Of herb and flowers and welcome green
Columbus, shouts “ Ho, land !” aloud-
Mistaken hope, 'twas but a cloud !

Far,

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“He plays us false !" from lip to lip,
A murmur ran throughout the ship;
Columbus heard their whispers breath'd,
And saw their daggers half unsheathed !
Nor quailed he, though his pride did sue
For patience to his craven crew;
For three days more will they remain ?
They yield—but then steer home again.
The first day pass'd, and the setting sun
Columbus told the goal was won :
“Heave-to!” cried he, 66 crowd sail no more!
“For see ye not the far off shore ?"
And there were lands of lake and wood,
Where living men and women stood!
The joyous crew now leapt ashore,
And blest that spot-“Saint Salvador!”

James Bruton.

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Eric, a noble, open-hearted, blue-eyed young farmer, lived with his sister, Elsie, about half a Norwegian mile distant from a mountain famed for legendary stories. He had lived there in quiet and seclusion for, perhaps, about five years, when a young German (Karl), travelling through the country in pursuit of pleasure, besought Eric to let him take up his abode with him. At first the young Northman objected, but the urgent entreaties of the handsome foreigner, and the secret pleadings of the youthful Elsie, overcame all obstacles, and the farm became Karl's home.

A good shot, successful fisherman, and an agreeable and witty companion, the young man quickly became a favourite with his neighbour, and a hero in the eyes of Elsie. Scarcely a day passed, that he did not return from the woods laden with some trophy of the chase,now a wolf-skin, or che rur of the brown bear, or perhaps the smaller, but more costly coat, of the marten, or the sable, or even of the silver fox—all of which, in the true spirit of knight-errantry, he laid at Elsie's feet.

What wonder then if she regarded him with warmer feelings than those of admiration, or even than of sisterly affection!

When Karl had resided some six months with these kind friends, he returned one evening much later than was usual with him, accompanied by a young female of surpassing loveliness, who leaned, or rather hung upon his arm, in a manner that betrayed excessive feebleness. She was clothed entirely in white; but these otherwise spotless robes were streaked and marked with blood, and the same sanguine fluid was slowly oozing from a wound in her breast.

As soon as they had entered the house, Elsie hurriedly undressed the young stranger,and after tending her wound, which did not appear to be serious, placed her in her own bed. After preparing nourishment, of which the patient declined partaking, she returned to the outer room, where Karl was relating to Eric the manner in which he had met with his companion.

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He said, that as he was returning from the unsuccessful pursuit of a white wolf he had wounded, he heard a succession of piercing screams, as from a woman in agony or distress; running to the spot from whence the screams seemed to proceed, he perceived a young and delicate lady weltering in her blood. Luckily, his brandy flask was in his pocket, and by bathing her brows with copious streams of the fiery liquid, and forcing a small portion of the same between her clenched teeth, he at length succeeded in restoring her to consciousness. He would fain have applied some of the cordial to her wound; but this she strenuously resisted, and, binding her scarf tightly around her breast, she besought him to take her to some place, however poor, where one of her own sex could render her assistance.

On their homeward journey she told him, that she resided on the other side of the forest, and was returning with her father to their home, from which they had been three weeks absent, when, just as they had reached the verge of the forest, four men rushed from the shadow of the rock and seized her father; that upon her screaming for aid, one of the ruffians struck her in the breast with his dagger, whereupon she fainted. Upon her recovery, her father and his assailants had disappeared, and in their place she beheld him (Karl), to whom she was indebted for assistance.

But although this strange girl, Catherine, must have perceived that she was far more feared than loved by Eric and Elsie, and that her continued residence was allowed through pity rather than sanctioned, she manifested no desire to leave the homestead. She did, however, cherish a liking for her deliverer. She would sit for hours at Karl's feet, feeding with rapture on his slightest word, and smiling with pleasure as his large hand wandered carelessly through the luxuriant tresses resting upon his knee.

After a while, Catherine took to visiting almost daily

the gloomy forest, the scene of her late disaster. When remonstrated with for her rashness, she would ask, was it not her duty to endeavour to gain some clue as to the fate of her poor father? The peasantry manifested a good deal of curiosity respecting these excursions; and when the object thereof heard of it, her rage knew no bounds. Once perceiving a young villager following at a respectful distance, she retraced her steps, and shutting herself in her room, would see no one for several days.

Karl, however, often tracked her steps when she deemed herself unseen. But strange as it seemed to him, so soon as she approached the haunted rock, she invariably disappeared; and search persistently as he would, no trace of her could be discovered. Yet upon his return he generally found Catherine sitting by the fire, or busy at her spinning-wheel.

These journeys had been continued by her for some weeks, without any clue to their nature (other than furnished by Catherine herself), being discovered, when Karl, returning one day from a somewhat distant town, heard the rapid trampling of horsehoofs behind him, and, looking round, beheld a horseman nearing him rapidly, pursued by a huge white wolf.

Fearing for his own safety, lest the animal, leaving the pursuit of its retreating prey, should direct its attention to himself, he quickly ascended an old pine tree that grew near.

As he had anticipated, the wolf on reaching the tree stopped, and uttering a wild melancholy howl, peered anxiously up into the branches.

Fixing its eyes upon Karl, its fury seemed immediately to have forsaken it: it gave utterance to a low plaintive whine, more like a faithful dog kept by some obstacle from its master, whom it can see but not approach, than like a fierce beast of prey in sight of its victim.

Perceiving the wolf's changed manner, Karl broke off a dead branch and flung it at her; upon which the

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