Forsaken her helm, that, the dark waters o'er,
Had oft steered her safe to the sheltering shore;
And her beautiful pennant, that streamed ever bright,
Like the sunbeam by day and a meteor by night,

Now twines round her topmast, (how changed since the morn!)

Or, piecemeal, the sport of the tempest is torn.
No peal of alarm was discharged from her deck;
But the voice of despair from the perishing wreck
Found an echo in hearts that, in every wild form,
Have encountered the demon that yells in the storm;
And that spirit which makes them in danger more brave,
Only rose with the scene; on the tempest-tost wave
They launched their light bark, and, in gallant array,
Dashed from shore with a true hearty British huzza.
Far, far as the eye of the gazer could roam

There was nothing, but breakers and billows of foam:
One moment she seemed in the boiling surge lost,
The next, we beheld her still struggling, but tost
At the merciless power of the deep booming sea;

But still forward she kept on her perilous track—
Oh, sailor-boy! sailor-boy! many for thee

Are the sighs and the tears, that will welcome thee back.

Now, high o'er the billows majestic she rides,

With her twelve noble rowers all lashed to her sides;
Relax not one effort-one moment may save

Or entomb them for ever beneath the dark wave;
For, hark! the last cry of despair is ascending,
As shivering they cling to the topmast; and rending
The heavens with their outcry- -one effort, one more,
And 'tis gained, like a thunder-cloud, burst upon shore
The gazer's applause, as the life-boat steered round them.
But who shall describe the poor rescued, or tell
With what feelings these greater than conquerors found
them,

As half-naked, half-dead, from the rigging they fell;
Or lifelessly sunk on their foreheads, as though
The last torment was past-drained the last cup of woe?
And now, with the shipwrecked and destitute crew,

The billows are foaming around them, and loud,
Like the roar of artillery, the tempest-charged cloud
Breaks o'er them in thunder; still o'er the dark sea

They push their light bark in its perilous track-
Oh, sailor-boy! sailor-boy! many for thee

Are the sighs and the tears, that will welcome thee back.

The sea-gull flew wildly and mournfully round,
As if on the deep shoreless ocean she'd found
Some exiles, condemned o'er the wild world to roam;
Then, light as the billow, and white as the foam,
Winged her way on the breeze to her tempest-rocked
home.

On the tiptoe of hope and of fear we beheld,

As their bark through the billows the rowers impelled, But, at length, in smooth water we saw her safe moored; And what was the boon for the danger endured? Avaunt, selfish hearts! what at first had inspired, Brought its own bright reward all the boon they desired: 'Twas enough to have saved, from the jaws of the grave, Hearts that beat like their own, true, undaunted, and brave.-Anon.

BREAD.

This is

THE finest and best bread is made from wheat. owing to the quantity of gluten which it contains; the average quantity in wheat-flour amounting to about onefifth of the whole weight of the meal. Gluten, which appears to possess many of the properties of animal matter, performs an important part in the chemical changes which take place in the transition made from flour into bread. In all ages, therefore, wheat-bread has been preferred, and with reason, to bread made from other grain, as being more nutritive, wholesome, and of easier digestion. Oats make a pleasanter bread than

either barley or rye: barley-bread has a sweetish taste, is heavy, viscid, and flatulent; and bread made from rye is sour and purgative. Oat-meal bread is charged with causing heartburn in those who are unaccustomed to it, and occasioning affections of the skin in those who make use of it. The first charge is in all likelihood correct, for barley or rye-bread will also create an unpleasant sensation in those not used to it; but the second charge is less generally true.

Bread has been made from turnips and from potatoes; but potato-flour requires a quantity of wheat-flour mixed with it. The London bakers commonly mix a quantity of potatoes, mashed up, with their wheat-flour, in making wheaten-bread: the proportion is about fifteen pounds of potatoes to eight bushels of wheat-flour. Rice, which, in the East, serves many of the important uses that wheat and the potato do with us, makes a very good bread; but, like the potato, it requires the addition of some flour. Maize, which is cultivated in America, from forty-five degrees north latitude to seventy-two degrees south, may be termed the bread-corn of a large extent of that continent. Bread made from pease, the use of which is somewhat common in the northern parts of Great Britain, is disagreeable, from the gas which it generates in the intestines. The chestnut is supposed to be the acorn of ancient history and tradition, and which used to be so frequently almost the only support of the common people in time of famine. It may be made into bread, although it is heavy and indigestible. Sago-bread is used in the Moluccas, made from the pith of the sagotree. It would be tedious to enumerate the various substances which might be made into bread, of greater or lesser nutritive power; even saw-dust, sifted and prepared, will make bread, not only capable of being eaten, but capable of nourishing the human body. In fact, it would appear that, with the aids of science, the pro

babilities of a famine recurring, with all its horrors, are diminished almost to nothing.

Though baking is comparatively a simple process, much depends on the skill and judgment of the baker in making a good loaf. He must be careful to attend both to temperature and to time. The mode of making it is varied according to judgment, experience, or whim; but most commonly the following is the mode pursued in making a wheaten loaf:-A quantity of potatoes (where potatoes are used) are beaten up in a tub; water, yeast, and a handful of flour are added, and all are stirred together. This is set aside for eight hours for the first "working." Water and flour are then added, and the mass is stirred briskly, to bring it to a consistence. This is then set (at a proper heat according to the weather), to rise; and this part of the process is technically termed setting the sponge, from the spongy appearance of the mass. The sponge stands for six hours, during which time it rises and falls twice. An additional quantity of flour and water, and a certain quantity of water and salt are added to the sponge, which is now mixed or broken up by the hand into a thin consistence; flour is added to work the mass into dough, the dough is left in the trough for two hours, taken out for baking, divided into portions according to the size wanted, and the oven being previously heated, baked for two hours.

*

Of course, in this process everything must be carefully proportioned, according to the quantity of bread which it is intended to make.

The different kinds of bread commonly used in England may be divided into white, wheaten, and household. White bread is made with wheat-flour,

* The French bakers do not put so much salt into their bread as the English bakers do. In fact, French bread is insipid to an English palate; while the Frenchman shrinks with a shrug of his shoulders from the quantity of salt which is commonly used by the English.

carefully sifted; wheaten bread, of flour and the finer kind of bran; and household, of the entire grain, containing all the flour and all the bran. From the preference which is invariably given to white bread, bakers not unfrequently mix alum with the inferior flour, in order to bring it as near as possible to the favourite colour; and it is also stated, that without alum the loaves will stick together in the oven, and not separate from each other with that smooth surface which is so much desired. Whatever mischief may be done to the human stomach by this alum, must be left to the doctor to determine it certainly has a binding effect; but so also has bread made with the finest sifted flour, from the quantity of starch which it contains. Bad flour may be made into tolerable bread by adding to each pound from twenty to forty grains of the common carbonate of magnesia. But the habitual use of flour so corrected by magnesia would have a pernicious effect on the stomach. Much of the wholesomeness of even the best bread, made from the finest flour, depends on the salt which is added. Nearly a pound of salt is added to each bushel of flour. Some bakers give five pounds of salt to eight bushels of wheat-flour.— "Saturday Magazine."

ARE YOU ANGRY, MOTHER?

ARE you angry, mother? No;
Should I sad and peevish grow,
When I see our sky so bright,
And our fields so warm with light?
Oh! I feel as I had wings,
And the heart within me sings;
Then, it may be, I'm too gay;
But forgive me, mother, pray;
Be not angry with your boy,
One cross look will mar his joy.