it’s one of them feline animals of the shark species—for you see Harry knew something of fishogomy—as has bolted the junk we threw astarn to catch them beggars with. Away we all flies to the starn, and sure enough, there was the rope as taut as nothing. We pulled and hauled, but it was no go; so at last we gave it a turn round the capstan, and all hands were ready to toe it merrily round; but devil a bit of a round could they go, for the more they pushed the more he pulled. He must have had pretty tough muscle to stand against a stiff breeze and the whole ship’s crew—but he did, and beat us too. So at last the skipper ordered the carpenter to cut the rope—and so he did. But, my eyes! no sooner was it cut than away goes the barkey at such a rate, for two hours, that we thought we should have lost every stick. Howsomever, the shark got nothing by his move, for I met one Bill Jones, some years after, which had been cruising in them seas, and he says that there is a atomy of a shark, as goes diving about like one demented, with an iron hook, and a hundred fathom of cable hanging to his jaws, so that he hasn’t disgested ’em yet.” The young girl, when she started, was weeping most bitterly, and sobbed as though her heart would break. Being a stranger, I dared not intrude upon her sorrow, but I longed to speak comfort to the poor wanderer. To take one shade of grief from a sorrowing heart, affords me more sincere pleasure, than all the luxuries of a winter campaign, however brilliant it may be. The sight of her grief brought on a train of thought, and suggested the following lines to my mind:— What makes thy bosom heave, thy tears o’erflow, Say, hast thou ever felt the throb of wo? Has sorrow ever come, fair girl, to thee, To dash thy cup of joy with misery? But such is life!—too sure the brightest sky That ever beamed to bless a mortal eye, Must pass away; The sweetest flower that ever yet has bloomed, By Nature’s law, is all too early doomed To know decay. Has she, the idol of thy friendship, proved A traitress, where she fondly vowed she loved? Or is it but affection’s tear, That falls at leaving friends so dear? Grievest thou to leave this lovely scene, Where all thy early joys have been, Thy youthful hours? Where thou hast frolicked through the days, With childhood’s many pleasant ways, In summer bowers? What, weeping still? believe ’tis folly To give full way to melancholy. Youth should be as an April day, Then smiles should chase those tears away; For if in youth deep sorrows come, Oh, where shall mem’ry find a home, In after years, To linger on, and raise a smile, Amidst the world’s deceit and guile, And other cares?