along it for about a mile, in increased danger, for the boat was now nearly broadside to the sea, they made the mouth of a small harbor, into which, as their frames thrilled with gratitude, they pulled with all their might. As the peace and the joys of heaven are to the wrangling and contumelies of this world, so was the placid stillness of that sheltered nook to the fierce wind and troubled sea without. The transition was as sudden as it was delightful, and with uncovered heads and upturned gaze, each paid his heartfelt tribute of thankfulness. On one side of the sequestered little bay, through the dim and uncertain light, they discovered two or three huts, embowered and almost concealed by groves of the umbrageous and productive banana, whose large pendent-leaves waving in the wind, seemed at one time to beckon them on, and at another to warn them from approaching. It was evidently a fishing settlement, for there were some boats hauled up on the shore, and a long seine was hung upon a number of upright poles. Pulling toward what seemed the usual landing, their light skiff grated upon the pebbly beach, and they leaped, overjoyed, upon the silent shore—silent and mute in all that pertains to human action or the human voice, but eloquent, most eloquent, in the outpourings of a rich and teeming earth, and the gushing emotions of thankfulness it awakened in the bosoms of those two weary and persecuted men. [_To be continued._ * * * * * VICTORY AND DEFEAT. To-day, with loud acclaim the welkin rings In praise of deeds the shout of VICTORY brings: To-morrow, not e’en Echo will repeat The praise of deeds then canceled by DEFEAT. * * * * * TO MOTHER. BY ANNIE GREY. Oh! wake, my mother! wake! and hail With me this dawning day; Oh wake, my mother! wake and list Thy daughter’s fervent lay. She comes to seek thy blessing, And to whisper in thine ear— That warmer glows her love for thee With every added year. Wake, mother! wake! while faintly steal The sunbeams pure and bright, And playful throw around thy couch Their most bewitching light. For this is a hallowed day, mother! A hallowed day to me; ’Twas at its dawn, four years ago, That first I greeted thee. We love the sunbeams, mother, And wheresoe’er they rest, We feel their sacred influence, As though some angel guest