“The tidings that came next were from A sailor old and gray, Who saw his ship at anchor lie In the harbor at Bombay; But he said my brother pined for home, And wished he were away. “Again he wrote a letter long, Without a word of gloom; And soon, and very soon he said, He should again come home; I watched, as now, beside the door, And yet he did not come. “I watched and watched, but I knew not then It would be all in vain; For very sick he lay the while, In a hospital in Spain.-- Ah, me! I fear my brother dear Will ne’er come home again! “And now I watch--for we have heard That he is on his way, And the letter said, in very truth, He would be here to-day. Oh! there’s no bird that singeth now Could tempt me hence away!” --That self-same eve I wandered down Unto the busy strand, Just as a little boat came in With people to the land; And ’mongst them was a sailor-boy Who leaped upon the sand. I knew him by his dark blue eyes, And by his features fair; And as he leaped ashore he sang A simple Scottish air,-- “There’s nae place like our ain dear hame To be met wi’ onywhere!” A DAY OF DISASTERS. A CONVERSATION BETWEEN PETER AND ZEDEKIAH. PETER.--Zedekiah, come here! ZEDEKIAH.--Well now, what’s the matter? PETER.--Look at my hat; the more I set it right, it only gets the flatter. ZEDEKIAH.--Why, Peter, what’s come to your hat? I never saw such a thing. PETER.--I’ve had nothing but ill-luck to-day; I did this with the swing; I’ve been tossed into the apple-tree just as if I was a ball, And though I caught hold of a bough, I’ve had a terrible fall; I’m sure I should have cracked my scull, had it not been for my hat. You may see what a fall it was, for the crown’s quite flat; And it never will take its shape again, do all that ever I may! ZEDEKIAH.--Never mind it, Peter! Put it on your head, and come along, I say! PETER.--Nay, I shall not. I shall sit down under this tree; I’ve had nothing but ill-luck to-day. Come, sit down by me, And I’ll tell you all, Zedekiah, for I feel quite forlorn; Oh dear! oh dear! I’m lamed now!--I’ve sate down upon a thorn! ZEDEKIAH.--Goodness’ sake! Peter be still--what a terrible bellow-- One would think you’d sate on a hornet’s nest; sit down, my good fellow.