But where was the child delaying?
On the homeward way was he,

And across the dike while the sun was up
An hour above the sea.

He was stopping now to gather flowers,
Now listening to the sound,

As the angry waters dashed themselves
Against their narrow bound.

"Ah! well for us," said Peter,

"That the gates are good and strong, And my father tends them carefully, Or they would not hold you long!” "You're a wicked sea," said Peter;

"I know why you fret and chafe ; You would like to spoil our lands and homes; But our sluices keep you safe!"

But hark! Through the noise of waters
Comes a low, clear, trickling sound;
And the child's face pales with terror,
And his blossoms drop to the ground.
He is up the bank in a moment,
And, stealing through the sand,
He sees a stream not yet so large
As his slender, childish hand.
"Tis a leak in the dike!

He is but a boy,

Unused to fearful scenes;

But, young as he is, he has learned to know

The dreadful thing that means.

A leak in the dike! The stoutest heart
Grows faint that cry to hear,

And the bravest man in all the land

Turns white with mortal fear.

For he knows the smallest leak may grow To a flood in a single night;

And he knows the strength of the cruel sea When loosed in its angry might.

And the boy! He has seen the danger,
And, shouting a wild alarm,

He forces back the weight of the sea
With the strength of his single arm!
He listens for the joyful sound

Of a footstep passing nigh;

And lays his ear to the ground, to catch
The answer to his cry.

And he hears the rough winds blowing,
And the waters rise and fall,
But never an answer comes to him,

Save the echo of his call.

He sees no hope, no succor,

His feeble voice is lost;

Yet what shall he do but watch and wait, Though he perish at his post

So, faintly calling and crying
Till the sun is under the sea;
Crying and moaning till the stars
Come out for company;

He thinks of his brother and sister,
Asleep in their safe warm bed;
He thinks of his father and mother,
Of himself as dying-and dead;
And of how, when the night is over,

They must come and find him at last : But he never thinks he can leave the place Where duty holds him fast.

The good dame in the cottage
Is up and astir with the light,
For the thought of her little Peter
Has been with her all night.
And now she watches the pathway,

As yestereve she had done;

But what does she see so strange and black
Against the rising sun?

Her neighbors are bearing between them
Something straight to her door;
Her child is coming home, but not
As he ever came before!

"He is dead!" she cries; "my darling!"

And the startled father hears,

And comes and looks the

way

she looks,

And fears the thing she fears:

Till a glad shout from the bearers

Thrills the stricken man and wife"Give thanks, for your son has saved our land, And God has saved his life!"

So, there in the morning sunshine
They knelt about the boy;
And every head was bared and bent

In tearful, reverent joy.

'Tis many a year since then; but still,
When the sea roars like a flood,

Their boys are taught what a boy can do
Who is brave and true and good.
For every man in that country
Takes his son by the hand,
And tells him of little Peter,

Whose courage saved the land.

They have many a valiant hero
Remembered through the years;
But never one whose name so oft
Is named with loving tears.

And his deed shall be sung by the cradle,
And told the child on the knee,
So long as the dikes of Holland

Divide the land from the sea!

PHOEBE CARY.

MORAL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE.

THE sufferings of animal nature, occasioned by intemperance, are not to be compared with the moral agonies which convulse the soul. It is an immortal being who sins and suffers; and, as his earthly house dissolves, he is approaching the judgment-seat, in anticipation of a miserable eternity. He feels his captivity, and, in anguish of spirit, clanks his chain and cries for help. Conscience thunders, remorse goads, and as the gulf opens before him he recoils, and trembles, and weeps, and prays, and resolves, and promises, and reforms, and "seeks it yet again;" again resolves, and weeps, and prays, and "seeks it yet again!" Wretched man! he has placed himself in the hands of a giant who never pities and never relaxes his iron gripe. He may struggle, but he is in chains. He may cry for release, but it comes not; and lost! lost! may be inscribed on the door-posts of his dwelling. In the meantime these paroxysms of his dying nature decline, and a fearful apathy, the harbinger of spiritual death, comes on. His resolution fails, and hist mental energy, and his vigorous enterprise; and nervous irritation and depression ensue. The social affections lose their fulness and tenderness, and conscience loses its

power, and the heart its sensibility, until all that was once lovely, and of good report, retires and leaves the wretch abandoned to the appetites of a ruined animal. In this deplorable condition, reputation expires, business falters and becomes perplexed, and temptations to drink multiply, as inclination to do so increases, and the power of resistance declines. And now the vortex roars, and the struggling victim buffets the fiery wave with feebler stroke and warning supplication, until despair flashes upon his soul, and, with an outcry that pierces the heavens, he ceases to strive and disappears.-Beecher.

I

HOW WE HUNTED A MOUSE.

WAS dozing comfortably in my easy-chair, and dreaming of the good times which I hope are coming, when there fell upon my ears a most startling scream. It was the voice of my Maria Ann in agony. The voice came from the kitchen, and to the kitchen I rushed. The idolized form of my Maria was perched on a chair, and she was flourishing an iron spoon in all directions, and shouting "shoo," in a general manner at everything in the room. To my anxious inquiries as to what was the matter, she screamed, "O! Joshua, a mouse, shoo-wha -shoo-a great-ya, shoo-horrid mouse, and-she-ew -it ran right out of the cupboard-shoo-go away-O Lord-Joshua-shoo-kill it, oh, my-shoo."

All that fuss, you see, about one little harmless mouse. Some women are so afraid of mice. Maria is. I got the poker and set myself to poke that mouse, and my wife jumped down and ran off into another room. I found the mouse in a corner under the sink. The first time I hit it I didn't poke it any on account of getting the