MR. CAUDLE'S HAT.

A CAUDLE LECTURE REVERSED.

Now, Mrs. Caudle, I should like to know what has become of my hat? Here I've been hunting all over the house, and lost ten minutes that should have been given to the Mutual Life Insurance Co. Now, I say, what have you done with that hat? You haven't seen it? Of course not; never do see it. Frank, go and get my hat; and Jane, fetch me my cane. What's that! You can't find my hat? Now, Mrs. Caudle, I should like to know why you will persist in training your children in such a heedless manner? He can't find my hat! To be sure not; how can he, if you don't teach him how to look? Didn't I leave it in the kitchen when I went there last night after something to eat? How should you know? I say it's your business to know, and to have my things ready for me in the morning, and not have me losing so much time. Eh! you have too much else to do? Of course you have! with three servants and two children! Be calm? Oh, yes, I will be calm! You see I am calm, and if you would only be so, I should have been able to find my hat long ago, instead of staying here to listen to your excuses, when I ought to be down town attending to business. I wonder how you expect I'm to keep this house going, if I'm to be kept waiting here for my hat. What! how can you help it? How can you help it! Why, madam, it's the easiest thing in the world! It's simply this modern management. Now, do you suppose things would go on in this way if you would only see that articles are in the right place? but, I suppose, you haven't got time to do that even! Of course not. Well, there is no use talking, I must go to the office bareheaded. Your bonnet, madam? Your bonnet! But why should I be surprised-why should I be surprised if you should offer me your skirts also, since I seem to have lost all authority in this house! It's not your fault? And pray, then, whose fault is it? I will repeat it over twenty times, if you wish it— whose fault is it? What! the servants'? No, ma'am, I tell you you are mistaken; it is not the servants'-it is your fault. I wonder who oversees the servants-who, madam, but you? Then, clearly, it's your fault that I can't find my

hat. [Sits down.] Well, it's no use talking, I sha'n't go to the office to-day, and you, ma'am, sha'n't go to Newportd'ye hear? It's no use asking; you sha'n't go. You needn't suppose I'm going to be deprived of my hat like this, and then allow you to spend my money at Newport. No, ma'am; I'm no such fool as all that comes to. No-no, ma'am ; here I am, and here I'll stay all day, ma'am, and--eh! What! You wish I wouldn't talk so much? I tell you I will talk-I'll talk all day, if I please, and smoke, too-d'ye hear that? I'll smoke in the dining-room, and—yes—I'll smoke in the parlor; I'll scent the curtains, and smoke all over the house! Here (says Mrs. Caudle) the horrid wretch was about putting his odious precept into practice, when Jane came in with his hat, having found it in a corner of the large oaktree chair on the back stoop.

SHIPWRECKED.

FROM THE FRENCH OF FRANÇOIS coppée.

Before the wine-shop which o'erlooks the beach
Sits Jean Goëllo, rough of mien and speech;
Our coast-guard now, whose arm was shot away
In the great fight in Navarino Bay;

Puffing his pipe, he slowly sips his grog,

And spins sea-yarns to many an old sea-dog
Sitting around him.

Yes, lads-hear him say— 'Tis sixty years ago this very day

Since I first went to sea; on board, you know,
Of La Belle Honorine,-lost long ago,-

An old three-masted tub, rotten almost,

Just fit to burn, bound for the Guinea coast.

We set all sail. The breeze was fair and stiff.

My boyhood had been passed 'neath yonder cliff,
Where an old man-my uncle, so he said-

Kept me at prawning for my daily bread.

At night he came home drunk. Such kicks and blows!
Ah me! what children suffer no man knows!

But once at sea 'twas ten times worse, I found.

I learned to take, to bear, and make no sound.

First place, our ship was in the negro trade,
And once off land, no vain attempts were made
At secrecy. Our captain after that

(Round as an egg) was liberal of the cat.

The rope's-end, cuffs, kicks, blows, all fell on me;
I was ship's boy-'twas natural, you see-
And as I went about the decks my arm
Was always raised to fend my face from harın.
No man had pity. Blows and stripes always,
For sailors knew no better in those days
Than to thrash boys, till those who lived at last
As able seamen shipped before the mast.

I ceased to cry. Tears brought me no relief.
I think I might have perished of mute grief,
Had not God sent a friend-a friend-to me.
Sailors believe in God-one must at sea.
On board that ship a God of mercy then

Had placed a dog among those cruel men.

Like me, he shunned their brutal kicks and blows.

We soon grew friends, fast friends, true friends, God knows! He was Newfoundland. Black, they called him there.

His eyes were golden brown, and black his hair.

He was my shadow from that blessed night

When we made friends; and by the star's half light,
When all the forecastle was fast asleep,

And our men caulked their watch," I used to creep
With Black among some boxes stowed on deck,
And with my arms clasped tightly round his neck,

I used to cry and cry, and press my head

Close to the heart grieved by the tears I shed.

Night after night I mourned our piteous case,

While Black's large tongue licked my poor tear-stained face.

Poor Black! I think of him so often still!

At first we had fair winds our sails to fill,

But one hot night, when all was calm and mute,
Our skipper-a good sailor, though a brute-

Gave a long look over the vessel's side,
Then to the steersman whispered, half aside,
"See that ox-eye out yonder? It looks queer."
The man replied, "The storm will soon be here."
"Hullo! All hands on deck! We'll be prepared.
Stow royals! Reef the courses! Pass the word!"
Vain! The squall broke ere we could shorten sail;
We lowered the topsails, but the raging gale

Spun our old ship about. The captain roared
His orders-lost in the great noise on board.
The devil was in that squall! But all men could
To save their ship we did. Do what we would,
The gale grew worse and worse. She sprang a leak;
Her hold filled fast. We found we had to seek
Some way to save our lives. "Lower a boat!"
The captain shouted. Before one would float

Our ship broached to. The strain had broke her back.
Like a whole broadside boomed the awful crack.
She settled fast.

Landsmen can have no notion

Of how it feels to sink beneath the ocean.

As the blue billows closed above our deck,
And with slow motion swallowed down the wreck,
I saw my past life, by some flash outspread,
Saw the old port, its ships, its old pier-head,
My own bare feet, the rocks, the sandy shore-
Salt-water filled my mouth-I saw no more.

I did not struggle much-I could not swim.

I sank down deep, it seemed-drowned but for him—
For Black, I mean, who seized my jacket tight,
And dragged me out of darkness back to light.
The ship was gone—the captain's gig afoat;
By one brave tug he brought me near the boat.
I seized the gunwale, sprang on board, and drew
My friend in after me. Of all our crew,

The dog and I alone survived the gale:
Afloat with neither rudder, oars, nor sail!

Boy though I was, my heart was brave and stout,
Yet when the storm had blown its fury out,
I saw with who can tell what wild emotion!—
That if we met no vessel in mid-ocean,
There was no help for us-all hope was gone:
We were afloat-boy, dog-afloat alone!
We had been saved from drowning but to die
Of thirst and hunger-my poor Black and I.
No biscuit in the well-swept locker lay;
No keg of water had been stowed away,

Like those on the Medusa's raft. I thought...
Bah! that's enough. A story is best short.

For five long nights, and longer dreadful days,
We floated onward in a tropic haze.

Fierce hunger gnawed us with its cruel fangs,
And mental anguish with its keener pangs.

Each morn I hoped; each night, when hope was gone,
My poor dog licked me with his tender tongue.
Under the blazing sun and star-lit night

I watched in vain. No sail appeared in sight.
Round us the blue spread wider, bluer, higher.
The fifth day my parched throat was all on fire,
When something suddenly my notice caught—
Black, crouching, shivering, underneath a thwart.
He looked-his dreadful look no tongue can tell-
And his kind eyes glared at me like coals of hell!

'Here, Black! old fellow! here!" I cried in vain.

He looked me in the face and crouched again.
I rose; he snarled, drew back. How piteously
His eyes entreated help. He snapped at me!
"What can this mean?" I cried, yet shook with fear,
With that great shudder felt when death is near.
Black seized the gunwale with his teeth. I saw
Thick slimy foam drip from his awful jaw;
Then I knew all! Five days of tropic heat,
Without one drop of drink, one scrap of meat,
Had made him rabid. He whose courage had
Preserved my life-my messmate, friend-was mad!
You understand? Can you see him and me,
The open boat tossed on a brassy sea,
A child and a wild beast on board alone,
While overhead streams down the tropic sun
And the boy crouching, trembling for his life?

I searched my pockets and I drew my knife-
For every one instinctively, you know,
Defends his life. 'Twas time that I did so,
For at that moment, with a furious bound,
The dog flew at me. I sprang half around.

He missed me in blind haste. With all my might
I seized his neck, and grasped, and held him tight.
I felt him writhe and try to bite, as he

Struggled beneath the pressure of my knee.

His red eyes rolled; sighs heaved his shining coat.
I plunged my knife three times in his poor throat.

And so I killed my friend. I had but one!
What matters how, after that deed was done,