AN ICEBERG

And this iceberg has more significance than the great flood which the glaciers' southern sister— the broad Amazon -- pours into the ocean from the slopes of the Andes and the mountains of Brazil. Solemn, stately, and erect in tempest and in calm it rides the deep. The restless waves resound through the broken archways and thunder against its adamantine walls. Clouds, impenetrable as those which shielded the graceful form of Arethusa, clothe it in the morning; under the bright blaze of the noonday sun it is armored in glittering silver; it robes itself in the gorgeous colors of evening; and in the silent night the heavenly orbs are mirrored in its glassy surface. Drifting snows whirl over it in the winter, and the sea-gulls swarm around it in summer. The last rays of departing day linger upon its lofty spires; and when the long darkness is past, it catches the first gleam of the returning light, and its gilded dome heralds the coming of morn. The elements combine to render tribute to its matchless beauty. Its loud voice is wafted to the shore, and the earth rolls it from crag to crag among the echoing hills. The sun steals through the veils of radiant fountains which flutter over it in the summer winds, and the rainbow on its pallid cheek betrays the warm kiss. The air crowns it with wreaths of soft vapor, and the waters around it take the hues of the emerald and the sapphire. In fulfilment of its destiny it moves steadily onward in its blue pathway, through the varying seasons and under the changeful skies. Slowly, as in ages long gone by, it arose from the broad waters, so does it sink back into them. It is indeed a noble symbol of the law, a monument of Time's slow changes,

more ancient than the Egyptian pyramids or the obelisk of Heliopolis. Its crystals were dewdrops and snowflakes long before the human race was born in Eden. HAYES.

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GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL

Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?
What is it that ails young Harry Gill,
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still?"
Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
Good duffle gray, and flannel fine;
He has a blanket on his back,

And coats enough to smother nine.

In March, December, and in July,
"Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
The neighbors tell, and tell you truly,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
At night, at morning, and at noon,

"Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,

His teeth they chatter, chatter still.

Young Harry was a lusty drover,

And who so stout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover,
His voice was like the voice of three.
Auld Goody Blake was old and poor,
Ill fed she was, and thinly clad;
And any man who passed her door
Might see how poor a hut she had.

All day she spun in her poor dwelling

And then her three hours' work at night! Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling,

It would not pay for candle-light.
This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire,

Her hut was on a cold hill-side,
And in that country coals are dear,
For they come far by wind and tide.

By the same fire to boil their potage, Two poor old dames, as I have known, Will often live in one small cottage,

But she, poor woman, dwelt alone. 'Twas well enough when summer came, The long, warm, lightsome summer day, Then at her door the canty dame

Would sit, as any linnet gay.

But when the ice our streams did fetter,
O! then how her old bones would shake!
You would have said, if you had met her,
"Twas a hard time for Goody Blake.
Her evenings then were dull and dread;
Sad case it was, as you may think,
For very cold to go to bed,

And then for cold not sleep a wink.

O joy for her! whene'er in winter

The winds at night had made a rout, And scattered many a lusty splinter, And many a rotten bough about.

Yet never had she, well or sick,
As every man who knew her says,
A pile beforehand, wood or stick,

Enough to warm her for three days.

Now when the frost was past er.during, And made her poor old bones to ache, Could anything be more alluring

Than an old hedge to Goody Blake? And now and then, it must be said,

When her old bones were cold and chill, She left her fire, or left her bed,

To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.

Right glad was he when he beheld her:

Stick after stick did Goody pull:
He stood behind a bush of elder

Till she had fill'd her apron full.
When with her load she turned about,
The by-road back again to take,
He started forward with shout,

And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

And fiercely by the arm he took her,
And by the arm he held her fast,
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,

And cried, "I've caught you then at last.”
Then Goody, who had nothing said,
Her bundle from her lap let fall;
And kneeling on the sticks she prayed
To God that is the Judge of all.

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,
While Harry held her by the arm,—

"God, thou art never out of hearing,

Oh, may he never more be warm!"
The cold, cold moon above her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray:
Young Harry heard what she had said,
And icy cold he turned away.

He went complaining all the morrow
That he was cold and very chill:
His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
Alas! that day for Harry Gill!