I liked too well thy roguish eye-
Thy merry speech-thy laughter sly;
Thy old sea jacket to forget,

And then the treasures of thy net!
Oh Andrew! thou hast not forgot,
I'm very sure that thou hast not,
All that we talked about that day,
Of famous countries far away!-
Of Crusoes in their islands lone,
That never were nor will be known;
And yet this very moment stand
Upon some point of mountain land,
Looking out o'er the desert sea,

If chance some coming ship there be.

Thou know'st we talked of this-thou knowst
We talked about a ship-boy's ghost-
A wretched little orphan lad,

Who served a master stern and bad,
And had no friend to take his part,
And perished from a broken heart,
Or by his master's blows, some said,
For in that boat they found him dead,
And the boat's side was stained and red!

And then we talked of many a heap
Of ancient treasure in the deep,
And the great serpent that some men,
In far-off seas met now and then,
Of grand sea-palaces, that shine
Through forests of old coralline;
And wondrous creatures, that may dwell
In many a crimson Indian shell;
Till I shook hands with thee to see,
Thou wast a poet-Andrew Lee!
Though thou wast guiltless all the time
Of putting any thoughts in rhyme!
Ah!-little Fisher Boy! since then
Ladies I've seen, and learned men,
All clever, and some great and wise,
Who study all things, earth and skies,
Who much have seen and much have read,
And famous things have writ and said;

But, Andrew, never have I heard
One that so much my spirit stirred,

As he that sate with me an hour

Screened from a pelting thunder shower—

Now laughing in his merry wit,
Now talking in a serious fit,

In speech that poured like waters free!
And it was thou, poor Andrew Lee!
Then shame to think I knew thee not-
Thou hast not, nor have I forgot-
And long 'twill be ere I forget
How thou took'st up thy laden net,
And gave me all that it contained
Because I too thy heart had gained!

A CHAPTER OF ANECDOTES.

BY MARY HOWITT.

OF A RAVEN THAT WENT TO A FAIR.

HERE was, some fifty years ago, a very cunning

TanRE was, some fifty year

and mischievous raven named Ralph, kept at a lonesome farm-house in Derbyshire. He was a great favorite with all the family, though he often created much annoyance and trouble by his thievish tricks. Whatever came in his way which was not too heavy for him to lift he carried off; yet, though everybody knew who was the thief, he seldom came in for punishment, the servants and different members of the family being blamed for leaving anything in his way. Notwithstanding the care, however, which everybody took to put things in their places, Ralph found many

8

a little article of which he made prize, and many a one which was never missed at the time.

After Ralph had practised his thieving, and indulged his love of secretion for some years, all his hoard came one day suddenly to light. He had buried it in, as he thought, a cunning hole that he had made in the thatched roof of a barn. His treasures grew and grew, and the hole had been deepened and deepened till it was as deep as the thatch itself; and then all his accumulation fell through on to the barn floor. What an endless variety of articles there were!—thimbles, small pieces of money, balls of cotton, knitting-needles, curtain-rings, one or two gold rings, a brooch, sleeve-buttons, two salt-spoons, a mustard-pot lid, combs, little old housewives, pincushions, hair-pins, buckles, and all the multitude of small things that abound in the houses of tolerably wealthy people. There was a world of amusement in the owning of the various articles of Ralph's treasury, and many an old forgotten friend was brought to light; and many another was found of which nobody could give any account at all.