that it was not until the evening of the second
day, after they had sighted land, that they came
under the island of Majorca. Whilst they lay
under the rocks, a vessel passed closely, which
they recognised as a Turkish pickaroon. They,
however, remained undiscovered, and speedily
found an inlet where they thrust in their weather-
beaten boat.

John Anthony and the captain went off
immediately to seek for fresh water, but were
divided in opinion which way to take. The
dispute rose almost to blows; but the captain
took his own way, and at last the others followed.
They presently came upon a Spanish watch-tower:
where the sentinel gave them a mouldy
cake, his own ration, and directed them to a well
of water. They drank, and ate a bit of the
cake. With this assistance they all contrived
to creep to the city of Majorca, where public
commiseration was greatly excited by their
wretched appearance, and where the governor
generously provided for them at his own
expense, until they could be shipped for
England. On his return to his native country,
the captain had the happiness of finding his
mother and daughter living. His remarkable
narrative thus concludes:

"I had now been absent from Old England
almost seven years, upwards of five of which I
had spent in a tedious thraldom of slavery;
therefore, as all worldly things are subject to
change, it is to be expected I found my family
affairs much altered, but, however, through the
benevolence of the Almighty, not so bad but I
had infinite reason to be thankful for His
manifold mercies."

A LETTER IN BLACK.

A FLOATING on the fragrant flood
Of summer, fuller hour by hour,
With all the sweetness of the bud,
Crown'd by the glory of the flower,
My spirits with the season flowed;
The air was all a breathing balm;
The lake so softly sapphire glowed;
The mountains lay in royal calm.

Green leaves were lusty, roses blush'd
For pleasure in the golden time;
The birds through all their feathers flush'd
For gladness of their marriage prime.
Languid, among the lilies I threw
Me down, for coolness, 'mid the sheen,
Heaven one large smile of brooding blue,
Earth one large smile of basking green.

A rich suspended shower of gold
Hung o'er me, my laburnum crown!
You look up heavenward, and behold,
It glows, and comes in glory down!
There, as my thoughts of greenness grew
To fruitage of a leafy dream,
There, friend, your letter thrilled me through,
And all the summer day was dim.

The world, so pleasant to the sight,
So full of voices blithe and brave,
With all her lamps of beauty alight
With life! I had forgot the grave.
And there it opened at my feet,
Revealing a familiar face,
Upturned, my whitened look to meet,
And very patient in its place.

My poor bereaven friend, I know
Not how to word it, but would bring
A little solace for your woe,
A little love for comforting.
And yet the best that I can say
Will only help to sum your loss,
I can but lift my look, and pray
God help my friend to bear his cross.

I have felt something of your smart,
And lost the dearest thing e'er wound
In love about a human heart;
I, too, have life-roots underground.
From out my soul hath leapt a cry
For help, nor God himself could save;
And tears still run that nought will dry
Save death's hand with the dust o' the grave.

God knows, and we may some day know,
These hidden secrets of his love;
But now the stillness stuns us so,
Darkly as in a dream we move.
The glad life-pulses come and go,
Over our head and at our feet;
Soft airs are sighing something low,
The flowers are saying something sweet,

And 'tis a merry world; the lark
Is singing over the green corn;
Only the house and heart are dark!
Only the human world forlorn!
There, in her bridal-chamber, lies
A dear bed-fellow, all in white;
That purple shadow under eyes
Where star-fire swam in liquid night.

Sweet, slippery silver of her talk,
And music of her laugh so dear,
Heard in home-ways and wedded walk,
For many and many a golden year;
The singing soul and shining face,
Daisy-like glad, by roughest road,
Gone! with a thousand dearnesses
That hid themselves for us and glowed.

The waiting angel, patient wife,
All through the battle at our side,
That smiled her sweetness on our strife
For gain, and it was sanctified!
When waves of trouble beat breast-high,
And the heart sank, she poured a balm
That stilled them, and the saddest sky
Made clear and starry with her calm.

And when the world, with harvest ripe,
In all its golden fulness lay,
And God, it seemed, saw fit to wipe,
Even on earth, our tears away,—
The good, true heart that bravely won.
Must smile up in our face, and fall:
And all our happy days are done,
And this the end! And is this all?

The bloom of bliss, the secret glow,
That clothed without, and inly curled,
All gone. We are left shivering now,
Naked to the wide open world.
A shrivelled, withered world it is,
And sad, and miserably cold:
Where be its vaunted braveries?
'Tis grey, and miserably old.