to them from her crowded decks. They are
in time to save! Oh that I could end here!
But joy and rest have scant place in this
disjointed world, and I can speak of neither
here, except as represented by the grave. Let
me hasten to the end, the end that has no end—
sorrow upon sorrow, like the rolling waves.
The life-boat neared the wreck, when a wave,
fiercer than the rest, dashing over the reef,
filled her and flung her off; but, drawing her
furiously back, hurled her so violently against
the wreck, that the side was stove in, and she
became unmanageable. Some of the men
escaped by clinging to the vessel they had risked
so much to save, and afterwards, with their aid,
she was floated off and stranded on the shore.
But two of the gallant life-boat's crew were lost.
Dick Harris and another.

I thought these eyes of mine, so old now, could
weep no more. I thought the old man had
outlived his heart, but I see and feel the terrible
ensuing scene again. How Bess ran into the
water to meet the life-boat, crowded with the
saved; but missed her love! She never spoke
nor wept, but her face turned white as death, and
changed no more, and day and night she waited
by the sea, until at last he came. The villagers
tell of it still. How with a wild shriek she threw
up her arms to heaven, claiming her dead, and,
plunging waist deep into the waves, fought
with them for possession of her own. Her
wild shrieks rang out his death-knell in the
night. Nan, always near her, helped her to
carry him to a quiet spot, and, covering him
reverently with her shawl, ran for help to the
village, leaving Bess to watch him. Help came,
but found poor Bessie lying beside her lover,
a stream of blood flowing from her lips. She did
not die at once, but her white scared face grew
thinner day by day. And Dick's grave was
opened to receive her, according to her wish,
long before there were any flowers to lay upon it.

Nan is fading away, pining to follow her
"goldy-hair." The zoophyte daughter works
for both, but the light went out of her lonely
life when her sister died, and she too is wearying
to follow "the little one."

O sad, sad, Sandybay, so cheerful and so
pleasant once!

UP AND DOWN CANTON.

CANTON is a genuine Chinese city, and one
of the most extraordinary places in the world.
There are four American steamers which ply
between Hong-Kong and Canton. They are
fast commodious vessels, in fact floating hotels,
such as ply on the large American rivers.
The voyage occupies about eight or nine hours.
Of these, five or six are on the open sea,
sheltered mostly under the lee of precipitous bluffs
and lofty rocky islets; and the rest, from the
"Bocca Tigris," up the Canton river. The fog
in the winter season lies so dense over the flats
and extensive swamps bordering the river, that
steamers have to proceed with great caution,
going "dead slow," and sounding the steam-whistle,
while the little fishing-junks, which are
sure to be scattered by dozens in the way,
eagerly beat their gongs, to make known their
whereabout. As the steamer ascends the
river, a noble stream, some five or six miles
broad near the mouth, she gets gradually clear
of the fog. The wide marshy flats, and the
bold rocks on the left bank, crowned with
odd-looking Chinese stone batteries, come into view,
to be succeeded by paddy-fields, sugar-cane
cultivation, orchards, gardens, roads, and villages,
that become, on both banks, more and more
numerous, until they blend with the vast
suburbs of Canton. Charming little pagodas,
and fanciful buildings, painted and carved, the
residences of mandarins, peep from the shade of
groves, and every village is surmounted by two
or more lofty square towers, the nature of
which puzzles a stranger, until he is told they
are pawnbrokers' shops. These shops are so
fashioned for the greater security of the articles
pledged, because the broker is made heavily
responsible for their safe keeping. The security
is meant to be, not only against thieves, but
also against fire. Half way to Canton, on the
right, or west bank, is a little English settlement
at the town of Whampo. It consists of
some ship-chandlers' stores, warehouses, and a
dock for repairing vessels which discharge their
cargoes here, being unable to proceed higher up
the stream. Whampo is, in fact, the seaport
of Canton, and was a flourishing place as such,
till Hong-Kong diverted the trade. From
Whampo upward, the river becomes more and
more crowded with junks and Chinese boats.
Some of the junks, men-of-war, differ from the
rest only in being larger, and in having several
unwieldy guns on their decks, mounted on
uncouth carriages: in many instances with
their muzzles not pointed through portholes, but
grinning over the bulwarks at an angle of forty-five
degrees, like huge empty bottles.

When the steamer has slowly and
cautiously threaded her way among these
numerous vessels, and dropped anchor, the rush
of "tanka-boats" round her is astonishing.
These are broad bluff craft, something of the
size and shape of the sampans, but impelled
chiefly by women: one sweeping, the other
sculling with a large steering oar. They close
round the ship in hundreds, yelling, screaming,
struggling, and fighting for the gangways, till
every passenger or article of light freight has
left. The women are warmly and comfortably
dressed in dark-blue linen shirts and wide
drawers; with red and yellow bandanas round
their heads and faces. They are often young
and good looking, with bright laughing eyes,
white teeth, and jolly red cheeks. They are,
unlike the "flower-boat" girls, honest and well
conducted. Their boats are roofed over, with
snug neat cabins nicely painted, and bedizened
with flowers, old-fashioned pictures, and looking-
glasses. A low cushioned bench runs round
three sides, and the passenger sits down
pleasantly enough, looking through the entrance,