light of publicity which now falls on greater
objects only, flow in next, as speedily as may
be, on the origin, habits, and duties of official
midges.

THE YULE LOG.

The evening was cloudless: but there hung
A cloud upon the hearts of those who sat
Beneath the moss-grown apple-tree, in midst
Of their small cottage garden; for that night
Must Sailor Charley leave them all to go
To sea.

"'Tis old," the grey-hair'd father said,
As 'mong the almost leafless boughs he gazed;
"Time was, when May beheld it full of bloom,
With clusters flushing pink and white against
The tender green; and Autumn brought a crop
Of ruddy fruit that bent the branches down,
So laden was the tree; but now 'tis old
And fit for naught. Ay, ay, we all must come
To uselessness, old age, and then—- to death:
'Tis well if, while we have our youth and strength,
We put forth blossoms good, and fruit." " Say not
'Tis fit for naught!" exclaimed the cheery voice
Of Charley. " See its mossy arms, how broad
They spread, how soft and sheltering extend
Above our heads, as if to gather us
Beneath their loving canopy, and make
Us feel the more together here at home.
At home! where still my ev'ry thought returns
And nestles happily while I'm away!
I see you all, in thought, assembled here,
And sending out your thoughts to me across
The sea. Say not 'tis fit for naught, the dear
Old apple-tree! And more, besides the screen
It makes above our rustic seat, yon clump
Of gnarlèd canker'd wood, which grows apart,
A burly limb excrescent, just will serve
For our next Christmas log, our good yule log!"
"But you will not be here to fell it down,"
The wrinkled mother, sighing, said. " Ah, son,
How many ways shall we your absence feel!"
"If I'm not here to fell the clump, at least
I will return for when 'tis burnt!" he cried.
"I cannot be away at Christmas-tide;
I must be back among you all by then.
I must, I will, be with you all, be sure!
Now, mind my words, you'll see me; I will come!"
His wrinkled mother smiled to hear his tone
Of confidence; his sister Peggy, with
Her merry eyes, look'd gladly up; and Ben,
His younger brother, gave a joyful shout;
While gentle Mary Gray, his sweetheart and
His promised wife, drew closer to his side,
And press'd his arm with both her clasping hands.
"You will? You will be sure to come? You will
Get leave of absence, then, you think? I f ear'd
It would not be till after New Year's-day,"
She whisper'd, with a tremble in her voice.
"Nay, that is when we shall be wedded, dear,
I trust," he answer'd low; " so, judge if I
Will not strain ev'ry nerve to come back here
Before the time; besides, I feel I must
Spend Christmas-day among you all at home;
I must, I will; so, mark my words, I'll come!
You'll see me here!" He gather'd her within
His strong right arm, and held her to his breast
With grasp as firm as were his tone and words;
And she felt hope and comfort fill her soul.
But gravely then the grey-hair'd father spoke:
"My son, ' If God be willing,' prithee, add.
Your words of cheer and confidence are right;
But say, ' If God be willing,' too, my lad."
"'Twas in my thought, I had it in my heart,
My father," Charley said. " 'Tis so much part
Of all I think and hope, I speak it not
Aloud; but none the less I breathe it still
Within myself, 'neath all I say and do.
When our good ship, the Antelope, in stress
Of weather, drives amain upon some stern
Lee shore, begirt with cliffs and frowning bluffs,
Forbidding access, threatening death, my cry
Of ' Courage, messmates! We will keep her off!'
Is ever followed by a deep ' please God!'
That echoes in my soul; or when, 'mid rocks
That bristle 'neath the surging breakers white,
Rough cresting the wide waste of waters dark,
She glides with dangerous swiftness, and I shout,
' 'Ware rocks ahead! We'll get her through, my lads!'

' If God be willing' bases still the loud
Shrill tone wherewith I labour to outpierce
The screams of whistling winds, and din of weather:
Believe it, father, earnest faith and trust
Are ever in my heart, though not, mayhap,
Upon my lips: and so, if God doth will,
I'll surely come. But now, farewell, 'tis time
I should be gone: farewell, my mother; bear
My absence well by thinking of the day
When I shall back return: farewell, my dear
Ones all; take care of one another till
I come again to thank you for your love
Of each I love." He grasp'd his father by
The hand; his mother kiss'd; his sister and
His brother Ben he hugg'd; then snatch'd in haste
His gentle Mary to his breast, as though
He dared not trust himself or her with long
Last words: a look ineffable, but one—-
One rapid, passionately stifled sob,
And he had darted off full speed—- was gone.

Was gone! A world of blank forlornness lay
In those two words, which day by day were felt
By Charley's dear ones, left to understand
The full and bitter force of all involved
Therein; to try and hide from all the rest
The pain at heart of each, the loneliness,
The sense of loss and vacancy that ached
Within. —- But then there came a letter, said
He'd sail'd; was well; look'd forward to the time
Of hoped-for home return; bade them be sure
To do the like; and finish'd with his own
Bright cheerful tone of confidence and trust.

The days went by; the weeks; they swell'd to months;
Then came the autumn winds, that swept the trees
And bared them of their leaves, that sobb'd and moan'd,
And fill'd the throbbing hearts of those at home
With fears for him they loved at sea; and yet
Withal a hope, a growing hope, a hope
Expectant, yearning, day by day more strong,
That he might any moment be at home,
Might take them by surprise, and come at once.
December with its frosty sun set in.
No rain, no snow; but bracing, clear, and sharp.
"High time," thought Ben, " to hew the Christmas log.
Since Charley cannot get away, and be
At home to fell the clump himself, I must;
That it may dry and season, ready for
The Christmas blaze upon our cottage hearth.
That ruddy glow and sparkle of the good
Yule log! How cheerily it looks! How well
Our Charley loves it! And how like himself!