I've hunted for them all the afternoon;

I'll try once more,-I think I'll find them soon.
Dear, if a burden I have been to you,
And haven't help'd you as I ought to do,
Let old-time memories my forgiveness plead;
I've tried to do my best,-I have, indeed.
Darling, piece out with love the strength I lack,
And have kind words for me when I get back.

Scarce did I give this letter sight and tongue,-
Some swift-blown rain-drops to the window clung,
And from the clouds a rough, deep growl proceeded:
My thunder-storm had come, now 'twasn't needed.
I rush'd outdoor. The air was stain'd with black:
Night had come early, on the storm-cloud's back:
And everything kept dimming to the sight,
Save when the clouds threw their electric light;
When, for a flash, so clean-cut was the view,
I'd think I saw her, knowing 'twas not true.
Through my small clearing dash'd wide sheets of spray,
As if the ocean waves had lost their way;
Scarcely a pause the thunder-battle made,
In the bold clamor of its cannonade.

And she, while I was shelter'd, dry, and warm,
Was somewhere in the clutches of this storm!

She who, when storm-frights found her at her best,
Had always hid her white face on my breast!

My dog, who'd skirmish'd round me all the day,
Now crouch'd, and whimpering, in a corner lay.
I dragg'd him by the collar to the wall,
I press'd his quivering muzzle to a shawl,—

"Track her, old boy!" I shouted; and he whined,
Match'd eyes with me, as if to read my mind,
Then with a yell went tearing through the wood.
I follow'd him, as faithful as I could.

No pleasure-trip was that, through flood and flame
We raced with death; we hunted noble game.

All night we dragg'd the woods without avail;

The ground got drench'd,-we could not keep the trail.
Three times again my cabin home I found,
Half hoping she might be there, safe and sound;

But each time 'twas an unavailing care:

My house had lost its soul: she was not there!

When, climbing the wet trees, next morning-sun
Laugh'd at the ruin that the night had done,
Bleeding and drench'd by toil, and sorrow bent,
Back to what used to be my home I went.
But, as I near'd our little clearing-ground,-
Listen! I heard the cow-bell's tinkling sound.
The cabin door was just a bit ajar;

It gleam'd upon my glad eyes like a star.

"Brave heart," I said, "for such a fragile form!

She made them guide her homeward through the storm!" Such pangs of joy I never felt before.

"You've come!" I shouted, and rush'd through the door.

Yes, she had come,-and gone again. She lay
With all her young life crush'd and wrench'd away,—
Lay, the heart-ruins of our home among,

Not far from where I kill'd her with my tongue.

The rain-drops glitter'd 'mid her hair's long strands,
The forest thorns had torn her feet and hands,

And 'midst the tears-brave tears-that one could trace Upon the pale but sweetly resolute face,

I once again the mournful words could read, "I've tried to do my best,-I have, indeed.”

And now I'm mostly done; my story's o'er;
Part of it never breathed the air before.
"Tisn't over-usual, it must be allow'd,
To volunteer heart-story to a crowd,

And scatter 'mongst them confidential tears,
But you'll protect an old man with his years;
And wheresoe'er this story's voice can reach,
This is the sermon I would have it preach:

Boys flying kites haul in their white-wing'd birds: You can't do that way when you're flying words. "Careful with fire," is good advice we know ; "Careful with words," is ten times doubly so. Thoughts unexpress'd may sometimes fall back dead, But God Himself can't kill them once they're said! (Reprinted by permission. Copyright 1881, 1898, by Harper and Brothers.)

THE MONSTER CANNON

BY VICTOR HUGO

They heard a noise unlike anything usually heard. The cry and the crash came from the interior of the vessel. One of the carronades of the battery, a twenty-four pounder, had become detached.

This, perhaps, is the most formidable of ocean events.

Nothing more terrible can happen to a war vessel, at sea and under full sail.

A cannon which breaks its moorings becomes abruptly some indescribable, supernatural beast. It is a machine which transforms itself into a monster. This mass runs on its wheels, like billiard-balls, inclines with the rolling, plunges with the pitching, goes, comes, stops, seems to meditate, resumes its course, shoots from one end of the ship to the other like an arrow, whirls, steals away, evades, prances, strikes, breaks, kills, exterminates. It is a ram which capriciously assails a wall. Add this the ram is of iron, the wall is of wood. This furious bulk has the leaps of a panther, the weight of the elephant, the agility of the mouse, the pertinacity of the ax, the unexpectedness of the surge, the rapidity of lightning, the silence of the sepulcher. It weighs ten thousand pounds, and it rebounds like a child's ball. Its whirlings are suddenly cut at right angles. What is to be done? How shall an end be put to its movements? A tempest ceases, a cyclone passes, a wind goes down, a broken mast is replaced, a leak is stopped, a fire put out, but what shall be done with this enormous brute of bronze? How try to secure it? You can reason with a dog, paralyze a bull, fascinate a serpent, terrify a tiger, and soften the noble heart of a lion; no resource with such a monster as a loose cannon. You cannot kill it: it is dead, and at the same time it lives with a sinister life which comes from the Infinite. It is moved by the ship, which is moved by the sea, which is moved by the wind. This exterminator is a plaything. The horrible cannon struggles, advances, retreats, strikes to the right, strikes to the left, flees, passes, disconcerts expectation, grinds every obstacle to powder, and crushes men like flies.

In a moment the whole of the crew were on the scene of the accident. A gunner had caused all the mischief by neglecting to secure the nut of the chain which composed the lashing, and by not properly blocking the four wheels, so that the play given to the sole and frame had torn it from the platform, and ended by breaking the breeching. As a heavy sea struck the port, the carronade, badly lashed, had slipped back, and, bursting its chain, had commenced flying hither and thither between decks.

The carronade, hurled by the pitching, made havoc in the group of men, crushing four at the first blow; then receding and brought back by the rolling, it cut a fifth unfortunate man in two, and dashed against the larboard side a piece of the battery which it dismounted. Thence came the cry of distress which had been heard. All the men rushed toward the ladder. The battery was emptied in the twinkling of an eye.

The captain and lieutenant, altho both intrepid men, had halted at the head of the ladder, and, dumb, pale, hesitating, looked down into the lower deck. Some one pushed them to one side with his elbow and descended.

It was an old man, a passenger.

Once at the foot of the ladder he stood still.

Hither and thither along the lower deck came the cannon. One might have thought it the living chariot of the Apocalypse.

The captain promptly regained his presence of mind, and caused to be thrown into the lower deck all that could allay and fetter the unbridled course of the cannon,mattresses, hammocks, spare sails, rolls of cordage, bags of equipments, and bales of counterfeit assignats, of which the corvette had a full cargo.