XXIV. - YOUTHFUL COURAGE.

FROM THE FRENCH.

On the night of the 12th of November, 1842, a fishing ves sel, called the Napoleon, was overtaken by a dreadful storm, when a few miles distant from the coast of France. Towards midnight, the master of the vessel, whose name was Ramelly, ordered his son Gustavus to go down into the hold for some implement he wanted.

Hardly had the boy, who was only about fourteen years old, gone down, when he felt a great shock; and he rushed back upon deck. During his few minutes' absence, the vessel had shipped a sea which had swept every one from the deck, and thrown her upon her side. It was in vain that Gustavus called his father; nothing was heard but the noise of the raging sea; no reply was returned to his distracted cries: of the four persons that had been on board, the boy alone remained.

Without losing an instant in useless lamentations, as an ordinary mind might have done, Gustavus eagerly gazed upon the waves, and soon perceived, amid their white foam, a black point alternately appearing and disappearing. He could not swim; but what difficulty may not be overcome by courage united to presence of mind?

He lashes himself to the rigging, takes a rope in his hand, throws himself into the sea, and flings the rope to the poor creature, who seizes it eagerly, without guessing what deliverer Heaven sends him. By its help he regains the vessel at the same moment with Gustavus, who sees with unspeakable joy that the man whom he has rescued is his father.

But all was not done; and Gustavus tears himself away, to fly to the succor of one of his companions, whose cries for help he could hear above the storm. It was one of the two sailors belonging to the little vessel. He is saved; and the intrepid boy once again flung himself into the sea, to rescue the third sufferer; but he had disappeared forever.

Gustavus then returned to his father, and the surviving sailor, both of whom he found stiff with cold and incapable of motion. He encouraged them, soothed and roused them, pointed out to his father the still threatening dangers in the storm, now redoubled in fury, called upon him to remember his expecting mother, and her agony of suspense. And the two men, roused from their stupor, took fresh courage, and exerted themselves to escape destruction.

The elder Ramelly now perceived that the boy's hands were dreadfully excoriated.* "A mere trifle," said Gustavus ; " let us to work." And he was the first to work the vessel; and at length, with the help of his father, succeeded in putting the rudder† into a condition to be used. Ramelly takes the helm,‡ and Gustavus and the sailor go down into the hold, and busy themselves in removing the cargo, so as to restore the vessel to an upright position, by lightening that part of it which was lying in the water.

Almost in the very moment of success, a cry of alarm brought Gustavus back to the deck, when he sees his father, who could not venture to leave the helm, pointing, with a gesture of dismay, to a thick smoke mingled with flames issuing from the cabin. "Fear not, father," said the brave boy, with the calmness of true courage, and never was there exhibited a more rare combination of moral and physical courage, "fear not, God is with us." In an instant he determines on what is best to be done; he sees a bucket at his feet, happily forgotten by the tempest that had swept the deck of every thing else; snatches it up, fills it with water, and pouring it on the place where the fire appears to be greatest, he thus makes a passage for himself to dart into the cabin.

The fire issued from some burning clothes; Gustavus

* Excoriated, deprived of skin.

+ Rudder, a piece of wood, attached to the stern of a vessel by hinges, by which the vessel is steered.

Helm, the handle or instrument, by which the rudder is turned. To take the helm means to take charge of steering the vessel.

bundles them up, and rolls himself upon them, in order that his own clothes, saturated as they were with sea water, might put out the flames; but not being able to succeed, he rushes up with his burning load, and flings it into the sea.

The little bark was saved. Some hours after, it entered the port of Cherbourg with the noble boy as much surprised at the admiration the recital of his heroism called forth, as he was unconscious of its deserving any praise.

"What else could I have done?" was his simple answer to the compliments he received.

XXV. SPEAKING ACTIONS.

CHAMBERS'S LIBRARY FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.

"WHAT did you mean, mother, by saying to Mrs. Thornton, just now, that actions spoke?" asked little Fanny, who had been sitting in a thoughtful position for some minutes—a thing not very common with little girls.

The lady addressed smiled. "You think it strange for an act to speak, my love? Is that the riddle which is puzzling your little head ?”

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'Yes, mother."

'Well, Fanny, if you will sit down by my side, I will explain my meaning."

The little inquirer promptly availed herself of the permis

sion.

"Now, my dear, you have yourself illustrated my assertion," Mrs. Montague observed. "The alacrity with which you brought your stool to my feet plainly said, 'My dear mother, I really desire to hear what you are going to say.”

The little girl laughed. "Well, I did not think of that," she said; "but now tell me of some other actions that speak." "That I will readily do, my child; for it is a truth which I wish should be deeply impressed on your mind. It might save

you from doing many things without consideration, and might often prevent your causing pain, where you would otherwise do so, from mere thoughtlessness. I see that you do not exactly understand me," the lady proceeded; "so, to make the matter clearer, I will give you a few more examples."

"Do, mother.”

"Well, we will suppose, my dear, that I came down to breakfast one morning (as I often do) with a very bad headache, and my little daughter comes running to me, saying, 'Dear mother, I am very sorry to see that you are not well: I hope you will be better soon;' but instead of being very quiet, she laughs loud, and talks a great deal. When breakfast is over, suppose she sits down to the piano-forte to practise, without asking whether I can bear it; and when I tell her that the noise is too much for me, she pouts and looks angry. do you think all this would say?"

What

Little Fanny's smiles were quite put to flight by this example, for she felt it was a correct representation of what had passed that very morning. Her eyes filled with tears, and she could not answer.

"Don't you think, my love," Mrs. Montague resumed, “it would say, 'I did not mean what I said, mother. I was not really sorry that your head ached'?”

"No, no, not quite that," she sobbed out; "I was sorry, I am always sorry, to see you ill."

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Well, my dear, I do not accuse you of want of affection or feeling in general. But when your own wishes or pleasures are concerned, you are apt to consult them, instead of what will be agreeable to other people."

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Fanny blushed, for she felt that the condemnation was just. "Now," Mrs. Montague proceeded, “ we will imagine a little girl who is very fond of her father and mother. She wishes that they should know it; but to be constantly saying, 'Dear father, or dear mother, I love you very dearly,' would sound silly, and be very tiresome. Can you think of any other way in which she could express the same words?

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"O, yes; if she were to do every thing she could to please them, that would tell them that she loved them."

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"So it would, my child; that is a good guess. But what say you to trying this sort of language yourself?

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Again Fanny blushed. "I thought I did," she said; "but I'll try to use it more."

"Your actions must prove the sincerity of your words, my love. I shall see what they say. But I will give you one more illustration. We will conceive a poor family reduced to great distress by the burning of their house, and some benevolent ladies and gentlemen go about collecting money to relieve them. They call upon you, and ask you to subscribe. Now, it so happens that you have just laid out all your pocket money, or perhaps you have only a very small sum left. You say that you are very sorry that you have nothing to give, or apologize for the trifling amount of your donation.

"But suppose that, an hour after these good people have gone, some one makes you a present of a dollar; if, instead of seeking them out, in order to make up for the want of ability to help them which you previously lamented, you spend it in buying new dresses for your doll, or some other trifle you fancy that you want, what would that action say?"

"O, it would certainly say that I was not really sorry that I could not help the poor people; because, if I had been, I should have given them the money when I had it."

"Very true, my dear; but I must not leave the subject without telling you that little folks, ay, and big ones too, are apt to practise self-deception in such matters. They think that if they had the means, they would do such great things; but when they are possessed of those means, they neglect to use them, because some selfish desires come into their hearts which are more powerful than their benevolent feelings had been.

"The same principle influenced your conduct this morning. You really felt some degree of pain when you saw me so ill; but it was not strong enough to induce you to subdue your inclination for laughing, talking, and practising your music. You