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not been piled upon one another, in a common pit, but are baried side by side, each in his own grave. This may seem a trifle; but reverence for the remains of the departed
is a Christian virtue, and is associated with the most sublime and consolatory doctrine of our holy religion. They who thus honour the dead, will seldom fail in their duty to the living.” We cordially echo this sentiment.
At the foot of one group of graves stands the figure-head of the Caledonia, with dirk and shield. The gallant crew sleep well beneath its shade! The Caledonia was a Scotch brig, belonging to Arbroath, and was wrecked about ten years ago. Fast by, repose the entire crew of the Alonzo, and near the mounds which mark their resting-place is a boat, keel uppermost, and a pair of oars crosswise. Full of melancholy suggestiveness are these objects, and the history the vicar tells us fully realizes what we should anticipate from seeing them in a churchyard. The Alonzo was a large schooner belonging to Stockton-on-Tees, and came down this coast on her voyage from Wales to Hamburg, with a cargo of iron. Off Morwenstow she encountered a fearful storm, and despite every effort of seamanship, drove within the fatal “ Points."
""Pilot! they say when tempests rave,
Dark Cornwall's sons will haunt the main,
" Her race is run-deep in the sand
She yields her to the conquering wave;
Rush they to plunder ?--No, to save !" But, alas! no effort of “dark Cornwall's sons” could now avail. The captain of the Alonzo, a stern, powerful man, is supposed to have been overmastered by his crew in the awful excitement when impending destruction became a dread certainty. At any rate, he and they took to their boat, and forsook the wreck. What a moment was this for the spectators! For a few fleeting minutes, all was breathless suspense—the boat now riding on the crests of the mad billows, now sinking far down in their mountainous hollows. One moment, it is seen bravely bearing its living
freight-the next, drifting shoreward swamped. Hark! a terrible cry of despair echoes over the raging billows: it is the blended death-cry of the perishing mariners. Captain and crew, nine in number, all were lost; and all are now sleeping side by side in their last long home, with their boat rotting over their heads. One of the owners of the vessel posted to Morwenstow to identifiy the bodies of the
This was done chiefly by comparing the initials on their clothes and on their skins with the ship's articles which were cast ashore. One of the crew was a young Dane, a remarkably noble-looking fellow, six feet two in height. On his broad chest was tattooed the Holy Rood—a cross with our Saviour on it, and his mother and St. John standing by. On his stalwart arm was an anchor, and the initials of his name, “P. B.”—which on the ship's list was entered Peter Benson. Three years after his burial, the vicar received, through a Danish consul, a letter of inquiry from the parents of this ill-fated mariner, in Denmark. They had traced him to the Alonzo, had heard of her wreck, and were anxious to know what had become of his remains. His name was Bengstein, and he was engaged to be married to his Danish Pige, or sweetheart, on his return home. Poor Pige of Denmark! Never more will thy lover return to claim thee as his bride. Thy gallant sailor rests from all his wanderings in a solitary churchyard in a foreign land. In heaven thou mayest meet him again—on earth, never! Another anecdote related by the vicar deeply affected
The brig Hero, from Liverpool to London, drove in sight of Morwenstow Cliffs in a terrible storm, and drifted towards Bude, a small dry haven to the southward. Her crew unhappily took to their boat, were immediately capsized of course, and every soul perished. The ship itself drove ashore at Bude, with the fire still burning in her cabin. They found in one of her berths a Bible-a Sundayschool reward. A leaf was folded down, and a passage marked with ink not long dry. It was the 33rd chapter of Isaiah, and the 21st, 22nd, and 23rd verses. There was a piece of writing paper between the leaves, whereon the owner of the Bible had begun to copy the passage!
And who was he, who possessed sufficient nerve and presence of mind to quote this striking passage of holy writ when on the very brink of eternity-conscious, as he must have been, that there was hardly a shadow of hope that he would escape the fate which actually befel him almost immediately afterwards? He was a poor sailor-lad of seventeen, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. A letter from her was also found in his berth. His body was cast ashore at Morwenstow.
The wreck of the Hero occurred about a year prior to that of the Caledonia of Arbroath, before mentioned. One man was saved from the latter vessel, and was the only mourner who attended the funeral sermon preached by the ricar of Morwenstow after the interment of his messmates. On this occasion, the vicar took for his text the verses quoted by the sailor-boy, and every hearer wept. | We might go on with the reminiscences suggested by many a sailor's grave: but we have said enough to indicate what romantic and pathetic histories of real life are interwoven with this wild and solitary Cornish churchyard. Many a gallant mariner," who battled with the breeze of every clime, here calmly sleeps his last long watch ; and with him are buried who shall say what hopes and loves of mourning friends, and kindreds ?- Chambers' Journal.
A lean, awkward boy came one morning to the door of the principal of a celebrated school, and asked to see him. The servant eyed his mean clothes, and, thinking he looked | more like a beggar than anything else, told him to go | around to the kitchen. The boy did as he was bidden, and soon appeared at the back door. “I should like to see Mr.
” said he. “You want a breakfast, more like," said the servant, " and I can give you that without troubling him.”
" Thank you," said the boy, “I have no objections to a bit
of bread, but I should like to see Mr.
if he can see me." “Some old clothes, maybe you want,
remarked the servant, again eyeing the boy's patched trowsers. “I guess he has none to spare, he gives away a sight;" and without at all minding the boy's request, she went away about her work.
“ Can I see Mr. P” again asked the boy, after eating his bread and butter.
“Well he's in the library ; if he must be disturbed, he must; but he does like to be alone sometimes," said the girl, in a peevish tone. She seemed to think it very foolish to admit such an ill-looking fellow into her master's presence ; however, she wiped her hands, and bade him follow her. Opening the library door she said, Here's somebody, sir, who is dreadful anxious to see you, and so I let him in."
I do not know how the boy introduced himself, or how he opened his business, but I know that after talking awhile, the Principal put aside the volume which he was studying, and took up some Greek books and began to examine the new comer. The examination lasted some time. Every question which the Principal asked, the boy answered as readily as could be.
“Upon my word,” exclaimed the Principal," you certainly do well!” looking at the boy from head
foot over his spectacles. “Why, my boy, where did you pick up so much ?”
“ In my spare moments,” answered the boy.
Here he was, poor, hard-working, with but few opportunities for schooling, and yet almost fitted for college, by simply improving his spare moments. Truly, are not spare moments the “gold dust” of time? How precious they should be!-- What, account can you give of your spare moments ? Look and see. This boy could tell you
very much can be laid up by wisely improving them; and there are many, many other boys, I am afraid, in the jail, in the house of correction, in the forecastle of a whaleship, in the gambling-house, or in the tippling shop, who, if you could
ask them when they began their sinful courses, might answer,
“In my spare moments.” “In my spare moments I gambled for marbles.” “In
my spare moments I began to smoke and drink.” “ It was in my spare moments that I first began to steal chestnuts from the old woman's stand.” " It was in my spare moments that I gathered with wicked associates."
O be very, very careful, how you spend your spare moments! Temptation always hunts you out in small seasons like these, when you are not busy; he gets into your hearts, if he possibly can, in just such gaps.
There he hides himself, planning all sorts of mischief. Take care of your spare moments.
THE LAST WILL. An Irish boy going one day to Bible school, met a Popish priest who was not so averse to the Scriptures as most of his brethren are.
This priest asked the boy what book it was which he carried under his arm?
"It is a will, sir," said the boy.
"The last will and testament that Jesus Christ left to me, and to all who desire to claim a title to the property therein bequeathed !" replied the boy.
"What did Christ leave you in that will ?”
you expect to reign as a king there ?" "Yes, sir, as joint-heir with Christ.” "And will not every person get there as well as you ?" “No, sir ; none can get there but those that claim their title to that kingdom on the ground of this will.”
The priest asked several other questions, to which the boy gave such satisfactory answers as quite astonished him. "Indeed," said he, “ you are a good little boy, take care of the book wherein God gives you such precious promises ;