And watch the restless waters
Turned into solid stone,
Like granite, and like porphyry,
In wild confusion thrown?

Or do ye bear a battle-flag,
And thunder at your side,
So that the foreign foe may quail,
Where'er your navies ride?

I cannot tell what enterprise
Might haunt that childish crew-
What, with their little fairy ships,
It was their dream to do:

But be what will the enterprise,

That carries men afar,

Through danger, death, through calm and storm,

For commerce, science, war;

They could not go more heart in hand,

Their purpose to fulfil,

Than launched those boyish mariners

Their fleet upon the rill.

The sunbeam glittered on the waves,
And danced within their eyes:
Whose bark shall reach yon willow first,
His is the victor's prize.

And each one lends his voice and breath,

To urge the tiny sail;

No sailor in a calm e'er watched

More anxious for a gale.

And though they are but paper boats,

Launched on a village brook;

How earnest is each beating heart!
How eager is each look!

Oh, happy age! that thus can find,
In trifles and in toys,

The pleasure of a new delight—
The freshness that enjoys!

Oh! why should life bring weariness,
And languor, and disdain?

Ah! would to God that I could be

An eager child again!

SOME ACCOUNT OF

MR. THOMAS HARCOURT AND HIS FATHER.

(Taken from his own Papers.)

BY MARY HOWITT.

In surveying my life—now in the seventieth year of my age-my mind has been so impressed with the merciful dealings of God on my behalf, that I have hoped it might be serviceable to the present generation to put down that part of my history which particularly relates to my father's captivity, and the great temptation which beset me, when a prisoner also, among the Algerines.

To make this relation more intelligible, it will be necessary to state that my father was a merchant who traded to most of the European ports; and also frequented all the considerable cities of the interior whenever he had a prospect of gain by so doing. He was a prosperous trader, and had accumulated, early in life, a handsome fortune, principally by his

own industry. But on the occasion of his marriage, which took place in the thirty-seventh year of his age, to a gentlewoman of a good and wealthy family, he declined taking any longer an active part in his trade, and retired into Durham, where he had purchased a handsome property.

In this state of almost perfect earthly felicity my father looked forward to pass the remainder of life; but his hopes were unexpectedly clouded by the death of his wife, which happened in less than two years after his marriage. My father received two bequests at her death-myself, then but a few months old, and inconsolable sorrow for her loss. Indeed, so great was his grief that his health was impaired by it, and he was recommended by his physicians to try the benefit of change of scene; accordingly he resumed the care of his foreign trade, consigning me to the charge of my maternal grandfather, whose only child my mother had been, and who, residing with us, was strongly attached to my father.

The return to his old habits and occupations, to a certain degree, diverted my father's grief; and strong hopes were entertained that he would in time overcome it so entirely as to return to his home, and assume again that quiet domestic life which was far more accordant with his temper than the careful and unsettled one of a foreign trader. I believe he, however, never encouraged the idea; but set out again on

a voyage which was to occupy him a considerable time, as he intended to visit most of the European capitals. From this journey he did not return; and, singular as it may seem, no intelligence was received from him after leaving Hamburgh, at which place he consigned his ship to a Dutch merchant, and proceeded forward by land. The uncertainty of his fate, and the anxiety which my grandfather naturally felt about him, cast a gloom over the old man's mind, of which, however, I was not aware till long after; for his kindness and love to me were unabating; and so perfectly did he perform the part of both parents, that, in my early life, I never knew the loss of mine.

Of my father, at this period, I have no recollection; nor is it probable I should, as his last voyage was made when I was scarcely more than three years old ;-nor shall we, I believe, find that the memory of a child is capable of retaining impressions for any length of time at that early age.

The first time I was made sensible of my loss-of the excellence of my father's character, and the strange uncertainty that involved his fate-I remember well. It was in the mid-winter of 1695, or thereabout, as I was then in my seventh or eighth year. It made a strong impression on my mind; for it was the first awakening to human sympathy, and that strong natural affection which I suppose every child would feel towards its parents, were it not too often crushed by