9. A burly savage, apparently the leader of the band, was in advance of his companions. Concealed behind a tree, he shot his arrows with great vigor, and, by voice and gesture, animated his comrades. A sharp-shooter, watching when his arm was exposed, struck it with a bullet. The savage, apparently astonished by the calamity, gazed for a moment, in silence, upon his helpless limb, dangling by his side, and then, uttering a peculiar cry, probably the signal for retreat, dodged from tree to tree, and disappeared. Scarcely a moment elapsed before not a savage was to be seen, and perfect silence reigned.

10. Fortunately, none of the Pilgrims were wounded, though there were many hair-breadth escapes. Arrows were sticking thickly in the logs around, and many garments were pierced through. Dense clouds darkened the sky. The surf dashed sullenly against the shore. The gale, sweeping the ocean, and moaning through the sombre firs and pines, drove the mist, like apparitions of illomen, over land and sea.

11. As the Pilgrims re-embarked, the rain changed to sleet. The waves frequently broke into the boat. Garments were drenched, and clothing and ropes were coated with ice. Anxiously, but in vain, they searched the dim shore, hoping to find some cove or creek in which they could take refuge. The short December day drew to a close, and night, long, dark, and stormy, - in an unknown sea, — settled around them.

12. A huge billow broke into the boat, nearly filling it with water, and, at the same time, unshipping their rudder. They seized the oars, and, with the utmost difficulty, succeeded in steering the tempest-tossed bark. Just then, a sudden flaw of wind snapped their mast into three pieces, dashing their sail into the foaming sea. Only the oars were now left them. With strong arms, they still guided their boat along the shore, which was dimly seen

13. At last, they discerned land directly before them. Whether it were an island, or a promontory, they knew not. The rain was falling in torrents. They succeeded, however, in gaining the lee of the land, and cast anchor in comparatively still water. They were afraid to land. The experience of the past night taught them that the woods might be full of savages.

14. A few, feeling that they should certainly perish in the open boat, ventured ashore, and, with much difficulty, succeeded in building a fire. Though its blaze, illumining the forest, might be a beacon to point them out to their savage foes, they piled upon it branches and logs, and rejoiced in the cheerful flame and warmth. Those in the boat could not long resist the aspect of comfort which the fire presented, and soon landed.

15. During the night, the storm ceased, and the clouds were dispersed. The morning dawned bright and cold. It was the morning of the Sabbath; and these remarkable men, notwithstanding the pressure of circumstances in which not an hour could be safely lost, decided to remain in their encampment for the religious observance of the Lord's day.

16. Early Monday morning, having repaired their shattered boat, they spread their sails again to the wintry winds and continued their voyage. Soon, a large bay opened before them, partially protected by a long bar from the billows of the ocean. Cautiously, our adventurers sailed around the point of land, frequently dropping the lead, that they might find a channel of sufficient depth to allow the Mayflower to enter the bay. They then steered for the shore and landed.

17. Here they found one or two streams of pure water, and some fields in which corn had been cultivated. The soil seemed promising. The landscape was pleasingly diversified with hills and valleys, while the forest,

in its mysterious gloom, spread far away to unknown regions in the west. The inclemency of the season and the pressure of circumstances decided them to look no farther.

18. They, therefore, spread their sails, pushed directly across the bay, and, in a few hours, reached the Mayflower with their report. Without loss of time, the ship weighed anchor, and, on the 21st of December, entered the bay, and made immediate and vigorous arrangements for the establishment of that infant colony which has grown to be one of the most powerful nations on the globe. John S. C. Abbott.

XII-A STREET SCENE IN NEW YORK.

THE HE other day, as I came down Broome Street, I saw a street musician, playing near the door of a genteel dwelling. The organ was uncommonly sweet and mellow in its tones; the tunes were slow and plaintive, and I fancied that I saw in the woman's Italian face an expression that indicated sufficient refinement to prefer the tender and the melancholy, to the lively "trainer tunes," in vogue with the populace.

2. She looked like one who had suffered much, and the sorrowful music seemed her most appropriate voice. A little girl clung to her scanty garments, as if afraid of all things but her mother. As I looked at them, a young lady of pleasing countenance opened the window, and began to sing like a bird, in keeping with the street organ. Two other young girls came and leaned on her shoulder; and still she sang.

3. Blessings on her gentle heart! It was evidently the

L of humon love and sympathy The

beauty of the incident attracted attention. A group of gentlemen gradually collected round the organist; and ever, as the tune ended, they bowed respectfully toward the window, waved their hats, and called out, "More, if you please!"

4. One, whom I knew well as the kindest and truest soul, passed round his hat; hearts were kindled, and the silver fell in, freely. In a minute, four or five dollars She spoke no word were collected for the poor woman. "Will you go to the of gratitude, but gave such a look! next street, and play for a friend of mine?" said my kindhearted friend. She answered, in tones expressing the deepest emotion, "No, sir; God bless you all; God bless you all" (making a courtesy to the young lady, who had stepped back, and stood sheltered by the curtain of the window); "I will play no more to-day; I will go home, now."

5. The tears trickled down her cheeks, and, as she walked away, she, ever and anon, wiped her eyes with the corner of her shawl. The group of gentlemen lingered a moment to look after her; then, turning toward the now closed window, they gave three enthusiastic cheers, and departed, better than they came.

6. The pavement on which they stood, had been a church to them; and, for the next hour, at least, their hearts were more than usually prepared for deeds of gentleness and mercy.- Lydia Maria Child.

XIII. - THE CROOKED FOOT-PATH.

AH, here it is! the sliding rail

That marks the old remembered spot, gap that struck our school-boy trail, The crooked path across the lot.

The