WHEN I was a boy I thought August was the happiest month in the year. I liked December too, for Christmas came in it, with the Christmas-tree and all sorts of good things. July was almost as nice, for my birthday was on the sixteenth, and I always had a tableful of presents. But, after all, there was no month like August, for in August we always went to the sea-side.

What fun we had through that holiday month! There is something in the sea which always makes me feel in good spirits. When the waves come rolling in and dash over the rocks, when the sea birds fly overhead, with their strange cries, when the white foam on the shore sparkles in the sunshine, even now that I have some gray hairs in my head, I feel quite young again, and ready to skip for joy.

I felt very wild the day I first spoke to old Jonah. Hilda and I had been running on the rocks looking for crabs and sea anemones, and Daisy had been paddling in a shallow sandy pool, and filling her little bucket with water. It was a fresh, bright, windy day, and there was not a cloud on the sky.

SUMMER DAYS ON THE BEACH.

"Mother," said Hilda, as we sat down to rest, "what is that big bell hanging between two posts near the coast-guard's house? Daisy calls it the sailors' dinner-bell."

Somebody laughed when Hilda said that, and we looked round and saw Jonah standing near us. He was an old fisherman whom we had often seen walking on the beach, but we had never spoken to him before.

"Dinner-bell, little Missy?" he said. "Begging your pardon for hearing what you was saying—dinner-bell, did ye say? It's a funny kind of a dinner that bell rings for! What do you think they give us for dinner when that bell calls us? Not roast beef and plum-pudding, I can tell you!"

SPINNING A YARN.

"Is it soup?" asked Daisy in a melancholy voice. For Daisy did not like soup, and always looked very dismal when it appeared on the table.

Then old Jonah laughed more than ever, and asked us if we thought salt water and sea-weed would make good soup.

"But," said he, "if you want to hear an old sailor's yarn, come down under the shelter of the fishing-boats to-morrow morning, when I'm mending my nets, and I'll tell you the story of the last time that bell rang."

"Did you ever see Mother Carey's chickens, Missy?" said old Jonah, as we sat down beside him, the next day.

"No," said Hilda, "we don't know many people here. Does Mother Carey live in one of the cottages near the shore?"

MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS.

Oh, how old Jonah laughed then!

"No, I couldn't tell you where she lives," he said; "nor who she is neither, for the matter of that."

"Did you ever see her chickens then, Jonah?" said I.

"Ay, many a time, my boy," he said. "I'll tell you what we sailors mean by Mother Carey's chickens. They are sea birds which come when there's going to be a storm, and fly low over the water. We never like to see them: we know there's bad weather coming when she sends her chickens out. I never knew Mother Carey send us so many chickens as she did on that afternoon I'm going to tell you about. My little lad and lass were playing on the beach, and they came running home to say they thought Mother Carey must be cleaning her hen-house, and had turned all her chickens out at once."

"'It's going to be a rough night, Polly,' said I to my old woman; and I went out on the pier yonder to have a bit of a chat with Peter. He's our old coastguard man is Peter, Master Stanley. You must go and see him some day."

"Peter was very busy with his glass looking over the water to see if any ships were in sight. Ay, little Missy, I wish you could have seen the waves that evening as the sun went down; they came tearing in like great roaring lions. Peter and I were nearly carried off our feet by the wind. Then, as we stood on the pier, there came a great crash and we saw that the farther end of it had been broken down, and the waves were rolling the big blocks of stone about as if they were your little marbles, Master Stanley."

BEACON LIGHTS.

"Well, as it grew dark, the storm got worse, till at last, the waves came right over the top of the harbour and dashed against our cottage wall."

"Do you know our cottage, Miss Hilda?"

"Stand up, and you can see it. There it is, just above the harbour. Well, you see how far below it the sea is now. But that night, the waves swept across the road between our cottage and the harbour, and the spray beat against the bed-room windows! I ran home to see if Polly was frightened, and Peter called after me, 'Keep your ears open for the bell, Jonah; there'll be mischief to-night, I'll be bound.'"

HARK! THERE'S THE BELL!

"Poor Polly was baling out water from the kitchen, and the children were standing at the top of the stairs watching her."

"'Oh, Jonah,' she said, 'what a fearful night!'"

"'I do hope you won't have to go out with the boat, my lad,' says Granny. (That's my old mother; she's been dead a many years, Master Stanley.)"

"Granny had no sooner said the words than we heard the clattering of horse's hoofs coming down the hill and up the street at the side of our house."

"'There's somebody in a mighty hurry,' said Polly."

"'Listen! Hush!' I said, as the children were talking to each other."

THE FARMER'S RIDE.

"Nothing was to be heard at first but the roaring of the wind and waves. And then clear above them all we heard the ringing of Peter's bell!"

"Polly turned as white as a sheet, and old Granny began to cry. For we knew well enough what that bell meant. Some poor ship was in distress, and we must take the lifeboat out."

"'Oh, my lad,' said Granny, 'she can never weather such a sea as this!'"

"'Cheer up, old mother,' said I; 'cheer up, Polly, my lass; please God, we'll save some of them poor souls.'"

"I lost not a moment getting ready, and only stopped to kiss Polly and Granny and the children. Maybe I should never kiss them again, I said to myself."

"'Father,' said my little lass, 'here's a present for you;' and she put in my hand a little bit of newspaper, tied up with blue wool. I had no time to look inside, but I gave her a kiss, and tucked it inside my shirt, and off I went as fast as I could run to Peter's shed."

ON AN ERRAND OF MERCY.

"Our men were hurrying in from all directions. Nine had turned up when I got there, and the others came soon after. Our cork-jackets and our life-belts were hung up in their proper places in the boat-house, and we got them on in less time than I can tell you about it. Then we got the boat out, and put everything ready; and whilst they were yoking in the horses, to drag her down to the shore, I had just a moment to spare, and I pulled out little Jessie's parcel and looked what was in it. It was a little text-card she had got at the Sunday-school—her prettiest one, bless her! I read the text on it by the lamp in the boat-house. I wanted to have a look at it, for I did not know if I should ever see my little lass again. There were only three little words on Jessie's card, and I had them in my mind all night, Master Stanley. It was a little prayer:"

"LORD, SAVE ME!"

"I put the card back in my bosom, and away I went with the boat. Our lads had got four strong horses to drag her down to the sea, and we ran along beside them, ready to push her off and jump in as quickly as possible."

HASTE TO THE RESCUE!

"The ship had struck on some rocks about five miles away; so the farmer told us who had ridden over for the boat. He said the coastguardsmen over there had got the rockets out, and they were busy with them when he started. She was a big craft, and seemed to have a lot of men aboard her."

"As soon as we got the lifeboat to the water, we all jumped into her, and then came the hard struggle to get her off. As fast as we pulled her off from shore there came a great high wave, and dashed her in again."

"It was all of no use, Master Stanley; no power that we could use could get her off, and we should have had to give it up for a bad job, if we had only had our arms to trust to. But Peter had sent off for a steam-tug lying a bit farther up the coast, and as soon as she came up and took us in tow, we began to make way."

"You know, Miss Hilda, our lifeboat; she's not like these other boats you see about; she's made as light as she can be, and her sides are filled with air, so that she rises like a cork to the top of the sea."

STEAM-TUG TOWING THE LIFEBOAT.

"The water flowed into the boat, and over her, but still she floated. We seemed to be plunging through the waves the whole way. Then came a wave bigger than the rest, and broke over the boat, and quite buried her for a moment; but up she jumped and shook herself free, little beauty that she is!"

"And once, Master Stanley, there came a great breaker, rushing along, and catching her up, it threw her right over, and we were all sent headlong into the sea. I thought it was all up with us then; but in a minute she had righted herself again, and we in our cork-jackets had come to the top, and had clambered into her again, one after another, till all were there and ready to go on."

"Away, away, over the raging waves. I shall never forget it as long as I live. And all the way, Miss Hilda, my little Jessie's prayer was ringing in my ears:"

"LORD, SAVE ME!"

"Even the wind and the waves seemed to be saying it. And if ever I prayed, Master Stanley, I prayed that night in the lifeboat; for death was very near, and I was not sure that night that my soul was safe. But I seemed to see the Lord coming out to save me, just as I was going after them poor creatures in the ship; and I cried to Him from the bottom of my heart, 'Lord, save me!'"

"And, Miss Hilda, He heard me; I know He did."

"We were getting round the point now, and every man of us was on the look-out for the wreck. It was so thick, for a time it seemed impossible to find her, but we could hear the sound of rockets in the distance, and we caught now and then a gleam of light through the darkness."

"You'll have seen the rockets, maybe, Master Stanley?"

"Yes, we always have rockets on the Fifth of November," said Hilda; "we had two dozen last year."

THE ROCKET APPARATUS.

"They are very useful things are rockets in our work, little. Missy. We fasten a thin cord to them and fire them over the ship in distress. Peter will show you the boxes we keep our lines in. There are two rows of pegs inside the box, and the line is wound round them in such a way that when the pegs are drawn out it will uncurl quite easily. Then the rocket is fired, and the line is shot quickly out of the box, and it never stands a chance of getting tangled or knotted. Then as soon as the lads on board the sinking ship manage to catch hold of the line they draw it in, and we fasten to the end of it a strong stout cable, and many a poor fellow we get in that way."

FIRING THE ROCKET.

"Well, as I said, they were busy with the rockets when we got near, and we made in the direction in which we saw them going. Suddenly there came a bright light, Master Stanley, and then we saw it all. It was a flare which some sailor on board the sinking ship was holding up to show us where they lay."

SHOWING A FLARE.

"We had got very near them by this time, and when that light showed us where they were, it was enough to make us shudder. She had settled down by the stern on the rocks: her bows were sticking up above the water, but her deck was nearly covered: her masts were broken, her sails were torn, and the poor things aboard her were clinging to the rigging."

"Little by little we made them out, Miss Hilda, and a pitiful sight it was. There were women there, and little children, and I thought of Polly, and of Harry, and Jess, and baby Maggie ('Father's Magpie.' we used to call her); and I felt I would do anything to save them poor women and children. So I said my prayer again, 'Lord, save me.' and I held firmly on."

THE LIFE BELT.

"And now the sea was carrying us on with tremendous force towards the wreck, and when we had gone as near as we dare, we cast anchor to prevent ourselves being dashed in pieces on the rocks. We had a stout cable fastened to the anchor, and we began to let it out little by little so that we might get closer to the sinking ship."

"Oh, how anxious we were now! All so still, all waiting, not a whisper to be heard, except Peter's voice telling us what to do."

THROWING THE LIFE-LINE.

"Then a huge wave lifted us: we let out a few yards of rope, and we were alongside."

"Quick, quick as lightning, a woman and a girl were tumbled into the boat. 'All hands to the cable; haul in, hand over hand! For your lives, men, quick!' cried Peter; for he saw another great breaker coming, and he knew that unless we drew ourselves away, we should be dashed to pieces on the wreck."

THE RESCUE.

"Again we watched and waited, and as soon as a smaller wave came, once more we let out the rope, and got alongside again. This time we were able to stay longer; and so we came backwards and forwards, till one by one eight persons were safe on board."

"'Are they all saved, all here?' shouted Peter."

ON THE ROCKS.

"No; several men and women were still clinging to the rigging; our work was not done yet. The next time we got near the ship a sailor threw a bundle down, and I caught it, though I had half a mind to throw it into the sea. I thought it was a blanket, Miss Hilda, and we wanted no extra luggage aboard, I can tell you."

"But what in the world do you think it was? It was a little baby! A tiny mite of a thing, just the picture of my Magpie; and her mother had wrapped her up in the blanket, and given her to the sailor to throw in. Poor lamb, we put her down in the bottom of the boat, and she cried a bit, but we had no time to think of her then; there was her mother to save, and a lot of others besides. We could not do with any more of them at that time; we were getting overweighted as it was, so we got them all, poor things, aboard the steamer, and then back we went to the wreck."

THE BABY IN THE BLANKET.

"We never should have saved them all—there would not have been time; but they were getting a good many ashore by the rope which the rocket had taken out. I'll show you, Master Stanley, the thing they bring them in. We call it the breeches-buoy. They put their legs in the breeches, and the buoy holds them up, and they are drawn along the rope to the shore."

SAVED BY THE BREECHES-BUOY.

"At last the cry went up—'All saved!' and we began to make for shore."

"Maybe you think it was a hard time for me, Miss Hilda, but I'll tell you who it was worse for—it was worse for Polly, and Granny, and the bairns. They all turned out, poor souls, after I left, and stood at the edge of the pier, with the wind blowing in their faces, looking out over the dark sea trying to catch the first sight of our boat. And when at last they saw the steamer making for the pier, they, and the old sailors standing with them, and all the wives and lasses of the other men, raised such a shout of joy that we heard it, Master Stanley, above the raging of the storm. I often seem to hear that shout in my dreams even now."

FRIENDS IN DISTRESS.

"But poor Polly wasn't happy yet. Maybe the boat's coming, but not Jonah, she thought. And Granny caught hold of her shawl and cried 'Look, Polly, my dear, is my lad aboard, dost thou think?' It was Jess that first caught sight of me, bless her. 'There's my daddy, Mother!' she cried; 'God's brought him safe home again.' Then away they all rushed to the landing-place, to be ready to meet us:—all the wives and children, Polly, and Jess, and Harry, and even little Magpie. Polly took her from a neighbour's arms, and brought her to meet me."

"Oh, what a meeting we all had, Miss Hilda, down there on the shore! It was almost like getting me back from the dead, Polly said, for she never expected to see me again. And Father's Magpie put her wee arms round my neck and screamed for joy, and Jess and Harry danced round me and clapped their hands, and Polly said 'Thank God!' and old Granny wound up with 'Amen.'"

THE LIFEBOAT-MAN'S RETURN—THE WELCOME HOME.

"But we'd had no time to think of ourselves, Master Stanley. The tug was coming ashore, and there were the poor half-drowned creatures off the wreck to be cared for. Polly had made up a big fire in the kitchen; the tide had gone down, and the floor was getting dry, and our cottage was one of those nearest the shore."

"They wanted looking after, poor things: some of them were almost dead. We carried the women in litters, and the poor bairns we took in our arms. I picked up a bonny little lassie, just about as big as our Jess. She had nothing on but her little white night-gown and a wee shawl; the children were in bed when the ship struck, and her mother had hurried her up on deck just as she was. We fetched her in the first boat, but her mother was one of the last to be saved; and she was so weak and faint when we got her aboard that some of them thought she was dead. She lay down in the bottom of the boat and took no notice of anything, and none of us knew she belonged to the child for some time after we got ashore. So Polly and me fetched this little Missy home, and Polly dressed her in our Jessie's clothes and gave her some warm coffee, and she and Jess sat chatting by the fire together as if they were two little sisters."

"I sat with my pipe in my mouth, watching them and listening to their pretty talk. I was well-nigh tired out; and, after a time, I began to nod, and I think I was dreaming, Master Stanley, I still seemed to know what the children were saying, when all at once I felt a hand on my shoulder, and, looking up, I saw Peter standing over me."

"'Jonah, my lad,' he said, 'I want a word with thee outside.'"

"It was terrible news he had brought, Miss Hilda—that bonny little lassie's mother was dead. She had never looked up since we got her ashore. She was the only one of them we lost, and she was ill at the time, so I've heard, and couldn't have lived many months if she'd got over it. It was hard work fighting with the waves that night in the lifeboat; but it was child's-play to what I had to do now, to go in and tell the little dear that her mother was dead. I called Polly out and told her she must do it, and Polly did nothing but cry and sob and say, 'No,' she couldn't. And once I got as far as the door, Miss Hilda, and then, when I heard her and our Jess laughing and playing together, I turned back again, old coward that I was!"

"It was Jess that did it at last, good little Jess. I sent for her out on the beach, and asked her did she think she could tell it as gentle as could be. So Jess looked very white, poor dear, but she said she would try, and in she went, and Polly and me stood at the door and listened. And Jessie was the best one, after all, Master Stanley, for she threw her arms round the little lady's neck and asked her, 'Did she know where her mother was gone?' When the poor little dear said 'No, she didn't,' Jess took her to the window, and pointed up to a hole in the clouds where a bit of blue sky was peeping through, and, says Jess, 'She's gone up there to God's home; my daddy says she has!' And when the little lass began to cry, Jess talked to her beautiful, she did indeed, Master Stanley; and me and Polly wiped our eyes, and kept as still as mice, lest they should hear us."

"Well, she was with us a good bit, was that little lass. I wouldn't give her up to none of them. Doctor wanted her—parson wanted her—Miss Benson at the Hall wanted her. 'No', I says, 'begging your pardon, I fetched her from the wreck, and she's my bairn till somebody comes for her.' He was abroad was her father, and Captain couldn't find his address at first, so it was a month or two before he came; and I wouldn't have cared if he'd left her altogether."

"She was like a little angel in the house, Miss Hilda. She would get Polly's old Testament every night and read to us as we sat over the fire, and tell us what her mother said about the texts. I learnt more from that little lass than I ever knew before."

"I shall never forget one evening, Master Stanley; I had been telling her all about that terrible night when I fetched her from the wreck."

"'Weren't you very frightened, Mr. Jonah?' she says—she always called me Mr. Jonah, bless her!"

"'Well, Missy,' says I, 'maybe I should have been frightened, if it hadn't been for my little Jess here.' And I gave her the text-card to look at, though it was so soaked through with salt water, it was some time before she could spell it out. But when she did manage to read it, she looks up in my face, and 'Mr. Jonah,' says she, 'shall we read about Jessie's text to-night?'"

"So she turned it up in Polly's Testament—it was wonderful how she could find her way up and down it; and she read about Peter, and John, and all of them, out in the boat, and not knowing what to do, poor souls, tossed with the waves and the wind against them. And the Master up on the mountain, Miss Hilda (you'll have read it, my dear), seeing it all, and just waiting till things got as bad as bad could be, before He came to help them."

"'Why didn't He go a bit sooner, my dear?' says I to that little lass."

"'Why, Mr. Jonah,' she says, 'my mother told me He wanted them to feel nobody could help them but Him.'"

"Well, away He comes over the sea, walking on the water! And if they didn't think it was a ghost, Master Stanley! And they screamed out with fear, more frightened at Him than ever they had been at the storm. But He wasn't vexed with them, my dear; He says as gentle as could be, 'It is I; be not afraid.'"

"And then Peter must be off to Him; he isn't afraid of anything, isn't Peter. Up he jumps, and 'Lord' he cries, 'let me come to Thee on the water.' And the Lord says, 'Come.' And he gets on fine at first, Master Stanley; away he walks on the sea, as if he was on the pier there. But then what does he do but lose heart, and looks at the big waves, and then—down he goes."

"'You see, Mr. Jonah,' says the little lass, 'he never sank while he kept looking at Jesus.'"

"'No, my dear,' says I, 'he didn't; you're right there.'"

"'And my mother said, if we wanted to be safe we must keep looking to Jesus, Mr. Jonah,' she says."

"'Ah, my dear,' I says, 'I think I'm a deal like Peter. I made a grand start that night of the storm; but temptations are very strong, and the wind and the waves are high.'"

"'Well then, Mr. Jonah,' she says, 'you must call out Peter's prayer—"

"'LORD, SAVE ME.'"

"'And the Lord will put out His hand, and catch you, and hold you fast, and you'll be safe then, Mr. Jonah,' she says."

"And so I came to see, my dears, that it isn't only once in our lives that we want my Jessie's prayer; it isn't only when we first feel our need of a Saviour, but it's every day and all the day that we want to have it ready. And it's wonderful how it comes to my mind, all quick-like, just when I need it. It's the Holy Spirit, that little lass said, who puts the thought so quick in our hearts; and it has saved me from many a sinking in the water, Master Stanley. When I've been going to get into a temper, or to say and do anything as I shouldn't say or do, I've cried out in my heart, 'Lord save me,' and it has been all right; He's never failed me; no, He's never failed me once."

"Well, that's the way that little lass used to talk to us; she made it all so plain, me and Polly and Granny used to say she was the best little teacher in the world; and, when a letter came to say her father was coming to take her away, we all very near cried our eyes out. Jess couldn't eat a bit of breakfast, she couldn't indeed; and as for Polly, she looked all day as if she was going to a funeral. I kept up pretty well till we had had our last reading in Polly's Testament, and then I broke down altogether."

"'Oh, my little lass,' I says, 'who will teach us all these things when you've gone away?'"

"'Why, you'll have the Bible just the same, Mr. Jonah,' she says; 'the Bible isn't going away.'"

"'But you make it so plain, my dear,' says Granny; 'even an old body like me can take it in.'"

"Well, then she looked quite serious, and she says, as grave as can be, 'There's a better Teacher than me, Mr. Jonah. The Holy Spirit will make it all plain to you. My mother told me never to read the Bible without saying this little prayer:'"

"'"O God, send Thy Holy Spirit to teach me, for Jesus Christ's sake.
Amen."'"

"She said her mother had written it for her in her own little Bible that was lost in the wreck, Miss Hilda. But she hadn't forgotten it, and she taught it to me, and I've often said it since before I read my Bible."

"Well, we didn't like to say good-bye; but the poor father was so glad to get his little girl, we couldn't be so mean as to grudge her to him."

"He promised he would often bring her to see us, and he kept his word, Master Stanley. She comes to see me sometimes even now—bless her!"

"She's married and has a little girl of her own, the very picture of what she was when I brought her from the wreck—she is indeed."

"So that's my yarn, Master Stanley, and the story of the last time Miss Daisy's dinner-bell rang. And as I sit mending my nets I often think about it. I've queer thoughts sometimes, little Missy. And it seems to me as if the whole lot of us was like those folks on the sinking ship. But the Lord comes out to save us—bless His name for it, Miss Hilda. Jesus is the Lifeboat to save you and me. He comes across the sea, and He bids us jump in and be saved."

THE LIGHTHOUSE.

"But if we won't come—if we like best being on the sinking ship, He won't force us into His boat. Each one of us must come to Him one by one; each must jump in for himself. I wonder if you and Miss Hilda are in the Lifeboat yet?"

"I don't know, Jonah," I said; "how can we get in the boat?"

"Take Jesus as your Saviour, my boy, as the Lifeboat to save you. Tell Him you want to be saved by Him. Say my Jessie's prayer:"

"Lord, save me!"

"And will He do it?"

"If I ask Him to receive me,
Will He say me Nay?
Not till earth and not till heaven
Pass away—"

"And all in the Lifeboat get safe to shore, Master Stanley: not one in the Lord's boat is lost. I'm getting an old man now, and I've been in the boat a many years, and I sometimes think I'm getting near the shore. And I seem to see Polly waiting for me—she and Jess and Granny standing side by side looking out for me coming. They are all there now, Miss Hilda, and they're waiting for me as they waited for me that night."

"And Jess will dance for joy, and Polly will say 'Thank God!' and Granny will say 'Amen,' when the Lifeboat lands me ashore."

SAVED FROM THE WRECK.

The sky was clear, and cloudless.
   And filled with sunny light;
The sea was like a deep blue lake.
   So calm and fair and bright.

Old Jonah had been shrimping
   Within the shallow bay,
We children often watched him
   When we were at our play.

We liked to see him wading,
   His great net in his hand;
We loved to see him come ashore
   And shake it on the sand.

To-day his work was ended,
   He sat him down to rest
Upon a coil of tarry rope.
   The seat he loved the best.

There, basking in the sunshine.
   He leaned against the wall.
I saw him light his little pipe,
   And then I heard him call.

Come here, young Master Stanley,
   And bring your little boat,
And let me see what can be done
   To make her rightly float.

And sit ye down beside me
  'Tis far too hot to play,
I'll may be spin another yarn
   Like mine the other day.

I've been a jolly sailor
   The best part of my life;
I never settled down at home
   Until I got my wife.

But Polly, she said: "Jonah,
   Now stop at home my dear;"
And when I looked in Polly's eye
   I thought I saw a tear.

And somehow, Master Stanley,
   I lost the love to roam,
And settled down at fishing here
   With Polly, and at home.

But what I tell you now lad,
   It happened long ago,
When I was far across the seas
   Amidst the ice and snow.

'T was on Newfoundland island,
   A dismal place and drear,
My master owned some fishing-boats.
   I'd worked for him a year.

One night we sailed as usual
   And all at first went right;
We filled the boat with large cod-fish
   And turned back when 'twas light.

But up then rose the breakers,
   The wind blew wild and strong,
The waves were dashing on the rocks
   And hurled our boat along.

How should we reach the harbour?
   How should we rightly steer?
Oh! Who would give a helping hand?
   Our hearts were filled with fear.

There was no bonny lifeboat
   To skip above the wave,
To come across the raging tide,
   To rescue and to save.

The people on the island
   Were running to the pier:
The master stood upon the shore.
   And watched as we drew near.

But all of them were helpless
   As helpless as could be,
They cried aloud, they rushed along,
   They waded in the sea!

Not one of them could reach us
   Not one could give us aid;
It was a fearful time my boy,
   And we were sore afraid.

But standing by my master,
   And gazing on the sea.
Was Neptune, his Newfoundland dog,
   A noble fellow he!

He leapt into the water.
   And met the billows' strife.
Fighting each big wave as it came,
   And struggling for his life.

SAVED BY A DOG.

At last we saw him near us,
   We wondered what he meant,
We called to him to come on board.
   His strength was almost spent.

But Neptune would not heed us,
   Though he swam round and round;
What could the dog have come to do?
   What reason could be found?

At last Bill Fisher shouted;
  "Throw him a rope, my lad;
He may have come to give us help,
   I only wish he had!"

At once the dog plunged forward
   To catch the rope we threw;
We knew he meant to save us then.
   Our trusty friend and true.

He passed the rocks in safety.
   Then leapt upon the sand;
We heard them give a shout of joy
   When he had reached the land.

They seized the rope, they dragged us,
   You should have seen, my boy,
How Neptune watched us come ashore,
   And wagged his tail for joy.

They hoisted up the signal
   To spread the news around:
That every man of us was there,
   That all were safe and sound.

HOISTING THE SIGNAL.

And each man on the island,
   Both near and far away,
Came over to pat Neptune's head
   For his good work that day.

Now I must hurry homewards,
   There's Harry's wife and lad,
They've caught sight of the father's boat
   He likes to meet his dad!

You'll see him come ashore now;
   Ah! There he is! I'm right,
I thought when they jumped off the boat
   That Harry was in sight.

It's like the old days over
   To watch him come from sea.
She looks for him as Polly then
   So often looked for me.

I live with her and Harry.
   The rest are all away,
My Magpie's married to a man,
   Who lives in Plymouth Bay.

See, there are Harry's children,
   And now he's got his net
To carry home the baby in.
   She's Harry's little pet.

CRADLED IN HIS CALLING.

So good-day, Master Stanley.
   But come again, my dear,
I've many another yarn to spin,
   If you should care to hear.

And bring your sister with you.
   There's something in her eyes
That makes me think of little Jess.
   She's just about her size.

I often sit and wonder,
   If children older grow;
I lost her, Master Stanley,
   Some thirty years ago.

FATHER'S JOY.

They say old folks love dreaming,
Of things long since gone by:
I know when I begin to dream
A tear comes in my eye.

But I am sailing Homewards
   The Harbour is in sight,
And we shall be together lad,
   Within the Home of light.

It was upon her birthday,
   The day she was eleven,
Just ask your Mother if she thinks
   That they grow old in Heaven.

I sit and think about her,
   And think of Polly too;
I seem to hear them speak to me,
   I sometimes think they do.

Printed by Meissner & Buch. Chromo-Lithographers. LONDON & LEIPZIG.

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