Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 46

CHAPTER V.

"Then thy ship has put in for repairs?" said Simon Prim, as he entered Granton & Co.'s office, on Wall-street.

"What?" exclaimed Mr. Granton, who had heard nothing of the matter.

Simon, pulling a paper from his pocket, read:

"LOSS OF LIFE AT SEA.--By a pa.s.senger in the 'Sultan,' from--, we are informed that the ship 'Tangus,' from this port, bound to Sumatra, and owned by Messrs. Granton & Co., of this city, put in at that place in a dismasted condition.

"The 'Tangus' had been three weeks out, when, in a gale, four men were washed overboard. The remainder of her crew being insensible, and the whole duty falling upon the captain and cook, they with great difficulty managed the ship. It is rumored that all were intoxicated. This is the seventh case of loss at sea, caused by intemperance, within four months. When will men become wise, and awake to their own interests on this topic?"

The ship-owner rapidly paced his office. "Can it be?" said he to himself. "Can it be?"

"Give thyself no trouble, friend," said Prim; "what is done is done, and can't be undone. Thy ship is not lost, and things are not so bad as they might be. Look to the future, and mourn not over the past; and remember that it is very dangerous to have a jug afloat."

These few words somewhat quieted him, yet not wholly, At this moment the wife of Captain Marlin entered. Having heard of the news, she came to learn all that was known respecting it.

"Madam," said he, after relating all he knew, "my mind is changed on the question we some time since discussed. Yes, madam, my mind is changed, and from this hour I will do all I can to exterminate the practice of carrying grog to sea for the crew. And I tell thee what," he continued, turning to friend Prim, who stood near by, "I tell thee what, thee was right in thy predictions; and, though it has been a dear lesson to me, I have learned from it that it is poor policy that puts a jug afloat."

GIVE, AND STAY THEIR MISERY.

WOULD ye who live in palace halls, With servants round to wait, Know aught of him who, craving, falls Before thine outer gate?

Come with me when the piercing blast Is whistling wild and free, When m.u.f.fled forms are hurrying past, And then his portion see.

Come with me through the narrow lanes To dwellings dark and damp, Where poor men strive to ease their pains; Where, by a feeble lamp, The wearied, widowed mother long Doth busy needle ply, Whilst at her feet her children throng, And for a morsel cry.

Come with me thou in such an hour, To such a place, and see That He who gave thee wealth gave power To stay such misery!

Come with me,--nor with empty hand Ope thou the poor man's door; Come with the produce of thy land, And thou shalt gather more.

THE SPIRIT OF MAN.

YE cannot bind the spirit down; It is a thing as free As the albatross-bird that wings Its wild course o'er the sea.

Go, bind the lightning, guide the sun, Chain comets, if you can; But seek not with thy puny strength To bind the soul of man.

Though all the powers of earth combine, And all their strength enroll, To bind man's body as they will, They cannot bind his soul.

No power on earth can hold it down, Or bid it hither stay, As up to heaven with rapid course It tireless wings its way.

Time is too limited for it, And earth is not its clime; It cannot live where sound the words, "There is an end to time."

It seeks an endless, boundless sphere, In which to freely roam; Eternity its course of life, Infinity its home.

There, there will it forever live; And there, a spirit free, 'T will range, though earth may pa.s.s away, And Time no longer be.

PAUSE AND THINK.

O! HOW many souls are sorrowing In this sunlit world, to-day, Because Wrong, heaven's livery borrowing, Leadeth trusting souls astray; Because men, all thoughtless rushing, Dance along on Error's brink, And, the voice of conscience hushing, Will not for a moment think!

'T is the lack of thought that bringeth Man to where he needs relief; 'T is the lack of thought that wringeth All his inner self with grief.

Would he give a moment's thinking Ere his every step is made, He would not from light be shrinking, Groping on in Error's shade!

Think, immortal! thou art treading On a path laid thick with snares, Where mischievous minds are spreading Nets to catch thee unawares.

Pause and think! the next step taken May be that which leads to death; Rouse thee! let thy spirit waken; List to, heed the word it saith!

Think, ere thou consent to squander Aught of time in useless mirth; Think, ere thou consent to wander, Disregarding heaven-winged truth.

When the wine in beauty shineth, When the tempter bids thee drink, Ere to touch thy hand inclineth, Be thou cautious-pause and think!

Think, whatever act thou doest; Think, whatever word is spoke; Else the heart of friend the truest May be by thee, thoughtless, broke.

How much grief had been prevented, If man ne'er had sought to shrink From the right:-to naught consented, Until he had paused to think!

LITTLE NELLY.

MATILDA was a fashionable girl,--a young lady, perhaps, would be the more respectable name by which to call her. She had been reared in affluence. She had never known a want. She had had wants, but she did not know it. She had wanted many things that make a lady's life indeed a life. But Matilda never dreamt of such things.

It was n't fashionable to love the outcast, and therefore she bestowed no pitying look on them. It was n't fashionable to give a few pennies even to a poor, lame orphan girl in the street. So she pretended not to have noticed the plea of little Nelly, who had accosted her during her morning rambles.

"Little Nelly." I remember how she looked when at twilight she sat down on a curb-stone to count the money. She looked sorrowful. She was, indeed, worthy of pity; but little she got. The crowd went hurrying, hustling on: few thoughts came down to little Nelly, on the curb-stone. It had been a gala day. Red flags had flaunted on high poles, and there had been a great noise of drums and fifes, and everybody had seemed happy. Why, then, should sorrow come, with its dark lantern, and look in the face of this little girl?