"Indeed!" "Yes; Mr. Ephraims. He only gave notice of his intention two days before we sailed, and then brought the whole of his family. His abrupt departure caused some comment." "Mr. Ephraims!" Harry reiterated, in a tone of astonishment. "Yes; why, what's the matter?" "O, nothing, Mr. Mannington! I only happened to be acquainted with a person of the same name at home." ness, gave a courage to rely on his own power of overcoming obstacles. He knew that if right was on his side, might would certainly | be an ally. To Mr. Mannington he told the "round. unvarnished story," and explained the duplicities Ephraims practised on his uncle, with out reserve. "He has a character for being precious sharp in his transactions,” said Mr. Mannington: "and he is one of those men who are so plentiful nowadays, keeping up an appearance of respectability, while in business they are little better than the meanest thieves." If a thunderbolt had at that moment dropped at Harry's feet he would not have been more surprised. He had no proof that it was the Ephraims of his acquaintance; and even if it The Ephraims family consisted of paterwere, it could not greatly affect him. How- familias, mater-familias, and two olive branchever, he resolved to use the earliest opportu-es of the masculine gender one a young nity in satisfying his doubts, and that after- gentleman of seventeen, who had a weak noon he was gratified. Mr. Mannington sent idea that he was a cynic, and the other a him aft into the saloon with a message for the small boy of four years. The whole family captain. It was dinner time, and the passen- had a disgusting amount of pomposity ingers all sat at table. Prominent enough, too, grained in them, vainly endeavoring to do was Mr. Ephraims, surrounded by his family. | the "lordly" with the passengers, but making He started nervously, and uttered an involun- a miserable failure. Ephraims senior had a tary cry when he caught sight of Harry; but strong desire to make a lengthy speech at discovering it was no supernatural vision, he every meal; but, as he invariably commenced recovered himself, and bawled out, -ah-um with a long preface of hum — ah - ahem — ahems, and concluded with ejaculations, his oratorical efforts were not received "Halloa, young Thompson, are you here, on board my ship! Couldn't have believed it. You find first-rate discipline at sea - eh, young Thompson, eh?" -- -- with much favor. Ephraims junior was a young man of the period, a conceited ass, Mrs. Ephraims, who sat on her husband's who had an infallible belief in his own imright, here interposed. portance, although others had not. He dressed "That can't be the wretch who meditated in the height of fashion; wore black velvet murdering you, my love is it? Positively shooting-jackets, black silk hats, an eccentric you can see it in the young monkey's villanous eyeglass, that required no little persuasion beface. Ugh! his very look makes me shudder." | fore it would retain its proper position; turned Everybody turned their eyes on Harry at down the corners of his mouth; only half this juncture. He stood mortified and cha-opened his eyes; seldom took his hands out grined, unable, from a stifling sensation, to of his pocket, and was given to uttering the say a word. highest periodic commendation, "Not bad. not bad; be hanged if it is." Captain Bale quietly noted all, and inquired the cause of the fracas; but Ephraims declared, with calculated coolness, that he did not wish to ruin Harry's character, and would remain silent on the affair which his wife had so unfortunately divulged. Captain Bale. however, requested Harry to speak with him in his cabin, and when he heard the story narrated, he assured Harry that he had no occasion to fear anything. "Keep out of their way as much as you can, and I will see all goes fair." Ephraims minor was spoiled and pampered. and had a facile habit of placing his breadcrusts in close proximity with his mother's nose, and upsetting cups of coffee over the ladies' gowns at breakfast time. But of the brood Mrs. Ephraims was the irrepressible monarchical ruler. In her hands the majestic Mr. Ephraims became a puppet; the youth who laudably attempted to imitate the cynic's sneer, a child; and the amiable infant, who, having a taste for the beautiful, on one occaWith this assurance, Harry did not antici- sion daubed her face with raspberry jam bepate much trouble from the petty tyrannies cause of her inability to gratify one of his which Ephraims would likely attempt to show modest longings by getting a mermaid, an him. Moreover, he had a confidence in him- angel. She advocated woman's rights, was self, which, very different from presumptuous-strong-minded, and very fluent in small talk; in fact, impersonified in her was the entire family, and, as the sole representative of such, she became popularly known on the Independence as The Family." She anathematized Harry severely, and confided to the passengers a wonderful story, which represented him as a would-be assassin, who had contemplated murdering her husband, alluding to his glance at the ornament when he left his uncle's house. Meanwhile Harry went about his work as usual, regardless of the frequent presence of Ephraims senior, who lost no opportunity of keeping a martial supervision over him as he went about his duties. The voyage was rapidly drawing to a close, and in a few days their destination would be reached; and each day Harry's spirits, which had lately been drooping, grew more buoyant at the prospect of a speedy release from Ephraims' disagreeable presence. He tried but could not suppress a feeling of hatred caused by the wrongs he suffered, which was intensified by a knowledge of Ephraims' schemes to involve him in disgrace. Accidentally he overheard a conversation concerning himself between his enemy and the first mate. "That Thompson is a most infernal young scoundrel, and ought to be closely looked after. Lately I have been watching his manœuvres, having a previous reason for doubting his character; and now I am convinced he requires a sharp eye upon him. That fellow Mannington is much too thick with him, and there have been such things as conspiracies, mutinies, you know." Yes, the first mate knew it well, and he had been convinced for some time that Harry was not exactly square, and he too felt perfectly confident of it now; but perhaps the twentydollar bill Mr. Ephraims slipped into the mate's hand had an influence on the susceptibilities of the mate's nature. A few evenings after, Harry and Mr. Mannington were playing a game of chess in the latter's cabin. It was rather foggy on deck, and the wind scarcely filled the sails. The friends had just finished their watch, and come down to pass away an hour. "I expect we will be in Havana some time to-morrow," said Mr. Mannington; "and I shall be very glad of it, for I have felt awfully wicked towards Ephraims lately. Only yesterday I was working on the companion stairs, when that cowardly fellow, Ephraims junior, came and ordered me to tie his shoe-lace. If he had spoken civilly I would have done it; but he called me a puppy, and in return I emptied a bucket of water over him, which no doubt shocked his satirical nerves," put in Mr. Mannington, in parenthesis. "Yes, but wasn't there a kick-up! The Family insisted on Captain Bale putting me in irons, and E. senior impressively declared that he, the owner of the ship, would see it done. Captain Bale told them, however, that until the end of the voyage he was master of the ship, and would do what he considered proper. He said I was in the right, and recommended me to do the same again under similar circumstances. "Ah, ah! Halloa, Brown!" called Mannington to one of the sailors who passed by the cabin door; "how's the wind now?" "Slowly veering round to the north-east, sir; and the fog is getting thicker." "Ah! that's bad. Come along; let us get on with the game, Harry. Good Heavens, what is that!" A fearful shock was experienced; the ship quivered violently, and the seams of the deck for a moment opened. "We're aground, we're aground! Harry, come along!" suddenly cried Mr. Mannington, rushing on deck, closely followed by Harry. [CONCLUDED IN NEXT NUMBER.] Is it where the flying sand, No, ah, no! 'tis none of these: Where is the German's native home? Name to me the glorious land. Is it where the free-born Swiss Or where the gay Tyrolians dwell? Where is the German's fatherland? Breathe to me the glorious name. Where is the German's father-home? Is it the ill-fated land Snatched by Gallia's treacherous hand? By the villany of might? No, ah, no! it is not here: Breathe that spirit-stirring spell. 'Tis that! 'tis that! Hail, land divine! That is the German's native home "Tis there! 'tis there! Land of the free The whole of Germany shall be THE MARSEILLES HYMN.* BY ROUGET DE L'ISLE. E sons of freedom, wake to glory! YE Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise! Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling, And shall we basely view the ruin, With crimes and blood his hands imbruing? O, Liberty, can man resign thee, To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c. * We print this celebrated French national hymn, so that, in connection with the German hymn, our readers may understand, to some extent, the feelings of the two nations now at war, as expressed in their songs. ORIGINAL DIALOGUE. DISCONTENT. BY S. W. LIGHT. CHARACTERS. MRS. CLINTON; LOUISA, her Daughter; JACK, her Son; MARY SEDLEY, her Niece. SERVANT. SCENE I. A Parlor in a country house. Louisa. How it does rain! It always does when I want to do anything! Pour, pour, pour; drip, drip, drip! And I dare say the woods will be as wet as possible for a month. I think it's really too bad! Mrs. Clinton. Well, dear, since you can't help it, wouldn't it be wiser to get something to do, and try to forget it? Suppose you finish papa's book-mark; you know his birthday comes next week, and I'm afraid it won't be ready for him. Louisa. O, I can't; besides, such a day as this the colors look so awfully dingy! I hate to paint when the sun doesn't shine. Mrs. C. Well, then, there are those things for the Fair; they are not nearly finished. Louisa. (Fretfully.) I can't work on them, for I must get some more green worsted. 1 should think it might stop raining! Twill spoil my plants to be so soaked. Mrs. C. (With a sigh.) I believe your papa brought home the "Old Fashioned Girl" last night, and you will find it on the library table. I will read it to you and Mary while you work, if you like; or you can read it to yourself, as you prefer. Louisa. I hate books; besides, Mary's read it. (LOUISA drums on the window pane.) Mary. No matter for that, Lou; I'd like to hear it over again; that Polly, is such a dear! Louisa. Well, I don't want to, any way. Enter JACK. Mary. Here, Jack, I'll do it for you; I've done it for Charley many a time. Jack. (With a bow.) Thanks, most gracious maiden! I'll give you a keepsake out of my first pay. You're a regular big brick! Mary. Then I'm a tile, I suppose — eh? Enter a SERVANT with a note. Servant. It's for Miss Lou, it is, and the boy is waiting for an answer. Louisa. (Reads.) "DEAR LOU: I'm awfully sorry about the picnic; but we might as sick; so they wouldn't have gone any way; well make the best of it. Jenny Lester is and perhaps we can have it next week. Can't you and your cousin come in with your Fair things, and we will work together? I would that mamma doesn't want me to go out. Do go to you, only I've got such a horrid cold come. Your friend, AMY LEE." Well, now, that's better than nothing; let's go, Mary. Mrs. C. Lou, dear, you forget how Mary coughed last night. I really don't think it would be safe for her to go. tell the boy that Miss Sedley is too unwell to Louisa. (Sulkily.) O, no; of course! Ann, go out. Mary. Don't you stay for me, Lou; I'm happy enough with aunty any time; and I know mamma would rather I did not go. Louisa. O, no; besides, I don't believe Amy would want me alone; she took such a monstrous fancy to you at school, the other like so well. I declare, it's too mean to keep day. (Aside.) I don't see what she finds to me moping here with nothing to do. I don't believe 'twould hurt her a bit! It's all mam ma's notion. I do think I have an outra geously hard time; Jack bothering, and the weather or something always interfering! Mary. Here, Jack, here's your jacket. Down on your knees and thank me, sir! (JACK turns a somersault, aud comes right Jack. Button, button! Who's got the but-side up, with his foot on his sister's.) ton? And, secondly, who'll sew it on? Mrs. C. I'll try to, Jack, dear. Let me see it. Jack. No, you don't, little mother, not if I know myself, with that poor sore finger of yours; I'll turn tailor myself first. Louisa. I should think Jack would better learn to sew on his own buttons, if he's going into the army; he'll have to do it himself then. Jack. Ha! won't it be jolly, though, when I get the eagles chained to my blue jacket? But they're not caught yet; and, meantime (looks doubtfully at LOUISA), where will I find a needle and thread, mother? Louisa. Jack, do get out of the way! You've almost killed me! I never saw such a clumsy boy! I don't want such thanks. Jack. Lou, I'm confounded sorry; I didn't mean to, you know. 'Twas such a feat for these feet to perform that my purpose was defeated. Mrs. C. You'll earn your reputation for bad puns, Jack. Some of them are so remote, that it would take a strong glass to find them. Jack. Well, mother, better take to puns than to punch! I say, aren't you half baked here? Louisa. No; I'm almost frozen with this horrid east wind! Fack. I beg your pardon. 'Twas only your being so crusty that made me think of it. (LOUISA bursts out crying.) O, it rains inside as well as out. Did you ever hear of the reign of Queen Lou? Listen to the chronicles thereof. In the reign of Queen Lou, before the time of the harvest, there was a great rain that washed the face of Nature, and the faces of the maidens. Now the heart of Nature was gladdened, and the hearts of the maidens were saddened, being sore with the yearning they had for the green woods and fields, where they expected to meet the sons and daughters of the country; for where the sons were, there was always sonshine. And it came to pass in those days (They all laugh.) - Mrs. C. Jack, you're perfectly incorrigible. You had better go out. Jack. I know, mother; old Ped said yesterday I was reprehensible, to-day I was irrepressible; one of these days I'll be irresistible, and all the rest of it; but now I'll be amiable. Come out, Lou, and see my rabbit hutch. Doady's got three of the cunningest little bunnies that you ever saw. I've put boards down, so you won't wet your feet, and I'll get an umberill. (Produces a doll's sunshade from his pocket.) reading and crying over it, she said she would rather I would tell you about it; and, mamma, O, mamma! (Sobs.) What do you think I have lost? She said that when she came here, her father said that if she wanted to, she might ask me to go with them to Niagara next month; I suppose he meant if she liked me well enough; and she wrote Lou she would not ask me; and I know 'twas just because I got in a pet to-day. I think it's too bad! Mrs. C. But, Lou, doesn't the difficulty lie deeper than a mere pet? Isn't it a habit? Louisa. I guess she thinks it is; for she says I am "so uncivil and uncomfortable that she would be ashamed to have me go with them;" just those very words, mamma; and that she would rather have Jack go; that great awkward boy; only think of it! O, I am so miserable! (Rocks herself to and fro, crying bitterly.) Mrs. C. My child, if I could hear you say. I am so sorry,' I should feel as if you had found the way out of this trouble; but you never will, until you care more for the fact of having done wrong, than for your present, disappointment. Louisa. If they were going anywhere else, I shouldn't care so much about it; but Niag Louisa. (Rising.) What a pest boys are! ara! where I've always wanted to go so much! I'll go this time. Fack. Leave out the "s," Lou, and you're all right. Two or three years make all the difference. A young mustache, a tasselled cane, and a swell coat! and O, we're such dear fellows! Well, come on. You too, Mary. Mary. No, I must go up stairs and write a letter. [Exeunt. SCENE II. - MRS. CLINTON'S Bed-room. MRS. C. alone. Mrs. C. I really don't know what to do with Lou. No influence of mine can reach her discontented spirit. Reproof and kindness are alike useless; and I think I must leave it, till circumstances shall one day teach her such a lesson as she will never forget. Enter LOUISA in tears; throws herself on a cushion at her mother's feet, and buries her face in her lap. Mrs. C. My dear, what is the matter? Louisa. O, mamma, I do think I'm the most unlucky girl that ever was! (Sobs violently.) As I passed through my room, I picked up a letter which began, "My dear Lou," and thought it was for me; but it was one that Mary had written to her own sister Lou Sedley. Of course she didn't mean for any one else to see it; but when she found me I can't bear it, so! She talks about asking me there next winter! I won't go, if she invites me forty times! Mrs. C. I shall not allow you to go, while you carry about a spirit so sinful in itself, so disagreeable to others, and so mortifying to me. Louisa. To you, mamma? I didn't know it hurt you! I don't care much for other people; but you, mamma! (Sobs afresh.) I will try to do better. I didn't know I was so horrid! Enter JACK unperceived. Jack. No; you're real jolly sometimes, though you have been awful cross to-day; that's a fact! Louisa. Well, Jack, I am sorry I didn't sew on your button; I suppose 'twas the ugliness in me that made me not want to do it. Jack. No matter about that; I wish I could help you out of this mess; but I'll take you to Niagara on my first leave. Mrs. C. 'Tis not that Lou wants, Jack; she needs to find the land whose ways are pleasantness and whose paths are peace. This is a bitter lesson for her; but I hope it may prove the greatest blessing that has ever come to my dear child. But now let us go and find Mary, who must be deeply mortified at the result of her letter. [Exeunt. |