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from Bangor, a little town on the opposite coast. The afternoon was calm and delightful; the sun shone in unclouded brightness, and every rolling billow was successively tinged with a line of light. At length Maurice; who had been stationed on a post at the pier-head in order to keep watch whilst his sisters were visiting the remains of an ancient fortress in the precincts of the town, gave an exulting shout':

“ Prepare ! prepare for your voyage!”. exclaimed he: For fresh blows the gale o'er the wide-mantling

ocean, And proudly the vessel repels the white foam, And high beats my heart with tumultuous emotion,

On leaving this spot for my dear native home.'

“ The steam-boat is actually in sight! I see a long curly volume of smoke rising into the air !"

In a few minutes the vessel was dis

tinctly seen; it drew nearer and nearer; and at length came within a few hundred yards of the pier. The passengers were then conveyed to it in little boats, and presently stationed safely on deck.

“ Are we moving, actually moving along?" inquired the little Rosina, as she seated herself, for the sake of secu= rity, on a bench by the side of her father.

“ Yes, my dear; we are moving at the rate of twelve miles an hour," said Mr. C... :

Rosina still looked incredulous.

“ I expected to feel the motion of the vessel,” said she ; “I did not expect it would be so imperceptible.”

“ By fixing your eye upon some object,” said Mr. C., "you may perceive, from the short time that elapses before it is left behind us, with what incredible celerity we move."

« There, then, I have fixed my eye

upon Puffin's Island, papa ; but Puffin's Island seems to move, and we still seem stationary,"

“ Have you never noticed the same effect when riding in a carriage ?” said Mr. C. “Do not the trees and hedges then appear to glide along with astonishing swiftness, though we know that they are in reality standing as still as

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“ Oh yes ! papa, that is certainly the case. It is the carriage that is moving in reality, and not the trees and hedges, as I used to imagine when I was a little girl. I understand now :-when I fix my eye upon Puffin's Island, or upon that high rock on the Carnarvonshire coast, it seems to move, though it is the vessel- the steam-vessel in which we are travelling, that moves in reality. I think, papa, that steam-vessels are wonderful inventions.”

“ They are indeed, my dear,” said

Mr. C. “The astonishing power of steam is almost incredible; it is applied to many purposes, but to none more wonderful than that of impelling a vessel across the wide and pathless ocean without the assistance of either wind or tide."

The children, entertained with the novelty of their situation, were full of life and gaiety: sometimes they amused themselves with looking through a telescope for various objects on the distant shore-the Falls of Abba, the Castle of Conway, &c. &c.; sometimes with gazing upon the “ billowy boundlessness," and watching the white sea-gulls that danced upon the surface of the silvery water ; or, as evening drew on, with discovering each successive lighthouse as it appeared, shining like a horizontal star, upon the rocky coast. At length the conversation turned upon the objects by which they were more immediately

surrounded, and upon the beauty of the
setting sun, which was now tinging the
waves with its declining light. Maria
was particularly delighted with the scene,
and after following it with a wistful eye
into the vales of glory which appeared
to open around its setting beams, she
repeated the following stanzas :
Amid the west the light decaying,

Like joy, looks loveliest ere it dies;
On ocean's breast the small waves playing,

Catch the last lustre as they rise.
Scarce the blue curling tide displaces

One pebble, in its gentle ebb;
Scarce on the smooth sand leaves its traces,

In meshes, fine as fairy's web.
From many a stone the sea-weed streaming,

Now floats-now falls the waves between; The yellow berries brighter seeming,

Amidst the wreaths of dusky green. This is the hour the loved are dearest,

This is the hour the severed meet; The dead, the distant, now are nearest, And joy is soft, and sorrow sweet."*

* Towusend.

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