Aye to his ear that native tone
Had something of the sea-wave's moan.

His mother's cabin-home, that lay
Where feathery cocoos fringe the bay;
The dashing of his brethren's oar,
The conch-note heard along the shore--
All through his wak'ning bosom swept:
He clasp'd his country's tree, and wept.

Oh! scorn him not. The strength whereby
The patriot girds himself to die;
The unconquerable power which fills
The foeman battling on his hills:
These have one fountain deep and clear,
The same whence gush'd that child-like tear!--

MRS. HEMANS.

* * * * *




A CHAPTER ON DOGS.


[Illustration: Letter N.]

Newfoundland Dogs are employed in drawing sledges laden with fish, wood,