"'Man may trouble and distress me; 'Twill but drive me to thy breast. Life with trials hard may press me; Heaven will bring me sweeter rest. Oh! 'tis not in grief to harm me, While thy love is left to me! Oh! 'twere not in joy to charm me, Were that joy unmixed with Thee.
"'Take, my soul, thy full salvation; Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care; Joy to find in every station Something still to do or bear! Think what Spirit dwells within thee; What a Father's smile is thine; What thy Saviour did to win thee,-- Child of Heav'n, should'st thou repine?
"'Haste then on from grace to glory, Armed by faith, and winged by prayer; Heaven's eternal day's before thee; Heaven's own hand shall guide thee there. Soon shall close thy earthly mission; Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days; Hope soon change to glad fruition, Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.'"
EMMA. "What a beautiful hymn, grandmamma. I should like to learn those words. But I want to hear how you got Frederic away from that horrid man, and what became of him afterwards, because I cannot understand why you are telling us _this_ story. I know you never tell us anything for amusement only."
GRANDY. "No, my dear child; this story is not solely for your amusement. This morning I observed a strangeness in George's behavior, when he was requested to put up his microscope, and assist in laying the cloth, because John was out, and he was aware that Hannah had sprained her foot, and could not walk up and down stairs. He said such extraordinary things about being ill-used, and worked hard, and never having an hour to amuse himself, that I am desirous of convincing him that it is quite possible (with God's assistance) not only to bear all this, without thinking it a shame, as George termed it, but even to praise God for the troubles and trials which may fall to your lot; and I also wish to inform him, that there _are_ some boys more patient and grateful than himself. But I see, by the color mounting to his cheeks, that my boy is sorry for his past behavior; nevertheless, I will continue my story. And now for the _incident_, as I presume you will call it, Emma.
"We were about a week's voyage from Jamaica. The wind was favorable, but light, the sky clear, the sun directly overhead;--we were all beginning to feel the effects of a warm climate; the sailors were loosely clad in canvass trousers, striped shirts, and straw hats, and went lazily about their work;--the ship moved as lazily through the rippling waves;--the man at the helm drew his hat over his eyes, to shade them from the glare of the sun, and lounged listlessly upon the wheel;--the captain was below taking a nap, to the great relief of men and boys;--some of the passengers were sitting on the poop, under an awning, drowsily perusing a book or old newspaper; some leaning on the taffrail, watching the many-colored dolphin, and those beautiful, but spiteful, little creatures, the Portuguese men-of-war, which look so splendid as they sail gently on the smooth surface of the blue ocean, every little ripple causing a change of color in their transparent sails. I was admiring these curious navigators, as I stood with two or three friends, who, like myself, felt idle, and cared only to dispose of the time in the most agreeable manner attainable in such a ship, with such a commander; and I said, rather thoughtlessly, considering Frederic was at my side, 'How I should like to possess one of those little creatures; I suppose they _can_ be caught?'