ing's sons being there, this poor fellow must
inevitably have perished."

We are sure that the birthday of the heroine referred to in the above
extracts was celebrated in many a home, and that hundreds of thousands
of people wished her many happy returns of the day, a wish which,
however, was not to be realised. But there can be no doubt that the
day was a most happy one to her; for it is not many who, looking back
upon a past year, can think of any good deed that deserves to stand
side by side with that of Grace Darling.

The following birthday lines were written for her by Mr. J. G. Grant,
of Sunderland:---

"Maid of the Isle, heroic Grace!
'Midst desert rocks and tempests thrown,
As though in sternest clime and place,
Where life and man have scarce a trace,
Maternal Nature would embrace
A heroine of her own!

"Methinks, while yet in cradled sleep,
She loved and destined thee to be
A dweller of the craggy steep,
A watcher of the stormy deep,
And bade its wild waves nurse and keep
Thy heart as strong and free.

"She bade thee draw a deep delight--
An influence kind--an impulse brave,
From every season in its flight,
From gentle Spring and Summer bright,
From golden Autumn, and the might
Of winter's wind and wave.

"By every aspect she could show,
In heaven above and earth below,
She bade thy spirit statelier grow,
And 'champion human fears!'
Courage and love she bade thee know,
And with the noblest passions glow,
And melt with noblest tears!

"Like Ocean's daughter--Peril's bride--
She nurs'd thee by the roaring tide,
The playmate of its storms,
And bade thee be in soul allied
With moral grandeur, strength and pride,
To her thy monitress and guide
In all her moods and forms.

"To thee she said, in accents bland,
'These desert rocks and wild sea-land
Shall be as dear a father-land
As ever yet was dearest;
'Midst all of lone, and stern, and grand,
Thy heart shall burn, thy soul expand,
And thou shall know and understand
_My_ voice in all thou hearest

"'Day's radiant arch--night's cloudy dome,
Alike shall see thee fearless roam,
And life to thee shall dear become,
And thou its humblest forms shall blend
With the sweet charities of home,
S'en the poor sea-bird on the foam
Shalt be to thee a friend!'

"This nature wills; her will avails,
Thy matchless deed may show.