idea of a museum; for though he knew nothing of its proper arrangement, he had good sense enough to perceive that it was a very ready means of acquiring and retaining knowledge.

"But the name of this island," said Robert, musing; "I have several times wished that we had one. And why should we not? for who has a better right to give it a name than we, its only inhabitants?"

He expressed the mind of the whole company, and they soon proceeded to call upon each other for nominations. "The rule in such cases, I have heard, is to begin with the youngest," said Robert. "So Master Frank, do you tell us what you would have it called."

Frank mused a moment, and replied, "I will call it Turkey Island; because turkeys were the first thing we saw here."

"My name, I think, will be the Island of Hope," said Mary, as her brother's eye rested on her. "We have certainly been hoping ever since we came, and will continue to hope until we get away."

"Yes, but we sometimes despaired, too," answered Robert, "especially on the morning after the storm. I have thought of the Cal、 osa name-the Enchanted Island."

"Please, Massa," Sam implored, "don't call um by dat name. I begin to see ghosts now;

and I 'fraid, if you call um so, I will see ghosts and sperits all de time."

“I think a more suitable name still,' said Harold, "is the Island of Refuge. It has certainly been to us a refuge from the sea, and from the storm. And if it is the Enchanted Island, of which Riley spoke, it will also prove a refuge from the Indians, for none will dare to trouble us here."

Sam declined suggesting any name. He said, pointing across the river to the bluff, where he had met with his accident, "Dat my place, obe' turrah side; and my name for him is Poor Hope." The name decided by universal acclamation, was THE ISLAND OF REFUGE.

"I wish we had a horn of oil," said Robert, I would anoint it, as discoverers are said to do. And if any person could suggest an appropriate speech I would repeat it on the occasion; but the only words I can think of now are,

'Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!'

And much as I admire everything around, I hope ero long to repeat those words in truth."

* That is my place, over the other side.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THEIR SECOND SABBATH ON THE ISLAND, AND THE WAY THEY SPENT IT.

ON coming together in the morning, Robert proposed that they should add to their usual religious exercises the singing of a hymn. "It is father's plan," said he, "to mark the Sabbath with as many pleasant peculiarities as possible."

Harold was gratified with the suggestion, but remarked, "As I cannot sing, you must allow me to join you in my heart, or else to assist the music with my flute."

"Oh, the flute, by all means !'' Mary replied. "And see here what a beautiful hymn I have just found!"

Robert took the book, and read with remarkable appropriateness of tone and manner that exquisite hymn by Dr. Watts, beginning

"My God, how endless is thy love !"

The music that morning was unusually sweet. The voices of the singers were rendered plaintive by a consciousness of their helpless situation; and

the rich tones of the flute, together with Sam's African voice, which was marked by indescrib able mellowness, added greatly to the effect.

The subject of the chapter was the parable of the prodigal son. Sam, poor fellow, raised himself on his elbow, and listened attentively; his remark made afterwards to Mary, showed that, however far beyond his comprehension a great part of the parable may have been, he had caught its general drift and meaning. "De Lord is berry kind; he meet de sinner afore he get home, and forgib him ebbery ting."

About nine o'clock the young people separated, with the understanding that they were to re-assemble at eleven, for the purpose of reading the Scriptures, and of conversation about its teachings.

Robert went to the beach, and taking his seat upon a log, near the flag-staff, looked upon the ocean, and engaged in deep reflection upon their lonely situation, and the waning prospects of their deliverance. His Testament gradually slipped from his grasp, and his head sunk between his knees. Such was his absorption of mind, that the big drops gathered upon his forehead, and he was conscious of nothing except of his separation from home, and of the necessity for exertion. At last he heard a voice from the tent. Harold and Mary were beckoning to him; and looking up to the

sun, he saw that eleven o'clock had come and passed. He sprang to his feet, and in doing so, was rebuked to see lying on the ground the Testament which he had taken to read, but had not opened.

Harold, on leaving the tent, took his pocket Bible and strolled up the river bank, to a pleasant cluster of trees, where he selected a seat upon the projecting root of a large magnolia. His mind also reverted naturally to their lonely situation; but he checked the rising thoughts, by saying to himself, "No. I have time enough during the week for thoughts like these. The Sabbath is given for another purpose, which it will not do for me longer to neglect. When the Lord delivered us in that strange way at sea, I resolved to live like a Christian, but I have neither lived nor felt as I ought. The Lord forgive me for my neglect, and help me to do better." He knelt down, and for several minutes was engaged in endeavouring to realize that he was in the presence of God. His first words were a hearty confession that, although he had been early taught to know his duty, he had not done it, nor had the heart to do it; and, though in the experience of countless blessings, he had never been grateful for any until the time of that unexpected deliverance. He thanked God for having taught him by that dreadful accident to feel that he was a sinner, and that it was a ter