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46 Fannie on the Stair. Little Fannie on the stair, Warbles when the day, Waking from her starry sleep, Laughing, comes this way. Out among the apple blooms Sing tho merry birds of Jvine; Fannie, singing on the stair, Iveepeth sweetest tune. Dimpled feet, aflusli with rose, Patter down the stair — Snowy robes and twining arms. Sunny eyes and hair. Ah! how glad the day will be With a morn so bright; God in mercy keep our bird Safe from sin and blight. Little Fannie, winsome child, Eyes that haunt inc still; Bless her, Saviour, once a babe, Touch that earnest will With the holy grace and love Unto angels giv.en, Till she climbs the golden stair. Singing up to heaven. MAROONER’S ISLAND ; OH, Dr. Gordon in Search, of His Children. BY REV. F. R . GOULDING, Author of “ The Young Muroonera .” CHAPTER Y. THE FIRST NIGIIT ASHORE. M EERY crowd they were, and many a harm less prank was played off 18h under the grave yet com placent eyes of’ those sit ting at the door of what some of the men called the marquee , for sol diers released from duty are like Yi boys let out of school. Dr. Gordon, whose rule it was to cultivate cheerfulness under all circum stances, and whose habit it was to watch the different devices by which men ac complished the various acts of life, inter ested himself in observing the men while they enjoyed their tea. “I say, Pah-thrick,” said Jones, ad dressing Thompson, and trying to imitate the brogue of a south of Ireland man, « how do people in ould Ireland manage to dhrink their tay out of tin cups when it is scaling hot, and there is no saucer to cool it in ?” “We drink it so,” replied Thompson, suiting the action to the word, and pla cing his cup beside him on the ground to cool. “ And, moreover,” he retorted in a fair English tone, which he could assume at will, being a mid-country man, and having less than usual of the national ac cent, “my name is not Patrick any more than yours is Sambo. My mother called me Swan because I was so white and pretty, and I have been called so ever since.” “ That must have been when you were BURKE’S WEC ISKLY. a baby,” returned Jones, “for you are a very different looking swan now.” “ Do you want to know why ?” Thomp son inquired. “ When I was only a little boy my mother married a man by the name of Jones, and after that I stopped taking after my own father, and got to looking like the Joneses. That is tho reason 1 am no better looking now.” This preposterous statement —more de cidedly American than Irish, however, — completely turned the laugh against Jones, who, nevertheless, persisted in his original purpose, for he and Thompson were excellent friends, and they enjoyed themselves much in their rough jests up- on each other. “But,” said he, “if there are such things in Ireland as hot tea and tin cups, I should be glad to know how they man age them together, that I may judge whether our American plan is not better.” “ We have plenty of tea in Ireland,” Thompson replied, “ and plenty of tin cups too, but we are too wise to use them together hot. We wait till they are cool.” “That would be too slow for us fast Americans,” said Jones. “ I’ll tell you how we manage out thar in Georgy, whar I come from,” chimed in Simpson, who perceived from the signs that there was some fun in prospect, “we pour in plenty of cold milk.” “ Don’t you ?” said Thompson, smack ing his lips at the thought; “and wouldn’t we do the same if we had it?” “ But as you haven’t it, what would you do to save time ?” said Jones, persist ing in his persecution; but Thompson seemed to be tired of the joke and ceased to answer; Jones, therefore, addressed the question to Wheeler, who replied: “ I would do as I am doing now ; break into it my bread, and then eat with a spoon ; by the time my biscuit is soaked and eaten, my tea is cool enough to drink.” “ And now, friend Sambo,” said Thomp son, “after having asked so many times, it is only fair that we should hear what you would do.” This question was exactly what Jones had been all along trying to draw out from Thompson, for, knowing well his habits, and seeing that he was preparing as usual to toast his bread at the fire, he had used the intervals when the other’s back was turned, to play upon him a prac tical joke. He had emptied Thompson’s canteen of water on the ground, then poured the tea into the canteen, and final ly placed the empty tin cup on the wet earth to appear as if tho tea had been lost. “ What would Ido r he replied ; “ why I would pour my tea into my empty can teen, and then pour it, little by little, in to my cup; just so.” Jones was about to give an illustration of his mode of procedure, but was brought to a sudden stop. His own cup was miss ing. Wildcat, who was passing, with noiseless tread, to the rear of tho group at the moment when Jones’ attention was engrossed, and whose quick eye discerned the trick about to be perpetrated, resolved to add to the amusement of the company by a little prank of his own. He carried off Jones’ cup, and with a sly wink, put it into the hands of Magruder, the senti nel ; after which he came to the tea pot and soberly poured out his own tea, just as Jones, discovering his misfortune, call ed out, “Where’s my cup ?” “That ore’s hit, ain’t hit?” said Simp son laughing and pointing to Thompson’s forlorn-looking cup. “Blessed Saint Patrick!” exclaimed Thompson, looking ruefully at the wet ground and the capsized cup; “ that’s mine ! me own darling tea ! and lost it is forever!” “Lost? no!” rejoined Wheeler; 1, 1 heard you say yesterday that a thing is never lost when you know where it is. But poor Jones’ tea is lost, for it is gone where I dare say he will never find it again.” Jones’ face by' this time had stretched to such length that Thompson burst into a laugh, saying : “ Come, Jones, let’s be content with wa ter in place of tea. People say that mis ery loves com pi any, and sure we both have reason to be thankful for having each a neighbor as bad off as ourself.’ With this remark he put his hand upon his canteen, and, perceiving from its changed temperature the harmless nature of the joke played upion him, he said : “ Feel in your canteen, Sambo ; I sus piect somebody has been cooling the tea for you too.” Jones felt there, but in vain, then said resignedly to his companions : “ Well, fellows, I have got only what 1 deserved, for not watching while in such company as this is. So I’ll drink my wa ter, and say nothing more about the tea. While thus making the best of his mis fortune, (for Jones was a dear lover oi the beverage, and that lost cup had emit ted a most delicious odor,) Wildcat came gravely forward, and ptresenting his ova smoking cup said, in a tone of mock com passion, but with his Indian order ol words: “ Here ! half of mine take ! Your cup ( hand it to me.”