112 Our North Land. 



'Twas true of the Norseman ; 'twas true of the Dane ; 

 'Twas true of the Norman, the Phoenician, 

 Also of the Saxon, who came to remain, 



With England's gay festivity. 



'Twas true of the Pilgrims who built Bunker Hill, 

 And 'tis true of the French at Quebec citadel, 

 And Patrick from Cork, who came to instil 

 A love of his nativity. 



Tis true of the German from dear " faderland ;" 

 'Tis true of all people, in tribe or in band, 

 From tropical Spain to India's strand — 



The course is bent instinctively. 



War-loving Csesar, extending the sway 

 Of proud, haughty Rome, in battle array, 

 In the march of his conquests, came on the same way, 

 In carnage and profanity. 



The world's march of commerce and science and skill, 

 In errands of blessing their work to fulfil, 

 Move in the same course — north-westerly still — 

 The path of Christianity. 



As soon as the anchor was down, and before breakfast had been 

 taken, Lieutenant Gordon, Captain Sopp and the writer, with two 

 of the ship's crew, jumped into the gig and pulled to the shore. 

 We first directed our attention to the graves. Walking a little to 

 the left and ascending to the high gravel ridge, about fifteen or 

 twenty feet above the level of the water, where the dead had been 

 buried in a long row parallel with the shore, along the top of the 

 elevation, a little mound of small stones marked each grave, 

 raised about two feet above the ground and rocks of which the 

 ridge was composed. At the first, and the most westerly, was a 

 high wooden monument newly painted white, on one side of which 

 was engraved and made very readable by the use of black paint, 

 the following inscription: — 



Sacred to the memory 



of 



Captain William Murphy, 



of 



Schooner Abbie Bradford, 



Who died of consumption at Marble Island, April 5th, 1881, aged 48 years. 



