The esteemed and talented one was there. He who had studied, with the love of the scholar, the sober reason of philosophy, and the earnest faith of religion,-whose lips had poured forth the words of instruction and of genius, and whose voice had been heard in the blessed ministrations of the gospel-was called upon thus to die,- to die suddenly and amid a scene of horror,-to die while on his way to fulfill a duty of his sacred station,-to die far away from the graves of his fathers and from his native land, and even from the tombs of those dear to him in the home of his adoption,— and, O! to die away from the arms of that devoted wife, who sorrowed for his absence, and waited with yearning fondness for his return. But he died leaving fresh, green memories in the hearts of those who knew him, and a good name in the world; and better than all, he died with his armor on, as a soldier of the cross. He passed away amid the strife of the physical elements and the sufferings of keenest bodily anguish; but we may believe that soul that had imbibed the principles of Jesus was calm and triumphant amid it all, and supported and brightened with the undying hope of the Christian.

Maternal affection was there, deep, firm and true to the last. Doubtless she struggled long for the boon of life; not only for herself,—O! not only for herself!--but for that dear babe. But when death came to relieve the little suffering child, and she gazed upon its pale brow, and saw that it was dead,--when she felt the coldness gathering closer about her own yearning heart, and her eyes growing dim,-still, still was she true to the unconquerable impulse of a mother's love; and she tore her vail from off her, and cast it about the face of that sleeping one, that the winds and the waves and the ice might not treat it roughly, and that, when they should find its little corse, it might be all as unmarred and natural as if it had been borne in its mother's arms, and laid in the calmness and beauty of its stony slumber at their feet! And then life fluttered and went out in that true heart, and she sunk to her unknown grave!

And So, in various modes, and under circumstances marked by various degrees of horror, the young, the old, the rich, the poor, the talented, the weak, the strong,-tender woman and haughty manhood, the budding youth and the helpless child, so they were swept away, upon that night, and devoured by the elements; with wild struggle and terrible agonies of death, with the flames hissing behind them, and the

--

waters yawning before, they passed from existence, a f mass of human life,

"Unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown."

Ex. CCVII.-SOLILOQUY OF THE DYING ALCHEMIST.

N. P. WILLIS.

THE night wind with a desolate moan swept by;
And the old shutters of the turret swung,
Creaking upon their hinges; and the moon,
As the torn edges of the clouds flew past,
Struggled aslant the stained and broken panes
So dimly, that the watchful eye of death
Scarcely was conscious when it went and came.

The fire beneath his crucible was low;
Yet still it burned; and ever as his thoughts
Grew insupportable, he raised himself
Upon his wasted arm, and stirred the coals
With difficult energy, and when the rod
Fell from his nerveless fingers, and his eye
Felt faint within its socket, he shrunk back
Upon his pallet, and with unclosed lips
Muttered a curse on death!

The silent room,

From its dim corners, mockingly gave back
His rattling breath; the humming in the fire
Had the distinctness of a knell; and when
Duly the antique horologe beat one,
He drew a phial from beneath his head,
And drank. And instantly his lips compressed,
And, with a shudder in his skeleton frame,
He rose with supernatural strength, and sat
Upright, and communed with himself:-

I did not think to die

Till I had finished what I had to do;

I thought to pierce th' eternal secret through
With this my mortal eye;

I felt, O God! it seemeth even now

This can not be the death-dew on my brow!

...1

And yet it is, I feel,

Of this dull sickness at my heart, afraid;
And in my eyes the death-sparks flash and fade;
And something seems to steal

Over my bosom like a frozen hand,—
Binding its pulses with an icy band.

And this is death! But why
Feel I this wild recoil? It can not be
Th' immortal spirit shuddereth to be free:
Would it not leap to fly

Like a chained eaglet at its parent's call?
I fear, I fear,—that this poor life is all!

Yet thus to pass away!—

To live but for a hope that mocks at last,—
To agonize, to strive, to watch, to fast,
To waste the light of day,

Night's better beauty, feeling, fancy, thought,
All that we have and are,-for this,-for naught!

Grant me another year,

God of my spirit!-but a day,—to win
Something to satisfy this thirst within!
I would know something here!
Break for me but one seal that is unbroken!
Speak for me but one word that is unspoken!

Vain,-vain!-my brain is turning

With a swift dizziness, and my heart grows sick,
And these hot temple-throbs come fast and thick,
And I am freezing,-burning,-
Dying! O God! if I might only live!
My phial- -Ha! it thrills me,-I revive.

Aye, were not man to die,

He were too mighty for this narrow sphere! Had he but time to brood on knowledge here,Could he but train his eye,

Might he but wait the mystic word and hour,— Only his Maker would transcend his power!

Earth has no mineral strange,

Th' illimitable air no hidden wings,—
Water no quality in covert springs,
And fire no power to change,-

Seasons no mystery, and stars no spell,
Which the unwasting soul might not compel.

Oh, but for time to track
The upper stars into the pathless sky,-
To see th' invisible spirits, eye to eye,—
To hurl the lightning back,-

To tread unhurt the sea's dim-lighted halls,-
To chase day's chariot to the horizon-walls,-

And more, much more,-for now

The life-sealed fountains of my nature move,—
To nurse and purify this human love,—
To clear the godlike brow

Of weakness and mistrust, and bow it down
Worthy and beautiful, to the much-loved one,-

This were indeed to feel

The soul-thirst slaken at the living stream,-
To live, O God! that life is but a dream!
And death- -Aha! I reel,-

Dim,-dim,-I faint,-darkness comes o'er my eye,-
Cover me! save me!- God of heaven! I die!

'T was morning, and the old man lay alone.
No friend had closed his eyelids, and his lips,
Open and ashy pale, th' expression wore
Of his death-struggle. His long silvery hair
Lay on his hollow temples thin and wild,
His frame was wasted, and his features wan
And haggard as with want, and in his palm
His nails were driven deep, as if the throe
Of the last agony had wrung him sore.

The storm was raging still. The shutter swung
Creaking as harshly in the fitful wind,
And all without went on,-as aye it will,
Sunshine or tempest, reckless that a heart
Is breaking, or has broken, in its change.

The fire beneath the crucible was out;
The vessels of his mystic art lay round,
Useless and cold as the ambitious hand
That fashioned them, and the small rod,
Familiar to his touch for threescore years,

Lay on th' alembic's rim, as if it still
Might vex the elements at its master's will.

And thus had passed from its unequal frame
A soul of fire, a sun-bent eagle stricken
From his high soaring down;-an instrument
Broken with its own compass. O, how poo
Seems the rich gift of genius, when it lies,
Like the adventurous bird that hath-out-flow
His strength upon the sea, ambition-wrecked,
A thing the thrush might pity, as she sits
Brooding in quiet on her lowly nest.

Ex. CCVIII.—THE MAIN TRUCK, OR A LEAP FOR LIFE.

OLD Ironsides at anchor lay

In the harbor of Mahon
A dead calm rested on the bay,-
The waves to sleep had gone
When little Hal, the captain's son,
A lad both brave and good,

In sport, up shroud and rigging ran,
And on the main truck stood!

A shudder shot through every vein,-
All eyes were turned on high!
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,
Between the sea and sky;

No hold had he above, below;

Alone he stood in air:

To that far height none dared to go ;—
No aid could reach him there.

We gazed, but not a man could speak
With horror all aghast,

In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,
We watched the quivering mast.
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
And of a lurid hue ;-

As riveted unto the spot,

Stood officers and crew.

MORRIS.