were holding their way with rushing prow and roaring wheels, but invisible. At a league's distance, unconscious, and at nearer approach unwarned; within hail, and bearing right toward each other, unseen, unfelt, till in a moment more, emerging from the gray mists, the ill-omened Vesta dealt her deadly stroke to the Arctic. The death-blow was scarcely felt along the mighty hull. She neither reeled nor shivered. Neither commander nor officers deemed that they had suffered harm. Prompt upon humanity, the brave Luce (let his name be ever spoken with admiration and respect,) ordered away his boat with the first officer to inquire if the stranger had suffered harm. As Gourley went over the ship's side, Oh, that some good angel had called to the brave commander in the words of Paul on a like occasion, "Except these abide in the ship, ye can not be saved.” They departed, and with them the hope of the ship, for now the waters gaining upon the hold, and rising up upon the fires, revealed the mortal blow. Oh, had now that stern, brave mate, Gourley, been on deck, whom the sailors were wont to mind-had he stood to execute efficiently the commander's will—we may believe that we should not have had to blush for the cowardice and recreancy of the crew, nor weep for the untimely dead. But, apparently, each subordinate officer lost all presence of mind, then courage, and so honor. In a wild scramble, that ignoble mob of firemen, engineers, waiters and crew, rushed for the boats, and abandoned the helpless women, children, and men to the mercy of the deep! Four hours there were from the catastrophe of the collision to the catastrophe of SINKING! Oh, what a burial was here! Not as when one is borne from his home, among weeping throngs, and gently carried to the green fields, and laid peacefully beneath the turf and the flowers. No priest stood to pronounce a burial service. It was an ocean grave. The mists alone shrouded the burialplace. No spade prepared the grave, nor sexton filled up the hollowed earth. Down, down they sank, and the quick returning waters smoothed out every ripple, and left the sea as if it had not been. Ex. XII-HOME. BERNARD BARTON. WHERE burns the loved hearth brightest, Cheering the social breast? Where beats the fond heart lightest, Its humble hopes possessed? There blend the ties that strengthen Does pure religion charm thee Far more than aught below? At Home! dear home! Love over it presideth, With meek and watchful awe, Its daily service guideth, And shows its perfect law; If there thy faith shall fail thee, Ex. XIII-PRESS ON! N. P. WILLIS. [From a Valedictory Address.] WE shall go forth together. There will come And the rude world will buffet us alike. There are distinctions that will live in heaven, The soul of man Createth its own destiny of power; And as the trial is intenser here, His being hath a nobler strength in heaven. O press on! What is its earthly victory? Press on! Ex. XIV.-RHYME OF THE RAIL. SINGING through the forests, Rattling over ridges, Shooting under arches, Rumbling over bridges; Whizzing through the mountains, Buzzing o'er the vale, Bless me! this is pleasant, Riding on the rail! Men of different stations Gentlemen in shorts, Looming very tall; Gentlemen at large, SAXE Gentlemen in tights, Looking rather green; Gentlemen quite old, Asking for the news, Stranger on the right Looking very sunny, Obviously reading Something rather funny. Now the smiles are thickerWonder what they mean? Faith, he's got the Knickerbocker magazine! Stranger on the left Closing up his peepers; Ancient maiden lady Woman with her baby, |