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THE EVE OF ALL-SOUL S.
IV. [According to popular superstition, the souls of the departed are set free upon earth on the Eve of All-Souls. They are said to pass before the gaze of the watcher in their well-remembered human forms.]
IN MEMORY OF MRS. MURRAY GARTSHORE.
In death, as life, conspicuous o'er the crowd,
She pass’d, between the moonlight and the cloud.
The 5 mortal coil” too early cast away;
The darkly-braided hair, the clear eye's ray,
That filled the graveyard with triumphant song,
O’er the lost spirit, saved and sought for long ;
The mighty singer uttered as she pass’d,
Glad light shone round us when I saw Thee last,
Young wife, fond mother, cherished child wast thou;
It wrings my heart to think upon thee now.
Between thee and the warmth and joy of day,
And the first sear leaves fluttered o'er the way;
Through flow'ring reeds along the river's side,
Went forth unnoted on the ebbing tide.
And ivy-shrouded belfry lull thy sleep;
And in the morning Memory wakes to weep.
With glowing lips, and cheek intensely pale,
Bears us beyond those clouds that ride the gale ;
Quickens and thrills the dull hearts of the throng,
* Psalm 149.
She glided onward, gazing up the sky,
Transfigured, raised o'er human thoughts and things, Sublime in adoration's ecstacy,
God to her genius gave an angel's wings !
. THE RISING OF THE CHILDREN.
When the little children woke,
Through each dusky aisle they broke.
In the house of death and prayer,
Grey and feath'ry mould is there;-
And the stinging-nettle shroud;
Of the o'ergrown city's crowd;
Up the mossy, thymy grass,
Where the bride and mourners pass;
Piled against cathedral towers,
Quarter all the fleeting hours;
Still dark pools where lilies lave,
Quaking round the unknown grave,
By the guilty deed they hide ;-
From the graveyard, aisle, and tide.
By the wild dove's rapturous note,
Down the night winds seemed to float.
All earth’s Rachels wept for these,
Bending o’er their burdened knees--
By the angels in their fight;
In the bounds of day and night;
As it issues from His breast,
Gathered them in love to rest.
BABES IN THE WOOD. Two fair children paused before me,
Grave their mien, and strange their garb, When they lived, each English baron
Clad in steel bestrode his barb. When they lived, the warring Roses
With her best blood stained the land ; Earnestly they gazed upon me
Sweetly solemn-hand in hand. “ Knowst thou not, oh, mortal stranger,
Who we are, and what our fate? Thou hast read our mournful legend
When the red logs piled the grate. « Oft thy childish fancy clad us
In some beauteous infant form,
Drifting up the keen snow storm; “ When the redbreast through the woodland
Glanced with noiseless russet wing, And among the sallow foliage,
Close beside thee paused to sing ; “ Thought of us came glimmering o'er thee,
Yes! before thy mind we stood, We-the orphan babes who perished
In the lone and trackless wood. “ Such a night as this our unele
Led us from our father's hall, When the four winds to each other
O'er the wild hills seem to call. “ Such a night as this he left us
Where the stately foxgloves grow, Where o'er fungus rank and arum
Stiff strong thorns their branches throw. “ There the wild-cat finds a cover,
And the coiled snake basks at noon; There, on mosses soft, the glowworm
Lights her pale lamp ’neath the moon. “Long his slow return we waited
Watching, wand’ring through the gloom Then we prayed, and called our mother
Lying in our father's tomb. “ Helpless in the howling darkness,
Breast to breast we trembling crept, Numbness strange and cold stole o'er us
In our grief and fear we slept. "Not on earth we woke next morrow-
Twenty years rolled fleetly by— Priest and leech this mystic midnight
Warned our uncle he must die.
“ Pungent scent of herb and essence
Through the dim, hot chamber spread;
White-stoled priests were round the bed.
Came we at the Spirit's call,
Planted on the dusky wall!
Of that sinful soul's despair-
In his justice sent us there !"
Waved they as they faded fast;
Sounding from the solemn past.
A YANKEE STEAMER ON THE ATLANTIC.
BY J. W6 HENGISTON, ESQ. What shall I do to alleviate my melancholy? The canker of a long peace has made the great ocean well nigh a novelty to me, despite my professional career, the usages of which time has so miraculously changed. I will see what the economy of a Yankee steamer is made of; so I am off by railway to Southampton. The sportsmen are in the stubble-fields, the country is still green and beautiful, but all glides, like youth, rapidly away. I am in Southampton almost before I am aware of it.. I should have taken my berth in London, if I desired a good one. It is now too late. They say so many guineas, with which five or six additional should be understood : the steward's fees, wine, and beer, are not included in. the thirty or thirty-five guineas passage-money. The night-berth, too, is simply a standing one, either above or below, shared with some two or three others this is awkward.
The weather is lovely. I went round the docks; but I wish they would water the road to them from Radley's Hotel, and even the docks. in dry weather. I could not admire the run of our steamers ; it is tasteless. They have scarcely a single good point: the Yankees beat us hollow. "That thing," said the American skipper, pointing to the Parana, “is a great mis-shapen tea-chest, just fit for a collier.” I could not dissent from the truth of the remark. I counted twenty-two feet draft of water marked on her just out of dock, and she then drew thirteen. The American liner never has had twenty marked, and only drew nineteen, full coaled and cargo in. The same defect marks all our steamers, more or less. The Indus, Medway, Euxine, Dee, Ripon, and others, were here. Our smaller iron vessels struck me as better models—the Montrose and Indus best of all. Why do not our builders send out a few able young men to the American yards, to study their improvements ? To be behindhand in anything for want of a little observation, bespeaks a negligence unworthy of us. We may confess
our errors candidly—a poor consolation when foreigners confess nothing, and will not give us credit for our real excellencies.
I am on board, and shall soon gratify my curiosity. Two great, uncomfortable tables, fill either side of the main cabin, where some eighty or a hundred passengers sit in their allotted places, during your fourteen or sixteen not very comfortable days. A steamer cannot be otherwise than uncomfortable, from its very nature. You have speed and hopéask for nothing farther.
These American vessels are always filled by Germans. They take them up first at Bremen, on the Wesser. Upon going to look after my berth, I saw several German ladies. They and the men remained on board during the vessel's short stay of three days in the docks. All appeared homely and good-natured; they spoke German, one or two only, perhaps, a little English or French. Nothing surely is more tyrannical than custom. These simple, economical Germans were allowed in this way to escape the exactions of hotels, and all the host of snares laid for victimising travellers. I question very much whether the captain would have allowed as many English, or even Americans, to have remained quietly on board so long at the expense of the owners. Very likely they would never have thought of including it in their bargain. As to ourselves, we are always ashamed of appearing economical, and ever in a great hurry to rush on shore into the first hotel that offers.
Punctual to the hour, on the 10th of September, about noon, we started. A small steamer tugged us out of the dock, and we found ourselves without fuss or confusion quietly in the Southampton water, with full steam on, but were obliged to suspend our paddles for three hours and a half, waiting for the captain, the consul, and the mails. They came to us at last, loaded, too, with lots of luggage, and accompanied with the passengers who had not yet come on board. The weather was still beautiful; the wind fair; every hour seemed a day's delay to one's impatience.
We sat down to dinner as we rounded Calshot Castle, and passed by Cowes without distinguishing the famous schooner the America at anchor there. Its late captain and crew were with us, going back to New York. It seems to me an inglorious conclusion to sell her and her golden opinions. What was five thousand pounds to her owner the commodore, and what are borrowed plumes to Captain Blaquiere, or to the Cowes squadron ?-their plumes “fluttered in Corioli !"
I thought the price enormous. But I learned on board here that she cost twenty thousand dollars building, with an understanding of three thousand more as a present if she succeeded.
The steamer I am in has good qualities, but is not fast. Her arrangements and fittings are excellent. The dinner abounds with good things, and even this first day was put on the table with admirable order. A gong is gently murmured round the quarter-deck ; the servants, who are some dozen mulattoes in green velvet uniform caps, and neatly dressed, take their appointed divisions behind us, and are very clean, active, and efficient. Besides joints of all sorts, roast and boiled, we have fish, soup, and many entrées and hors d'æuvres. The tarts and puddings very nice, and, above all, an abundance of ice to cool our beverage. Very little wine is drank, or liquor of any kind, I find; partly owing to the very high price charged. Most of the good wines are eight and sixpence the bottle. Our bottled beer is two shillings the bottle. This is the