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.

LIGHT between the clouds was flowing
When the little children woke,
Dewy-eyed, from slumber glowing,
Through each dusky aisle they broke.
From the pavement greenly spotted,
In the house of death and prayer,
Bones and books the dampness rotted,
Grey and feath'ry mould is there;-
From the graves that dock, and darnel,
And the stinging-nettle shroud;
From the reeking blackened charnel
Of the o'ergrown city's crowd;
From each little mound that raises
Up the mossy, thymy grass,

Bound with brambles, sprenkt with daisies,
Where the bride and mourners pass;

From the tombs of marble, proudly
Piled against cathedral towers,
Where the bells unwearied loudly
Quarter all the fleeting hours;
From the gleaming willowy river,
Still dark pools where lilies lave,
And the reeds and grasses quiver,
Quaking round the unknown grave,
As though paralysed in tremor

By the guilty deed they hide ;-
Up they rose, each little dreamer,
From the graveyard, aisle, and tide.
Lo! the rosy throng was haunted

By the wild dove's rapturous note,
Lullabies their mothers chanted

Down the night winds seemed to float.
Some in serge, and some in satin,

All earth's Rachels wept for these,
E'en from vesper until matin,

Bending o'er their burdened knees-
Arrows of the giant taken

By the angels in their flight;
Souls that scarcely stayed to waken
In the bounds of day and night;
He who gives each mind its mission
As it issues from His breast,
Cancelled their unknown commission,
Gathered them in love to rest.

Dc.-VOL. XCVI. NO. CCCLXXXIV.

2 H

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,
When the east wind shook the casement,
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 uncle
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 waitedWatching, 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 morrowTwenty years rolled fleetly byPriest and leech this mystic midnight

Warned our uncle he must die.

"Pungent scent of herb and essence

Through the dim, hot chamber spread;
There the hallowed Host was carried,
White-stoled priests were round the bed.
"Hand in hand, as now thou seest us,
Came we at the Spirit's call,
Gleaming forth like wands of lightning
Planted on the dusky wall!

"Ah! the terror and the madness
Of that sinful soul's despair-
"Twas the Judge of men and angels
In his justice sent us there!"
Sweetly smiling, phantom kisses
Waved they as they faded fast;
Over-true the mournful legend

Sounding from the solemn past.

A YANKEE STEAMER ON THE ATLANTIC.

BY J. W. 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 hope— ask 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'œuvres. 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

A pas

steward's perquisite. It is hardly politic, nor is it quite fair. senger is forbidden to bring his own wine; the advertisement says, it may be had on board ;" and for " may we read "must."

One thing strikes me at the very outset in these American steamers, of immense importance as an improvement - they consume their own smoke. The little tug was clouding all the deck with her black volumes. The smoke of this vessel's immense boilers was almost imperceptible, and so continued, even at the instant of throwing on fresh coals. Why is it that our steamers in all our rivers and waters are allowed to remain such detestable nuisances in this particular-in our harbours, in the Thames above all-we recal London-bridge and along the Pool.

Those who travel must have no tender sympathies to throw away on the poor brute creation. One unhappy cow, torn from her calf, continues to low; the poor thing is in her crib before the paddle-box, where there is another for the supply of inilk, partner in her misfortune. These creatures suffer much while on board.

Our first twenty-four hours finds us getting a final glimpse of the last rocks and lighthouses of the Scilly Isles. The weather is without a cloud, most beautiful, and those sterile continuations of the granite ridge of Cornwall lie basking deceitfully in the genial sun. But sunny days, or clouds and night, make all the difference in their terrors.

We made the northward passage, keeping on the Channel parallel of latitude for the present, instead of steering at once to the southward of west; the great desideratum being to get to the westward as fast as ever the engines and fine easterly breeze will take us. By-the-by, this east wind already feels more soft across the waves than it did at home, where we justly hate east winds. We roll gently, the water is as quiet and smooth as it ever is at sea. But even this slight motion is too much for all heads and stomachs. The women are all uneasy, or half ill, and so are many of the men. Our run has been about two hundred and forty miles from Cowes. During the night we pass abreast of Ireland and Cape Clear, but too far off the land to see it. Coming from the States or the West Indies, it is highly desirable to "sight" Cape Clear, as a leading mark for the Channel.

The Americans, laugh as we may, still go "ahead" of us. They do things on a wise and comprehensive scale. There are no less, I am told, than a hundred and six persons belonging to this steamer; which is by no means so large, so fast, or so fine, as some of those of "Collins's line" to Liverpool, the great rival just now of the Cunard line. This great number of persons consists of the sailors, engineers, stokers, cabin servants, stewards, stewardess, and their assistants; captain, mates, and cooks. All seem to work with the most perfect understanding and harmony. We never hear a word above a breath. It is necessary to have them pointed out to know the captain and chief-mate from any of the passengers; nobody seems to want any orders or directions.

We have eighty or ninety passengers in the first class cabins, and fifty or sixty in the second class forward, but hardly inferior in comfort to the first. The only thing which marks an awkward distinction for a brief two weeks, or only ten days sometimes from land to land, is the notice on the side forbidding the second class to come on the quarter-deck. It is terrible. It at once divides us into two castes. I could not help dwelling upon this unpleasant fact. How much we are the creatures of surrounding opinion, no matter how imaginary our petty distinctions are