the worst. But the gale, instead of subsiding, increased in violence, the dead-heads were blown to ribbons, and they were obliged to let go the anchor.

6. The sky had now grown fearfully dark; the ship's lanterns were all trimmed and lighted, and a signal of distress hoisted upon the poop. All of a sudden, a large wave rolled over the bows, which obliged them to open the scuppers. This made them lose their reckoning, and upon heaving the log they found themselves in about three fathoms, with shells and fine sand; whereupon the helm was put a-beam, and an attempt made to jibe her, but in vain. The moon now broke through the clouds, and showed them the helplessness of their position, They were riding at anchor, in the midst of the ocean; not a sail in sight; the mizen mast upon its beam ends, and the forecastle jammed in the fetlocks. But if this were the state of affairs on deck, what were the condition of those below? A chaos of misery and despair Ham sandwiches-anchovy toast-sword and featherCaptain Standish-basswood fiddles-Elder Brewster— broken crockery-helpless women-tin basins-pumpkin pies-tobacco pipes and schnapps-W. Bradford— hard bread-E. Winslow-opera glasses-elbow chairstin candlesticks-steeple-top hats-mess beef-and a thousand articles, scattered in wild profusion, which would have made the Historian of the United States melt into tears, or set the late President of the Massa chusetts Historical Society crazy with delight.

7. My reader, I do not wish to dwell upon this picture! If I am an artist, as I trust I am a scholar and a gentleman, the likeness will be faithful to the original. If

not, your imagination must supply my deficiency, and paint upon the retina of your fancy the miseries of a storm at sea in the year 1620.

END OF THE STORM.

S. The lowering clouds which for many days hung their ragged fringes around the Atlantic horizon, at last uplifted themselves, and were exhaled like transient sorrows to the sky Now then came everybody upon deck, while peacefully and sweetly the Mayflower rippled upon her course, counting her progress by the number of ocean sunsets, and the stars of Pisces and of Aries, that every night sank earlier in the west. Now did they softly sing and tune the dulcet violin to aid their voices, and so with little danger and less distress they passed over the waste of waters until they saw a low range of sand hills looming up in the distance, and after tempting perilous shoals and breakers, Pollock's Rip, Bass Rip, and Great Rip, they finally cast anchor in the harbor of Provincetown, Cape Cod.

9. Oh, my reader, what a gift is eloquence! Had I the power of a great American orator, whose communications to this truly national paper are the envy of the twopenny critics of feeble magazines, the small fry editors who earn a wretched subsistence by dogging at the heels of the public for weekly advertisements, the supernumerary corps of literateurs, whose names never appear in big letters on any bills but their own; had I that power of eloquence which he has made so envied and so eminent, then I might portray this stupendous event in language that would make the hair of New England stand on end from Eastport to New Haven!

10. Then would the very ocean become luminous under the electric flashes of my pen! Then would the storm be heard, "moaning through the tattered canvas of the Mayflower," as she creeps, almost sinking, past the ripraps of Tucker's Terror, into the harbor of Provincetown! Then would the terrible front of this dangerous coast be made ten times more frightful by the art of rhetoric! Then might you see "the mountains of New England rising from their rocky thrones-rushing forward, and settling down as they advance, to form a bulwark," or breakwater, around this exceedingly popular vessel! Nay, not only this, but the Cape itself, in spite of whole regiments of Agassiz's turtles, and the geological volumes of Sir Charles Lyell, would "run out to sea, a hundred miles, on purpose to receive and encircle the precious ship"-the Pantheon of the ever-worshiped deities of New England-the Junos, Venuses, Jupiters, and Jug. gernauts, of our national mythology!

11. But this is not for me to do, I am but a plain historian-the page and valet only of heroic men. To them I shall confine myself in future, not departing from the modesty of my position, trimming my habit to the sober fashion of my station, and flying my kite no higher than the limits of its string.

THE BALL AT BRUSSELS, THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE
OF WATERLOO, JUNE 17, 1815.--Lord Byron.
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men:

A thousand hearts beat happily; and wheu
Music arose, with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell.

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell

2.

Did ye not hear it?-No; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet!
But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier, than before!
Arm! arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar!

3.

Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain. He did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well, Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell, He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

4.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness;

And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated. Who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could riss 1

5.

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips-"The foe! they come

they come!"

6.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life;

Last eve, in Beauty's circle, proudly gay;

The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife
The morn, the marshalling in arms; the day,
Battle's magnificently stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent
The earth is covered thick with other clay,

Which her own clay shall cover-hear ed and pent,

Rider and horse, — friend,— foe,-in one red burial blent!