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6. 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.

7. 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 cannot be saved.”

8. They departed, and with them the hope of the ship, for now the waters gaining upon the hold, and rising 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 sufficiently 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.

9. 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 collision to the catastrophe of sinking!

10. 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 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.





1. With deep affection

And recollection,
I often think of

Those Shandon Bells,
Whose sounds so wild would,
In the days of childhood,
Fling round my cradle

Their magic spells.

2. On this I ponder

Where'er I wander,
And thus grow fonder,

Sweet Cork, of thee,
With thy bells of Shandon
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

3. I've heard bells chiming

Full many a clime in,
Tolling sublime in

Cathedral shrine,
While at a glib rate
Brass tongues would vibrate;
But all their music

Spoke naught like thine.

4. For memory, dwelling

On each proud swelling
Of thy belfry, knelling

Its bold notes free,
Made the bells of Shandon
Sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

5. I've heard bells tolling

Old Adrian's Mole in,
Their thunder rolling

From the Vatican,
And symbols glorious
Swinging uproarious
In the gorgeous turrets

Of Notre Dame.

6. But thy sounds were sweeter

Than the dome of Peter
Flings on the Tiber,

Pealing solemnly.
O the bells of Shandon
Sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee!

7. There's a bell in Moscow;

While on tower and kiosko
In Saint Sophia

The Turkman gets,
And loud in air
Calls men to prayer
From the tapering summit

Of tall minarets.

8. Such empty phantom

I freely grant them;
But there's an anthem

More dear to me:
'Tis the bells of Shandon,
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.




FISHER AMEs, one of the most eloquent of American statesmen, was born at Dedham, Massachusetts, in 1758, and died in 1808. While in Congress, of which he was a member during the whole of Washington's administration, he made his celebrated speech on The British Treaty,” from which this lesson is taken.

1. To expatiate on the value of public faith may pass with some men for declamation: to such men I have nothing to say. To others, I will urge, can any circumstances mark upon a people more turpitude and debasement? Can any thing tend more to make men think themselves mean, or degrade to a lower point their estimation of virtue and their standard of action ? It would not merely demoralize mankind; it tends to break all the ligaments of society, to dissolve that mysterious charm which attracts individuals to the nation, and to inspire, in its stead, a repulsive sense of shame and disgust.

2. What is patriotism? Is it a narrow affection for the spot where a man was born ? Are the very clods where we tread entitled to this ardent preference, because they are greener? No, sir; this is not the character of the virtue; it soars higher for its object. It is an extended self-love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and entwining itself with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thus we obey the laws of society, because they are the laws of virtue. In their authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the venerable image of our country's honor. Every good citizen makes that honor his own, and cherishes it, not only as precious, but as sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defence; and is conscious that he gains protection, while he gives it. For what rights of a citizen will be deemed inviolable, when a state renounces the principles that constitute her security ? Or, if this life should not be invaded, what would its enjoyments be, in a country odious in the eyes of strangers and dishonored in his own? Could he look with affection and veneration to such a country as his parent? The sense of having one would die within him; he would blush for his patriotism, if he retained any, and justly, for it would be a vice. He would be a banished man in his native land.

3. I see no exception to the respect that is paid among nations to the law of good faith. If there are cases, in this enlightened period, when it is violated, there are none when it is decried. It is the philosophy of politics, the religion of governments. It is observed by barbarians: a whiff of tobacco-smoke, or a string of beads, gives not merely binding force, but sanctity, to treaties. Even in Algiers a truce may be bought for money ; but, when ratified, even Algiers is too wise or too just to disown or annul its obligations.

4. It is painful, I hope it is superfluous, to make even the supposition that America should furnish the occasion of this opprobrium. No! let me not even imagine that a republican government-sprung, as our own is, from a people enlightened and uncorrupted, a government whose origin is right, and whose daily discipline is duty-can, upon solemn debate, make its option to be faithless; can dare to act what despots dare not avow, what our own example evinces the states of Barbary are unsuspected of. No! let me rather make the supposition that Great Britain refuses to execute the treaty, after we have done every thing to carry it into effect. Is there any language of reproach pungent enough to express your commentary on the fact? What would you say, or, rather, what would you not say? Would you not tell them, wherever an Englishman might travel, shame would stick to him; he would disown his country? You would exclaim,

England, proud of your wealth, and arrogant in the possession of power, blush for these distinctions, which become the vehicles of your dishonor!” Such a nation might truly say "to corruption, Thou art my father, and to the worm, Thou art my mother and my sister.” We should say of such a race of men, “Their name is a heavier burden than their debt.”


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