1 FÖRE FÄ-THER Old tree, the storm still brave! Thy axe shall harm it not. An ancestor, as 8 RE-NOWN'. Fame; high honor. a grandfather, or great-grand- 4 TÖŵ'ER-ING. Rising aloft. father. 2 FA-MILIAR. Well-known. 5 GUSH'ING. Flowing; exuberant; im pulsive. XVIII.- LOSS OF THE ARCTIC. BEECHER. [Henry Ward Beecher is an eloquent clergyman and public lecturer, living in Brooklyn, New York. The steamer Arctic was lost by a collision with another vessel, in a voyage from Liverpool to New York, in September, 1854, and a great many persons perished.] 1. It was autumn. Hundreds had wended their way from pilgrimages1;— from Rome and its treasures of dead art, and its glory of living nature; from the sides of the Switzer's mountains; from the capitals of various nations; all of them saying in their hearts, We will wait for the September gales to have done with their equinoctial2 fury, and then we will embark; we will slide across the appeased ocean, and in the gorgeous month of October we will greet our longed-for native land and our heart-loved homes. 2. And so the throng streamed along from Berlin, from Paris, from the Orient, converging upon London, still hastening towards the welcome ship, and narrowing, every day, the circle of engagements and preparations. They crowded aboard. Never had the Arctic borne such a host of passengers, nor passengers so nearly related to so many of us. 3. The hour was come. The signal ball fell at Greenwich.* It was noon also at Liverpool. The anchors were * At the observatory in Greenwich (pronounced Grên'ij), England, a signal ball falls every day precisely at noon. weighed; the great hull swayed to the current; the national colors streamed abroad, as if themselves instinct with life and national sympathy. The bell strikes; the wheels revolve; the signal gun beats its echoes in upon every structure along the shore, and the Arctic glides joyfully forth from the Mersey,* and turns her prow to the winding channel, and begins her homeward run. The pilot stood at the wheel, and men saw him. Death sat upon the prow, and no eye beheld him. Whoever stood at the wheel in all the voyage, Death was the pilot that steered the craft, and none knew it. He neither revealed his presence nor whispered his errand. 4 4. And so hope was effulgent, and lithe gayety disported itself, and joy was with every guest. Amid all the inconveniences of the voyage, there was still that which hushed every murmur "Home is not far away." And every morning it was still one night nearer home! Eight days had passed. They beheld that distant bank of mist that forever haunts the vast shallows of Newfoundland. † Boldly they made it; and plunging in, its pliant wreaths wrapped them about. They shall never emerge. The last sunlight has flashed from that deck. The last voyage is done to ship and passengers. there came, noiselessly stealing from the north, that fated instrument of destruction. In that mysterious shroud, that vast atmosphere of mist, both steamers were holding their way with rushing prow and roaring wheels, but invisible. At noon 5. At a league's distance unconscious, and at nearer approach unwarned, within hail, and bearing right towards 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 * Pronounced Mër'zę. t Pronounced Nu'fund-land. 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, O, 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." 6 6. 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. O, 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! 7. O, 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 burial-place. 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 placid as before. 1 PIL'GRIM-AC-ES. Journeys under- | 3 CON-VERG'ING. Tending towards taken to some hallowed place, or the same point or place. 4 LITHE. Mild; gentle. for devotional purposes. 2 E-QUI-NŎC'TIAL. Pertaining to the 5 DIS-PORT'ED. Diverted; amused. time of the equinox. • REC'RE-AN-Çy. Faithlessness. XIX.. THE SONG OF THE FORGE. 1. CLANG, clang! the massive anvils' ring; Clang, clang! Say, brothers of the dusky brow, What are your strong arms forging now? Clang, clang! Our colter's course shall be By many a streamlet's silver tide, When regal Autumn's bounteous hand Of each resplendent slope, is rolled 2. Clang, clang! Again, my mates, what glows *In England, the familiar name of the common hawthorn and its flower 'Mid stormy winds and adverse tides; Anxious no more, the merchant sees Calmly he rests, though far away Say, on what sands these links shall sleep, By Afric's pestilential shore, – By many an iceberg, lone and hoar, - Say, shall they feel the vessel reel, The crashing broadside makes reply? Hold grappling ships, that strive the while For death or victory? 3. Hurrah! Cling, clang! Once more, what glows, Dark brothers of the forge, beneath The iron tempest of your blows, The furnace's red breath? Clang, clang! A burning torrent, clear And brilliant, of bright sparks, is poured Around and up in the dusky air, As our hammers forge the swORD. *The battle of the Nile was fought near one of the mouths of the River Nile, August 1, 1798. In this battle the English fleet, commanded by Lord Nelson, badly defeated the French fleet under Brueys. |