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Now sweeping on, it runs its race,

By mound and mill, in playful glee;
Now welcomes with its pure embrace

The vestal' waves of Ossipee.
4. At last, with loud and solemn roar,

Spurning each rocky ledge and bar,
It sinks where, on the sounding shore,

The broad Atlantic heaves afar.
There, on old Ocean's faithful breast,

Its wealth of waves it proudly flings;
And there its weary waters rest,

Clear as they left their crystal springs. 5. Sweet stream ! it were a fate divine,

Till this world's tasks and toils were done,
To go, like those bright floods of thine,

Refreshing all, enslaved by none;
To pass through scenes of calm and strife,

Singing like thee, with holy mirth,
And close in peace a varied life,

Unsullied by one stain of earth.

1 VĚS'TẠL. Pure; stainless.

KNOWLEDGE and Wisdom, far from being one,
Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwells
In heads replete with thoughts of other men;
Wisdom, in minds attentive to their own.
Knowledge – a rude, unprofitable mass,
The mere materials with which Wisdom builds,
Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place
Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich !
Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much,
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.


N. PARKER WILLIS. (Nathaniel Parker Willis was born in Portland, Maine, January 20, 1807. He is a writer in both prose and verse. His style is airy and graceful, and his doscriptive powers are of a high order. His poetry is flowing and musical, and marked by truth of sentiment and delicacy of feeling.)

1. Alas, my noble boy! that thou shouldst die !

Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,

And leave his stillness in this clustering hair !
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,

My proud boy Absalom!

2. Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill,

As to my bosom I have tried to press thee.
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harpstring, yearning to caress thee,
And hear thy sweet " My father ! ” from these dumb

And cold lips, Absalom !
3. But death is on thee. I shall hear the gush

Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life will pass me in the mantling blush,

And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;-
But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come

To meet me, Absalom!

poices of thitling blu Aung:

4. And, 0, when I am stricken, and my heart,

Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token !
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,

To see thee, Absalom !

5. And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee op,

With death so like a gentle slumber on thee: -
And thy dark sin!—0, I could drink the cup,

If from this woe its bitterness bad won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,

My lost boy Absalom ! 1 YEARNING. Strongly desiring. 1 2 MÅN'TLING. Suffusing the face.


ARCHBISHOP HUGHES. (John Hughes, D. D., was born in the north of Ireland in 1798, came to this country in 1817, with his father, and died January 3, 1864. He was educated at the Catholic Theological Seminary of Mount St. Mary's, Emmetsburg, Maryland, ordained priest in 1825, became bishop in 1842, and archbishop of New York in 1850. He was a man of great energy of character and intellectual activity. He published several controversial works, and a number of pamphlets and lectures.)

1. This day I was gratified with what I had often desired to witness — the condition of the sea in a tempest. I had contemplated the ocean in all its other phases, and they are almost innumerable. At one time it is seen reposing in perfect stillness under the blue sky and bright sun. At another, slightly ruffled, and then its motion causes bis rays to tremble and dance in broken fragments of silvery or golden light, — and the sight is dazzled by following the track from whence his beams are reflected, while all besides seems to frown in the darkness of its ripple.

2. Again it may be seen somewhat more agitated and of a darker hue, under a clouded sky and a stronger and increasing wind. Then you see an occasional wave, rising a little above the rest, and crowning its summit with that crest of white, breaking from its top and tumbling over like liquid alabaster'. I had seen the ocean, too, by moon

light, and as much of it as may be seen in the darkness, when the moon and stars are veiled. But until to-day I had never seen it in correspondence with the TEMPEST.

3. After a breeze of some sixty hours from the north and north-west, the wind died away about four o'clock yesterday afternoon. The calm continued till about nine in the evening. The mercury in the barometer? fell, in the mean time, at an extraordinary rate; and the captain predicted that we should encounter a “gale” from the south-east. The “gale” came on, at about eleven o'clock; not violent at first, but increasing every moment. I awoke with a confused recollection of a good deal of rolling and thumping through the night, which was occasioned by the dashing of the waves against the ship.

4. Hurrying on my clothes, I found such of the passengers as could stand, at the doors of the hurricane-house", “ holding on," and looking out in the utmost consternation. It was still quite dark. Four of the sails were already in ribbons; the winds whistling through the cordage; the rain dashing furiously and in torrents; the noise and spray scarcely less than I found them under the great sheet at Niagara. And in the midst of all this, the captain, with his speaking trumpet, the officers, and the sailors, scream- · ing to each other in efforts to be heard, — this, all this, in the darkness which precedes the dawning of day, and with the fury of the hurricane, combined to form as much of the terribly sublime as I ever wish to witness concentrated in one scene.

5. The passengers, though silent, were filled with apprehension. What the extent of danger, and how all this would terminate, were questions which rose in my own mind, although I was unconscious of fear or trepidation“. But to such questions there are no answers, for this knowledge resides only with Him who “ guides the storm and directs the whirlwind.” We had encountered, however, as yet,

only the commencement of a gale, whose terrors had been heightened by its suddenness, by the darkness, and by the confusion. It continued to blow furiously for twenty-four hours; so that during the whole day I enjoyed a view, which, apart from its dangers, would be worth a voyage across the Atlantic.

6. The ship was driven madly through the raging waters, and when it was impossible to walk the decks without imminent risk of being lifted up and carried away by the winds, the poor sailors were kept aloft, tossing and swinging about the yards and in the tops, clinging by their bodies, feet, and arms, with mysterious tenacity, to the spars, while their hands were employed in taking in and securing sail.

7. On deck the officers and men made themselves safe by ropes; but how the gallant fellows aloft kept from being blown out of the rigging, was equally a matter of wonder and admiration. However, about seven o'clock they had taken in what canvas had not blown away, except the sails by means of which the vessel is kept steady. At nine o'clock the hurricane had acquired its full force. There was no more work to be done. The ship lay toʻ, and those who had her in charge only remained on deck to be prepared for whatever of disaster might occur. The breakfast hour came, and passed, unheeded by most of the passengers.

8. By this time the sea was rolling up its hurricane waves ; and that I might not lose the grandeur of such a view, I fortified myself against the rain and spray, and, in spite of the fierceness of the gale, planted myself in a position favorable for a survey of all round me, and in safety, so long as the ship's strong works might hold together. I had often seen paintings of a storm at sea, but here was the original. These imitations are oftentimes graphic and faithful, as far as they go, but they are neces

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