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And oft I loved, at Summer's eventide,
To come alone, and wander by thy side,
When sombre twilight shed her mystic veil

O'er wood and bower and stream, o'er hill and dale;
When echoing shouts along thy grassy shore,

And joyous laughter's sounds were heard no more:
When the blithe songster sought his airy nest,
And all the sounds of life had sunk to rest.

And when at last dark Autumn's hour drew near,
With change prophetic of the dying year,
I loved thy forest in its coat of brown;

I loved to view the leaf that rustled down,
To watch the changing tints from day to day,
Till dreary Winter snatch'd each charm away,
And e'en to hear the voices of the breeze,
That mournful sigh'd among the leafless trees.

Where'er around my wandering eyes are cast,
Some relic greets me of the cherish'd past:
This crystal spring, fit emblem of the time
When innocence and purity were mine,
Still gayly bubbles from its pebbly bed,
Though many a long and weary year has fled
Since, when a boy, upon its mossy brink,
With eager thirst I stoop'd me down to drink.

Here is the oak, beneath whose spreading shade,
In sportive pranks and artless games, I play'd!
Like some true friend, that absence cannot change,
Nor time nor distance in the least estrange,
It seems to stretch its brawny arms with joy,
To welcome back once more the wandering boy.
Still, still I view, upon its rugged frame,
The marks of many a well-remember'd name,
That youthful friendship once with ardor traced,
But which the hand of Time has quite defaced;
And still among its glossy leaves I hear
The breezy voice that charm'd my boyish ear,
As, 'neath its shade reposing, oft I lay,
And idly dream'd the sultry hours away.

Ah! even now, as pensive Memory strays,
With fond delight, to those long-vanish'd days,
Sweet o'er my senses steals the fancied sound
Of youthful footsteps from each grove around;
While, on the bosom of the evening breeze,
Methinks is wafted from yon clump of trees
The shout, the laugh, the joyous loud halloo
Of friends beloved, that once my boyhood knew.
But ah! 't is fancy! Here again no more
Those friends shall greet me as they did of yore!
No more, disporting on this smiling green,
Shall we together all again be seen.

Relentless Time, whose course no power can stay,
With rapid flight has wing'd our youth away;
And on the bosom of its mighty tide,

In all the strength of manhood, now we glide,
Far from the pleasures of this quiet spot,
Whose early friendships have been long forgot.

Changed art thou, Wissahicon! since the hours
I gayly sported mid thy shady bowers.
Then lovely Nature o'er the beauteous scene,
In calm and solemn stillness, reign'd supreme,
And scarce a sound broke on the wakeful ear,
Save wild-bird's note, thy solitude to cheer.
But now,
the noisy mill, the hammer's sound,
The axe's stroke, from every side resound;
Houses appear between the straggling trees,
And busy footsteps float on every breeze.

And must the lingering charms that still remain
Fade one by one before Improvement's train?

Must these long groves, these woods of beauteous oak,
Bow down to dust before the woodman's stroke,
And every view that warm'd each feeling heart

Be sullied over by the hand of Art?

Stay, stay, O man! thy sacrilegious hand,
And blot not out the beauties of the land!

Stay, if thou canst, Improvement's ruthless sway,
Ere each remaining charm be swept away,
And sacred let this cherish'd spot remain

To Nature's lovely, solitary reign:

Then 'neath her kindly hand shall quickly fade

Th' unsightly blemishes that Art has made;

Then in these bowers the wood-bird's note once more
Shall sound as sweetly as it did of yore,
And artless childhood shall again be seen
In many a pastime sporting o'er thy green;
While youthful lovers in the shady grove
Shall breathe their vows of constancy and love.

Sweet Wissahicon! swiftly fades the day,
And evening's shadows bid me haste away.
Farewell, farewell! and should I come no more,
To roam thy hills, or wander by thy shore,
Full oft to fancy's eye shall reappear
These lovely haunts, still to this bosom dear;
And Memory's chords shall then responsive sing
Of those bright days when life was in its spring.

And when these eyes are dim, this hair is gray,
And life's brief hour is hastening swift away,
My lips shall say to each inquiring friend,
Who fondly o'er this sinking form may bend:
'Oh! place my ashes by that beauteous stream,
Where once I roam'd in boyhood's sunny dream;
That on my breast may rest the self-same sod
In those bright hours I oft so gayly trod;
That o'er me still may wave the ancient tree
Whose spreading boughs so oft have shelter'd me;
Where many a bird, through each succeeding spring,
May tune its throat my requiem to sing,

And the bright waters, sweetly warbling by,
Shall join to swell the pleasing symphony.'

United States' Ship North-Carolina, April, 1851.

R. T. M.

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A SKETCH OF

GULF-SERVICE.

BY THE WANDERER.

Ir was a lovely morning in the month of March; not that cold, bleak, rainy March, which chills the bones of the dweller in higher latitudes, but the March of the Gulf of Mexico, interspersed indeed with icy northers,' but between them the air is of that delightful temperature which sometimes blesses the Manhattaner in the latter part of April and early part of May; being neither too hot nor too cold.

Our stately vessel was anchored off Tuxpan river, about nine miles from shore, under the lee of the reef that would defend it in bad weather from the force of the sea, which during storms rolls in with great violence, gathering strength as it comes along the whole extended surface of the widest part of the Gulf, and wastes its fury in snow-capped billows on the coral reefs that rise to arrest its progress.

Old father Sol had just shown his smiling head about a handspike high in the eastern horizon, and threw a golden streak of sunshine over the waters that now lay tranquil as a sleeping infant, as if to form a pathway by which we might pass from the ship to the footstool of his resplendent majesty. A light breeze scarce ruffled the face of the ocean, as if the zephyr wished to greet old Neptune with a morning kiss; but the lazy fellow was so locked in slumbers that he scarce felt the chaste salute.

The officer of the watch sauntered up and down the holy-stoned deck, whose snowy whiteness seemed almost insulted by the touch of his négligé high-lows. The sentry at the captain's door reports six bells, and in a moment the echoes of the gun-deck are awoke by the measured sound of the old brazen-tongued time-teller. 'Messenger-boy, tell the boatswain to call away the barge and second cutter.' 'Ay, ay, Sir;' and now are heard the merry notes of the pipe as it peals thrillingly on the air. 'Away there, barges, away! Away there, second cutters, away!' Each boatswain's mate in turn, or rather in tune, takes up the burden of the song: 'Away there, barges, away! Away there, second cutters, away!' Quick at the word, the well-disciplined crews fly to the gangway and descend to their respective boats, which have been hauled alongside the accommodationladder by their keepers. Pass those arms into the boats!' 'Ay, ay, Sir!' and a musket, cutlass and pair of pistols for each man were handed down the side.

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In a few minutes we all had taken our seats in the stern-sheets, armed in like manner with the men, save the musket, which was exchanged for a short carbine that loaded at the breech, and thus was rendered much more convenient for service, not needing the use of the ramrod for sending the charge home. Shove off,' says the captain; and now, the word given, the oars, that had been held erect with their blades pointing to heaven, fell all at once splashing into the quiet waters, and threw the drops, rainbow-dyed, high into the air. 'Give way!' cries the coxswain;

and taking the time from the stroke-oar, the sturdy sailors sent us skimming along in our course to the shore, our boat taking the lead. We were all so wrapped up in the beauty of the scene, that for some time no sound broke the silence, save the measured dip of the oars as they cut their way into the mirrored element, and sent the eddies spinning far behind us. At length the captain said softly, as if hesitating to interrupt the train of thought by the noise of speaking: 'Steward, have you got every thing as I directed?' 'I believe I have, Sir,' said José, as he rummaged in his baskets to see that all was right in the commissariat department. Once commenced, the conversation was carried on in a light strain, as if heedless of the coming day's work. About half an hour had passed, when a sound as of distant thunder broke upon the ear, telling us that the treacherous bar at the mouth of the river was at hand, and a long extent of foaming billows spread before us like a huge marble tomb-stone, to mark the sepulchre where, not long before, the gallant brig Truxtun had laid her shattered hulk. In bow-oar! Tend the lead! Give way, men, give way; bend your backs! Mind your helm, coxswain!' And away we flew with lightning-speed through the boiling cauldron, lashing in fury the sides of the frail boat, whose single plank was all that stood between us and death. Now, like a rearing charger high in air, the lifted prow seems almost overhead; and again, as the combers roll on in quick succession, the stern points to heaven, while the baffled billow bears us along as if she would dash us to pieces in her course. 'And a half two! deep two! quarter less two! half one!' cries the leadsman, in rapid succession. Ha! we touch the ground, and every plank seems shivering with terror. That coming wave will swamp us; it is just breaking over the stern: no, it passes under us. Once more! One strong pull, boys! Another!' and away we glide in safety along the sandy shores, leaving old Ocean far behind, gnashing his teeth that his prey has escaped him.

O long-to-be-remembered Tuxpan bar! Scarce a month had passed after the time of which I am speaking, when on just such a tranquil day others were added to thy list of murdered victims, numbering among them one of the noblest hearts that ever gloried in his country's honor: need I say that I mean the brave Pinkney? Requiescat in pace.'

Not far from the bar in a little bay floated the beautiful schooner Tampico, the stars and stripes hanging languidly at the peak, half opening now and then, as if extending their expectant arms to woo the zephyr that played with the lighter pendant at the mast-head. The boardingnettings were triced up in the rigging, and the long Tom forward shone glistening in the sunshine under the paternal care of the gunner, with a kind of nunquam non paratus' air, to inform intruders on the premises, like the 'Beware of the dog,' that they would be dealt with according to law. But we of course were welcome, for the same glad emblem that told to what country the 'Tampico' owed allegiance, floated also over our heads; and as we pulled alongside, the pipe was heard announcing that a commander of the United States Navy was about to honor the little vessel with his presence, and the side boys, with hat in hand, held out the manropes to assist the embodiment of naval power to gain the deck. The friendly greetings over, we had time to make the happy discovery that breakfast was just ready-happy, because we had left our ship too early to

perform that pleasing personal duty which every man owes to himself; and ere long we were all seated round the table in the cabin, on which stood luxuries known only in southern climes. Side by side with the white loaf was the delicious plantain, in its own covering of golden hue, smoking from the pan. Oysters from the lagoon, mullet from the river, venison and wild fowl from the surrounding forest, with accompaniments of fresh-picked oranges, bananas, et cetera. Justice was of course done to the repast, for how could we help doing justice when invoked by such enticing suppliants? But the best of friends must part, at least on this sublunary globe, and so at last we bade adieu to the breakfast table, and lighting a fragant Havana, regained the deck. Having had our boats' crews called away, we shook hands with our friends, more than one of whom offered his services as a volunteer; but having already as many as we wanted, we shoved off.

No doubt the gentle reader has before this time wondered what all this is about, and deluded himself with the idea that he is going to be entertained with some tale of battle and bloodshed, daring foray or midnight assault; but sorry as I am to disappoint him, I must tell him, that if he has read thus far with any such expectation, he had better fling down the article in disgust, and vent his vexation in calling me humbug.' Virgil writes, Arma virumque cano;' but I do no such thing: mine is a more peaceful, and I thiuk more useful theme, for the better understanding of which I must for a moment look back over the past.

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The time of which I am writing was during the armistice. The Rio Grande had been passed, Monterey had been taken, and Taylor had advanced his victorious standard far into the heart of the country. Vera Cruz had fallen; the stars and stripes, like Napoleon's conquering eagles, had flown over many battle-fields; and now the old gridiron, God bless it! hung peaceful from the flag-staff in front of the halls of the Montezuma, beneath whose roof Scott penned dispatches to many subjugated cities. The hardly-treated navy guarded the rock-bound and sand-girdled coast. Perry's blue pendant floated from the royal-mast-head of the frigate Cumberland, moored off the castle of San Juan d'Ulloa. Orders had been given by the Commodore for the squadron to survey the coast, reefs, harbors and rivers, from Cape San Roque to Sisal. In the execution of these orders we had proceeded to Tuxpan, and after having surveyed the outer reefs and roadstead, were now about to proceed up the river for the same purpose.

By the time that we left the vessel, the sun was high in the heavens, but a light breeze blowing down stream had sprung up while we were at breakfast, rendering the air just cool enough to be delightful, all laden as it was with the perfume of the blossoming orange-orchards, over which it passed on its course to the sea, pilfering as it went the sweets from the unconscious flowers that knew not of the theft. The joyous strains of many warblers, from the mingled chapperal and forest that lined either side of the river, fell on the ear and entranced us with their tuneful music. As we rowed along, hundreds of large blue and white cranes, startled from their reveries on our approach, bent their long necks toward us as if to gain a nearer view; then slowly opening their wings, flew lazily away, but soon, tired by the exertion, lit again on some branch that overhung the water,

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