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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." 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. Oh, 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 to blush for the cowardice and recreancy of the crew, nor weep for the untimely dead.

6. 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! 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 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 hallowed earth. Down, down, down they sank, and the quick returning waters smoothed out every ripple, and left the sea as if it had not been.

CLXXI. THE FIRST PREDICTED ECLIPSE.

MITCHELL.

1. To those who have given but little attention to the subject, even in our own day, with all the aids of modern science, the prediction of an eclipse seems sufficiently mysterious and unintelligible. How, then, it was possible, thousands of years ago, to accomplish the same great

object, without any just views of the structure of the system, seems utterly incredible.

2. Follow, in imagination, this bold interrogator of the skies to his solitary mountain summit;-withdrawn from the world, surrounded by his mysterious circles, there to watch and ponder through the long nights of many, many years. But hope cheers him on, and smooths his rugged path-way. Dark and deep as is his problem, he sternly grapples with it, and resolves never to give over till victory crowns his efforts. Long and patiently did the astronomer wait and watch. Each eclipse is duly observed, and its attendant circumstances are recorded, when, at last, the darkness begins to give way, and a ray of light breaks in upon his mind.

3. He finds that no eclipse of the sun ever occurs unless the new moon is in the act of crossing the sun's track. Here is a grand discovery. He now holds the key which will unlock the dread mystery. Reaching forward with piercing intellectual vigor, he at last finds a new moon which occurs precisely at the computed time of her passage across the sun's track. Here he makes his stand, and announces to the startled inhabitants of the world that on the day of the occurrence of that new moon the sun shall expire in a dark eclipse. Bold prediction !—mysterious prophet!—With what scorn must the unthinking world have received this solemn declaration.

4. How slowly do the moons roll away; and with what intense anxiety does the stern philosopher await the coming of that day which should crown him with victory, or dash him to the ground in ruin and disgrace! Time to him moves on leaden wings: day after day, and at last hour after hour, roll heavily away. The last night is gone,-the moon has disappeared from his eagle gaze in her approach to the sun, and the dawn of the eventful day breaks in beauty on a slumbering world. This daring man, stern in his faith, climbs alone to his rocky home, and greets the sun as he rises and mounts the heavens, scattering brightness and glory in his path.

5. Beneath him is spread out the populous city, already teeming with life and activity. The busy morning hum rises on the still air, and reaches the watching place of the solitary astronomer. The thousands below him, unconscious of his intense anxiety, buoyant with life, joyously pursue their rounds of business, their cycles of amusement. The sun slowly climbs the heavens, round, and bright, and full-orbed. The lone tenant of the mountain top almost begins to waver in the sternness of his faith, as the morning hours roll away.

6. But the time of his triumph, long delayed, at length begins to dawn: a pale and sickly hue creeps over the face of nature. The sun has reached his highest point, but his splendor is dimmed, his light is feeble. At last it comes! Blackness is eating away his round disc,-onward with slow but steady pace the dark veil moves, blacker than a thousand nights, the gloom deepens,—the ghastly hue of death covers the universe,—the last ray is gone, and horror reigns. A wail of terror fills the murky air,-the clangor of brazen trumpets resounds,—an agony of despair dashes the stricken millions to the ground, while that lone man, erect on his rocky summit, with arms outstretched to heaven, pours forth the grateful gushings of his heart to God, who had crowned his efforts with triumphant victory.

CLXXII.-LARVÆ.

1. My little maiden of four years old,
(No myth, but a genuine child is she,

B. F. TAYLOR.

With her bronze brown eyes and her curls of gold,)
Came quite in disgust one day to me:

2. Rubbing her shoulders with rosy palm,

As the loathsome touch seemed yet to thrill her,
She cried, "Oh, mother, I found on my arm

A horrible, crawling, caterpillar."

3. And with mischievous smile she scarce could smother,
Yet a glance in its daring half awed and shy,

She added, "While they were about it mother,

I wish they'd just finished the butterfly."

4. They were words to the thought of the soul that turns,
From the coarser form of a partial growth:
Reproaching the infinite patience that yearns
With an unknown glory to crown them both.
5. Ah! look thou largely with lenient eyes

On what so beside thee may creep and cling,
For the possible beauty that underlies

The passing phase of the meanest thing.

6. What if God's great angels, whose waiting love

Beholdeth our pitiful life below,

From the holy height of the Heaven above,
Couldn't bear with the worm till the wings should grow.

CLXXIII.-A BAYONET CHARGE.

1. THERE was a bayonet charge. Let those who wish to know the sublimest moment in the physical existence of man, look at a division when the order is given to hurl it, silently and stealthily, but sternly and steadily into the jaws of destruction, whence it can escape only by breaking the very teeth of the death which threatens it. It is not mere bull-dog daring that is then aroused: it is more than passionate blood which at the word leaps through the veins with such hot impetuosity that toughly corded nerves and brawny muscles quiver under the fresh life impulse.

2. It is spirit-soul that gushes up warm and eager from the heart, and pours through the old blood channels with such vivifying tumult that the dark, dull, venous clots rush along as bright and sparkling as if their foaming were the mantles of new fermented wine. It is the capacity for high and glorious things-for suffering, daring and death: which latent before, and felt as but faint and fragmentary, now spring into omnipotent and full-statured existence.

3. You do not know what they are the capabilities of life-you, of the North, who tread your little daily rounds, in and out, and have no ambition beyond the bounds of

wealth and ease: you are dreaming, all of you. Let me strap a knapsack on you instead of a journal, give you a pistol for a pen, and put a bayonet into your hands, which before held a yard stick. Now, stand in the ranks, and wait for the word. It comes, "Charge Bayonets." "Off! and God be with you! Fight your way stoutly! it is for your life! Fight it unflinchingly! it is for your honor! If you fall, the glory of the cause and the sublimity of this scene will brighten your eye in spite of the death glaze, and hold high your hopes, even when life is ebbing. If you pass through you are a man forever-a man on a large scale of character-a man of intensity and concentrated force, a man who has more than glimpses into the magnificent possibilities of the spirit within him.”

4. Such are the men of Huntgleman's corps d'armes who escaped the chances of their glorious charge. They have lived ages in moments: they have passed through the most terrible ordeal that can test the stuff of manhood; and they have recompense beyond gold or emolument,— self-asserted honor and a deep insight of life; for was it not bordered closely and terribly with death: the men were by no means fresh when they were submitted to this trial: they had fought through a greater part of a most fatiguing day they were tired to verge of exhaustion: they had been without provision, and worse than all an intolerable thirst consumed them: hungry, thirsty, dirty, every thing but dispirited. In the eyes of the world, they would have been justified in treating the order as a mistake, whether intentional or unintentional.

5. They had been forced back by the sheer weight of overwhelming numbers: new forces had been constantly hurried upon them, and it was but madness to refuse the chances of meeting reinforcements in the rear. The awful crash of the battle was still around them. A superior artillery was hurling havoc into their ranks. Musketry was increasing its deadly volleys, and there began to be symptoms of a flanking movement, and cross-fire. It was under

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