THE BURNING SHIP AT SEA.

The night was clear and mild,
And the breeze went softly by,
And the stars of Heaven smil'd

As their lamps lit up the sky,

And there rode a gallant ship on the wave-
But many a hapless wight

Slept the sleep of death that night,
And before the morning light

Found a grave.

All were sunk in soft repose,

Save the watch upon the deck;
Not a boding dream arose

Of the horrors of the wreck,

To the mother, or the child, or the sire;
Till a shriek of woe profound,
Like a death-knell, echo'd round,
With a wild and dismal sound,
Crying fire!

Now the flames are spreading fast-
With resistless rage they fly,
Up the shrouds and up the mast,
And are flickering to the sky;

Now the deck is all a blaze; now the rails-
There's no place to rest their feet;
Fore and aft the torches meet,
And a winged lightning sheet

Are the sails.

No one heard the cries of wo
But the sea-bird that flew by;
There was hurrying to and fro,
But no hand to save was nigh;

Still before the burning foe they were driven.
Last farewells were uttered there,

With a wild and frenzied stare,
And a short and broken prayer
Sent to heaven.

Some leap over in the flood

To the death that waits them there; Others quench the flames with blood, And expire in open air;

Some, a moment to escape from the grave,
On the bowsprit take a stand;

But their death is near at hand-
Soon they hug the burning brand
On the wave.

From his briny ocean bed,

When the morning sun awoke,
Lo, that gallant ship had fled!
And a sable cloud of smoke

Was the monumental pyre that remained;
But the sea-gulls round it fly,
With a quick and fearful cry;
And the brands that floated by
Blood had stained.

OLD SPANISH BATTLE-SONG.

Fling forth the proud banner of Leon again;

A DREADFUL MUTINY.

It takes a great deal to make a sailor mutiny; it is not done by merited punishment. A sailor knows as well as his officers do, when he deserves flogging; but if he knows he does not deserve it, every lash cuts deeper than the flesh, and leaves a scar which it takes a long time to wear out, if it is ever effaced. Men in that ship were expected to do what was impossible: a whole watch of fore-topmen would sometimes be flogged for being a few seconds after the main-topmen, and the last man on the topsail yard was sure for it. John Simmons was second captain of the top, and as smart a sailor as ever hauled out a reef-earing.

One evening, some time after my being disrated, I was aft at the lee helm, as there was a fresh breeze of wind. The Captain came upon deck, and I could see by his detested face, that the devil was in him: his nostrils were compressed, and his upper lip curled up like a scroll. He took two or three short and hurried turns-looked aloft, and swore at the officer of the watch, for having slacked off the lee fore-topsail brace-called the quartermaster an old lubber, and gave symptoms of the return of his madness. He then reared out, Turn the hands up, reef topsails, and I'll flog the last half-dozen on the lower deck."

The men came rushing up from below as if the devil himself had been driving them.

"Now," said he, taking out his watch, “I'll allow you one minute, and I'll flog every man of you if you are not in time'way aloft, lower away the topsails."

The men flew up the rigging like lightning, and, the command, "trice up, lay out, take in two reefs," was hardly given, when it seemed the sail was reefed, the men off the yard, and the sail at the mast-head again. It was done within the time allotted, but on looking up, a point was discovered untied in both fore and main-topsails. The Captain very humanely gave them another trial, and the reefs were shaken out and the sail reefed, as quickly, and as well as before; but John, who was at the lee yard-arm, in his anxiety to avoid being the last man on the yard, made a spring at the lee rigging, he missed his hold, and fell upon the deck!-poor fellow! every bone in his skin was broken!

poor

"What lubber is that?" demanded the Captain of the forecastle officer.

"The second captain of the fore-top, Sir," replied the Lieutenant.

"Pitch him overboard, and be -, then," returned the Captain.

This horrid mandate was not obeyed; the doctor was aft, and ran forward to see what could be done; but his promptitude was useless: poor John was dying. When he fell, I was close by him, and ran to him, and raising his head gently from the deck, supported it on my arm. The doctor wished him to be removed to the sick-bay, but he said faintly, "Don't touch me-good bye, shipmates-God bless you all"-and as the glaze was coming over his eyes, he recognised me, and his last whisper was-"Poor Jane-give-give," his head fell back powerless on my arm, and he yielded up in agony his last

breath.

"Shipmates," murmured a hollow sepulchral voice close at hand, "remember!"

Had you witnessed the countenances of the men on the lower deck at supper that night, you would never have forgotten it: I never have; and although perfectly ignorant of what was in contemplation, I saw they were at the highest pitch of desperation. That night, poor John Simmons was sewed up

tioned, in a still more awful manner, called out, "Remember!" The officer of the watch looked round him before he recommenced reading the latter part of the service, but all the men near him appeared to be as ignorant, as to whom the sound came from, as himself. A solemn "Amen," was pronounced, echoed by the same voice, which concluded this melancholy ceremony.

I think it was the next day, (a man-of-war brig, the D, was in company,) I observed several of the men going from one mess to the other, whispering something. One in particular, a man who had been a boatswain's mate, but disrated and flogged, because the Captain thought he was not laying on the lash as he cught to have done, was very active. It was his voice, I am almost certain, that I heard repeat the word-'re member;' but every thing was so conducted that I knew nothing of what was brewing. It was the night for scrubbing and washing clothes, always done in the middle watch. I was between two of the guns abaft on the main deck, scrubbing a pair of duck trousers. I thought there was an unusual noise with the wash deck buckets, and looking up, I saw several of the men apparently larking-throwing the buckets at one another. The Captain sent out of his cabin word for the men to make less noise, but they 100k no notice of what was said; on the contrary, they made more noise than before, taking the shot out of the racks, and throwing them about the deck. At last the First Lieutenant came up, to inquire into the cause of the disturbance, when one of the men insulted him. He returned to his cabin and brought up a sword, with which he went forward among the men, and endeavored to restore order. He was knocked down, run through the body with his own sword, and thrown out of a port.

Seeing this horrid murder, I left my trousers unfinished, ran on deck, and aloft to the main-top. From this place I heard the shouts of the infuriated mutineers, and the groans of the dying; and every now and then, the splash of some mangled victim, committed to the waves. The men had broken open the gunner's store-room, and possessed themselves of arms and ammunition.

The Captain, hearing the uproar increase, opened the cabin-door, and came out. He was no sooner seen, than one of the men gave him a blow with a hand-spike, and he retreated to his cabin. Four or five of the men rushed in after him, armed with cutlasses, boarding-pikes, and muskets with fixed bayonets. The Captain endeavored to defend himself with a short sword, and for a time kept them at bay. So much did they dread him, that they shrank back, and were afraid to strike; when one of them-John Morris-called out, do you fear, men? spike the and gave them an ex

"What

SOULT AND WELLINGTON.

They met amid the bloody fields of Spain,
When the swart peasant left his reaping-hook,
And, heedless of the ripe, ungarnered grain,
A sbarper weapon in his right hand took,
For other harvests; when the green hills shook
With battle's thunder, and the carnage flood
Swelled to a river many a mountain brook,

There met they, and like gods of battle stood,
Each girt with armed hosts, and all athirst for blood!

Again they met—'t was on a summer's day,
And half a million people with them met,
Not girt with arms in slaughterous array, '

With crimson banners torn, and swords blood-wet;
But each in his high place of honor set,

When all the bells of joyous London rung; When window, balcon, roof, and parapet,

Where thronged with people and with garlands hung, And one God save the Queen!' pealed from the nation's tongue!

There met they; and like brethren, side by side,
Swell'd the glad pomp of that great jubilee.
Oh! proudest triumph of that day of pride,
When met the nation's ancient chivalry,
With ceremonial old, to reverence thee,
Thou young and favored Queen of many lands-
That every neighbor-land and every sea,

With an according gladness clapped their hands, And that those mighty warriors met with sheathed brands!

DANGERS OF THE NEW ENGLAND COAST.

It was a bright and beautiful night in October. The wind was steady from the southwest, blowing a gentle breeze-the sea was as smooth as a fresh-water pond, and its tremulous surface reflected the beams of the silvery moon. The whole scene was well calculated to sooth and tranquilize the mind, and to fill the bosom of the dreamy youth, or the imaginative poet with images of peace, of joy, of happiness-as the good ship Endymion, after a passage of one hundred and twelve days from India, bound to Boston, was standing in under all sail, toward the back of Cape Cod-expecting every moment to make the Light on the Highlands.

At this time a group of hardy, weather-beaten, rough-looking tars, who composed the starboard watch, were assembled on the forecastle of the Endymion, and were whiling away the time and amusing each other by recounting scenes and events in which they had participated in by-gone years, when approaching the coast of New England from a foreign shore. They soon came to the conclusion, unanimously, that it was the most dangerous coast in the world-"For, d' ye see," said old Bob Bunting, "if you are bound for Boston Bay, there are dangers from whichever side you come. If you come from the South, there is Nantucket Shoals, with all the big and little 'rips' without number, on the one hand, and George's Shoal on the other. If you come from the Eastward, there is the rocky and deceiving coast of Cape Sable, with the Seal Islands, which dash to pieces many a gallant ship, on the North, and George's Shoal on the South. To be sure, if the wind and weather were fair, it would all do very well; for then the skipper, if he could tell the difference between the main truck and a tarpauling hat, would be able to find out what he was about, and could make a good land-fall. But the worst of it is, a fair wind on the coast' is almost always attended with foul weather in the winter, or a fog in summer; and a westerly wind, which is always clear and cool, is dead ahead. And in bad weather, Cape Ann or Cape Cod are ugly places to run for, and you may not see them until you are hard and fast among the rocks or breakers; and if you miss them both, and find yourself close in with Nahant or Cohasset Rocks, with the wind blowing heavy right on shore, it is any thing but pleasant, lads, I 'll assure you. And after you have been lying to for two or three days, in thick weather, without being able to get an observation-and then shape a course, you are about as likely to make Boon Island Ledge and the Isles of Shoals, or the Old Man Shoal and Great Rip, as Cape Ann or Cape Cod-or, perhaps, Green Island, or the Hardings, or Nantasket Beach would appear all at once right under the jib-boom.

"I remember," continued old Bob, "it was in the brig

Nimrod, with Captain Clearweather. We had a long passage from Gibraltar-were on short allowance, and all were anxious to get into port. We struck soundings on George's one night, and run for Cape Ann with the wind at North East, and fog and thick weather rapidly coming on. But we kept a bright look out got sight of the Cape-a glad sight it was, too-and bore up for the entrance of Boston harbor. Our captain was a good sailor, and was well acquainted with the Bay, but as the wind had veered into the South East, and it began to blow very hard, and to rain very fast, so that we could not see more than a mile or two ahead, and a dark night beside, we found that we were in a pokerish situation, and felt rather streaked. We took a couple of reefs in the topsails, and a reef in the courses, and made all ready to claw off if possible, and every man was at his station ready to brace round the yards. The chief mate was on the fore topsail yard, looking out-the captain was walking the quarter deck, and I know must have felt rather bad, for he did not want to stand off and lose a fair wind, to be followed by a stiff north-wester, and perhaps be beating about for a week or two longer-and he was afraid to keep on his course toward Boston light, for fear that the current or bad steering, might shove us out of our course, and that Cohasset rocks, or the Graves, might bring us up all standing.

"At last, when we got, as the Captain concluded, within about three miles of the light, and it could not be seen, and no prospect of better weather, he made up his mind to run no longer, but down helm, haul on a wind, and try to work out of the Bay. I never felt worse in my life, than I did when I heard him give the order to brace up the yards, and haul her close on a wind. The helm was put down, and the yards were braced fore and aft-and while we were getting on board the fore tack, the clouds seemed to lighten up for a moment and away broad off on the lee bow, was seen the revolving light.

666

Light, ho!'" screamed two or three voices. 666 Light, ho!" bawled out the mate from aloft. “Light, ho,'” answered the Captain from the quarter deck. "It is Boston light! my good fellows-it is Boston light! Square away the yards again, boys-up with your helm-keep her to W. S. W., and we shall soon get a pilot.'

"The storm increased after this, and it blowed and rained great guns-but we, nevertheless, kept sight of the light, and stood on-and in Light House Channel we fell in with a pilot boat-and no man ever received a heartier welcome than Wilson did that night, when he stepped over the gangway. Dark as it was, he run her up to town. How he found the way through the Narrows, I never could find out-and anchored her off Long Wharf. The next morning the wind came out from the north-west, butt-end foremost-and if we had not got in as we did, we should have had to beat about in the bay, nobody knows how long-with but precious little to eat to drink-and perhaps have got wrecked at last."

"What time of the year was it. Bob ?" inquired Bill Davit. "It was somewhere along in November, I believe," said Bob. "At any rate, we got in the week before thanksgiving." "The coast is sometimes bad enough at that season, in all conscience," said Bill Davit-" but did you ever come on this coast in the winter season?"

"No," said Bob-"I never did-nor never will, if I can help it."

"Stick to

"You are in the right on't," exclaimed Bill. that and you'll do I have-and met with the rubbers too." "Did you have a tough time? Come, Bill, tell us all about it," exclaimed, as with one voice, several of the crew. "Well," continued Bill Davit, "you must know”

But Bill's yarn was cut short before it was well begun, by an order from the mate to haul aft the main sheet-and the promised tale of his sufferings on the Winter's Coast was ne cessarily postponed for a brief period.

BACHELORS.

A Tuscaloosa paper says that a bill has been introduced into the Senate of Alabama, to impose a fine upon all bachelors in that State. Single gentlemen of twenty-five are to pay five dollars for their privilege; and those who have persisted in their obstinacy for a longer period are sentenced to pay five dollars for each and every year over that age. This latter clause will bear hard upon veterans.

Bachelors, it appears, are a fated race-lawful objects for every body to have a fling at. The Legislature of Alabama are not the only conclave of wise men that have aimed legis