every morning it was still one night nearer home, and at evening one day nearer home! Eight days had passed. They beheld that distant bank of mist that forever haunts the vast shallows of New'foundland. 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. 6. At noon 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 a league's distance, unconscious, and at nearer approach unwarned; within hail, and bearing right toward each other, unseen, unfelt, till in a moment more, emerging from the gray mists, the illomened Vesta dealt her deadly stroke to the Arctic. 7. The death-blow was scarcely felt along the mighty hull. She neither reeled nor shivered. Neither commander nor officers deemed that they 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. 8. As Gourley went over the ship's 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 can not 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. 9. 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 recreäncy' of the crew, nor weep for the untimely dead. But, apparently, each subordinate officer lost all presence of mind, then coŭrage, 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! 10. Oh, what a burial was here! Not as when one is bōrne 1 Rěc' re an cy, a mean-spirited yielding; unfaithfulness. 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 if it had not been. HENRY WARD BEECHER, NOT SECTION XXX. I. 141. NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. OT many generations' ago, where you now sit, encircled with all that exalts and embellishes civilized life, the rank thistle nodded in the wind, and the wild fox dug his hole unscared. Here lived and loved another race of beings. Beneath the same sun that rolls over your head, the Indian hunter pursued the panting deer; gazing on the same moon that smiles for you, the Indian lover wooed his dusky mate. 2. Here, the wigwam' blaze beamed on the tender and helplèss, and the council-fire glared on the wise and daring. Now, they dipped their noble limbs in your sedgy lakes, and now, they paddled the light canoe along your rocky shores. Here they warred; the echoing whoop, the bloody grapple, the defying death-song, all were here; and when the tiger-strife was over, here curled the smoke of peace. 3. Here, too, they worshiped; and from many a dark bosom went up a fervent prayer to the Great Spirit. He had not written his laws for them on tables of stone, but he had traced them on the tables of their hearts. The poor child of Nature knew the 1 Gen`er a' tion, the mass of people living at the same time; common length of time at which one class of persons follows another, or father is succeeded by child; an age. › Em běl lish es, adorns; makes 3 beautiful by ornaments; decorates 3 Wigwam, an Indian hut, or cabin. 4 Sedgy, (sej'i), overgrown with sedge. a narrow flag or coarse grass, called not the God of Revelation, but the God of the universe' he acknowledged in every thing around. 4. He beheld him in the star that sank in beauty behind his lonely dwelling; in the sacred orb that flamed on him from his mid-day thrōne; in the flower that snapped in the morning breeze; in the lofty pine that defied a thousand whirlwinds; in the timid warbler that never left its native grove; in the fearlèss eagle, whose untired pinion was wet in clouds; in the worm that crawled at his feet; and in his own matchless form, glowing with a spark of that light, to whose mysterious source he bent in humble, though blind adoration." 5. And all this has passed away. Across the ocean came a pilgrim' bark, bearing the seeds of life and death. The former were sown for you; the latter sprang up in the path of the simple native. Two hundred years have changed the character of a great continènt, and blotted forever from its face, a whōle, peculiar people. Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and the anointed children of education have been too powerful for the tribes of the ignorant. 4 6. Here and there, a stricken few remain; but how unlike their bold, untamable progenitors. The Indian of falcon glance and lion bearing, the theme of the touching ballad,' the hero of the pathetic tale, is gone! and his degraded offspring crawls upon the soil, where he walked in majesty, to remind us how miserable is man, when the foot of the conqueror is on his neck. 7. As a race, they have withered from the land. Their ǎrrows are broken, their springs are dried up, their cabins are in the dust. Their council-fire has long since gone out of the shore, and their war-cry is fast fading to the untrodden west. Slowly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide which is pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave, which will settle over them forever. 1 U'ni verse, all created things as a whole; the world. ’Ad`o rā' tion, the act of paying honors to a Divine being; worship paid to God. 'Pil' grim, one who slowly and heavily treads his way; a traveler who has a religious object. Pilgrim bark, a vessel bearing pilgrims. Usurped, (yu zêrpt'), taken and retained that which does not belong to us, or it. 'Pro gen' i tor, an ancestor in the direct line; a forefather. Băl'lad, a popular song in simple, homely verses. 2 8. Ages hence, the inquisitive white man, as he stands by some growing city, will ponder' on the structure of their disturbed remains, and wonder to what manner of persons they belonged. They will live only in the songs and chronicles of their exterminators. Let these be faithful to their rude virtues, as men, and pay due tribute to their unhappy fate, as a people. CHARLES SPRAGUE 3 I II. 142. THE DREAM. HAD a dream-a strange, wild dream- And even yet its shadows seem To linger in my waking sight. 2. Earth green with spring, and fresh with dew, On the young blossoms of the wood. 3. Birds sang within the sprouting shade, 4. Fast climbed the sun! the flowers were flown, 5. 'Twas noon, 'twas summer; I beheld Woods darkening in the flush of day, 1 Pŏn' der, to weigh in the mind; to examine or dwell upon with long and careful attention. 'Chronicle, (kron ́i kl), a historical account of facts or events ar ranged in the order of time; a history; a record. 3 Ex ter' mi na`tor, one who, or that which roots out, or destroys completely; destroyer. 7. Now stooped the sun-the shades grew thin; 9. Still waned the day; the wind that chased The woods were stripped, the fields were waste, 10. And of the young, and strong, and fair, Of that bleak shōre and water bleak. And både her clear her clouded brow; WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. III. 143. THE WHITE STONE CANOE. HERE was once a věry beautiful young girl, who died sud some young man. а He was also brave, but his heart was not proof against this loss. From the hour she was buried, there was no more joy or peace for him. 2. He went often to visit the spot where the women had |