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the rainbow It also bore along with it over the briny valleys a whirl of fine white spray, resembling the dust which rises from a great frequent'ed avenue on a dry summer day.

2. What appeared most formidable was the indication that some of the summits of these hills, pushed forward from their bases by the violence of the wind, unfurled into enormous vaults, which broke and rolled over upon themselves, roaring and foaming with a fall that would have engulfed the largest ship had it found itself under their ruins. The condition of our vessel concurred with that of the sea to render our position frightful. Our mainmast had been broken the night before by the lightning, and our foremast, with our only sail, had been carried away that morning by the gale. The vessel, incapable of obeying her helm, rolled in the trough of the sea, the sport of the wind and the

waves.

3. I was upon the quarter-deck, hanging on to the mizzenshrouds, and trying to familiarize myself with this tremendous spectacle. As one of these mountainous piles of water approached us, I judged that the summit was more than fifty feet above my head. The base of this stupendous wave, passing under our vessel, made it incline so that the main-yards were half dipped in the sea, and the heels of the masts were so under water that we thought we were upset. Our staggering vessel, when it found itself on the crest of the surge, shook and righted for a moment, but the next was prostrated in an equally perilous manner on the descending slope of the wave, while a volume of water poured from under with the rapidity of a sluice, forming a large sheet of foam.

4. We remained in this situation, between life and death, from sunrise to three o'clock in the afternoon. It was impossible to give or receive consolation by word of mouth. So violent was the wind, that one could not make himself heard even by shouting close in his companion's ear. The blast seemed to bear away the sound of the voice, permitting nothing to be heard but its own wild howling, mingled with the creaking and rattling of the cordage, and the hoarse thunder of the surges, striving like sav age beasts for our destruction.

ORIGINAL TRANSLATION FROM ST. PIERRE.

XCI. THE HEROISM OF GRACE DARLING.

1. ALL night the storm had raged, nor ceased, nor paused,
When, as day broke, the maid, through misty air,
Espies far off a wreck, amid the surf,

Beating on one of those disastrous isles,
Half of a vessel,30 half — no more; the rest
Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there
Had for the common safety striven in vain,
Or thither thronged for refuge.

2. With quick glance

Daughter and sire through optic-glass discern,
Clinging about the remnant of this ship,

Creatures how precious in the maiden's sight!
For whom, belike, the old man grieves still more
Than for their fellow-sufferers engulfed
Where every farting agony is hushed,
And hope and fear mix not in further strife.
"But courage, father! let us out to sea,·
A few may yet be saved."

3. The daughter's words,

Her earnest tone, and looks beaming with faith,
Dispel the father's doubts; nor do they lack
The noble-minded mother's helping hand

To launch the bōat; and, with her blessing cheered,
And inwardly sustained by silent prayer,
Together they put forth, father and child!

4. Each grasps an oar, and struggling on they go,-
Rivals in effort; and, alike intent,

Here to elude and there surmount, they watch
The billows lengthening, mutually crossed
And shattered, and re-gathering their might;
As if the tumult by the Almighty's will
Were, in the conscious sea, roused and prolonged,
That woman's fortitude so tried, so proved —
May brighten more and more!

5 True to the mark,

They stem the current of that perilous gorge,

Their arms still strengthening with the strengthening heart Though danger, as the wreck is neared, becomes

More imminent. Not unseen do they approach;

And rapture, with varieties of fear

Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frames

Of those who in that dauntless energy
Foretaste deliverance.

6. But the least perturbed

Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives
That of the pair tossed on the waves to bring
Hope to the hopeless, to the dying life-

One is a woman, a poor earthly sister!
Or, be the visitant other than she seems,
A guardian spirit sent from pitying Heaven,
In woman's shape?

7. But why prolong the tale,

Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts
Armed to repel them? Every hazard faced
And difficulty mastered, with resolve

That no one breathing should be left to perish,
This last remainder of the crew are all
Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep
Are safely borne, landed upon the beach,
And, in fulfilment of God's mercy, lodged
Within the sheltering lighthouse.

8. Shout, ye waves !169

Send forth a sound of triumph. Waves and winds,
Exult in this deliverance wrought through faith
In Him whose Providence your rage has served!
Ye screaming sea-mews, in the concert join!

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9. And would that some immortal voice
Fitly attuned to all that gratitude
Breathes out from floor or couch, through pallid lips
Of the survivors, - to the clouds might bear,
Blended with praise of that parental love
Beneath whose watchful eye the maiden grew
Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave,

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Though young so wise, though meek so resolute, —131
Might carry to the clouds and to the stars,

Yea, to celestial choirs, Grace Darling's name!

WORDSWORTH

XCII. THE PRAIRIES OF THE WEST.

1. THE attraction of the prairie consists in its extent, its carpet of verdure and flowers, its undulating surface, its groves, and the fringe of timber by which it is surrounded. Of all these, the latter is the most expressive feature; it is that which gives character to the landscape, which imparts the shape and marks the boundary of the plain. If the prairie be small, its greatest beauty consists in the vicinity of the surrounding margin of woodland, which resembles the shore of a lake, indented with deep vistas like bays and inlets, and throwing out long points like capes and headlands; while occasionally these points approach so close on either hand, that the traveller passes through a narrow avenue or strait, where the shadows of the woodland fall upon his path, and then again emerges into another prairie.

2. Where the plain is large, the forest outline is seen in the far perspective, like the dim shore when beheld at a distance from the ocean. The eye sometimes roams over the green meadow

without discovering a tree, a shrub, or any object in the immense expanse, but the wilderness of grass and flowers; while at another time the prospect is enlivened by the groves, which are seen interspersed like islands, or the solitary tree, which stands alone in the blooming desert.

3. If it be in the spring of the year, and the young grass has just covered the ground with a carpet of delicate green, and especially if the sun is rising from behind a distant swell of the plain, and glittering upon the dew-drops, no scene can be more lovely to the eye. The deer is seen grazing quietly upon the plain; the bee is on the wing; the wolf, with his tail drooped, is sneaking away to his covert with the felon tread of one who is conscious that he has disturbed the peace of nature; and the grouse, feeding in flocks or in pairs, like the domestic, fowl, cover the whole surface.

4. When the eye roves off from the green plain to the groves, or points of timber, these also are found to be at this season robed in the most attractive hues. The rich undergrowth is in full bloom. The red-bud, the dog-wood, the crab-apple, the wildplum, the cherry, the wild-rose, are abundant in all the rich lands; and the grape-vine, though its blossom is unseen, fills the air with fragrance. The variety of the wild fruit and flowering shrubs is so great, and such the profusion of the blossoms with which they are bowed down, that the eye is regaled almost to satiety.

5. The gayety of the prairie, its embellishments, and the absence of the gloom and savage wildness of the forest, all contribute to dispel the feeling of lonesomeness which usually creeps over the mind of the solitary traveller in the wilderness. Though he may not see a house, nor a human being, and is conscious that he is far from the habitations of men, he can scarcely divest himself of the idea that he is travelling through scenes embellished by the hand of art. The flowers, so fragile, so delicate, and so ornamental, seem to have been tastefully disposed to adorn the scene; the groves and clumps of trees appear to have been scattered over the lawn to beautify the landscape; and it is not easy to avoid that illusion of the fancy which persuades the beholder that such scenery has been created to gratify the refined taste of civilized man.

6. Europeans are often reminded of the resemblance of this scenery to that of the extensive parks of noblemen which they have been accustomed to admire in the Old World; the lawn, the avenue, the grove, the copse, which are there produced by art, are here produced by nature; a splendid specimen of massy

architecture, and the distant view of villages, are alone wanting to render the simil'itude complete.

JAMES HALL.

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7. These are the gardens of the desert, these
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,
For which the speech of England has no name,
The Prairies. EI I behold them for the first,
And my heart swells, while the dilated sight
Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo! they stretch
In airy undulations, far away,

As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell.

Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed,
And motionless forever. Motionless?.

No- they are all unchained again.

The clouds

Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath,
The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye;
Dark hollows seem to glide along, and chase
The sunny ridges. *

8. Man hath no part in all this glorious work:
The Hand that built the firmament hath heaved

And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown their slopes
With herbage, planted them with island groves,

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And hedged them round with forests. Fitting floor
For this magnificent temple of the sky-

With flowers whose glory and whose multitude

Rival the constellations! The great heavens

Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love,
A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue,
Than that which bends above the eastern hills.

BRYANT

XCIII.

-THE VALLEY OF MEXICO.

FROM THE SIDE OF THE SIERRA NEVA'DA.

1. CONCEIVE yourself placed on a mountain nearly two thousand feet above the valley, and nine thousand above the level of the sea; a sky above you of the most perfect azure, without a cloud; and an atmosphere so transparently pure that the remotest objects, at the distance of many leagues, are as distinctly visible as if at hand. The gigantic scale of everything first strikes you, you seem to be looking down upon a world.

2. No other mountain and valley view has such an assemblage of features, because nowhere else are the mountains at the same time so high, the valley so wide, or filled with such variety of land and water. The plain beneath is exceedingly level, and for two hundred miles around it extends a barrier of stupendous

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