said; “she is weak now, but as her lodge fills with young she will be stronger. See!" he added, directing the eyes of the other to the earnest countenance of the attentive trapper; Hard-Heart is not without a gray-beard to show him the path to the blessed prairies. If he ever has another father it shall be that just warrior." Le Balafré turned away in disappointment from the youth, and approached the stranger who had thus anticipated his design. DEATH OF LONG TOM COFFIN. LIFTING his broad hands high into the air, his voice was heard in the tempest. God's will be done with me," he cried; "I saw the first timber of the Ariel laid, and shall live just long enough to see it turn out of her bottom; after which I wish to live no longer." But his shipmates were far beyond the sounds of his voice before these were half uttered. All command of the boat was rendered impossible, by the numbers it contained, as well as the raging of the surf; and as it rose on the white crest of a wave, Tom saw his beloved little craft for the last time. It fell into a trough of the sea, and in a few moments more its fragments were ground into splinters on the adjoining rocks. The coxswain (Tom) still remained where he had cast off the rope, and beheld the numerous heads and arms that appeared rising, at short intervals, on the waves, some making powerful and well-directed efforts to gain the sands, that were becoming visible as the tide fell, and others wildly tossed in the frantic movements of helpless despair. The honest old seaman gave a cry of joy as he saw Barnstable (the commander whom Tom had forced into the boat) issue from the surf, where one by one several seamen appeared also, dripping and exhausted. Many others of the crew were carried in a similar manner to places of safety; though, as Tom returned to his seat on the bowsprit, he could not conceal from his reluctant eyes the lifeless forms that were, in other spots, driven against the rocks with a fury that soon left them but few of the outward vestiges of humanity. Dillon and the coxswain were now the sole occupants of their dreadful station. The former stood, in a kind of stupid despair, a witness of the scene; but as his curdled blood began again to flow more warmly to his heart, he crept close to the side of Tom, with that H sort of selfish feeling that makes even hopeless misery more tolerable, when endured in participation with another. 66 "When the tide falls," he said in a voice that betrayed the agony of fear, though his words expressed the renewal of hope, able to walk to land." 66 we shall be There was One and only One to whose feet the waters were the same as a dry deck," returned the coxswain; "and none but such as have His power will ever be able to walk from these rocks to the sands." The old seaman paused, and turning his eyes, which exhibited a mingled expression of disgust and compassion, on his companion, he added, with reverence: Had you thought more of Him in fair weather, your case would be less to be pitied in this tempest." "Do you still think there is much danger?" asked Dillon. "To them that have reason to fear death. Listen! Do you hear that hollow noise beneath ye?" ""Tis the poor thing herself," said the affected coxswain, "giving her last groans. The water is breaking upon her decks, and in a few minutes more the handsomest model that ever cut a wave will be like the chips that fell from her in framing!" "Why, then, did you remain here?" cried Dillon, wildly. 66 "To die in my coffin, if it should be the will of God," returned Tom. 'These waves are to me what the land is to you; I was born on them, and I have always meant that they shall be my grave.” "But - I — I,” shrieked Dillon, “I am not ready to die! I cannot die! I will not die!" 'Poor wretch!" muttered his companion, "you must go like the rest of us; when the death-watch is called, none can skulk from the muster." "I can swim," Dillon continued, rushing with frantic eagerness to the side of the wreck. Is there no billet of wood, no rope, that I can take with me?" 66 None; everything has been cut away, or carried off by the sea. If you are about to strive for your life, take with you a stout heart and a clean conscience, and trust the rest to God." "God!" echoed Dillon, in the madness of his frenzy. "I know no God; there is no God that knows me!" "Peace!" said the deep tones of the coxswain, in a voice that seemed to speak in the elements; "blasphemer, peace! " The heavy groaning, produced by the water in the timbers of the Ariel, at that moment added its impulse to the raging feelings of Dillon, and he cast himself headlong into the sea. The water, thrown by the rolling of the surf on the beach, was necessarily returned to the ocean in eddies, in different places favorable to such an action of the element. Into the edge of one of these counter-currents, that was produced by the very rocks on which the schooner lay, and which the watermen call the "under-tow," Dillon had unknowingly thrown his person; and when the waves had driven him a short distance from the wreck he was met by a stream that his most desperate efforts Icould not overcome. He was a light and powerful swimmer, and the struggle was hard and protracted. With the shore immediately before his eyes, and at no great distance, he was led, as by a false phantom, to continue his efforts, although they did not advance him a foot. The old seaman, who at first had watched his motions with careless indifference, understood the danger of his situation at a glance, and, forgetful of his own fate, he shouted aloud, in a voice that was driven over the struggling victim to the ears of his shipmates on the sands: Sheer to port, and clear the under-tow! Sheer to the southward!" 66 Dillon heard the sounds, but his faculties were too much obscured by terror to distinguish their object; he, however, blindly yielded to the call, and gradually changed his direction until his face was once more turned towards the vessel. Tom looked around him for a rope, but all had gone over with the spars, or been swept away by the waves. At this moment of disappointment his eyes met those of the desperate Dillon. Calm and inured to horrors as was the veteran seaman, he involuntarily passed his hand before his brow to exclude the look of despair he encountered; and when, a moment afterwards, he removed the rigid member, he beheld the sinking form of the victim as it gradually settled in the ocean, still struggling with regular but impotent strokes of the arms and feet to gain the wreck, and to preserve an existence that had been so much abused in its hour of allotted probation. "He will soon meet his God, and learn that his God knows him! murmured the coxswain to himself. As he yet spoke, the wreck of the Ariel yielded to an overwhelming sea, and after a universal shudder, her timbers and planks gave way, and were swept towards the cliffs, bearing the body of the simple-hearted coxswain among the ruins. BRYANT. 1794 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, who may be said to share with Longfellow the first place in the list of American poets, was born in Cummington, Massachusetts, in 1794. His precocity was remarkable. At the age of ten he made translations from the Latin poets, which were published, and three years later, wrote The Embargo, a satirical poem of great merit. He studied law, and practiced that profession for some time in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. His early productions were regarded as the work of a precocious genius which would surely spend itself in these premature efforts; but the appearance of Thanatopsis, which was written in his nineteenth year, and was published in the North American Review, proved conclusively that he was not a mere youthful prodigy. In 1825 he removed to New York, and, with a partner, established the New York Review and Athenæum Magazine, to which he contributed some of his best poems. The next year he became editor of the Evening Post, and still holds that place. While he is best known by his poems, Mr. Bryant is considered by the best authorities one of the finest prose writers in the country. In England his poetry is held in high esteem; Thanatopsis, To a WaterFowl, Green River, etc., have received earnest praise from the leading English critics. Mr. Bryant is distinctively a student and interpreter of Nature; all her aspects and voices are familiar to him, and are reproduced in his poetry with a solemn and ennobling beauty which has never been attained by any other American poet. In many respects his verse resembles Wordsworth's; but its spirit is less introspective, and appeals more directly to the common understanding. Another striking characteristic of Mr. Bryant's poetry is its lofty moral tone, which is the eloquence of a great intellect warmed and controlled by high and pure impulses. THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. Heaped in the hollows of the grove the withered leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprung and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves; the gentle race of flowers The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, men, And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen. And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south-wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, THANATOPSIS. To him who in the love of Nature holds Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, To Nature's teachings, while from all around |