foaming billows, and made the succeeding darkness doubly terrible. The thunders bellowed over the wild waste of waters, and were echoed and prolonged by the mountain waves. As I saw the ship staggering and plunging among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that she regained her balance, or preserved her buoyancy. Her yards would dip into the water: her bow was almost buried beneath the waves. Sometimes, an impending surge appeared ready to overwhelm her, and nothing but a dexterous movement of the helm preserved her from the shock.

5. When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still followed me. The whistling of the wind through the rigging sounded like funeral wailings. The creaking of the masts, the straining and groaning of bulk-heads, as the ship labored in the weltering sea, were frightful. As I heard the waves rushing along the sides of the ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as if Death were raging round this floating prison, seeking for his prey: the mere starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam, might give him entrance.

6. A fine day, however, with a tranquil sea and favoring breeze, soon put all these dismal reflections to flight. It is impossible to resist the gladdening influence of fine weather and fair wind at sea. When the ship is decked out in all her *canvas, every sail swelled, and careering gayly over the curling waves, how lofty, how gallant she appears! how she seems to lord it over the deep!-But it is time to get ashore.

7. It was a fine sunny morning when the thrilling cry of "land!" was heard from the mast-head. None but those who have experienced it can form an idea of the delicious throng of sensations which rush into an American's bosom, when he first comes in sight of Europe. There is a volume of associations with the very name. It is the land of promise, teeming with every thing of which his childhood. has heard, or on which his studious years have *pondered. From that time until the moment of arrival, it was all feverish excitement. The ships of war, that prowled like *guardian giants along the coast; the headlands of Ireland, stretching out into the channel; the Welsh mountains, towering into the clouds; all were objects of intense interest. As we sailed up the Mersey, my eye dwelt with delight on neat cottages,

I saw

with their trim shrubberies and green grass-plots. the moldering ruins of an abbey overrun with ivy, and the taper spire of the village church, rising from the brow of a neighboring hill. All were characteristic of England.

8. The tide and wind were so favorable that the ship was enabled to come at once to the pier. It was thronged with people; some, idle lookers-on; others, eager expectants of friends or relatives. I could distinguish the merchant to whom the ship was consigned. I knew him by his calculating brow and restless air. His hands were thrust into his pockets; he was whistling thoughtfully, and walking to and fro, a small space having been accorded to him by the crowd, in deference to his temporary importance. There were repeated cheerings and salutations interchanged between the shore and the ship, as friends happened to recognize each other.

9. I particularly noticed one young woman, of humble dress, but interesting demeanor. She was leaning forward from among the crowd; her eye hurried over the ship as it neared the shore, to catch some wished-for countenance. She seemed disappointed and agitated; when I heard a faint voice call her name. It was from a poor sailor who had been ill, all the voyage, and had excited the sympathy of every one on board. When the weather was fine, his messmates had spread a mattress for him on deck in the shade, but of late his illness had so increased, that he had taken to his hammock, and only breathed a wish that he might see his wife before he died. He had been helped on deck as we came up the river, and was now leaning against the shrouds, with a countenance so wasted, so pale, so ghastly, that it was no wonder even the eye of affection did not recognize him. But at the sound of his voice, her eye darted on his features: it read, at once, the whole volume of sorrow; she clasped her hands, uttered a faint shriek, and stood wringing them in silent agony.

10. All was now hurry and bustle. The meetings of acquaintances; the greetings of friends; the consultations of men of business. I alone was solitary and idle. I had no friend to meet, no cheering to receive. I stepped upon the land of my forefathers, but felt that I was a stranger in the land.

LXXXVII.-SONG OF EMIGRATION.

FROM MRS. HEMANS.

1. THERE was heard a song on the *chiming sea,
A mingled breathing of grief and glee;
Man's voice, unbroken by sighs, was there,
Filling with triumph the sunny air;

Of fresh, green lands, and of pastures new,
It sang, while the bark through the surges flew,
But ever and anon

A murmur of farewell,

Told, by its plaintive tone,

That from woman's lip it fell.

2. "Away, away, o'er the foaming main!"
This was the free and joyous strain,
"There are clearer skies than ours afar,

We will shape our course by a brighter star;

There are plains whose verdure no foot hath pressed, And whose wealth is all for the first brave guest."

"But, alas! that we should go,"

Sang the farewell voices then,

"From the homestead, warm and low,

By the brook and in the glen!"

3. "We will rear new homes, under trees that glow
As if gems were the fruitage of every bough;
O'er our white walls, we will train the vine,
And sit in its shadow at day's decline;
And watch our herds as they range at will
Through the green savannas, all bright and still."
"But woe for that sweet shade

Of the flowering orchard trees,
Where first our children played
'Mid the birds and honey-bees!"

4. "All, all our own shall the forests be,
As to the bound of the troebuck free!
None shall say, 'Iither, no further pass!'
We will track each step through the wavy grass;
We will chase the elk in his speed and might,
And bring proud spoils to the hearth at night."
"But O, the gray church tower,

And the sound of the sabbath bell,
And the sheltered garden bower,
We have bid them all farewell!"

5. "We will give the names of our fearless race
To each bright river whose course we trace;
We will leave our memory with mounts and floods,
And the path of our daring in boundless woods;
And our works on many a lake's green shore,
Where the Indians' graves lay alone, before."
"But who shall teach the flowers,

Which our children loved, to dwell
In a soil that is not ours?

Home, home and friends, farewell!"

LXXXVIII.-SCENE FROM THE POOR GENTLEMAN.
FROM COLMAN.

Sir Robert Bramble and Humphrey Dobbins.

Sir R. I'LL tell you what, Humphrey Dobbins, there is not a syllable of sense in all you have been saying. But I suppose you will maintain there is.

Hum. Yes.

Sir R. Yes! is that the way you talk to me, you old boor? What 's my name?

Hum. Robert Bramble.

Sir R. An't I a baronet? Sir Robert Bramble of Blackberry Hall, in the county of Kent? 'Tis time you should know it, for you have been my clumsy, two-fisted valet these thirty years: can you deny that?

Hum. Hem!

Sir R. Hem? What do you mean by hem? Open that rusty door of your mouth, and make your ugly voice walk out of it. Why don't you answer my question?

Hum. Because, if I contradict you, I shall tell you a lie, and when I agree with you, you are sure to fall out.

Sir R. Humphrey Dobbins, I have been so long endeavoring to beat a few brains into your *pate, that all your hair has tumbled off before my point is carried.

Hum. What then? Our parson says my head is an *emblem of both our honors.

Sir R. Ay; because honors, like your head, are apt to be empty.

Hum. No; but if a servant has grown bald under his mas

ter's nose, it looks as if there was honesty on one side, and regard for it on the other.

Sir R. Why, to be sure, old Humphrey, you are as honest as a-pshaw the parson means to palaver us; but, to return to my position, I tell you, I don't like your flat +contradiction.

Hum. Yes, you do.

Sir R. I tell you I don't. I only love to hear men's arguments. I hate their *flummery.

Hum. What do you call flummery?

Sir R. Flattery, blockhead! a dish too often served up by paltry poor men to paltry rich ones.

Hum. I never serve it up to you.

Sir R. No, you give me a dish of a different description.
Hum. Hem! what is it?
Sir R.

Sour-krout, you old crab.

Hum. I have held you a stout tug at argument this many a year.

Sir R. And yet I could never teach you a †syllogism. Now mind, when a poor man assents to what a rich man says, I suspect he means to flatter him: now I am rich, and hate flattery. Ergo-when a poor man subscribes to my opinion, I hate him.

Hum. That's wrong.

Sir R. Very well; negatur; now prove it.
Hum. Put the case then, I am a poor man.

Sir R. You an't, you scoundrel.

never want, while I have a shilling.

You know you shall

Hum. Well, then, I am a poor-I must be a poor man now, or I never shall get on.

Sir R. Well, get on, be a poor man.

Hum. I am a poor man, and argue with you, and convince you, you are wrong; then you call yourself a blockhead, and I am of your opinion: now, that's no flattery.

Sir R. Why, no; but when a man's of the same opinion with me, he puts an end to the argument, and that puts an end to the conversation, and so I hate him for that. where's my nephew, Frederic?

Hum. Been out these two hours.

But

Sir R. An undutiful cub! Only arrived from Russia last