I think our old captains in heaven,
As they look'd upon those deeds,
Were proud of the flower of that navy
Of which they planted the seeds.

Paul Jones, the knight-errant of ocean,
Decatur, the lord of the seas,

Hull, Lawrence, and Bainbridge, and Biddle,
And Perry, the peer of all these.

If Porter beheld his descendant
With some human pride on his lip,
I trust, through the mercy of Heaven,
His soul was forgiven that slip.

And thou, living veteran, "Old Ironsides,"
The last of the splendid line,

Thou link 'twixt the old and new glory,
I know what feelings were thine.

When the sun look'd over the tree-tops,

We found ourselves-Heaven knows how-.
Above the grim forts; and that instant
A smoke broke from Farragut's bow;

And over the river came floating

The sound of the morning gun,

And the Stars and Stripes danced up the halliards,
And glitter'd against the sun.

Oh! then what a shout from the squadrons,
As flag follow'd flag, till the day

Was bright with the beautiful standard,
And wild with the victors' huzza!

But three ships were missing; the others
Had pass'd through that current of flame;
And each scar on their shatter'd bulwarks
Was touch'd by the finger of Fame.

Below us the forts of the rebels

Lay in the trance of despair; Above us, uncover'd and helpless, New Orleans clouded the air.

Again in long lines we went steaming
Away towards the city's smoke;
And works were deserted before us,
And columns of soldiers broke.

In vain the town clamor'd and struggled,

The flag at our peak ruled the hour; And under its shade, like a lion,

Were resting the will and the power.

THE HOUR OF DEATH.-F. Hemans.

LEAVES have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set-but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh Death!

Day is for mortal care,

Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer-
But all for Thee, thou mightiest of the earth.

The banquet hath its hour,

Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine ;
There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power,
A time for softer tears-but all are thine.

Youth and the opening rose

May look like things too glorious for decay,
And smile at thee-but thou art not of those
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey.

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set-but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh Death!

We know when moons shall wane,

When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grainBut who shall teach us when to look for thee?

Is it when Spring's first gale

Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie?
Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ?.
They have one season-all are ours to die!

Thou art where billows foam,

Thou art where music melts upon the air;

Thou art around us in our peaceful home,

And the world calls us forth-and thou art there.

Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set-but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh Death!

ANSWER TO THE

"HOUR OF DEATII.”

Mrs. Cornwall Baron Wilson.

TRUE, all we know must die,

Though none can tell the exact appointed hour;
Nor should it cost the virtuous heart a sigh,
Whether death doth crush the oak, or nip the opening
flower.

The Christian is prepared,

Though others tremble at the hour of gloom!
His soul is always ready on his guard;

His lamps are lighted 'gainst the bridegroom come.

It matters not the time

When we shall end our pilgrimage below;

Whether in youth's bright morn, or manhood's prime, Or when the frost of age has whitened o'er our brow.

The child has blossomed fair,

And looked so lovely on its mother's breast,

The source of many a hope, and many a prayer, Why murmur that it sleeps, when all at last may rest?

Snatched from a world of woe,

Where they must suffer most who longest dwell,
It vanished like a flake of early snow,

That melts into the sea, pure as from heaven it fell.

The youth whose pulse beats high,

Eager through glory's brilliant course to run,
Why should we shed a tear or breathe a sigh,

That the bright goal is gained-the prize thus early won!

Unstained by many a crime,

Which to maturer years might owe their birth,

In summer's earliest bloom, or morning's prime, How blessed are they who quit this chequered scene of earth!

And shall no tear be paid

To her, the new-made bride-the envied fair,

On whose fond heart death's withering hand is laid, Checking each pulse of bliss Hymen has wakened there.

Joy scattered roses, while

The happy slumberer sank in calm repose

In death's embrace, e'er Love withdrew his smile; And 'scaped those chilling blights the heart too often knows.

Yes! all we know must die.

Since none can tell the exact appointed hour,

Why need it cost the virtuous heart a sigh, Whether death doth crush the oak, or nip the opening flower?

A YANKEE IN LOVE.-Alf. Burnett.

ONE day Sall fooled me; she heated the poker awful hot, then asked me to stir the fire. I seized hold of it mighty quick to oblige her, and dropped it quicker to oblige myself. Well, after the poker scrape, me and Sall only got or middlin' well for some time, till I made up my mind to pop the question, for I loved her harder every day, and I had an idee she loved me or had a sneaking kindness for me. But how to do the thing up nice and rite pestered me orful. I bought some love books, and read how the fellers git down onter their knees and talk like poets, and how the girls would gently-like fall in love with them. But somehow or other that way didn't kinder suit my notion. I asked mam how she and dad courted, but she said it had been so long she had forgotten all about it. Uncle Jo said mam did all the courting.

At last I made up my mind to go it blind, for this thing was farely consumin' my mind; so I goes over to her dad's, and when I got there I sot like a fool, thinkin' how tc begin. Sall seed somethin' was troublin' me, so she said, says she, "An't you sick, Peter?" She said this mity soft-like. "Yes! No!" sez I; "that is, I an't zackly well

I thought I'd come over to-night," sez I. I tho't that was a mity purty beginnin'; so I tried agin. "Sall,” sez I— and by this time I felt kinder fainty about the stommuck and shaky about the knees-" Sall," sez I. "What?" sez she. "Sall," sez I agin. "What?" sez she. I'll get to it arter awhile at this rate, thinks I. Peter," says she, "there's suthin' troublin' you; 'tis mighty wrong for you to keep it from a body, for an inard sorrer is a consumin' fire." She said this, she did, the sly critter. She knowed what was the matter all the time mighty well, and was only tryin' to fish it out, but I was so far gone I couldn't see the point. At last I sorter gulped down the big lump a risin' in my throat, and sez I, sez I, "Sall, do you love anybody ?" Well," sez she, "there's dad and mam," and a countin' of her fingers all the time, with her eyes sorter shet like a feller shootin' off a gun, "and there's old Pide [that were their old cow,] and I can't think of any body else just now," says she. Now, this was orful for a feller ded in love; so arter awhile I tried another shute. Sez I, "Sall," sez I, “I'm powerful lonesome at home, and sometimes think if I only had a nice, pretty wife to luv and talk to, move, and have my bein', with, I'd be a tremendous feller." Sez I, “Sall, do you know any gal would keer for me?" With that she begins, and names over all the gals for five miles around, and never once came nigh naming of herself, and sed I oughter git one of them. This sorter got my dander up, so I hitched my cheer up close to her, and shet my eyes and sed, "SALL, YOU are the VERY gal I've been hankering arter for a long time. I luy you all over, from the sole of your head to the crown of your foot, and I don't care who nos it, and if you say so we'll be jined together in the holy bonds of hemlock, Epluribusunum, world without end, amen!" sez I; and then I felt like I'd throwed up an alligator, I felt so relieved. With that she fetched a sorter screem, and arter awhile sez, sez she, "PETER !" "What, Sally ?" sez I. "YES!" sez she, a hidin' of her face behind her hands. You bet a neap I felt good. "Glory! glory!!" sez I, "I must holler, Sall, or I shall bust. Hurrah for hooray! I can jump over a ten-rail fence !" With that I sot rite down by her and clinched the bargain with a kiss. Talk about your blackberry jam; talk about your sugar and merlasses; you wouldn't a got me nigh 'em-they would all a been sour arter that. O, these gals! how good and bad, how high and low they make a feller feel! If Sall's daddy hadn't Bung out 'twas time all honest folks was a bed, I'd a sot there two hours longer. You oughter seed me when I got home! I pulled dad out of bed and hugged him! I pulled mam out of bed and hugged her! I pulled aunt Jane out