*

*

avoided temptation, Dr. G-, as we are counselled to do, by coming up stairs, and my guardian spirit has somewhat softened my trial, by sending me a horrible cold in my head, so that the smell of the supper hath not dominion over me.' There's 'a letter i' the candle!' as sure as can be! Pray heaven it is de Toi, to say WE'RE going home, and I shall be happy. BE HAPPY! Life, and love, and earth, and heaven, can make us no more than this. Happy! The old are hoping, the young are panting, and all are struggling, from birth till death, to be happy!'

August, 1838.

FAREWELL.

'She's gone!" - OTHELLO.

FAREWELL to thee, lov'd one! the moment has come,
And the desert of life must now be my home;
Extinguish'd for aye is that pillar of light
Which illumined the path of the Israelite;

We have linger'd too long o'er those pleasures which lie
In life's path, like roses, that bloom but to die;
Still we cherish'd the leaves, that lay scatter'd and strown,
Like the last birds that linger, ere summer be gone.

Oh! fools that we were, to love on through such pain,
That deceived and betrayed, like the syren's strain;
To hope that the darkness and mists of our sorrow
Would clear into light 'neath the ray of the morrow!
Our bark was too frail for the freightage it bore,
And the breath of Cythæra shall woo it no more;
From the wreck not a joy, not a hope, could we save,
All buried and lost, 'neath the merciless wave!

Yet the trials and sorrows which gloomed o'er our way,
Whose sting knew no balm, and whose darkness no ray,
But strengthen'd a passion so hopeless as ours,
Which borrow'd its ties from the cypress' bowers;
In despair it was nurtur'd, in sorrow it grew,
And if ever a smile cross'd its path, 't was from you:
Yet 'midst sorrow and strife the more brightly it glow'd,
As the moon when she bursts from the womb of the cloud.

Then twine we the garland, though wither'd it be;
The truer the type of our sad destiny;
Ah! little we thought when in morning's bright hour,
We rov'd in the sunshine, or gather'd the flower,
That the buds which enamell'd and glowed in our path,
Were yet to be twin'd in the chaplet of death!
Oh! an Eden was ours, but wither'd and blighted
Are the bloom that we gaz'd on, the faith we have plighted!

Still strain'd I mine eye through the vista of gloom,
For one hope to illumine the curse of our doom;
But dim was that eye with the shade of the past,
And the sunset of joy o'er the future was cast;
Yet I struggled, at parting, that one word to speak,
Whose agony stole from the eye to the cheek:
The most desolate far that the bosom can swell,
Are the feelings which thrill in that one word, FAREWELL!

EDWARD MATURIM.

ENGLISH AND AMERICAN STEAM VESSELS.

BY W. C. REDFIELD.

THE London 'Nautical Magazine' for August, contains an article on 'American Steamers,' which comprises a tabular description of some of the steam-boats in the 'New-York waters.' This table appears to have been furnished to the editor by an American correspondent, and though not entirely correct, is highly valuable for the information which it embodies, and is therefore presented to the readers on an adjoining page.

The sprightly and somewhat ironical article which the editor of the 'Nautical' has appended to this table, appears to be founded mainly on the loose and often discordant statements which appear from time to time in our newspapers. Of the numerous errors and false assumptions found in this paper, not the least is that of the supposed current of the Hudson, which is assumed to be of the moderate uniform rate of three miles per hour.' This current is allowed for, in a passage from New-York to Albany, 'against the stream,' whereas, the Hudson, being for the most part a narrow estuary, has no stream or current, except in case of freshets, for a few miles on the upper portion of the route, but exhibits a reciprocal course of ebb and flood tide, the average rate of which, for the entire distance, does not exceed one mile per hour. A fast steamer leaving New-York on the flood tide, often carries it to Albany without change, from which may be derived an advantage equal to about ten miles in a passage. The ebb tide is in like manner often carried from New-York to Albany, with a disadvantage proportionally greater, because encountered for a more lengthened period. The passage from Albany to New-York, on the contrary, has this peculiarity, that the tides are always changed from ebb to flood, and vice versa, once in about three hours; so that a nearly equal portion of favorable and opposing tide must always be had in descending the Hudson; except that the ratio of opposing tide usually predominates, for the reason above given.

The 'Nautical' accompanies its article with an engraving of the American steam-boat Swallow, reduced from one of Robinson's lithographs. The Swallow,' says the editor, 'is no beauty for model, whatever she may be for speed; but the New-York steamer is of a peculiar genus, to be found only in her own waters; a sort of rara avis, adapted to the notions of brother Jonathan.'

In the last remark here appended, there is more truth than poetry; and John Bull, it appears, is just obtaining knowledge of this to him unknown and hitherto unrivalled 'genus' of American steam-boats. In regard to beauty of model, we can inform the editor of the 'Nautical' that Jonathan has been long at school, where he has learned pretty thoroughly the art of adapting means to ends, in the most direct and efficient manner. It is thus that he has learned to discard his former heir-loom notions of taste and beauty, and he no longer considers obsolete forms and appendages, which are in themselves useless or injurious, as being essential to symmetry and beauty in a

Rochester,

river going steamer. But John Bull has been so long accustomed to strait sides and bulwarks, quarter galleries and cutwater, the latter surmounted by bowsprit and figure head, that it is difficult for him to imagine any other standard of beauty in naval architecture. Thus it happens, too, with his steamers, owing in part to the imperfection of their models or construction, and the comparative inefficiency of their engines, that he still finds it expedient to employ canvass, in aid of steam in his home navigation; a practice which, in a steamer of proper efficiency, is worse than useless, except perhaps on sea voyages.

There is however a 'genus' of American steam-boats, of which we are not so proud, and which unfortunately has furnished material to the editor of the 'Nautical' and other foreign writers, for most of their witticisms upon American steam navigation. This genus, whose habitat is chiefly on the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, has also contributed much to unsettle the public mind, and to impair the just confidence which has hitherto been placed in the skill and science of American artisans and engineers; and which has likewise been the means of fastening upon our invaluable steam marine a legislative incubus, which bids fair to secure to the steamers of Britain the most valuable portion of our intercourse with the parent country.

Ours is a reading public, while the writers on steam or steam navigation are almost exclusively English, and give currency to English views and opinions, whether the same be sound or practically obsolete. This tendency in our literature is unwittingly abetted by a great portion of the American press, the conductors of which are not sufficiently conversant with the facts and principles on which alone a correct estimate can be founded; while American engineers are better employed than in sketching the present state of their art, or in writing the chronicles of their own labors and achievements, which latter have a brighter and more enduring record in their results, and in the changes which they have so rapidly wrought upon the face of nature, and of human society.

It seems hardly to be known, at the present time, even in our own country, that a proper sea going steam ship, well adapted to the navigation of the Atlantic, was built and fitted out at New-York full seventeen years ago, when the art of steam navigation in Europe was in its very infancy. This steam ship, the Robert Fulton, made a number of voyages to Havana and New-Orleans, but owing to the embarrassments of her owner, was dismantled, and sold in another country. This vessel was designed and built by that celebrated shipwright, the late Henry Eckford, for David Dunham, Esq., since deceased, and is now a ship of war, mounting twenty-six guns, and remarkable for her sailing qualities; having for several years past been attached to the Brazilian navy. This ship, if propelled by a modern 'New-York' engine, or with the portion of steam power which is now used in the best British steam ships, would, even now, prove a successful rival to the Great Western; at least for any length of passage for which her structure was designed.

Of the practicability of trans-atlantic navigation by steam power alone, American engineers have, for several years, been fully sensible. Of the probability of obtaining a remuneration proportioned to the outlay, however, great doubts have always been entertained. But should the sound practical talent of our countrymen be brought to bear properly upon this enterprise, a degree of surety and despatch which has not yet been realized, is sure to be attained. Whether such an attempt be justifiable at this time, in view of the false position in which the American merchants and engineers have been placed by the recent investments of British capital in ocean steamers, and by the unwise legislation of our own government, is a question admitting of more doubt. This remark is applied to the new steam-boat law; more especially to that odious provision, which makes the owners of American steam vessels liable, in case of accident, for all the property on board their vessels, in violation of the first principles of justice, which deem a man innocent till he is proved guily.

ODE TO THE CZAR.

'He has ravaged six hundred young women from their homes in Poland to distribute among the soldiery.' GERMAN PAPER.

'Odii immortales! ubinam gentium sumus?"

AND SO 'tis o'er; and Poland, torn
And bleeding, bows to thee;
Thou hast thy guerdon in the scorn,
The curses of the free!

And men shall say, in other times,
Thou wast Napoleon in thy crimes,
But nothing more could be;
Fore-doomed to ape those acts alone,
The exile scorned or dared not own!

And then this last! It were a deed

A Nero's name would blot;

By worse than Rome's worst son decreed,
It shall not be forgot.
Thy fame will be, the ruthless foe,
Whose every breath was human wo,
Till thrones and time are not;
The first, the last, the worst to claim
An immortality of shame!

The Grecian, with the earth at ban,
Wept for a world to win;

But mourned, for he was still a man,
The plague-spot dark within:
The Thunderer, melted by the spell,
Wept at the distant evening bell
Of his own young Brienne:
But thou!- the fiend hath blasted thee
From all of human sympathy.

The Cæsar mourned the laurelled foe
Hurled headlong from his side,
Forgetting, in that hour of wo,
He would the world divide:

But thou! to thee 'tis doubly sweet
To stab the victim at thy feet,

Thou lord of homicide!
Dark thing-go glut thee o'er thy blade,
And mark the ruin thou hast made,

The dying mourning for the dead,

The conquered on the slain,

The night-clouds glowing wildly red,

The blood-empurpled plain,

The earthquake charge, the freeman's prayer
A nation in its last despair,

These crowd thy reeking train;
Till even Ruin checks her way,
And waves her ghastly arm to stay.

The father tearless grieves his son,
The warrior mourns his bride;
The mother clasps her little one,
For she has nought beside;
The famished boy, of lordly birth,
Stands weeping by the smouldering hearth,

Where all his race have died.
And Poland wails, in widowed wo,
Her martyred sons, her ruthless foe,

And Europe heard her last, wild shriek,
Nor answered to the call;
The Austrian whet his vulture beak,
And fevered for her fall;
And Prussia shouted in her glee,
And England, traitress to the free !

Was harloting with Gaul;
Gods! did the Corsican but reign,
How would they leap to arms again!

But all in vain; his eagle wing

Low in the dust is laid!
The children of the thunder-king
Have sheathed his lightning blade!
And since he fell, their land hath been
The plaything of whate'er was mean,
Betraying and betrayed!

By Europe chained, then vainly free,
The slaves, the dupes of tyranny.

Yet there are mourners o'er thy grave;
Oh Poland, shall it be?

And nations mock the bold and brave,
With such hypocrisy!
But it is well; from out thy tomb

Their ruin, Phenix-like, shall come,

And Europe yet be free.

Nor kings nor traitors barter then
The eternal heritage of men.