THE GRAVE AT SPITZBERGEN. HALF imbedded in the black moss at his feet, there lay a grey deal coffin, falling to pieces with age, the lid was gone, blown off probably by the wind, and within, were stretched the bleaching bones of a human skeleton. A rude cross at the head of the grave still stood partially upright, and a half-obliterated Dutch inscription preserved a record of the dead man's name and age, Vander Schelling Comman Jacob Moor, ob. 2 June, 1758; æt. 44.-Letters from High Latitudes. ABOVE, the vast eternal snows, The glaciers' icy peaks, Touch'd with pale tints of blue and rose, Below, the land-lock'd quiet bay, No sound along the wide snow plains, But nature ever more remains Wrapp'd in a breathless sleep. No blade of grass waves in the air Caught by the marvellous silence there Or words that find no vent. O frozen cliffs! O motionless snow! No sound in all this sparkling waste, Ah no! some link there needs must be An open coffin 'mid the stones, The wild white cliffs-the vast still main,- And he whom tender Christian hands Who knoweth from what happier lands, Or by some vast cathedral wall His fathers laid them down, Where chimes are rung, and shadows fall, Or whether 'neath some village turf To drone of bees and summer gnats Where the old Rhine, through fertile flats, What matter-though these frozen stones Their burden could not bear, But gave again his coffin'd bones Into the freezing air. Though here to snows and storms exposed Though only the shy reindeer made Or the white bears came out and play'd Still, silent from the blacken'd heath Memorial of a human death, Still, type of triumph and of woe, That single Christian name. No mother's hand to soothe thy pain, Have watch'd thee round for years. Did well those men who came of old And left the simple cross that told The resurrection mystery. And our dear Saviour's grace. Who taught us at this solemn tryste -Dublin University Magazine. C. F. A. A FUNERAL CROSSING A STREAM. "When thou walkest through the waters, I will be with thee." On the hill a little cottage chamber, With a coffin placed upon the bed In the glen, a wild stream in the Autumn, Of texts that are sweeter than anthems And as the robin sang up in the tree, The old woman, at last, has heard the music of Only a music of deeper meaning, heaven 'Neath the white curtain in the silent room, Has heard the music of heaven come rolling grandly, Come rolling grandly through the curtain'd gloom. The old man has seen that smile of wonderful beauty Fix on the face so fair, when pain is o'er,That smile of wonderful beauty, as if the spirit Had found the Some One it was waiting for. Now o'er the Death-sheet, old man, thy snowy hair be bow'd, And put thy white lips down a little unto the white, white shroud; And mutter something for a moment, as low as low may be, Of births, and deaths, and marriages, and what she was to thee And pray that the broken links of your forty years and seven May be forged into a silver chain in the depths of yonder heaven, That shall wind you round and round, So long as they fling their diadems Only a music of purer rejoicing: The music they sing, who once have been sinful, The music they sing, who once have known sorrow; But who now are both sinless, and tearless forever! And so the coffin cross'd the waters,- Fell sweet on the ears of the bless'd. W. ALEXANDER So long as the music of harps is rolling-Dublin University Magazine. Then, go out and weep, old man! Down the hill the solemn funeral passes, Through the lane the bearers are passing, and solemnly Strikes on their ear the bell with many a pause; And that sweet singer of central Autumn, the robin The robin shakes his red breast o'er the haws. Presently comes his little outbursting of music, That at a funeral sounds more strange than sweet, To think that the tiny bird should be singing, and singing, With grander music frozen at his feet. October rain, No. 764.-15 January, 1859.—Third Series, No.:42. POETRY.-Can this be Christmas-Time? 130. Implora Pace, 130. Disillusion, 165. SHORT ARTICLES.-Was Washington a Marshal of France? 161. The Proposal, 161. Brougham, 165. A Telegraph in Asia, 170. The Foremothers of Philadelphia, 177. Jerrold, 185. Going the Whole Hog, 192. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL, SON & Co., Bofton; and STANFORD & DELISSER, 508 Broadway, New-York. For Six Dollars a year, remitted directly to either of the Publishers, the Living Age will be punctually for warded free of postage. Complete sets of the First Series. in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound. packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume. ANY VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. ANY NUMBER may be had for 12 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. CAN THIS BE CHRISTMAS-TIME? CAN this be Christmas-time? The wind that scarcely shakes the spray, Or bears the gossamer away, Sighs warmly as on summer's day In mine own northern clime! And yet 'tis in December. Ah, me! what furious war of wind. Of grinding want, hunger's throe, Yet fairer memories too. However dark and drear the day, Once more I seem to hear, At eve, sweet voices welcome tell That sees the forms of old and young, And over snow-drifts cold and white, The yule-tree's cheer is cast. Hark! laughter's ringing cry, The music of blithe hearts and free, Now round the cheerful blaze They gather for the wassail's cheer, Who fled, when weary of the dance Ah, time! whose memory Bears me away to happier shore, Can this be Christmas day? The earth around is parched and dry; And scorches with its ray; Each tender painted flower BY MARY ANNE BROWNE. Oн, for one hour of rest! Would I could feel To heaven for mercy had that blessing won How could I love to know each limb was still! No vision tinged with either smile or weeping. Flung by my books, and cast my pen away, roll Around me, telling me they took their birth And sat beneath the lindens, while the bee I may not wholly rest!-before my brain, Time with the changeful pulse of nature Who hath in every blossom's life a part, No rest for that wild soul that fits its tone Droops 'neath the noonday's glances bright; And then may rest the soul, when its calm eye The insect in its happy flight At one view comprehends eternity! From The Quarterly Review. 1. An Abstract of the Returns made to the Lords of the Committee of Privy Council for Trade, of Wrecks and Casualties which occurred on and near the Coasts of the United Kingdom, from January 1st to the 31st of December, 1857. London, 1858. 2. Annual Statement of the Trade and Navigation of the United Kingdom with Foreign Countries and British Possessions, in the Year 1856. London, 1857. 3. First Report from the Select Committee on Shipwrecks, together with the Minutes of Evidence, Appendix, and Index. London, 1843. dots-the sites of wrecks, collisions, and other A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon; THERE is no nobler or more national sight in our island than to behold the procession of stately vessels as they pass in panoramic pride along our shores, or navigate the great arterial streams of commerce, to witness the deeply laden Indiaman warped out of the docks, or to see the emigrant ship speeding with bellying sails down Blackwall Reach, watched by many weeping eyes, and the depository of many aching hearts. It would, however, spoil the enjoyment of the least interested spectator if the veil could be lifted from the dark future; if that gallant Indiaman could be shown him broadside on among the breakers; or that stately vessel with bulwarks fringed with tearful groups, looking so sadly to the receding shore, were pictured by him foundering in mid ocean-gone to swell the numbers of the dismal fleet that yearly sails and is never heard of more. Sadder still If we take a more extended view of these would be his reflections if another passing disastrous occurrences by opening the wreck ship could be shown him, destined perhaps to chart attached to the evidence of the select circle the globe in safety, and when within committee on harbors of refuge, given in 1857, sight of the white cliffs of Albion, full of joy-containing the casualties of five years, from ful hearts, suddenly in the dark and stormy 1852 to 1856, both inclusive, we shall be the night, fated to be dashed to atoms, like the Reliance and Conqueror, on a foreign strand. If such dramatic contrasts as these could be witnessed we should without doubt strain every nerve to prevent their recurrence. As it is the sad tale of disasters at sea comes to us weakened by the lapse of time and the distance of the scene of the catastrophe: instead of having the harrowing sight before our eyes, we have only statistics which raise no emotion, and even rarely arrest attention. In connection with these annual returns there is published a fearful looking map termed a wreck chart, in which the shores of Great Britain and Ireland are shown fringed with better able to analyze their causes. Within this period no less than five thousand one hundred and twenty-eight wrecks and collisions took place, being an average of one thousand and twenty-five a year. According to the evidence of Captain Washington, R.N., the scientific and indefatigable Hydrographer of the Admiralty, these casualties consisted of Vessels. Total losses by stranding or otherwise 1,940 collisions 64 244 Serious damage having to discharge. 2,401 543 Total 5,128 The total losses from all causes, therefore, |