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BRITANNIA HOISTS HER STORM-DRUM. And the white-hot metal splashing runs
Cp with the drum that storm forebodes,

Into the moulds of the mighty gnns,

And growing thunder, near and far,
From the signal rigging flown ;
The only puzzle's about the modes

Roll up the sulphurous clouds of war.
In which to point the cone-
For upwards tells of storms from East,

Or comes the storm from the Banks of Spree, And downwards from Westward blown.

Where " a little game” they're at,
With the Hohenzollern's crown for pea,

And for thimble Dollf's his hat?
But if upwards or downwards who shall say,
Or opposite cones together,

Comes the storm from the people's wrath, When clouds so bank and blacken each way,

Slow-roused , to sweep away

The bauble sceptre that bars the path
Portending awful weather ?
That not the most sky-piercing sense

Of Prussia to breathing day?
That Europe holds dare speculate whence,

Comes the storm from the smouldering fires

Of - Federal ” Execution, Or, still less, prophesy whither.

The breath of the Diet that never tires

Of its threats of retribution ?
Will the storm come from the nor'-'nor'-west : Comes the storm from the clash in air
About the Great Black Eagle's nest ?

Of Pruss and Austrian Eagles ?
Where red stains freeze along the snow, Or from Franks with Prussians proud to wear
That fain poor Poland's dead would hide, Their collars as Russia's beagles,
But up the accusing corpses show,

To hunt the Polish patriot down, With teeth set hard as when they died,

Or the baser hound, that for the crown,
With face to heaven, and breast to foe,

Betrays whom he inveigles ?
Their hands still clenching scythe or spade
That served for bayonet or blade.

Comes the storm from the bed that heaves

With the groans of " the sick man" lying, Where skeleton-like the charred beams peep With his heirs all cursing him in their sleeves, Out of those sheets of winter's sleep,

Because he's so long adying?
That look so pure and shroud such sin ; Comes the storm from Venice or Rome?
Or a little hand shows here and there,

Or comes the storm from across the foam ? Or a silky curl of infant's hair,

Where, as North and South, the tempest rages, Still clasped the mother's hand within,

And threatens e'en their ancient Home, Who died so hard, yet could not save

Once place of Pilgrimages, The little one that shares her grave ?

But now their scoff and scorn and hate,

Because we have watched their storms rage on, The clouds they draw to the nor’-nor'-west, And only prayed they might abate, About the Great Black Eagle's nest,

Nor catch up Englishman, Frank, or Don, So thick, so charged with vengeful ire,

And tangle Europe with Union's fate?
So laden with God's own levin-fire,
It scarce may be but the storm must burst But howsoever we hoist the drum,
On the nest of the Great Black Eagle first. Or whencesoever the storm may come,

A watchful, wily, Eagle I see
But farther to South and more to West

With the banks of the Seine for his aery, The storm-clouds gather grim,

That wheels and wheels about the piles Where Dansker and Dutchy-man are prest

Of cloud, all sullen with stormy war, On Baltic's West-land rim,

Now soaring, sinking otherwhiles, Spirits of Vikings wake from sleep,

As if he scented the prey afar, Who living loved the loud wild roar

And meant that the storm where'er it break, Of elements upon the deep,

Should bring him food for his yellow beak.
Or charged as fiercely on the shore,
And Swede and Norseman to Dansker calls, We know not whence the storm may come,
And bids be of good cheer,

But its coming's in the air ;
And forge-fire glows, and hammer falls, And this is the warning of the drum,
Welding the armor for wooden walls,

Against the storm, PREPARE?
Or shaping sword and spear,

-Punch. THE BRITISH IRON-CLADS.

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high opinion of the sea-worthiness or fight[Correspondence of the N. Y. Evening Post.], ing powers of their great ships. * DUBLIN, October 10, 1863.

The Warrior and Prince have four-and-aThe far-famed Channel flect has sailed from the bow and stern for more than one hundred

half-inch armor on their midship broadsides, Dublin Bay for Plymouth, its visit here a few feet at each end being unprotected and as vuldays ago being the end of its triumphal home

nerable as the ends of one of our woodey cruise, of which your readers have no doubt occasionally heard through the English news- with a real iron-clad these ends will be shot

frigates. If they ever go into close actius papers.

The fleet is just now the pride and boast away and the ship become an unınanageable of the British, and comprises the present iron

wreck. I asked an officer how long these unclad strength of the British davy. Their protected ends would stand if the Warrior tremendous powers had been so often de

and Prince were pitted against each other?

He frankly admitted that they must go as scribed to me by Englishmen that I determined to examine the ships thoroughly, and

soon as the ships came to close action. To

me the principle on which these vessels are judge for myself whether they really were the formidable engines of war reported. With

built, or rather armored, is something like this view I visited Dublin, and have passed links on one-third its length—the test of

making a two-inch chain cable with half-inch many hours on the different ships of the fleet. It may interest your readers to know what strength is in the weakest part. Had we impression they made upon an American who

built these ships the London Times would

never have done sneering at our folly. is not unfamiliar with naval affairs. The iron-clads in the squadron are the

The Warrior is no doubt the fastest frigate Warrior and Black Prince, of six thousand afloat, and with plenty of sea-room would find tons and forty guns; the Resistance and De

this speed serviceable in overhauling a wooden fence, of three thousand six hundred tons and ship or running away from an iron-clad. To

attain her highest speed she consumes eight twenty-two guns; and the Royal Oak, four thousand tons and twenty-six guns.

tons of coal an hour, and would at that rate The favorite ships with the crowds of vis

exhaust her bunkers in four days. Under itors—as with the nation at large-are the canvas both ships are tubs. They need half Warrior and Black Prince. Their vast size,

a gale of wind to give them steerage way, and bold, dashing bows, apparent strength, and

whole gale to drive them five knots an hour. above all their spacious and well-ordered They will neither wear nor stay without steam, decks and magnificent engines, impress all

and plenty of it. They steer wildly, and, as visitors, and call forth enthusiastic expressions British Channel to go about in. With their

one of the quartermasters said, need the whole of approval from the crowds of loyal and delighted country squires and shopkeepers who coals in they draw twenty-eight feet, a serious flocked to see them in this as in the English to New York; but by lightening and taking

obstacle—if no others existed—to their going ports.

a spring-tide they might cross the bar. And WARRIOR.'

if they ever make the attempt I hope they To hint, in such a crowd, that the Warrior will be permitted to cross the bar and come and Prince are gigantic failures, utterly un- up to the Hook; let the attack commence worthy of the name of iron-clad ships, would when they turn the point of the Hook and of course be rank heresy. And it was only get into the Horse Shoe, then at them with to the officers and men belonging to the fleet two or three small, hot, quick monitors; it that I dared to express the opinion that as will be more exciting than elephant-hunting. war-ships they are worthless. These officers The monsters will be forced to keep in midand crews are the picked men of the British channel at half-speed ; there they can neither navy; many of them are intelligent, and all turn nor run, and a light-draft monitor can were courteous. The men do not hesitate to play round them, planting shot and shell in speak of the ships as failures in all sea-going their vulnerable parts. If no more serious qualities. The officers are more reticent as consequences were involved I would liko to to the bad qualities of their craft, yet one see this same Channel fleet sent to New York. can easily see that many of them have no. We could give John Bull the greatest start

a

WEAK POINTS OF THE

he has had since Captain Dacres (the father | do not desire to underrate their power to inof the present admiral and commander of the flict damage upon our coasts and hurt us ; Channel fleet) attacked the Constitution. but I am now quite satisfied that we have

The Resistance and Defence are more dan- nothing to fear from any iron-clads in the gerous than the Warrior and Prince, simply British navy. The ships of the Channel fleet because they are more manageable. They cannot cope with our monitors and raft batalso are only partially iron-clad, and draw too teries in our own harbors, and will fail if much water to act freely in any of our harbors. they make the attempt. Their speed, with full steam, is about nine

LAIRD'S RAMS. knots ; with canvas the Resistance is the best, and her consort the slowest of all the iron

The two ships built by Laird for the Conclads.

federates, if properly armed, would be more

dangerous to us than all the ships of the THE MONITORS AND THE "ROYAL OAK."

Channel fleet. And unless the British AdIf there is any virtue in four-and-a-half- miralty bestirs itself, the private ship-buildinch plating the Royal Oak is by far the most ers of England and Scotland will supply the formidable ship of the lot. She should stand other powers of Europe with iron-clad fleets a hammering from one or all of the other ships which will eclipse those of Great Britain. long enough to destroy them, being iron-clad Austria, reckoning in iron-clads, has become all round. She is a razeed line-of-battle ship; one of the first naval powers of Europe. her sides tumble home, her ends are clumsy, Messrs. Napier, of Glasgow, are building and in the distance she looks not unlike our three magnificent frigates for the Turkish Ironsides. The resemblance ceases when you Government that are in every way, except get alongside and on deck. The Royal Oak hulk, superior to the Warrior and Black has no bomb-proof deck, and carries, like the Prince. The latter ship was built by that other ships, a mass of incumbrances in the eminent firm, but on a furnished model and shape of masts, spars, rigging, boats, and other specifications, that gave them no opportunity appendages of a sea-going frigate. She is a to exhibit their skill otherwise than in faithslow sailer and rolls fearfully—to an extent ful and finished work. indeed, that will prevent her venturing across The British iron-clads are armed with the the Atlantic. As the Oak is the pioneer of a British naval gun, the 68-pounder, and a class of converted iron-clads, which includes few Armstrong rifled guns--110-pounders the Caledonia, Prince Consort, and others being the heaviest. nearly ready for service, it is satisfactory to The 68 is a favorite gun in their service, know that she is not a sea-going ship, and especially with the gunners, who all, as far is therefore useless for aggressive warfare as I talked with them, prefer it to the large against us. Divested of spars and other—to Armstrongs. They speak of the 68 as good ber-useless appendages, this ship will make enough for them, and shake their heads at a useful battery for English harbor defence. the mention of our 15-inch guns. Looking at these ships as possible foes,

PAUL JONES.

It is a curious and unsuspected fact that solar by the rotation of masses of iron in the neighlight is defective as to the showing of colors. borhood of powerful permanent magnets generThose shown by the spectrum in the sodium ates the current of electricity, which ignites flame are invisible in daylight. This is a prov- pieces of carbon intensely, thus producing the idential defect ; for otherwise we should be con- light, founded by a perpetual display of colors in the air.

Count WALEWSKI is occupying his involunLIGHTHOUSE illumination produced by a mag- tary leisure in writing a “ History of Poland,” netic electric apparatus has been in successful for which he will make use of many hitherto unoperation at the South Foreland and Dungeness known documents and other papers. It will, of beacon for two years. Currents of air produced course, be ultra-Polish in its tendency.

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is past,

VIA CRUCIS, VIA LUCIS,

A nobler hero thou hast nobler grave, THROUGH night to light !-And though to mortal

In Wagner's trench, made by unwilling slaves

Beneath the corpses hid of thy black braves,' eyes

Who, freed, their lives for freedom willing gave. Creation's face a pall of horror wear, Good cheer ! good cheer! The gloom of mid

In death, as life, round thee their guard they

keep. night fies ;

And, when next time they hear the trumpet's Then shall a sunrise follow, mild and fair.

sound, Through storm to calm And though his thun- Will they with thee on heaven's parapet leap ; der-car

The four and twenty elders on the ground The rumbling tempest drive through earth and Their crowns before thy lowly comrades, lay, sky,

While, “ Come up higher, friend !" thou Good cheer! good cheer! The elemental war

hear'st God say. Tells that a blessed healing hour is nigh. Cam bridge, Mass.

L. H.

-Evening Post. Through frost to spring !-And though the biting

blast Of Eurus stiffen nature's juicy veins,

OUR DEAD. Good cheer! good cheer! When winter's wrath

NOTHING is our own: we hold our pleasures Soft murmuring spring breathes sweetly o’er Just a little while, ere they are fled : the plains.

One by one life robs us of our treasures ;

Nothing is our own except our dead. Through strife to peace !-And though, with bristling front,

They are ours, and hold in faithful keeping
A thousand frightful deaths encompass thee, Safe forever, all they took away.
Good cheer! good cheer ! Brave thou the bat- Cruel life can never stir that sleeping,
tle's brunt,

Cruel time can never seize that prey,
For the peace-march and song of victory.
Through sweat to sleep And though the sultry

Justice pales ; truth fades ; stars fall from

heaven; Doon, With heavy, drooping wing, oppress thee now, No true crown of honor can be given,

Human are the great whom we revere : Good cheer ! good cheer! The cool of evening

Till the wreath lies upon a funeral bier. Shall lull to sweet repose thy weary brow. How the children leave us : and no traces Through cross to crown !-And though thy Linger of that smiliny angel band ; spirit's life

Gone, forever gone ; and in their places, Trials untold assail with giant strength,

Weary men and women stand. Good cheer ! good cheer! Soon ends the bitter strife

Yet we have some little ones, still ours ; And thou shalt reign in peace with Christ at

They have kept the baby smile we know, length.

Which we kissed one day, and hid with flowers,

On their dead white faces long ago. Through woe to joy ! And though at morn thou weep,

When our joy is lost : and life will take it, And though the midnight finds thee weeping! Then no memory of the past remains, still,

Save with some strange, cruel sting, that makes it Good cheer ! good cheer ! The Shepherd loves Bitterness beyond all present pains.

his sheep : Resign thee to the watchful Father's will. Death, more tender-hearted, leaves to sorrow

Still the radiant shadow--fond regret : Through death to life !And through this vale We shall find, in some far bright to-morrow, of tears,

Joy that he has taken, living yet. And though this thistle-field of life, ascend To the great supper in that world whose years Is love ours, and do we dream we know it, Of bliss unfading, cloudless, knows no end. Bound with all our heart-strings, all our own?

Kosegarten. Any cold and cruel dawn may show it,

Shattered, desecrated, overthrown.
TO ROBERT GOULD SHAW,

Only the dead hearts forsake us never :

Love, that to death's loyal care has fled, BURIED BY SOUTH CAROLINIANS UNDER

Is thus consecrated ours forever,

And no change can rob us of our dead.
On Alaric, buried in Busento's bed,
The slaves the stream who turned were butch-So when fate comes to besiege our city,
ered thrown,

Dim our gold, or make our flowers fall,
That, so his grave eternally unknown, Death, the angel, comes in love and pity,
No mortal on the Sourge of God might tread. And to save our treasures, claims them all.

soon

A PILE

OF TWENTY-FOUR NEGROES.

BY FRANCES BROWNE.

MARK'S MOTHER.

• Nay,” saith the pastor, passing byAs the stars came out in the evening sky

“That homely dame hath a place and part MARK, the miner, is full fourscore,

Time cannot wear from the old man's heart, But blithe he sits at his cottage door,

Nor many winters wither ; Smoking the trusty pipe of clay,

And know ye, friends, that the wise and good Which hath been his comfort many a day, Are all of one gracious brotherhood ; In spite of work and weather ;

Howe'er their fortunes on earth may stand, It made his honest heart amends

They take the look of their promised landFor the loss of strength and the death of friends ; So bounteous lady, and bishop kind, It cheered his spirit through the lives.

And prince with that royalty of mind,
And management of three good wives -

Were like Mark's blessed mother."
But now those trying times are done,
And there they sit in the setting sun,
Mark and his pipe together.

WHO, AND WHENCE ?
From harvest-field and from pasture-ground, Not from Jerusalem alone,
The peasant people bave gathered round ;

To Heaven the path ascends ;
The times are rusty, the news is scant,

As near, as sure, as straight the way And something like a tale they want

That leads to the eternal day, From Mark's unfailing store ;

From further realms extends :
For he is the hamlet's chronicle,

Frigid or torrid zone.
And when so minded, wont to tell
Where their great uncles used to play--

hat matters how or when we start? How their grandames looked on the wedding

One is the crown to all ; day

One is the hard but glorious race, With all that happened of chance and change,

Whatever be our starting place ; And all that had passed ofgreat or strange,

Rings round the earth the call For seventy years before.

That says, Arise, depart ! But on this evening, it is plain,

From the balm-breathing, sun-loved isles Mark's mind is not in the telling vein,

On the bright Southern sea, He sits in silence and in smoke,

From the dead North's cloud-shadowed pole With his thoughts about him like a cloak

We gather the one gladsome goalWrapped tight against the blast;

One common home in Thee,
And his eye upon the old church spire,

City of sun and smiles !
Where falls the sunset's fading fire-
And all the friends his youth had known

The cold rough billow hinders none;
Lie round beneath the turf and stone,

Nor helps the calm, fair main ; While a younger generation try

The brown rock of Norwegian gloom,

The vendure of Tahitian bloom, To touch the keys of his memory

The sands of Misriam's plain, With questions of the past.

Or peaks of Lebanon. “Good Mark ! how looked the Lady Rose, Whose bower so green in our forest grows,

As from the green lands of the vine, Whom old men name with a blessing still

So from the snow wastes pale, For the torrent's bridge, and the village mill,

We find the ever open road And the travellers' wayside well ?”

To the dear city of our God ; “ Like my good mother, neighbors dear,

From Russian steppe or Burman vale,

Or terraced Palestine.
How long she lies in the churchyard here !”
“ Well, Mark, that bishop of kindly rulo, Not from swift Jordan's sacred stream
Who burned the stocks and built the school,

Alone we mount above ;
How looked his grace when the church was

Indus or Danube, Thames or Rhone, new?"

Rivers unsainted and unknown“ Neighbors, like my good mother, too,

From each the home of love As those who saw could tell.”

Beckons with heavenly gleam. “Then, Mark, the prince, who checked his train, Not from gray Olivet alone When the stag passed through your father's We see the ates of life ;

From Morven's heath or Jungfrau's snow, “ Good neighbors, as I live, his look,

We welcome the descending glow The light of my blessed mother's took,

Of pearl and crysolite, As he bade them spare the corn.

And see the setting sun. Loud laugh the peasants with rustic shout: “Now, Mark, thy wits are wearing out,

Not from Jerusalem alone Thy mother was but a homely dame,

The church ascends to God; With a wrinkled face and a toil-worn frame; Strangers of every tongue and clime, No earthly semblance could she bear

Pilgrims of every land and time, To a bishop learned, and a lady fair,

Throng the well-trodden road And a prince to kingdoms born.”

That leads up to the throne.

grain !

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