Year: 1862

" Was it the chime of a tiny bell


That came so sweet to my dreaming ear


Like the silvery tones Of fairy shell


That winds on the beach, so mellow and clear
When the winds and the waves lie together asleeD
And the moon and the fairy watching the deep"


THAT is the roar of the ocean which YOU
hear" said our hostess as we lifted from
the centre table a beautiful she'll and placed
1t to our ear. 1t is true there was a low
murmur, like the far off roar of the sea, ris-
ing and falling, as if borne to the ear on
waves OF air; now clear and distinct as the
dash on the beach, and again low and trem-
ulous as the dying winds. We closed our
eyes and listened to the murmurings of the
she'll As we listened we dreamed. We
stood on the beach as it stretched away, the
restless swell curling with foam, and dash
ing YEARLY upon the sands. Solemn, al
most sad, was the murmuring anthem that
sobbed on the still air. 1t is a sublime
scene-the ocean. The throbbine pulse of
the mighty element beats slowly at your
feet


Ten thousand fleets have swept over
thee in vain, = for as far as the eye can see.
there is not track where their keels have
been. 1t is trackless waste. Not even a
cross is seen to mark the spot where crime
has been. There are no monuments where
thousands have been laid down in the Weld
ing waves. Where are the gallant fabrics
which have sunk in the " deep, deep sea %
Where did the gloomy billows open to the
ill-fated President?


There was the gallant Artic. steaming
homeward under full sail, and warm hearts
beating faster under her deck at the thought
OF green hills soon to rise from the waters.
But the shock came, and fast the remorse-
less waters rushed into the ill-fated steam
er. Slowly, like the march of fate. the huge
fabric sank. One wall went up to God. and
downward went the Arctic with her living
freight, with every sail set. Secure from
storm and decay, she is anchored beneath
the sullen waters Her sails are filed bv
the dark green waves as they ebb and flow.
No smoke curls from her chimney tops. for
her great iron heart has ceased to throb.-
Undisturbed, the dead ones still rest uDon
the slippery deck. Holland is still by the
side of his gun, match in hand. The wom-
anly locks float out in the waters, and the
damp cheek rests cold and still in the firm
clasPed hands. lIanly faces look up stern
ly among the shrouds The stripes and
stars and the cross of st. George lift wea-
rily in the ebb and flow of the tide. And
wherever there is a heart which longs for
the loved ones under the wave, the shell
will bring sobbing murmurs to sadden that
heart.


Thickly strewn are the dwellers ON the
ocean bed. It's sleeps and wales, and deep.
dark glens, are all peopled But they dwell
in peace. The march or fall of empires is
not heard. Rust has gathered upon blade
and in the cannon's mouth. The inhabit-
ants of the deep gambol unharmed about
the battle craft whose oaken ribs have shiv-
cred with deadly broadsides.


No monuments on the ocean Man has
piled the earth with the structures of his
genius and ambition. Earth's greatness is
commemorated in marble and upon canvass
But the sea has no tale to tell. Far down
and unseen are the monument builders. the
coral, and the waves, as they throb to the
shore, bear no record of the dead. -Cayuga
Chief.