As I was on a journey late, a mental one I mean,
Around this mighty world of ours, I came upon a scene
Was so astonishing to see, so comic, grave, and grand,

I took my note book out with haste and clambered to a stand

Upon a heap of broken wares, a motley pile of things,

That seemed they might have once belonged to some old race of kings;

And heaps on heaps were strewn about, as far as eye could scan,
Around the fields, along the streams, where e'er the vision ran;
As if some ruthless creditor had levied on the world,
And kingdoms, thrones, and diadems, were all to ruin hurled;
Ill-gotten chattles of the powers that were compelled to "fail,"
And were all brought together there for one stupendous sale!

Stood side by side the vassal-born, and they of proudest birth;
No more a slave, no more a lord, in all Republic earth.
Yet smiled the skies approvingly, and, every landscape round,
Rich harvests waited but a word, to burst the teeming ground;

Betokening a coming hour, when, war's red banner furled,
Abundance, and content would bless a liberated world.

What may it mean, quoth I to one, this great grotesque array,
As though the peasant and the prince were made of kindred clay:
Methinks I see all equal here, the humble and the proud;

Now what hath moved these haughty heads to mingle with the crowd?

And whence this huge chaotic mass, here piled on every hand :
Magnificence and meanness strewn, like wrecks along a strand,
As, when some direful storm hath swept the surging ocean o'er,
Fleet, argosy, and tiny bark with ruins line the shore.

Then lifted he to whom I spake a fixed and frowning eye,
As to rebuke such questioning, yet deigning no reply;
For, by the tokens at his feet, a crown and broken mace,
Behold, I was in audience with one of royal race!

Poor wanderer! I pitying said, and prayed for him a prayer,
But quick he vanished in the throngs and rueful tumults there.

Oh, ye ancestral kingly shades, the Cymbri, Saxon, Gaul,

Mourn for the towering thrones you reared to crush your race,—and fall! Mourn for the Mighty Arm that smote your majesty, and threw

Your idle splendor to the winds at that august Vendue!

A venerable patriarch arose as Auctioneer,

And, though so aged, still his voice could make all nations hear.

'Tis said he is the veteran that first began his trade

When sang the morning stars for joy, and this great globe was made;
And one could never doubt at all, he seemed so hale and well,

That he will live as long as there is aught on earth to sell!

Upon the shattered parapet of some old tower he sprang,
And, planting his red signal there, his thundering call outrang:
Ye multitudes give ear to me, this merchandise survey;

What bargains these for king and clown, what fortunes here to-day!
Oppression is all bankrupt now, and despot sway is done,
For, in the chancery above, lo, freedom's plea hath won;

The famished world has payment claimed of its most rightful debt,
And sheriff Revolution hence has palaces-"To Let!"
All idle pomp, all princely state, all signs of royal rule
Are going, going, now! for man has spurned the kingly school;
And the stern lessons he has learned through many a weary page,
Matured to mighty deeds, have oped a grand Fraternal Age!

A tarnished bauble in his hand then lifted he on high,
And cried, Ye crownless potentates, ye powerless princes buy!
"Tis somewhat faded, it is true, but still it is a crown,
I'll throw the iron sceptre in-'tis going, going-down!
And here, the remnant of a Throne-Ye sovereigns of the soil,
Buy now the monster that devoured the products of your toil!

Once it was bright with burnished gold, with quaint devices graced,
But long the lustre has been dimmed, each emblem long defaced;
See Justice bearing broken scales; Honor and Truth seem dead,

Power has lost his thunderbolts; Mercy and Hope have fled!
How much the antiquated Throne? who'll buy the regal seat?
What bliss to sit there and suppose an empire at your feet.
Ah, could they speak, whose once it was august thereon to reign,
What desperate battle would they bid for this old Might again.
I cannot dwell, it must be sold, who makes it now his own?
Once, twice, the last, 'tis going, gone!—here, serf, ascend your throne!

Then at his hand a massive coil of ponderous chains I saw;
A sign that men would nevermore the car of bondage draw.
Here, here! again he cried aloud, ye kingdoms in decay,

Buy now a girdle for your realms, and hold them to your sway.

What hopeless thraldom for a world might these strong bands secure;
So potent to subdue the great, and crush the rebel poor.

Ye Cæsars listen e'er too late, for soon shall all men hear

The final word to sell these chains to some brave buyer here.

Is there no Alexander now would grasp the globe again,
Ere my reluctant arm descend, and you lament in vain?
All going-going!-At the word the listless throng awoke,
And down irrevocably came the long impending stroke!
But lo, the old corroded links, drawn clanking up to sight,
Fell piecemeal at the blow to earth-no more to re-unite!

Then burst one thundering peal of joy from all the gathered host,
Till mountain shouted to the sea, and coast replied to coast!
The woe-worn earth, so hopeful long, for that ecstatic time,
Put on again her Eden robes in every happy clime,
And down the sky a glorious Zone the nations saw descend,
Expanding o'er remotest hills, where human homes extend,
Till firm, within its glittering verge it shut the world's wide span,
And bound by lasting CHRISTIAN LOVE, the heart of man to man.

THE STORM-SHIP.-WASHINGTON IRVING,

IN the golden age of the province of the New Netherlands, when under the sway of Wouter Van Twiller, otherwise called the Doubter, the people of the Manhattoes were alarmed one sultry afternoon, just about the time of the summer solstice, by a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning. The rain fell in such torrents as absolutely to spatter up and smoke along the ground. It seemed as if the thunder rattled and rolled over the very roofs of the houses; the lightning was seen to

play about the church of St. Nicholas, and to strive three times, in vain, to strike its weathercock. Garret Van Horne's new chimney was split almost from top to bottom; and Doffue Mildeberger was struck speechless from his bald-faced mare, just as he was riding into town. In a word, it was one of those unparalleled storms which only happen once within the memory of that venerable personage, known in all towns by the appellation of "the oldest inhabitant."

Great was the terror of the good old women of the Manhattoes. They gathered their children together, and took refuge in the cellars, after having hung a shoe on the iron point of every bed-post, lest it should attract the lightning. At length the storm abated; the thunder sank into a growl; and the setting sun, breaking from under the fringed borders of the clouds, made the broad bosom of the bay to gleam like a sea of molten gold.

The word was given from the fort that a ship was standing up the bay. It passed from mouth to mouth, and street to street, and soon put the little capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship, in those early times of the settlement, was an event of vast importance to the inhabitants. It brought them news from the old world, from the land of their birth, from which they were so completely severed: to the yearly ship, too, they looked for their supply of luxuries, of finery, of comforts, and almost of necessaries. The good vrouw could not have her new cap nor new gown until the arrival of the ship; the artist waited for it for his tools, the burgomaster for his pipe and his supply of Hollands, the schoolboy for his top and marbles, and the lordly landholder for the bricks with which he was to build his new mansion. Thus every one, rich and poor, great and small, looked out for the arrival of the ship. It was the great yearly event of the town of New Amsterdam; and from one end of the year to the other, the ship-the ship-the ship-was the continual topic of conversation.

The news from the fort, therefore, brought all the populace down to the battery, to behold the wished-for sight. It was not exactly the time when she had been expected to arrive, and the circumstance was a matter of some speculation. Many were the groups collected about the battery. Here and there might be seen a burgomaster, of slow and pompous gravity, giving his opinion with great confidence to a crowd of old women and idle boys. At another place was a knot of old weather-beaten fellows who had been seamen or fishermen in their times, and

were great authorities on such occasions; these gave different opinions, and caused great disputes among their several adherents: but the man most looked up to, and followed and watched by the crowd was Hans Van Pelt, an old Dutch sea captain retired from service, the nautical oracle of the place. He reconnoitred the ship through an ancient telescope, covered with tarry canvas, hummed a Dutch tune to himself, and said nothing. A hum, however, from Hans Van Pelt, had always more weight with the public than a speech from another man. In the meantime the ship became more distinct to the naked eye: she was a stout, round, Dutch-built vessel, with high bow and poop, and bearing Dutch colors. The evening sun gilded her bellying canvas, as she came riding over the long waving billows. The sentinel, who had given notice of her approach, declared, that he first got sight of her when she was in the centre of the bay; and that she broke suddenly on his sight, just as if she had come out of the bosom of the black thundercloud. The bystanders looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he would say to this report: Hans Van Pelt screwed his mouth closer together and said nothing; upon which some shook their heads, and others shrugged their shoulders.

The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made no reply, and passing by the fort, stood on up the Hudson. A gun was brought to bear on her, and with some difficulty, loaded and fired by Hans Van Pelt, the garrison not being expert in artillery. The shot seemed absolutely to pass through the ship, and to skip along the water on the other side, but no notice was taken of it! What was strange, she had all her sails set, and sailed right against wind and tide, which were both down the river. Upon this Hans Van Pelt, who was likewise harbor-master, ordered his boat, and set off to board her; but after rowing two or three hours, he returned without success. Sometimes he would get within one or two hundred yards of her, and then, in a twinkling, she would be half a mile off. Some said it was because his oarsmen, who were rather pursy and short-winded, stopped every now and then to take breath, and spit on their hands; but this it is probable was a mere scandal. He got near enough, however, to see the crew; who were all dressed in the Dutch style, the officers in doublets and high hats and feathers; not a word was spoken by any one on board; they stood as motionless as so many statues, and the ship seemed as if left to her own government. Thus she kept on, away up the river, lessening and lessening in the evening sunshine, until she