10. "And so the crew went one by one,

Some with gladness, and few with fear:
Cold and hardship such work had done

That few seemed frightened when death was near.
Thus every soul on board went down-

Sailor and passenger, little and great:
The last that sank was a man of my town,
A capital swimmer-the second mate."

11. "Now, lonely Fisherman, who are you,
That say you saw this terrible wreck ?
How do I know what you say is true,

When every mortal was swept from the deck?
Where were you in that hour of death?

How do you know what you relate?
His answer came in an under-breath-
"Master, I was the second mate!"

1.

2.

CLXVII.-THE VAGABONDS.

WE are two travelers, Roger and I.
Roger's my dog.-Come here, you scamp!
Jump for the gentlemen,-mind your eye!

Over the table,-look out for the lamp !—
The rogue is growing a little old :

TROWBRIDGE.

Five years we've tramped through wind and weather,
And slept out-doors when nights were cold,

And ate and drank-and starved-together.

We've learned what comfort is, I tell you!
A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin,

A fire to thaw our thumbs, (poor fellow !
The paw he holds up there 's been frozen,)
Plenty of catgut for my fiddle,

(This out-door business is bad for strings,)
Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle
And Roger and I set up for kings!

3. No, thank ye, sir,-I never drink :

Roger and I are exceedingly moral—
Aren't we, Roger?-See him wink !—

Well, something hot, then,-we won't quarrel.
He's thirsty, too,- -see him nod his head?
What a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk!

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

He understands every word that's said,

And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk.

The truth is, sir, now I reflect,

I've been so sadly given to grog,

I wonder I've not lost the respect

(Here's to you, sir!) even of my dog.
But he sticks by, through thick and thin;
And this old coat, with its empty pockets,
And rags that smell of tobacco and gin,

He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets.

There isn't another creature living

Would do it, and prove, through every disaster,
So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving,

To such a miserable, thankless master!
No, sir!-see him wag his tail and grin!

By George! it makes my old eyes water!
That is, there's something in this gin

That chokes a fellow. But no matter!

We'll have some music, if you're willing,

And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, sir!) Shall march a little.-Start, you villain !

Stand straight! 'Bout face! Salute your officer! Put up that paw! Dress! Take your rifle!

(Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle,

To aid a poor, old, patriot soldier!

March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes,
When he stands up to hear his sentence.
Now tell us how many drams it takes

To honor a jolly new acquaintance.

Five yelps, that's five: he's mighty knowing!
The night's before us, fill the glasses!—

Quick, sir! I'm ill,-my brain is going

Some brandy, thank you,-there!—it passes!

Why not reform? That's easily said;

But I've gone through such wretched treatment, Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread,

And scarce remembering what meat meant,

That my poor stomach's past reform;

And there are times when, mad with thinking,

I'd sell out heaven for something warm

To prop a horrible inward sinking.

9.

Is there a way to forget to think?

At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends,
A dear girl's love, but I took to drink;-

The same old story: you know how it ends.
If you could have seen these classic features,―
You need'nt laugh, sir: they were not then
Such a burning libel on God's creatures :
I was one of your handsome men!
10. If you had seen HER, so fair and young,

Whose head was happy on this breast!
If you could have heard the song I sung

When the wine went round, you would'nt have guessed
That ever I, sir, should be straying

From door to door, with fiddle and dog,

Ragged and penniless, and playing

To you to-night for a glass of grog!

11. She's married since,-a parson's wife:

'Twas better for her that we should part,-
Better the soberest, prosiest life

Than a blasted home and a broken heart.
I have seen her? Once I was weak and spent
On a dusty road: a carriage stopped:

But little she dreamed, as on she went,

Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped!

12. You've set me talking, sir: I'm sorry:

It makes me wild to think of the change!
What do you care for a beggar's story?
Is it amusing? you find it strange?

I had a mother so proud of me!

'Twas well she died before-Do you know
If the happy spirits in heaven can see
The ruin and wretchedness here below?

13. Another glass, and strong, to deaden

This pain: then Roger and I will start.
I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden,
Aching thing, in place of a heart?

He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could,
No doubt, remembering things that were,—

A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food,

And himself a sober, respectable cur.

14. I'm better now: that glass was warming.You rascal limber your lazy feet!

We must be fiddling and performing

For supper and bed, or starve in the street.
Not a very gay life to lead, you think?

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free,

And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink :
The sooner, the better for Roger and me!

CLXVIII.-COMMENCEMENT MORALITIES.

1. It is an unpleasant peculiarity of the present period that we think so much about thinking. The President of a College, when he takes leave of a little flock of just fledged Bachelors, tells them that they must be sure to go on cultivating their minds: that intellectual progress alone is consistent with true happiness: that they must be faithful to the Republic and to themselves: that he wishes them abundant prosperity and a great deal of taste. The Bachelors then pack up their goods and go out for a pilgrimage over "the hot sands of this wilderness of a world," each one bearing a parchment certificate that he has studied to the acceptance of his Faculty for four years, Greek, Latin, Mathematics, Natural and Moral and Intellectual Philosophy, with other small side branches of learning. Many of the young gentlemen so dismissed are full of rather indefinite aspirations and poetical purposes. Most of them are of an ingenuous spirit, and mean to be honorable, industrious, and successful. They are going out to the Battle of Life-for so they call it—and propose to be good soldiers. There is an immensity of preparation-what shall we say of the performance?

2. There is something pathetic in the consideration that so many must fall and fail, must die by the wayside, must waste mind and lose heart in the struggle-so many of these poor boys now starting with the morning light upon their unwrinkled brows! For of all failures in this world of disappointment, there is none so melancholy as that of the intellectual man missing the prize of success through

feebleness of will or the perversity of fate, and suffering ten-fold more than wretches of a less sensitive nature. But the world moves on in its career of business or of pleasure, mindful for the most part only of its own affairs, and thinking it does enough if it bestows a momentary sigh upon the private tragedy of which every day brings a new one. A newspaper, consecrated to the practical bustle of affairs, can do no more.

3. We believe that we have read about ten thousand sermons, addresses, lectures, and speeches, be the same. more or less, upon "The Duties of the Scholar in the Nineteenth Century." At any rate, we have read more of them. than we propose ever to read again. The best of them are but respectable repetitions. The Bachelor of Arts is "to woo solitude as a bride." He is to give his days and nights to high philosophy. He is to be virtuous. He is to be truthful. He is to be patriotic. After hearing this he goes away: he forgets his Greek and Latin as soon as possible: he opens a broker's office in Wall-st., or a cotton mill in Lowell he practices law and discards his virtue: he turns politician and has no use for it; he preaches without it; or he becomes a member of Congress, and finds "high philosophy" a drug! If he ever talks about it again, it is only once a year at the Commencement dinner.

4. Of purely professional scholars we have hardly a hundred in the whole land, and most of these are engaged in teaching-the mill-horses, if we may say so, of classical routine. The rest of the Bachelors are doing something better-they are making money! Now, if the President of a College should say to his departing pupils, "My young friends, be sure and make money!" what a clamor would fill the academic shades! With what celerity would that respectable S. T. D. be expelled from his office, even although he couched the obnoxious sentiment in Latin, and said: