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'Twas my watch below in the former gale—
I doubt if we'll weather Hatteras.
The wind on the one side blows me off,

The current sets me shoreward;

I'll just lay to between them both,
And seem to be going forward.”

"Breakers ahead!" cried the watch on the bow, "Hard up!" was the first mate's order; "She feels the ground swell!" the passengers cried, "And the seas already board her!" The foresail split in the angry gust,

66

In the hold the ballast shifted;

And an old tar said: "If Jackson steered,
We shouldn't thus have drifted!"

But the captain cried: "Let go your helm!
And then he called to the bo'swain:

Pipe all hands to the quarter-deck,

And we'll save her by devotion!"
The first mate threw his trumpet down;
The old tars cursed together,

To see the good, ship helpless roll
At the sport of wind and weather.

The tattered sails are all a-back,

Yards crack and masts are started;

And the captain weeps and says his

Till the hull beʼmidships parted :
But God is on the steersman's side-

The crew are in revolution;

prayers,

The wave that washes the captain off
Will save the Constitution.

New-York, December 18, 1860.

"ALL WE ASK IS TO BE LET ALONE."

BY H. H. BROWNELL.

S vonce I valked by a dismal svamp,

AS

There sot an Old Cove in the dark and damp, And at every body as passed that road A stick or a stone this Old Cove throwed. And venever he flung his stick or his stone He'd set up a song of "Let me alone.”

"Let me alone, for I loves to shy

These bits of things at the passers-by-
Let me alone, for I've got your tin
And lots of other traps snugly in—
Let me alone, I'm riggin a boat
To grab votever you've got afloat-

In a veck or so I expects to come

And turn you out of your 'ouse and 'ome— I'm a quiet Old Cove," says he, with a groan: "All I axes is-Let me alone."

Just then came along on the self-same vay, Another Old Cove, and began for to say"Let you alone! that's comin' it strong!— You've ben let alone-a darned sight too long— Of all the sarce that ever I heerd!

Put down that stick! (You well may look

Let

skeered ;)

go that stone! If you once show fight, I'll knock you higher than ary kite. You must hev a lesson to stop your tricks, And cure you of shying them stones and sticksAnd I'll hev my hardware back and my cash, And knock your scow into tarnal smash, And if ever I catches you 'round my ranch, I'll string you up to the nearest branch. The best you can do is to go to bed, And keep a decent tongue in your head; For I reckon, before you and I are done, You'll wish you had let honest folks alone."

The Old Cove stopped, and the t'other Old Cove He sot quite still in his cypress grove,

And he looked at his stick, revolvin' slow
Vether 'twere safe to shy it or no-

And he grumbled on in an injured tone: "All that I axed vos, let me alone."

THE PILOT THAT WEATHERED THE STORM.

BY RICHARD GAGGIN.

ARK! Hark! from the ocean of life comes a

HA

cry

Of danger; see treason's clouds darken the sky-
A ship, fully laden with all that is dear

To the heart of a freeman, is now in despair-
Careens in the tempest-oh! is there not near
Some Pilot to weather the storm.

She bears in her bosom a charter of peace-
"Tis sealed by the blood of the best of our race;
She's liberty's Ark, and she proudly contains
All of hope that to nations benighted remains-
Alas! must she perish before she obtains
A Pilot to weather the storm?

Her captain a traitor-and pirates her crew;
He, faithless to duty--with plunder they flew ;

She's nearing the breakers, where billows o'er

whelm

Lo! there's to the rescue tried friends of the realmOh! joy to all nations, Abe comes to the helm, The Pilot to weather the storm.

The tempest still rages—the furies increase— Night deepens in darkness - his spirit breathes peace;

Undaunted he stands at the wheel, and shall guide The vessel triumphant through dangers untried; While friends of humanity shout him, with pride, "The Pilot that weathered the storm."

Erie, Pa.

SECESSION LITERATURE.

"I received my first military commission in South-Carolina."

Letter of Mr. Richard Lathers.

"Mr. Lathers is an Irishman."

Correspondent of the Evening Post.

MOURN, Swampy groves of New-Rochelle,

And Pine Street, tell thy sad condition;

See Richard's gallant bosom swell

When thinking of his first commission.

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