s the long summer days,
the mellow moonlit nights; slowly, and with even flight, the good
Elizabeth, under gentle airs from the tropics, bears them safely
onward. Four thousand miles of ocean lie behind; they are nearly home.

THE WRECK.

"There are blind ways provided, the foredone
Heart-weary player in this pageant world
Drops out by, letting the main masque defile
By the conspicuous portal:--I am through,
Just through."

BROWNING.

On Thursday, July 18th, at noon, the Elizabeth was off the Jersey
coast, somewhere between Cape May and Barnegat; and, as the weather
was thick, with a fresh breeze blowing from the east of south,
the officer in command, desirous to secure a good offing, stood
east-north-east. His purpose was, when daylight showed the highlands
of Neversink, to take a pilot, and run before the wind past Sandy
Hook. So confident, indeed, was he of safety, that he promised his
passengers to land them early in the morning at New York. With this
hope, their trunks were packed, the preparations made to greet their
friends, the last good-night was spoken, and with grateful hearts
Margaret and Ossoli put Nino to rest, for the last time, as they
thought, on ship-board,--for the last time, as it was to be, on earth!

By nine o'clock, the breeze rose to a gale, which every hour increased
in violence, till at midnight it became a hurricane. Yet, as the
Elizabeth was new and strong, and as the commander, trusting to an
occasional cast of the lead, assured them that they were not nearing
the Jersey coast,--which alone he dreaded,--the passengers remained in
their state-rooms, and caught such uneasy sleep as the howling storm
and tossing ship permitted. Utterly unconscious, they were, even then,
amidst perils, whence only by promptest energy was it possible to
escape. Though under close-reefed sails, their vessel was making way
far more swiftly than any one on board had dreamed of; and for hours,
with the combined force of currents and the tempest, had been driving
headlong towards the sand-bars of Long Island. About four o'clock, on
Friday morning, July 19th, she struck,--first draggingly, then hard
and harder,--on Fire Island beach.

The main and mizzen masts were at once cut away; but the heavy marble
in her hold had broken through her bottom, and she bilged. Her bow
held fast, her stern swung round, she careened inland, her broadside
was bared to the shock of the billows, and the waves m