crack had opened in the ice-stream, and that a mass had been disengaged.

The position of the crack was quickly apparent, and we could see that a fragment of enormous proportions had been set at liberty. It first reared itself aloft, as if it were some huge leviathan of the deep indued with life, and was sporting its unwieldy bulk in the hitherto undisturbed waters. The crack had now opened wide. The detached fragment plunged forward; the front which had been rising, then sank down, while the inner side rose up, and volumes of water that had been lifted with the sudden motion poured from its sides, hissing into the foaming and agitated sea. Thus an iceberg

had been born.

It would be impossible with mere words alone to convey any adequate idea of the action of this newborn child of the Arctic frosts. Think of a solid lump of ice, a third of a mile deep and more than half a mile in lateral diameter, hurled like a mere toy away into the water and set to rolling to and fro by the impetus of the act as if it were Nature's merest foot-ball-now down one side, until the huge bulk was nearly capsized, then back again; then down the other side once more, with the same unresisting force; and so on, up and down, and down and up, swashing to and fro for hours before it comes finally to rest. Picture this, and you will have an image of power not to be seen by the action of any other forces upon the earth.

The disturbance of the water was inconceivably fine. Waves of enormous magnitude were rolled up with great violence against the glacier, covering it with. spray; and billows came tearing down the fiord, their progress marked by the cracking and crumbling ice, which was everywhere in a state of wildest agitation for the space of several miles. Over the smaller iceberg the water broke completely, as if a tempest were piling up the seas and heaving them fiercely against the shore. Then, to add still further to the commotion thus occasioned, the great wallowing iceberg, which was the cause of it all, was dropping fragments from its sides with each oscillation, the report of the rupture reaching the ear above the general din and clamor.The Land of Desolation.

HAYLEY, WILLIAM, an English poet, born at Chichester, October 29, 1745; died at Felphaw, a place near there, November 12, 1820. He was educated at Eton and Cambridge, and studied law; but being possessed of an ample fortune, he devoted himself to literary pursuits. In 1792 he became acquainted with Cowper, whose life he wrote ten years later.

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Everything about that man," said Southey to Coleridge, "is good except his poetry." And Dr. Moir, in his Sketches of Poetical Literature, says:— "The popularity of Hayley in an age so artificial and so pragmatical as that wherein he flourished -an age of minuets, and hoops, and pomatum, and powdered queues, and purple velvet doublets, and flesh-colored silk stockings-is not much to be wondered at, when we consider the subjects on which he wrote, and the real graces of his style. Such poetry was relished, because it was called forth by the exigencies and adapted to the taste of the particular age at which it was written."

Hayley's writings are quite numerous, both in prose and verse, among which are an Autobiography. Of his poetical works the best, besides a few small pieces, are The Triumphs of Temper, in six cantos (1781) and An Essay on Epic Poetry, in five epistles (1782). The latter poem contains a feeling tribute to the memory of his mother, a few lines of which are here given:

TO THE MEMORY OF HIS MOTHER.

If heartfelt pain e'er led me to accuse
The dangerous gift of the alluring Muse,
'Twas in the moment when my verse impressed
Some anxious feelings on a mother's breast.
O thou fond spirit, who with pride hast smiled
And frowned with fear on thy poetic child,
Pleased, yet alarmed, when in his boyish time
He sighed in numbers or he laughed in rhyme :
Thou tender saint, to whom he owes much more
Than ever child to parent owed before,
In life's first season, when the fever's flame
Shrunk to deformity his shrivelled frame,
And turned each fairer image in his brain
To blank confusion and her crazy train,

"Twas thine, with constant love, through lingering years,
To bathe thy idiot orphan in thy tears;
Day after day, and night succeeding night,
To turn incessant to the hideous sight,
And frequent watch, if haply at thy view
Departed reason might not dawn anew.
Though medicinal art with pitying care,
Could lend no aid to save thee from despair,

Thy fond maternal heart adhered to hope and prayer;
Nor prayed in vain: thy child from Powers above
Received the sense to feel and bless thy love.

Oh, might he then receive the happy skill
And force proportioned to his ardent will
With truth's unfading radiance to emblaze
Thy virtues, worthy of immortal praise !

Nature, who decked thy form with beauty's flowers,
Exhausted on thy soul her finer powers;
Taught it with all her energy to feel

Love's melting softness, Friendship's fervent zeal;

The generous purpose and the active thought,
With charity's diffusive spirit fraught.

There all the best of mental gifts she placed,
Vigor of judgment, purity of taste;

Superior parts without their spleenful leaven,
Kindness to earth, and confidence in heaven.

While my fond thoughts o'er all thy merits roll,
Thy praise thus gushes from my filial soul,
Nor will the public with harsh vigor blame
This my just homage to thy honored name
To please that public-if to please be mine-
Thy virtues trained me: let the praise be thine.

INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF COWPER.

Ye who with warmth the public triumph feel
Of talents dignified by sacred zeal,
Here, to devotion's bard devoutly just,
Pay your fond tribute due to Cowper's dust!
England, exulting in his spotless fame,

Ranks with her dearest sons his favorite name.
Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise
So clear a title to affection's praise;
His highest virtues to the heart belong;
His virtues formed the magic of his song.

INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF MRS. UNWIN.

Trusting in God with all her heart and mind,
This woman proved magnanimously kind;
Endured affliction's desolating hail,

And watched a poet through misfortune's vale.
Her spotless dust angelic guards defend :
It is the dust of Unwin-Cowper's friend,
That single title in itself is fame,

For all who read his verse revere his name.

THE DEPARTING SWALLOWS.

Ye gentle birds, that perch aloof,

And smooth your pinions on my roof,

Preparing for departure hence,

Now winter's angry threats commence!

Like you, my soul would smooth her plume
For longer flights beyond the tomb.
May God, by whom are seen and heard
Departing men and wandering bird,
In mercy mark us for his own,
And guide us to the land unknown!

HAYNE, PAUL HAMILTON, an American poet, born at Charleston, S. C., January 1, 1830; died at Copse Hill, near Augusta, Ga., July 6, 1886. He was a son of Lieutenant Hayne of the United States Navy, and a nephew of Governor Hayne, of South Carolina. He was educated at the University of South Carolina; and was for a short time engaged in the practice of law. In 1853 he became editor of Russell's Magazine; and was afterward connected editorially with the Charleston Literary Gazette, the Southern Opinion, the Southern Society, and other literary journals. He had inherited from his mother, a woman of rare talent and refinement, a taste for literature and a poetic mind: and these had been nursed by the constant reading, from his childhood, of the chronicles of Froissart and the works of Shakespeare and the older dramatists and poets. So that the outbreak of the civil war found him, with Timrod, Sims, and a few others, already at the head of the best literary society that Charleston had yet known. His library, his home, all the heirlooms of the old Southern family were destroyed when Charleston was bombarded. He became an aide-de-camp to Governor Pickens ; and when, on account of ill-health, he could not serve in the field, he composed poems which were among the most popular of the war-songs of the South. After the war, he built himself a little