type, and terminated his life soon after they touched at Gibraltar, after a sickness of intense agony and loathsome horror.  The vessel was detained some days in quarantine by reason of this affliction, but finally set sail again on the 8th ultimo, just in season to bring her on our coast on the fearful night between Thursday and Friday last, when darkness, rain, and a terrific gale from the southwest (the most dangerous quarter possible), conspired to hurl her into the very jaws of destruction.  It is said, but we know not how truly, that the mate in command since the captain’s death mistook the Fire Island light for that on the Highlands of Neversink, and so fatally miscalculated his course; but it is hardly probable that any other than a first-class, fully manned ship could have worked off that coast under such a gale, blowing him directly toward the roaring breakers.  She struck during the night, and before the next evening the Elizabeth was a mass of drifting sticks and planks, while her passengers and part of her crew were buried in the boiling surges.  Alas that our gifted friend, and those nearest to and most loved by her, should have been among them!

We trust a new, compact, and cheap edition or selection, of Margaret Fuller’s writings will soon be given to the public, prefaced by a Memoir.  It were a shame to us if one so radiantly lofty in intellect, so devoted to human liberty and well-being, so ready to dare and to endure for the upraising of her sex and her race, should perish from among us, and leave no memento less imperfect and casual than those we now have.  We trust the more immediate relatives of our departed friend will lose no time in selecting the fittest person to prepare a Memoir, with a selection from her writings, for the press.[A] America has produced no woman who in mental endowments and acquirements has surpassed Margaret Fuller, and it will be a public misfortune if her thoughts are not promptly and acceptably embodied.

[Footnote A:  The reader is aware that such a Memoir has since been published, and that several of her works have been republished likewise.  I trust soon to publish a volume of Madame Ossoli’s Miscellaneous Writings.—­ED.]

* * * * *

MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI

BY C.P.  CRANCH.

  O still, sweet summer days!  O moonlight nights! 
  After so drear a storm how can ye shine? 
  O smiling world of many-hued delights,
  How canst thou ’round our sad hearts still entwine
  The accustomed wreaths of pleasure?  How, O Day,
  Wakest thou so full of beauty?  Twilight deep,
  How diest thou so tranquilly away? 
  And how, O Night, bring’st thou the sphere of sleep? 
  For she is gone from us,—­gone, lost for ever,—­
  In the wild billows swallowed up and lost,—­
  Gone, full of love, life, hope, and high endeavor,
  Just when we would have welcomed her the most.