An honest tar from one of the men-of-war employed in unloading coal at Willard’s Wharf took the captain’s gig, and made for my parasol and visite as they floated away, and returned them with the very unintelligible remark, that I’d “better not clear the wreck next time unless it blew more of a breeze.”

THE HOME-BEACON.

  By Elkton wood, where gurgling flood
    Impels the foamy mill,
  Where quarries loom, in solemn gloom,
    A mansion crowns the hill.

  A pharos true, light ever new
    Streams through its friendly pane,
  To guide and greet benighted feet
    Which thread the winding lane.

  Lofty and lone, that light has shone,
    Alike o’er green or snow,
  Since first a pair their nest built there,
    Two hundred years ago.

  Now, as we walk, with pleasant talk
    To cheer the dismal way,
  That light shall tell of marriage-bell,
    Of moon and merry sleigh.

  The ancient home to which we come
    These scenes revealed one night;
  As the beacon true, so old, yet new,
    Flung wide its cheery light.

  Go back threescore long years, or more: 
    Old Time the latch shall lift,
  And, from his urn, once more return
    The home of love and thrift.

  A noble sire, with nerves of wire,
    Warm heart, and open hand,—­
  A worthy dame, nor shrewd, nor tame,—­
    Lead forth the phantom band;

  Three girls, three boys, with fun and noise,
    Next gather round the hearth;
  Reenter, then, dear friends, again
    All full of life and mirth.

  “My pretty nuns, ’t is late!  My sons,
    Bring out the ‘Sliding Car.’ 
  For one fair bride, you all must ride
    The snows both fast and far.”

  First darts away the bridegroom gay,
    Nor waits the well-aimed jest: 
  To shed and stall they follow, all,
    To speed their sire’s behest.

  In full array, the spacious sleigh
    Glides through the pillared gate: 
  Each prancing steed, straining to lead,
    Draws no unwilling mate.

  Full moon and bright loops up the night
    Above the starry sky. 
  Runner and heel, well shod with steel,
    Cut sharply as they fly.

  Along they go, o’er sparkling snow,
    Shrill bells to song oft ringing;
  By oak and birch, to Gladstone church
    A bridal party bringing.

  On time-worn walls the moonbeam falls,
    And silvers o’er the spire,
  While diamond-pane and giddy vane
    Repeat the heavenly fire.

  From lofty tower to maiden’s bower,
    And wide o’er hill and dell,
  Of earthly heaven, to mortals given,
    Sweet chimes the marriage-bell.

  With open book, and solemn look,
    All robed in priestly lawn,
  The Rector stands,—­but counts the sands,
    Right willing to be gone!