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in the street

      Far footfalls died away till none were left.

Dupont's Round Fight.

       Table of Contents

      (November, 1861.)

      In time and measure perfect moves

      All Art whose aim is sure;

      Evolving ryhme and stars divine

      Have rules, and they endure.

      Nor less the Fleet that warred for Right,

      And, warring so, prevailed,

      In geometric beauty curved,

      And in an orbit sailed.

      The rebel at Port Royal felt

      The Unity overawe,

      And rued the spell. A type was here,

      And victory of Law.

The Stone Fleet.^[2]

      An Old Sailor's Lament.

      (December, 1861.)

      [2] "The terrible Stone Fleet on a mission as pitiless as the granite that freights it, sailed this morning from Port Royal, and before two days are past will have made Charleston an inland city. The ships are all old whalers, and cost the government from $2500 to $5000 each. Some of them were once famous ships.—" (From Newspaper Correspondences of the day.)

      Sixteen vessels were accordingly sunk on the bar at the river entrance. Their names were as follows:

       Amazon,

       America,

       American,

       Archer,

       Courier,

       Fortune,

       Herald,

       Kensington,

       Leonidas,

       Maria Theresa,

       Potomac,

       Rebecca Simms,

       L.C. Richmond,

       Robin Hood,

       Tenedos,

       William Lee.

      All accounts seem to agree that the object proposed was not accomplished. The channel is even said to have become ultimately benefited by the means employed to obstruct it.

      I have a feeling for those ships,

      Each worn and ancient one,

      With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam;

      Ay, it was unkindly done.

      But so they serve the Obsolete—

      Even so, Stone Fleet!

      You'll say I'm doting; do but think

      I scudded round the Horn in one—

      The Tenedos, a glorious

      Good old craft as ever run—

      Sunk (how all unmeet!)

      With the Old Stone Fleet.

      An India ship of fame was she,

      Spices and shawls and fans she bore;

      A whaler when her wrinkles came—

      Turned off! till, spent and poor,

      Her bones were sold (escheat)!

      Ah! Stone Fleet.

      Four were erst patrician keels

      (Names attest what families be),

      The Kensington, and Richmond too,

      Leonidas, and Lee:

      But now they have their seat

      With the Old Stone Fleet.

      To scuttle them—a pirate deed—

      Sack them, and dismast;

      They sunk so slow, they died so hard,

      But gurgling dropped at last.

      Their ghosts in gales repeat

       Woe's us, Stone Fleet!

      And all for naught. The waters pass—

      Currents will have their way;

      Nature is nobody's ally; 'tis well;

      The harbor is bettered—will stay.

      A failure, and complete,

      Was your Old Stone Fleet.

Donelson.

       Table of Contents

      (February, 1862.)

      The bitter cup

      Of that hard countermand

      Which gave the Envoys up,

      Still was wormwood in the mouth,

      And clouds involved the land,

      When, pelted by sleet in the icy street,

      About the bulletin-board a band

      Of eager, anxious people met,

      And every wakeful heart was set

      On latest news from West or South.

      "No seeing here," cries one—"don't crowd—"

      "You tall man, pray you, read aloud."

      Important.

      We learn that General Grant,

      Marching from Henry overland,

      And joined by a force up the Cumberland sent

      (Some thirty thousand the command),

      On Wednesday a good position won—

      Began the siege of Donelson.

      The stronghold crowns a river-bluff,

      A good broad mile of leveled top;

      Inland the ground rolls off

      Deep-gorged, and rocky, and broken up—

      A wilderness of trees and brush.

      The spaded summit shows the roods

      Of fixed intrenchments in their hush;

      Breast-works and rifle-pits in woods

      Perplex the base.—

      The welcome weather

      Is clear and mild; 'tis much like May.

      The ancient boughs that lace together

      Along the stream, and hang far forth,

      Strange with green mistletoe, betray

      A dreamy contrast to the North.

      Our troops are full of spirits—say

      The siege won't prove a creeping one.

      They

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