* * * * * TO ONE AFAR. BY ESTELLE ANNA LEWIS. This lovely morn—this lovely morn, Ah! whither are thy footsteps straying— Beneath what bowers of blooming thorn, Art thou, in pensive mood, delaying? This lovely morn—this lovely morn, Ah! whither do thy bright thoughts wander? What absent loved one dost thou mourn? On what blessed image dost thou ponder? This lovely morn, when all is fair, And beautiful as Eden’s bowers, Why have I not thy tender care, Thy smiles to cheer the lonely hours? Why have I not thy kisses warm? Why am I not beside thee walking, And leaning on thy doating arm, While all the woods, of love are talking? But here, alone, I sit and kiss Thine image, with the tears upstarting, And watch, afar, my dream of bliss, Like mirage of the waste, departing. * * * * * THE MASTER’S MATE’S YARN. BY H. MILNOR KLAPP. In the year 18—, just as the U. S. frigate Constitution was about leaving Leghorn on a cruise, a large Italian ship arrived from Genoa, stripped of every thing valuable by a piratical schooner in the Gulf of Spezzia. Two English men-of-war and a Frenchman were lying in port at the time, and obtaining all the information they could from the master and crew of the plundered vessel, all four set sail on the same day in search of the daring marauder. Her usual fortune, however, attended the American frigate, for, on the morning of the fourth day after leaving port, she fell in with the fellow off the northern point of the Island of Sardinia; and after a long chase—in which the schooner was considerably cut up, the wind dying away to a calm—her capture was at last effected by the boats. After removing the remainder of her crew, a breeze sprung up at daylight, and the Constitution and her prize made all sail for the bay of Naples.