When morning dawned we were still abreast of the island. By this time, however, a light breeze had sprung up and the schooner had been brought to under the quarter of The Arrow. My superior heard with emotion of the death of his lieutenant, and expressed his determination of carrying the pirates into the neighboring port at once, and delivering them up for trial. He gave up his own cabin temporarily to the afflicted daughter, and sympathized with her sorrow as if she had been his own child. The remains of her parent were not consigned to the deep, but allotted, on the following day, a place in consecrated ground. But I pass over the events immediately succeeding the capture of the pirates. Suffice it to say that, after a delay of three or four days in port, we found it would be impossible to have the pirates brought to trial by the tardy authorities under a month. As my presence was deemed necessary on that event, and as my superior was unwilling to delay his cruise for so long a period, it was determined then that The Arrow should pursue her voyage, calling again at the port to take me up in the course of a month or six weeks. The next day, after this arrangement, she sailed. * * * * * SONNETS. BY W. W. STORY. MICHAEL ANGELO. Fixed, as if nothing ever could o’erthrow Its infinite faith, and firm as it had stood, Stemming life-long misfortune’s sapping flood, Is the brave head of Michael Angelo. No smile, no fear, that noble face doth show: A sublime purpose o’er it seems to brood, In which no mean thought ever did intrude, No busy interest hurry to and fro— A will so stern, that nothing can abate, Fastens the mouth. The anxious abstract eye, Beyond earth’s gloomy shadow’s lowering nigh, Beholds great angels in the distance wait— And on those features, seamed with many a line, Love seems like sunlight on rude cliffs to shine. RAFFAELLO. Thou wouldst seem sorrowful, but that we knew That mild, fair brow, that serious seeking eye, Where the pale lightnings of emotion lie, Were caught from earnest striving to look through These shadows that obscure the mortal view— This hazy distance of humanity, Far dawnings of the Beautiful and True, And those divine thoughts that can never die. Thy mouth, so tender and so sensitive— Full and unrigid—formed as if to part With each emotion—seemeth tuned by Art, Like harp-strings, with each wandering breath to live; And that same apostolic light is thine Which made thy Christ and Mother so divine. * * * * * TO FLORENCE. BY PARK BENJAMIN.