All things are dark! A mystery shrouds the same Yon gorgeous sun or twilight’s feeble star. We feel, but who can analyze the flame That wanders calmly from those realms afar? Science may soar, but soon she finds a bar Against her wing: and so she spends a life Of sleepless doubt and agonizing strife, Like some mad mind with its own self at war: And many will repine, repine in vain, And in their impious frenzy almost curse This all-encircling, adamantine chain That binds the portal of the Universe. Not so the wize! for they delight to see His might and glory in this mystery. * * * * * HARRY CAVENDISH. BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUIZING IN THE LAST WAR,” “THE REEFER OF ’76,” ETC. ETC. THE EXPEDITION. It was a melancholy day when the body of the murdered Mr. Neville was deposited in the burial ground of the port of ——; and if strangers shed tears at his funeral what must have been the emotions of his orphaned daughter! All that kindness could do, however, was done to alleviate her grief; her friends crowded around her to offer consolation; and even our hardy tars showed their sympathy for her by more than one act. It was a fortunate occurrence that she had a near relative in town, and in his family accordingly she took up her residence, where she could indulge her sorrow on the bosoms of those who were united to her by natural ties, and could sympathize with her the more sincerely because they knew the worth of which she had been deprived. It is one of the wisest dispensations of Providence that our grief should be shared, and as it were soothed, by those we love.