“Had I yet a hope? I had, but it rose in my mind side by side with the fear that I might now become the agent of preparing myself a more frightful death—Yes! when I thought of that furnace with its fresh-fed flames curling beneath the iron upon which I stood—a more frightful death even than that of being boiled alive! Had I discovered that mallet but a short time sooner—but no matter, I would by its aid resort to the only expedient now left. “It was this—I remembered having a marline-spike in my pocket, and in less time than I have taken in hinting at the consequences of thus using it, I had made an impression upon the sides of the boiler, and soon succeeded in driving it through. The water gushed through the aperture—would they see it?—No, the jet could only play against a wooden partition which must hide the stream from view—it must trickle down upon the decks before the leakage would be discovered. Should I drive another hole to make that leakage greater? Why, the water within seemed already to be sensibly diminished—so hot had become that which remained—should more escape, would I not hear it bubble and hiss upon the fiery plates of iron that were already scorching the soles of my feet? • • • • • • “Ah! there is a movement—voices—I hear them calling for a crowbar—The bulkhead cracks as they pry off the planking. They have seen the leak—they are trying to get at it!—Good God! why do they not first dampen the fire?—Why do they call for the—the— “Stranger, look at that finger! it can never regain its natural size—but it has already done all the service that man could expect from so humble a member—_Sir, that hole would have been plugged up on the instant_, unless _I had jammed my finger through_! “I heard the cry of horror as they saw it without—the shout to drown the fire—the first stroke of the cold water pump. They say, too, that I was conscious when they took me out—but I—I remember nothing more till they brought a julep to my bed-side arterwards, And _that julep!_—” “Cooling! was it?” “Strannger!!!” Ben turned away his head and wept—He could no more. ----- [1] The name “Missouri” is thus generally pronounced upon the western waters. * * * * * “YOU CALL US INCONSTANT.” BY H. T. TUCKERMAN. You call us inconstant—you say that we cease Our homage to pay, at the voice of caprice; That we dally with hearts till their treasures are ours, As bees drink the sweets from a cluster of flowers; For a moment’s refreshment at love’s fountain stay, Then turn, with a thankless impatience, away.