As I spoke, a vivid, blinding jet of fire streamed high up into the air, while the masts of the schooner could be seen, amid the flame, shooting arrow-like to the sky. Instantaneously a roar as of ten thousand batteries smote the ear; and then came the pattering of fragments of the hull and spars as they fell on the water. Even while these sounds continued, a darkness that brought to my mind that of the day of doom enveloped us, though that intense light still swam in our eyes, producing a thousand fantastic images on the retina. No word was spoken, but each one held his breath in awe; and then came a long, deep drawn sigh, that seemed to proceed simultaneously from each one in the boat. _The Dart was no more._ We were alone in the boundless deep, alone with a storm still raging around us, alone without any hope of rescue, and a thousand miles from land. God only knew whether it would be our lot to perish by starvation, or sink at an earlier hour a prey to the overwhelming deep! As I contemplated our situation I shuddered, and breathed an involuntary prayer that the latter might be our doom. * * * * * TO ALMEDA IN NEW ENGLAND. BY JAMES T. FIELDS. Tell me not of greener mountains, Far away in other lands, Nor of “Afric’s sunny fountains” Rolling over “golden sands”— These few flowers to me recall Fairer visions than they all! Strange that things which soonest perish, Dying oft with close of day, Memory will most fondly cherish, When their bloom has passed away— Storms cannot efface forever Bounding barks from youth’s bright river! Then, lady, take this idle sonnet, Fragile though the lines may be; I’m thinking of a Quaker bonnet, I wonder if you’ll think of me Next season, when you fold with care This crumpled leaf _to curl your hair_! * * * * * THE PLAYFUL PETS. Sure never yet were pets so sleek, So full of sportive play; With them the gentle Marian Will while the hours away. Ah! childhood has a happiness To other years unknown, A joy it finds in slightest things, A word, a look, a tone! To it of brighter worlds above Dim glimpses oft are given— Alas! that age, which wisdom gains, Should draw us down from Heaven. C. * * * * * [Illustration: PAINTED BY W. DRUMMOND, ENGRAVED BY J. SARTAIN _The Playful Pets._, Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine.] * * * * * THE POETRY OF RUFUS DAWES. A RETROSPECTIVE CRITICISM. BY EDGAR A. POE.