[7] A singular proof how far the resolution of Bainbridge could overcome his natural infirmities, was connected with a very melancholy affair. When Decatur fought the duel in which he fell, he selected his old commander and friend, Bainbridge, to accompany him to the field. Bainbridge had a slight natural impediment in his speech which sometimes embarrassed his utterance; especially when any thing excited him. On such occasions, he usually began a sentence—“un-_ter_”—“un-_ter_,” or “un-_to_,” and then he managed to get out the beginning of what he had to say. On the sad occasion alluded to, the word of command was to be “Fire—_one_, _two_, three;” the parties firing between “Fire” and “three.” Bainbridge won the toss, and was to give the word. It then occurred to one of the gentlemen of the other side that some accident might arise from this peculiarity of Bainbridge’s—“one _two_” sounding so much like “un-_ter_,” and he desired that the whole order might be rehearsed before it was finally enacted. This was done; but Bainbridge was perfectly cool, and no mistake was made. * * * * * SONG—“I SAW HER ONCE.” BY RICHARD H. DANA. I saw her once; and still I see That placid eye and thoughtful brow; That voice! it spoke but once to me— That quiet voice is with me now. Where’er I go my soul is blest; She meets me there, a cheering light; And when I sink away to rest She murmurs near—Good night! good night! Our earthly forms are far apart; But can her spirit be so nigh Nor I a home within her heart? And Love but dream her fond reply? Oh, no! the form that I behold— No shaping this of memory! Her self, her self is here ensoul’d! —I saw her once; and still I see. * * * * * SONNET—THE UNATTAINED. BY MRS. SEBA SMITH. Is this, then, Life? Oh! are we born for this? To follow phantoms that elude the grasp! Or whatsoe’er secured, within our clasp To withering lie! as if an earthly kiss Were doomed Death’s shuddering touch alone to greet. Oh Life! hast thou reserved no cup of bliss? Must still the Unattained allure our feet? The Unattained with yearnings fill the breast, That rob, for aye, the spirit of its rest? Yes, this is Life, and everywhere we meet, Not victor crowns, but wailings of defeat— Yet falter not, thou dost apply a test That shall incite thee onward, upward still— The present cannot sate, thy soul it cannot fill. * * * * * A YOUNG WIFE. BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE.” CHAPTER I.