Heaven help you, unhappy parents! Your all was wrecked in that one frail bark. Though friends may sympathize at first, yet they will grow weary of your grief--for such is human nature. God comfort you! for there is no earthly hope for those who have lost their only child. SONNET.--TO A MINIATURE. Image of loveliness! in thee I view The bright, the fair, the perfect counterpart, Of that which love hath graven on my heart. In every lineament, to nature true, Methinks I can discern _her_ spirit through Each feature gleaming; soft, serene and mild, And gentle as when on me first she smiled, Stirring my heart with passions strange and new. Would that my tongue could celebrate the praise Of thy divine original, or swell The general chorus, or in lofty lays Of her celestial grace and beauty tell, But fancy flutters on her unplumed wing, None but an angel's harp, an angel's praise should sing. C. E. T. WHORTLEBERRYING. BY ALFRED B. STREET. About the middle of August, the village was honored by repeated visits from the little ragged population of "Barlow's Settlement," on the "Barrens," with quantities of whortleberries for sale. "Want any huckleberries to-day?" was heard all over. You couldn't stir abroad without some urchin with a smirched face--a tattered coat, whose skirts swept the dust, showing, evidently, its paternal descent, and pantaloons patched in the most conspicuous places, more picturesque than decent--thrusting a basket of the rich fruit into your very face, with an impudent yell of "huckleberries, sir?" or some little girl, the edges of whose scanty frock were irregularly scalloped, making a timid courtesy, saying meekly, "Don't you want some berries to-day, sir? nice berries, sir, just picked!" At length Bill Brattle, who is a resident of the settlement, came into the village, and said in Wilson's bar-room, "that he'd lived on the Barrens nigh on six years, and he'd _never_ in all that 'ere time seed sich an allfired grist of huckleberries. Why there was acres on acres on 'em, and he didn't tell no lie when he said that the airth was parfectly blue with 'em." This soon got about, and the consequence was a whortleberry party the very next day. A number of the young people, of both sexes, started in several conveyances, and about noon found themselves, after rumbling through the covered bridge on the Neversink River, climbing slowly up the steep winding hill that ascends from the east bank of the stream, and whence was a beautiful view of the valley below.