However, in such ways as we could we made the poor fellow comfortable; but John Dash, seaman, existed no longer; a poor, maimed, half-crazed hulk of a man was left of a gallant, noble fellow. But he had lived to teach a lesson. A day later we sighted Sandy Hook, and beating up the bay, anchored in New York Harbor, where the planter and his wife and the heroic seaman were put on shore. As the wind and tide were ripe to take us up the East River and through the narrows of Hell Gate into the Sound, we tarried but long enough to drop anchor and get it in again, and I caught only a panorama of houses and spires and the crowded wharfs of the city. The voyage up the Sound was uneventful, and my landing in Connecticut and what followed I shall make another chapter. But we passed many coasting-vessels and towns (whose number seemed past counting on both shores), and at last we entered the narrow sound of Fisher's Island and crept up close to the wharfs of Stonington. I made up my mind not to go ashore until the following morning, as it was after sunset before we had found a berth that suited the skipper. Oh, I have forgotten to add that when I returned to my bunk, after being boarded by the party from the _Little Belt_, I had missed the miniature which I had left hanging by a nail driven into one of the stanchions. That one of the British sailors, on the hurried search of the cabin, had helped himself to it was beyond doubting. [TO BE CONTINUED.] THE SONG IN THE NIGHT. BY JAMES BUCKHAM. Bleak, barren hills and cheerless plain, All soaked and sodden with the rain; No wood to bid the camp-fire glow, No forest roof against the snow;-- Drear was the dying winter day When the troops halted at Luray. Not ev'n the draggled tents went up, No chance to sleep, no chance to sup! A few hours' rest upon their arms, Then--who could tell what wild alarms? "Halt until midnight," orders read; "Then, if the storm holds, march ahead." Tired and disheartened, faint and chill, The soldiers, scattered o'er the hill, Lay in their blankets. Scarce a word In all the width of camp was heard. Out of heart was the great blue host-- Out of that which they needed most,-- And the General's heart was a heavy load, For well he knew what that hush must bode. Forth from the town, as if heaven-sent, Passed a child; and as on he went Something moved him to sing a song His mother taught him, while waiting long For the loyal husband, who could not stay When the first blue regiment passed that way! Sweet, and flutelike, and childish clear, The boy's voice rang through the valley drear:-- _Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching;_ _Cheer up, comrades, they will come!_