So ever toward the setting sun the course of empire takes its way,--not the empire of despotism, but of life, liberty,--of civilization and the Christian religion. FOOTNOTES: [D] Lewis and Clark's Expedition to the Columbia, Vol. II. p. 392. [E] Ibid., p. 397. [F] See Pacific Railroad Report, Vol. I. p. 239. [G] Idaho: Six Months among the New Gold Diggings, by J. L. Campbell, pp. 15-28. [H] Pacific Railroad Report, Vol. I. p. 130. [I] Ibid., Vol. XII. p. 169. [J] Governor Stevens's Report of the Pacific Railroad Survey. [K] Pacific Railroad Survey. Lieutenant Mullan's Report. [L] Lieutenant Mullan's Report on the Construction of Wagon Road from Fort Benton to Walla-Walla, p. 45. [M] New York Tribune, December 2, 1865, correspondence of "A. D. R." [N] Report of Captain Mullan, p. 54. [O] Report of Captain Mullan, p. 54. [P] Hall's Guide,--via Omaha, Denver, and Salt Lake. [Q] Report of the Secretary of the Treasury, 1857. [R] Paper read before the British North American Association, July 21, 1864. [S] Vancouver's Island and British Columbia, Maciff, p. 343. [T] Speech by Lord Bury, quoted by Maciff. [U] India, China, and Japan, p. 23. [V] Statistical Journal, 1862. [W] Statistical Journal, 1862, p. 15. [X] Vancouver and British Columbia, Maciff, p. 179. [Y] Agassiz, Lake Superior, p. 124. IN THE SEA. The salt wind blows upon my cheek As it blew a year ago, When twenty boats were crushed among The rocks of Norman's Woe. 'Twas dark then; 't is light now, And the sails are leaning low. In dreams, I pull the sea-weed o'er, And find a face not his, And hope another tide will be More pitying than this: The wind turns, the tide turns,-- They take what hope there is. My life goes on as thine would go, With all its sweetness spilled: My God, why should one heart of two Beat on, when one is stilled? Through heart-wreck, or home-wreck, Thy happy sparrows build. Though boats go down, men build anew, Whatever winds may blow; If blight be in the wheat one year, We trust again and sow, Though grief comes, and changes The sunshine into snow. Some have their dead, where, sweet and soon, The summers bloom and go: The sea withholds my dead,--I walk The bar when tides are low, And wonder the grave-grass Can have the heart to grow! Flow on, O unconsenting sea, And keep my dead below; Though night--O utter night!--my soul, Delude thee long, I know, Or Life comes or Death comes, God leads the eternal flow. THE CHIMNEY-CORNER FOR 1866. III. IS WOMAN A WORKER? "Papa, do you see what the Evening Post says of your New-Year's article on Reconstruction?" said Jennie, as we were all sitting in the library after tea. "I have not seen it."