THE SEA.

The shadows deepen as the sun departs,
And light sinks deeper with his higher rise:
So with man's mind as ignorance enfolds,
Or knowledge waxeth keener and more wide;
Thus wouldst thou say—but what is man to me?

THE TELEGRAPH.

Thy fellow-being here; on thee dependent
For mighty aids—so far inferior;
Yet ranking higher in the eye of God:
The soul hath nobler elements than thine.

THE SEA.

Fear'st thou no tempest?—know'st thou not one
swathe
Of my great waters can destroy thee?

THE TELEGRAPH.

Yes:—
But also do I know thy vastness cannot
With petty vengeance, and with watchful spleens
Accord, nor change the habit of its depths.
Destroy me therefore, and again I come—
Again, and yet again—till, rolling over,
Thou slumberest at my presence. Yet, once more,
Hear me, oh Sea! nor scorn the denizens
Of thy fair sister Earth, for that indeed
Were but to imitate their own bad deeds
Of early times. Large are their debts to thee;
The chief, thy means of passage to far lands,
From ancient dates; in our own day, the means
Of thought-swift messengers beneath thy waves,
Till England whispers India in the ear,
America—north, south—from pole to pole—
And words of friendship may pass round the world
Between the dawn and noon.

THE SEA.

But despotism—
The bondmen and their masters—how of these ?

THE TELEGRAPH.

Oh, well I know that Science will become
The new auxiliary of armies:—kings,
Leagued 'gainst the people, watchfully prepare
All great appliances to guard their thrones,
And keep the spirit of Liberty in check,
Or crush it into " order; " clear 'tis seen,
That for the people's service and chief good,
The aid of commerce and man's common weal,
I am not sought by all, but that as swift
As fly my lightnings, king may call to king,
Asking advice or aid, or giving note
Of danger. Feel I not through my quick nerves,
How Prussia vibrates into Austria's hand,
And both shoot trembling sparks to the grim eye
0' the night-black double eagle of the North,
While the Republican Phantom fluctuates
As either moves my wires, and passes word
O'er lands, 'neath waters, through the forest dark
Till Freedom, like a fly, is all enmeshed.
The rest is understood. But, oh, vain care,
Deep self-deception of short-sighted kings!
For though strong armies at an instant called
By me, may hurry into distant lands—
To Poland—Hungary—Italy—Turkey—France—
Knowledge has been before them—friendship, too;
By free and daily intercourse of peace,
The spirit of human brotherhood has found
Its natural sympathy in distant hearts,
And war's old beldame prelude, of a witch
Sent forth to poison minds and fire the blood
With lies and causeless wrath, shall never more
Find credence, nor the nations fail to see,
That slaughtering wars for some decayed great
House,
The statesman's idol, or his instrument—
A royal chess-game of the ignorant past—
Are not a people's will, or choice, nor have
A people's sympathy, but rather hate,
And loathing, and revulsion from the wounds
Of memory—the prodigal waste of life,
And grinding taxes lasting for an age—
A mockery to reason. Wherefore, I pray,
Oh mighty Sea, now that my head hath reached
The opposite shore, that I may lie and work
Beneath thy watery world, and be the means
Of peace on earth, and of good- will to men.

THE SEA
The ebbing and the flowing of the life
Of man's progressing mind, perchance may lead
To some superior state, while I remain
Slumbering beneath the stars. What God permits,
I dare not hinder, therefore keep thy place:
And when I roll my surging prayers to heaven,
They shall remember man, and his good works.

OUR PHANTOM SHIP IN DOCK.

MR. HENRY RUBLEY, who is about to sail
in our Phantom Ship, has favoured us with
the following communication:—

To detail the various circumstances which
have led to the approaching emigration of
your obedient servant, Henry Rubley, Esq.,
would only harass the feelings of subscribers,
and would add nothing to the sum destined
by a stern parent to accompany me in my
emigration to another and a distant country.
Nobody requires my services; nobody buys
my poems. The " Phantom Ship " awaits me.
'Tis well! But to show an ungrateful country
that I return good for evil, I dedicate my last
day or two to discoursing on the London
Docks, for the benefit of the reading public.
I flatter myself that I know them pretty well
by this time. There may have been reasons
for my living in the city in a quiet and retired
manner, during the fitting of the ship.—No
matter!

I think that if you want to get a good
notion of what kind of places docks are, you
may take the London Docks as a very good
sample to begin with; they occupy a space
of ninety-one acres; they have water-room
for three hundred sail, exclusive of lighters;
and vault-room for sixty-five thousand four
hundred pipes of wine and spirits. They
have almost all the colonial trade; they
receive nineteen-twentieths of the wine;
almost all the tobacco; and much of the
sugar that comes to our broad river. When
busy, they employ three thousand people, and
their average number of ships is from one
hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty,
the present number being one hundred and
ninety-six. They have five hundred labourers
on their establishment. Their returns are