tta Croom, was one
of the most popular girls at school, possessing great attractions of
both mind and person, and, although at the time she was merely a child
in years, the New Year's address of a prominent daily newspaper of the
day contained an extended reference to her which strongly appealed to my
grief-stricken fancy. Though more than sixty years have passed I have
always preserved it with great care in memory of the "sweet damsel" of
long ago. The following are the lines to which I have just referred:

Dear Home! what magic trembles in the word;
Each bosom's fountain at its sound is stirred,
Disgusted worldlings dream of early love
And weary Christians turn their eyes above--
Well was't thou nam'd, fair bark, whose recent doom
Has many a household wrapt in deepest gloom!
On earth no more those voyagers' steps shall roam
That cast their anchor at an Heavenly "Home"!
High beat their hearts, when first their fated prow
Cut through the surge that boils above them now,
They saw in vision rapt their fatherland
And felt once more its odorous breezes bland--
The frozen North receded from their sight
And fancy's dream entranced them with delight--
Oh! who can tell what pangs their soul assail'd
When every hope of life and rescue fail'd,
When wild despair their throbbing bosoms wrung
And winds and waves a doleful requiem sung?
There stood the husband whose protecting arm
'Till now had kept his lov'd ones safe from harm.
Remorseless grown, the demon of the storm
Swept from his grasp her trembling, fragile form.
Vague fear o'er children's lineaments convuls'd,
But selfish hands their frenzied cling repuls'd.
When death's grim aspect meets the startl'd view
To grovelling souls fair mercy bids adieu!
And thou, sweet damsel! who in girlhood's bloom
Descended then to fill an ocean tomb--
What were _thy_ thoughts, when roaring for their prey
The foaming billows choked the watery way!
'Tis said that souls have giv'n in parting hour
A vast and fearful and mysterious power.
A chart pictorial of the past is made,
In which minute events are all portray'd--
One painful glance the scroll entire surveys
And then in death the blasted eye-balls glaze--
Perchance at that dark moment when the maid
On life's dim verge her coming doom survey'd,
Such vision flash'd across her spirit