proportions of a towering monument, or sit down to study the meaning of some obscure design.  A mere sketch of all that I saw there would fill a volume, but I found one monument which I cannot pass by without some notice.  It stands on Hilly Ridge, and was erected to the memory of six “lost at sea, on board the steamer ‘Arctic,’ Sept. 27th, 1854.”  These words arrested my attention, and a minute later, I had ascended the domical summit of the hill, and stood at the foot of the high monument.  It has a square granite base upon which stand four little red pillars of polished Russian granite, supporting a transversely arched canopy, with a high spire.  Under the canopy is represented the Ocean and the shipwreck of the “Arctic.”  The vessel is assailed by a terrible storm, and fiercely tossed upon the foaming waves!  She has already sprung a leak, and through the ugly gash admits a copious stream of the fatal liquid, while the raging sea, like an angry monster, is about to swallow her distined prey!  Down she goes, and among the many passengers on board, are

  Grace, wife of Geo. F. Allen and daughter of James Brown, born Aug.
  25th, 1821.

  Herbert, infant child of Geo. F. and Grace Allen, born Sept, 28th,
  1853.

  William B., son of James Brown, born April 23rd, 1825.

  Clara, wife of Wm. B. Brown and daughter of Chas. Moulton, born June
  30th, 1830.

  Clara Alice Jane, daughter of William B. and Clara Brown, born Aug. 30,
  1852.

  Maria Miller, daughter of James Brown, born Sept. 30th, 1833.

What a sad story!  As the ship wreck occurred in the fall, it is highly probable that the party was homeward bound and, had better fortune been with them, might in a very few days have again been safe and happy in their respective homes, relating stories of their strange but pleasant experiences in the Old World.  How changed the tale!  How their friends must have been looking and waiting for the “Arctic!” One line told the whole story, and perhaps all that was ever heard of them, “The ‘Arctic’ is wrecked!”

Not far away, on the crown of Locust Hill, sleeps Horace Greeley, America’s great journalist and political economist.  At the head of his grave stands a temporal memorial stone in the form of a simple marble slab, bearing the inscription, “Horace Greeley, born February 3rd, 1811; died November 29th, 1872.”  I left the Cemetery at 7:45 p.m., and returned to my quarters in New York.

Monday, June 21st.  Having procured passage with the “Manhattan,” which was to sail on the morrow, I straightway went to Pier No. 46, North River, to take a look at her!  At 12:45 p.m.  I stood in the third story of A.T.  Stewart’s great dry goods establishment, perhaps the largest of kind in the world.  It is six stories high, and covers nearly two acres of ground.  My next point of destination was Brooklyn Court-House.