You can’t sec anything, it is so thick.  The sea runs mountain high.  The gallant ship, with creaking masts, drives before the gale and plunges over the crests of the foaming billows.  That is what she was built for.

The thunder peals crash after crash, and occasionally crash before crash.  The lightning’s lurid glare illumines, ever and anon, the scene.

The stoutest hold their breath, and if they can’t do that, they hold to a belaying-pin, while the awe-stricken crew in vain attempt to pump out the hold.  All is darkness, except in the binnacle.

We leave the noble vessel to her fate, with the cheering conviction that she is fully insured.

THE COLISEUM AT ROME.

Who has not yet heard of the Coliseum at Rome, that great masterpiece of Architecture, wherein Rome held her gladiatorial combats, her peace jubilees, and other solemnities!  What classic associations cluster around it; what tender recollections of Latin Grammar and of ROMULUS and REMUS, CATILINE, and other friends of our youth, crowd upon us!

Here is where the poet saw the lying gladiator die; and where Mr. FORREST beheld the arena swim around him.  You perceive from the outline of this immense building that there was ample room for this purpose.

A look at this recalls past ages; the palmy days of Rome.  I need not remind my young friends that Rome is not so palmy as she was.  And yet there is no reason in the world why she couldn’t be made a great railroad centre.  Look at Troy!

Strangers repair to this venerable pile from every part of the earth, though it is somewhat out of repair just at present.

This view, I need hardly explain, is intended to be by moonlight.  The student, the philosopher, the lover of the classics, will gaze upon this ruin with emotions of mingled joy and sadness.

Other lovers will gaze at this object, which, without my assistance, they will recognize as the silver-orbed moon.  Mark its pensive rays.  The silver moon will now roll on—­to the next subject.

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