Here and there among the crowd could be distinguished a group of kind friends, gathered around some loved companion, who would soon be

  “Far out o’er the ocean blue.”

Here a careless, merry set of fellows were trying, with their bright wit and lively sallies, to cheer a young companion who was about to leave the home of his boyhood, to seek a name and a fortune a far distant land.

There stands a pale, care-worn, yet lovely woman, with a tear which she cannot restrain, coursing down her cheek, as with a convulsive pressure of the hand and a murmured, “God bless you,” she parts with her son.  He is her only son, and she is a widow.

In yonder proud city a home awaits him, where he can earn a slight pittance, to keep them from starving.

The grey-haired sire, the blooming youth, the middle aged, are all here, parting with their friends, while yonder gay throng, with light laugh and bandied jest, are offering the congratulations and the parting salutations to a fair young bride, arrayed in all the gorgeousness of wealth and beauty.

The last word is spoken, the last fond pressure of the hand, and the last farewell kiss are all given, and amid the cheers of the multitude, and the whistle of the engine, the ringing of the bell, and the puff of the steam, the noble ship leaves the wharf, and ploughs her way on the billowy deep, and the busy throng seek their homes, their hearts beating high in anticipation of a coming day, when they shall again welcome the absent friends, scarcely a thought of pain or death mars their bright hope.

* * * * *

The hours pass on.  The full orbed moon rides forth, enthroned among her retinue of stars, in a clear cerulean sky, bathing all things beautiful in a mellow light.  Far out upon the blue waters rides the noble steamer, like a thing of life, leaving a long wake of white foam behind.  Her numerous passengers had laid down to dream of home and happiness.  The gay youth is with his companions, the poor boy with his widowed mother, the bride in the home of her youth—­all are living over again the scenes that are past.

As they thus lie, lulled in security, the startling cry of “Fire! fire?—­the ship is on fire!” breaks in an appalling sound on the ear.  Every one springs instantly to their feet, and every possible means are resorted to, to quench the flames, but all in vain; the flames rush on, and in agony the passengers and crew await their doom.  The man of God, with his white hair streaming over his shoulders, is calling upon them to make their peace with God; and anon he kneels and commends them to his kind care.  The voice of prayer, the hymn of praise, the groan of agony, the silent tear, the piercing shriek, are alike in vain.  The destroyer speeds on; the awful announcement is made that there is powder on board!  Oh, the untold misery of that hour, as in speechless agony they watch the flames.  It came at last—­and with one shriek of despair, the doomed victims were hurled into eternity, and far and wide over the waters were scattered the remains of the steamer and her crew.