A stranger in the crowded streets of busy London, 

 A few enquiries, and the crowds pass on, 

 And all's forgotten. O'er my grassy grave 

 The men of future times will careless tread 

 And read my name upon the sculptured stone; 

 Nor will the sound, familiar with their ears, 

 Recall my vanished memory. I had hoped 

 For better things; I hoped I should not leave 

 This earth without a vestige. Fate decrees 

 It shall be otherwise, and I submit. 

 Henceforth, oh, world! no more of thy desires, 

 No more of hope, that wanton vagrant hope; 

 Now higher cares engross me, and my tired soul, 

 With emulative haste, looks to its God, 

 And prunes its wings for heaven. 

 —KIRKE WHITE. 

  

  

  AN EMBARKATION SCENE.  

 A short time since, I found among other papers, one containing an account of the embarkation of a few detachments to join their respective regiments, then engaged in the Burmese war, in India. It was written almost verbatim, from the description by one, who was not only an eye witness, but who took an active part in the proceedings of the morning. As so very many similar and trying scenes are occurring at the present time, among our devoted countrymen, 

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