But slowly o'er the glassy deep
The icy bars in silence creep,
And clasp the ship around,
Till mast and sail and deck alike
In icy chains are bound

Gloom on the vast, unbroken sky,

And stillness on the air,
And loneliness upon the sea,
And silence everywhere;

And in Con Elgin's hardened heart
A stern and cold despair.

He shrank to see the famished crew,
So gaunt were they and grim;
He gazed where, sea and sky between,
In lurid haze was ever seen

The sun's unsetting rim;

But evermore those stony eyes
Glared fixedly on him.

He spake to them-he called to themThen came a silence dread;

For lo, upon the northern skies

Strange gleams of lurid light arise,
And gather overhead;

They gleam upon the frozen ship,
And on the frozen dead.

The faces of the dead were they,
So rigid, wan, and blue;

Oh, 't was a fearful thing to stand
Amid that lifeless crew!

And thrice Con Elgin drew his blade,
And thrice his iron hand was stayed:

Ah, well the grasp he knew!

He paces on the icy deck,

He chants a mystic rune;

He cursed the long and weary day,

Yet ended all too soon,

As the lurid disk of the blood-red sun Sinks suddenly at noon.

The ghastly dead-the ghastly dead-
They chill him with their eyes;
The silent ship—the lonely sea-

The far and boundless skies!

Oh, that some little breeze would stir,
Some little cloud arise!

And then uprose a little cloud-
Uprose a little breeze-

And came a low and slumberous sound,
Like moaning waves that break around
The stormy Hebrides:

The ice is rent-the ship is free,
And on the open seas!

He saw the land upon his lee-
He strove the shore to gain;
And wild and fierce his efforts grew,
But strength and skill were vain;
Still onward ploughed the fated ship
Unto the outer main.

A sail, a sail! "What ho! what ho!"
He shouted from the mast;

And back there came a cheering cry

Upon the rushing blast:

Their very life-blood chilled with dread —

They saw the living and the dead

As swift they hurried past!

And long upon those Northern seas,
At silent dead of night,

A cry would echo on the blast,

And a phantom ship go hurrying past—

A strange and fearful sight!

And well the trembling sailors knew

Con Elgin and his ghastly crew.

THE

HE subject of this short sketch, whose maiden name was Constance Cary, and who is best known to Southern literature under her nom de plume of "Refugitta," is the daughter of the late Archibald Cary and of Monimia Fairfax, his wife, both representatives of ancient families of Virginia. Mrs. Harrison is the elder of two children, and was born, we believe, in Mississippi, to which State her father had removed, shortly after his marriage, for the purpose of practising his profession, the law. Mr. Cary was a gentleman of fine literary abilities, and during his residence in Mississippi was associated in the editorship of a newspaper at Port Gibson, the place of his residence. Mr. Cary subsequently removed to Cumberland, Maryland, where he became proprietor and editor of the "Cumberland Civilian," which journal he edited up to the time of his death.

At the breaking out of the war, Miss Cary was residing with her mother at "Vancluse," about three miles from Alexandria, Virginia, for many years the country-seat of the Fairfax family, and the former home of her maternal grandfather, Thomas Fairfax. Like many others, overtaken by the coming of war, Miss Cary became a "refugee," a term understood with a mournful distinctness by thousands of the best and noblest of the South, and sought shelter, accompanied by her mother, in Richmond, in which city she remained until the close of the war.

It was in Richmond that Miss Cary first wrote under the name of "Refugitta." From both father and mother she had inherited a decided literary taste and aptitude; and hence the lively, sparkling sketches which appeared under that name in the literary papers of the Confederate capital, displayed a more than usual vigor, and their vivacity of style earned for their fair author no little reputation and applause. Among the writers of the four years of warfare that befell the South, none was more popular than "Refugitta," especially in Richmond, where were published most of her writings.

In the autumn of 1865, Miss Cary went to Europe with her mother, remaining there about a year. Some time after her return to the United States, she was married to Mr. Burton N. Harrison, who, during the war, was attached to the person of Mr. Jefferson Davis in the capacity of private secretary. Mr. and Mrs. Harrison at present reside in New York.

1870.

C. D.