upon the left shore, upon the top of which were several soldiers, whose muskets glistened in the light. They were watching the approach of our vessel, and as we moved along, ran wildly down to the sandy beach, waving their handkerchiefs in joyous welcome. Just beyond, were two buoys, marking the spots where the Keokuk and Weehawken were sunk, the staff upon the bow of the latter being visible, to which the hand of some eager patriot had lashed a small American flag.

We would not fail to record another display in the sky, which just at this point arrested every gaze, and called forth from the entranced observers, at length, a burst of the wildest enthusiasm. It was no mere figment of the imagination, but a vision to the reality and beauty of which every passenger on the Oceanus was a delighted witness.

All at once arose a cry of admiration, as a hundred hands pointed to the spectacle. "See! the red, white, and blue! the red, white, and blue!"—for there, right before us in the western heavens, the scarlet streakings of the sunlight lay in parallel bars of amazing equidistance upon the grayish blue background of mist, intermingled here and there with white bands of the nearer clouds, the whole forming a singularly perfect picture of our beloved flag, hung out, as it seemed, by the hand of God, over the recovered city, and greeting with its celestial benison the sons and daughters of the North who were bringing the tidings of Lee's surrender, and the death of the Rebellion.

As the thought, in all its significance, suffused our souls, many an eye was moist, and hands were clasped, in the devoutness of joy.

Now, we are passing a long and low tongue of land, beyond which the bay returns backward. Upon this stands Fort Wagner, of the deepest historic interest. Here, for the first time, it was demonstrated that negroes could and would fight terribly, desperately, even to decimation. Along that narrow causeway, exposed to the murderous direct fire from the Fort, the dauntless regiment charged with the impetuosity of a tempest, to be rolled back by the torrent of shot and shell; again and again rallied and charged against fearful odds, until their Colonel, the noble and lamented Shaw, fell in his blood, the idol of his men, and the admired of all the brave.

It is not certainly known where his body sleeps. There were some of Carolinian blood, whose appreciation of heroism rose no higher than the plantation edict:

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Bury him with his niggers!" Some say that his remains were scattered by the Rebels to the four winds of heaven. Others affirm that they were buried obscurely near the spot on which he fell. It is reported, also, that when it was proposed to his father to remove the dust of the heroic soldier to some other burial-place, he replied that "he wanted no better or nobler grave for his son than the very soil upon which he poured out his blood."

Next, we pass Sullivan's Island, upon the angle of

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY.

ASTOR, LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS.

which was the famous Cummings' Point Battery, built of railroad iron, and which rolled the cannon-shot of Sumter from its sides as though they had been peas.

Now we are approaching Fort Sumter itself, the centre of all present observation and interest. There it lies, like a vast disabled monster, crouching in sullen and conscious imbecility, in the centre of the harbor. Its parapets, once so lovely, are battered into jagged shapelessness. Its sides are deeply pock-marked and indented. Heaps of rubbish and débris around its base disclose the terrific ordeal through which it has passed since April, 1861. From the new flag-staff in its centre waves the Banner of the Republic, never again to be displaced by the hand of the traitor. Its port-holes are mostly closed. Rows of wicker baskets can be descried, filling up the ghastly chasms. Here and there upon the walls, a sentinel paces to and fro. Involuntarily our heads are all uncovered. A solemn silence pervades the throng, as for a moment the thought of the past four years, with their changes, passions, carnage, suffering, defeats depression, and final triumph flashes through every mind. There is but one language which can express the emotions of that moment. It is the language of thankful song. And, as by a common inspiration, our voices break forth in one grand, surging, heaven-echoed chorus: Praise God, from whom all blessings flow! Praise Him, all creatures here below!

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Praise Him above, ye Heavenly Host!

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!"

That allelulia is heard by the guardians of the old