Not a groan or a sigh on the deep calm broke,
But his brow in despair still language spoke
Of grief that on earth would never depart,

Of hopes long crushed-and a blighted heart.

On my arrival at the cottage, the kindest enquiries were made for my companion, and messengers dispatched in every direction to search for him, but without success; and days, months, and years rolled away, and no tidings were heard of him.

Though Ellen was united to the most affectionate of husbands, and in possession of every earthly blessing, yet she gradually drooped away. Her slender form was wasted to a shadow; the roses had long forsaken her cheek, and her medical attendants could not conjecture the cause of her malady. They strongly recommended a change of scene, and she embarked with her husband in a vessel, in which I chanced to be a passenger for England. Our bark bounded along in sportive glee, until we reached the Line. It was at the close of a lovely tropical day, whilst we were all on deck, wooing the evening breeze, that a sail was espied at a distance. At first she did not attract much attention, but as soon as we discovered she was bearing down upon us, we endeavoured to examine her more minutely, but unsuccessfully; the evening closed in, and we were not proceeding at a greater rate than three knots per hour. The moon had just revealed her silvery orb above the horizon, when we discovered the strange sail approaching us. The commander and officers of our vessel seemed to watch her anxiously, communing with each other in half whispers. As the moon rose in splendid majesty, a long low vessel dashed by us-we could not discern a soul on deck, and all seemed hushed as the grave. For the first time suspicion was awakened within me, and which, on communication with the captain, I found confirmed. It was as light as day. The stranger tacked, as if by magic-not a sound was heard, except, at intervals, the hollow notes of a gong, and the soft tinkling of a bell. Our anxiety was wrought up to the highest pitch-to escape from her was impossible, for she walked the waters" like a thing of life." She again passed us; her cabin windows were open; the interior was illuminated, and we could plainly discern that it was fitted up with the splendour of oriental elegance. A soft strain of music was borne upon the waters-it was a low plaintive air, and a man's voice accompanied it. As the melody was wafted o'er the water, Ellen, who was gazing on the vessel, suddenly clasped her husband's arm, with a suppressed shriek exclaiming, "Merciful Heaven! I have heard that air before, but years are past, and I deemed there was but another on earth that knew it." It was in vain that we endeavoured to elicit from her when and where she had heard the melody in question-she was silent, and left us to our conjectures. The stranger played around us the whole night; not a sound was heard, but the melody, the gong, and the tinkling bell. Day at length broke, and discovered to our watchful eyes a

She had

beautiful little barque skimming the waters besides us. boarding nettings around her, and not a soul was visible on the deck. We gave ourselves up for lost, as we could come to no other conclusion than that she was a pirate, and the hapless fate of "the Cumberland" forcibly rushed on our recollection; we had no alternative but quiet submission. Ellen ascended the deck; she was before pale and wan, but now the hand of death seemed upon her her husband was almost frantic, and it was an awful moment for us all. As the sun rose, we perceived a boat quit the vessel, and, on a shrill whistle, an armed side was presented to us; our doubts were now at an end-she was a pirate. The boat pulled rapidly towards us, and the bark closed in. Upon reaching us about a dozen men sprung upon the deck, having a young man as their leader. He was apparently about the age, of twenty-five, attired in light blue silk, elegantly braided with gold, wearing on his head a cap of the same material, richly laced; and bearing in his hand a most superbly mounted sword. His followers were all armed. He advanced to the quarter deck, and judge my astonishment in discovering the features of the guest at Ellen's wedding. The faded blue ribbon hung o'er his bosom-he bent towards me with haughty silence. Ellen had shrunk behind her husband on discovering the pirate captain. He caught a glimpse of her-a momentary tremor came over him-the blood rushed into his pallid cheeks, and his eye flashed with terrific wildness. Unbinding the locket from his neck, he advanced towards her. "We have met again, Ellen," he exclaimed. Aye! we have met again. Years have rolled by since our last parting. Do you know this faded ribbon? It was the gift of one who vowed eternal constancy! It was the gift of one who vowed that naught on earth should part us! It was the gift of one who led me to believe, I was the first and only object of her affection! It was the gift," dashing the locket with violence to the ground," of a false, perjured woman! Yes! Ellen,"-raising his cap from his brow, and giving his long dark hair to the gale" I am he, to whom you vowed eternal constancy. Grief and guilt are now depictured on that brow, which oft your lips have pressed. The hand which encircled you is red with human gore-it is the hand of an outcast—a robber—a murderer! It is the hand of a pirate-and what has made me so? But the hour of retribution is at hand-the shade of blighted love calls aloud for vengeance—and," clenching his teeth, as if to suppress his passion, vengeance it shall have!" Advancing nearer to her, he continued, with a devilish sneer, "Thy roses, girl, are faded; they require a warmer climate-they shall bloom on an eastern shore they shall bloom as a pirate's bride;" and drawing a pistol from his girdle, he seized the affrighted girl. His followers closed round him, and bore her to the boat. Resistance was in vain-they gained the pirate, and were never heard of more.

66

66

C.

The following original poem was written by the Author of an "Indian Tale and other Poems," and communicated to us by his friend

TO THE SOUL.

I.

O! thou ethereal sun of being-Soul!
Best gift of God, and likest him that gave.
Curbless and chainless, trampler on control,
Victor of death, and scorner of the grave!
Thou wert not made to be a tyrant's slave,
Nor yet the fawning parasite of kings,

Kissing the foot that spurns thee; nor to crave
In common bondage, earth's decaying things;

*K.*

Fame is a schoolboy's dream-gold cankers, and hath wings,

M. Vanberg was one of the richest merchants of Dunkirk, and fortune seemed to have taken delight to heap favors upon him.

United to an estimable woman, the father of a son gifted with great natural talent, nothing was wanting to complete his happiness. Every day beheld his trade increase, he had ships in many port‹, and correspondents in all commercial cities. All things were thus smiling upon him, when, by one of those accidents, which human wisdom cannot foresee, he found himself reduced to poverty. His vessels were captured by Corsairs;-one of his principal correspondents became a bankrupt, and M. Vanberg, being security for a very large amount, was forced to suspend his payments. These accumulated misfortunes made such an impression on the merchant's mind, that he fell ill of a fever, and, notwithstanding the anxious and unceasing cares of his wife and son, died in their arms after a few hours. Scarcely had he breathed his last, when a host of creditors assailed the house, and, seizing upon the furniture, reduced the unhappy widow to destitution. Neither of her parents were rich, and the aid they afforded was but slender, and habituated to live in abundance, encircled from infancy by the enjoyments that wealth commands, Madame Vanberg could not submit to the cold disdain, and the heartless refusal of assistance of those who presented friendship in prosperity. She retired to a humble lodging with her son, and an old female servant, who had refused to desert her in this extremity. There she worked day after day to sustain a sad existence for herself; and for her child, she would be employed whole nights to earn some little superfluity, to which luxury had accustomed him. She herself was his instructress, she sought above all to form his heart, often she told him of his father, frequently of his misfortunes, rarely of his former wealth, as she feared to awake regret, though she could not repress in herself the desire of that which was now lost, yet it was not for herself, but for her son. Charles grew up, the finishing of his education had been entrusted to an old sea-captain, a friend of his father, and he was now eighteen years of age; his mother desired him to enter some merchant's counting-house, but the state of her finances would not allow of this. Dared she again solicit those who had once so cruelly refused her? Yes, she was a mother, and, for the welfare of her beloved child, she could face a refusal yet again! She was thus resolved, when Charles entered her apartment with a joyful countenance: "Console yourself, my mother," said he, 66 our misfortunes are over, heaven has terminated our unhappiness, and you will be replaced in that rank you once occupied in society, no more to dread the disdain of those, who know not how to honor virtue in indigence; my mother, I can repay you for your cares."—"Explain yourself, Charles," replied Madame Vanberg. "Our good friend, M. Hervé, has charged me to secure some property which has just fallen to him at Martinique, the produce is to establish a banking-house here, and we are to share the profits."-" Then must you quit me?"-"I shall quit you for a year,-six months, perhaps, and then we shall never part again-a bright perspective opens for you and your son."-"Ah," said Madame Vanberg, still

raising objections to his departure; "you are ignorant of the ele ment you must brave, and of the pestilential climate to which your steps are directed-if I lose you, what will become of me, alone upon the world? what are riches to me? you only are the wealth I care to possess." At length, M. Hervé remarked that her refusal would condemn her son to a life of poverty, and maternal love yielding, she gave her consent. The day of his departure was fixed, Charles was torn from the fond embraces of his mother, and the vessel bore him far from the shores of France.

Four months passed away, and Madame Vanberg had received no intelligence of her son-how long that interval seemed, what anxieties, what fears, what inquietudes assailed her-an involuntary groan escaped her, whenever she thought upon the dangers which threatened Charles, reproaching herself for having allowed him to leave her; and every day found her at the wharf, enquiring the names of the newly arrived vessels. At length, after five months, she received a letter from Charles, informing her that he had secured the estate, and that he would return as soon as possible, although it would take him some time to sell the property, which was very considerable. Soon after, a second letter reached her, that nothing now could detain him from his mother, and that the next ship would bring him once more to her embraces. More impatient than ever, Madame Vanberg was almost incessantly on the wharf, accompanied by M. Hervé; and, one day, just as she was about to leave it, on turning, she discovered a ship on the verge of the horizon. Prolonging her stay till the vessel was near enough to display its signal, she then found it had come from the very port, news from which would to her be most acceptable—it was the identical ship by which she expected her son! To attempt to describe her feelings, on beholding Charles on the poop, would be worse than useless, so many different passions contending in her bosom, and forgetting, in her joy for the present, the sorrows and solicitudes of the past. Without wasting a moment's time in deliberation, impatient to throw herself into his arms, she took a boat to meet her son, who, seemingly, as anxious as herself, at the same time descended the side of the vessel, and, leaping into a small skiff, assisted to row towards his mother-they met-they spake— Charles sprang from his seat, but, not measuring the distance in his eagerness, fell between the boats-three times he rose on the surface, and an intrepid seaman three times grasped him, but was unable from weakness to retain his hold-again he rose, and again was seized, and with some difficulty borne to the shore.-Madame Vanberg threw herself on her son, in the wildness of grief, calling him to speak once, if only once more-a groan escaped him. "My mother!" faintly breathed from his lips, and his eyes were closed in death.-Madame Vanberg gazed for a few minutes on the lifeless corpse, and, raising her eyes to heaven, fell, and expired-her heart was broken! K.

[We have given insertion to this little article, with a view to