rangements of Providence. Still farther be it from me to offend the lovely deceivers. THE SEA SPIRIT. in the PASSING the summer of the year 17-, we were overtaken by a storm, which rapidly increased, and threatened, by its violence, to engulph us in the waves. To one who has never experienced such a scene, no description could convey an adequate idea of its horrors; and to those who have been so situated, description would be superfluous.— The roaring of the wind, the ra ging of the waves, the shivering canvas, and the noise of the creaking and straining cordage, can be but faintly imagined by any but those who have known the reality. As night approached, our situation be came more dreadful, the darkness adding to the other causes of terror. The ship was, for hours together, darted along, and again hurled back, At length day by successive waves. broke, and the light of the morn ing, in some degree, revived our spirits; but the sight of our vessel was in itself enough to destroy all hope. She had lost a mast, her rigging was burst and shivered, and the torn sails flapped about in long stripes. It seemed that but little chance remained of the vessel weathering the storm, and the Captain ordered the boats to be got out; and being speedily obeyed, the crew and the few passengers crowded into them. We left the ship, and in a few moments lost sight of her. "Their tricks and craft have put me daft; They've ta'en me in, an' a' that; But clear your decks, and here's the sex! I like the jad's for a' that." But to revert to our theme, and to deduce a moral, since our hopes and our fears, our joys and our miseries, are in fact imaginary, it is the part of wisdom to restrain them within just and convenient limits. He is an enemy to his own happiness who analyzes too curiously the fountains whence hope and joy, however imaginary, flow copiously, and refresh his spirit. He is still more an enemy to his own happiness, who does not rigidly and thoroughly expose the fallacies and deceptions whence his fears proceed, and whence his privations derive all their misery. Magnificent is the display here given of the wisdom and goodness of our Maker. Good and evil, that is, mental good and evil, proceed not from inscrutable and uncontrollable reservoirs, but from fountains of which every man holds the key. He whose mind is duly disciplined, can keep the fountain of evil forever locked, and derive, from the fountain of good, perpetual refreshment. It is not my province to allude to the important part which religion performs in promoting this discipline. It is the doctrine of religion, of philosophy, and of common sense, not to give your money for that which is not bread. Yet if this simple maxim were adhered to, there would be no misery but from bodily pain, while pleasure would flow from all the springs which imagination is capable of unlocking. "Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, Atque metus omnes et inexorabile fatum Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acheron tis avari! We were now entirely abandoned to the mercy of the elements. A few boards alone separated us from the ocean; we were exposed to the wind, the rain, and the waves, and we had little prospect of escaping death. Add to these evils, our provisions were scanty, and damaged by the water. Our prospects were melancholy enough, and despair sat on every countenance. Each of us gazed at his neighbour, but shuddered at the horror and dismay which met his glance. Some sat in a sullen torpor, whilst others muttered ejaculations of despair, and gazed with wild and intense looks on the waves, which seemed ready to engulph us on every side. The storm continued for several days; we were faint and weary with exertion and suffering. Some lay down, to endeavour to obtain rest, while the others threw out the water which came into the boat. A tremendous wave rolled towards us; and the other boat, which had continued to keep at no great distance from us, was instantly swamped, and one of our men washed overboard. The fate of our comrades contributed to increase our misery, for the same fate might every moment overtake the survivors. Our provisions were exhausted, and famine stared us in the face. We chewed the soft leather of our shoes, to deaden the sense of hunger, for every morsel of food had been consumed. One of our number died. He was to be thrown over into the sea. Two sailors laid hold of the body to perform that last sad office to it. A sudden thought seemed to seize their minds-they hesitated, and looked round. It was dreadful -no one spoke, yet every one knew what was meant. The sailors laid the body down: some horrid feeling seemed to agitate every breast, but it could not burst forth in words. It was the deep silence of every one in the boat-the motion of the eye, a certain pervading feeling, which told each man why the body was again placed in the boat, instead of its being committed to its watery grave. At last the Captain spoke; but his voice could scarce be heard, amid the raging of the contending elements.— "Why is not the body thrown into the sea?" he said; " will ye keep him here to rot and decay? or do you wish to satisfy your hunger on the carcase of your fellow?" He laid hold of the body, and speaking to a sailor, they lifted it over the side of the boat, and it disappeared. The weather soon altered, and grew ealm. One morning we were greeted with the welcome cry of land. We strained our eyes to see it, and plainly perceived it at a considerable distance. We laboured at our oars, and towards evening arrived at it. With some difficulty we landed, and look ed round on a barren and comfortless track of country, principally level, and occasionally interrupted by rocks jutting out of the ground, or an illformed and bare tree. We were, however, too much rejoiced to have escaped from the sea to examine mi nutely the spot on which we were thrown. Exhausted with continued fatigue, we lay down on the ground, and enjoyed a profound sleep till morning. When we rose from our slumbers, the bleak and cheerless prospect depressed our spirits; we were without either shelter or food, and the latter want pressed us most severely. For five days we had not tasted food. We wandered about in hopes of meeting with something, but there were no traces which might indicate that any living creatures save ourselves existed on this barren spot; a few roots, however, rewarded our search, and in some degree satisfied our hunger.We spoke but little, and that little consisted in useless and unavailing repinings. At length it occurred, that we were totally destitute of any lodging to protect us from the rigour of the weather, and we therefore set about looking out for a spot suitable for erecting some kind of shelter. Two rocks, which were considerably elevated above the level ground, formed an angle which would shelter us on two sides. We stuck our oars in the ground, and stretched on them a large piece of canvas, which had been used as a sail, and which we had brought along with us in the boat. We were uncovered and exposed over head, it was true, but we were on safe ground, and even this most of us considered far preferable to being tost about on the ocean in a boat which one wave might swallow up for ever. The weather was now fine and dry; the few trees on the island were covered with verdure; and the leaves strewed on the ground, composed our humble beds, and were likewise of greater use in another manner. We contrived, by means of a pistol and a little powder, to light a fire with leaves and branches which we broke off the trees. The scene in the evening, when the mists began to gather around, was highly picturesque. The flame rose in high and curling flashes, threw its red glare over the island, and blazed against the rocks. As it increased, it was reflected on the waves, and extended in a long red blaze over the water. My companions, as they moved about in the light, which shewed more plainly their hard and deep-marked features, seemed like some strange and fearful beings, performing their unhallowed rites. We gradually grew more cheerful, and hope represented to us the chance that some vessel might pass by, and relieve us from our present desolate situation. Still our condition was wretched, and our food scarce and unwholesome, consisting merely of roots, and the few fish of various kinds that we occasionally found on the shore. An incident occurred, which rather startled us, and did not contribute to add to our comfort. A sailor who had been wandering about the island, had remained out later than usual, and came running into our inclosure out of breath, his eyes starting from their sockets, and exhibiting all the marks of violent terror. We enquired earnestly the reason of this appear ance. As soon as he had sufficiently recovered himself, he exclaimed, "I have seen a ghost!" Sailors are generally superstitious, and we stared at each other with wild looks, as if each expected to encounter the eyeless scull and bloody winding-sheet of some terrible apparition. The Captain only preserved his composure unmoved; he laughed at our fears, and joked the ghost-seer unmercifully. The man, however, persisted in his tale. He was walking on the shore, at a part of the island to which we had seldom resorted in our peregrinations, on account of its particularly rugged and barren appearance. Here, as he was picking up some shell-fish, which lay at his feet, his attention was engaged by a slight noise, and, looking up, he perceived, to his horror, the figure of a man, which seemed to skirr along the surface of the water, and was followed by a female form who pursued him, and whom he strove, but in vain, to avoid. The woman overtook him, and with a tremendous laugh, plunged him into the waves. In a moment after, the apparition disappeared, and he saw it no more. Various were the speculations which this narration gave birth to; among the members of our society. A degree of fear prevailed among us, and whispers were circulated, as if every one had dreaded to hear the sound of his own voice. The Captain, too, it was remarked, who had at first made the circumstance an object of merriment, now seemed inwardly troubled, and strove in vain to dispel the melancholy which clouded his brow.On retiring to rest, all huddled together in the farthest angle of the rocks. Sleep came over us, but the imaginations of many tormented them with ghostly dreams, and occasionally an exclamation of horror would burst from some one, and disturb the others, who, scared at the noise, joined in the hubbub, thus increasing the general confusion. Morning broke, and dispelled the visions which had haunted us. Our first operation was, to accompany the man to the place where, according to his narration, the spirits had appeared. Nothing was, however, to be found, excepting (what were much more acceptable than ghosts) some shell-fish, which, however, the superstitious apprehensions of one or two of our number prevented their touching. Others, who paid less respect to the supernatural visitors, or were more hungry, speedily devoured this sort of food. The day wore away without any novelty occurring, and the shades of the evening began to descend. The sun, which had sunk beneath the sea, still illuminated the edges of the light clouds that skirted the horizon. It was a sweet evening'; one of those whose soft and gentle influence steal upon the soul, conjuring up those delightful reminiscences, and "lang-syne" ideas, that the mind dwells upon with unfading pleasure. The wind was quite still, and we sat down near our habitation (if such a name may be given to such a spot). The Captain, who had been silent all day, now spoke, and informed us, that he thought he was able to disclose some particulars relating to the last night's occurrence. Every one drew nearer to his neighbour, and prepared to listen, with long faces and open mouths, not unmixed with sundry twists of the eyes over the left and right shoulders, to have due warning, in case any unearthly visitant should clandestinely attempt to attack us in the rear. To obviate the possibility of this, however, we drew, as by instinct, into a circle, in which position every side being guarded, no undue advantage could be taken by any emissary from the invisible world. "When I was a cabin-boy on board the Thunderproof," said the Captain, who, as orator, was stationed in the centre of the assembly," a plot was concerted, by the greater part of the crew, to murder the Captain, and take possession of the vessel. I, with several others who were unconcerned in the scheme, knew nothing of it till the moment of its execution. We were suddenly seized and pinioned; and the Captain, after being severely wounded, was thrown overboard. His wife was in the ship, and hearing the noise, came on deck. The villain who had concerted the plot, caught her in his arms; she struggled, and escaping his grasp, ran to the ship's side, where stumbling, she was again seized. Perceiving herself in the wretch's power, she desisted from her endeavours to free herself; and he, deceived by her apparent submission, relaxed his hold. At this moment she caught him in her grasp, and with a violent effort, sprung over the ship's side, dragging the ruffian along with her. We heard them fall into the water; we heard the shrill and heart-rending scream of her victim, as he received his wellmerited punishment. We were afterwards unbound; perhaps the villains considered us too few and too insignificant to excite alarm among them. They did not long enjoy the fruits of their crimes. The vessel was wrecked, and I and two others alone escaped; and since that time, the seas near that spot have been considered as haunted by the spirits of the victims and the murderers. Doubtless, it was near this island that the events took place; but having lost our compass, we can only guess at it; and the appearance which was seen by Jenkins last night, bears relation to the events I have mentioned." This narrative by no means tended to quiet our fears, which rose to a considerable height. After much deliberation, it was proposed that we should sit up and wait in expectation of the unwelcome visitants, which proposal was agreed to by many with fear and trembling, who, however, assented, that they might not be thought to possess less courage than their fellows. Hour after hour passed, but we neither saw nor heard any thing to justify our fears. The disagreeableness of the situation made the time seem much longer than it was in reality. We began to grow uneasy of waiting for spirits, and some spoke of giving up the watch. Still we delayed, when, on the surface of our ocean, får off, a dim light appeared. Certainly it would be highly indecorous in me to speak aught reflecting on the courage of British sailors, but, natheless, I will venture to affirm, that the hair of every individual stood in a more upright and porcupine position than they were wont to do. The appearance presently assumed a more definite form; it seemed the likeness of a woman, and we perceived, with feelings by no means pleasant, that it approached the shore. A second figure was perceived in the act of avoiding the first. It fled towards the shore, and was pursued with incredible speed by the other. It had almost reached the shore, when it was overtaken by the female form. She seized on the hair of his head, dragged him round, and with a laugh, that curdled the blood in my veins, seemingly plunged her victim in the waves, and disappeared. My companions were petrified with terror, and the captain lay senseless on the ground. At last we regained some degree of self-possession, and raising the captain with much difficulty, restored him to the use of his faculties. But the impression made upon him by the scene was so strong, that it was a considerable time before he perfectly recovered from the effects of it. He declared that he knew the features of the figures as well as he knew any one living. He became extremely uneasy, as did the rest of us, at our abode on this island, and we thought of again trusting to the boat for our deliverance, when we were fortunately taken up by a vessel, and conveyed to England. Our joy at revisiting our native country may be conceived, but not described; but, if I may judge by my own feelings, none of us wish again to tempt like dangers. THE EMIGRANT'S RETURN. I TURN me to my native home, Again I view thy vallies green, Thy hills, thy woods, thy prospects fair; And doubly sweet to me the scene, For all that I have lov'd are there, Where once my infant footsteps rov'd, My mind unclouded, blest, and free, Still happy, loving, and belov'd, At home, at ease, at liberty. Then all was bright, and all was fair, Undimm'd as yet with tears of sorrow; The passing hour was all my care, I knew not, thought not of the morrow. Return'd, I will not wander more In foreign climes 'mid stranger men, I've brought my little boat to shore, And ne'er will tempt the waves again. 0. Whom no ambition lures to glare The thunderer will not dare to strike; Who views the stormy firmament, Who safely lifted up on high, The sea, which strews with gems the ground The sea, along whose redd'ning breast Float gales from Araby the blestOr who the Armenian confines sway, Where Caspian hills access display; Or who the frozen waters tread, Where Danube's icy ocean's spread; Or where the Seres till the ground, The Seres by their fleece renown'd:Let these, for kingdoms, thousands kill, "Tis virtue makes the monarch still.A kingdom can her power bestow, Which asks not falchion, steed, or bowWhich asks not Parthian spear or lance, Or engines which, like towers, advance,— Which solely asks and but requires, A mind exempt from low desires, Or fear, and he who thus is blest, May find this kingdom in his breast. Let others seek the glitt'ring court, Where high ambition's votaries sport ;Be mine the ease and downy rest, Which soothe the quiet country's guest; The humble roof, the lowly shed, Where trees around their foliage spread; Where no disdainful Roman eye May break upon my privacy. So when my days at length are past, Ungloom'd and cloudless to the last, I may, beneath my darling shades, Expire, as day-light softly fades ; My only monuments the treesMy only dirge the mountain breeze Such be my lot! For death will fall On him most dire, who, known to all, Is found, when comes the mortal blow, To feel he has himself to know. E |