distinctly heard. Signal guns of distress were fired-the loud commands, "all hands on deck," and "About ship," were uttered in a wild despairing tone: every exertion was made to carry into effect the salutary orders; but, alas! the redeeming moment was passed, the vessel was completely embayed, nor strength nor skill could avert her impending fate. In a few moments the tremendous crash, the heart-rending, but fruitless cries for help, announced the horrid catastrophe; and the last flashing signal gun gave a momentary view too shocking to be described. Alas! indeed it was a piteous scene that followed the stranded vessel, thrown with reiterated blows against the rugged rocks, soon parted; the broken waves were dashing over the shattered hull in relentless fury, bearing to the shore the scattered cargo, broken pieces of the wreck, and the tattered rigging; while the mingled cries of the drowning and the despairing, with the terrific roar of the striving elements, seemed like Nature's last expiring hour. : There was one, however, in whose eyes such a scene was joyous-in whose ears such sounds were melody—and that was Terloggan. He impatiently waited till the storm had somewhat moderated, and when silence indicated that death had done its work, he descended the well-known cliffs to grasp his prey. Unmoved by the horrible spectacle, he stood awhile and gazed with fiendlike pleasure on the rich booty that lay around him, (for the rising moon now shot forth her light,) as if at a loss where to begin his work; but to his surprise and dismay, there was yet one living soul on board, who, should he survive, would bar the wrecker's claim. To despatch this poor unfortunate, was his immediate object; then scrambling over the rocks, as if to save him from destruction, he becomes his murderer. He rifled the pockets of his victim, took a ring from his finger, and then, laden with the most portable articles of plunder, bent his footsteps homeward. "Well, fayther, what luck?" exclaimed the old woman, as he entered. "Never better," replied Terloggan; "look, zee, mauther," pointing to his plunder. He then described the success that attended his stratagem, not even withholding the particulars of the murder: after which he displayed some pieces of foreign gold coin, and the ring belonging to the murdered man. As he held the ring near the light, he recognized its form and certain marks on it:-he started back, his countenance fell, and he quickly passed it to his wife. She, too, well knew from whose hand it must have been taken, and no sooner examined it, than she exclaimed, "Plaise God, thee'st murdered our son Tom!-0, my son-my poor dear son!" and sunk on the floor, rolling about in frantic ravings. Terloggan endeavoured to master his feelings, and chid the old woman's hasty conclusion; although he was himself secretly stung to the heart, and too apprehensive of the dreadful deed he had committed. He lay on his bed, however, and tossed to and fro till the morning, when, with the dawn of day, he walked forth to ascertain if he had really been the destroyer of his child. He reached the spot where he had left the body, and as soon as his eye lighted on the countenance, he beheld his only son. Who can describe the deep remorse that now stung his soul-who can paint the horror that now pervaded even Terloggan's hitherto callous heart? He returned to his hovel, and having related the doleful news, fled the face of man for ever. For several days and nights he was known to wander among the rocks -many, who accidently passed near him, shuddered to behold his horror-struck countenance, and to hear his wild ravings of despair. There was, indeed, a tempest in his soul, black and horrible, the transcript of what he had so lately witnessed and the dreadful forebodings of his conscience, as to futurity, forbade him to call the grave a hiding place. Thus overwhelmed by despair, and hurried to self-destruction, his mangled body was found dashed to pieces among the rocks, and was buried in the sands, not far from the spot where he had perpetrated his last deed of blood. D For a considerable period, the fishermen and smugglers-some of whom had been his companions in iniquity-would feel a chill of horror in passing near the spot, and observed a melancholy silence, while their superstitious fears often traced, in the hollow murmurings of the winds and I waves, the doleful cries of the murdered son and the despairing groans of the remorse-stung father. Two hundred years ago, or more, His food, though dress'd a thousand ways, |