aloud, and smiting both thighs with his expanded palms, exclaimed, Oh! my darling Nancy, are we to part here? Work, my merry mates, work, and let us save her; cast all to the waves, and lighten her, that she may float. I can gain gold, and get a gallant crew again; but when shall the wisdom of man build so fair and so noble a ship? A ship! by the immeasurable might of ocean, she is a sovereign princess on water, a crowned queen of the deep, and the meanest spar in her side is worth a dukedom-the rudest plank on her deck is better than a baron's land. Work, my merry mates, work; else may ye be foundered in half a fathom of fresh water in a collier's barge.' "But the salvation of the ship, to use the words of one of the mariners, seemed beyond the might of man; and during a brief remission of the tempest, we toiled but to show that all toil was in vain. At this moment, I heard the voice of a woman sooth ing her child; and presently the mariner's widow, mentioned at the beginning of my adventure, leaped upon deck, with her babe at her bosom, and gazed for a moment on the scene of terror and desolation before her. She clasped her child closer to her breast, and exclaimed, Heard I one lamenting the loss of the ship? What is a piece of dead dumb wood to human souls? Are ye mariners, some of ye old and brave ones, and know ye not that another shock will split the ship in twain, and scatter her planks like chaff on the ocean? Hearken how my husband would have spoken; ye miss his spirit when the peril is at hand-down with the boat and a rope, he would have said; or stay, a boat won't live; down with a log and a rope, and if there is not a man has the heart to float a shore with it, and moor the vessel to yon high rock, bind my babe to my back, and I will go myself. Ah! my sweet wean, much is thy gallant father wanted now; but thy mother's spirit shall save thee-ye smile, my darling, with the milk between your lips-an thou livest thou wilt be a brave man, and a true one in time of extreme peril. What! are ye men, and can a fierce storm and a craggy coast make ye tremble and turn pale? I have been in tempest, and I have been in battle too-in battle by my bold husband's side, against fearful odds, when I fought with a boarding-pike, and the child that F loved was wounded as it lay swaddled in my bosom; but I never saw men's lips quiver with fear before. Ye are not men; for ye stand like stones and move not, and I and my bonny babe are lost.' And she seated herself by the remains of the mast, in stern and resolute despair. She bared the forehead of her child,kissed it on lip and brow-uttered a short and earnest prayer,-and then clasping it to her bosom, gazed on the scene of terror, as firm and unchangeable of face as a personification of female emotion and fortitude carved in monumental marble. "The storm had subsided for a few moments, the vessel ceased to heave and pitch, and the wild fowl flew out in flocks from the cliffs and the caverns; we imagined deliverance was at hand. To cast a log overboard with a rope, and for a man to swim ashore, seemed but the work of a few minutes; but those precious moments of intermission in the storm were lost in fruitless attempts to force the vessel from the reef. I looked on the sea behind us-the swell was tremendous. I looked to the skyhere and there, where the cloud had rolled off from the blue, I saw the fiery seams, which the lightning had scorched-but my attention was soon fixed on a mass of dense dark clouds, which, dropping down upon the ocean. came rolling towards us, making the waves roar and foam below it. The cloud increased, and became darkerlightnings flashed from its sidesthunders accompanied it—and the whirlwind which moved it came furrowing the sea as hollow as a valley burst upon us as with a roar-and, heaving our ship on a mountainous billow, dashed her asunder against the rocks. A crash and a loud outcry of agony was heard, and the ship and all it contained was scattered as foam on the water. I seized on a plank, and, emerging from the waves, I beheld my companions struggling among shattered timbers and an agitated sea-the strong man swimming, trusting in his strength, and the weaker clinging to spar and plank, with the mad resolution of despair. Blinded with the brine, they grappled with each other, and, after many a shriek and struggle, went to the bottom in threes and fours. Amid this fearful scene, I beheld the captain clinging to the figure which adorned the prow, and sputtering out the sea brine as he strove to reach the land. Ah, my bonnie Nancie,' I heard him exlaim, a thousand dangers have I braved with thee, and many a gallant fellow has drawn his cutlas beneath thy pennon. We have lived through many a bitter blast-stood many a furious broadside, and now we must go down together on a savage shore, and in a nameless place. But we part not while one plank of thee lasts and life remains with me. A huge wave threw itself upon him, and his last word was one of affection for his ship. Ah, my bonnie Nancie,' I heard coming gurgling from him, among the o'er-mastering billows. Escaping by what has ever appeared to me an interposition of Heaven, I clung to part of the wreck, and, raising myself half out of the water, gazed around, and here and there, amid the rolling surge, I saw a head of long hair floating-a hand held up for help, and heard a feeble cry of agony, and a sinking shriek. The edge of the promontory was much too steep to climb, and against this the sea rushed with such violence, that its foam flew over the summit. On the top of the cliffs herds of deer and goats stood gazing down upon us, and, I imagined, not without compassion for the agony and suffering below. Around us the ravens the cormorants-and seaeagles, flew with a croak and a scream, and the wings of those ravening fowls frequently brushed my face. The sharp promontory against which the ship struck projected far seaward, with a point resembling a vulture's beak, forming a sheltered haven, in the shape of a half moon, with a beach of shells and pebbles, and presenting a deep and beautiful cavern, where the primitive inhabitants interred their chiefs. Into this place of refuge it was my good fortune to be swept-the waves were still, and the shore easy of access; so, forsaking my plank, I sprung upon the beach, and stood wringing the bitter brine from my long hair, looking seaward all the while, to see if the same fortune awaited any of my comrades. I heard a low and faint cry, and saw on the crest of a large wave the mariner's heroic widow, clinging with one hand to a part of the ship, and with the other clasping her child to her bosom. Her strength was nigh spent, and she seemed to relinquish the hope for her own life to maintain the contest for that of her babe. Let none, who know not the strength of a mother's love for the babe of her bosom, presume that I speak untruly, when I say that I saw her, when part of her face and a long stream of her raven-black hair were alone visible amid the overwhelming surge-saw her, in the triumph of holy and maternal affection, hold her child with both hands fairly above the waves for a minute's space and more, and heard her utter a faint and fainter cry-imploring help alike from God and man. In a moment like this, let the man never know what the name of father, husband, brother, or son, is, who would not have periled all the blood which pertains to his name to have saved the meanest creature that ever swaddled a babe. When I first saw her I had run round to the promontory point, and, throwing my self fearlessly into the sea, was within arm's length of this heroic creature, when her convulsed hands were alone visible above the water, and her child was looking into the waves for his mother, and sobbing. Another moment and she had perished. I seized her by the long hair, and, lifting her head above the water with one hand, sought to swim with the other. The effort was beyond my strength, and we had all sunk to rise no more had not unexpected succour arrived. "At this moment I heard a female shriek; and, looking shoreward, I saw a young woman-her hair close and curling-her arms and half her legs bare-dressed in a short tunic and girdle, carrying a pitcher and a basket in her hand. She threw them down, and came running, or rather bounding like a wild roe, to the wateredge. She loosed a little boatrowed it towards us with the swiftness of the wind; and as the tumult of the waves had abated, she sought to save the child, and place it in her boat. The mother uttered a faint cry, and held her babe closer, and, nearly or wholly insensible to all things else, seemed living only for the welfare of her child. The island maid motioned me to hold by the boat, while, bearing the child gently above the surge, she allowed the impulse of the waves to carry us ashore. When we reached land, the maiden clapped her hands together, and shouted, Olave Swayne, Olave Swayne!' and presently a young man, dressed in a mixed garb of cloth and fur, bare headed, and with pistols in his belt, and a pair of hunting spears in his hand, came leaping towards us from the cliffs, crying, Christiana, my sister, what is this?' He threw his arms around the widow and her babe, and bore them into the shelter of the cavern. I stood for a moment, and blessed God: I gazed along the sea, but all my companions were lost and gone; and cleansing the impure foam from my locks, I followed into this wild chamber. "The young man snapt his pistol, and raised a little fire of dried leaves, while his sister brought some dry drifted wreck-wood, and soon a clear and a glowing flame gleamed along the sides and roof of the cavern. A bed of dried moss and leaves was spread -the young man threw a mantle of fur over it, and there the widow and her babe were laid, and extended close to the fire. The maiden from her little basket brought honey and milk, and a kind of soft, thin, white bread, and placed them by the widow's couch, and sat watching at her head for the first symptoms of returning sense. She opened her eyes-gazed wildly round herhushed her babe, shut her eyes again for a small space, then suddenly opening them she murmured, when she saw me, Bless thy fair face and fearless heart, my brave youth-but for thee, this babe-the only babe of a blessed husband, had sunk and perished-and bless thee also, my fair maiden, with the eyes and heart of a mother, and the courage of a man-may one so young and so gentle never be doomed like me to days of sorrow and nights of tears.' She then caressed her child, unbound its mantle and its swaddling band, and held it out naked before the fire; the sweet creature smiled, and extending himself over his mother's knees, began to lay his hands over his eyes, and coquet with us in the innocent glee of childhood. The mother smiled, and we smiled-the mirth of children is some relief to the sorrows of man. "When we had warmed and refreshed ourselves, Christiana Swayne said, Come with my brother and me-let us leave this place and seek our home, and ye shall dwell with us during the winter, which is fast approaching. The deep snow will then cover the earth-the sun will forsake us, the wild beasts of prey will roam about the land, and night and gross darkness will reign for many days. But winter, with us, is no season of misery, but the time of mirth. In the summer, and in the autumn, we provide against the wants and the wrath of winter; and when the sun forsakes us, we drown the moan of the storm, and the howling of the hungry bear, in the music of many a friendly voice; for we have men among us who frame sweet ballads to the lute and the cittern; nor lack we strange fictions and domestic stories, the trial of men's wit, and the din of the dancer's heel. So come with us-escape from our land is hopeless till the sun of summer comes-all your companions are gone, and your vessel is strewn on the coast, and there will be no one to carry you to friends or to kindred. So come and dwell with Olave Swayne and me till the winter passes away, till the white lilies show their heads, and the voice of the young kid is heard from the rock, and the cry of the wood-dove from the top of the forest tree. Come and dwell with us.' And we followed the maiden and her brother to their abode." NALLA. MY FATHER'S HOUSE. THERE are few things that impress more strongly upon the mind the unstableness of every thing around us, and the voracity of time, than a visit to the scenes of our childhood after the lapse of many intervening years, and an observation of the changes which have taken place there in the aspect of natural and artificial objects. Some trees that, when we last saw them, were scarce larger than shrubs, have grown up and spread their branches on every side, in the full vigour of maturity; others, that we remembered fine and flourishing, have disappeared altogether. Hedges and fences have been removed; the paddock ploughed up with the lawn, and the garden, which is always the repository of a thousand pleasing recollections, transformed into a meadow. Every little spot, rendered dear from association with our early years, and which we expected to hail with overflowing hearts, has undergone some kind of transformation. We gaze upon the places so changed with sadness; sigh at our reminiscences, and hasten away from the scene, half afraid lest its present state should weaken the images in the picture which memory has preserved. But of all objects of this sort, the dwelling where we passed our earliest hours is that which we revisit after years of absence with the deepest and most touching sensations we feel as if any change in it were a cruel innovation upon a property which we deem our own, and ever wish to behold the same. Twenty years had elapsed since I beheld my father's house, and the place where I had spent the earliest part of my life. Business taking me into that part of the country, I determined to visit it once more, for the sake of recalling bygone times, and persons identified with it in memory. Certain localities are powerful in doing this with us all-the remembrance of parents long since deceased would be fresher there than any where else. I anticipated a melancholy pleasure, on entering once more the door of the house in which I first opened my eyes on the world, and in gazing upon the corner of the parlour in which my father used to take his afternoon pipe, thirty years ago, and my mother used to sit nursing on her knee a lively sister of mine, of whom death, a few years afterwards, deprived her. I should see again the chimney-piece, over which had hung the picture of a ship in full sail. On this my young eyes had a thousand times gazed with admiration, and I had often rudely sketched it on my slate, or scrawled what I thought a resemblance of it on the discarded cover of a letter. A large landscape in oil, an indifferent copy from Wilson, once hung near the door, on which I thought the utmost effort of skill in painting must have been expended. I fancied, could I restore these objects to their old places, that I should spend in that room entire days, holding communion with the spirits of the past. Full of this kind of castle building, and feasting upon anticipation, I reached the house, but found it untenanted and desolate. The wind sighed through the broken casements; a sort of wing, containing what had been used as a nursery in my time, with a chamber over it, had been pulled down to improve the road, on which it encroached. Improvements of this sort, necessary as they are, make sad havoc among the most precious objects of our early associations. What mementos of past pain and pleasure, belonging to hundreds of minds, are involved in the destruction of a street, or the widening of an alley!-in this respect purveyors of brick and mortar are sworn foes to the poetry of our lives. The appearance of our old house smote my heart, but still I congratulated myself, that I had found the greater part of it entire, and that I might enter it again, and gaze upon the rooms where once my young heart had throbbed with delight at the smile of a kind father, and of the best mother on whom the sun had ever cast his beams. What a gift of heaven is a kind mother!earth has nothing to compare with such a blessing-the best father is but half a good mother. How happy was Pope, that he had one to watch and nurse, when he was himself past the meridian of his life-a happiness but few have known that could enjoy it as he did. But to return to my subject. With some difficulty I procured the key of the dilapidated habitation from an aged neighbour, who well remembered my family residing in it. We entered it together, and I felt as I always feel at the presence of a place which I have inhabited with objects that are no more. I thought of Moore's beautiful song There we shall have our feast of tears, My companion was not, however, me there in the halcyon hours of my youth. I went into the room that had in my time been the study, and seated myself on the fragment of a stool which I found in the dusty apartment, curtained with the spider's web, and looking aged from neglect. I recalled to recollection the side near the window where my father used to sit and meditate, until I almost imagined him to be there. His desk and papers, his velvet cap that hung on a peg over it, and his ponderous tomes of divinity, arranged carefully on either hand, were again visible to my "mind's eye," as they had once been in reality to my bodily vision. I went into the chamber where I was first introduced into this distempered scene of being; but my reflections related much less to myself than to others-my mind dwelt principally upon the former inhabitants of the dwelling, and was constantly asking itself-where are they? In the dining room the memory of many a repast that I had partaken recurred to me, with the spot where the table was always placed when we had visitors, and the countenances of several well-known guests, not one of whom then survived. I would have given an empire to have placed them there again for an hour or two. What a delicious intercourse we should have held! How affectionately I should have addressed them, and told them, and let them see, how my heart overflowed with delight, and that the measure of regard I felt for them had not declined with increase of years and knowledge. Descending the stair-case, I found my name carved in the wainscot at the bottom, which had been done thirty years before, at the age when the knife in boyish hands is a sad implement of mischief among school desks, smooth barked trees, and church pews. In silence I entered the garden behind the dwelling, where literally Many a garden flower grew wild. What numerous happy hours I had gambolled away there! The rank grass, that had sprung up from the long unshaven plot, was intermixed with coarse tall weeds, and the brown leaves of the trees, for the season was autumn, rustled mournfully among |