Morvalden might still retain strength enough to catch hold of them if they came within his reach. I continued on the watch for a considerable time, but at last abandoned all hopes of saving him, and made another attempt to get down to the cabin-the doors were now unfastened, and I opened them without any difficulty. The first thing I saw on going below, was Angerstoff stretched along the floor, and fast asleep. His torpid look, flushed countenance, and uneasy respiration, convinced me that he had taken a large quantity of ardent spirits. Marietta was in her own apartment. Even the presence of a murderer appeared less terrible than the frightful solitariness of the deck, and I lay down upon a bench, determining to spend the remainder of the night there. The lamp that hung from the roof soon went out, and left me in total darkness. Imagination began to conjure up a thousand appalling forms, and the voice of Angerstoff, speaking in his sleep, filled my ears at intervals-" Hoist up the beacon! the lamps won't burn-horrible!-they contain blood instead of oil. -Is that a boat coming? Yes, yes, I hear the oars.-Damnation !- why is that corpse so long of sinking?-If it doesn't go down soon they'll find me out How terribly the wind blows!We are driving ashore-See! see! Morvalden is swimming after us-How he writhes in the water!"-Marietta now rushed from her room, with a light in her hand, and seizing Angerstoff by the arm, tried to awake him. He soon rose up with chattering teeth and shivering limbs, and was on the point of speaking, but she prevented him, and he staggered away to his birth, and lay down in it.

Next morning, when I went upon deck, after a short and perturbed sleep, I found Marietta dashing water over it, that she might efface all vestige of the transactions of the preceding night. Angerstoff did not make his appearance till noon, and his looks were ghastly and agonized. He seemed stupified with horror, and sometimes entirely lost all perception of the things around him for a considerable time.He suddenly came close up to me, and demanded, with a bold air, but quivering voice, what I had meant by calling him a murderer?" Why, that you are one," replied I, after a pause.

"Beware what you say," returned he fiercely," you cannot escape my power now-I tell you, sir, Morvalden fell overboard."-" Whence, then, came that blood that covered the deck?" inquired I. He grew pale, and then cried, "You lie-you lie infernallythere was none!-"I saw it," said I"I saw Morvalden himself-long after midnight. He was clinging to the stern-cable, and said"-" Ha, ha, ha--devils!-curses !"-exclaimed Angerstoff-"Did you hear me dreaming? -I was mad last night-Come, come, come! We shall tend the beacon togetber-Let us make friends, and don't be afraid, for you'll find me a good fellow in the end." He now forcibly shook hands with me, and then hurried down to the cabin.

(To be continued in our next.) ·

care

Shading the infant blossoms of the gay
And delicate Laburnum. On the air
Comes the soft perfume of the Violet-where
Art thou, sweet blue-ey'd flower! cover'd
quite

By the mad Bind-weed that doth clasp thy breast,

In hope to steal thy sweetness?-Scented Broom
Yields here his richness-sun-dyed Marigolds,
And the blue Hare-bell, flowers, which in my
youth

I weaved in crowns to deck the maiden's brow,
My young eye thought the fairest-In the air
I hear the black-cap† chaunting his sweet tale,
Mocking the Nightingale, who, grieving thus
To be outdone, steals into covert shades,
And sings alone by night!-Thou silver Moon,
How dost thou soften this delicious scene!
And with thy gentle, tender glance, art wooing
The proud Narcissus, who doth turn his head
From thy soft smile, to gaze upon the stream
And watch it weeping!-Days of boyhood, here
I do retrace ye with a transport new
To this toil-harden'd frame. I have return'd

The black-cap

Mocking the nightingale.

in Norfolk, the blackbird, from the sweetness of his song, is called the mock-nightingale.

From scenes of war and plunder, with a purse Stored with this world's loved treasure-Other lands

My foot hath traversed, and mine eye survey'd,
But none so sweet as this-If they were fairer
I saw it not, for my soul's eye was fixed
On the dear bank, where my gay childhood
play'd,

And her who sat beside me. Now I am
Upon that very bank, and she is still,

Still sitting there, and constant, lovelier too, Than when, some ten years since, I roain'd away,

And left my youthful love to weep the parting. Enter Cecily.

Cecily. Now, Wanderer, I shall chide thee!' wherefore thus

Steal from my side to court the Moon, and say
Thy flatteries to the flowers! I should be
Jealous, but that I know thy favourite Rose
Is in her childhood yet, and not deserving
Of thy enraptured love but thou art grown
So clerkly and so grave, that thou dost despise
Companionship with Cecily.

Nay, then it is my turn for

What knows my Cecily of England's King, Whose favours are so valued? When dear maid, Didst thou behold young Edward?

Cecily.

When he came
To tax the duty of our city, York,
Our maidens went to meet him at the gates,
And strew'd the way unto the castle's balls
With garlands, and with flowers- he did pay
Our citizens with oaths-the maids with kisses,
All that he thought most worthy--when it came
Unto my turn to touch his laughing lips,
One of his lords, upon a pointed spear,
Thrust straight between us a pale gristly head
Still streaming blood-a venerable face----
Tranquil-but the white locks were clotted. I
Drew back, and shriek'd-but Edward laugh'd,
and bade

Them wash the soiled face, and trim the beard,
And send it to his lady---then he turn'd
Gaily to kiss my redder lip, he said-
But found that red lippale!

Walter.

Sooth be did-
And I, (as thou makest question,) truly saw
The Moorish knights fall, horse and man inte
The fiercely foaming river! but that man!
He was the king of wonders. Oftentimes
In my lone mood I wandered to his haunts; —
A deep, dark wood it was, and in a cave
Embosom'd in the shade of ancient trees
The stern magician dwelt. There as I stood,
Listening the heavy groans of the swung
boughs,

And far off roarings of the coming storm,
I have thought other voices mingled there,
More hollow and more awful. It may be
The gloom did cheat my senses, but I thought
I have seen forins within that dreary wood,
That were unfit for gayer dwelling-place-
Strange things, that swept before me like a sheet
Of dazzling snow, driven by the Winter's blast-
Then suddenly they grew more form'd, and

then

I saw wild eyes that flash'd, and lips that grinn'd
And gibber'd with uncouthly utterings.

I met no danger; but once, as I stay'd
Beyond my time, until the maiden Moon
Had modestly retired, that the fiends
Might do their orgies unmolested by
The brightness of her brow, the Master came,
And saw me lingering there! he sternly chid
My idle wanderings-bade me, as I loved
My own life's safety, not to seek his bowers.
Cecily. If thou lovest spirits, and hast not
a fear

To seek them in their haunts, in happy time
Art thou return'd unto thy parent roof.

Thou know'st this is the fourth month of the

year,

The childish April, who, 'mid tears and smiles,
Hath pass'd full four-and-twenty days of age;
But ere he die, and yield his grassy throne
To his young sister, lily-sceptred May,
One of his days we yearly celebrate.
This is St. Mark, and this-this is the night ;-
Now then, if any in the porch shall watch
Of the old church, alone at midnight hour,
They will, within the church-yard stalking, see
The shades of those who 'neath its surface lie,
Mingling in wildest dance with forms of those
Who living yet, but ere the year expire,

Scene, in the Churchyard-Walter sitting in the Porch.

Walter. vested thus! With what a soft solemnity she glides Onward to her death!--And when she dies, What will the hours bring -O, they will come Laughing and jocund mirth, with his gay train

How beautiful is Night when

Will join them, ushering in my bridal morn---
The crowned day of the poor Wanderer's life-
The day that shall behold the Wanderer bless'd,
And gathering to his bosom the one flower
His boyish hand had cherish'd-I am happy,
yet I weep!-but this is luxury,

And

My heart is full, too full, and would relieve
By tears, its agony of happiness-
I love this hour! the spirits are abrond,
Sporting upon the air, or on the waves
Dancing fantastic measures-riding on,
With antic tricks, the clouds, which when we

see

Distorted to strange shapes of foul and fair,
As monsters, demons, recks or palaces,

Or armed men, or angels with bright wings,
We may assure our wits they are the spirits
Appearing to our eyes in those quaint forms.-
But I am here to meet more awful shades
The spectres of the gone the human race!
But now no longer human-and the shapes
Of the death-summoned; but living now,
Though yet condemned to the silent grave,
Before the year depart!-Ah! am I wise
To seek this fearful knowledge-What if 1,
Among the shades, behold the face of one
My heart hath fondly loved Sweet Mary! thou
Avert that evil!---but, O Lady dear,
Wilt thou accept my prayer! have thrown off,
For this wild guest, the image of thy Son,
Which from my childhood round my neck 1

wore,

And from my bosom rent the amulet,
The Agnus Dei, which my mother's hand
Bound on my breast, and bade it guard her son
From storm and tempest, and which still hath
been,

Till now, my loved companion.---Well, I have
Companions here will tell me graver tales.
Here are the records of a hundred lives...
The busy history of many years---
The proclamation of bold active deeds---
Sumin'd up in the "hic jacet," and the hope
"Requiescunt in pace"---And although
In life the cause was various, as the hues
Of summer and of spring, and many tongues
Rung the different tale, now 'tis the same,
And one phrase serves for all'---But, hark what
sound

Like distant music swells upon the wind,

And sweeps around the porch? ---A mist hath

risen

And cover'd in its folds the gates, the tombs; And all that but a moment since was clear,

I

And to my vision sensible, is wrapp'd
In that concealing mantle---Soft! it clears,
And--ha!it is the lonely midnight hour!
The realin of Death hath sent her subjects forth
To people thus our upper world, and walk
In visible shape among us!--the thick mist
That hid their rising, hath retired, and left
Their shaddowy forms unveil'd---how solemnly
They pace among the tombs---how hollow is
Their silent greeting! some have in their
hands

Branches of yew, and others garlands bear
Of funeral cypress-but I mark

No face among them that to me doth bring
Remembrance of the living. Music hark-
And some one hollowly doth strike upon
The ponderous iron gate! It opens! And
Aspectral stranger comes-the inirror's form
Of a yet living man-They go to meet
And welcome to their sad and dreary land,
With shadowy courtesy and solemn smiles,
The silent visitant-They strew his path
With the death-garland-and-sure-they do
sing

Their dirge-like welcome-let me catch the
words
They utter

Chorus.

The wanderer is come home-come home
Unto his native soil-

Finish'd his journies-he will roam
No more no more will toil.

He cometh to a place of rest,

He cometh to his mother's breast.

Walter. Why hath my heart died at the shadowy song,

And my brow dew'd itself with drops of fear?

Mine eyes are fix'd with fascination's gaze
Upon the spectre of the living dead!
This way he comes towards a new-made grave,
And all the shadows follow-Now I shall
Fehold the death-struck face-he turns---it is---
O God! myself I see my form---it sinks
Into the new-made grave---and all the rest
Have vanished! I am the condemn'd---I am
The murder'd of the year---and I shall die
When life has open'd all her charms to make
Me cling with love unto her ' Cecily,
My parent of-my native land- all-all
Now centre in little new-made grave-
For that I must resign ye. O warm hearth,
And gentle kiss of love, I lose ye both
For the chill bed and cold and icy lip

yon

Of the stern bride which fate has destined me---
Oh, I must die-and from all things I love
Be torn away for ever-Cecily-

O parent roof, ferewell!

He faints.

Walter. O wrong me not---for if to-morrow's

sun

Shall see me living man-thou, Cecily,
Shalt be mine own for ever. Thou hast said
I must have slept within the lonely porch,
And had a fearful dream-because you found
Me fainting in a church-yard, on a tomb
And of the new-made grave of which I raved
There was no trace, and for that I have been
Since then a suffering maniac, though now
Restored to thee and reason-may thy thought
Be true, dear Cecily; but I have seen
Wild madmen lose their frenzy ere they die,
And speak in tones of wisdom, for that Death
Lent a large portion of his majesty
Unto his victim; and besides he chose
To claim him with the all of his possessions,
His senses fully perfect. Thou hast seen
The summer sun, upon the dying day,
Ere she did quite expire, shed a broad
And glorious light! Hast thou not, Cecily?
Then sink at once into his wat'ry bed,
Nor grapple with the night-e'en so, my love,
Will it now be with me. I am the swan
Singing my own sad dirge-but do not weep
What is inevitable- my poor girl,

I would not dwell on this, would other thoughts

But come upon my

mind.

To plant them on my grave? Sweet Cecily,
The marriage garlands are prepared, they say,
Alive or dead, oh! let me wear them, dear!
Place one upon my breast, and one upon
My low and humble tomb. Now lead me to
Yon grassy bank, on which the moonlight
plays

As softly, and as pale, as though it knew
A dying man would render up its spirit
Upon that tranquil spot.

Cecily.
Dear Philip, mark
The change on his pale visage-his wan cheek
Hath flush'd a healthy glow, and his sunk eye
Doth glisten with a bright and steady light,-
Oh, how I joy to mark it---thou art now
Well, art thou not, dearest Walter?

Upon this bank more clear the music comes Which I did think to hear.. the distant song Of many thousand voices,..now it swells Stronger and nearer.

If you think the following original article worthy a place in your publication, it is at your service.

ON IGNORANCE.

ΜΕΜΝΟΝ,

When we talk of a nation being early blessed, or of a community renowned for its knowledge, every one understands in what sense and with what modification the assertion should be received :-we all know that where science has spread the richest banquets, and accumulated the choicest fare for her guests, her votaries, comparatively speaking, are few they are comprised in a national institute or a royal academy, extending their benefactions in various parts of a kingdom, which, like the branches of a tree, though first receiving nourishment from the trunk, constitutes, in return,

to the strength and stability of the whole but these institutions, taken in the bulk, are only like a few islands in a vast ocean, where the bulwarks of the coast are barely adequate to resist the pressure of contending currents, and show rather what human powers can effect by extraordinary exertion, than form a criterion by which we may judge of the intelligence of a people.

How trifling the diffusion of knowledge, and how slowly are the mists of ignorance dispelled-let the reformation bear witness, when the submission of nations to a priesthood, the subjugation of human intellect, and of man to man, became exposed-let Europe tell how tardily she evolved from the mental deluge which overwhelmed her, when the north poured forth its myriads_upon Italy, which, though afterwards the house of literature, hath scarcely, even in our day, found a resting-place for ker ark-and let the state of Europe generally, in modern times, declare the restraints and the fetters which yet bind a very large portion of her inhabitants, in countries where the expansion of thought is forbidden, and where knowledge of every thing but implicit submission to the cowl and the cassock is proscribed. If a reflecting man cast his eye over the Catholic countries of the European continent, it is there that he will find the human understanding most degenerate, its habits of thinking perverted, and its imbecility most conspicuous. The religion of the Catholic, and the system which is appended to it, forbid men to examine for themselves into the matters for which their belief is demanded: they say, in effect-"Make what the priesthood expounds

to

you matter of your faith, and receive it as truth the most sacred; but presume not to question the wisdom of this body." Indeed, the Catholic religion and system appears to have brought their believers into such a state of discipline that the clergy have complete possession of the minds of their flock, and as nothing in this world has been found to fill men, whether savage or civilized, with more awe than their religious sentiments, (and the more superstitions the more awful) the directors and teachers of them must possess an authority proportioned to the ignorance of the instructed; for the Bible, with the precepts he chooses to incul

cate from it, are as powerful in the hands of the Catholic Minister as any thing which the world can confer; and his flock, possessing not the sacred volume, or possessing, frequently not being able to read it, must yield a ready credence to the expositions made to them. And it ought to be remembered, that the instruction of Catholics does not simply comprise an obedience to Scripture commands, but also a most confidential release on its teachers, who, by the confession which is made to them of the offences against Heaven by the member of their Church, and the forgiveness pronounced so readily after a promise, of amendment, have the best of all opportunities to train up their people to steady obedience to themselves, as dispersers of the highest possible good in this world or in the next.Hence the human mind, ceasing to think for itself, deprived of opportunities of improvement where the means are kept out of sight, and cling to a religion which promises bliss at so cheap a rate, glides on listlessly, and sinks into an indolence that makes darkness more agreeable than the light, and ignorance, with comparative ease, more endearing than knowledge with its exertions. What, then shall dispel a gloom so heavy and so permanent?-and what shall remove so great a degradation ?— a degradation in which men surrender the powers of their minds to the direc tions of others, who fail not, at least, to secure their own advantage, amid the wreck of all that is estimable in reason or valuable in liberty. The grand panacea for checking this present emasculation of mind is to be found in education, and from its general spread and encouragement we may look for great results-but we must no more look for these results from the present generation of men, than the Missionaries can expect to convert great numbers of adult persons among the heathen--it is to the rising generation, and the education applied to it, that our hopes of improvement must attach, both with regard to Catholics and idolaters.

If England stands high as containing a well-informed people, does she not owe her boast to the moderated heat of her sun, and the refusal of her soil to bring forth but after well-bestowed labour? Her soil produces not spontaneously, nor till the science

and