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l'idii v with v. liit'll his little Savage was going through the water, exultingly pulled out his watch, exclaiming, as he noted the time, "In fifteen minutes, gentlemen, if this breeze holds on, we shall be safely moored at the quay of Greenock!" Alas! in less time than the short space he had named, he and all those around me were in the presence of their Creator. The words were scarcely out of poor Freeland's mouth, when one of those sudden and violent squalls of wind so frequent in the neighbourhood of Dumbarton Castle, laid the lee gunwale of the boat under water; in an instant she filled, and in the next instant she sank from beneath us, leaving her miserable crew floundering and weltering in the waves, and struggling for life. The whole was the work of a moment—not a word had passed —not an exclamation had been uttered; but, great God, the feeling is yet strong upon me of the rushing waters—the unresisting yet suffocating element gurgling and boiling around me, and overwhelming me in what seemed to my horror-struck imagination its fathomless and boundless abyss. Breathless and exhausted, I endeavoured to grasp the yielding fluid. I flung out my arms convulsively, and struck my feet from me with all the energy of despair; in short, I was drowning fast. In the midst of these fearful struggles for existence, one of my hands came suddenly in contact with a firm body beneath the surface of the water—it was one of the masts of the boat. I instantly seized it with a death's gripe. It was about a foot and a half or two feet beneath the surface, but by stretching down my arm to its full extent, and grasping the top of the mast, I contrived to keep my head, or rather my face only, clear of the water. I saw the top of the other mast, which was the taller of the two, considerably above the surface, thus offering a much more secure hold than that which I had. It was only about a yard distant from me. I eyed it wistfully, but as I could not swim, I dared not venture to attempt to gain it.

Having so far secured myself from instant death, I was enabled to contemplate the dreadful scene around me, and to comprehend, to its full extent, the horrors which I beheld. My miserable companions were still struggling, though faintly, with the waves; and it struck me as increasing the horror of the scene, that each wrestled with his fate in silence, but the violent and convulsive energies which they exerted sufficiently showed me how reluctant they were to yield to the fell destroyer. Freeland, who was an excellent swimmer, obeying the first impulse of nature, had, on the instant of the boat's sinking, struck ofi'for the shore, which he could have easily gained in a very short time; but he had not proceeded far when the fearful shrieks of Miss. caught his ear. He instantly turned round,

and with double the exertion which he employed in saving himself

made for the spot whence the cries had proceeded. Previously to my getting hold of the mast, the unfortunate young lady had come in contact with me during our struggle in the water, and had caught by me. "Miss C. Miss C." I exclaimed, on feeling her grasp me, " I cannot swim." Even in these dreadful circumstances the unhappy girl understood the appeal, and instantly released me. In the next instant her lover's arm was around her waist, and 1 saw him bearing her along with superhuman exertion towards the shore; but the distance, which, unencumbered, he could easily have accomplished, was too great for his strength, burdened as he was, and long ere they approached the land, the unfortunate lovers sunk in each other's arms. In five minutes all was still as death around me. My miserable companions had disappeared in rapid succession one after another, and I now remained the only surviver of the whole; and what is not a little remarkable, I was the only one of them, with the exception of Miss C, who could not swim. During the scene of horror which I have attempted to describe, I was particularly struck, even at the time it occurred, perilous as my own situation was, with an extraordinary instance of the muscular energy which nature sometimes exhibits in the last mortal struggle. One of my ill-fated friends, but I could not discern which of them it was, suddenly sprung completely out of the water like a salmon,—it was the last effort, he tumbled round in the air, and again went down head foremost; he never rose again. The cries of Miss C. having been heard on the shore, a boat was immediately despatched to our assistance, but it came too late for all but me.

Edin. Lit. Gazette.


You remember the maid with her dark-brown hair

And her brow where the finger of beauty
Had written her name, and had stamp'd it there,

Till it made adoration a duty I
And you have not forgot how we watch'd with delight

Each charm, as a new one was given,
Till she grew in our eyes to a vision of litfht,

And we thought her a spirit from heaven!

And your heart can recall—and mine often goes back,

With a sigh and a tear, to the hours
When we gazed on her form, as she follow'd the track

Of the butterfly's wing through the fl'iwere ;—

When, in her young joy, she would smile with delight

On its plumage of mingling dyes,
Till she let it go free—and look'd after its flight,

To see if it enter'd the skies!

But she wander'd away from the home of her youth,

One Spring, ere the roses were blown!
For she fancied the world was a temple of truth,

And she measured all hearts by her own I—-
She fed on a vision and lived on a dream,

And she follow'd it over the wave;
And she sought—where the moon has a milder gleam,

For a home—and they gave her a grave!

There was one whom she loved, though she breathed it to none, For love of her soul was a part;—
And he said he loved her, but he left her alone, With the worm of despair in her heart!
And, oh I with what anguish we counted, each day,

The roses that died on her cheek,
And hung o'er her form as it faded away,
, And wept for the beautiful wreck!

Yet her eye was as mild and as blue to the last, Though shadows stole over its beam:
And her smiles are remember'd, since long they are past— Like the smiles we have seen in a dream!
And—it may be, that fancy had woven a spell, But—I think, though her tones were as clear,
They were somewhat more soft, and then- murmuriugs fell Like a dirge on the listening ear!

And while sorrow threw round her a holier grace,

Though she always was gentle and kind—
Yet, I think that the softness which stole o'er her face

Had a softening power o'er the mind I—
But it might be, her looks and her tones were more dear,

And we valued them more in decay,
As we treasure that last fading flower of the year

For we felt she was passing away!

She never complain'd—but she loved to the last!

And the tear in her beautiful eye
Often told that her thoughts were gone back to the past,

And the youth who had left her to die!
But mercy came down, and the maid is at rest,

Where the palm-tree sighs o'er her at even;
And the dew that weeps over the turf on her breast,

Is the tear of a far foreign heaven I

T. K. Heryey.

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