of the Spaniards; awaiting till something should occur to favor the completion of his schemes. All his hopes were blasted when, on an autumnal evening, a Spanish frigate anchored off the island where Julian and his companions dwelt, and sent a boat on shore to search for water, and bargain with the natives for fresh provisions. The lieutenant who commanded in the boat, directed his course to to where he saw a number of persons collected on the shore. His surprise was great, when, on drawing near, he was saluted in his own language. On landing, he was received by a crowd, consisting of the shipwrecked Europeans, together with many islanders who were there assembled. When the joy of the former had subsided, they explained their situation to the officer. He, in return, informed them that the frigate was bound to Acapulco, and assured them that his commander would convey them there. He then returned to the ship. On the following day, the captain himself landed, and confirmed the offers of his lieutenent. As he intended to stay for a few days at the island, the shipwrecked Spaniards preferred remaining in their commodious insular dwellings, until the day of de parture. Language cannot describe the passions that overwhelmed Vavao, when he heard of these events. Incessantly agitated by his gloomy spirit, he hid in the depth of the forest, and mentally resolved every expedient that could avert the consummation of his misery. It was evident that stratagem would no longer avail. Force must be attempted. He determined, on the following night, to invade the Spanish habitations and force Isabel away. When this resolution was taken, his emotions were tranquillized; he proceeded deliberately to form his arrangement. The Spaniards were known to be constantly on their guard. Their fire-arms and discipline made them terrible in conflict to the savages. It was necessary for Vavao to act alone, for he knew not one who would co-operate with him. Blood thirsty as the islanders were, they would not expose themselves to such perils without adequate inducement. For these reasons he had always avoided any forcible attempts to gain his ends. Now he could delay no longer: the last hour when an attempt could be made had arrived. Confiding in himself, and completely armed, the next day at noon he embarked alone for the bay. As the sun was setting, he drew his canoe up on the outside of the promontory, and concealed it under a few low bushes. The last glow of evening had vanished, and as the hour of midnight drew near, the moon rose from the ocean, and illuminated every island with its indistinct light. Late as it was, Isabel, with her Julian, was taking a farewell walk on that eminence which they so much delighted to frequent. The ensuing day was to see them safe with friends of their own religion and country. They walked slowly along, without interchanging a word, at irregular intervals stopping, as if to look upon the place they were soon to relinquish for ever. Behind them, an impenetrable darkness rested upon the bay and the dwellings, for the moonlight was prevented by the hills and trees from reaching there. Maoona lay before them like a dark cloud upon the silver surface of the sea. The frigate could not be seen, for she was anchored beyond a point of land that ran out a little distance to the south. The two who were on the promontory fixed their eyes on the silent scene, but their thoughts were wandering away. Julian recalled his youthful anticipations of power and glory. He cherished an idea that he was still destined to impart to his Isabel, the rank and influence to which his spirit had so often aspired. These imaginations came warmly upon him, and his heart beat with delight when he felt that his exile was soon to terminate. Isabel had her thoughts, but they were far different from these. The night winds passed by her unheeded, for there was at her heart a feeling more chilling than they. She knew not why, but a strong and indefinable dread of impending evil weighed heavily on her soul. She would have felt regret, at leaving that island, where she had passed so many happy and unhappy hours, were it not for this fearful, this unaccountable anticipation. She cast a troubled glance at the moon-lit sea, and then resolved to request Julian to return homeward. Before she could speak the stillness of the night was interrupted by a rustling among the leaves. It was a bird that had started from an orange tree. After fluttering a few moments it flew towards a distant hill. Isabel continued silent and tried to subdue her painful feelings. Again she heard, or thought she heard, the same noise, but much fainter, amidst the bushes. She clung involuntarily more closely to the arm of Julian, and turned her eyes upon his face. He was looking at a bright star, that, undimmed by the moonlight, had just arisen from the sea. Then both were startled, for they distinctly heard the splashing of oars upon the ocean. Julian grasped his sword, but soon withdrew his hand, for he recognised the long, regular dashes of European rowers; completely different from the short, quick noise of the paddles used by the islanders. A few moments after, they could discover a boat coming from the direction of the frigate towards them. Isabel felt relieved from her fears, and was so much occupied watching the approach of the boat, that she heeded not another rustling in the leaves, still louder than before. Had she taken the alarm it would have been useless, for, in another instant, an arrow, shot from behind the nearest palm tree, struck against the forehead of Julian; with a low moan he sunk to the earth. Isabel stood for a moment as if stupified, and then, with a shriek of agony, sunk senseless on the body. Vavao now rushed from his place of concealment, and, catching the scarcely breathing Isabel to his arms, hurried down the promontory to his canoe. He had hardly departed when Julian revived: the dart had glanced from his head, and though the shock had at first deprived him of sensation, he immediately recovered. In an instant he knew his loss; he saw the white robes of Isabel, and heard the noise of the bushes as Vavao broke through them in his descent. When Vavao came to his canoe, he found that the retiring tide had left it high upon the land. Scarcely was it afloat with himself and the still lifeless body of Isabel on board, when Julian reached the margin of the sea. Collecting all his strength in a desperate effort, he sprung to the canoe. He was met by the arm of Vavao, who, catching him before he could recover himself, stabbed him twice in the breast, then lifting the unfortunate Spaniard, dashed him bloody upon the beach. The Spanish boat was now within a hundred yards of them. Vavao turned his canoe to escape, and, notwithstanding the vigorous attempts of the sailors to overtake him, he soon left them far behind. The Spaniards fired several shots at him, but before long they lost sight of his light skiff. After an ineffectual chase, they returned to where Julian lay, mortally wounded, on the shore, and before sunrise they arrived at the village. Vavao was never seen nor heard of again. It was supposed that in his precipitate flight, he had unwarily struck his canoe against a coral reef that partly surrounds the islands. On the morning after these transactions, a savage who had been fishing, and was conveying his spoil to sell to the Spanish crew, saw a shattered and overturned canoe floating on the ocean, and not far from it, on the reef, was the body of Isabel. In hopes of obtaining a reward, he drew it from the rock, and conveyed it to the dwellings of her friends. Julian did not expire till the evening following that on which he had received his wounds. After he had been brought to the village, the surgeon of the frigate restored him to sensation and to suffering; for whilst the fate of Isabel was uncertain, his anguish of mind almost drove him to frenzy. When he was told that her lifeless body had been found, he became calm; the wildness of his eye disappeared; a gentle smile rested on his features. He conversed with his friends and related the particulars of his walk on the promontory. The chaplain of the ship administered to him the rites prescribed by his church for dying men. When these were completed, he closed his eyes and seemed absorbed in silent devotion. In a few minute he died. After a few days the frigate departed; but not until Julian and Isabel were buried in one grave under the palm trees, near the place where the last moments of their lives were spent. No noise, except the wild screams of the sea-bird, is ever heard on that solitary promontory. Those who sleep there are now entirely forgotton by the islanders, and indeed, by almost every one else; for few will preserve a remembrance of those who were undistinguished as the individuals whose life and death I have recorded. EPIGRAM. FROM MARTIAL. BY FREDERICK TYRRELL, ESQ. Proud Paul as a poet would wish to be thought, For what a man pays for is surely his own. YOUTH AND AGE. BY FREDERICK TYRRELL, ESQ. O well I remember the days of my youth, When life seem'd a pathway strew'd over with flowers, And care's the companion alone of my hours. In boyhood my heart bounded wildly and free, All friendship seems false, and hope even seems vain. If a poor ragged beggar but came in my sight; But they're gone!-yes, the days of my youth are now gone, The sun has long set that so brilliantly shone, |