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Mrs. Temple summoned Mary's mother, and, having rapidly revealed the discovery that bad so abruptly been made, she departed with the design of sending medical aid immediately.

It was a night of horror to Mary and her parents. They did not quit the bedside of their child, who lay, still and calm, as despair renders its victims. They wept,-they prayed,--they reproached themselves with cruel carelessness of the happiness of that dear one, in neglecting to enquire into the real condition of the man who had so fearfully injured them. But the blow had buen dealt,--the sword had fallen,--and they were to bleed beneath its olleets.

The surgeon who visited Mary at the desire of Mrs. Temple, pronounced the symptoms of her case alarming, and prescribed accordingly. All the night she lay extended on her couch with out speech or motion. Her mind did not partake of the apparent repose of her body :-- it was stormy, tumultuous, chaotic. One---one--frantic idea grappled with her spirit, and would not sutier it to escape from the tremendous pressure,--she had been dealt falsely with by hiin to whom she had surrendered all the dearest aflections of her nature, whom she had loved with a pure and holy love,-with whom she had treasured up all her earthly hopes,-whom in her secret soul she had blessed as the source of her happiness, --for whose advantage she would have sacrificed all the enjoyments of life,—with whom she would have been content to share poverty or the grave.--And he had dealt thus mercilessly with her,-he the relied on, had betrayed !-Here suffering paused; —this fearful point precluded all advance beyond it;—there was no escape from its horrors ;-she saw it incessantly in all its terrible darkness.

Early the next morning Mr. Temple was at the house of Annerley. He met the mourning father ;-“ I cannot bear your reproaches,” he said, in evident agony of mind ;-“ I love Mary to distraction, and life is worthless to me now the hope of possessing her is lost.—Yes, I feel that it is lost ;-I will not cannot, attempt to revive it.-- Where is she? how is she? Tell me the extent of the destruction to which I have brought her.”

Temple pleaded earnestly for permission to see his victim. It was vain.

Hier heart yet beat with all the warmth of woman's love for bim who had dealt so cruelly with her, but principle and piety were yet stronger, and if she struggled painfully with her too fond atlection, it was yet really. He was obliged, therefore, to leave the house ungratified in a desire that became the more urgent from disappointment. His passion acquired a deeper character, and his thoughts were incessantly occupied in seeking out ineans for her relief. He sent the most celebrated

medical men to her aid ; he procured the choicest delicacies to tempt her sickly appetite. That which had originally been pursued as the light amusement of an hour, had gradually grown to be the absorbing interest of his soul. Yet in the very enjoyment of the pure love which Mary bestowed upon him, he was wretched; he knew that he was preparing shame and sorrow for the tender girl whose dearest affections he had so completely won. He proved in all its force, the truth, that sin and happiness can never co-exist. He was now draining the cup of punishment, drop by drop, to the very dregs, and his rebellious heart exclaimed in its bitterness,“ Have I deserved all this suffering ?”

Mrs. Temple called very frequently to enquire after Mary but she did not ask to see her. She had too much good feeling to inflict on a woman in Mary's circumstances the pain her presence must naturally occasion. It was sufficient to afford her unconscious rival all those comforts which lay within the compass of her superior wealth; and, instigated by genuine compassion, she did what she conceived to be her duty unostentatiously but most generously.

Slowly the poor victim of misplaced attachment regained so much strength as enabled her once again to occupy her usual station in the midst of her family. She moved about as she had done before her affliction, quiet and gentle as formerly, only her eye had lost the sparkle of hope, and her cheek the blush of youth. She abstained from entering the shop, or

even approaching a window lest she might be compelled to look upon the destroyer of her happiness. Except for a certain air of restlessness that characterized her none could have suspected the brokenness of the heart that lay in her bosom. Her smile, perhaps, was sadder than any other expression of her countenance; it indicated a melancholy satisfaction in the conviction that very soon she would slumber deeply in that quiet home,“ where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.”

Yes, she was hastening thither. Let it not be supposed that, with impious temerity, she rejected the means of prolonging life, or strove to force an entrance into the grave. Patient, resigned self condemning, she bowed meekly beneath the hand of the chastener; she had no cherished hope of wringing the heart of her betrayer by that speedy death which should leave him without the possibility of charging it upon any but himself. Her feelings towards him were perfect forgiveness ; towards his wife compassion and gratitude. The grief of the aged parents she was leaving, cast over her spirit the darkest cloud; for their sakes she was almost covetous of life, with all its desolation. But consumption had fastened upon her. Of delicate constitution the utter wreck of cherished hopes, the suddenness of her fall from the height of happiness to the depths of despair, had inflicted on her whole system a shock which it never recovered. Repentant but resigned; pitying the dear one she left, but contident in hope and faith of their re-union,-like a rose blasted ere its leaves had well unfolded, she languished for a short time, faded, and died.


Oh! Love! true Love! what alters thee?-not all

The changes that flit o'er the heart of man! Thou art the fruit that ripens, not to fall,

The flower that lives beyond the summer's span;
The clinging plant that props the crumbling wall, -

The vestal fire which braves the winter's ban,
Nor is extinguished by the sleet or snow
Of human cruelty and mortal woe !

Thou art the shadow of the heart, that 'tends

Our footsteps thro' bright sunshine or blaek shade;Cold chills thee not,-indiff'rence but amends,

Want cannot kill thee, -suffering not dissuade ;Thou art life's food,—the morsel mercy lends

To nourish, when all other banquets fade :Yea! all conspires this maxim's truth to proveLife is not where we live, but where we love !*

With me love is a vision of the mind,

A dream that dazzles when I do not sleep; A phantom, dimly seen, and undefined,

An opiate, giving thoughts extatic, deep ;-
A holy spirit, in a tomb enshrined,

O'er which mortality doth wail and weep,
For purest love hath ever on its wings
A blend of earthly and unearthly things.

But this is sentimental,--and all know

That from Romance as from a toad I blench; I am a child of reason, and I throw

Fancy and feeling to the deuce.—To drench
A fading flower with tears,—and from the glow

Of July roses moral saws to wrench,
Belongs not to so dull a Sciolist,-
My heart's a marsh-fen, and my feelings—mist !


*“ Anima non est ubi animat sed ubi amat."




It was early one Sunday morning in the May of the year 181 – that a message was brought to my house from the Tower Wharf to the purport, that the skipper as he is generally called in the coasting trade of one of my vessels named the Mary had been taken violently ill, and indeed so much so, that he was wholly incapacitated from proceeding on his voyage. As I did not then know any one whom I could trust in his place, I was resolved that I would myself take charge of the vessel, and carry her on to Newcastle, whither she was bound in ballast. Having therefore packed up what baggage I considered necessary I departed from home and took command. I was first inclined to take my wife with me as a diversion, but it being a received opinion, that women are always in the way at sea, and wives sometimes take off a husband's attention in times of danger, and being inclined to fall in with the opinion myself, I relinquished my de: ign. The vessel on which I embarked was about one hundred and fifty tons register, therefore perhaps carrying more freight; the crew consisted of two men and a boy, and the accommodations were a small cooking room and a place for the soldiers under the forecastle, while I had a sort of cabin or hatch in the after part of the ship; the boy likewise slept near my cabin. We had very hard labor of it to get the vessel down the river, as the wind was far from favorable for us ; but by dint of working and tacking about we got into the channel where the wind was fair for our proceeding northerly, being at the point of S. S. W. For some time we had a pilot on board besides the crew, but I dispersed with his services as soon as possible, and dismissed him. It was then when something required doing, and I having righted the after sails made forward to give a pull of the main sheets and I saw the two sailors nearer than I had before viewed them, it seemed as if I had beheld them before, and that their faces were well known to me. They were fine strong and good looking men too, such as are not always met in the coasting trade, and it being war time, I was somewhat struck with this circumstance, as I had no doubt, that had a press gang set eyes upon them, they would have been grabbed for His Majesty's service. When I retired aft, I began to reckon over in my own mind, who these men could be. I determined on asking the boy, how long it was since they had navigated the vessel, since I had nothing to do with the hands entertained ; that belonged to the sick comniandSOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF WILLIAM GREEN, MARINER. 375


I felt con

I could not well accomplish this, as I did not wish them to see me talking privately to the boy, which had I done, when either it was his turn or mine for the wheel they must have done ; and when it was either of their turn they must have overheard me talking. In this case I had nothing else to do than to run over my old acquaintances in my own mind, and at last a sudden recollection came across me, that these were two of the crew of Grove's vessel. The name of one I now recollected was Dance, but I had forgot that of the other; on searching my vessel's books however, I found that Dance had entered himself under the name of Williams, and the other under that of Jamieson. vinced nevertheless, that these were two of the individuals, and that were they to recognise me it was ten chances to one that they would take my life. Such atrocity, I felt assured, they would never hesitate at, having been familiarised with human blood; and as to resistance I saw little prospect of that succeeding where the force was so inadequate. Besides being two to one, which are fearful odds at any time, I was of small and spare make, while they were lusty and brawny personages; as to the boy, as he was but fifteen I could not reckon on much assistance from him, even if I could have drawn him over to my side by persuasion, of which I had little or no means, so that I did not know, in case of a scuffle, which side he would take. But I had luckily brought that with me, in case I should have to use it, which would have rendered the odds more even; I mean a brace of pistols; these I carefully loaded, without any body seeing me, and concealed them at the bottom of my dreadnought pocket. I had likewise determined, if possible, to hail the first vessel I should meet, if I could so without discovery or without injury to myself. Secondly, it was necessary to keep as close as I could, and prevent my being recognised at all, until we arrived at Newcastle ; when it would have been of but little consequence. this end I shammed sick and never went upon deck, except when my turn at the wheel came. It seems, however, that the very precautions I took to prevent myself being noticed was the first thing which excited suspicions in their minds; they had, without doubt learned that I had escaped from their intended favors of death, and knew well that they had little to fear from


of their ship-mates save myself. Dance alias Williams was the first person, whom I relieved from the helm, after my assumed indisposition, and he stared me boldly in the face as long as he could and Jamieson who took my place did the same; I do not doubt that both these wretches afterwards compared notes and resolved on my destruction a second time, to secure their own safety. The plan they had laid was overheard by the boy Boyce when I was at the wheel, as he was rummaging for some

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