"Not flesh and blood as thou art; again I ask, rash mortal, why are _thou_ here?"

"I remained this night, madam, in the hopes of meeting you, that I might inform you that having purchased this property, I purpose residing on it, at least six months of the year, consequently, I must request you and your friends, supernatural or human, to quit the place altogether."

"Many before," said she, "have tried, but vainly, to retain possession and to attempt it would be fatal."

"Enough," said my father drawing a pistol from a belt under his coat, "if you are really of a spiritual nature, my weapon will be harmless, if you are not, the consequences be upon your own head." As he spoke he pointed the pistol at her heart. With a courage worthy a better cause, she darted by him and tried one or two of the wainscot panels as if seeking a private spring, which Davy who, was fully awake by this time perceiving, sprang up, and caught hold of her, grasping her tightly; she wrestled with him with the strength of a lioness, and but for papa's help, she must have escaped; he now fired the pistol at the wainscot, to show her it really contained a slug, which he thought she might doubt, and taking the fellow instrument from his pocket, told her it was loaded like the other and that, unless she that moment really and truly confessed who and what she was, and by whom employed, her hours were numbered.

Trembling and almost gasping for breath, she fell on her knees and implored mercy.

"It can be shown," said my father "only on one condition, a full confession of every thing connected with your being here."

"But," faltered she, "if I do shall I be given up to _them_ and they will surely kill me if I am."

"Tell the truth," said my father, "and if, as I judge from your last words; you are the tool of others, you shall be protected, and if deserving, or even repentant, shall be cared for: but stay," said he, pouring out a gla.s.s of wine, "you are greatly agitated, take this and then sit down. Now, if you will tell the truth, you may dismiss your fears, and by making the only reparation in your power, a full disclosure, you may also make a friend of me."

"Indeed Sir I will, for I feel sure you will keep your word."

"You see before you one, who till the last few years, knew not the ways of sin. I was carefully and tenderly brought up some miles from here; but forming an acquaintance with a young man, I married him against the wishes of my parents. I soon found out he was a smuggler, for he brought me to these parts, where I have been compelled to act the character you saw this evening, to prevent any body buying the place, it being so near the sea and having a pa.s.sage under ground it just suited for the purpose. The gang consists of six men who are all but one gone out with a boat to fetch a cargo; the moon sets about half past three, when they will bring it in. Had you been here last night they were all in the cave."

"Would you like to return to the paths of duty and virtue?" asked my father.

"Oh yes Sir, but how can I, who will now look on me, how can I leave one, who though so wicked and I fear hardened in wickedness is still very dear to me?"

"Only purpose to do rightly," said my father, and G.o.d will surely open a way for you. All you have to do, is to pray to and trust in him."

"Oh Sir that is what my poor old father would say, that is just how he used to talk to me;" and she fell to crying bitterly.

"Is he still living?"

"He is Sir, for a letter I wrote begging his forgiveness, was returned to a neighbouring post-office, only the other day."

Papa then insisted on her taking some more refreshment, and looking at his watch perceived it was nearly one o'clock: much was to be done, ere the smugglers returned. The woman informed him that only one then remained who ought to have been on the watch, to light a beacon prepared in case of any danger, but that there was so little fear of any thing of the kind, that he had freely indulged in spirits, of which there were plenty in the cave and was now fast asleep, in a state of intoxication, consequently, could be secured without any difficulty. She accompanied papa and Davy to the bed, but on reaching it started back with horror, and would have fallen, had not the latter caught her; for the wretched being that lay before them, was her husband who had returned wounded and from the state of exhaustion he was in, it appeared dangerously so. She was alarmed, and both papa and Davy were so too, least the man they expected to find had escaped, and given the alarm; but it was not the case; for at a little distance, they found him lying on the ground, so completely under the influence of drink, that he was easily secured. Papa now concluded it better to light the beacon, particularly when he learnt that doing so would deter the smugglers from running their cargo, till another signal was given. The poor creature entreated that something might be done for her husband, and papa much moved by her distress, told her a surgeon should be sent for, but that he did not consider it safe for either Davy Evans or himself to remain alone. She then pointed to a door which contained the arms and ammunition of the gang, in case of being discovered. He secured the key of this, and then despatched Davy to the village, who soon roused Griffy Davis to whom he triumphantly announced the capture of the ghost, and speedily returned with several of the villagers, whom he a.s.sured should be well rewarded from the spoils of the smugglers. The latter soon after seeing the light announcing danger sent a secret emissary, who finding all was discovered, returned to the others, who immediately left the country; and although a strict search has been made, no tidings have yet been heard of them, and it is supposed they have flown to foreign parts.

It was ludicrous to see and hear Mrs. Davis, she thought papa an extraordinary man before, but now, she knew not how to express her admiration of his courage and discernment even I, fell in for a share of her praises. "Who could," she said "have thought it!" indeed, every one seemed surprised, and wondered they never suspected the truth, as papa did, but I must leave all their surmises and curious remarks till we meet, only telling you, Jenkins the wounded man lived long enough to testify sincere repentance and poor Mary his wife, was restored to her parents through the intercession of papa who thinks she will now-become a respectable character. The man who was taken, was doubtless more guilty than could be proved, however he was found sufficiently so, to be sent to hard labour for three months in the neighbouring Penitentiary. He proved to be the identical Jamie Reece, who was said to have been spirited away by the ghost, but who, in fact, joined the gang which had just lost one of their number.

An immense quant.i.ty of contraband goods were found secreted.

I must now conclude this voluminous epistle and trust we shall soon meet, when I have a great deal more to say. And next summer you will I hope be able to come spend a month here.

I remain, my dear Charles,

Yours sincerely,

FRED. GRAYSON.

LORD BYRON.

A man of rank and of capacious soul, Who riches had, and fame beyond desire, An heir to flattery, to t.i.tles born, And reputation and luxurious life; Yet not content with his ancestral name, Or to be known, because his fathers were, He, on this height hereditary, stood, And, gazing higher, purposed in his heart To take another step. Above him, seemed Alone, the mount of song, the lofty seat Of canonized bards; and thitherward, By nature taught, and native melody, In prime of youth, he bent his eagle eye.

No cost was spared--what books he wished, he read; What sage to hear, he heard; what scenes to see He saw. And first in rambling school-boy days Britannia's mountain walks and heath girt lakes, And story telling glens, and founts, and brooks, And maids as dew-drops pure and fair, his soul, With grandeur filled, and melody, and love.

Then travel came and took him where he wished; He cities saw, and courts, and princely pomp, And mused alone on ancient mountain brows, And mused on battle fields, where valor fought In other days: and mused on men, grey With years: and drank from old and fabulous wells, And plucked the vine that first-born prophets plucked; And mused on famous tombs, and on the wave Of ocean mused, and on the desert waste, The heavens and earth of every country; saw Where'er the old inspiring genii dwelt, Aught that could expand, refine the soul, Thither he went, and meditated there.

He touched his harp and nations heard, entranced, As some vast river of unfailing source.

Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed And ope'd new fountains in the human heart Where fancy halted, weary in her flight, In other men, _his_ fresh as morning rose, And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at home Where angels bashful looked. Others, though great, Beneath their arguments seemed struggling, while He from above descending, stopped to touch The loftiest thought, and proudly stooped as though It scarce deserved his verse. With nature's self He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest At will, with all her glorious Majesty; He laid his hand upon "the ocean's wave,"

And played familiar with his h.o.a.ry locks; Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines, And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend, And wove his garland of the light'ning's wing, In sportive twist;--the light'ning's fiery wing, Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful G.o.d, Marching up the storm in vengeance, seemed Then turned: and with the gra.s.shopper, who song His evening song beneath his feet, conversed, Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds, his sisters were, Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms, His brothers; younger brothers, whom he scarce As equals deemed. All pa.s.sions of all men, The wild, the same, the gentle, the severe; All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane, All creeds, all seasons, time, eternity: All that was hated, and all that was dear, All that was hoped, all that was feared by man, He tossed about as tempest withered leaves.

Then smiling looked upon the wreck he made.

With terror now he froze the cowering blood, And now dissolved the heart in tenderness, Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself, But back into his soul retired, alone.

Dark sullen, proud, gazing contemptuously On hearts and pa.s.sions prostrate at his feet, So ocean from the plains, his waves had late To desolation swept, retired in pride, Exulting in the glory of his might, And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought, As some fierce comet of tremendous size, To which the stars did reverence as it pa.s.sed, So he, through learning and through fancy took His flight sublime, and on the loftiest top Of fame's dread mountain sat. Not soiled and worn As if he from the earth had labored up, But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair He looked, which down from higher regions came, And perched it there to see what lay beneath.

The nations gazed and wondered much and praised; Critics before him fell in humble plight, Confounded fell and made debasing signs To catch his eye; and stretched, and swelled themselves To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words Of admiration vast: and many, too Many, that aimed to imitate his flight, With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made, And gave abundant sport to after days.

Great man! the nations gazed and wondered much, And praised and many called his evil good.

Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness; And kings to do him honor took delight: Thus full of t.i.tles, flattery, honor, fame, Beyond desire, beyond ambition, full; He died!--he died of what? of wretchedness!

Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump Of fame; drank early, deeply drank, drank draughts That millions might have quenched, then died Of thirst, because there was no more to drink.

His G.o.ddess, nature, woo'd, embrac'd, enjoy'd; Fell from his arms abhorred!

SELF-RELIANCE.

"Well, my dear Miss Willoughby, how is your mother this morning," said a venerable looking clergyman as he pressed the hand of a fair young girl, apparently, not more than eighteen. Her face was pale with watching, and her eyes were red with weeping, and though she seemed in deep distress, there was a subdued and resigned manner about her, as she replied:

"Not any better, sir, I fear; she has had a very bad night, her cough has been so very troublesome." Saying this, she opened a door which led to an inner apartment, into which Mr. Montgomery entered, and approached the bed, followed by the afflicted daughter, who now tried to a.s.sume a composure of manner, very foreign to her feelings, as faintly smiling, she exclaimed, "Here, dear mamma, is our kind friend again." The poor sufferer looked anxiously at him. Her attenuated frame and sharpened features told the sad tale, that consumption had done its work, and the hand of death was upon her.

"Well, my dear madam," said the good pastor, "I will not ask if you are better; I will only hope the same spirit of resignation to the Divine Will fills your mind as when I left you, yesterday. Remember in _whom_ you trust, and for _whom_. There are never-failing promises recorded there," pointing to a Bible that lay on the bed, "and thrice happy are they who can rely on them in affliction's hour. I have read them to you, and your own eye, you tell me, has often rested on them; you have only, therefore, to 'commit your way unto the Lord, and he shall bring it to pa.s.s.'"

"Oh, yes," replied the suffering woman, in a feeble tone, "I know it all; I know He is able and willing to take care of my hapless children. I _can_ and _do_ trust them to Him; feeling sure He will more than supply the place of the only parent left them; but, oh, my dear sir, convinced, as I am, of all this, it is, nevertheless, hard to leave them; may He forgive my weakness; but human nature is such, that--" here she paused from exhaustion.

"It is, my dear madam, meant that we should do so; and trial would lose the object for which it is sent, did we not feel its bitterness; but you must try, and rejoice that you are allowed to manifest both faith and hope, under so severe and trying a dispensation. Let me entreat you to remember the many instances recorded in scripture, where answer has been given from on high to the prayers of those who can faithfully cling to them." But while the worthy man strove to lead the sufferer beyond this sublunary sphere, his heart bled for the poor children she was leaving. The first blow she received, was the sudden news of her husband's death in the Crimea, which came to her ears so abruptly, that her nerves received a shock, from which she did not rally for months. This was followed by a letter, informing her that some property which had been left to her a few months previous to Captain Willoughby's departure, had been claimed by a distant branch of the family, as heir at law, the testamentary doc.u.ment being found invalid. These circ.u.mstances, joined to delicate health, following each other so quickly, proved too much for feeble nature, and she sunk under them.

Her excellent daughter, whose fragile form seemed little calculated to breast the storms of adversity that now threatened her, was unwearied in attention to her dying parent. She saw there were heavy trials before her, and knew they could not be averted, though she could not tell how she was to meet them; but there was a trusting feeling in her young heart, that must ever be inseparable from a trust in G.o.d's over-ruling providence; and as she sat through the long nights, watching by her mother's bed, a thousand vague shadows of the future flitted before her, and many schemes offered themselves to her mind; she tried to drive them off, for it seemed to her sinful. She durst not _think_, but she could _pray_; and she did so; and oh! the eloquence of that simple trusting prayer, that her G.o.d would protect and bless her and the two young beings, whose sole dependance she was soon to be. How widely changed was her position in a few short months!

The petted, and almost idolized child of doting parents, whose every wish had been antic.i.p.ated, must now soon exert herself to support her orphan brother and sister.

Mrs. Willoughby, as is often the case with those suffering from pulmonary affection, went off very suddenly; and now was every threatened evil likely to burst on poor Helen's devoted head; but though weak in the flesh, she was strong in faith. Relying, as she had been early led to do, on her G.o.d, she seemed to rise with fresh energy under acc.u.mulated trials. She soothed and kissed the weeping children by turns, but their grief was so violent, they refused to be comforted.

The night her mother was consigned to the grave, was indeed a trying one to Helen. The good clergyman, who had gone back to the house after the funeral, now knelt in prayer with the bereaved ones, and commending them to the care of their Heavenly Father, took leave, promising to be with them early next day.

"Farewell, my child," said he, to Helen, "fear not for the future, for it is a merciful and loving G.o.d who lays his rod upon you; and though the clouds of darkness loom heavily around you, with Him nothing is impossible; and He could, in one moment, disperse them, if it were better for you. May you be purified by the affliction He sends. Good night, once more, and remember that not a sparrow falls to the ground unheeded by Him who made it."

How was it that this feeble child of affliction, went to bed that night in some degree composed? For every earthly hope seemed blighted.

Her parents, one by one were re-called; her little patrimony taken away; and she and the little ones left almost friendless. Was it to make her the better feel where she could and must place her sole dependance? Doubtless it was. Oh! ye happy sons and daughters of prosperity, do you read this description, which many an afflicted one is now realizing, with apathy? Do ye regard it as an over-wrought scene of trial? Believe me it is no such thing. While you are surrounded by every earthly comfort, I will say by every earthly luxury; lolling, perhaps, on your sofas, or in your easy chairs, your cup filled to overflowing with every blessing, hundreds of your fellow creatures, young as you, are suffering privations, you hardly like to _think_ of, but which they, alas! have _to bear_.

Helen rose early, refreshed by a long sleep, brought on by many nights of broken rest. She kissed the tears off her sleeping brother and sister's cheeks, and having recommended herself and them to G.o.d, proceeded to commence the arduous duties that now devolved on her.

When Mr. Montgomery came, he found her doing that which he was about to suggest, viz., preparing for an immediate sale of the furniture, by taking an inventory, while the faithful servant was busily employed cleaning the house, for which a tenant was luckily found. The two young ones were doing their best to aid their sister. Mr. Montgomery wished them sent to the vicarage, but Helen would not hear of it till the day of, or after the sale. Well has it been said, that G.o.d tempers the wind to the shorn lamb; and so did she find it; for on applying, through Mr. Montgomery, to a neighbouring auctioneer, he, gratuitously, attended, and did all in his power to dispose of the things to advantage. Mr. Willoughby had taken the house on coming into possession of the property and furnished it throughout, so that being in good order, most of the furniture fetched a fair price. The day after Mrs. Willoughby died Mr. Montgomery had written to a sister of his, who lived twenty miles off, to enquire for a small house, should there be such in her neighbourhood. She sent word there was a cottage in the suburbs, which she thought would just suit, and, therefore, had taken it for one year certain, it being a very moderate rent. Although greater part of the things sold, had obtained a fair price, there were several useful articles that would have gone for little, and but for the good clergyman, have been completely sacrificed, these he bought in; among them was a large carpet and the piano; he thought they might, if the money were needed, be privately and more advantageously disposed of. The funeral expenses were, comparatively, small; for although Helen desired to pay every respect to her mother's memory, Mr. Montgomery convinced her it was an imperative duty on her, to avoid unnecessary expenditure, as she knew not what calls might yet be made on her resources. It next became a consideration how the things reserved from the sale, could be got, with the least expense, to their new place of residence; but Nancy who was present said there was a distant relative of hers, a farmer, who volunteered to take them in his large waggon, which he said, by starting at midnight, could be accomplished in one day, and as it was anything but a busy time, he could do it with little loss; added to which, he expressed himself right glad to be able to serve a young lady, who, with her mother, had been so uncommonly kind to his only parent, during a long illness.

When did a good action ever lose its reward? Helen thankfully accepted Mr. Montgomery's kind offer of taking the young ones to stay with him till she was settled in their new abode, but Henry would not hear of it; he insisted on remaining with his sister and doing all he could to help her. So that not liking to leave f.a.n.n.y alone, it was agreed they both should accompany her. She was not sorry for this, as she thought the bustle and novelty would divert their minds from their sorrow; for herself, so much was required of her, both to think and to do, that she had no time to dwell on the desolation of her position.