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JACK OSBORNE'S WOOING.

A TALE OF THE SEA-COAST.

A LOVELY afternoon. The sun was shining brightly forth from an unclouded sky upon the deep blue waters of the ocean, which leaped and frolicked in very joyousness of spirit; it seemed stirred up by the cool salt breeze blowing in upon the land. The exact locality matters not. It was somewhere on the southern part of the cliff-bound coast of England. The scenery was perfect of its kind. On one side, inland, were waving woods, green fields, and sparkling rivulets, with lowing herds chewing the cud beside them. The lofty turf-covered downs were dotted over with numerous flocks of white fleecy sheep, while on the other side the high cliffs and dark rocks projected out into the sea, forming a succession of small bays and inlets, in which so much consists the picturesque beauty of that part of the coast.

On the summit of the sunny downs walked a young man in the dress of a naval officer, and by his side, resting on his arm, was a girl worthy to be the presiding goddess of a scene so lovely. She was delicately fair, with light hair, just tinged with an auburn hue, and eyes of azure pure as the sea she gazed on, and her costume simple in the extreme. The couple had proceeded up along a valley from a pretty little cottage which lay ensconced snugly amid a grove of trees, and protected by the high ground between it and the sea from the wintry gales which blow from it. They had walked on for some distance without speaking, when the young lady turned her blue eyes towards the youth, apparently to inquire the cause of his silence. Whether the soft tranquillity of the scene influenced him, or the gentle gaze of those bright eyes, it is difficult to say, but he immediately opened his mouth and commenced a series of expressions so incoherent that the maiden herself did not appear to comprehend them till he concluded by one sufficiently explicit to leave no doubt as to the meaning of the rest. It was, "Fanny, I love you. Will you marry me ?"

The words, however, did not, it seemed, give the fair girl the satisfaction it might have been expected they would have done, for instantly and unconsciously withdrawing her arm from that of her companion, she answered: "I am sorry, Jack, very sorry, to hear you say this. I thought you knew that my regard for you was as a sister for a brother, as I fancied yours was for me-such as would never allow thoughts of marriage to enter your head. You know that I am romantic, as it is called, and you ought to know that I am never likely to give my heart to any man, except I can look up to him and respect him as a being superior to myself-except he has done some gallant deed to win my admiration as well as that of the world. No, Jack, utter not those words again; forget that you have pronounced them, as I soon shall, and we shall be as happy in each other's society as we have hitherto been, without thinking of such folly." She ceased, and turned away her head. "Then are you never likely to return my devoted, my unwavering affection ?" exclaimed the young seaman in a tone of anguish. "Oroh pardon me for the question!-do you, Fanny, love another ?"

VOL. LXIII.

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No, indeed, Jack, I do not," she answered with a light laugh-perhaps it was a little forced. "I will answer your rather impertinent question with the candour you deserve. My heart is as free as the breeze which plays upon the ocean. That must satisfy you. You must be conscious that you have done nothing to enchain it. You are a very good seaman, and a very respectable officer, I have always heard. You can haul ropes, go aloft, hand, reef, and steer, and possess all other sorts of nautical accomplishments, I dare say; but you have never boarded an enemy's ship, stormed a fort, nor even seen a shot fired in anger, that I know of; you never jumped overboard to save a man, or even a drowning monkey, that I am aware of; in fact, Jack, you have done nothing to win a young lady's heart like mine, at all events; and if my sex would but exert their prerogative, you would receive the same answer to a like question from all. I am sorry to give you pain, cousin, but I speak what I feel and think. If woman never gave her heart except to him who had won it by some noble deed of valour, generosity, charity, or self-sacrifice, there would be fewer useless characters in the world, and we should hear no more complaints of the degeneracy of the age. And now, Mister Jack, I must return home."

They spoke not another word till they reached the garden-gate of the little cottage in the valley. The young lady then put out her hand, saying, quietly:

"Good-bye, Cousin Jack. We part friends, as we always have been; so go home, and forget all about it."

Before the young sailor could answer, Fanny Ashford had disappeared in a turn of the shrubbery.

Poor Jack Osborne did not, however, follow her advice, for instead of returning to his home, which was some miles along the shore, he lingered long in the neighbourhood of the cottage, whence he could obtain a sight even of the light in her window. He had not determination to tear himself from the spot. He thought over all that had occurred, and he felt that he could not live without her. So completely occupied was he with his reflections, that he did not observe the entire change which had taken place in the weather since the sun had set. He was aroused from his reverie by finding his hat blown off his head by a violent gust which came in from the sea, and had it not caught in a blackberry-bush close under his lee, he would probably have been compelled to return without it. The dark clouds were chasing each other rapidly through the sky; the wind whistled loud and mournfully; indeed, he soon discovered that a furious gale was blowing, though he still continued wandering around the same spot, the weather in consonance with his feelings, till some heavy drops of rain warned him of the folly of his behaviour. Slowly and unwillingly he commenced his homeward way. He had not, however, proceeded far, when his ears were startled by the dull report of guns fired at intervals. They seemed like signals of distress fired from a ship at sea. He listened attentively, then hurried to the edge of the nearest cliff. There he stood for some time, straining his eyes to pierce the darkness, till he was certain he could distinguish the flashes, while the reports appeared to come nearer and nearer. Suddenly several guns were discharged in quick succession.

"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, "she must be on the Black Reef, and

every soul will perish. No. Let me see-what's the hour? Ah, it is nearly dead low water just now, and it will be almost smooth inside the reef. If the people on board her know that, they may launch their boats or a raft, or even swim on shore; but they probably do not. If they wait for the morning, except the gale should abate as suddenly as it has commenced, which there is no prospect of, every soul must be lost."

Thus soliloquising, Jack Osborne wound his way down the steep sides of the cliffs by a well-known path to the beach. He there found several fishermen, whose cottages were at hand, and who had, like himself, been attracted to the spot by the report of the guns, though it is to be feared that some of them, at all events, had resorted thither more in expectation of the waifs which the sea might cast on shore, than for the purpose of rendering assistance to the hapless beings on the wreck.

Hillo, Tom Hansard, is that you, my man?" exclaimed the young sailor as he reached the shore, addressing a stout fisherman who was looking earnestly seaward; "whereabouts is the vessel that was firing just now ?"

"On the Black Reef, ro doubt, sir," was the answer.

"And if the people on board her remain there without assistance they will be lost," cried Jack Osborne, in an eager tone.

"It's very true, sir," answered the fisherman; "but it cannot be helped."

"But I say it can be helped," exclaimed the young man with animation. "Now, if you and three other active hands will launch one of your boats and accompany me, we will carry a hawser out to the vessel, and get all the people on shore over the reef before the tide rises. Here are eight sovereigns in my purse, which shall be yours whether we suceeed or not; and as for the danger, there's none, if we are quick about the work. Remember, it's now neap tide and dead low water, so there'll be no sea of any consequence to hurt us."

"We'd go without the money, Mister Osborne," said another fisherman, who had been attracted to the spot; "but our wives and little ones, and__"}

"Well, here's the money-leave that with them, but be quick about it," cried the young officer, impatiently. "There's no danger, I tell you; and you cannot be such arrant cowards as to allow a whole ship's company to perish for fear of wetting your jackets. If you are, I shall go alone, though I fear I shall do little good without help. I suppose some of you will lend a hand to launch a boat through the surf. It matters little to any one if I never come back."

"No, no, Mister Osborne, we are not afraid; nor are we the men to let you go alone," answered one of the older fishermen. "But we did not think of the tide being as low as you say. You are right, though, sir, and I'll answer we get safe up to the rocks. I'll go with you, for one."

"And I," "and I," "and I," cried several others. Jack selected those who had first spoken, and launching one of the boats by the aid of all hands, steered her boldly through the surf, with a lantern in her bows, towards the dark rocks which they knew were now above water, towing at the same time a line made fast to some posts on the shore. A fierce wind was in their teeth, covering them with the

thick spray, and the night was otherwise so dark that it was with difficulty Jack could see how to steer; indeed, he seemed guided rather by a seaman's instinct than assisted by his powers of vision. The thought, too, of Fanny, and of her approbation should he succeed in his enterprise, nerved his heart and determined him to risk every peril. Notwithstanding his assertions that there would be no danger, several heavy seas which swept round the end of the reef broke on board the boat; but, encouraged by their young commander, the fishermen, like true Britons, having once engaged in the undertaking, were not to be deterred from proceeding while any hope of success existed. As they neared the reef, the water became smoother; and at length they made out, by the vivid flashes of lightning which every now and then darted from the clouds, the hull of a large vessel driven completely upon the rocks, and over the after part of which the sea was breaking wildly. The masts were all gone, her bowsprit only remaining, and projecting, fortunately, over a ledge of the reef which the water did not wash. The light of several lanterns twinkling in the fore part of the ship showed that some of her crew, at all events, still remained alive, and at length Jack had reason to suppose that his boat was seen.

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Now, my men," he exclaimed, "let us hail them together. It will cheer their spirits, and show them that help is at hand."

And forthwith a true British cheer ascended from the fishing-boat. The cheer was directly answered from the ship. The boat was now so close to the reef that great caution was necessary to prevent her being staved against it. As the fishermen lay on their oars, consulting as to the best way to carry the rope to the ship, Jack determined to undertake the task himself. Throwing off his jacket, he made a rope fast round his middle, and getting the boat as close as was safe to the rocks, he plunged overboard. The next instant all was darkness, and the fishermen anxiously watched for another flash of lightning to see the success of his enterprise. A moment afterwards a human form was seen clambering over the slippery weed-covered rocks; but it again disappeared, and again they were compelled to wait in suspense till a dark object was seen moving towards the end of the bowsprit. While still anxiously looking out, a voice from some one in the water hailed them, and in a second Jack Osborne was hauled safely on board. The rope he had carried, having been hauled on board the ship by means of a thick hawser, was quickly carried to the shore.

In the mean time, Jack Osborne had returned to the ship for the purpose of hurrying the departure of the people, for the tide was now again rising, and every moment was of consequence. It was, indeed, fortunate for the strangers that he did so, for some of them were even talking of remaining by the ship till daylight before they ventured on shore. She proved to be a large Swedish ship, homeward bound from the West Indies, and carrying a valuable cargo, with ten guns, a numerous crew, and several passengers. The scene was one of the greatest confusion, for the masts had gone by the board, and the decks were covered with the wreck of the spars and rigging, from the falling of which many of the people were hurt. These latter and the passengers were conveyed on shore in a basket slung on to the hawser, while most of the crew escaped by other ropes which had in the mean time been carried there. So long a time was thus occupied that several, among

whom was Jack Osborne, still remained on the wreck, over which the sea had begun to make fearful breaches. At last, a more terrific breaker than any came rolling towards them. "Hasten, hasten for your lives!" exclaimed the gallant young Englishman. The sea struck the ship with an awful crash. Quivering in every timber, she parted in twenty places, and in another instant her broken fragments were dashed upon the beach. Some few unhappy beings, struck by the floating timbers, sank beneath the waves, and their mangled corpses were cast on the shore. Others, though senseless, were thrown on the beach alive, and among them the gallant young officer who had been the means of preserving the lives of the rest. He was forthwith conveyed to the nearest gentleman's house, which happened to be Mr. Ashford's, Fanny's father. Thither also some of the passengers and officers were conducted, when Mr. Ashford gladly gave them shelter and entertainment. All were loud in their praise of their brave preserver, who had been conveyed to their host's own room, and attended by a surgeon, who, to the satisfaction of all, pronounced his hurts not to be dangerous. This was proved when, after a night's rest, he appeared next morning at breakfast, rather paler than usual, but otherwise uninjured. His colour, however, quickly returned, and his eyes sparkled with joy, when Fanny Ashford entered the room, and placing her hand in his, forgot to withdraw it.

"Is it to be mine?" he whispered.

Yes," she answered, "if you value it as the reward of gallantry." He did value it more than all the medals the Humane Society could bestow (no disparagement to that admirable institution). A few weeks afterwards Fanny Ashford became his bride, and is now the happy wife of one of the most gallant captains in the British navy.

MORNING.

AURORA comes, and from her own bright bowers
Lifts the dark veil which envious night had thrown

To hide the bloom of morning's dewy flowers,
And make them dark and loveless as her own;
She lifts the veil, and now the sparkling fountains
Glitter before, behind her, and around,

While white-robed fairies trip along the mountains,
And draw the dews of midnight from the ground.

All nature wears a smiling, sun-like dress,

Like a young lover when his mistress parts
Her lattice curtains, and in loveliness

Stands gazing on him. Morning needs no arts
Night's melancholy lover to beguile,

And make him feel how beauteous is her smile.

V. D.