entrance, covered her face with both her hands, through which tears trickled down upon the old deal table. "Marion!" said the minister, "compose yourself, and lift your heart to Him, in whose presence you are so soon to exchange a solemn vow." She looked up, dried her eyes, and showed a countenance, lovely even in tears, when the door hastily opened, and she again buried her face in her hands.

The young man came up to her with the same firmness of manner which had characterised his whole deportment. He took her hand with gentle kindness, kissed off the tears that flowed faster than ever, and then said, with a gravity far beyond his years," Marion! ye'll hae time enough to greet when I'm far far awa! --and need we baith hae to repent our sin and folly. But we are here now to thank God and his minister for bringing me to a better mind, and sparing you a sair heart. Ye'll be able now to think o' me living wi' peace and comfort; and if I never come hame, there's nane can forbid ye to put on a black gown for me. If trouble comes, and ye get unkindness from folk o' mine, the minister 'll no see ye wranged. But oh! be canny wi' my puir mother, for she's had her trials sair and mony, and downa bide to be contraired in her auld days."

"I give you joy, Marion!" said the pastor, benignly; "a good son can never prove an unkind husband. But time wears, and I must join you for eternity!” The word, thus seasonably uttered, poured its heavenly unction on the waves of human passion. In silence and composure was the simple rite performed-the friendly greeting proffered the pastoral and maternal benediction given-and the mute, long, desperate farewell embrace exchanged! I glided out ere yet its hallowed clasp was loosed, and sought relief to my feelings on the busy shore, now crowded with the fast-departing mariners.

The prominent figures in the group were honest Sandie Nicol, his stout

12 ATHENEUM, VOL. 1, 3d series.

hearted wife, and a tall, slender, modest looking daughter, alike employed in ministering to his parting comforts. I heard him say, in one of his stentorian whispers, casting a long look of parental fondness after his girl, who had been sent to fetch something forgotten," I maun see Jeanie blyther and fatter ere I come hame. I doubt that sutor callant's near her silly heart-And what for no? It isna every man can hae the luck to be a sailor; and your ain landward wabster body o' a father, thought as little o' me for gawn sticking whales, as I do o' Jock for sitting boring holes in leather. It's Jeanie's ain affair, and if she likes rather to bind shoes than bait lines, she maun just please hersell, silly taupy. Sae dinna hinder her, but mind how ye dwined aff the face o' the earth yersell lang syne, for

me!"

The idea of the portly rubicund gudewife pining for thwarted love, was irresistibly ludicrous, and the goodhumored smile it called forth on her jolly countenance, augured well for Jeanie's hopes. She tied her father's Barcelona with a tearful eye, but lightened heart. All now was serious haste and joyous bustle among the crew. The sails flapped somewhat idly, as if reluctant to accelerate their motions; and it was exhilarating to behold the fine athletic fellows, most of them scarce arrived at manhood, doffing at once hats, handkerchiefs, and jackets, and bracing each muscle for a hardy rowing match. Last, but not least active or conspicuous, leaped in the young bridegroom; no longer weighed down by misconduct and remorse, but so unlike his former self, as to be hardly recognised. His eye no longer sought the ground-and in the deafening cheer that marked their pushing off, I heard his voice triumphant.

I might have caught the buoyant spirit of the hour, and seen the boat recede with kindred lightness of heart -but in the stern a fiddler had been stationed to cheer the tedious passage. I thought of Willie Lonie's shivered

tions.

The minister and I were returning slowly from the beach, with the feelings of those who have looked, perhaps for the last time, on a band of fearless human beings, courting, under the strong excitement of enterprise, certain hardship and probable peril, when a striking contrast to the bustle and spirit of their departure presented itself, in the languid movements and desponding air of a solitary individual who, with a spyglass, had been watching them from a height, and whose retiring footsteps I could not help following with my eye. There was something about this "ancient mariner," for thus, though hardly past middle age, I could scarce forbear to designate him, which spoke him subdued more by sorrow than years. I felt assured that he had a history, and read somewhat of its sad character in a gait that had lost its elasticity, and a homeward walk that had seemingly little either of hope or purpose to animate it.

I perceived just then the rising chimneys of a little recently built marine abode, which an irregularity in the cliffs had till now concealed, and begged to hear from Mr. Menteith some account of its inhabitant.

"There is a good deal of romance," said the worthy man, sighing, "in the story of that same humble seafaring man, whom I remember the gayest and most reckless among my playmates at the village school, and whose buoyant spirit would probably have risen above calamity in any of its ordinary and less appalling forms.

"Adam Wilson, like nine-tenths of our boys, would be nothing but a sailor; and courage and the blessing of Providence made him a skilful and a prosperous one. He soon rose to be mate of a trader to Holland, and in one of his trips to its northern provinces, he saw and loved the daughter of a wealthy skipper, whose dowry was in reality, as well as in honest Ad

"Her father, however, rated it at its marketable value; and having matches of at least equal solidity in his power, was disposed to let the poor sailor's pretensions kick the beam. Annchen's favorable disposition, however, had its weight, even with her grasping father, and he at length promised (not foreseeing much chance of being called on) to give his consent, whenever Adam should have made the certain number of rix dollars, which was the lowest price of his daughter's hand.

"This was not to be done in the northern hemisphere, at least not within any time lovers could bear to look forward to, so Adam thought himself the luckiest of men, when the captain of a Dutch East Indiaman offered him a third mate's birth, with room in his Patagonian vessel for a lucrative investment. God alone (to whom the blind elation of many a confiding human heart must be matter of deep commiseration) knows how infallible this opportune proposal seemed for completing the already exquisite happiness of the lovers. The Scotsman forgot his caution-the Dutch maiden her composure-in fond, undoubting, joyous anticipations of the future. Any misgivings they had, were of the safe return of the Vrow Margarita,' from her distant voyage-but even these were quickly banished. 'God willing, I shall come home to you,' said Adam. I feel that you will,' replied Annchen.

"Return he did, poor fellow! rich beyond his hopes, beyond his very father-in-law's ambition. The vessel, deep-laden and becalmed, lay off the beloved coast, from which for more than a year its crew had met no tidings. Adam's impatience grew unbearable. His captain's Dutch immobility yielded to the energy of passion, and he let Adam have a boat and a couple of rowers, to make a run to V- and inquire for Annchen.

"It was spring 1824 when this happened, and Adam and his comrades,

on nearing V-, wondered that the face of the country seemed unacountably altered. In vain they looked along the flat horizon for the wellknown windmills-the little cove with its beacon had disappeared-the waters seemed to stretch far beyond their usual limits. They touched land at length, though not exactly certain where, so bewildering were the changes in the aspect of the scene. They sprang ashore, and seeing from a sandhill the church tower of V-, on it they steered their anxious coursebut over what? Not as three years before, across fertile meadows, enlivened by herds of cows, and sprinkled with neat smiling villas—a sedgy lake occupied the site of the flourishing village, and the gay, cheerful Lusthaus of Annchen's father was swept by encroaching billows off the face of her native earth!

"Adam looked on the desolation before him, and with an instinct no longer fallacious, felt that he need ask no more. Take me away,' he said to his sad comrades, this is no place for me!' He heard men tell, scarce moved, of raging floods that burst their barriers, and swept all before them, of hundreds, young and old, engulfed by the invading waters. knew she was dead!' was all the commentary his stunned soul could utter, and in a merciful oblivion of some months, even that sad truth seems to have been entombed.

'I

For when these had elapsed, Adam, composed, collected, though the grief-worn shadow you behold him -returned to his native place-shunning familiar intercourse as much as in his happier days he courted it. To me alone he imparted, not his sorrows -for these could find no vent in words

quick glance that betrayed the latent aberration,) be the business and solace of his life-for, in a confidential whisper, he added, It is for Annchen ---her own house is gone, they tell me -and I have promised to build her one just like it. When it is finished, she will come and live in it with me!'

"I looked up in the pale, mild countenance of poor Adam; and, as the delusive smile of baseless hope played over it, felt that to detain it there, if possible, was all that charity could dictate, or good will accomplish. I set about his building, therefore, with all the real tardiness such a purpose implied, yet with sufficient apparent energy to keep the hope on which he subsisted alive. One summer passed in selecting a site, and planting a garden, adorned, as you will see, at no small cost, with the choice flowers of Annchen's native land. No tulip-fancier of the olden time ever more cheerfully gave its weight in gold for a new species, than poor Adam for a favorite sort of hers, who he fancies will one day come and recognise it.

"The house at length, with all our delays, would rise! Spite of contrary winds and dilatory captains, the red bricks came from England-the Dutch tiles and earthen stoves from Rotterdam. The dairy was duly stocked with shining brazen vessels-the kitchen shelves with all the wares of Delft. Alas! no Annchen came to claim these kindred treasures! No! not even when Adam, with affecting solicitude, added to them a piping bulfinch, taught by himself to sing the very notes of her favorite air,—nay, the identical parrot she fondly bade him bring her from the Indian seas— which, spurned from his presence in the first bitterness of his grief, he had since traced back with incredible trouble, and purchased, for what the owner chose to demand!

of earnest vehemence. It has been disciplined and cultivated with the greatest care, but will probably never be of that order which can rivet the attention and still the breathing of a crowded assembly. In a small room, or in presence of the Association, where every flash of fancy is welcomed with an applauding cheer, Mr. Shiel gets on well. But when cast among a large and discordant audience, when the passions of the orator should be roused, and the full measure of his powers put forth,-when a look or a tone, should silence murmurs and fix every eye, he sometimes loses selfcommand, and breaks into a violent and disagreeable scream. Beside his more fortunate fellow actor, Mr. O'Connell, he appears to little advantage. The "great leader" is a tall muscular man, with shoulders as broad as the burden which he has to bear. There is always some ore in the most common-place of his speeches-some touch of feeling that proves him in earnest, and compensates for a multitude of sins. His manner and himself he seems equally to forget: he wishes to pour all his information upon his subject, and to persuade. Mr. Shiel, with his saturnine visage and flashing eye, insensibly reminds one of an angry spaniel rushing to the attack in company with a noble mastiff. He strains after displays, of which he is incapable; he wishes to be strong, and works himself into a passion-vigorous, and he becomes boisterous. He cannot make so much noise as his companion; but he barks more wickedly-and woe to the unfortunate passenger on whose heels he fastens. If his teeth be small, they are at least sharp, and freely enough applied. One would sooner, however, think of striking him over the ribs with an umbrella, than of grappling him by the neck, and straining every sinew to fling him down. We do not mean to undervalue his powers, or to hang him on the cross of ridicule; we acknowledge his abilities with cheerfulness, but think them overrated by himself and his admirers. Display is the soul of his oratory, the

pivot on which all his movements turn. His words are selected with care, and marshalled in imposing array; every resource of rhetorical artifice is employed to produce effect;—but still Mr. Shiel is the prominent figure in the group. He labors to strike and to dazzle-to create a sensation, and be admired. In the highest pitch of excitement, when rising to the summit of his climax-even when trembling on the brink of his beloved aposiopesis

he remembers that the reporter for the Weekly Register is by his side, and that his speech will appear in the next day's newspaper. Hence there is an appearance of want of feeling-a palpableness of artificial passion and studied rhetoric-which mar the real effect of talents that would otherwise be powerful :-for talents he undoubtedly possesses, and of a high order. He has a clear head and strong fancy, and wonderful command of rich and splendid language. He argues with force and judgment; and though not gifted with much of what is correctly termed imagination, he sprinkles over his speeches abundance of gaudy and glittering ornaments. To his figures we must apply our former observation: they are flashy, and wrought up with great ingenuity and care; but they are all French figures, more ornamental than useful, the offspring of industry rather than genius in the hour of excitation. He allows his fancy to roam too much abroad; it is with him a principal instead of a subsidiary faculty, and is not sufficiently curbed by a correct or polished taste. He seems to be a tolerable classical scholar, and is doubtless indebted for much of his power of language to his acquaintance with the masters of the literary arena. But he has not gone far enough; he has not chastened his mind by the contemplation of the simple grandeur and pure majesty of ancient authors. The gorgeous magnificence of Asia is dearer to him than the austerity of the Roman senate, or the republican orators of the Athenian forum. He has not followed the advice of