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would be more astonished still, if I were to explain to you how it was accomplished.'

Aye! that indeed would be a treat,' returned the broker; nothing in the world could give me greater delight than that.'

'Well, you know,' said Jones, 'it must be in the strictest possible confidence.'

"Of course! of course!' they all exclaimed. "We are friends!'

Jones then drank another glass of punch, and taking to himself the entire credit of the transact on, absolutely exposed the whole affair from first to last!

The brokers, having learned all they desired to learn, suddenly took leave of Jones and retired. They felt piqued, for they with others had been made perfect tools of, and therefore in

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There was a grand procession through the streets of the two towns of Perth and Dundee. The holy abbots, in their robes, walked under gilded canopies; the monks chanted; the censers were thrown; flags and banners were carried by seamen; lighted tapers by penitents. St. Antonio, the patron of those who trust to the stormy ocean, was carried in all pomp through the streets; and, as the procession passed, coins of various value were thrown down by those who watched it from the windows, and as fast as thrown were collected by little boys dressed as angels, and holding silver vessels to receive the largesses. During the whole day did the procession continue its course, and large was the treasure collected. Every one gave freely, for there were few who, if not in their own family, at least among their friends, had not to deplore the loss of some one dear to them or those they loved, from striking on the dangerous rock, which lay in the very track of all the vessels entering the Frith of Tay. These processions had been arranged by the authorities, that a sufficient sum of money might be collected to enable them to put in execution a plan proposed by Andrew McClise, an adventurous and bold young seaman, in a council held for that purpose, namely, of placing a bell on the rock, which could be so arranged that the slightest brack of wave would cause the hammer of it to sound, and thus, by its tolling, warn the mariner of his danger; and the sums given were more than sufficient. A meeting was then held, and it was unanimously agreed that Andrew McClise should be charged with the commission to go over to Amsterdam, and purchase of a merchant residing there, a bell, which Andrew stated him to have in his possession, and which, from its fine tone and size, was exactly calculated for the purpose to which it was to be appropriated.

Andrew McClise embarked with the money,

and made a prosperous voyage. He had often been at Amsterdam, and had often traded with the merchant, whose name was Vandermaelen; and the attention to his affairs, the elasticity and rapidity of his movements, had often elicited the warmest encomiums from Mynheer Vandermaelen; and many evenings had Andrew passed with him, drinking in moderation their favorite schedam, and indulging in the meditative meershaum. Vandermaelen had often wished that he had a son like Andrew McClise, to whom he could leave his property, with the full assurance that the heap would not be scattered, but greatly added to. Vandermaelen was a widower.— He had but one daughter, who was now just arrived at an age to return from the convent, and take upon herself the domestic duties. McClise had never yet seen the beautiful Katerina, who had, during his last absence, been established in her father's house.

'And so, Mynheer McClise,' said Vandermaelen, who was sitting in the warehouse, on the ground floor of his tenement, you come to purchase the famous Bell of Utretch, with the intention of fixing it upon that rock, the danger of which we have so often talked over, after the work of the day has been done: I, too, have suffered from that same rock, as you well know; but still I have been fortunate. The price will be heavy, and so it ought to be, for the bell itself is of no small weight.'

'We are prepared to pay it, Mynheer Vandermaelen.'

'Nevertheless, in so good a cause, and for so good a purpose, you shall not be overcharged. I will say nothing of the beauty of the workmanship, or even of the mere manufacture.You shall pay but its value in metal, the same value which Isaacs, the Israelite, offered me for it, but four months ago. I will not ask what the

Israelite would ask, but what the Israelite would give, which makes no small difference. Have you ten thousand guilders?' 'I have, and more.'

That is my price, Mynheer McClise, and I wish for no more, for I, too, will contribute my share to the good work. Are you content, and is it a bargain?'

'It is, Mynheer Vandermaelen, and the holy abbots will thank you on vellum for your generosity.'

I prefer the thanks of the bold seamen to those of the idle churchmen; but never mind; it is a bargain. Now we will go in. It is time to close the doors. We will now take our pipes, and you shall make the acquaintance of my fair daughter, Katerina.'

At the time we are speaking of, McClise was about six-and-twenty years of age. He was above the middle size, elegant in person, and with a frankness in his countenance, which won all who saw him. His manner was like that of most seamen, bold, but not offensively so. His eye was piercing as an eagle's, and it appeared as if his very soul spoke out of it. At the very first meeting between him and the daughter of Vandermaelen, they both felt as if their destinies were decided. They loved, not as others love, but with an intensity which it would be impossible to portray; but they exchanged not a word. Again, and again they met; their eyes spoke, but their lips were closed. The bell was put on board of the vessel; the money had been paid down, and McClise could no longer delay. He felt as if his heart-chords were severed, as he tore himself away from the land where remained all that he now coveted. And Katerina, too, felt as if her existence was a blank; and as the vessel sailed from the port, she breathed short; and when not even her white and lofty top-gallant-sail could be discovered, as a speck upon the blue line of the horizon, she threw herself on her couch and wept. And McClise, as he sailed away, remained for hours leaning on the taffrail, calling to mind, over and over again, every lineament and feature of the peerless Katerina.

Two months passed away, during which McClise was busied, every ebb of the tide, in superintending the work on the rock. At last all was ready, and once more was to be beheld a gay procession-but this time it was on the water. It was on a calm and lovely summer morning, that the abbot and the monks attended by the authorities, and a large company of others, who were so much interested in the work, started from the shore of Aberbrothwick, in a long line of boats, some decorated with holy banners, and all with gay flags and devices.The music floated along the wide waters, and the solemn chants of the monks were heard, where never yet they had been before, or ever will again. McClise was at the rock, in a small vessel, purposely constructed to carry the bell, and with shears, to hang it on the supporters imbedded in the solid rock. In an hour the bell

was fixed in its place, and the abbot blessed it, and holy water was sprinkled on the metal, which, for the future, would be washed by the waves of the salt sea. The music and the chanting were renewed: and, as it continued, the wind gradually rose, and, with the rising of the wind, the bell tolled loud and deep. The tolling of the bell was the signal for return; it was a warning that the weather was about to change; and the procession pulled back to the shore of Aberbrothwick, and landed in good time; for one hour more, and the rocky coast was again lashed by the waves, and the bell tolled loud and quick, although there were none there but the sea-gull, who screamed with fright as he wheeled in the air, at this unusual noise upon the rock, which, at the ebb, he had so often made his resting-place.

McClise had done his work. The bell was fixed, and once more he hastened with his vessel to Amsterdam. Once more was he an inmate of Vandermaelen's house-once more in the presence of the idol of his soul. This time they spoke: this time their vows were exchanged for life and death; yet Vandermaelen knew not the state of their hearts. He looked upon the young seaman as too low, too poor, to be a match for his daughter; and as such an idea never entered his head, so did he never imagine that he would have presumed to love. But he was soon undeceived, for McClise frankly stated his attachment, and demanded the hand of Katerina; and, at the demand, Vandermaelen's face was flushed with anger.

'Mynheer McClise,' said he, after a pause, as if to control his feelings, when a man marries, he is bound to show that he hath wherewithal to support his wife-to support her in that condition, and to afford her those luxuries, to which she has been accustomed in her father's house. Show me that you can do so, and I will not refuse you the hand of Katerina.'

'As yet I cannot,' replied McClise: 'but I am young, and can work. I have money, and will gain more. Tell me what sum do you think that I should possess, to warrant my demanding the hand of your daughter.'

Produce twelve thousand guilders, and she is yours,' replied the merchant.

I have but three thousand,' replied McClise, mournfully.

"Then think no more of Katerina. It is a foolish passion, and you must forget it; and, Mynheer McClise, I must not have my daughter's feelings tampered with. She must forget you, and that can only be effected by your not meeting again. I wish you well, Mynheer McClise, but I must request your absence.'

McClise departed from the presence of the merchant, bowed down with grief and disappointment. He contrived that a letter, containing the result of his application, should be put in the hands of Katerina; but Vandermaelen was informed of this breach of observance, and Katerina was sent to a convent, there to remain until the departure of her lover; and Vander

maelen wrote to his correspondents at Dundee, requesting that the goods forwarded to him might not be sent by the vessel commanded by the young Seotchman. Of this McClise received information. All hope was nearly gone-still he delayed his departure. He was no longer the active, energetic seaman-he neglected all, even his attire. He knew in which convent his fair Katerina had been immured, and often would he walk round its precincts with the hope of seeing her, if it were but for a moment; but in vain. His vessel was now laden, and he could delay no longer. He was to sail the next morning, and once more did the unhappy young man take his usual walk, to look at those walls which contained all that was dear to him on earth.His reverie was broken by a stone falling close to his feet. He took it up-there was a small piece of paper attached to it with a silken thread. He opened it-it was the hand-writing of Katerina, and contained but two words, THE BELL.'

her settlement no longer, and Katerina raised her eyes to heaven, and whispered as she clasp. ed her hands, 'The Bell.' Alas! that we should invoke heaven when we would do wrong-but mortals are blind, and none so blind as those who are impelled by passion.

It was in the summer of that year that McClise had made his arrangements. Having pro cured the assistance of several lawless hands, he had taken the advantage of a smooth and glassy sea, and high tide, to remove the Bell on board of his own vessel, a work of little difficulty to him, as he had placed it there, and knew well the fastenings. He sailed away for Amsterdam and was permitted to arrive safe with his sacrilegious freight. He did not, as before, enter the canal opposite the house of Vandermaelen, but one that ran behind the habitation of Isaacs, the Israelite. At night he went into the house and reported to Isaacs what he had for sale, and the keen grey eyes of the bent double little man sparkled with delight-for he knew that his profits would be great. At midnight the bell was made fast to the crane, and safely deposited in the warehouse of the Jew, who counted out the twelve thousand guilders to the enraptured

The Bell McClise started, for he immediately comprehended what was meant. The whole plan ran like electricity through his brain. Yes, then, there was a promise of happiness. The Bell was worth twelve thousand guilders-McClise, whose thoughts were wholly on the that sum had been offered, and would now be given by Isaacs, the Israelite. He would be happy with his Katerina, and he blessed her ingenuity for devising the means. For a minute or two he was transported, but the reaction took place. What was he about to attempt?-Sacrilege cruelty! The Bell had been blessed by the holy church-it had been purchased by holy and devout alms; it had been placed on the rock to save his brother seamen, and were he to remove it, would he not be responsible for all the lives lost? Would not the wail of the widow, and the tears of the orphan, be crying out to heaven against him? No, no-never! The crime was too horrible, and McClise stamped upon the paper thinking he was tempted by Satan in the shape of a woman. But when woman tempts, man is lost. He recalled the charms of Katerina-all his repugnance was overcome, and he resolved that the deed should be accomplished, and that Katerina should be gained, even if he lost his soul.

Andrew McClise sailed away for Amsterdam, and Katerina recovered her liberty. Vandermaelen was anxious that she should marry, and many were the suitors for her hand-but they sued in vain. She reminded her father that he had pledged himself, if McClise counted down twelve thousand guilders, that she should be his wife, and to that pledge she insisted that he was bound fast-and Vandermaelen, after reasoning with her, and pointing out to her that twelve thousand guilders was a sum so large, that McClise might not procure it until his old age, even if he were fortunate, acknowledged that such was his promise, and that he would, like an honest man, abide by it, provided that McClise should fulfil his part of the agreement in the space of two years, after which he should delay

possession of his beloved Katerina, and not upon the crime he had committed. But, alas! to conceal one crime we are too often obliged to be guilty of even deeper, and thus it was with Andrew McClise. The ruffians who had assisted, on a promise of a thousand guilders being divided among them, now murmured at their share, and insisted on a equal division of the spoils; if not, they threatened him with an immediate confession of the black deed. McClise raved, and cursed, and tore his hair-promised to give them the money as soon as he had wedded Katerina, but they would not consent.Again the devil came to his assistance, and whispered how he was to act. He consented; the next night the division was to be made.They met in his cabin. He gave them wine, and they drank plentifully-but the wine was poisoned, and they all died before the morning. McClise tied weights to their bodies and sank them in the deep canal-broke open his hatches, to make it appear that his vessel had been plundered, and then went to the authorities, impeaching his crew. Immediate search was oidered, but they were not to be found, and it was supposed they had escaped in a boat.

Once more McClise, whose conscience was seared, went to the house of Vandermaelen, counted down his twelve thousand guilders, and claimed his bride; and Vandermaelen, who felt that his daughter's happiness was at stake, now gave his consent. As McClise stated that he was anxious to return to England and arrange with the merchants whose goods had been plundered, in a few days the marriage took place, and Katerina clasped the murderer in her arms. All was apparent joy and revelry, but there was anguish in the heart of McClise who, now that he had gained his object, felt that it had cost him much too dear, for his peace of mind was

gone for ever. But Katerina cared not; every spark of feeling was absorbed in her passion, and the very guilt of McClise but rendered him more dear-for was it not for her that he had done all this? McClise received her portion, and hastened to sail away, for the bodies were still in the canal, and he trembled every hour lest his crimes should be discovered; and Vandermaelen bade farewell to his daughter; and he knew not why, but there was a feeling he could not suppress, that they should never meet again.

'Down, down, below, Katerina, this is no place for you!' cried McClise, as he stood at the helm of the vessel, 'down, dearest, down, or you will be washed overboard-every sea threatens to sweep our decks; already have we lost two men! Down Katerina, down, I tell you!'

'I fear not let me remain with you!' 'I tell you, down!' cried McClise in wrath, and Katerina cast upon him a reproachful look and obeyed

The storm was at its height-the sun had set -black and monstrous billows chased each other, and the dismasted vessel was hurled on towards the land. For three days had they fought the gale, but in vain. Now it continued, all chance was over, for the shore was on their lee, distant not many miles. Nothing could save them but gaining the mouth of the Frith of Tay, and then they could bear up for Dundee. Now they contended against the boiling surge, and a dark night, and the howling of the wind, and their masts were floating far away; and McClise stood at the helm, keeping the broadside of the vessel to the sea-his heart was full of bitterness, his guilty conscience bore him down; he looked for death and he dreaded it; for was he not a sacrilegious murderer, and was there not an avenging God above!

Once more Katerina appeared on the deck, clinging for support. Andrew, I cannot stay below. Tell me, will it soon be over?'

'Yes,' replied McClise, gloomily: 'it will soon be over-with all of us.'

'How mean you? you told me there was no danger.'

'I told you false-there is death soon and damnation afterward-for you I have lost my

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vessel was no longer borne down as before, although the waves were still mountains high.— The seamen on board rallied. Some fragments of sail were set on the remnants of the masts, and there was a chance of being saved. McClise spoke not, but watched the helm. The wind shifted in their favor, and hope was in every heart. The Frith of Tay was now open, and they were saved. Light was the heart of McClise, when he kept away the vessel and gave the helm up to the mate. He hastened to Katerina, who still remained on the deck, raised her up, whispered comfort and returning love. But his curse was on her heart; she could not forget; and she wept bitterly.

'We are saved, dear Katerina.'

'Better that we had been lost,' replied she mournfully.

'No, no! say not so-with your own Andrew pressing you to his bosom !'

"Your bitter curse-'

"Twas madness—nothing—I knew not what I said.'

But the iron had entered into her soul; her heart was broken.

'You had better give orders for them to look out for the Bell Rock,' observed the man at the helm to McClise.

The Bell Rock! McClise shuddered, and made no reply. Onward flew the vessel, impelled by the sea and wind-one moment raised aloft, and towering over the surge-at another, deep in the hollow trough, and walled in by the convulsed element. McClise still held his Katerina in his arms, who responded not to his endearments, when a sudden shock threw them on the deck. The crushing of timbers, the rushing of waves over the stern, the parting and filling of the vessel, was but the work of a few seconds. One more furious shock, she separates, falls over, and the raging seas sweep over her. McClise threw from him her whom he had so madly loved, as he struggled in the waveKaterina shrieked as she sunk beneath-and all

was over.

When the storm rises, and the screaming seagull seeks the land, and the fisherman hastens his bark towards the beach, there is to be seen, descending from the dark clouds with the rapidity of lightning, the form of Andrew McClise, the heavy bell, to which he is attached by the neck, bearing him down to his doom. And when all is smooth and calm-when, at the ebbing tide, the wave but gently strikes the rock, then, by the light of the silver moon, the occupants of the vessels who sail from the Frith of Tay have often beheld the form of the beautiful Katerina, waving her white scarf, as a signal that they should approach and take her off from the rock on which she is seated. At times she offers a letter for her father, Vandermaelen, and she moans and weeps as the wary mariners, with their eyes fixed on her, and with folded arms, pursue their course in silence and in dread.

THE MERRIMACK.

BY J. G. WHITTIER.

The Indians speak of a beautiful river far to the South, which they call Merrimac.'-SIEUR DE MONTS: 1604.

1.

Stream of my fathers! sweetly still
The sunset rays thy valley fill ;
Poured slantwise down the long defile,

Wave, wood, and spire beneath them smile.
1 see the winding Powwow fold
The green hill in its belt of gold,
And following down its wavy line,
Its sparkling waters blend with thine.
There's not a tree upon thy side,
Nor rock, which thy returning tide
As yet hath left abrupt and stark,
Above thy evening water-mark;
No calm cove with its rocky hem,
No isle whose emerald swells begem
Thy broad, smooth current; not a sail
Bowed to the freshening ocean gale;
No small boat with its busy oars,
Nor gray wall sloping to thy shores;
Nor farm-house with its maple shade,
Or rigid poplar colonnade,
But lies distinct and full in sight,
Beneath this gush of sunset light.

II.

Centuries ago, that harbor-bar,
Stretching its length of foam afar,
And Salisbury's beach of shining sand,

And yonder island's wave-smoothed strand,
Saw the adventurer's tiny sail,

Flit, stooping from the eastern gale ;*

And o'er these woods and waters broke
The cheer from Britain's hearts of oak,
As brightly on the voyager's eye,

Weary of forest, sea, and sky,
Breaking the dull continuous wood,
The Merrimack rolled down his flood;
Mingling that clear pellucid brook
Which channels vast Agioochook-
When spring-time's sun and shower unlock
The frozen fountains or the rock,
And more abundant waters given

For that pure lake, 'The Smile of Heaven,'t
Tributes from vale and mountain side-
With ocean's dark, eternal tide!

III.

On yonder rocky cape, which braves
The stormy challenge of the waves,
Midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood,
The hardy Anglo-Saxon stood,
Planting upon the topmost crag
The staff of England's battle-flag;

The celebrated Captain Smith, after resigning the government of the colony in Virginia, in his capacity of Admiral of New England,' made a careful survey of the coast from Penobscot to Cape Cod, in the summer of 1614. Lake Winnipiseogee- The Smile of the Great Spirit' -the source of one of the branches of the Merrimack.

And, while from out its heavy fold
St. George's crimson cross unrolled,
Midst roll of drum and trumpet blare,
And weapons brandishing in air,
He gave to that lone promontory
The sweetest name in all his story;
Of her-the flower of Islam's daughters,
Whose Harems look on Stamboul's waters-
Who, when the chance of war had bound
The Moslem chain his limbs around,
Wreathed o'er with silk that iron chain,
Soothed with her smiles his hours of pain,
And fondly to her youthful slave
A dearer gift than freedom gave.

IV.

But look!the yellow light no more
Streams down on wave and verdant shore;
And clearly on the calm air swells

The distant voice of twilight bells.
From Ocean's bosom, white and thin
The mists come slowly rolling in;
Hills, woods, the river's rocky rim,
Amidst the sea-like vapor swim,
While yonder lonely coast-light set
Within its wave-washed marinet,

Half quenched, a beamless star and pale,
Shines dimly through its cloudy veil!

V.

Vale of my fathers!-I have stood
Where Hudson rolled his lordly flood;
Seen sunrise rest and sunset fade
Along his frowning Palisade;
Looked down the Appalachian peak
On Jumata's silver streak ;
Have seen along his valley gleam
The Mohawk's softly-winding stream;
The setting sun, his axle red
Quench darkly in Potomac's bed;
And autumn's rainbow-tinted banner
Hang lightly o'er the Susquehanna;
Yet, wheresoe'er his step might be,
Thy wandering child looked back to thee!
Heard in his dreams thy river's sound
Of murmuring on its pebbly bound,
The unforgotten swell and roar
Of waves on thy familiar shore;
And seen amidst the curtained gloom
And quiet of my lonely room,
The sunset scenes before me pass;
As, in Agrippa's magic glass,
The loved and lost arose te view,
Remembered groves in greenness grew ;
And while the gazer leaned to trace,
More near, some old familiar face,
He wept to find the vision flown-
A phantom and a dream alone!

Captain Smith gave to the promontory now called Cape Ann, the name of Tragabizanda, in memory of his young and beautiful mistress of that name, who, while a captive at Constantinople, like Desdemona, 'loved him for the dangers he had passed'

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