day he was disapointed. Still every hour held out a hope; and he melted his rock-gold into bullets, and fired with these till he had no more. He was now entirely destitute of the means of defence; his stores were daily lessening, and want had already occasioned the desertion of his followers, who secretly stole from the fort and took refuge with the enemy. When the unhappy man mounted the walls with his telescope to look towards Elmina, his adversaries insulted him, and asked him when he expected news from the coast, and how many bullets he had left; and they showed him the pieces of gold which they had either picked up, or taken out of the bodies of those who had been killed by them. Finding that he still watched and hoped, they brought in sight his messenger, who had been intercepted and put in ions by the wretches, before he had proceeded many miles on his way to Elmina.

This was the stroke of despair to the ill-fated European: every resource was gone; his only companions were a man, who had lived with him many years, and an orphan boy, who had each refused to quit him. With these he consulted, and seeing his destruction inevitable, he determined at least to be revenged on the villians who had bayed him to death. Assisted by the two servants, he placed all his gunpowder, which still amounted to a considerable quantity, in a small room underneath the hall of audience. He then passed the night in arranging his papers, making up the government accounts, willing away the property he had realised and sent home, and writing to a few friends. These dispatches he carefully secured on the person of the man, who had orders to try to make his escape with them the next morning, and to convey them to head-quarters.

At daybreak the governor appeared on the walls of his fortress, and made signs to the people without that he wished to speak with them. He gained a hearing, and then told them that he was now willing to give them whatever they asked, and to settle the palaver exactly as they wished; that, if the chiefs would come into the fort in about two hours to drink rum together, they would find him ready to deliver up his property to any amount they pleased. This proposal was agreed to, the governor received his guests in the hall, and the people poured into the fortress. During the bustle which this occasioned, the faithful servant contrived to make his escape, and, creeping through the bushes, made the best of his way to Elmina. He had not proceeded far, however, when he heard a tremendous explosion; he turned round, and smoke, stones, and mangled human bodies were seen mingled together in the atmosphere. However prepared, the man involuntarily stopped to contemplate this awful catastrophe, and was only roused by the boy whom he had left with his master. It appeared that the governor affected to treat with the chiefs till he thought they were all assembled ; he then reproached them with their perfidy and ingratitude, and exclaimed. "Now then, rascals I will give you all I possess---all--all !" and stamped his foot with violence. This was the signal to the boy below, who instantly set fire to a covered train, sufficiently long to allow him to rush from the approaching mischief; and scarcely had he cleared the gates of the fortress, when all the chiefs perished with their victim, and many were killed who had assembled in the court.

The man and boy reached Elmina with the dreadful tale, and the ruin of the fortress, now an overgrown heap of stones, attests the truth of the story.

Forget Me Not, 1829.

Mr. S. Ellis

Newlyn, Mr. R. Adams

St. Ives, Mrs. Garland Williams, aged 80
Mrs. F. Stevens, aged 70

Roseeradock, wife of the Rev. G. Norris of a Penzance, Mr. S. Eva, aged 71

The Cornish Magazine.

DECEMBER, 1st, 1828.

THE POWER OF AFFECTION.

(Continued from Page 253.)

It would be difficult for a more melancholy reverse of circumstances to befall a human being, than that which the unhappy Williams endured, notwithstanding the consolations and the pity of his friends were given sincerely, and the comforts of life not taken away. The strong powers of his mind, surviving the wreck of his body, only made his sufferings the more acute. To his solitary home he generally confined himself, passing his evenings by the lonely hearth, beside which his mother had been generally seated: an arm-chair she had always used stood vacant, and he took pleasure in sitting opposite, and gazing on it for hours; picturing his only parent as still there with her pleading look and voice of mildness; for she never chided him, not even for his last fatal deed. The latch was sometimes lifted by a passing acquaintance, who entered, to enquire after his welfare, or speak of the various events of the neighbourhood. When the weather was fine, he found his way to the church-yard that stood on the sand, the base of whose walls was washed by the tide; here he often remained in the coolness of the evening, while the vessels swept by to their various destinations, and the loud voices of the fishermen rose from the beach. But sounds and sights that were formerly full of pleasure, could have little power over his feelings now :-his mother slept beneath his feet, sent to her grave by his own rash act; and he would have wished and prayed that he might sleep by her side, but that his love, strong, passionate as ever, held him to earth, although earth was to him as a wilderness.

His fate excited general sympathy, and there was scarcely a young female in the town but gazed with pity (that was followed even by tears) when she saw the fine, athletic form of Williams, maimed and broken, feebly crawl on crutches along the streets, and his proud features bowed by anguish and disappointment. They forgave and admired the cause, for it was love!-. but the older men shook their heads as they passed, as if he was a fated being, and muttered something about a "doom that hung over him," and that on the night he sailed for Wales, although the heavens were clear, and the moon shining bright, the spectre ship, with sails white as snow, and all set, had been seen distinctly to pass by the island, and the light falling on her deck showed no living mariner there, although her trim and management

were exact.

And she, for whom every hope had been sacrificed, though rashly, came often to visit his sad dwelling, and it was to him like the coming of an angel. His eye brightened, and his hands were clasped in ecstacy the moment he beheld her form enter the apartment.

She sat beside him, and they talked of their past interviews and hopes, before sorrow came down on them; of their walks in the gloomy woods and on the rugged hill beyond; and her eyes looked on him as kindly as ever.

But the burden of the theme was now changed; once, hope was their companion, and images of happiness sprang up at every step. But now they lived on recollection: on the future it was impossible to dwell! it was the solace of old age transferred to the prime of youth; and this could not last long. He spoke no more of the distant voyage or enterprize of peril on which he used to dwell. His small chamber was now his final resting-place, upon earth; and when the rush of the advancing waves was at times heard there, he sank with a deep sigh into his chair; it was like the distant clash of arms to the captive soldier, whom prison walls and bars inclose for ever.

There was a dwelling to which his steps were sometimes directed, and the only one; it was inhabited by a widow of respectable condition in life, of manners rather coarse, but possessed of a strong and observing mind; and to her the writer of this narrative is indebted for these particulars. She is now stricken in years.

In her society, Williams, while conversing of his sufferings, became more calm and resigned; she had known so many reverses in her own life, as well as in those of others, that she brought the fruits of experience, to convince him there were miseries on earth as great as his own. But a trial, awaited him more severe than any he had yet endured. He bad hoped and believed that Anne would not abandon him; he had been the chosen, the admired lover of her heart; his affection had known no change, and was now entertained more ardently than ever, for it kept his breast from feeling utterly desolate. And she had struggled long and hardly with her attachment; she knew she had been, though unintentionaly, the cause of his distresses; yet, from being so often a pitying spectator of them, her spirits grew oppressed she shrank from the tone of sadness and self-upbraiding that often marked his conversation, and felt relieved on passing into gayer society, and joining in livelier converse.

The handsome and spirited sailor to please whose eye she had put on her gayest attire and most winning airs, now scarcely glanced at, or thought of them; were she present in the apartment, he sat silent often and satisfied; or in his long and fixed glance there was more, at times, of the emotions of the past than of present admiration. Then occasionally, though rarely, his mind grew querulons and impatient, requiring to be soothed; and, still more, the fresh and ardent features once so dear to her eye had become sunken, pallid, and anguish-stricken. The strength of her attachment at last gave way; and there was a youth, in the same condition of life as the invalid, who came from the north of the county, and became her suitor. She could not persuade herself that he was equal, either in understanding or in feeling, to him she had once chosen: but he paid her constant attentions, flattered her vanity, and offered her a comfortable independence, till at last she listened with pleasure to his addresses. William's silent home had, of course, now much fewer of her visits, and even when there, her thoughts were absent and her manners often abrupt. He marked the change with pain, but imputed it only to the caprice or waywardness of her temper.

At last there came a morning, calm and fair; the breeze seemed to bear health on its wings, and the invalid went forth to enjoy it as far as the churchyard, where he sat down beside his mother's grave. The grass, mingled with a few wild flowers, had now risen thickly around the spot, and William gazed on the noble bay, that stretched at his feet, and the shipping upon. its bosom.

On a sudden, sounds of gaiety and joy came on his ear; and looking round he perceived a smart and well-dressed procession advancing along the cliffs. As the windings of the lofty path brought it nearer to view, he perceived it was a bridal array, proceeding at this early hour to the church. It now entered the inclosure where he was seated, and foremost of the company, leaning on the arm of her admirer, was Anne ! She was gaily dressed; in

her thick and curling light hair were placed some artificial flowers, their only ornament, and her looks were full of life and joy. He continued to gaze on her, not uttering a word, while, without observing him, she passed into the church, and was quickly followed by the gay procession. As soon as he had recovered from his surprise, he slowly rose and returned to his dwelling; there the loud and animating peal of bells, proclaiming the marriage, followed him, and every sound went to his heart. It was the knell of the last hope that earth had for him, and the desolate man felt that all was over!

The hours passed unobserved away;-evening drew on, and the wind swept furiously past his lonely chamber, for the beauty of the morning had been the forerunner of a violent storm. Williams raised himself with difficulty from the bed, and feebly advancing to the window, looked out on the waters that rushed foaming upon the rocks. He wished that he slept calmly beneath them, and then he should feel no more that his betrothed bride was in the arms of another-her head resting on his bosom-her voice dwelling on love for him! it was too much the shock that crushed his body beneath the precipices had less of agony than the one which now fell on his broken heart!

How different from such feelings were those of the girl who had deserted him; she never saw him afterwards, but sailed in a few days with her husband for Padstow, his native place, where she lived many years perhaps, in comfort and peace.

It was at this time that the celebrated Whitfield came into Cornwall; it was his first and only visit. It never seemed to be the aim of this man to form an exclusive body of devoted followers, to give them a strict and regular code of laws, and thus to perpetuate his own name, while promoting the present and eternal welfare of his fellow creatures. He had not talents, perhaps, for such a career, but came and went rather like a brilliant meteor, that dazzles and overpowers but for a short time. Yet he was eloquent; if the power of agitating to excess the various passsions of the mind,-if skill to plunge the feelings, as it were, into the gloom and hopelessness of the grave, and then raise them aloft on the wings of hope and ecstacy, be eloquence,-Whitfield possessed it. Yet was it more, in general, an effusion of highly wrought feeling, and splendid and excited fancy, than the collected and sustained discourse of an experienced divine.

And Whitfield came to this remote and secluded town, that was all in commotion at his arrival; he was received hospitably by one of the most respectable persons, and notice was given that he would preach to the inhabitants in the open air on the following day.

It was a sabbath morning in the autumn, the sky was without a cloud, and there was no breeze on the wide expanse of waters that formed the bay. The town seemed to have poured forth the greater part of its population; and they were seen ascending the sides of their romantic cliffs to the place where the minister was to appear. The very old were there, hoary and weatherbeaten men, who had faced the storms of nearly a century; powerfully contrasted with whom, young and handsome women, in their gayest attire, and with looks full of curiosity, passed onward as if to a festival. The hardened and the profligate, too, felt impelled to quit their usual haunts, and bend their steps with the rest. The bells from the high tower of the ancient church, that forms such an imposing feature in the landscape, had rung for some time to proclaim that service was about to commence: but the tread of feet was unheard upon its ancient pavement, for the stream of the people rolled toward the lofty hill behind. And when they were all gathered there, and stood on the gentle declivity, as on a vast amphitheatre,-rank above rank, -the gay, the grave, the guilty, and the fearful; a deep and universal silence spread itself over all. The sun shone direct and intensely on the host: and