Catharine had changed; for her exceeding loveliness was stripped of its scorn and hauteur. There was a lonely and tender sadness in her matchless features, more fatal to the heart than the blandest lines of the conscious beauty. Three years and accusing regret had wept from her eyes the fire of the morning sun, but left in its place the mournful poetry of the star. Sorrow might have stolen a rose from her cheek, but a softer lily slept in its stead. Before, she was the laughing wave of the ocean, singing with the summer wind, and splendid in its glee; now, she was that wave, exquisite in its weeping roll, when left by the wind that gave it life. The orphan lady sat long and musingly by the shore. The soft influence of the season stole cheeringly over her soul. She smiled so like the Catharine of happier days, and there was a thought so fond and eloquent in that smile, as would lure cherubs down from their palaces of clouds. "Surely," said the lady, as she flung back the crowding ringlets from her cheek, and her dark eye flashed, and her ripe lip curled with a meaning so like her former self; "surely that Power who gave this beautiful world its life, will not mark me for a cheerless pilgrimage through its singing vales. Have I not suffered enough—a mother, a brother, a father, and my cousin who always loved me! My thoughtless sin is bitterly atoned, and could he know all he would forgive-he did forgive me even when my curse was spoken! Oh, yes, he will come back and say, 'See, dearest, my life shall be a delightful task to make thee happy!' Oh, eternal hope, like the watch-light on the stormy coast, thou shinest the brighter for the darkness of the future. Has that future no bright spot for me?" and her eyes rested on a fleecy spot, away down on the scarce-defined bosom of the bay. Catharine watched it with a half attentive interest; and when, after an hour, it came up with the morning breeze, and emerged from the distance, a tall and splendid packet-brig, a wish, wild, thrilling, and tremulous, found utterance on her lips. "That bark," she whispered," is freighted with the destiny of many hearts-perhaps of mine?" Sweeping the curls from her eyes, she looked again, and the brig, like a stately swan just alighting, suddenly furled her snowy wings, and dropped anchor a half mile off, just opposite the grove. A boat was lowered-she saw it-it rowed towards her-she saw the silvery oars glancing in the sun, the glazed hats of the sailors, and the group of dark forms astern; she caught a glance of something like a female dress, and how strange that she should feel an instant pang-a dread she knew not of what! The boat came nearer-a tall form stood up in the stern, as if eager to spring to land, and she saw the gleam of naval buttons; but, suddenly, the boat had swept around a beautiful slope towards the landing, in a mimic bay, on the northern side of the mansion. Trembling and agitated, she knew not why, Catharine Harman hurried towards the house. At the gate of the lawn, she met her favorite servant. The girl was almost out of breath. 66 Mercy! what is the matter, Sarah ?" asked Catharine. · Oh, Miss Kitty, I'm so agitated—don't know who they are-it is a very pretty lady, almost as pretty as my mistress, and a gentleman favors poor dead Mas Charley, he's so handsome-but ah, poor young master!" 66 Hush!" Pale and faint, she leaned on the servant's arm, and they flew to the house. "I showed 'em in the front parlor," said the girl, "but don't go in now, my dear mistress, you look so sick." "Leave me," said Catharine, in a whisper; "I am well." Her cold hand was on the bolt-she stopped-then opened it with a shudder. A girl whose almost infantile loveliness would shame the fairest plaything of the pencil bounded with out-stretched arms from a sofa, and stood a living, eager, beautiful statue of impulse. The mournful yet splendid beauty of the superb woman before her-her form of such elegant mould, and her features so finished—faultless, yet so like his—seemed to have overpowered the innocent creature in her haste. Catharine was rooted to the spot; and the girl sunk to the floor like a dying flower, and murmured gently-" Sister!" "Sister!" burst wildly from Charles Harman, as he threw aside a folding door, and sprang to her side. Catharine stood white and hushed as the chiselled inspiration of the sculptor. Speak to me, Catharine, my own sister," and the lady was strained convulsively to her brother's bosom. "Sister," she slowly repeated, as if talking to spirits of air, "I am no sister!" "Catharine! Catharine! I am your own brother Charles! Speak-oh, tell me that you know me!" Reeling like an exquisite statue shaken from its base, she swooned on her brother's bosom. For many minutes of intensest interest, Catharine was stretched upon the sofa, in the embrace of the agonized Charles; her hair had showered in dancing masses around, in vivid contrast with the fearful white of her features. The lovely girl at her side was endeavoring with caresses to win her back to life. "See, Agnes," said Charles, "she recovers." "It was a sweet dream," heavily whispered Catharine; "oh, come back again!" 64 Sister, it is no dream." "That voice-Charles ?" "Catharine!" A searching glance, a scream of delirious joy, and the frantic lady poured a flood of delicious tears on the neck of her long-mourned brother. When she looked up again, an arm as soft and fair as her own stole around her neck, and the weeping Agnes drew their lips together. Charles Harman placed her lily hand in that of the bewildered Catharine, and fondly said-" My wife." And a happy day was that. The strange news of young Harman's life and return flew over the estate like a prairie fire. The wondering negroes capered and flew to the "great house," to see the dead alive. Those only who have witnessed the return of a travelling" young master," can form any idea of the outbreak. Every soul, young and old, man, woman, child, set into dancing as if for life. With a negro, dancing is the out-pouring of the soul; it is his religion and poetry. Never was there such a scene of jollity since the prime days of their fox-hunting "old master." A month passed amid the wonder and congratulations of friends. (To be Continued, LIFE AND DEATH. BY GEORGE L. CURRY. LIFE. How transient! yet how wearisome it seems! Illum'd with joy above the worldly kind, Then comes mid-age, most prone to guilt and art, Till in old age is wept the bitter hour Of birth, and penitence at last befriends, Or in despair, when all with ill seems fraught, Boston. DEATH. How dreadful 'tis to some-by others thought And worship Heaven in truth, have wished for nought Ye tired pilgrims journeying here below, Longing for immortality and bliss Ye world-adoring mortals! then prepare, Make pure your hearts, that God may enter in, For it is terrible to die in sin; The dread Hereafter foolishly to dare, To have your spirits, wingless, doomed to dwell THE MAGIC FIDDLE. A FORECASTLE YARN. TALK O' music-you should a' heared my old messmate Jack Splice, or "King Jack," as we afterwards called him, play on the wi-o-lin: it would have done your hearts good. Ah! Jack did with his fiddle what our guffees never did with their baggonets ashore; he saved the lives of a boat's crew; and more nor that, married a gov'nor's daughter, and was made King of the Island, and all along cause of his being sich a rare hand on the fiddle. Ah! you may snigger, my hearties, and thimk I'm running my chaffing ta'kle out, and coming Tom Pepper over ye, as was kicked out down below cause of his pitching it too strong; but I'm blessed! if the yarn isn't as true as that I'm capt'n o' the foretop o' this Her Maj'sty's ship B—. But you shall hear the sarcumstances jist for all the world as they happened. Ye see, my boys, when I was a young 'un I first of all tried my hand in the marchant sarvice, and having a straight-for'ard kindly sort o' a skipper, I took a trip or two in a trader to the West Ingees. The "William," as she was called, was a long wall-sided craft, with sich a sheer as ye never seed. Well, for the matter o' that she was decent enough for a marchantm'n, and if her decks war'n't holy-stoned as this here is, why there was some'ut less to do. In them 'ere days there was none o' your must'rings and 'spections, piping up and piping away, and exercises at great guns and small arms, as one sees and feels a-board a king's ship, and that too when an honest man might be taking his quid in peace, and be never the worse seaman; but I must belay my jaw-tacks, or mayhap the off'sir o' the watch mayn't like my 'pinion o' these here matters-not but all on ye knows I'll stick by the sarvice as long as my old timbers can lay out on a yard. Well, it was my third trip in the ship William, and we started with a fair wind from the Thames in the spring o' the year for Cuba. We carried out with us, besides our cargo, a lot o' pass'ngers. There was a young madam, the sweetest cretur ye ever knowed, a daughter o' a gov'nor o' one of the West Ingee islands, with an old lady and two sarvants to wait on her; and then there was a couple o' planter chaps, as yellow as a quar'ntine flag, together with a young sodger off'sir. But the best man o' the ship, for ard or aft, was Jack Splice! He was a pictur o' a seaman to look on, and though more of a youngster than an oldster, he could hand a sail or box the compass with e'er a blue jacket as ever sailed. The gals ashore said as how he was the prettiest lad they ever clapped eyes on, while the oldest on the crew 'knowledged he was the smartest hand they ever seed aloft, and so Jack was-I never knowed his like. But Lord bless ye! this valeys as nothing to Jack's playing on the fiddle: it was sweeter nor any thing you ever heared. Jack was the boy to make ye dance: give me sixwater giog! if there was ever a man as could well keep his legs steady when he struck up “Jack's Alive," or the "C'lege Hornpipe." Ah! I've seed Jack play and foot it at the same time-coming the double shuffle and toe and heel touch, as never a player-m'n a-port could. Well, as long as the fair weather lasted, the watches went pleasant, as we had Jack's fiddle, and now and then may-be a can o' grog from the pass'ngers. We had been running afore the wind for three weeks, when, after chopping about for a matter o' two days, it shifted, and a reg'lar lot o' heavy gales from the nor'-west set in. Well, we were 'bliged to shorten sail, and stand to the south'rd, but it wouldn't do, there were so many hands at the bellows we were forced to scud for it for three days, a dead loss on the log, as the first mate said. On the fourth day the wind went down a bit, and shifted a few pints round to the west, though it still continued to blow fresh. I had just turned out with the second mate and six hands for the morning watch, and the ship was bucklingto agin under courses and reefed to'sels on the starboard tack, when all ot once a hand for'ard sings outbreakers a-head!" The skipper as was on deck had just time to pipe all hands, that the ship might be put about, when she ran dead on to a coral reef, the formast smashing off by the board, and ev'ry man being pitched off his legs. Well, there the ship stuck, as fast as if she had been on the stocks, a long heavy sea making clean breaches over her groaning timbers as she lay cast over to leward. Well, what with the screeching o' the poor young madam and her women—the cries o' the other pass'ngers, and the roaring o' the breakers as dashed over the decks, it was enough to have shook the stoutest heart. Ye see it wasn't a time for thinking, but doing, and all hands were soon hard at work cutting away the wreck o' the foremast, and heaving over the cargo as could be got at to lighten the ship. The mizen was cut away and then she righted a bit, but we all soon seed there was never a chance of getting her off, as the tide was leaving her fast, and it was too rough to have carried out the best bower to have hove upon; and to make matters worse nor ever, the long boat was stove in, agin the larboard bulʼark by the second sea, as washed over the ship when she'd struck. Fort'nately the tide as it went down left us nigh high and dry, and then we seed as how the old barkey was struck hard between two rocks, with part o' her bottom and counter rig'larly smashed, so as she'd never a' floated together in deep water. Though the skipper had a stout heart, he said the next tide would finish her and all aboard if Prov'dence didn't send a sail that way. Part o' the crew were put to keep two short nine-pounders we had aboard firing by turns, while the other hands were keeping a bright look-out for a sail, or getting up provisions. Well, it was a black look-out as you may think my lads, as there seemed a pretty sartainty of our being all sent to Davy Jones. Some o' the crew had managed to get at a puncheon o' rum, and swearing they would die jolly, had got "three sheets in the wind," and were tumbling about the deck, and oaths and curses was mixed 'long with cries and pray'rs o' the pass'ngers. Well, the tide as was to break up the poor old barkey had turned, and the breakers, as white as milk, had just come rolling round the ship, pitching the spray on our decks, when Jack sung out— "A sail! a sail!" And sure enough there was a sail as could jist be diskivered, which set most of us nigh mad with joy. Our guns were kept blazing away; and for fear she should not see us, though we had our mainmast with our buntin revarsed in the wind, Jack sets to-he could turn his hand to any thing-and makes what he called a "smoke devil" of tar and powder, which he claps in a stone jar. Taking this up aloft, he makes it taut to the topmast, and setting it a-fire, a thick black smoke shot up into the sky. The stranger, we soon saw, seed it, as she put about and came scudding like a gull afore the wind, while all, as could, gave a cheer o' joy. We soon made her out to be a schooner, a riglar looking clipper, of about ninety ton, with a yellow streak just above her water-mark, and her decks filled with men. Giving the helm a sheer port, she brought up within half cable o' the reef, when a bluff-looking chap, in a red cap, hailed— "What wreck is that?" "The William from London, bound to Cuba," replied the skipper, "for God's sake send your boat, as we have but one left." The poor young madam and the other pass'ngers were giving thanks to Prov'dence, and the sober hands were feeling light at heart, getting the little jolly-boat ready in the davit ta'kles to lower. But the schooner's crew, 'sted o' manning their boat away, began jabbering among themselves for a minute or two, when the same voice as hailed afore sung out "We're sorry, but we can't bear a hand, as we're closely stowed already," and clapping her helm hard down the schooner luffed up in the wind and bore away. If you'd a-heared the screams and cries of all the poor creturs aboard our bark when the schooner, like a cursed craft as she was, left us, as we all thought, to feed the maws of the fishes-you'd never a-forgot it—it would a touched the heart of a savage. We were now as it were worser off nor ever the men refused to 'bey the skipper and mates, and it was every one for himself and God for us all. The first and second mates said as how it warn't any use to stay by the wreck, and they'd try the boat with the men as would go with 'em. Well, the skipper, third mate, and Jack, told 'em they'd be sure to be swamped; but it was never no use, and they'd have a try to reach land, as they couldn't well be far from some o' the islands in the Carribee Sea. After putting a quarter cask o' water, and some wine and junk as they'd got up from the ship's 'tween-decks, they were lowered away from the leward side, there being three men and the two mates in the bit o' a jolly. Off she put, and we seed her clear the breakers and get into a long and heavy sea, which carried her aloft as though a walnut-shell, and then stowed her from our sight. Presently a sea pooped her, we heard a cry come down on the wind, and then seed the galley floating keel up'ards, but never a hand holding on by her; her crew had become meat for the shirks about that black leef. Well, all thought now there was never a chance of living to see land again. The breakers came washing higher over the wreck, every sea making the ship's timbers groan agin, when Jack, as was a trying to comfort the young madam-for along of his music ye see he was a bit o' a fav'rite with the young missuswhen all at once he jumps up and sings out "Come, my hearties, never say die, I've knowed a raft live where never a boat could." Ay, ay, a raft! a raft!" sung out some o' the hands. Though the carpenter was laying dead drunk, like a lubber as he was, Jack set-to, along with me and two others, like a good one. The skipper shook his head, along with the third mate, as though it was never no good, but when they seed how knowingly and strong Jack lashed some spare spars and quarter-casks together, making a flush deck along with the ship's planks, my eyes! they all on 'em began to think o' Jack's hand-craft as off'ring a chance. After the float was made Jack, splitting up some o' the bul'ark o' the ship, makes a sort o' hand-rail round the raft. All hands then-there warn't but eight-had a hard matter to get the raft over. My eyes! it floated like a cork; and putting a couple o' lads in her, with two o' the long-boat's oars to keep the float from being foul o' the wreck, Jack, who was the life now aboard, set about getting up some victuals from the hold, that by this time, ye see, had a matter of six foot water. What with diving and rummaging about, Jack managed to loosen some o' the casks o' junk and water, and this, with a few bottles o' wine as he fished up, was handed down into the raft. By this time the sea was coming, tearing around and breaking over the wreck, carrying over two of the drunken hands, and making the others hold hard on the lee side o' the wreck close where the raft floated, the poor barkey all the while groaning as though she knowed her time was come. Well, pass'ngers, and what there was left o' the crew, were now anxious enough to get on the raft, as sea after sea came 'pon us, lifting the wreck, and striking her heavily on the reef; but Jack was 'gaged in getting a bit of a sail for the jury-mast of the raft. Well, we hands this over, with a lot o' ratlin for lashing the cargo well together, and then Jack shoves over his fiddle in a box, which he had stowed away in an old sail when the ship first struck, saying as how he'd live to play many a tune yet; and so he did, as how my hearties you shall all soon hear. All being ready, and the cargo made tant on the raft, we were all about to get the ladies and pass'ngers in, when the skipper sung out to hold hard, as a heavy sea was a-coming. We turned and seed it as big as a mountainLord, what a minute for us poor souls!-it took the water-logged old bark up like a stick, and then smashed her down further up on the reef into a thousand pieces. But one loud sing out, in which the stoutest hearts joined, and we were all in among the wreck and the breakers. Luckily I came up close agin the raft, and was hauled a-board by the two men in no time. Though we kept a bright look-out to pick up any hands, few o' them rose after their first duck, cause o' the floating timbers which smashed against 'em, so that we could only manage at first to pick up the skipper, and the sodger off'sir, and a man. Presently I caught a sight o' poor Jack a couple o' boats' length off a-making for the raft, and holding up the young missus. He was just spent, poor fellow, when I heaved over the end o' an oat, which he laid hold on, and we hauled them both on to the raft. Well, for a time we were all feared o' being smashed by some o' the wreck as floated around us, as well, ye see, as being washed off the raft, which had got low in the water. Howsomdever, by making a few stretches o' ratlin across the spars we managed to hold on and get clear o' the reef. Well, the first thing Jack and the skipper did, was to pour a little rum down the young madam's throat, which brought her to a bit, and then a glass was sarved round in an old tin pot as I had thrown on the raft. Well, there were eight on us drifting away on a bit o' a raft on a strong sea, as came over us nigh every minute. Fort'nately Jack's work held on strong, and the skipper had hopes of falling in with some o' the islands as he said laid about them latitudes. Well, the wind went down with the tide, and the night-sich a night may I never see again!-passed, and we found ourselves in the morning's light cold, wet, and hungry, with never a land or sail in sight. Give me nine-water grog, if it warn't a blue look-out; and, to make matters worse, a bag o' biscuit as we had kivered with a sail, was quite salt with the water, so that the little sarved out by the skipper only made us want to drink more, and each of us was only 'lowed a quarter pint a day. Well, in this miserable sitivation one-two-three days past, the wine all gone, and our fresh water nigh out, and we all mad for drink. But I aint going to spin ye a yarn o' the terrible feelings and doings on that raft, where there wasn't one that didn't wish he'd gone to Davy with the wreck. On the fifth day the water was all gone-no sail, no land-the wind had gone down, and the sun was shining hotly upon our blistered bodies as though it would bake us. Bill Stayling, one o' the hands as had charge o' the raft when the ship broke up, was lying dead, and we too weak to heave him overboard; the poor old skipper was fast going, he did nothing but talk o' " land," but it was a better land nor we could see where he was soon to go. Poor Jack, as had tried to cheer us up to the last, could hardly speak, still he held up the poor young madam in his arms. Ah! poor Jack had nursed her as a father would his child, and even made her take part o' his share o' the 'lowance o' water while it lasted, and that too when he was nigh crazy for the want o' it himself. Well, the sea was as smooth as glass as we drifted along, while a lot o' shovel-nosed shirks were frisking about the raft, as though the cursed creturs knowed there was a feed for them aboard. Well, there were but seven of us now left, the skipper, the young sodger off"sir, three hands beside myself, and the young madam. Well, one or two began to look quite wild and fierce, and there was a sort o' whisper or two in which the sodger off'sir was consarned, and then the terrible truth on it come out-which man was to die that the others might live a bit longer, in chance of being picked up. The poor skipper shook his head, and poor Jack tried to argufy against it, but he was too weak, and the poor young madam, as lay with her head agin his arm and her eyes staring, only gripped his shoulder, which she had hold on, harder. But the sodger off" sir and others said it was better one should die than all. Howsomdever he said they'd wait another day. Well, I'd as lieve died as not; but half a hour after this, looking ahead, I screeched out for joy-oh it was joy I felt sich as I had never felt afore, though it nigh choked me, and it was more nor a minute afore I could say "land ahead!" Poor Jack and the others seemed to doubt, as there had been so many cries afore of land, but looking ahead there was a blue streak as grew darker and darker nigh every minute. "It is-it is land!" cried Jack "God be praised!" |
