THE SAILOR. During an excursion which I made through a few of the northern counties of Scotland, in the summer of 1818, I remained for a few days at L, a small fishing village on the

coast.

Not far from the inn where I re

and covetousness, are robbed of their goods;-and here, the afflicted tossed with tempest, and not comforted, after the storms of life are past, find a peaceful

a

a

haven.

During these reflections, my eye by chance caught aglimpse of a head-stone, ornamented with the figure of a sided, yet removed from the noise and ship, and immediately below it the names William and Mary.' Upon tumult of the village, stands a lonely church-yard, the burial-place of the close inspection, I found, that under surrounding parish. Thither I once this stone actually lay the remains of went, with the intention of viewing the sea-faring man and his wife. I was place, and soon arrived, thoughtful and beginning to reflect upon it, when the solitary, before this last earthly abode sexton entered the burying ground, of the children of Adam. Anxious whom I requested to give me an account of the persons whose remains to enter the consecrated spot, I mounted the steps that conduct the footpath this stone covered. We sat down into this solitary mansion! when lo! upon a grave, and he told me a most a scene truly afflicting and humiliating pathetic and interesting story, the subpresented itself. The ground rose in many a grassy hillock, and imagination readily suggested, that the dust below

was the remains of men who were once alive and active:

Kept the world awake,

With lustre and with noise.'

stance of which follows:

'William was a young fisherman born in this village; he was brought up by his industrious parents, in the constant employment of this laborious avocation, and while a boy, if any intermission took place in the fishing, through the Here, in this vast recepticle of rigour of the season, the opportunity mouldering bones, and putrifying flesh, was embraced by his father, of sending the remains of persons of all denomi-him to school, that he might get innations and descriptions, without re-struction. When William grew up, gard to distinction or rank, or age, or his personal acomplishments surpassed sex, lie huddled together; and what those of almost all the young men of must be humiliating in the extreme, to the village. He was handsome and the sons and daughters of pride, there robust, and possessed a vigorous unbeing no bounds of separation below derstanding. ground, these corruptible bodies mix in their progress of dissolution.

Here, the lofty looks of the proud are brought down, not merely to a level, but to a rank beneath the dust we tread on. Here, in the grave, the great and mighty potentate, whose dread frown was followed by immediate death to his subject, lies equally humbled with the slave that supported his train. Here, the bitter, ill-natured, and contentious, are brought to agree in the dust at last. Here, the sons of envy

Whilst he was living in this happy and contented situation, he married, at the age of twenty two, Mary, a young villager who had been his intimate friend from his infancy, and who shone, no less than he, in her beauty of person, and excellence of character. They loved each other passionately, and knew each other so well before their union, that, that circumstance made no change on their affections, but rendered their happiness still more complete than before.

The whole village attended him to. the grave, where he was laid by the side of his dear wife.

That grave contains them, where they sweetly slumber.'

RUSTICUS.

The young couple had been bles- in a few days, he expired exclaiming sed in the possession of each other' my Mary!' four months, when one day William was engaged to pilot a ship to a neighbouring port. The day was fine, and the wind fair. Mary had, with her usual attention, a refreshing supper prepared for her husband, who she expected to arrive in the evening, fatigued with the labours of the day; and to be as usual cheered with her kindness, and her simple song-He never arrived, he was impressed and sent on board a man-of-war; sadly did Mary sigh, sadly did she weep, and bitterly did she lament the cruel fate that tore her William from her, and threw him into bondage; but unavailing were her sighs, and unheard were her complaints, and those of got the name of the coffin-chamber; many a widowed wife, helpless child, and so much were the old people reand comfortless parent in that thriving conciled by use to their last homes, village. The prime of the place, the that they actually looked upon them noble youths were all borne away-as common cupboards, and employed perhaps never to return. them as such, to hoard up clothes, and even eatables.

'Her cup of sorrow was not yet full, for in a few weeks she heard it read from the newspapers, that the ship in which her husband was, had foundered at sea, and not a soul had been saved: at this she fainted and fell into a fever, but recovered only to relapse again, when she expired.

When the war was ended, William came back, to the astonishment of the whole village; he informed them that he had been appointed to serve on board another ship than the one that foundered, and so was preserved. It was tried to keep his wife's death a secret from him for some time, and so prepare him to bear the fatal disclosure. He was impatient for her, and they were obliged to tell him the melaneholy truth, which, when he heard, he sunk back on his chair, and fell into a swoon, and when he recovered, he became mad and outrageous, which threw him into a burning fever, and.

THE TWO COFFINS. In a village of Magdeburg lived an old peasant and his older wife, who, from whim, or simple weariness of life, took it into their heads to have their coffins made beforehand, that they might be ready when they were wanted. In the lack of other room they were set in a store-chamber, which hence

At length, the aged house-mother. died, or rather slept away into the other world, without pain or sickness, from absolute decay; leaving her solitary partner to mourn her loss, and with an unfeigned longing to join her in the grave. So sincere, indeed, was his grief, that he took to his bed, and was forced to leave the management of the burial to his friends and neighbours, who were nothing loathe to the task, no less from a love of meddling than from humanity. They emptied the coffin, of the deceased, of the eatables which had been stored in it, and laid the old woman decently and quietly, in the last home she was likely to inhabit. When evening came, they bore the coffin to the grave, with few ceremonies, but perhaps with more sincere tears than are ever dropped on the marble monuments of the rich and powerful. The last bell tolled-the last earth was

scattered and the green sod was bound over her resting-place, from which she was never again to rise, till the call to the day of judgment.

ways bore with him the more honourable name of the store-room; the fact is, that Peter in his fear had forgotten, or indeed had found no time, to lock it-an omission, of which the other

6

However much the old man might grieve for the departure of his wife, little rogue was not slow to take adyet his natural good spirits soon brought vantage. In an instant he was in the him on his legs again; and, not to be room; but, instead of seizing a pear, alone, he took home to him a couple he grasped the ice-cold hand of his of his grandchildren-two lively boys, grandmother, who stood before him well calculated to break up the solitude as if newly risen from her grave.of his house. One morning he sent The child gave a fearful shriek, and the eldest, Peter, with the key of the hurried back to the old man, who was coffin-room, to get out some baked already coming to meet him, and to fruit for the next approaching dinner, whose inquiries he could only answer, saying to him, You will find the bak- My grandmother! My grandmother!' ed plumbs in one end of my coffin, and This was only making the mystery more the pears in the other.' The boy, mysterious, and he therefore hastened who had no fear of coffins that contain- to the room himself, to clear it up if ed plumbs and pears, set off willingly possible; when scarcely had he crosson his errand; but he was soon back ed the threshold, than he also paused again, and without the fruit, trembling with terror: there, sure enough, was from head to foot, and pale as any his own wife-his buried wife-lying spectre. stretched out in her coffin as if ready for her grave! If before he doubted the children, he could now just as little trust to the testimony of his own eyes: he stood rooted to the spot, without even daring to venture on a Peter. No nonsense, father!-closer examination into this unaccountThere she is in the coffin-her eyes able appearance. But fortunately, the wide open-paler then her own wind-outcry of the children had alarmed the ing-sheet. neighbours, who came in crowds to The Grandfather.-In my coffin ! | learn the reason of it; many of these Why it is full of the fruit you are to had followed the coffin to her grave, fetch. and at first all were so overpowered Peter-May-be--may-be--But by terror, that they too were afraid to there, however, is grandmother, wrap-stir a step in the way of explanation. ped up in her shroud.

Peter. Grandmother is here! grandmother is here!

The Grandfather,-Are you in your senses, boy? What nonsense are you chattering now?

They had, however, numbers and daylight on their side-two circumstances which at last gave them so much courage, that they ventured to the coffin; where they found-not a spirit-but the very corpse of the old man's wife.

At first, the old man thought that his grandson was half asleep, but Peter faithfully protested that he was never more awake in his life, and persisted in having really seen the spirit. In the mean time, the little lickerish A little consideration was sufficient to Christian, the younger brother, who knew nothing of all this, had observed that the door of the coffin-room was open a place which, by-the-bye, al

solve this wonder. Both the coffins were covered with their lids, and both those lids were fastened; when, therefore, they meant to bear out the coffin

THE HARP, A TALE. From the German of the Poet Korner.

with the dead, by a very easy mistake this symptom of indisposition, but they had carried off its neighbour to concealed it from her anxious husband; the grave-and thus they had buried naturally susceptible of nervous comthe fruit instead of the old woman, plaints, the attention which she had who, by this simple oversight, seemed lent to the music, and the emotions to reappear in the character of a spectre. it excited in her delicate frame, had increased a slight indisposition to fever, and she was now evidently ill. A physician was called in, who so little anticipated danger that he promised a cure on the morrow. But after a night spent in delirium, her disorder was pronounced a nervous fever, which completely baffled the efforts of medical skill, and on the ninth day was confessedly mortal. Josephine herself was perfectly sensible of her approaching dissolution, and with mild resignation submitted to her fate.

The secretary Sellner had begun to to taste the first spring of happiness with his youthful bride. Their union was not founded on that vague and evanescent passion which often lives and dies almost in the same moment; sympathy and esteem for the basis of attachment. Time and experience, without diminishing the ardour, had Addressing her husband, for the last confirmed the permanence, of their time, she exclaimed:- My dear mutual sentiments. It was long since Edward, Heaven can witness it is with they had discovered that they were unutterable regret that I depart from formed for each other, but want of this fair world, where I have found fortune imposed the necessity of a te- with thee a state of supreme felicity; dious probation; till Sellner, by ob- but though I am no longer permitted taining the patent for a place, found to live in those arms, doubt not thy himself in possessson of an easy com- faithful Josephine shall still hover petence, and on the following Sunday round thee, and as a guardian-angel brought home in triumph his long- encircle thee till we meet again.'betrothed bride. A succession of She had scarcely uttered these words ceremonious visits for some weeks en- when she sunk on her pillow, and grossed many of those hours that the soon fell into a slumber, from which young couple would have devoted to she awoke no more; and when the each other. But no sooner was this clock was striking nine, it was observed onerous duty fulfilled, than they eag- that she had breathed her last. The erly escaped from the intrusion of so- agonies of Sellner may be more easily ciety to their delicious solitude; and conceived than described: during the fine summer evenings were but some days it appeared doubtful whe too short for plans and anticipations ther he would survive; and when, of future felicity. Sellner's flute and after a confinement of some weeks, Josephine's harp filled up the intervals he was at length permitted to leave of conversation, and with their har- his chamber, the powers of youth monious unison seemed to sound the seemed paralysed, his limbs were enprelude to many succeeding years of feebled, his frame emaciated, and he bliss and concord. One evening, when sunk into a state of stupor, from which Josephine had played longer than usu- he was only to be roused by the bital, she suddenly complained of a head-terness of grief. To this poignant ache; she had, in reality, risen with anguish succeeded a fixed melan

choly; a deep sorrow consecrated the himself on his bed it was only to rave memory of his beloved: her apartment deliriously of the harp; after a sleepremained precisely in the state in which less night he rose only to anticipate it had been left previous to her death; the renewal of his emotions; with -on the work-table lay her unfinish- unspeakable impatience he awaited the ed task; the harp stood in its accus- return of evening, when he again tomed nook, untouched and silent; repaired to Josephine's apartment, every night Sellner went in a sort of where, as before, when the clock pilgrimage to the sanctuary of his love, struck nine, the harp began to play, and taking his flute, breathed forth, in concert with the flute, and proin deep plaintive tones, his fervent longed its melodious accompaniment aspirations for the cherished shade. till the tones gradually subsided to a He was thus standing in Josephine's faint and tremulous vibration, and all apartment, lost in thought, when a again was silent. Exhausted by this broad gleam of moonlight fell on the second trial, it was with difficulty that open window, and from the neigh-Sellner tottered to his chamber, where bouring tower the watchman proclaim- the visible alteration in his appeared the ninth hour; at this moment, ance excited so much alarm, that the as if touched by some invisible spirit, physician was again called in, who, the harp was heard to respond to his with sorrow and dismay, detected agflute in perfect unison. Thunder-gravated symptoms of the fever which struck at this prodigy, Sellner sus- had proved so fatal to Josephine; and pended his flute, and the harp became so rapid was its progress, that in two silent; he then began, with deep emo-days the patient's fate appeared inevittion, Josephine's favourite air, when able. Sellner became more composthe harp resumed its melodious vibra-ed, and revealed to the physician the tions, thrilling with ecstasy. At this secret of his late mysterious commuconfirmation of his hopes he sunk on nications, avowing his belief that he the ground, no longer doubting the should not survive the approaching presence of the beloved spirit; and evening. No arguments could rewhilst he opened his arms to clasp her move from his mind this fatal presage; to his breast, he seemed to drink in as the day declined, it gained strength; the breath of spring, and a pale glim- and he earnestly entreated, as a last mering light fitted before his eyes. request, to be conveyed to Josephine's I know thee, blessed spirit,' ex-apartment. The prayer was granted. claimed the bewildered Sellner; thou Sellner no sooner reached the welldidst promise to hover round my known spot, than he gazed with insteps, to encircle me with thy immor- effable satisfaction on every object tal love. Thou hast redeemed thy endeared by affectionate remembrance. word; it is thy breath that glows on The evening hour advanced; he my lips; I feel myself surrounded by dismissed his attendants, the physician thy presence. With rapturous emo-alone remaining in the apartment. tion he snatched the flute, and the When the clock struck nine Sellner's harp again responded, but gradually countenance was suddenly illumined, its tones became softer, till the melo-the glow of hope and pleasure flushed dious murmurs ceased, and all again his wan cheeks, and he passionately was silent. Sellner's feeble frame was exclaimed- Josephine, greet me completely disordered by these tu- once more at parting, that I may multuous emotions; when he threw overcome the pangs of death.' At