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prevailed upon my aunt to let me go to church, assuring her that I could battle with the wind, which, though still strong enough to be inconvenient, was as nothing compared with the fury of the preceding evening. Rather reluctantly my aunt gave permission, and I went, sallying forth alone. It did not rain as I pursued my way to the church; but the agitation of the sea seemed more tremendous than ever the waves were running "mountainhigh." I reached my destination without let or hindrance, and the wind was to my back; but during the service I thought the tempest once more gathered strength, and at last I was sure that the storm was wilder than ever, for the clergyman's voice was drowned in the wild uproar of wind and wave.

And just as the brief inaudible sermon was being hastily concluded, I saw many people leaving the church; and the clergyman himself pronounced the blessing with extreme rapidity, and ran down the pulpit-stairs with most unclerical speed. The congregation quickly dispersed, and I soon found myself in the porch. It rained, and I put up my umbrella, and, grasping the handle with one hand and the edge with the other, I tried to make my way down the little hill to the shore. In a moment my umbrella was turned inside out, and torn to ribbons, my dress was thrown over my bonnet, and, if I had had a large crinoline on, I believe I should have been carried away bodily into the bay.

When I came down on the shore, I found all the population of Scarby assembled. Not fifty yards

Close

from the land was a small vessel tossing wildly on the rocks, and the crew were making signals for assistance; we even thought we could hear them shout and call for aid; but Scarby then had no lifeboat, and it is a question whether even a life-boat Icould have lived for a minute in such a sea. at hand was a cottage, where we kept our bathingdresses; and I rushed in, and, throwing off my bonnet, begged from the good woman of the house the loan of a large coarse shawl; and, wrapping myself in its thick folds, I hurried down to the beach. Just as I reached the principal group, the vessel heaved tremendously, and then down she went, with all her crew, into the black, boiling waters! Once more she rose; and, as she did so, a cry of grief-a wail-ran along the shore; for five men were still clinging to the rigging and to the sides of the ship. For more than a minute the unfortunate vessel hung poising on the crest of a mighty wave; then slowly-slowly-she sank down, and was seen no more. In about a quarter of an hour, the tide having turned, pieces of the wreck were washed up at our feet; but the once living freight slept on in the bosom of the deep; there to rest till, on the morning of the resurrection, the sea shall give up her dead.

Awed and trembling, thinking of the corpses beneath the wave, and the souls swept into eternity, I turned me to go home.

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No other sound or stir of life was there,
Except my steps in solitary chamber,
From flight to flight, from humid stair to stair,
From chamber into chamber.

Deserted rooms of luxury and state,

That old magnificence had richly furnished
With pictures, cabinets of ancient date,
And carvings, gilt and burnished.

Prophetic hints that filled the soul with dread,
But through one gloomy entrance pointing mostly,
The while some secret inspiration said,

That chamber is the Ghostly!

HOOD.

SADDENED and depressed, I reached our lodgings; and all that day, and the following night, my heart was very heavy. The thought of death weighed painfully upon me; it haunted me continually, and I could not emerge from the train of reflection, which the mournful spectacle of the sinking ship, and the drowning mariners, had suggested. Death -death; strange and awful mystery, the severance of body and soul; how inexpressibly terrible it appeared to my shrinking spirit!

At that time, death was to me the sad end of life, the close of happiness, the expiration of every hope and every joy, the entrance to the gloomy grave. Like a dark shadow, it fell on the bright pathway of mortal existence; like an icy wind, it

swept over the sunny warmth of my earthly day. And, with all my being, I shrank back appalled and apprehensive; for I feared, I dreaded to die.

Then, I thought of Death as the King of Terrors; and grim and spectral was his ghastly form, to my imagination. Little did I think that a time would come when I should think of him as a lovely, solemn angel; as "Death, the consoler," who, "laying his hand on many a heart, had healed it for ever”—a time when rest should seem all that was left to wish for a time when I should read the touching Acadian tale of the American poet, and linger over the lines which said:

"All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow; All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing; All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience;"

and long, with heart-broken sadness, for such an ending, and such a repose from the storms and cares of mortal life. And such a time did come: the shadow of death was upon me; the treasures of my heart were reft away, and I refused to be comforted.

But, thank God, when that time came, I arose from the ashes in which I had lain so long, and cried, "God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever." "The sting of death is sin; but thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ." "For to me, to live is Christ, but to die is gain."

And now I wait, in hope and in thanksgiving,

looking for the first token of the Master's sum

mons

"For it may be, I'm nearer home,
Nearer now than I think."

But to return to that miserable Sunday at Scarby. A weight of gloom was on my soul, that only change of scene could dispel: I never looked at the sparkling sea, flecked with foam and sunshine-for the fair weather soon returned without thinking of the depths beneath, where the dead were lying; and it was with unmingled joy that I saw Mrs. Susannah making preparations for our departure; and a sense of relief came upon me, as I saw for the last time the rocky headlands of the bay.

On a quiet, golden autumnal day we re-entered Lunechester; the hills looked grey and calm, the old Castle stood proudly in the mellow sunshine, and even the Castle House itself looked tranquilly pleasant, as we paused before its threshold once more. I went out into the large, old-fashioned garden, and there were autumn flowers still blazing in all their beauty: the terrace beds were bright with scarlet geraniums, deep blue salvias, and manytinted ḍahlias; the pears and apples hung ripe and mellow on the trees; the rich bloom was on the purple plum, and the sunny apricot and the crimsonflushed peach were on the ancient walls. I walked round and round that green quiet domain, pausing once or twice before the low door that opened into what had once been the garden and orchard of the Priory, and wishing that it were possible to pass

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