dreadful contest he had so opportunely concluded, when the frigate's long-boat, crowded with officers, came alongside; but when he saw the old commodore with open arms approaching, he reverentially uncovered, and bowed low to him. The old man suddenly stopped short, and, recoiling a few paces, raised his hands to his forehead, as if to bring some recollection hither; then, with a tear-drop standing in his eye, he stretched out his hand to Macarthy, and said, "And is Walter Macarthy my preserver?" Emotion choked his further utterance, but in a few moments he continued: "Walter, I have wronged you! Yes, by Heaven, I have deeply, foully wronged you; but a soul like yours must forgive;" and the old man low vor to make amends, in some degree, for the pain I have caused you." brig, to sail against a famous French smuggler that traded on the north-western coast of England. On the third day after sailing from Spithead, he hove in sight of his object, then about to land a valuable cargo; and after four hours' hard fighting, in which he lost nearly one half of his crew, he towed the prize into port, where, having delivered her up to the authorities, and refitted, he proceeded to London to surrender his command. But his little vessel was destined to never reach the land. When he was doubling the Land's End, a tremendous gale from the north-east set in, and he was blown out to sea; however, when the storm began to abate, he again stood on his former course, and was proceeding steadily on, when the bursts of artillery broke over the swell-ered his voice while he said, “I will endeaing ocean, and the very heavens seemed to tremble in echoing back the heavy booms. Macarthy immediately resolved to alter his course, and he was soon slashing on towards the place whence the sounds proceeded. A few leagues brought him in sight of two large ships in a hot engagement; and, crowding all sail, he soon came within range of their guns. The British ensign was fluttering from the mizen peak of one, while that of France spread its proud folds from the foremast head of the other. Macarthy did not long hesitate, but, getting his little brig ready for action, he bore up to the assistance of his countryman. The Frenchman had boarded his antagonist, and numbers fell on both sides; but when the English beheld the succor that had arrived, their sunken courage sprang up again, and they soon re-energies together; after a sort of tumult repulsed the boarders who had rushed on them. Broadside after broadside did the little brig pour into the stern of the enemy, until at length, overpowered by the renewed attacks of both crews, and finding their vessel fast sinking, the Frenchman struck, and the English ensign floated above theirs, amid the triumphant cheers of the victors. Mutual congratulations ensued, and the venerable commander of the British frigate rushed forward to embrace his preserver. Macarthy was leaning on his cutlass, fatigued after the Macarthy was silent; not a word escaped his lips; but he fervently pressed the commodore's hand to his bosom, and then turned hastily away, to hide the tribute of gratitude that rose to his eye. What must he have felt when the father of her whose image was enshrined in his soul, once more took him to his bosom, and dashed down the barrier that intervened between him and the object of his early love! The officers and men who were looking on this scene were filled with wonder, and most of them shook their heads, unable to understand why their old weather-beaten commander should be so moved. But while they were conjecturing the cause, a new event called all their below, which lasted a few minutes, the carpenter rushed upon deck, and with hurried accents announced that a shot had struck the vessel on one of the bilge-planks, and she was fast sinking. All was immediate bustle, each endeavoring to save as much as he could conveniently carry. The boats were soon manned; and, just as Macarthy stepped into the last boat, and moved away to a short distance, his gallant little brig rolled heavily in the sea, and the water closed over her in a vast whirlpool. The 約 After a tedious journey, the commodore and Macarthy at length came in sight of their destination. Oh! how did the restored lover's heart bound when all the scenes of his early endearments severally presented themselves to his view, and when the carriage drove up to the door of the house that contained his Emily! In a few moments the lovely girl, with every charm floating around her, rushed into the arms of her fond father, and then, with burning blushes suffusing her face and bosom, she paid a tri- | bute of true affection to the enchanted Macarthy. She was, in truth, a model of female loveliness. The rich, glossy, black tresses that floated in unrestrained locks over her neck, and fell gracefully back, revealing a noble forehead, white as Parian marble, contrasted beautifully with the clear transparency of her bosom; while her easy, naturally majestic carriage, and exquisitely symmetrical figure, left no room for the most fastidious critic to stand upon. Then she had such a heart, and such a spring of noble affections! In short, she was a paragon of mental and bodily perfection. But to our tale. A week passed away, in which Walter reveled in all the delights of mutual love. But his happiness was too complete, of too divine a cast to dwell in mortal bosom. He had walked out with his Emily, and the shades of evening closed over them before they thought of returning, but the moon rose up and shed down her mild, chaste light. It is at such a time that the heart will open, and the most secret workings of its core develop themselves. It is in such an hour that the breathings of affection will arise like incense, and offer themselves in sacrifice at the shrine of eternal fidelity. Emily talked long and endearingly, and the ravished Walter could have bowed down in adoration. The hours passed rapidly away, and the time of parting at length came. "Walter," said the affectionate girl, as they lingered, gazing on the full moon sailing through her ocean of glory, and a pearldrop glittered in her eloquent blue eye"Walter, I am a little sad; there is a whispering consciousness within me that a rude hand will part us. I cannot free myself from the idea, for I felt the same foreboding before you went first. But may God avert that stroke, for I shall sink under its affliction!" and she fervently raised her now streaming eyes to heaven. "Emily," said Macarthy, "your fears are groundless; the power is not of earth that can drag you from my bosom. Cheer up! Fortune will smile, and then "Is not that a bad omen, Walter?" said Emily, smiling languidly, and pointing to a dark, heavy cloud that rushed over the moon, and darkened every object. "I heed not omens, love," said Macarthy, "when thou art my horoscope. Fortune shall pursue my tread when thou art the star of my destinies. It will rain soonadieu, Emily;" and, for the first time, he sealed his parting with an ambrosial kiss. The morning came, gloomy and cheerless, and with it a letter from the Admiralty still more gloomy to the fate of Walter. It required his immediate attendance at London, and he must set out without a moment's delay. He took a hasty farewell from the old commodore, but a still more painful and lengthened one from his heart-bursting daughter. "Oh!" said she, "Walter, I guessed aright. Adieu! I feel our happiness is at an end;" and a torrent of tears gushed from the eyes of the fair one. Macarthy was overcome; he once more pressed her to his heart, and tore himself from her embrace, and in a few moments was on the road. After a fatiguing journey, he reached London, and presented himself at the office of the Board. What must have been his astonishment when he was there arraigned event, but listless and without reflection. Four years passed, and she still remained little altered; and then it was that a formerly rejected suitor put in his claim for her hand. The old commodore was sinking to the grave; and he greedily snatched at the protection thus afforded to the last tie of affection that bound him to the world. Emily cared not for herself; indeed, when marriage was first proposed to her, her former for appropriating a part of the smuggler's cargo to his own use! and how much more did he wonder when his own first-lieutenant, the friend of his bosom, appeared as his accuser! A deep curse rose from his lips on the villain, and, under a violent feeling of resentment, he struck him a blow that felled him to the ground and deprived him of life. The venerable dignitaries before whom he stood were horrified; and before any of the officers of the court could appre-energy arose for a moment, but then it fell hend him, he was far out of the reach of their power. Rewards were offered for his head, but he succeeded in escaping to France, where he stood in defiance of the vengeance that awaited him in the British isles. Here he did not long remain inactive; he soon was in the command of a noble brigantine, with a daring crew, and he put to sea with a determination to harass the enemies of his peace as far as he could. Years rolled away, and every day brought accounts of the feats of the "Flying Pirate." The most aggravated cruelties he practised, and he showed no mercy to any who fell into his hands. Frigates and ships of the line were dispatched against him; yet he contrived to escape all, and still continued his devastations on the deep. He was well known on all the coasts of England and Ireland, and his appearance off any place was very seldom unattended by some dreadful tragedy. No wonder, then, he was feared by all, and the very mention of his name brought terror to the listeners. We will return to the deserted partner of his love. Emily sunk when she heard the extraordinary termination of his journey; and her constitution gradually withered, until at length the once lovely girl was reduced to a thing of blight, and a victim to misfortune. Her fond father tried every method to stimulate her to exertion, and his efforts were not altogether unsuccessful. She had a strong mind; but she never could recover the "lost bouquet" of her happiness; and she lingered on, passing her days in a sort of mechanical order, unmovable by any lower than before, and she passively became Sir William De Carton's bride. * * The brigantine was lying-to under the verge of a mountain, on the west coast of Ireland. There was a dead calm on the waters of the Atlantic, as I have described in the commencement of this sketch; but, after a short time, a breeze sprung up off the land, and the pirate-schooner moved rapidly away before it. She held on her course during the night, and the next morning brought her in sight of a vessel of her own size, under a heavy press of canvas, on her weather bow. The pirate pursued; and, as night came on, they came within range of each other. Without waiting for the morning's light, she ran down on board the chase, which proved to be an English packet, and in a few minutes grappled her. Then came the deeds of blood., The pirates fought with savage ferocity, and the English deck was soon strewed with the brave who defended her. The pirates, as was their custom, commenced butchering their prisoners, and at length they dragged the last passenger from his hiding-place on deck. He was evidently a gentleman; and his noble carriage in some degree repelled the brutal conduct of his enemies. Torches blazed around, and the scene of carnage, lighted by their yellow glare, had a dreadful appearance. One ruffian stepped forward, and raised his cutlass to bury it in the body of this last victim, when he drew a small stiletto, and struck the wretch to the heart. His companions now rushed from all sides, crying, in savage tones, "Down with him! down with him!" when a female staggered forward from the companion-way, dead body of her husband, exclaiming, "Oh, and threw herself between the murderers and their aim. "Back, ruffian !" screamed she: "he is my husband! Strike me, avenge your wrath on me, but spare him!" Appalled, the grim pirates shrank back a moment; then, as if with a signal, a hundred pistols flashed in the darkness, and the poor victim fell without a groan. Macarthy, who till now had been a passive spectator, rushed forward just as the gentleman fell, and then he encountered the maniac eye of the lady. He staggered backwards a few yards, and she, as if suddenly struck by lightning, gazed fixedly for a moment on his features, and then fell prostrate on the Heaven, 'tis Walter !" Macarthy now hastily advanced to raise the lady, but he only clasped the corpse of the unfortunate Emily. He knelt down on the bloody deck, and bent for a time over the lifeless clay of the girl he still loved; then raising his eyes to heaven, with hands clasped on his breast, he seemed to pray fervently for some minutes. He then slowly arose, and having taken a last lingering look of the wreck of beloved loveliness, he went on board his own vessel, followed by his ruthless crew. His brigantine was soon under weigh, and the deeds of that night ended the sanguinary career of the unfortunate, but noble-hearted Walter Macarthy. EDITORIAL. THOMAS R. WHITNEY, EDITOR. THE NATIONAL BAPTISM.-It is often said that the few have to think for the many, and there certainly appears good foundation for the remark. Witness the action of the comparatively few minds, who, thinking out the then mystified problem of the rights of man, laid the foundation for America's compact as a nation. They, realizing in man an inherent right to self-government, not only as an individual but as a people, yearned to free themselves alike from the tyranny of despotism and the thraldom experienced under monarchical rule. But it was with uplifted eyes that mentally, ay, prayerfully, the aid of their Maker was invoked, and man must ever be thankful that God heard the prayer. What a grand retrospect is there to those who perceive their noble, generous aim of individual advancement, to be obtained only through the common weal; good to self through good will to all! Were they men imbued simply with feelings of humanity? Nay, they were beings in the image of God, beaming with enlightened intelligence, evincing that his laws were written in their hearts. Philanthropy thus rose as a beacon-light in the Western World, bidding the nations rejoice in hope for the future release of mankind from not only temporal, but also from spiritual bondage. Hope? Yes, hope; for there was still to be a fearful struggle that awful baptism of fire and sword through which the pioneers of liberty had to pass, in order to regenerate and bind themselves in the brotherhood that should constitute them a distinct and independent nation. 'Twas passed, and they became Americans, brothers in one family, children in liberty, and no longer a mixed body, claiming different fatherlands. Patriots became they, loving their country, the country for which they had just fought, and whose elevation among the nations of the earth had been achieved. will towards their fellow-man, without endangering the liberties so dearly purchased? Such were the questions presented to the intelligence of the founders of this noble republic; and although the American mind had been developed, yet that it might possibly degenerate through neglect, or otherwise become overpowered by the enmixing of extraneous views, were their reflections, and, as such, should always prompt Americans to cherish the all-wise admonition of the great father, "beware of foreign influence." It is only by cultivating and nurturing similar fundamental convictions to those entertained by their forefathers, and by giving to them tone and expression throughout the land, that the children may hope to avoid withholding the privilege of citizenship from foreigners, (yet to arrive,) or the necessity of struggling against them for the maintenance of present liberties. It has been said that foreigners fought for this country, and consequently that foreigners have a right to enjoy equal rule in it. Curious logic! An equally pertinent question would be, against whom did they fight? Was it against foreigners? If so, then, since those who fought for the country and remained steadfast therein, became Americans, it naturally follows that their children and children's children should have the right of election, to avoid getting wolves and sheep into the same fold. The benefits resulting from that trying baptism through which their sires and grandsires passed, should be preserved by them inviolate against the inroads of all foreign powers; always remembering, that that baptism which assimilated minds and tested their fidelity has passed; and may God forbid that there should ever be need of a renewing through a civil strife, or that the safeguard of an oath of allegiance, from which a foreign potentate may grant absolution, should ever prove too frail a bond for the safety of Ame Was the structure to stand?—would future generations preserve the same tone of noble manliness, the same open generosity and good-rican liberties! |