fell in with the Pompadour privateer, of forty guns, while we had but twenty-three; so to it we went, yard-arm and yard-arm. The fight lasted for three hours; and I verily believe we should have taken the Frenchman, had we but had some more men left behind; but, unfortunately, we lost all our men just as we were going to get the victory.

"I was once more in the power of the French; and I believe it would have gone hard with me had I been brought back to Brest: but, by good fortune, we were retaken by the Viper. I had almost forgot to tell you that, in that engagement, I was wounded in two places: I lost four fingers of the left hand; and my leg was shot off. If I had had the good fortune to have lost my leg and the use of my hand on board a king's ship, and not aboard a privateer, I should have been entitled to clothing and maintenance during the rest of my life. But that was not my chance; one man is born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and another with a wooden ladle. However, blessed be God! I enjoy good health, and will for ever love liberty, and Old England. Liberty, Property, and Old England for ever, huzza!"

Thus saying he limped off, leaving me in admiration at his intrepidity and content. Nor could I avoid acknowledging that an habitual acquaintance with misery serves better than philosophy to teach us to despise it.

THE INFANT BRIDAL.

MRS. ACTON TINDAL.

[Richard Duke of York, second son of Edward IV., was married to Anne Mowbray, Duchess of Norfolk in her own right. The bridegroom was not five years old, and the bride scarcely three. The ceremony was performed in St. Stephen's Chapel, A.D. 1477.]

THE sunbeams of the early day

Streamed through the lattice grim,
And up the dark aisle's pillared way
Swelled loud the nuptial hymn;

And passed along a gorgeous band
Of courtly dames and fair,
Of belted barons of the land

The bravest best were there.

But slowly moved the bright array,
For gently at its head

Two blooming children led the way
With short and doubtful tread;
The fair boy-bridegroom and the bride,
(Like Cupid's train in eld),
Meekly and loving, side by side,
Each other's hands they held.

Half pleased and half surprised they seemed,
For in each kindred eye

Love mixed with pity fondly gleamed,
And mournful gravity.

A fear, for them who knew no fear,
On each heart darkly fell;

They view life's future through a tear
Who know the past too well.

The bridegroom bore a royal crown
Amid the shining hair,

That like a golden veil fell down
In tresses soft and fair.

The bearing of the noble child
His princely lineage told,

Beneath that brow so smooth and mild
The blood of warriors rolled.

All coyly went the sweet babe-bride,
Yet oft with simple grace,
She raised, soft-stepping by his side,
Her dark eyes to his face.
And playfellows who loved her well
Crowns of white roses bore,
And lived in after years to tell
The infant bridal o'er.

Then words of import strange and deep
The hoary prelate said,

And some had turned away to weep
And many bowed the head.

Their steady gaze those children meek
Upon the old man bent,
As earnestly they seemed to seek
The solemn words' intent.

Calm in the blest simplicity

That never woke to doubt; Calm in the holy purity

Whose presence bars shame out! Then turned they from each troubled brow And many a downcast eye,

And gazed upon each other now
In wondering sympathy;

And nestled close, with looks of love,
Upon the altar's stone;

Such ties as seraphs bind above
These little ones might own.
And sweetly was the babe-bride's cheek
Against the fair boy pressed,
All reverent, yet so fond and meek,
As kneeling to be blest.

Then smiled they on their grand array
And went forth hand in hand,
Well pleased to keep high holiday
Amid that gorgeous band.
Alas! for those that early wed

With such prophetic gloom,
For sadly fell on each young head
The shadow of the tomb.

Scarce had the blossoms died away
Of the rose-wreaths they wore,
When to her mouldering ancestry
The little bride they bore.

Her marriage garlands o'er her bier,
Bedewed with tears, were cast;
And still she smiled as though no fear
O'erclouded her at last.

A life as short, and darker doom,
The gentle boy befel:
He slept not in his father's tomb,
For him was heard no knell !

One stifling pang amid his sleep
And the dark vale was passed!
He woke with those who've ceased to weep,
Whose sun is ne'er o'ercast.

A garland floats around the throne,
Entwined by angel hands,

Of such fair earth-buds, newly blown,
Culled from a thousand lands.

A melody most pure and sweet
Unceasingly they sing,

And blossoms o'er the mercy seat,
The loved babe-angels fling!

IN A MAELSTRO M.
EDGAR ALLAN POE.

"IT is now within a few days of three years since what I am going to tell you occurred. It was a day which the people of this part of the world will never forget; for it was one in which blew the most terrible hurricane that ever came out of the heavens.

"The three of us-my two brothers and myself— had crossed over to the islands about two o'clock, P.M., and had soon nearly loaded the smack with fine fish, which, we all remarked, were more plenty that day than we had ever known them. It was just seven, by my watch, when we weighed and started for home, so as to make the worst of the Strom at slack water, which we knew would be at eight.

"We set out with a fresh wind on our starboard quarter, and for some time spanked along at a great rate, never dreaming of danger, for indeed we saw not the slightest reason to apprehend it. All at once we were taken aback by a breeze from over Helseggen. This was most unusual-something that had never happened to us before; and I began to feel a little uneasy without exactly knowing why. We put the boat on the wind, but could make no headway at all for the eddies; and I was upon the point of proposing to return to the anchorage when, looking astern, we saw the whole horizon covered with a singular copper-coloured cloud that rose with the most amazing velocity.

"In the meantime, the breeze that had headed us off fell away, and we were dead becalmed, drifting about in every direction. This state of things, however, did not last long enough to give us time to think about it. In less than a minute the storm was upon us-in less than two the sky was entirely overcast; and what with this and the driving spray, it became suddenly so dark that we could not see each other in the smack.

"Such a hurricane as then blew it is folly to attempt describing. The oldest seaman in Norway never experienced anything like it. We had let our sails go by the run before it cleverly took us; but, at the first puff, both our masts went by the board as if they had been sawed off the mainmast taking with it my youngest brother, who had lashed himself to it for safety.

"Our boat was the lightest feather of a thing that ever sat upon water. It had a complete flush deck, with only a small hatch near the bow; and this hatch it had always been our custom to batten down when about to cross the Strom, by way of precaution against the chopping seas. But for this circumstance we should have foundered at once; for we lay entirely buried for some moments. How my elder brother escaped destruction I cannot say, for I never had an opportunity of ascertaining. For my part, as soon as I had let the