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ance; ah! no-he has undone another fold, and loosens himself. Can he be going to some one else? We involuntarily started. For the love of Heaven, stir not!-I am a dead man; but bear with me! He still loosens ;-he is about to dart !—Move not, but beware! Churchill, he falls off that way. Oh! this agony is too hard to bear! -Another pressure, and I am dead. Nol-he relaxes ! At that moment poor Maxey ventured to look down; the snake had unwound himself; the last coil had fallen, and the reptile was making for the milk.

'I am saved !-saved !' and Maxey bounded from his chair, and fell senseless into the arms of one of his servants. In another instant, need it be added, we were all dispersed: the snake was killed, and our poor

friend carried more dead than alive to his room. That scene I can never forget : it dwells on my memory still, strengthened by the fate of poor Maxey, who from that hour pined in hopeless imbecility, and sank into an early grave.

THE MUSSULAH BOAT. Just as our vessel was about to anchor, two catamarans suddenly appeared on deck, to the great horror of those who had never seen such beings before, and the great delight of the old Madraseses, who expected to receive letters by them. The two men before us were stark naked, with the exception of a very small rag, and a little cap, made of dried palm leaves, for the carriage of their despatches. They had paddled out at least six miles from the shore, seated on a small log of wood, propelling themselves, each with a single oar, with which they kept time to a sort of chant, which they sang as they struck their paddles in the waves, and made their way through the terrific surf, which extends about two miles out from the shore of Madras. No wonder that the first ship which ever saw these strange creatures took them for demons, and entered in their log. book the following quaint notice :-At one o'clock P. M. came in sight of the principal town on the Coromandel coast. Saw two devils playing at single-stick on the surface of the water. God grant it foretell no evil!' No wonder they could scarcely believe that human beings should thus float out on such a frail support, and encounter the waves which in this part of the globe run mountains high, and the deadly sharks which here abound, without defence or assistance. Often and often are they washed off, and as often regain their piece of timber, with a hardihood which seems to paralyse the monsters of the deep; for seldom or ever is a catamaran carried off by these ravenous animals, who, however, greedily devour the European who dares to encounter them.

The catamaran, pulling off his little leaf cap, delivered his letters; and having informed us that our arrival had been signalled at the fort, and, consequently, that a couple of mussulah boats were already on their way to carry over our passengers, plunged again into the water, seemingly delighted to get rid of our rude stare, and return to his quasi-natural element. Our clothes for immediate wear were soon packed up, and before the boats touched the sides of the vessel, we were already on the quarter-deck watching their approach.

These peculiarly constructed boats, are the only ones that could live through such a sea : formed of bark, they float on the very tip of each wave, and bend as it strikes their sides, which are at least

eight feet high, with banks running across the top, on which some dozen or fourteen native rowers are perched. The European, together with his luggage, is coolly stowed at the bottom of the vessel, with a strict caution to be very quiet. In this leviathan canoe we seated ourselves, and started for Madras.

When we reached the first line of surf, no words can describe the terror we felt. Thrown in an instant to a dizzy height, then suddenly plunged down with a rapidity which for an instant checked the breath, while we looked up, and saw the towering waves ready to burst over our heads, occasionally dotted with a catamaran; each boat being attended by several of these worthies, who in case of accident instantly pick up the passengers, and for which they always receive a silver medal. The noise of the angry surf, which seemed intent on our destruction, completely paralysed the majority of us. Not so, however, a young and beautiful girl, who was about to join her parents in India. She seemed to exult in the danger which surrounded us. She appeared to court the awe-inspiring scene, and smiled with joy as we shrank appalled at the raging foam. A young officer, to whom she was betrothed, seemed delighted with these fresh proofs of her courage, and assisted her to mount the bench of the rowers, much against the advice of the natives, and was about to spring up after her in order to hold her, when a sudden lurch of the boat threw him to the bottom of the vessel, and the object of his love into the boiling waves. A general scream burst from all. No assistance could be given; no help afford. ed. We were in the very midst of the most dangerous line. Young Osborne sprang up. He looked around; but no sign of the poor girl could be seen; nothing could be perceived but the hissing, raging sea. A second glance to guide him equally futile,-an appealing look towards Heaven, and Osborne leaped into the waves. The stoical Indians still pulled on: they did not waver in their stroke, but continued in their steady exertions; and they were right in so doing ; for I afterwards learnt that a single pause, even for an instant, and all would have been lost.

To describe the grief of the poor mother of Louisa Marchmont, would require an abler pen than mine, nor, had I the power, would I wish to harrow up the feelings of my reader by a sketch of her dreadful agony,-her torture, as she vainly attempted to clamber up to the fatal bank, from which she was forcibly held down. At length we felt a shock as if of an earthquake; the Indians jumped out, and in two minutes more we stood safely on the strand, enjoying the delight of the mother as she clasped her almost senseless daughter to her breast, crying with agonizing joy. A catamaran, already decorated with six silver medals, had caught her as she fell, and gained a seventh honour by bearing her safely to shore.

As Louisa recovered, and unlocked herself from her mother's em. brace, she looked around, fondly expecting the congratulations of another loved being. But, alas! Osborne was not there. Again she gazed ; and at length gained strength to ask for him. None answered. Again she repeated the question; the averted looks of all told the tale of woe.

Another catamaran now landed, and approached the group. Unaware of the situation of the parties, he slowly pronounced in excellent English, “The young man has become the prey of sharks.'

One harrowing screech-a shudder from all-closed this dreadful scene. Poor Louisa is now a religious, good, but melancholy woman.

SONNET

On presenting a young Lady with a locket of his hair interlaced with her own at a time when fate seemed to make it impossible for him to meet her again.

The love thou gavest with my own is wreathed ;

And as these locks though severed from the head
Live not the less, so live our loves unbreathed,

And still shall live e'en when this heart is dead!
For 'twas not sought, but fixed in heaven above
That we should meet for everlasting love.
Thrice happy locks ! elect of Fate to wed

The raven tresses of my queen, and sleep

Upon her bosom pillowed; see ye steep.
My thoughts in sympathy with hers! 'T'is said

Magnetic influence from your mazes flies;
Be grateful then, and see ye earn your prize,
Whispering this breast whate'er she hopes or sighs;-
Ye reap who sowed not while this heart has bled.

J. C. BENTLEY.

SPECIMENS OF MODERN GERMAN POETS.

TRANSLATED BY MARY HOWITT.

HEINRICH HEINE.

We sate by the fisher's dwelling,

And looked upon the sea;
The evening mists were gathering,

And rising up silently.
Forth from the lofty lighthouse

Streamed softly light by light,
And in the farthest distance

A ship hove into sight.
We spoke of storm and shipwreck;

Of seamen, and how they lay
Unsafe 'twixt heaven and water,

'Twixt joy and fear each day.
We spoke of lands far distant;

We took a world-wide range,
We spoke of wondrous nations,

And manners new and strange.
Of the fragrant, glittering Ganges,

Where giant trees uptower,
And handsome, quiet people,

Kneel to the lotus flower.
Of Lapland's filthy people,

Flat-headed, wide-mouthed, we spake:
How they squat round their fires and jabber,

And shriek o'er the fish they bake.
The maidens listened so gravely;

At length no more was said ;
The ship was in sight no longer,

And night over all was spread.

COUNTY LEGENDS.

No. III.

BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY.

THE LAY
OF THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY.

CANTO II.

Now it seems there's a place they call Purgat’ry-so
I must write it, my verse not admitting the O
But as for the Venue, I vow I'm perplext
To say if it's in this world, or if in the next-
Or whether in both—for 'tis very well known
That St. Patrick, at least, has got one of his own
In a tight little Island' that stands in a Lake
Called Lough-dearg'--that's "The Red Lake,' unless I mis-

take,-
In Fermanagh-or Antrim-or Donegal-which

I declare I can't tell,

But I know very well
It's in latitude 54, nearly their pitch :
(At Tappington, now, I could look in the Gazetteer,
But I'm out on a visit, and nobody has it here.)

There are some, I'm aware,

Who don't stick to declare There's no differ' at all ’twixt this here' and that there.' That it's all the same place, but the Saint reserves his entry For the separate use of the 'finest of pisentry,'

And that his is no more

Than a mere private door
From the rez-de-chaussée-as some call the ground-floor,-
To the one which the Pope had found out just before.

But no matter_lay

The locale where you may ;
- And where it is no one exactly can say-
There's one thing, at least, which is known very well,
That it acts as a Tap-room to Satan's Hotel.

· Entertainment's' there worse
Both for · Man and for Horse ;-
For broiling the souls

They use Lord Mayor's coals ;-
Then the sulphur's inferior, and boils up much slower
Than the fine fruity brimstone they give you down lower,

It's by no means so strong

Mere sloe-leaves to Souchong ; The 'prokers' are not half so hot, or so long, By an inch or two, either in handle or prong ;

The Vipers and Snakes are less sharp in the tooth,
And the Nondescript Monsters not near so uncouth ;-
In short, it's a place the good Pope, its creator,
Made for what's called by Cockneys a ' Minor The-atre.'
Better suited, of course, for a 'minor performer,'
Than the House,' that's so much better lighted and warmer,
Below, in that queer place which nobody mentions,

-You understand where

I don't question-down there Where, in lieu of wood blocks, and such modern inventions, The Paving Commissioners use 'Good Intentions,' Materials which here would be thought on by few men, With so many founts of Asphaltic bitumen At hand, at the same time to pave and illumine.

To go on with my story,

This same Purga-tory, (There ! I've got in the

o, to my Muse's great glory,) Is close locked, and the Pope keeps the keys of it—that I can Boldly affirm-in his desk in the Vatican;

-Not those of St. Peter

These, of which I now treat, are
A bunch by themselves, and much smaller and neater-
And so cleverly made, Mr. Chubb could not frame a
Key better contrived for its purpose-nor Bramah.

Now it seems that by these

Most miraculous keys
Not only the Pope, but his clargy,' with ease
Can let people in and out just as they please ;
And-provided you make it all right about fees,-
There is not a friar, Dr. Wiseman will own, of them,
But can always contrive to obtain a short loan of them ;

And Basil, no doubt,

Had brought matters about,
If the little old woman would but have spoke out,'
So far as to get for her one of those tickets,
Or passes which clear both the great gates and wickets;

So that after a grill,

Or short turn on the Mill,
And with no worse a singeing, to purge her iniquity,,
Than a Freemason gets in The Lodge of Antiquity,'

She'd have rubbed off old scores,

Popped out of doors, And sheered off at once for a happier port, Like a white-washed Insolvent that's gone through the Court.'

But Basil was one

Who was not to be done
By any one, either in earnest or fun ;-
The cunning old beads-telling son of a gun,
In all bargains, unless he'd his quid for his quo,
Would shake his bald pate, and pronounce it' No Go.'

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