A sailor who was a papist, during a great storm prayed to the Virgin Mary, promising her, if she would deliver him from the danger, that when he got on shore he would offer at her alter a candle as big as the main mast; which one of his companions overhearing, he jogged him on the elbow, whispering that it was impossible. "Hush," said

he, "I must promise her well now, but if ever I get safe on shore, I'll make her content with a six-in-thepound!"

Some years ago, an American captain was challenged by a French gentleman, at Paris. The captain had been a whaler, and chose the harpoon for his weapon. The Frenchman shrugged up his shoulders-"Eh, diable, je ne sais pas at is de harpoon; I vill meet you, as un jentil-homme, vid my small sword;" but the old whaler was inexorable. The dispute was submitted to a court of honor, which decided that the Frenchman must fight with the harpoon, or apologize. He shrugged up his shoulders a second time -"Monsieur capitaine, I beg your pardon, I have no skill in de harpoon; I am not one whale; I beg pardon, begar." Thus matters ended peaceably, and the harpoon of the Nantucket whaler did not make a pincushion of the body of the Gaul.

A gentleman of very considerable political information, was speaking in a Coffee House of the late brilliant engagement at Navarino, and commending the conduct of Admiral Codrington. A person whose humanity had little control over his opinions, asked him, as he was such a politician, if he could tell him why we should squander our money on a parcel of worthless Greeks, and what harm would result from their extermination! "Why, Sir, I can only answer, that I am a

man, but not a prophet," replied the gentleman.

During the late war, an order in Council was issued that no Flag of Truce should be suffered to land a messenger at Deal, which occasioned the following lines:

The French think the game they can win at their ease,

And to former successes appeal : Yet the cards let them shuffle and cut as they please,

They shall not be admitted to Deal.

When the "Golden" Hermoine, in the seven years' war, took the Spanish galleon, or galloon, as the sailors call her, the foremast-men shared to the tune of five hundred pounds a piece, a sum which of course they concluded could never be expended in the common routine of domestic life. In order to conquer this difficulty, they devised many ingenious methods, such as filling a frying-pan with watches from each fob, and frying them over the galleyfire; subscribing a sum of money to gild the ship's head and carved work, and it was moreover unnaimously resolved that every man on board should were a gold-laced hat; and every cocoa-nut was, with all convenient speed, provided with a goldlaced cocked hat, save one-this unhappy wight presented himself to his shipmates with a silver-laced hat. This would not do-the ship was disgraced by such d-d stinginess: "Let's ask the first leef-tenant not to let him come on board." The supposed culprit begged a hearing--Jack loves fair play, silence was obtained, and the delinquent thus pleaded his -cause: "There wasn't a gooled-laced hat in the town, so I was forced to take this here; but I made the fo 3. low take the money for a gooldad all the same." On these last reaching the ears of his mes he was received on board w versal greeting and acclamat

See you, beneath yon cloud so dark,
Fast gliding along, a gloomy bark,
Her sails are full, tho' the wind is still,
And there blows not a breath her sails to fill?

Oh! what does that vessel of darkness bear?
The silent calm of the grave is there,
Save now and again, a death knell rung,
And the flap of the sails with night fog
hung.

There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore
Of cold and pitiless Labrador;
Where, under the moon, upon mounts of
frost,

Full many a mariner's bones are tost.

Yon shadowy bark, hath been to that wreck,
And the dim blue fire that lights her deck,
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew,
As ever yet drank the church-yard dew!
To Deadman's Isle in the eye of the blast,
To Deadman's Isle she speeds her fast,
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl'd,

. And the hand that steers is not of this world!

Oh! hurry thee on-oh! hurry thee on,
Thou terrible bark, ere the night be gone,
Nor let morning look on so foul a sight,
As would blauch for ever her rosy light!

THE FRENCH MARINER.

A BALLAD.

BY ROBERT BLOOMFIELD

An old French Mariner am I,

Whom time hath rendered poor and gray : Hear, conquering Britons, ere I die,

What anguish prompts me thus to say. I've rode o'er many a dreadful wave,

I've seen the reeking blood descend:
I've heard the last groans of the brave;
The shipmate dear, the steady friend.
Twas when De Grasse the battle joined,
And struck, on April's fatal morn:

I left three smiling boys behind,
And saw my country's lily torn.

There as I brav'd the storms of fate,

Dead in my arms my brother fell; Here sits forlorn his widow'd mate,

Who weeps whene'er the tale I tell. Thy reign sweet Peace, was o'er too soon; War, piecemeal, robs me of my joy: For, on the blood stain'd first of June, Death took my eldest favorite boy. The other two enraged arose,

"Our country claims our lives," they said. With them I lost my soul's repose,

That fatal hour my last hope fled. With Brueys the proud Nile they sought, Where one in ling'ring wounds expir'd; While yet the other bravely fought, The Orient's magazine was fired. And must I mourn my country's shame? And envious curse the conquering foe? No more I feel that thirst of fame;

All I can feel is private woe.

E'en all the joy that vict'ry brings, (Her bellowing guns and flaming pride) Cold, momentary comfort flings

Around where weeping friends reside. Whose blighted bud no sun shall cheer,

Whose lamp of life no longer shine; Some parent, brother, child most dear,

Who ventur'd, and who died like mine. Proud crested fiend, the world's worst foe, Ambition; canst thou boast one deed, Whence no unsightly horrors flow,

Nor private peace is seen to bleed?
Ah! why do these old eyes remain
To see succeeding mornings rise !
My wife is dead, my children slain,
And poverty is all my prize.
Yet shall not poor enfeebled age
Breathe forth revenge;-but kneel and
pray-

O God, who seest the battle's rage,
Take from men's hearts that rage away.

From the vindictive tongue of strife,
Bid hatred and false glory flee;
That babes may meet advancing life,
Nor feel the woes that lights on me.

A SONG.

When the sails were unfurled, and dear Lucy I left,

She declared that her heart of each joy was bereft ;

She looked like an angel, her eye cast above And she said "You'll prove true, to your

king, to your love.

To her bosom she pressed me unable to speak As I kissed off the tear from her heautiful

cheek;

I wish the first broadside death's tidings may

bring,

If I ever prove faise to my love, or my king.

In the golden age of the province of the New Netherlands, when it was under the sway of Wouter Van Twiller, otherwise called the Doubter, the people of the Manhattoes were alarmed one sultry afternoon, just about the summer solstice, by a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning. The rain descended in such torrents as absolutely to patter up and smoke along the ground. It seemed as if the thunder rattled and rolled over the very roof of the houses; the lightning was seen to play about the church of St. Nicholas, and to strive three times, in vain, to strike its weathercock. Garret Vau Horne's new chimney was split almost from top to bottom; and Doffue Mildeberger was struck speechless from his baldfaced mare, just as he was riding into town. In a word, it was one of those unparalleled storms, that only happen once within the memory of that venerable personage, known in all towns by the appellation of

"the oldest inhabitant.' [No. 17.

Great was the terror of the good old women of the Manhattoes. They gathered their children together, and took refuge in the cellars; after having hung a shoe on the iron point of every bed-post, lest it should. attract the lightning. At length the storm abated; the thunder sunk into a growl, and the setting sun, breaking from under the fringed borders of the clouds, made the broad bosom of the bay to gleam like a sea of molten gold.

The word was given from the fort that a ship was standing up the bay. It passed from mouth to

mouth, and street to street, and soon put the little capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship, in those early times of the settlement, was an event of vast importance to the inhabitants. It brought them news from the old world, from the land of their birth, from which they were so complete! severed to the early ship they looked for their supply uries, of finery, of comforts, most of necessaries. The goo

could not have her new cap nor new gown until the arrival of the ship; the artist waited for it for his tools, the burgomaster for his pipe and his supply of Hollands, the school-boy for his top and marbles, and the Jordly landholder for the bricks with which he was to build his new mansion. Thus every one, rich and poor, great and small, looked out for the arrival of the ship. It was the great yearly event of the town of New Amsterdam; and from one end of the year to the other, the ship-the ship-the ship-was the continual topic of conversation.

The news from the fort, therefore, brought all the populace down to the battery, to behold the wishedfor sight. It was not exactly the time when she had been expected to arrive, and the circumstance was a matter of some speculation. Many were the groups collected about the battery. Here and there might be seen a burgomaster, of slow and pompous gravity, giving his opinion with great confidence to a crowd of old women and idle boys. At another place was a knot of old weather-beaten fellows, who had been seamen or fishermen in their times, and were great authorities on such occasions; these gave different opinions, and caused great disputes among their several adherents: but the man most looked up to, and followed, and watched by the crowd, was Hans Van Pelt, an old Dutch sea captain retired from service, the nautical oracle of the place. He reconnoitered the ship through an ancient telescope, covered with tarry canvas, hummed a Dutch tune to himself, and said nothing. A hum, however, from Hans Van Pelt had always more weight with the public than a speech from another

as she came riding over the long waving billows. The centinel who had given notice of her approach, declared that he first got sight of her when she was in the centre of the bay; and that she broke suddenly on his sight, just as if she had come out of the bosom of the black thunder-cloud. The bystanders looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he would say to this report: Hans Van Pelt screwed his mouth closer together, and said nothing; upon which some shook their heads, and others shrugged their shoulders.

The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made no reply, and passing by the fort, stood on up the Hudson. A gun was brought to bear on her, and, with some difficulty, loaded and fired by Hans Van Pelt, the garrison not being expert in artillery. The shot seemed absolutely to pass through the ship, and to skip along the water on the other side, but no notice was taken of it! What was strange, she had all her sails set, and sailed right against wind and tide, which were both down the river. Upon this Hans Van Pelt, who was likewise harbour-master, ordered his boat, and set off to board her; but after rowing two or three hours, he returned without success. Sometimes he would get within one or two hundred yards of her, and then, in a twinkling, she would be half-amile off. Some said it was because his oars-men, who were rather pursy and short winded, stopped every now and then to take breath, and spit on their hands; but this, it is probable was a mere scandal. He got near enough, however, to see the crew, who were all dressed in the Dutch style, the officers in doublets and high hats and feathers, not a word was spoken by any one on board; they stood as motionless as so many statues, and the ship seemed as if left to her own government. Thus she kept on, away up the river, lessening and lessening in the evening sunshine, until she faded from

sight, like a little white cloud melting away in the summer sky.

The appearance of the ship threw the governor into one of the deepest doubts that ever beset him in the whole course of his administration. Fears were entertained for the security of the infant settlements on the river, lest this might be an enemy's ship in disguise, sent to take possession. The governor called together his council repeatedly, to assist him with their conjectures. He sat in his chair of state, built of timber from the sacred forest of the Hague, and smoked his long jasmin pipe, and listened to all that his counsellors had to say on a subject about which they knew nothing; but in spite of all the conjecturing of the sagest and oldest heads, the governor still continued to doubt.

Messengers were dispatched to different places on the river; but they returned without any tidingsthe ship had made no port. Day after day, and week after week, elapsed, but she never returned down the Hudson. As, however, the council seemed solicitous for intelligence, they had it in abundance, The captains of the sloops seldom arrived without bringing some report of having seen the strange ship at different parts of the river; sometimes near the Pallisadoes, sometimes off Croton Point, and sometimes in the Highlands; but she never was reported as having been seen above the Highlands.

The

crews of the sloops, it is true, generally differed among themselves in their accounts of these apparitions; but that may have arisen from the uncertain situations in which they saw her. Sometimes it was by the flashes of the thunder-storm light ing up a pitchy night, and giving glimpses of her careering across Tappaan-Zee, or the wide waste of Haverstraw Bay. At one moment she would appear close upon them, as if likely to run them down, and would throw them into great bustle and alarm; but the next flash

would show her afar off, always sailing against the wind. Sometimes in quiet moonlight nights, she would be seen under some high bluff of the highlands, all in deep shadow, excepting her topsails glittering in the moonbeams; by the time, however, that the voyagers would reach the place, there would be no ship to be scen; and when they had passed on for some distance, and looked back, behold! there she was again, with her top-sails in the moonshine! Her appearance was always just after, or just before, or just in the middle of unruly weather; and she was known by all the skippers and voyagers of the Hudson by the name of "The Storm-ship,'

These reports perplexed the governor and his council more than ever; and it would be endless to repeat the conjectures and opinions. that were uttered on the subject. Some quoted cases in point, of ships seen off the coast of New England, navigated hy witches and goblins. Old Hans Van Pelt, who had been more than once to the Dutch colony at the Cape of Good Hope, insisted that this must be the Flying Dutchman which had so long haunted Table Bay; but being unable to make port, had now sought another harbour. Others suggested, that, if it really was a supernatural apparition, as there was every natural reason to believe, it might be Hendrick Hudson, and his crew of the Halfmoon; who, it was well known, had once run aground in the upper part of the river, in seeking a north-west passage to China. This opinion had very little weight with the governor, but it passed current out of doors; for indeed it had already been reported, that Hendrick Hudson and his crew haunted the Kaatskill Mountain; and it appeared very reasonable to suppose, that his ship might infest the river where the enterprise was baffled, or that it might bear the shadowy cros their periodical revels in the tains.