It was just daybreak; the air was calm, and the whole face of nature was shrouded in a light and silvery mist. Presently the mist became agitated by a fitful breeze; rays of light, faint at first, but every moment becoming brighter in their hue, penetrated it from the eastern horizon, and at length gathering its folds, it prepared to follow the path of the ascending sun. As it lifted, it disclosed a scene upon which the eye of man delights to dwell.

An island, clothed with luxuriant foliage and redolent with the perfume of the tropics, lay sleeping on the crystal waters. On its southern side, the unruffled waves of a sheltered bay, broke with a murmuring sound upon a white and shelving beach. At the foot of this bay, embowered in a grove, was a small cluster of houses, whose white-washed walls, seen through the interlacing branches of the trees, many of the last laden with their golden fruit, looked the fit abodes of charity and domestic peace. The flickering airs, soft and fragrant as the breath of beauty, fanned the pale and attenuated cheek of an invalid, who, seated at the foot of a cotton-tree, looked wistfully to seaward. A boundless expanse of ocean, its undulating surface checkered with the prolonged shadows of detached and scarcely moving clouds alone met his anxious gaze.

Beside him, with a look as wistful as his own, but fixed on his wasted features, stood a young and lovely female. Unconscious of her presence, he seemed lost in revery, and the silence was for some moments unbroken—for they were busied with the thoughts most congenial to the nature of each—his of active exertion and the strife of men; while hers, disinterested and pure, and true to the instinct of her sex, dwelt only on his hopes, his prospects, and his future happiness. With a sigh, she broke the silence, and laying her hand gently upon his head, she said,

“Oh, Edward! why this anxiety to leave us? Why this yearning for the sea?”

“Mary, dearest Mary!” said he, looking up, “I knew not that you were near. Sit down, dear girl, and I will tell you my little history. It will be the best answer to your question, and your trustful nature deserves implicit confidence. You know,” said he, as she complied, and placed her hand in his, “you know that I am in the naval service of our country, and that the captain of the ship to which I belong, sent me ashore here some two months since, at the recommendation of the surgeon; and you know, too, that your father, finding that I was connected with some friends of his own in the United States, invited me to his house, where, like a ministering angel, you have wooed me from the embrace of death. This, save my unbounded gratitude and love, is all you know, and unsuspicious of others as you are yourself confiding, hoping like an angel, and believing what you hope, you have sought to learn nothing more.

“I have no parents,” he proceeded to say, “and of a large family of children, I am the sole survivor. My father died when I was yet an infant; in my fourteenth year I lost my mother, and in the intervening time, one by one, my brothers and my sisters fell, all swept off by that insidious destroyer, whose victims waste away, even while the cheek is flushed and the eye brilliant with anticipations of renovated health and years of enjoyment. Oh, Mary! that you could have seen and known my sister—for she was near your present age, and in many things you much resemble her.”

“I should have loved her dearly, Edward?”

“You could not have helped it, for she was one of the purest, gentlest beings I ever knew.”

“Describe her to me.”

“That is impossible, for, graceful as a fawn and with spirits buoyant and elastic, her features, at one moment gleaming with hope, and the next, subdued in sympathy, were changeable as the aspects of the summer cloud, but beautiful in all its changes—for the light it reflected was borrowed from heaven.”

“Hers, then, was the beauty of expression.”

“Yes, of angelic expression, and yet her countenance was exquisitely lovely in repose. It reminded one of an inland lake, which, when serene and undisturbed, reflects the flowers and the foliage around it; but, when agitated, the shadows on its surface, the tiny crests of foam and mimic waves brattling on the shore, all its wild and shifting beauties are its own. She died on an early summer’s morning, the dew-drop yet sparkling on the blade which, while it bent, it fertilized; and the whole earth, in one gush of fragrance, sent up its tribute to the mighty hand that made it.”

“Oh, Edward! it were happiness thus to die.”

“Ay, dearest, it is only a spirit pure and spotless as your own, that can realize that death has no terrors where life has no reproaches.”

A pressure of the hand was her only reply, for his eyes were filled with tears, and she felt too much moved to speak. After a slight pause he proceeded. “In less than twelve months, my mother followed her to the grave, and the day and the hour, the occasion and the scene, are deeply graven in my memory; but,” he continued, observing her emotion, “I will not distress you with the sad recital, although the sorrows of that bitter hour were not without their solace—for, feeling that our loss would be her gain, the showers and the sunshine, the alternate gloom and brightness of the day without, were typical of our hopes and fears. My patrimony was considerable, and my mother had named a distant relative and seemingly attached friend as her executor and my guardian.

“A few weeks found me under the roof of Mr. Thornton. The exchange was a sad one. I had left the home of my infancy, where every familiar object was associated with some kindly phrase or act of endearment, to become a member of a proud aristocratic family, which traced its lineage from England. I could have endured privations without repining, but I was peculiarly sensitive of neglect, and was like the vine cast from the trunk which had supported it, whose tendrils, unsustained and drooping, are swayed to and fro by the wind, seeking for something whereupon to cling. Repelled by the cold indifference of the family, my yearning nature found the sympathy it needed in the friendship of Mr. Winchester, who was employed as a private tutor for Mr. Thornton’s children. Above all men I have ever seen, he united the wisdom of the serpent with the simplicity of the dove. Placed under his tuition, I made rapid progress, he was pleased to say, not only in the acquisition of knowledge from books, but in that more difficult branch which teaches us to analyze our feelings, and to know ourselves. You remember Mr. Hamilton, who left here shortly after my arrival?”

“Indeed, I do, and esteem him highly, for he is a most excellent man.”

“Well, imagine him a little taller, a shade more pensive, somewhat more retiring in his manners, and with an enunciation yet more distinct, and you have Mr. Winchester before you.”

“I see him—and with the character you give, feel that I could love him too.”

“Ay, that you would, for his meek exterior concealed a spirit incorruptible as that of Brutus, and as benevolent as Howard himself. To him I am indebted for all that I am or can ever hope to be. At that time politics ran high; Napoleon, the great human vulture, was gorging himself with the blood of nations, and the blood-red flag of England claimed the empire of the seas. The discordant clamor of party strife was loud and vehement, and the whole country seemed to vibrate with the throes of political convulsion. Warped by his pride of descent, and giving the tone to his family, at Mr. Thornton’s fireside, in all political discussions, the cause of England was strenuously maintained. It was here that, as I grew older, I derived the greatest benefit from the counsels of Mr. W. A pure patriot, without a parade of zeal, he ever upheld the cause of his country. Pointing out the distinction between the governments of Europe and the one we had adopted, how the former strove to maintain an idle and luxurious class in exclusive privileges, while the other recognized no difference between man and man, he ingrafted in me an attachment to our institutions as warm and enduring as his own. But for him, I might have imbibed the alien feelings of the family with which I was domesticated.

“About the close of my second year under his tuition, news came of the wanton attack upon, and inglorious surrender of the Chesapeake. At Mr. Thornton’s table that day, much was said of the valor of the English, and the craven spirit of the Americans. Mr. Winchester mildly but firmly defended his countrymen; but his opposition provoked such a torrent of abuse, and such violent denunciations of every thing pertaining to America, that, interrupting Mr. Thornton in his loudest tirade, he announced his determination of forever quitting a house which he considered as a fit shelter only of foes and traitors. A violent outbreak seemed inevitable, but his calm and lofty demeanor quelled the rising storm; and, true to his word, he left the next morning. After his departure, the last tie that bound me to the spot was severed, and I applied to be sent to college. To my surprise, Mr. Thornton declined, and threw out some vague hints of an unpaid bond and a threatened lawsuit that might involve my whole estate. I then asked to be sent elsewhere to school, but was again denied. I therefore determined, hap what might, to leave the place, and make my way to one of the Atlantic cities, where, in the sanguine spirit of youth, I felt sure of achieving something. Any thing was preferable to the life there before me. I had read of perilous escapes, and in my inexperience, confounding my situation with that of some imaginary captive, and fearing a thousand obstacles, I waited impatiently for a tempestuous night. It came at last, wild and terrific to my heart’s content.

“Throughout the day the weather had been variable. At one time the tops of the trees were bowed down by fitful gusts, while at another the wind gently soughed among the branches, or dying away calm, every thing would droop with the oppressive heat. The clouds, low, detached and ragged, seemed to hover over us. The bold and craggy tops of the mountains were wreathed in mist, and the same humid vapor filled the chasms and swept down the distant slopes. Even before the sun disappeared, his disc became lurid; the air seemed to thicken and respiration was difficult. The untended cattle went lowing to their pens, and the poultry, with discordant noises, hurried under cover. About dusk, a dense bank of cloud gathered in the north-west, and while the thunder muttered in the far-off mountains, it slowly approached us, the lightning playing across it in incessant flashes. Suddenly, like the smoke of artillery, a number of jets were thrown out from its upper surface, and then a flash, compared to which, those were as artificial fire-works which had preceded it, blinded the eye, and instantly every animate thing shrunk with dread as a most terrific crash pealed upon the ear. Then came the whirl and the roar of a tempest. The spirit of the storm was abroad, and Omnipotence seemed, “to ride on the wings of the mighty wind.” Huge trees and massive fragments of rock were whirled about like gossamer in a summer’s breeze. An avalanche of rain followed, the very flood-gates of heaven seeming to have opened above us.

“The long wished-for hour had now arrived, and bracing myself to the desperate chance, I threw a change of raiment into a wallet I had prepared, and hurried forth, preferring rather to encounter the battling elements than abide with those I could not love. Breasting the driving rain, I shouted with exultation at the prospect of achieving my own fortune by my own exertions. Although ‘from cliff to cliff the rattling crags among,’ I heard ‘the live thunder’ leaping, and the forked lightning almost seethed the brain with its sharp and sulphurous fire. I pressed on regardless of the storm and only fearful of pursuit. For some miles the road, which ran winding among the hills, was overflowed, and each indentation in the mountains had become the bed of a foaming torrent. I was obliged to clamber the hill-sides, and spring from ledge to ledge across the mad and plunging streams. But that I was in full health, buoyant with hope, and of an elastic frame, I could never have overcome the difficulties or survived the perils of that night. Once or twice I nearly despaired, but the prospect of the unfeeling treatment to which I would be subjected if I returned determined me to persevere. After severe toil I gained the high-road, and threw myself down exhausted. I had done so but a few minutes, when, borne upon the wind, I heard a loud clatter, and now and then a shrill and piercing shriek. Springing to my feet, I gazed anxiously up the road. The rain had partially subsided, and a momentary luminous spot in the heavens, showed the position of the moon; the thunder, no longer near, reverberated in the distance, and the glare of the lightning, although less frequent, was no less sulphurous and blinding. I could soon distinguish the tramp of horses at full speed, and in an instant after, a carriage passed at headlong velocity. The screams I had heard, satisfied me that there was at least one person within, and I breathlessly hurried after it.

“A short distance below, the road descended a hill and crossed a stream, ordinarily wide and shallow, but now, doubtless, swollen and scarcely fordable. My fears were more than realized, for to my dismay, I soon found myself up to the armpits in the water. The screams had ceased, and I could hear nothing to guide me. Suddenly, through the lurid gleaming of the storm, I saw the carriage, which seemed to be entangled with something, while the horses, rearing and plunging, madly strove to free themselves from the harness. With some difficulty I swam to it; the lateral pressure of the water almost bearing me under by its velocity. I found that the carriage had taken against a prostrate tree, and that the struggles of the horses would soon precipitate it over on its side. Fortunately, I had my hunting-knife with me, and swimming round, contrived to cut the traces and liberate the horses, but not without receiving a severe kick on my right shoulder. Forcing open the door, I found a female form within, but whether alive or dead, in the uncertain light I could not tell. The water was nearly up to the seat, and rising with great rapidity. Bearing the body up, I hesitated what to do. With a bruised limb, and supporting a lifeless form, it would be madness to attempt to swim. Feeling about, I discovered that the front panel was a large one, and forcing it out, dragged the wet and dripping figure through, and placed her on the driver’s seat, while I loudly called for help. Almost simultaneous with my own, I heard voices shouting along the road, and guided by my call, assistance was soon procured, and the lady (who had fainted) rescued from her perilous position.

“Mr. Stephens, a respectable merchant, was, with his wife, returning from the springs, and had reached the village soon after the storm set in. He had just alighted, and was holding forth his hand to assist Mrs. S. to descend, when the horses, blinded by a flash of lightning and terrified by the peal which succeeded it, ran off at full speed, and the driver in his effort to recover the reins, fell to the ground.

“Mr. S. expressed so much gratitude for my efforts, and so frequently proffered his services to aid me if he could, that, melted by his tones of kindness, I confided to him the secret of my flight and all my future plans. He listened with deep attention, and endeavored at first to persuade me to return to my guardian, but finding my repugnance insuperable, he suggested a mode of enfranchisement at the bare mention of which my heart fairly leaped for joy. He proposed that I should enter the navy, a profession, he remarked, which, although little esteemed by the country, would, he felt sure, if an opportunity offered, gain for itself a high and imperishable renown. Informing my guardian of the course intended to be pursued, he exerted his influence, and in a short time procured me an appointment.

“I made but one cruise previous to the war. Immediately after its declaration, I was ordered to the frigate Constitution, then lying at Annapolis. She was commanded by Captain Hull, who, with every officer and man on board, was exceedingly anxious to get to sea before the enemy should reach the Chesapeake in superior force. Our captain had twice ineffectually written to the Secretary of the Navy, urging permission to proceed to sea. At length he called up the officer of marines and said to him,

“‘Have you no business that calls you to headquarters?’

“‘None, sir,’ replied the officer.

“‘Then you must make some,’ said the captain, and handing him a letter, added, ‘you will start this evening so as to reach Washington early to-morrow. When you get there, let it be your first business to call upon the Secretary of the Navy and give him this letter, telling him at the same time, that you will call in three hours for a reply. At the expiration of the three hours, be sure to take your departure, and I expect you to breakfast with me the morning after.’

“The officer strictly obeyed his instructions. When the Secretary had read the captain’s letter, he remarked ‘I am very much occupied at present, sir, but if you will call in two or three days, I will have an answer ready for you.’

“‘Sir,’ replied the officer, ‘I am allowed but three hours in Washington to see my colonel, and at two o’clock I am to start on my return.’

“‘Very well, sir,’ was the reply; and he took his leave.

“At two punctually, he called again, and the Secretary, somewhat fretted, said, ‘Really, sir, I have not had time to attend to Captain Hull’s letter, can you not wait until to-morrow?’

“‘Under my present orders, sir, it is impossible.’

“‘Very well, say to Captain Hull that I will write to him by mail.’

“‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the officer, ‘when I assure you that the captain will be bitterly disappointed if I do not bring something from you.’

“With a gesture of impatience the Secretary drew a sheet of paper toward him, and writing a few hurried lines, handed the note to the officer, who took his departure. It contained these remarkable words:

“‘Sir,—You will proceed with the Constitution to New York, and should you meet any vessels of the enemy, you will note it.’

“It was sufficient, and we immediately weighed anchor and stood to sea. A short distance out, we encountered a squadron of the enemy, and the chase that ensued has already become matter of history. Of the fatigue we underwent, and the unsurpassed exertions we made, I can give you no idea. For most of the time the wind was light, and occasionally it subsided to a perfect calm. At such times the sun, fierce and fiery, scorched us with the intensity of his blaze; while towing and kedging, our crew toiled manfully and without a murmur: with the perspiration streaming from their brows, no one dreamed of relaxation. Each one, sleeping at his post, caught his meals as he could. At one time, the nearest ship, being towed by all the boats of the squadron, was enabled to gain fast upon us, notwithstanding our redoubled and almost superhuman exertions. The surface of the ocean, unmoved by undulation, and smooth as a mirror, reflected the black and threatening hulls of our pursuers. Gradually, like huge, creeping monsters, they seemed all to gain upon us, when, at the very crisis of our fate, a catspaw, faint as a fleeting shadow, darkened a spot upon the water, and then disappeared, leaving no trace behind; again, another, and another, imperceptibly increasing in extent and force, until commingling into one, and rippling the ocean with its breath, the light but glorious breeze came on. Swinging the ponderous yards to meet its glad embrace, we thanked our God that we were the first to feel it. The sails, late so listless and inactive, first flapped exultingly, and then slowly distending, our noble ship, in all her grace and pride and beauty, like a recruited steed, renewed the race she had so nearly lost. With sail on sail, packed wide and high, from the bulwarks to the trucks, each ship was soon a pyramid of canvas. Behind us was captivity or death—before us freedom, and perchance renown. Judge, then, with what thrills of delight we soon perceived that we were leaving our pursuers. The wind freshened as the night closed in, and early the ensuing day the enemy abandoned the chase as hopeless. For sixty hours we had toiled unceasingly, and human nature had been taxed to the utmost.

“Cut off from New York, our commander determined to proceed to Boston. Off Long Island we spoke an American vessel, and by her the captain wrote to the Secretary of the Navy, acquainting him with his escape, and informing him that he would proceed to Boston, where he trusted to receive permission to cruise at sea. We reached the harbor late one evening, by midnight we had commenced taking in provisions and water, and in twenty-four hours were ready for sea. For three days beyond the time we should have heard from Washington, we were kept in the most anxious suspense. All hands were detained on board except the purser, who, on the arrival of each mail, hurried to the post-office, in the hope of finding the desired letter. On the third day there did come an official letter, but it was addressed to a ward-room officer on the subject of his pay.

“It was then that Captain Hull took a resolution which evinced as much wisdom as moral courage. He knew that the cruisers of the enemy swarmed upon our coast, and he chafed with impatient desire to fairly encounter one of them. He determined to put to sea without orders, and immediately carried his purpose into execution.

“We had soon the satisfaction to meet an adversary. It was one of the ships belonging to the squadron which had chased us. Instead of increasing we now sought to lessen the intervening distance, and as we approached, each ship, like a combatant in the arena, partially stripped herself for the conflict. Under reduced sail, leisurely, deliberately, we neared each other. It was a moment of intense excitement. England had so long styled herself the mistress of the seas, and the arrogance of the claim was so lessened by her almost uninterrupted career of victory, that the boldest and most sanguine among us admitted probability of defeat. Yet there was no shrinking of the nerve, not one instant’s hesitation of purpose. Our country had sent us forth, and in the hour of peril she relied upon us. We knew that we might be defeated, but felt that we could not be disgraced. The flag, with the proud vessel which bore it, might sink beneath the waves, or with it, by one terrific explosion, be scattered in shreds and fragments upon its surface, but each one felt that it could never be struck to a single adversary.

“I had thought before that I had some idea of a battle, but imagination fell short of the stern and startling reality. Men, lately so calm, collected, and seemingly almost impassive, were wrought to the highest pitch of frenzy, and reeking with perspiration, and begrimed with powder, as seen through the fire and the smoke, appeared like infuriated demons. The ship, reeling like a drunken man, quivered with each recoil, but there was no screaming, no shouting—the ministers of death were too earnest for noisy exhibition, and except the stifled groans of the wounded, and the brief, quick words of command, the human voice was unheard.

“You know the result. At the report of the last gun in that conflict, as at the blast of the Israelite trumpets before Jericho, the walls of British invincibility fell—like them, too, never to rise again. But, dearest, I tire you.”

“No, Edward, I love to listen to you. When I first read of that victory I wept for joy. Now, although it is past, I tremble, while I rejoice, at the danger you incurred; but tell me, did you escape unhurt?”

“I received a flesh wound merely, but it proved irritable and difficult of cure. In consequence, I was prevented from again sailing in the ship; but my promotion was secured, and I congratulate myself on my present position. The ship to which I am attached is smaller than the Constitution, but she is well-manned and ably commanded. There is no telling at what moment she may meet with an opponent; and you, dearest, would not have me absent while my shipmates are battling for our country.”

“No, Edward, I will not be less patriotic than yourself; but we have so shortly known and understood each other, that it is hard to separate so soon, and when there is so much danger that we may never meet again; beside, your impatience retards your recovery.”

“Fear not, Mary, the fever has entirely left me, and my strength increases daily—thanks to your gentle nurture, for, unseen, though hovering near, you not only supplied my wants but anticipated every wish.”

“Speak of it no more, Edward; see, Alfred is coming to call us to breakfast. I will take the path through the shrubbery and avoid him, or he will have his jest at our expense when we meet at table.” Springing from her lover’s side as she spoke, she lingered for an instant as she gained the copse, and turned with a fond, confiding glance toward him, but the sound of her brother’s footsteps checked the current of her feelings, and she was out of sight in an instant.

Edward Talbot was in his 22d year. With a fine figure, his frame indicated more activity than strength. His hazel eye, undimmed by recent illness, expressed decision of character, and his dark hair fell in untrimmed luxuriance over his pale but manly features.

Mary Gillespie was eighteen, and almost a woman. About the medium stature of her sex, her light, elastic figure moved in unconscious grace. Her silk-like chestnut hair shaded a neck of snowy whiteness; her brilliant cheek, now white as a lily, now mantled with a blush, more surely and more rapidly than words bespoke the current of her feelings; while her deep-blue eyes, bathed in liquid crystal, and curtained from the sight by their long and fringing lashes, rarely raised and as suddenly withdrawn, struck the beholder with wonder and admiration. Beautiful in person, sensitive in her feelings, and of a most confiding and affectionate nature, she was a being formed for love.

Mr. Gillespie was a merchant who had resided eight years upon the island, and for the last three held the situation of American Consul. The war having interrupted his business, he had been for some time winding up his affairs preparatory to returning home. He was an unpretending man, of practical good sense and sterling integrity. He had been five years a widower. Left with two children he had devoted every leisure hour to their education. But his son, now in his 14th year, proved more intractable than the daughter, and increased his anxiety to return and place him under the charge of competent teachers.

Such was the state of things when Lieutenant Talbot was sent on shore extremely ill. At first, in his province as consul, Mr. Gillespie had procured for him the best lodgings that could be hired; but when he heard his mother’s name, and found that through her the young officer was related to an old and cherished friend, he at once had him removed to his own house.

It was not to be expected that, under such circumstances, two kindred spirits should meet and not assimilate. It is no wonder that thus thrown together, they should become mutually attached. They did love! love only as those can do who, trustful in their natures, are uncankered by care, and in their thoughts, their prayers, their aspirations, and their dreams, they soon become each other's constant and abiding theme.

The morning after the one with which this tale had opened, Mr. Talbot threw open his casement, and stepping into the balcony, looked eagerly toward the west. It was again calm, and the unclouded sun, just risen, threw his unrefracted rays across the slumbering sea. It was Sunday, all was silent, and not a vestige of a living thing was seen. Not a solitary bird fanned the air, no roaming fish disturbed by its gambols the mirror-like surface of the deep, but on the furthest verge of the horizon,

floated a light and buoyant fabric, which alone, within the broad scope of vision, proclaimed man as its architect. It was the Hornet, the symmetrical Hornet, already renowned for a glorious achievement.

In a few hours the sea breeze set in, which, cool and refreshing, is sent by a merciful Providence to temper the heat of a tropical sun. The ship was soon under a cloud of canvas, and it was a beautiful thing to see her inclined to the breeze, dashing along with graceful speed, while the light tracery of her rigging was reflected upon the sails which looked snow-white in the glancing beams of the sun. As if instinct with life, she bounded across the water, and soon dropped her anchor in the bay.

Captain Biddle, already distinguished for his gallantry, together with several of his officers, dined with Mr. Gillespie that day. Before midnight, they were again at sea, for there were enemies abroad, and they felt bound to seek them.

It were useless to dwell upon the parting interview of the lovers. All that the gushing fondness of two such natures could impart was interchanged. Hap what might, though distance should separate, and circumstances debar their intercourse for months or years, they felt that unswerving confidence which true and loyal breasts alone can feel. It is true that they both felt much anxiety—the maiden in especial, for her lover was exposed to far more than the perils of the deep. But, with a faith early instilled by the precepts of a pious mother, she placed her trust on High, and with more of hope than fear, looked forward to the future.

——