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"«Come, cheer, my hearts ! do each your parts,

The maid no worse shall be : She loves a seaman in her soul;

And I'll carry her over the sea. Take

you the wealth, take you the gold, But give the maid to me.” “Right free he spoke, and turned the joke,

And flouted our idle fears;
He'd been a rover on the main,

With bloody Buccaneers;
He'd been a wealthy captain long,

Of bloody Buccaneers.

" The maid, he knew—the maid he loved,

But she his suit denied ;
And for a deep revenge, he swore

To have her ere he died ;
To have her, said she yea or nay,

A mistress or a bride.

" From England sailed the gallant ship,

That bore the maid away,
And he went a fore-castle man,

To be by her alway.
Be it well or ill, he'd work his will,

Said she or yea or nay.
“O, woe for mariners, whose hearts

Are sold to fiends of ill,
For lust of flesh, for lust of gold,

Or lust of wicked will.
O, woe for me! it was a deed

The very soul to kill.
"Fair was the prize, and smote our eyes

With tempting loveliness,
We swore that one should not alone

So sweet a prize possess :-
It was a fell and wicked will

That did our souls oppress.
“Right off the sandy Cape of May,

The breeze blew soft and free,
The holy light came gleaming bright

Athwart the purple sea,
When, by a panic fear compelled,

We cast her in the sea.
“ Smote with the scourge of keen remorse,

They two themselves did slay, But I, a wretched, homeless man,

Must wander night and day. Each year,

I seek the dreadful shore Of the sandy Cape of May.

“ Still it lies there, with drenched hair,

Amid the white sea-foam.
Why will’t not go? why stays it so,

To find me when I come ?
It breeds a madness in my brain

To find it when I come ?"

His glaring eyes he fixed on mine,

I could not bear the sight;
“Old man,” I said, “ that hoary head,

Lodge thou with me to night,
I'll read to thee from God's good Word,

I'll pray with thee, for light.”

Then came he in, the man of sin ;

By my bed-side we knelt,
And prayed I then, to God's dear Son,

To ease him of his guilt.
The tears rolled down his hollow cheeks,

And eased him of his guilt.
Ah! 'twas a piteous sight to see,

The hoary marineer,
When on his dying bed he lay,

And prayed with many a tear,
That God would cleanse him of his crime,

For Christ his sake so dear. That night died he, and solemnly

Next day we buried him, And o'er his grave, by the salt sea wave,

We sang a pious hymn, How God is merciful to those

Who die in fear of him.

THE CABRIOLET:

FROM UNPUBLISHED MEMORANDA OF MOUNTAIN-LAND.

BY IK. MARVEL.

NotWITHSTANDING we were on a pedes- He advised us—the Doctor said (how trian tour, and were as determined as old much his blistered feet had to do with it, I Tom Coryate, we certainly did venture to don't know), to take coach as far as Dole. enquire about coaches in the little shabby Up to this place, he told us, the country town of St. Florentin : and this not so was comparatively uninteresting; but as much because our courage misgave us, as for the scenery beyond, he excited our anthat the country thereabouts had grown ticipat ons ał out it to the very highest ; sadly monotonous.

and yet he did not tell us a word—he simTrue, St. Florentin is as strange an old ply laid down his knife and fork, clasped city as ever I slept in, and it sits perched his hands together, and looked up at the on a hill and has a mouldering, deserted ceiling. watch-tower in the centre; but from the “It must be very fine,” said the Docmouldy battlements we could see nothing tor. eastward but great stretches of level plain, “ Aye !" said I: and the German gave backed by a dim blue line in the horizon, us each a quiet glance-resumed his knife which they told us was the chain of Bur- and fork, and speedily demolished a capigundian hills.

tally broiled leg of chicken. But at St. Florentin, no coach, not even We desired to get to Dole as soon as so much as a voiture a volonte was to be possible, so the next morning-voila un found; so we harnessed on our knapsacks cabriolet! to take us on to catch the Diliand toiled along under the poplars to a gence that passed through the old town of little village far off in the plain, where we Semur. were smuggled into what passed for the This French cabriolet which we took at coupé of a broken down Diligence. A man Buffon, was very like a Scotch horse-cart and little girl, who together occupied the with a top upon it. It had a broad leatherthird seat, regaled themselves in the voiture cushioned seat in the back, large enough with a fricandeau stuffed with garlic. The for three persons. One we found already day was cool; the windows were down; occupied by a pretty enough woman, of the air close, and the perfume delightful ! some four or five and twenty. The pos

That night we reached a town where lived tillion was squatted on a bit of timber that that prince of boys' story books about ani- formed the whipple-tree. The Doctor, mals-Buffon. A tower rose on the hills with his pipe in his mouth, seated himself bebeside the town, covered with ivy-gray, tween the lady and myself—we bade adieu to and venerable, and sober-looking ; and the our accommodating German companionpostillion said it was Buffon's tower, and took off our hats to the landlady's daughthat the town was named Buffon.

ter, and so went jostling out of the old Tigers, and Cougars and Kangaroos were French town of Buffon, which, ten to one, leaping through my head all supper time, shall never, either of us, see again in which we passed in company with a com

our lives. municative German, just from Switzerland, Now nothing in the world was more en route for Paris.

natural than that the Doctor should ask

we

first, with the most amiable face that his | interlarded with an occasional vraiment ! beard would admit of, if his smoking was from the lady, and an occasional sacre ! of offensive to Mademoiselle ? which, consid- the postillion; and then he very naturally, ering that he sat directly next her, might is curious to know if it is Madame's first easily have happened.

visit to Semur ? It proved otherwise ; “Oh no, her hus- Mon Dieu, non !and she sighs. band was a great smoker.”

“Madame then has friends at Semur ?" “Ah, ma foi, can it be that Madame, “Ma foi ! je ne saurrais vous dire.so young, is indeed married ?"

She does not know ! * It is indeed true”—and there is a This is very odd, thought I. “And who glance both of pleasure, and of sadness in can Madame be going to visit ?” the woman's eye.

“Her father-if he is still living.” The Doctor puffs quietly a moment or “But how can she doubt, if she has lived two; and I begin to speculate upon what so near as Chalons ?" that gleam of pleasure and of sadness “ Pardon ; I have not lived at Chalons, might mean; and finally curiosity gains on but at Bordeaux, and Montpelier, and Pau, speculation.“ Perhaps Madame is tra- and along the Biscayan mountains.” velling from Paris, like ourselves ?"

“And is it long since she has seen her Non pas ; but she has been at Paris; father?” what a charming city! those delicious Bou- “Very long ; ten long-long years; then levards, and the shops, and the Champs they were so happy ! ah, the charming Elysées, and the theatres —oh, what a country of Semur; the fine, sunny vinedear place Paris is !"

yards, and all so gay, and her sister, and The Doctor assents in three or four vio- little brother- "Madame puts her hands lent consecutive puffs.

to her face. “And if Madame is not coming 1, in my turn, wriggled round in my seat from Paris, perhaps she is going to Paris ? ' to have a fuller sight of her. “ Non plus ;

even now we are not The Doctor played with his pipe. “He right.

knew it would be a glad thing to meet them “She is coming from Chalons, she is all !” going to Semur."

Jamais, Monsieur, never, I cannot ; “Madame lives then perhaps at Se- they are gone !” and she turned her head mur:”

away. Pardon, she is going for a visit.” This may come to something, thought I,

“And her husband is left alone then, looking at my watch, if we have only an the poor man!”

hour left between this and Semur. The "Pardon, (and there is a manifest sigh,) postillion said there were three leagues. he is not alone.” And Madame re-ar- The French country women are simpleranges the bit of lace on each side of her minded, earnest, and tell a story niuch bonnet, and turns half around, so as to show better, and easier than any women in the more fairly a very pretty brunette face, world. and an exceeding roguish eye.

The Doctor said, “she was young to The Doctor knocks the ashes out of his have wandered so far; indeed, she must pipe.

have been very young to have quitted her Madame thinks it is a very pretty pipe. father's house ten years gone-by" He hands it to her ; she wonders “if it “Very young-very foolish, Monsieur. came from Londres ?" And she listens I see,” said she, turning, “ that you want to with an air of most pleased entertainment, know how it was, and if you will be so good when he tells her, that he brought it from as to listen, I will tell you, Monsieur." the far away Etats Unis d'Amerique. Of course, the Doctor was very happy to

The reader must not be impatient, if he listen to so charming a story-teller; and I wishes to know either the whole drift of our too, though I said nothing. adventure, or the naive character of such “You know Messieurs, the quiet of one of companions as may be met with, on the our little country towns very well ; Semur cross-country roads of France.

is one of them. My father was a small Now the Doctor has finished his story- proprietaire : the house he lived in is not

as you

Well, my

upon the road, or I would show it to you | And then we would laugh, and sometimes
by and by. It had a large court-yard, with tie the hand of Jacques, to the hand of
a high stone-arched gateway—and there some pretty little girl, and so marry them,
were two hearts cut upon the topmost and never mind Jacques' pettish struggles,
stone, and the initials of my grandfather and the pouts of the little bride ; and Jean
and grandmother on either side, and all himself, would laugh as loud as any at this
were pierced by a little dart. I dare say play.
you have seen many

such
have wan-

< But sometimes Jean's father would dered through the country, but now-a-days come when we were romping together, and they do not make them.

take Jean away; and sometimes kiss little mother died when I was a Jacques, and say he was a young rogue, little girl, and my father was left with three but have never a word for us. children—my sister, little Jacques, and I. “ So matters went on till Lucie was Many, and many a time we used to romp eighteen, and Jacques, a fine tall lad. Jean about the court-yard, and sometimes go was not so rich as he was, for his father's into the fields at vineyard dressing, and vineyard had grown poor. Still he came pluck off the long tendrils ; and I would tie to see us, and all the village said there them round little Jacques' head; and my would be a marriage some day; and some sister, who was a year older than I, and said it would be Lucie, and some said it whose name was Lucie, would tie them would be I. around my head. It looked very pretty to And now it was I began to watch be sure, Messieurs ; and I was so proud of Lucie when Jean came ; and to count the little Jacques, and of myself too I wish times he danced with Lucie, and then to they would come back, Messieurs,—those count the times that he danced with me. times ! Do you know I think some- But I did not dare to joke with Lucie about times, that in Heaven, they will come Jean, and when we were together alone, back ?

we scarce ever talked of Jean." " I do not know which was prettiest- “ Then I dare say, you were in love with Lucie or I; she was taller and had lighter him," said the Doctor. hair ; and mine you see, is dark, (two rows “I did not say so,” said Madame.“

'But of curls hung' each side of her face, jet he was handsomer than any of the young black), I know I was never envious of her. men we saw, and I so young, and foolish!

“ I should think not,” said the Doctor. “ You do not know how jealous I be" I should think there was little need of came. We had a room together, Lucie

and I, and often in the middle of the night, ' You think not Monsieur ; you shall I would steal to her bed and listen to find see presently.

if she ever whispered anything in her “I have told

you
that
my

father was a dreams; and sometimes when I came in at small proprietaire ; there was another in evening, I would find her weeping. the town, whose lands were greater than “ I remember I went up to her once, ours, and who boasted of having been some- and put my arm softly around her neck, time connected with noble blood, and and asked her what it was that troubled who quite looked down upon our family. her; and she only sobbed on. I asked her But there is little of that feeling left now if I had offended her ;- you,' said she, in the French country—and I thank God ma sæur, ma mignonne,' and she laid her for it, Monsieur. And Jean Frére, who head upon my shoulder, and cried more was a son of this proud gentleman, had than ever ; and I cried too. none of it when we were young.

“ So matters went on, and we noticed, “ There was no one in the village he though we did not speak to each other of went to see oftener than he did Lucie and it, that Jean came to see us more and more I. And we talked like girls then, about rarely, and looked sad when he parted with who should marry Jean, and never thought us, and did not play so often with little of what might really happen ; and our Jacques. bonne used to say, when we spoke of Jean, "At length-how it was, we women that there were others as good as Jean in never knew it was said that

Jean's the land, and capital husbands in plenty. father, the proud gentleman had lost all his

poor

it.

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