With the assistance of the glass I descried a light in the distance. It was, indeed, a ray of hope; but it beamed only to deceive; for it proved to be nothing more than a solitary planet in the horizon, which the drifting clouds had exposed for an instant, and which they speedily again obscured. Again the sentinel struck the bell; its sound was like a death-knell on the ear. Again it sounded, and my heart responded with a throb to each of its four dismal chimes. Every moment seemed an hour, so intense was our anxiety; and weary, at length, of straining my sight in vain, I once more descended to the deck. Wetherall, Sands, and the Doctor were standing in close conclave abaft. "You're right, Sands," said Wetherall; it is high time that something should be done; and I can't help thinking that it will be little short of downright murder, if we do not go in search of the boats. As it is, we're steering right away from them, by Jove !" "Before Heaven!" cried Sands, who was dreadfully excited, "you may talk of discipline, and subordination, and mutiny, and all such balderdash, but what are these to me, when the lives of the two men I value most in the world are at stake!" "This is a matter, gentlemen," said the doctor, "that will require serious consideration. What do you propose to do ?" "Seize that Settler dog," cried Sands, striking his clenched fist against the bulwark," and clap him in irons. Though I should swing for it at the yard-arm before mid-day, I'll be the first man to rivet the gyves!" quite agree with you, that steps ought to be taken." "The doctor's right," said Wetherall. "Come, Sands, let's go together to Settler, and see if we can persuade him to steer upon another tack. They accordingly proceeded forward. Settler was still pacing the quarterdeck, with folded arms; the vessel keeping the same course as before. Wetherall and Sands faced him, just as he turned to make another round, and they stood in such a position as prevented his passing. He immediately saw there was something in the wind, so sticking his arms akimbo, and throwing into his countenance an expression of infinite superciliousness, he addressed them with the assured air of one entitled to command. 66 Pray, gentlemen, may I ask the reason of your stopping me in this unceremonious manner!" "Mr. Sands and I are of opinion, Sir," replied Wetherall, "that the ship is, at present, steering away from the boats; and we are come to give you our advice as to the course it would be best to take." "And pray when did I ask either Mr. Sands or you to give me any advice on the subject, Sir?" "You certainly did not ask our advice, Sir; but we thought it proper, under present circumstances, to volunteer it." "And I," replied Settler, "think it proper, under present circumstances, to decline all conference with you on the subject, Sir." The bell again reminded us that the morning was advancing-it struck five.* "The boats on the weather-bow!" cried Parsons from the forecastle, in a voice that made the vessel ring. "God be praised!" cried Wetherall, interrupting himself, as he was about to reply to Settler. We all rushed eagerly forward, to assure ourselves of the welcome intelligence, and discovered the blue lights in the boats at no great distance, making directly for the ship. Settler immediately hove to, and in a few minutes they were under our bows. Officers and men crowded eagerly forward on the gangway; and as the rope was thrown • Half-past two in the morning. over to the boats, a tremendous cheer resounded to their welcome. Sands was standing next the gangway, and as soon as Morley touched the deck, he eagerly grasped his hand. "May God be praised, Sir," he cried, as the tears started in his eyes, "that we have you once more safe on board!" Thank you, my honest fellow," eried Morley, returning the cordial shake of his hand; "thank you my honest fellows all! By Heaven, it makes a man's heart warm to meet with a welcome like this! Danger becomes desirable when such a reward awaits it! Strangway and I, to be sure, were nearer losing the number of our mess, by the frolic, than we bargained for; but it's all over now, and your looks, my fine fellows, repay me a thousand times. We must have been sadly out of our reckoning, however; we took the ship to be full two miles to leeward of where she is!" Settler blushed slightly at this remark, but not a word was said. His guilt or innocence was allowed to remain between his own conscience and the main-mast. "And now Sands, my boy," continued the captain, “here's oil enough to make your fortune. Serve out lamps, my lad, and cabbage your candles! Our trip has been of some service to you, at all events!" It turned out that they had succeeded in killing the fish, after much difficulty. It had proved a very strong one, and gave them a long run before it was exhausted. By what almost seemed a merciful interposition of Providence, it had towed them in the same direction that the ship had taken, and the gleam of our blue lights, which they discovered accidentally, while looking for them in a totally different direction, served afterwards to guide them in their course. The fish was now got on board, piecemeal, and the blubber was boiled on the main deck. The oil, which turned out to be very fine, was sold to Sands for a pound of tobacco and a straw hat to each man in the ship; and we went on our way rejoicing. About the end of the third week after leaving St. Helena, the flat top of Table Mountain began to appear above the horizon. THE IVY TREE. "Man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward."—JOB. Old Ivy Tree-old Ivy Tree, A lesson thy green leaf bringest, Which man must wear, Like the ruin to which thou clingest. Alike to thee, and thy climbing limbs, That feigns a smile, Whilst crumbling hopes beneath. Or yet, more like to thy creeping arms The form they wound, And blight the fool they clasp. Then Ivy Tree-Old Ivy Tree, Thy leaves can tell, A lesson to make us sigh. M. Now fade the hues that streak the western skies, And wreaths of ivy round the portal twineStretched on a tomb,-absorbed in thought profound,—— There Melancholy basks in full moonshine. The yew-trees, there-a charnel-house disclose; Deep in the windows caverned arches set, Loose fragments of time-tarnished glass remain- The Altar, now by rustling grass o'ergrown- Now whisper through the dome the winds alone, The hallelujahs long have breathed their last, In this seclusion sadly burned erewhile The taper's ray, what time the vestal train Then, from their cloudy tenement released, As closed the rite-awhile their spirits pause, The name of Mother, for the tender ear, By heaven resounded-ye have never known. Ye smothered freedom's flame within your breast. And sunk, exhausted, on the path she trod, Untold for whom her heart's last throb was heaved, For earth or heaven-for Abelard or God. Ye-ranged the darkened corridors along! Ye moss-grown cells, by rank grass overspread! Within your walls did beauty turn to sere, Ere yet the folded leaves disclosed the flower, Nor love the last sad tributary tear Did on the maiden sufferer's death-cross pour. The Alpine rose, on Bernard's cheerless height, Plucked by the tempest-to the stream is left. The rose, of innocence the symbol fair, Has here long time its vernal bloom displayed; And here, as legends tell, the trancing sound O. B. C. There are maidens in broad Avondale, full fair they are and free; But in the wood and on the hill are stout Sir Roger's foes. II. We have true hearts for the maidens, and broad arrows for the deer, |