upon me this morning, and would that I had perished in those boiling surges, for a life like mine is but protracted agony.'

'Cheer up! cheer up, my good fellow! these idle dreams are completely ruining you. Have we not safely escaped?—and surely it were worth the peril to see the Canton behave so nobly. For heaven's sake, what is it that has thus changed you?'

Captain Hinckley, I am changed indeed. What I was I am not and never shall be again. But a few weeks since whose eye was brighter, whose shout louder, whose step lighter than mine? Who rang the peals of laughter oftener than I, and to whom did the whole crew point as the very personification of mirth but to me, Fitz-Eustace, the gayest of the gay? All around me then was light and beauty :-not a grief cankered my heart,—not a care wrinkled my brow. Sorrow I laughed at, and despised with contempt the brooder over trouble. But now, now cursed word! I would not, yet I do utter it; for as oft as it comes, it rings the knell of my doom; yes, that withering now-and yet I cannot destroy it; I must, I will repeat it until a thousand times spoken it becomes so many evil fiends to drive this soul to madness.'

Why, man, you rave! you are making a fool of yourself, FitzEustace, thus to give way to some mere phantasy of your brain. Fling away these sickly whims, for I will not allow them aboard my vessel; why, you will infect the whole crew.'

'Will not allow? ha! ha! Can you tell the tempest, when it rushes forth in its fury, that it shall not roar? Can you bid the old white-haired ocean hush itself to sleep when its giant waves are chafed to madness? Can you catch the lightning as it glances, and spread it out for a mellow twilight on the sky, or bid the thunder roll harmoniously along like the singing of a zephyr ? Talk not then to me of allowance; God and my doom are my masters! I know no others.'

'Fitz-Eustace, be calm! and if it will ease that heart, which seems thus burdened, to tell me the cause of your suffering, retire with me to the cabin, and if there be not crime at the bottom of all this, be assured I will most sincerely sympathize with you, and do all in my power to alleviate your sufferings.'

'Nay, sit down here; it is the most fitting place for my tale; the open sky, and the broad ocean, suit best the temper of my soul. All I have to say can be told in a few words. Listen, then. During our stay at St. Petersburg, I received a note from the Messrs. Cramer, requesting my immediate attendance upon some important business. Proceeding there, I found, that owing to a mistake I had made in one of the invoices, there would be a loss of some thousand roubles in the sale of the sugars. Angry with myself at this carelessness, I returned to my room, and in crossing the square which fronts the Imperial Palace, I had reached the statue of Peter the Great, when a female beggar accosted me,

and, placing herself directly in my way, supplicated me, first in German, and then in English, to bestow a pittance upon her. I was far from being either in the pitying or giving mood, and therefore spurned her from my path. Would that I could recall that moment-that act! but it is too late. With an eye flashing out the hate of her soul, she lifted her shrivelled hands towards heaven, and imprecated a short but most horrible curse upon me. "Wretch !" shouted she, "soon shall the time be when thou shalt bitterly say, 'would that now I was that beggar.'"

'Heeding her not, I passed on, and forgot the occurrence, until I had retired to rest that night. The feverish uneasiness of the day had subsided, and, wearied by my duties, I was just passing through that dreamy state of neither consciousness nor insensibility which precedes sleep, when the thought of the beggar flashed across my mind, and in an instant I felt the whole force of my inhumanity and of her imprecation. There was no longer slumber for these eyes. I called reason to my aid,-judgment,

conscience were summoned, but in vain. The curse rolled louder and more horribly all around me; and when the morning dawned, the sun's first rays fell on a miserable, fevered, doomed

man.

'From that moment every thing was changed; and now, aye, now, now, thou infernal hag, nature seems to have flung a mourning robe around herself; the whisperings of the breeze pall on my ear like a dirge wailed for the wretched; the light which once tinged all around with loveliness, now seems like the burning glare of a volcano, and the deep blue sky, which I have loved even to adoration, like a vast mirror, reflects back the ghastly hue of a sickly ocean writhing beneath it. The past comes up before my mind distorted into every possible form of loathing, while the future seems a yawning grave. Home, kindred, friends, are but unmeaning words, unheeded, save for the associations once connected with them. Never again will a smile play on these features, unless it be when memory slumbers, and even then it will be but the meteor's gleam on a stormy sky; and should a laugh ever break from these lips, it will startle by its strangeness. I know the world will charge me with folly, and rightly, too, for I brand myself a fool. The dark saying uttered by that imp of hate ought not, thus control me; and yet why should it not? Every man has his moments when some powerful spell is upon him, controlling every feeling, thought, and action, and what if mine be a horrible one. Captain Hinckley, you have my secret ;. use it as you will, but on the peril of your life, breathe it not to those I once loved at home; nor even hint to them the misery which has settled on the doomed brother and son.'

Thus saying, Fitz-Eustace strode haughtily away towards the tafferel, and wrapping his storm-coat closely about him, threw himself into the stern-boat to brood alone over his misery.

Four weeks passed on, and the Canton was safely moored in the harbor of B. During the passage, Fitz-Eustace had maintained the same melancholy reserve which characterized his actions at the time of sailing, and, although daily associating with Captain H., never reverted to the cause of his gloom. Every one aboard regarded him with feelings akin to superstitious dread, respecting while they censured. During his stay in B, the excitement attendant upon the discharge of the cargo and the winding up of the voyage, seemed, for a time, to arouse FitzEustace, but when these were over, he was again the same strange being. His friends marked the change, and, unable to discover the cause, did all that devoted affection could devise to dissipate his melancholy. In vain were their best efforts;-wealth, pleas ure, praise, were lavished upon him, but only to fall ungathered at his feet. Society was shunned, and his only recreation was to stray away into the solitude of the country, and there alone give full play to the mad fancy that ruled him. Daily and hourly was the curse fulfilled, and a thousand times did he wish, in the bitterness of his heart, that he was the beggar of the Russian square.

There is something beautiful in the silent influence which Nature exerts upon a troubled mind. Whether we go to her when she has decked herself with the flowers of spring, or when the snow is on her hills and the ice in her valleys, she has always a kind voice to greet us which falls on the heart like the ministerings of a guardian spirit. The blossom and the hoar-frost have each the same whisper, the little rill and the river the same song of welcome. Nature's every look is love, and all who seek her find a changeless friend. With the hand of kindness she supports the fainting soul, and, catching the tears as they gather in the eye, dashes them away, and leaves a holy smile to tremble there. Poverty, sickness, adversity, come to her in sorrow and return in gladness; while the wretched and despairing bless the benefactor that has flung a ray of hope across their darkened souls.

These daily rambles were not without their influence on FitzEustace. His heart was touched by the ministrations of Nature, and the dark cloud that shadowed him had its edges tinged with a chastened brightness. The voices around the fire-side fell not without their music on his ear, and the smiles of friends were greeted as welcome visitors. The time for his departure again arrived. The peculiar morbid spirit which infected Fitz-Eustace, instead of unfitting him for the transactions of business, seemed to impart an unnatural energy and activity in the performance of these duties, so that a greater amount of property was now consigned to him for investment than on the former voyage.

Again Fitz-Eustace was aboard the Canton with Captain Hinckley, bound out to Havana. It being now the winter season, the commencement of the passage was somewhat boisterous, but as the wind was favorable, blowing a stiff, double-reef-topsail breeze

from the northwest, the gulf stream was soon crossed, and in a few days the Canton was gliding quietly along, with her studding-sails and royals catching every light puff of the tropics. At the close of the twelfth day the ship had reached the Bahama Banks, and was lying becalmed near the island of Abaco.

It was a lovely evening, one of those when the sun in his lavish wantonness pours out all his treasures on the sky and ocean. Along the western horizon hung a low, broken bank of clouds, glowing with the mingled colors of beauty, and so undefined was its line of union with the equally gorgeous waters of the ocean, that it seemed like a vast perspective; as if Nature, in one of her wild freaks, had changed the surface of the earth into a magnificent plain. The evening star was alone in the heavens, and so dimly distinguished was it amid the crimson flush which was flung upon the sky, that it seemed like the mild eye of a spirit looking bashfully down through its filmy veil of gold. Not a whisper trembled in the air,—not a speck dimpled the burnished waters. It was the hush of Nature, when silent, breathless, before her God she offers up her evening orisons.

Fitz-Eustace had watched with intense pleasure the splendid scene. Nor was he alone in the delightful study; every soul aboard drank in the inspiration of the hour.

'What a glorious eve is this,' said Fitz-Eustace to Captain H. 'How unlike those heavy, leaden sunsets which close a northern day.'

'It is indeed a lovely one, and right glad am I to see FitzEustace himself again. Read, my young friend, the true lesson which nature is writing out in such fair characters before you. It is the sun which has created that beauty, and so in thy heart will love for the great Jehovah render every thing beautiful and bright around you.'

True-most true! But how long is this pageantry to last? ere another hour, blackness will rest on that purpled sky, and the infant zephyr start up into the giant storm. Thus is it with life. There are moments when the world goes trippingly, and the heart, wherever it looks, sees naught but gladness. Memory, from the ocean of the past, brings up nothing but pearls, while hope withdraws the veil of the future only so far as to reveal its forming beauties. Then comes a change, and the soul looks in vain for what it once so dearly loved.'

'What though darkness shall dissipate this splendor, will not many a star come to us? and is the soft mosaic which midnight works upon the sky less beautiful than this?'

'Beautiful indeed while it lasts; but you forget the clouds which flit across and dim the scene. Give me a cloudless life

and I will acknowledge 'tis a happy one.'

'Say you so? Where then would be the magnificence of this hour which you so highly extol, did not those western clouds catch

and fling back the painting rays of the sun? Fitz-Eustace, it is the momentary passage of ills across our lives, like shadows on a summer field, that dashes beauty on our path by the contrast.'

'All think not thus alike, and therefore let us change the subject. I have been fancying that those bright clouds were but an extension of this earth, the pathway to a brighter world over which the soul passes on to its rest. I imagined that I could faintly discern many a spirit in its brilliant vesture soaring among those golden hills of light. See you that little purple cloud resting on the deep azure like a fairy island in a stormless sea? Is it not beautiful? Were I a spirit, there would I dwell and bathe me in that crystal flood.'

Long did the excited Fitz-Eustace watch the magic scene, until the last bright color had faded, when suddenly starting from his seat he convulsively grasped the arm of Captain H. and pointing to a few wreathing clouds nearly over-head, shouted wildly, 'There-there-look! see you not that blasting word written on the sky! it is-it is!' and with a wild unearthly laugh he rushed to the cabin.

The next morning found Fitz-Eustace scorched with a raging fever. All the hopes of Captain Hinckley that the victim was fast breaking away from the spell which bound him were forever destroyed. So suddenly had been the transition in the feelings of Fitz-Eustace from light to gloom, that reason was almost dethroned. As the day wore away, however, his fever abated and soon after he was again on the deck of the Canton. But it was evi

dent to all that death had set its seal upon him, and he moved among those hale and sturdy men like the dead among the living. During his sickness so steady had been the breeze that the ship had moved rapidly on, and when again Fitz-Eustace looked out on the sea, the high hills of Matanzas were rising above the horizon. During his stay in Cuba so invigorated was he by the salubrious climate and genial breezes of the island that he was able, with the assistance of Captain Hinckley, to discharge all his duties.

As the month of March closed, Fitz-Eustace was once more on his way to Russia. Whether it was owing to the want of some employment to engage his mind,-to the harsher temperature of the climate, or to the consciousness that he was about to revisit the place of his curse, it is uncertain, but from the moment he left the harbor of Havana, Fitz-Eustace began to droop. 'Tis melancholy to see the aged, with heads whitened by the unceasing breath of four-score years, finally drop into the grave: or the infant, around whose little heart so many strong affections clustered, perishing like the dew-drop; or manhood, with its bright hopes and lofty aspirations, ruthlessly torn away from the scene of its honors;-but sadder far is it to see one whom nature has formed equally to gladden the social circle, enrich society and