extinguished! and every limb so benumbed with
cold, that she had the greatest difficulty in _keeping her saddle_.
Already she had reached the mouth of the Usk, and was on the point of
encountering the turbulent waves of the British Channel, when the master
of a fishing-boat, who was returning from his nightly toils, discovered
the gleaming of her taper, and bearing her calls for assistance, though
he at first thought her a witch, yet ventured to approach this floating
wonder, and happily succeeded in rescuing Mrs. Williams from a watery
grave, and bringing her in safety to the shore in his boat.

Thus was the life of a fellow-creature preserved by a poor fisherman's
courage, in not being daunted by what he at first conceived a mysterious
light proceeding from some sprite or hobgoblin; but, from duly examining
into causes, proved himself both a hero and friend.

POOR MARY,

_THE MAID OF THE INN_.

Who is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly fix'd eyes
Seem a heart overcharg'd to express?
She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs;
She never complains, but her silence implies
The composure of settled distress.

No aid, no compassion, the maniac will seek;
Cold and hunger awake not her care:
Through her rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak
On her poor wither'd bosom, half bare; and her cheek
Has the deathly pale hue of despair.

Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day,
Poor Mary the maniac has been!
The trav'ller remembers, who journey'd this way,
No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay,
As Mary the Maid of the Inn.

Her cheerful address fill'd the guests with delight,
As she welcom'd them in with a smile:
Her heart was a stranger to childish affright,
And Mary would walk by the abbey at night,
When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.

She lov'd; and young Richard had settled the day,
And she hoped to be happy for life:
But Richard was idle and worthless; and they
Who knew him would pity poor Mary, and say,
That she was too good for his wife.

'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night,
And fast were the windows and door;
Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright,
And, smoking in silence with tranquil delight,
They listen'd to hear the wind roar.

"'Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fire-side,