herself upon her pillow--she stretched
forth her hand to mine, manacled as they were--she fell back, and
Emma--yes, my Emma was no more. Despair, rage, fury, worked up the
fiends within my soul! I struggled to burst my fetters, dashed them at
all who approached me; but overcome at length, was borne to the common
gaol. I was tried for desertion, and, on account of my resistance, was
flogged through the fleet. I had acted improperly as a seaman, but I had
done my duty as a man. It was not my intention to desert my ship, but my
feelings overpowered me, and I obeyed their dictates. Yet now I felt
indignant at my punishment, and took the first opportunity to escape;
but whither could I go?--there was no protection for me. One visit, one
lonely visit was paid to the grave of her who was now at rest for ever;
and I again entered on board the ----, bound to the West India station.
I fought in several actions, and lost my arm. But the R* for desertion
was still against my name, and though I obtained a pension for my wound,
I could obtain none for servitude. I cannot apply to the friends of my
youth, for they believe me dead; and who would credit the assertions of
a broken-hearted sailor?--No, no: a few-short months, and the voyage of
life will be over; then will old Will Jennings be laid in peace by the
side of Emma Wentworth, and wait for the last great muster before Him
who searches all hearts, and rewards those seamen who have done their
duty." Here he ceased, while D---- turned to his wife, whose loud sobs
gave witness to the sympathy of her heart; but the agony increased to
hysteric convulsions--she sprang hastily on her feet--shrieked, "'Tis
he! 'tis William! 'tis my uncle!" and fell upon his neck!--_Literary
Magnet_.

[2] Founded on facts which actually occurred in Devonshire, a short
time after the peace of 1815.

* * * * *

STANZAS.

(_For the Mirror_.)

Oh! poverty, thou tyrant of the mind,
How eager would I shun thy cold embrace,
And try some hospitable shore to find!
Some welcome refuge; some more happy place.

But ah! the stars shone adverse at my birth,
Tho' boyish pleasures all my youth beguil'd,
And little thought amidst those scenes of mirth,
That I was doom'd to be misfortune's child.

At last the haggard wretch is come; and I,
Like some poor hark, toss'd by the mighty wave,
Am solitary left, nor have wherewith to fly
Her dread e