Year: 1864

WHdt pOlBuaut pduSS tuou CauoV AhAACs
what sunny hours thou canst recall


But must to my. story.


A little over five years ago I found my
self at the Island of st. Helena. It was
beautiful night in May. Our ship had
touched here to procure water, and its
worthy, but unromantic skipper, decided
that it was advisable to remain but two
or three hours for the purpose Of filing
our tanks.


There was no conveyance to take me to
Napoleon's old grave, and as the distance
thither was six miles or more from our
landing point, it was an impossibility to
walk it and return in season to leave with
my ship. So, in despair and sullen grief,
I abandoned my long contemplated visit
TO the spot where they laid him, and
where now the willow bends weeping.
and the Acacia keeps lonely vigil. We
wandered through the principal street of
the island town, and left the shore just as
the setting sun threw his last rays on
island and ocean-beautiful and chang.
ing as are the hues Of the dying dolphin
in his Last sgonies-or like the last ling.
ering notes of the swan, the sweetest in
death. The water was like the neck Of q
dove, changing with purple and gold.
The ship was lying lazily at anchor some
distance of, and it gave us long pull to
reach her. The evening was sultry, but
soon the stars came out, and we forgot
the oppressive heat in contemplating the
charms nature had woven around Us. I
nat watching that grand old rock, which
had been made so famous-wrspped up
in ihe gloom of its own solitude, and in
whose long shadows we were lying, with
mingled feelings of admiration and awe,
it looked so black and threatening-a
dense, dark mass.


Deep silence reigned over all. The
murmuring lips of Old Ocean were sealed
by the hand of sleep, and scarce sound
issued from the. feet that had nestled
under the islands lee. At long intervals
We could catch the drip of the suspended
Gar of some water loiterer, or the COM
planning murmur of the surf would appeal
to our sympathies as it told its story to
the smooth pebbles on the beach, or
dashed against the rocks adown whose
MANNED and patient faces tears trickle
forever. How beautiful the water looked,
with the stars lingering like floating
Jewels on its bosom, mirrored as clear as
in glass. Soon great heavy clouds came
ont and hung over the brow OF the island,
as if they had some dark sorrow to re.
lease there, or were about to pour there
ON a dreadful vengeance-and then, I
thought, the charm was to be dispelled,
and instead of being gladdened by a
spectacle of grandeur and beauty, we
were to be fretted by storm. But 10 q
change! The moon, the welcome moon,
came out, and won her slow way with
wan, sweet smile, up to the very edge Of
those black clouds, and then the picture
she painted was beautiful beyond descrip-
ton She tipped them with q silver
edge, she tipped the top of the rock
island too with her silver wand, and as
she gathered her radiance about her, and
marched in triumph higher, still higher,
on the dappled vault, like q queen fol-
lowed by her glittering train-she chased
away those clustering clouds which seemed
like q black sorrow brooding there, and
bsthed island, and sea and ships with
snch a sweet and gentle ipht, and 30