She had till now, in the presence of her father, assumed a cheerfulness, even if she felt it not, and greeted him with a smile of returning happiness; and, however painful the effort it cost, had attended to the affairs of his household. But a change came over her spirit. During the last visit I paid her, she looked more like the Magdalen of Guido than the Madonna of Raphael. Her eyes were red with weeping; over the natural paleness of her cheek was spread a flush, less of bodily disease than the fever of her mind. She appeared lost in a self-abstraction that eclipsed all external objects, and discovered no light within; such as the fanatic in the exaltation of his fervour finds, to compensate for the lost brightness of the world. For some days before her death, she abode in perfect darkness, and would not even see her father: she refused all sorts of sustenance, or to take her accustomed medicine; and with feeble voice, that inanition rendered more like a murmur or a sound, was heard at intervals muttering accents of despair. This could not last long. She was found with her hands clasped in the attitude of supplication, in which she died. Her head was bent back on the pillow, and her eyes were raised to heaven. As these sisters were united in their lives, so far were they in the manner of their death that no one received their last sigh. These details have little that is dramatic in them, they are scenes that have nothing to recommend them but their fidelity; yet they are not without a moral lesson. I have lately made a pilgrimage to the graves of the Two Sisters, and have thought that they should not perish without some humble record to save their memories from oblivion. I remembered the words of a great poet, and said with a sigh, when two such spirits pass away, "The world seems sensible of a change: They leave behind a cold tranquillity, Death and the grave, that are not as they were!" ANACREONTIC. EROS, god of love, I'll bring Where's the eye that shines as clear Eros, god of love, I'll bring M. L. THE DOCK-YARD GHOST. BY RICHARD JOHNS. It was a dull and rainy afternoon in a dreary sea-port town: the very waves came in sluggishly, as if they found it too much trouble to wash the shores; while the idle winds wantonly played with their rippling curls, instead of blowing them up for neglect of duty. I do not mean to say that the borough of Dockarton was a dirty town, and wanted more purification than other communities of men; far be it from me to make so unkind an assertion: but Mr. Mouscribe's Guide to the beauties of "this ancient port and its neighbourhood" makes particular mention that its shores are "washed by the boundless deep," and I am old soldier enough to require contracts to be properly performed. The eventful day the incident occurred which has made me turn scribbler, was in the autumn of 18-, not many years after the close of that ever-to-be-remembered European war which covered England with national glory and national debt, and entitled her to that continental gratitude which, I am inclined to think, was incontinently forgotten. The town I refer to, had greatly flourished during the struggle of kingdoms; for it possesses, as Mr. Mouscribe has it, "a dock-yard where the giant oak of England is hollowed and squared, and fashioned to stem the heaving tide, and go forth the mighty bulwark of our native land." Dockarton in the war-time was consequently a bustling sea-port, and had a large garrison of veterans and militia, together with a goodly population of sailors and slop-sellers, innkeepers and outfitters, pimps, crimps, and prize-agents, tailors, hatters, wine, brandy, and provision merchants among the sterner sex; while the ladies boasted a miscellaneous assemblage, which, for the most part, had better be imagined than described. Peace arrived, and in a short time grass was actually discovered growing in the streets. Ships were no longer launched, and but rarely commissioned or paid off; Jack now seldom came “ capering on shore" with money in both pockets; the Jews' watches were at a discount, as it was no longer the fashion to buy them by the halfdozen; and when a five-pound note was cashed for a new hat, it had ceased to be usual to "d- the change!" Tailors now were too busily engaged looking after old bills to entertain old customers with champagne luncheons; hotels were shutting up, or dwindling into pot-houses; and shops once abandoned by their tenants remained unoccupied. Change followed upon change; even the veterans and militia departed, and in their place his Majesty's — regiment did duty on the dismantled lines, silent saluting-batteries, but still noisy dockyard of Dockarton. The reader will now understand why I called this a dreary town. I believe it has since, in some degree, recovered from the sudden effects of the peace; but stupid enough it was when Ensign Augustus S looked from the windows of the King's Head Inn at the drizzling rain which begreased the pavements of the principal street in Dockarton. Bitterly he cursed the showers which had converted a fine morning into a wet afternoon, and prevented a certain damsel with whom he was desperately enamoured, from keeping an appointment duly made in a meetinghouse the Sunday before. The fair Mary called herself a nursery-governess, and it is certain she governed the nursery of a family in the vicinity: but though "Master Bobby" and "Miss Emma" were too old to carry, they were yet rather young to learn; and, not speaking their native tongue with fluency, it is probable they did not trouble their protectress by entering into the component parts of the language. Be this as it may, it pleased the nursery-maid to aspire to the dignity of governess; and Ensign Augustus cared not to oppose or contradict her, as, clad in mufti, he would stroll beside his innamorata and her young charge, when the weather and her mistress permitted them to take the air. On the present occasion the pretty Mary was prevented froin meeting her lover by the rain; and the ensign was consequently out of temper with himself, with her, with the whole world, and everybody in it. After having proposed other terms of capitulation in vain, he had just determined on a mésalliance with Miss Mary, in sovereign contempt for the prejudices of his forebears, who had made it their custom to marry in their own station of life; and the sooner he informed his gentle enslaver, the sooner Ensign Augustus thought his heart would be at rest. The only way of unburthening his mind was to embody his honourable proposal in a letter; but this seemed a plan of proceeding which, with a latent dread of a possible action for breach of promise of marriage, he hesitated to adopt. Brooding over his disappointment, he finished his sherry and sandwich; sauntered to a billiard-room, where he made two or three foolish bets, losing his money with a still greater profusion of his temper; and from thence lounged to his quarters. Here we will leave him playing Robin Adair, Dulce, Dulce Domum, with other heart-inthralling airs, on his German flute, whiling away tedious moments till the mess-hour; and transport ourselves to the royal dock-yard of Dockarton. It is the evening of the same day, eventful in the records of the regiment, to which our gallant friend belonged, and Tom Mason, a full private in the ensign's own company, is on sentry in a retired part of the "Yard." It was still "very dubersome weather," as Tom remarked to himself as he walked to and fro before his box. The rain had ceased, and the moon seemed making up her mind to shine, as if in attempt to dry the wet-blanket-looking clouds that hung around her heavenbuilt hall. Not a soul was stirring in the dock-yard-at least not to the eye of Tom Mason-except a brother sentry on a distant jetty, when the clock chimed the half-hour past eight. Twenty bells now took up the sound as they were set going by the hands of the civil watch-worthy old men !-showing that they were not yet gone to sleep, whatever might happen; while sentinel answered to sentinel, and watchman to watchman, in one long continuous cry of "All's well!" which, echoing in the distance, died into silence. I have said Tom's post was in a very retired part of the "Yard," and have further to mention that the place was "banned with an evil name." Whether some "Jack the Painter's" wandering ghost really visited "the glimpses of the moon" in that particular quarter, I cannot take on me to say; but certain it is that several soldiers declared they had beheld a figure pass them that would give neither An incendiary known by that name, executed, about the year 1776, for firing Portsmouth dock-yard. the "parole" nor "number." To pursue this apparition, whatever it might be, would take them from their posts, and be contrary to orders; while to fire at everybody they could not otherwise secure, supposing their challenge to be unanswered,-their strict line of duty -had on a late occasion, fatal to the intruder, though ludicrous to the thoughtless soldiery, called forth a caution from the commissioner of the dock-yard not to be too precipitate with their muskets. A sentry had one dark night shouted "Who goes there?" till he was hoarse-fired-alarmed the guard. "Why did you shoot him?" said the serjeant.-" Why did not the jackass answer, then?" cried the sentinel. "Who have I shot?""Jackass, indeed," rejoined the non-commissioned officer, raising the head of the dead body, and letting the light of his lantern fall on the long visage and leaden eye of the deceased.-It was the commissioner's donkey! But, to return to Tom Mason. Scarcely had the dock-yard relapsed into silence when a black figure, holding what appeared a small white flag or handkerchief in its hand, passed along a range of timber-sheds about fifty yards from Tom's post, and then came to a dead halt. Our sentry duly challenged, though, it must be confessed, with a trembling heart; for he had not the least doubt he beheld the ghost. The dark form answered not, but slowly waved its flag. With a last effort of despairing courage Tom challenged again; and the apparition, uttering a faint scream, seemed to sink into the earth. This was too much for mortal man to support; at least so thought Tom Mason as he took to his heels, and never rested till he had reached the opposite jetty, where, holding by the arm of his astonished comrade, he once more looked in the direction of the ghost-walk he had quitted. "There it is again!" exclaimed he, pulling at the shoulder of Dick Cummings, who, being no believer in spirits except those sold at the canteen, most provokingly declined to take an old anchor-stock in the distance bedaubed with a patch of white paint, for a supernatural visitant: Tom's fears having by this time appointed a deputy ghost to do duty in the absence of the late apparition. "You are a fool, Tom Mason," answered his comrade, with that easy address distinguishing a familiarity which, if it does not always breed contempt, is fruitful of black eyes. "If ever I saw a ghost in my life, that's one!" obstinately continued Tom. "Very likely; and yet that's the old anchor-stock you and I passed three times to-day when the reliefs went round," dryly answered his brother soldier. "An't you a pretty fellow to stand sentry? Why, Paddy O'Brien's story of the black and white ghost -that pepper-and-salt bit of the devil's cookery-has fooled the wits out of you!" "Well, well!" said Tom, taking a long breath, "I believe you are right as to the anchor; but the thing I challenged just now walked, and waved a white flag after the same fashion that Paddy told us of, and screamed, and sank into the ground, which is more than he ever saw!" Without seeing any thing further to alarm him, Tom Mason, soon after nine o'clock, was relieved by the very Paddy O'Brien who had strengthened the superstitions of the garrison as to the dock-yard being haunted, by roundly asserting that he had seen the apparition. In a few minutes more, Dick Cummings also had resigned his post to another, and was marching beside Tom to the guard-room. Whatever might have been the intention of our ghostridden sentinel,-whether to report what he had beheld, or keep the secret to himself, in the hope of Cummings not betraying him to the ridicule of his companions,-little time was allowed him for deliberation ere Dick tauntingly asked if he had" seen the devil again." Angry words arose; blows were exchanged; and the whole affair was, in consequence, referred to the officer on duty, who happened to be no other than our friend, Ensign Augustus, he having been disturbed at mess to fill the position of a brother subaltern taken suddenly unwell on guard. The pugnacious soldiers were reprimanded, and reserved for report to the higher authorities on the morrow; and the ensign, who had a small touch of romance in his composition, sallied forth alone to investigate the mystery of the haunted jetty. Here he found Paddy O'Brien-a huge specimen of the grenadier company-quite on the alert, challenging at the top of his voice, and clashing his arms as he brought his musket across his chest to the port, with a noise enough to frighten any ghost happening in the days of its body to have tasted cold steel. "Paddy," said Ensign Augustus, "what is this story of yours about the black and white apparition? Tom Mason says he saw it and spoke to it just now." "Oh! the devil he did, sir!" cried O'Brien, with a start that brought the chin-stay of his grenadier's cap across his mouth, while the bearskin itself stuck out at right-angles with his back. the devil, thin, what a mistake!" "Oh! "Mistake!" repeated the ensign, in no little surprise at the sentry's exclamation. "Who made a mistake?-answer me, sirrah!" "She, sir!-he, sir!-the ghost, I mane! Oh! blood and 'ounds! what will I do, anyhow?" "Walk your post, sir," said the ensign angrily, "while I get behind your sentry-box; and we'll see if this ghost of yours pays you a visit." "Oh! don't sir, don't!" cried the soldier, now in evident and undisguised trepidation; " 'twill be the ruin of me!" This was addressed to Ensign Augustus as that gentleman stepped behind the box; and what answer so curious an appeal might have elicited it is impossible to say, for just at that moment the young officer caught sight of a black figure coming towards the jetty. 66 Challenge it!" exclaimed the ensign, putting his head out from his concealment. "I won't!" shouted Paddy, in an agony of desperation; adding in a parenthetical cry, which resembled the howl of a whipped dog, "Oh! blood and 'ounds! she'll know the sound of my voice and come up to me!" "Is "Oh! will she?" answered Ensign Augustus from behind. that your fun, O'Brien? Challenge, you scoundrel! or I'll pink you!" at the same time giving Paddy the slightest possible taste of the point of his sword, in the rear. "Who goes there?" roared the sentry, from habitual subordination no longer resisting his little officer. The apparition waved its handkerchief, but remained silent. On it came, though with an |