not allow myself to see her, and therefore left the cottage, after having made my inquiries, and expressed to her mother my good wishes.

The day, though it brought more moderate weather, did not waft to the port the boat of Helier. Night succeeded day, and day succeeded night, but no tidings arrived of the young fisherman of the little Sarque.

Weeks had elapsed, and the respected-the beloved Marie, had almost allowed herself to be persuaded by her friends, that Helier had experienced the fate of many an island fisherman; that his boat had been upset, and that he and his mates had been swallowed up by the deep. Blighted were all her hopes, but those which spake of heaven. Once more I saw her pass my window on her way, in company with her friends, to the church. She was attired in the emblems of mourning; and O, she paced slowly, and as though reluctantly, that path which I had been used to observe her tread with so much cheerful

ness and grace. Sentiments of the deepest sympathy, and of the most affecting pathos,

D

were induced by the sight, in my pensive soul. Marie, said I, Marie, thou shalt not this day go uncomforted. Thy loved pastor will be inspired to utter consoling words which shall find a lodging-place in thy clefted heart. Thy God, merciful and gracious as he is, will not allow yon splendid orb to arise, and shine, and set, before it has witnessed both to the felicity of thousands of his humble worshippers, and to the felicity of thee.

True was the prediction. The morning service was just about to conclude, when Helier returned, and hastening to that holy || house, where he had spent so many of his sweetest hours, and where at that moment he was persuaded be should meet with Marie; he entered, and calmly and devoutly sat him upon the first seat which offered. The eyes of a few were upon him in an instant, and soon the movement of heads towards the spot where he sat was universal. The Pastor observed the cause, and in the midst of his own tears, and the tears of the entire congregation, he concluded by offering up in

words as distinctly as his affected mind would permit, his own thanks, the thanks of the youth's friends, and the thanks of the whole assembly, for his safe and welcome

return.

The feelings of Marie, it were vain to attempt to describe, or even the meeting which that morning witnessed in the rural and saintly edifice of St Mary's.

To conclude. Helier's boat had outlived the storm; but he had been driven away beyond all the possibility of being able to guess at his latitude. After two days beating about in the open sea, without compass and without food, he and his comrades were taken up by a vessel bound for the West of England. Thither he was put ashore; and as he could not venture to sail from thence in his small and incompetent boat, he sold it, partly for the purpose of obtaining subsistence for himself and companions, and partly for the purpose of procuring means to bring them to a port from whence he might find a vessel to convey them to Guernsey.

SAMSON'S

REVENGE AND DEATH.

BY RICHARD HUIE, M.D

IN Gaza's tow'rs the wassail-rout,
The song of triumph rung;

And while to Dagon's praise they shout,
Their captive foe the rabble flout

With proud insulting tongue.

"Where is great Samson's strength of arm, And where his might," they cry,

"Which once could spread such wild alarm, And make our bravest fly?

To thee, great Dagon, thanks we owe,
Who brought'st the Hebrew champion low!"

With sightless orbs and folded hands,
The victim of their malice stands;
And oft the sigh, but ill repress'd,
Is struggling from his manly breast.
He thinks of that disastrous hour,
When to the ruthless foeman's pow'r
By female wiles betray'd,

The flowing honours of his head
Were by unhallow'd razor shed,
And of his strength, Philistia's dread,
Himself was disarray'd.

Yet, though a captive scoff'd and blind,
Compell'd in prison-house to grind;
And now produc'd in idol's court,
To be the dastard rabble's sport,

And bear their scorn and ire;
A slow returning might he feels,
A silent vow to heav'n he steals,
And in his injur'd breast conceals

A scheme of vengeance dire.

Aloft on pond'rous arches rose
The temple which contain'd his foes;
And in the centre pillars twain

Were placed those arches to sustain:
These erst had Samson seen;

And there, when scorn had done its worst,
Amidst derision's frequent burst

Is he allow'd to lean.