"When he came immediately opposite to Spiel, he stood still and erect, and a number of others ranged themselves on his right hand and on his left, whose dresses were fine, but not so splendid as their superior's, and they bore pipes of common form only. Behind these drew up a group of persons, many of whom were ladies, some bearing infants in their arms, others leading children by their hands, all dressed in strange and gorgeous apparel, though of fashions unknown to him who beheld them; and, lastly, came a body of men and lads, with big loose trowsers, thick heavy jackets, and red worsted night-caps, whom Trosk instantly knew to be Dutch sailors. Each of these had a quid of tobacco stuck in his cheek, and a short blackened pipe in his mouth, which he sucked in melancholy silence. "The fisherman lay still, and saw this grim troop assemble around him, with feelings of mingled alarm and wonder; his heart did not sink, for it was kept alive by fearful curiosity, but cold sweats gathered upon his brow. Presently, the principal figure looked round, and seeing his attendants all in their stations, he took his long twisted pipe from the hands of the negro, and began to smoke in long and deep-drawn whiffs; and this seemed as a signal to the rest to follow his example, for, immediately, every mouth was in action, and which ever way Spiel cast his looks, he beheld nothing but glowing tubes and gleaming eyes turned towards him, while wreaths of smoke rose up from the multitude, and formed a dense cloud-like canopy above them. Nevertheless, though he could plainly distinguish the features and the dresses of this ghastly crew, he could also see the stars clearly glimmering through them, and now gleams of fire and electric flashes began to shoot across the heavens, and the sky grew more vividly bright than it had been. Still, though Trosk could behold all these appearances through the bodies of the phantoms, he could also perceive that his ghostly visitants were closing slowly upon him, that their ranks grew more dense, and the space between him and them more narrow, while their puff's became more violent, and the smoke rose up with redoubled velocity. "The Shetlander was naturally a bold, and, indeed, a desperate man, and he had come to the glen with the desire of conversing with beings of another world; but when he beheld this fearful, strange, and unintelligible multitude crowded round him, and pressing nearer and nearer, as if about to overwhelm him, his courage yielded, his frame shook, and the sweat ran copiously down his face. The appearance of the black boy occasioned him more terror than all the rest; for, never having seen a negro in those far distant isles, he believed him to be a little devil, and his white teeth and whiter eyeballs looked terrific against his sable face; but his terror redoubled, when, on turning his eyes up to look at the sky above, he perceived close behind his head that little dry withered man who had accosted him in the skiff, sitting now as rigidly upright as before, but with a pipe in his mouth, which he seemed to hold there as if in grave mockery of all the assembly. Trosk started convulsively, and a choking sensation seized upon his throat; but, summoning all his energy, he mastered it, and directing himself to the principal person before him, he exclaimed,' In the name of him ye obey, who are ye? and what want ye all with me ?’ "The great man gave three puffs, more solemnly than ever, upon this adjuration, and then, taking the pipe slowly from his lips, and giving it to his attendant, he replied, in a tone of chilling formality, I am Aldret Janz Dundrellesy Vander Swelter, whilome commander of the good ship Carmilham, of the city of Amsterdam, homeward bound from Batavia, in the east, which being in northern latitude 60°, 10", and 17o, 5', longitude east, from the island of Ters, at 12 P. M. on the night of the 21st of October, 1699, was cast away on the inhospitable rocks of this island, and all on board perished. These are mine officers, these my passengers, and these the mariners forming my gallant crew. Why hast thou called us up from our peaceful bowers, at the bottom of the ocean, where we rest softly on beds of ooze, and smoke our pipes in quiet, listening to the songs ' of mermaids ?---I say, why hast thou called us up?' Spiel had expected to commune with spirits, good or bad, but he had not anticipated a visit from the captain of the vessel he wished to rifle; and, indeed, the question he had to propose was rather an awkward one to put to Mynheer Vander Swelter, for ghosts are in general tenacious of hidden treasure, and a Dutch ghost was likely to be more tenacious than any other, and, in particular, the spirit of a commander in whose charge a treasure had been placed, since he might still think he had a right to preserve it for the true owners, or at least for their heirs lawfully begotten and duly qualified. But this was no time for deliberation, and the prospect of gaining his wishes poured like a reviving cordial over the soul of the fisherman, and washed away his terror. 'I would know,' replied he, where I can find the treasure with which your ship was laden.' "At the bottom of the sea," answered the captain with a groan, which was echoed by all his crew. "At what place?" said Spiel. "In the Nikkur Noss," replied the spectre. "How came they there?" inquired the Skerryman. "How came you here?" answered the captain. "I came here," said Spiel. "'Tis false!" exclaimed the Spirit, "you came no further than the Peghts' Aultar Stane." "I did not think of that," cried Trosk, whose eagerness for wealth did not allow him to think of any thing else; "but how shall I get them?" "A goose would dive in the Nikkur Noss for a herring, thou idiot," answered Mynheer Vander Swelter; "are not the treasures of the Carmilhan worth a similar exertion? ---Would'st thou know more?" "Yes, how much shall I get?" said Spiel. "More than you will ever spend," replied the captain, and the little man grinned behind Trosk's head, and the whole company laughed loud. Hast thou done with me?" said the commander. "Yes I have," answered Spiel Trosk. "Thanks, and fare thee well!" "Farewell, till we meet again," said Mynheer Vander Swelter, facing about and marching off, preceded by his musicians, and followed by his officers, passengers, and crew, all puffing their pipes in majestic solemnity. Again the grave music was heard winding down the dell, accompanied by the words of the psalm, and the fisherman marked the notes grow fainter and fainter, till at length they were lost in the murmur of the waves." Spiel goes to search for the lost treasure, and perishes. Winwig, having first become idiotic, is supposed to have been lost in a similar expedition. The story of Woolcroft is more common-place, both in its situations and incidents. The following song, sung at the sort of carnival which takes place on board the ship on arriving at the Greenland Seas, may amuse some of our readers. VOL. II. "Oh Lord I thought I could not live, I vowed to take a desperate dive, My eye and Betty Martin ! All my eye---all my eye---my eye and Betty Martin.' "Says he, 'knock off this foolish whim, And change your way of thinking; Full well you know you cannot swim, Get down below, a heavy squall Is coming on I'm sartin; Go trim the decks, for love is all My eye and Betty Martin! All my eye---all my eye---my eye and Betty Martin!' "Thought I, a cherub can't be wrong, And told him my opinion, Besides I offered him a long 2 Y Says he, I hear a messmate call, All my eye---all my eye---my eye and Betty Martin!" " The second volume is chiefly occupied with the narratives of the chances of the ship and her crew in their whaling. These, to one unacquainted with such matters, are full of interest, and the descriptions of the ice are at once beautiful and accurate. The tales in this volume are "The Charioteer," which is about the worst of the series, although not unamusing, and "The Goth," a "Tale of Italian Ban"ditti," possessing somewhat of more interest, but even less credibility, than most of those which have lately appeared on a similar subject. The following description of the first meeting with ice, is a fair specimen of the author's narrative. Early on the morning of the twenty-fourth, I was called out of bed, to see something extraordinary, as I had requested to be summoned on such occasions. I ran upon deck in my shirt, and beheld, not as I had expected, a rare bird or a fish, but a piece of ice, floating past the vessel. This was the first with which we met; but, during the morning, fragments of every size and shape encountered our view. Their colors were white, when not covered by the sea, but where they sunk beneath the water, they reflected its hues of green and blue, varying by position, and presenting occasionally tints of the richest splendor. From their rugged and craggy figures, they appeared to be fast melting, although the coldness of the weather seemed more capable of increasing than diminishing their bulk. Many of them, from the action of the waves, had acquired grotesque and singular shapes, which, as they came along. side in groupes upon the billows, afforded a thousand fanciful resemblances to the imagination. Those of the smallest size might be likened to chessmen, put in agitation by supernatural agency, or to the heads of a promiscuous multitude seen journeying along behind a bank or hedge, which concealed the rest of their bodies; while the larger masses seemed to be the riches of a sculptor's gallery, borne on a flood of quicksilver; a mingled fleet of statues, busts, pillars, capitals, tombs, and arches, formed of the purest marble. I do not wish to infer that the surface of the ocean was as smooth as liquid metal, far otherwise. During the last three days the motion of the Leviathan was as trying to the temper as the humors of a scolding wife. Standing or walking, unsupported by some immoveable stay, was as impracticable as progression to an infant, and even the consolation of sitting at rest was denied us. More than once, when, during a deceitful truce, we had arranged ourselves round the stove, to dry our mittens and renew our warmth, has a sudden lift on one side unshipped us all, and tumbled us, men and chairs, cats, mittens, mugs, pots, and fire-irons, to the lowest level. Woe to him thus caught in an unluck y position, for bumps and bruises, and a thousand little inexplicable miseries, were the punishment of being surprised off guard. He who sat himself down to write without precaution, would perhaps, in half a second, behold his inkstand roll, pouring out its sable fluid into the farther corner of the cabin,---his paper gliding after it, as if eager to wipe up the black streams which should have been its own---his knife leap into the fire---his pen whisked off, heaven only knows where, and his patience---but who can talk of patience on such occasions? He may hurry to repair these mischances, if he will, and when he has managed to resettle himself, in hopes of continuing his occupation, an ominous shout, followed by a long shrieking groan of yards and cordage, bursts upon his ear, and announces that the ship is put upon another tack,---a fact which the immediate elevation of that side on which he had humbly seated himself, as being the lowest and least liable to inconvenience, confirms. Then, while he rides leaning over the upper edge of the table, as if balanced on the ridge of a house, and endeavours to improve every momentary Full, by inscribing a word or a line, comes one of those horrid kicks beneath the weather quarter, and almost jerks his eyes out of their sockets, or at least runs his pen, as if in forced contempt, through all his graphic labors. What at first might pass for Arabic or Persian, or for an arrow-headed manuscript from Persepolis, then appears not only far less intelligible, but as if intentionally scratched out: or, should he be in the act of delineating a bird or beast, or mass of ice, he will find himself compelled to mark down sundry outlines, which convert his sketch into some fearful object of nonexistence. Those whom curiosity has tempted to inspect my MSS., indited under such ease-destroying circumstances, will comprehend the reality of what I here describe; but those who have attempted to read them, have indeed partaken of my sufferings." "The Assassins," and "Vision of Lucifer," in the third volume, are new versions of very old stories; so also is "The Governess," which is preceded and succeeded by some long-winded conversations which are scarcely worth recording. "Mortram" is a tale will suit the taste of the sentimental, and "The Boarwolf" of the horrible. The following remarks are so perfectly in accordance with our own ideas, that we cannot resist the opportunity of extracting them. "I am very glad,' exclaimed Captain W---, rubbing his hands and looking round him, with an air indicative of his feelings, 'that Frank Mortram was happy at last. I don't like stories that end unhappily, at all.' "Nor do I, John,' observed our commander, unless there is a very striking 'moral inference to be drawn from their catastrophe, and even then they are more tole'rable than pleasant. The mind that can feel delight in misfortune, I conceive to be either unsound, or evil-disposed, and under both circumstances undeserving of confi'dence. The man who can be gratified with imaginary misery, will not be so reluc'tant to occasion real distress, as he who holds affliction in abhorrence. There is not 'that strong obstacle to his acting cruelly which influences the kind-hearted being, the 'violation of his own comfort; and when no feeling of selfishness opposes the commission of a misdeed, there is little hope that temptation will be resisted.' "Persons disposed to melancholy,' said William, will feel a morbid satisfac⚫tion in perusing narratives of grief and disappointment, yet they are often most harmless creatures in society.' "Still,' replied Captain Shafton, they are inclined to indulge in mental food, which must be obtained by the sacrifice of happiness, though fictitious; and their 'appetite, when accustomed to such luxury, will relish unfeigned woe without reflecting on its source, as the glutton who has habituated his palate to excitement will 'feast upon the victim of culinary barbarity, without a thought of the sufferings it 'endured to become delicious. Few melancholy beings are guilty of crimes to satiate their propensity for distress, but they seldom fail to shew the dark side of every prospect to the parties concerned in it,---and destroy the hopes of others, for the gratification of their own gloomy imaginations. This they do, I believe, without malicious 'intentions, but it shews that their own feelings engross their attention, to the exclusion of other considerations. The truly kind and benevolent seek to brighten the ' views of life, and to make existence tolerable, even to the most depressed in condi✦tion and in mind; while the misanthrope, under the semblance of wisdom and pre'caution, adds the weight of anticipated evil to the oppression of the present. It is his delight, and he turns from the sight of felicity to contemplate suffering for his " pleasure.' "The Voyager" brings his adventures rather abruptly to a conclusion; but as he was somewhat tedious in the first part, in describing his personal observations, this may be the better borne. We bid him farewell with reluctance, for his work is, on the whole, extremely amusing; his reflections are rational and just, and altogether display feelings more consonant to the sober and well-disciplined mind which ought to characterize the English gentleman, than we have lately been accustomed to see. : Ahab a Poem, in Four Cantos. By S. R. Jackson, Author of "Lament of Napoleon," "Fall of the Crescent," " Affection's "Victim," &c. &c. &c. 66 Mr. Jackson's morality is unquestionable: he tells us, in page 6 of his preface, that in his poem of Ahab" he has endeavoured to shew that crime always brings its own punishment, and that whenever we do wrong, an inward monitor reminds us of it. In the first canto he depicts the folly of endeavouring to drown the remembrance of guilt in wine, and he concludes it with some moral reflections. In the opening of his second canto, there is a comparison of the mist carelessly floating on the air with Youth on the wave of Life; and part of the third canto is destined, as its argument assures us, to showing the insignificance of pomp and pride. His poem, moreover, is interspersed with some remarks on the fall of empires, and the faithfulness of woman. His taste and memory are equally unobjectionable and excellent; in fact, they are like our own; we admire as much, and remember almost as much as he does himself, the passages of Lord Byron which appear to be his favorites. He is equally remarkable for originality ;---his grammar, pronunciation, versification, philosophy, and conception of character, are, in many respects, entirely his own. We beg leave to make some quotations in support of these assertions. Some of the words we have put in italics, are instances of the novel beauty with which this author can surprise us in the midst of passages the most familiar to our memory. The parting of Ahab and Zebudah appears, at first sight, an exact copy of the parting of Conrad and Medora; but on a more accurate perusal, we find it replete with exquisite varieties, resulting from Mr. Jackson's peculiar style of thought and expression. " Why lov'd she thus that man of sin and shame ?" "Unthinking mortal, marvel if thou wilt, You know not of those secret things that bind Page 19. "'Twas for that more than softer hearts diffuse Page 21. "The night is gone! the eyelids of the morn Melt into life like infants newly born." "Swift glide the hours, and o'er the cloud of morn |