bitter regret that one body has not a myriad lives to be sacrificed, we are apt to indulge the criminal wish, that all the fierce spirits of the world were encaged in one body, and that we could call down the fiery thunderbolts of heaven, and dash that solitary individual into atoms, and send forth the spirits into the regions of uninhabited space, or consign them to annihilation. That Scio had sunk in ruins, and that thousands of Sciots, who had had the foolhardiness to steal from their lurking places, had atoned for the atrocious crime of existence with their lives, did not suffice for the bloody-minded Turks. In every street and avenue of the city were to be seen bodies gashed with innumerable strokes, and exposed to the scorching sun; whose hearts were food for the destroying worm, were just yielding the last drop of blood, or were quivering beneath the repeated blows of the gory assassin. Others, who claimed the immortal honor of doing things in a gentlemanlike manner, (barbarously speaking,) who inflicted tortures upon a more refined system, would drag from their concealment hoary headed fathers with their helpless offspring, and murder them one by one, with red hot pikes of iron, with pointed splints of highly combustible wood, with ignited sulphur, with partial flaying and crushing of bones, or, when the aged had met their sudden and fearful allotment, the beautiful damsels were hurried away on board the men-of-war, reserved for slavery's ever-during' pains. The dark waters were crimsoned with guiltless blood, and, as the Turkish mariner leaned over the bulwark of his vessel, gazing now at the dangling hostages, and now at the watery element, he might enjoy the fiendish satisfaction, that by him and his associates were these torrents of blood spilled, so much crime perpetrated, so much misery inflicted.

Cheering reflection! and rendered more exquisitely delightful by the thought, that those who had escaped the sword would be dying in slavery all their miserable lives. Days had rolled on in the work of butchery, and the whole Island had drunk largely of the blood of her inhabitants. Although the strictest scrutiny had been exercised in searching for the skulking Sciots, yet some had survived the general massacre, and continued in their retreats, stealing forth by night in search of food to preserve a little longer their emaciated and death-stricken skeletons.

Let us follow one of these miserable existences to his comfortless, and subterranean abode, and gaze on the scenes of wo-scenes of sad reality, and drop the 'tribute of a tear' over the last struggle of mortal being. There is a melancholy pleasure, an awing

sacredness in surveying the dark chambers of death; in viewing the copious flow of tears, as they burst forth in long suppressed grief, roll down the pale cheek, and drop in quick succession upon the groaning bosom, in witnessing the last affectionate embrace, in listening to the sacred admonitions of a dying mortal, speaking peace to his offspring as they bend over his motionless body; and finally in witnessing the departure of the summoned spirit, as it enters upon the threshold of a new existence, a blessed immortality

Stretched upon a pallet of blood-stiffened rags, lay an aged sufferer, in the last moments of his being. While gory massacre was rioting over his head, and the earth below trembled beneath the thunders of the cannon, he had languished out a miserable existence, supported by the scanty gleanings of an only son, and the tender cares of a daughter, and daughter-in-law. True to his parental charge, the son, by active and cautious stealth, was enabled to steal forth in the obscurity of the night, and gather a few mouthfuls of food to resuscitate his fast fading parent; and, as the night began to fade away, he was cheered by the christian' like satisfaction, that by his exertions Scio still afforded a beggarly meal of unsavory, herbs to satisfy the cravings of suffering nature. As he approached the rags on which his father lay, he threw down his handful of maize, and exclaimed in the sorrow of his soul:

"There, Father, is the offering of a willing son, 'tis a pitiful of fering. Yet to him who enquires what it is, be it answered, 'tis the little all that remains of Scio. This night I have seen a sight that would melt the most frozen heart; I have seen a thousand wretches, a thousand fold more wan, and starved than myself, digging the very earth for food, and howling in the phrenzy of despair. This little handful I have scraped together amid a thousand perils: take it from a son of sorrow, and God's benison be with it and you. 'Tis the last morsel, I fear, that these hands shall ever impart, or thine receive, for by to-morrow morn, Scio will have been scraped by the nails, and teeth of dying skeletons."

"And God grant, that this may be the last morsel which my dying nature shall require. I feel my soul already struggling for an avenue from this gashed, and loathsome prison-house of clay. I feel it panting for God, and with him it soon must bo. Yes, my son, let your anxiety for me cease. Others demand thy attention they will starve unless you be their supporter. But ere this half putrid body becomes food for worms, I have one request to make, and that is, that thou wilt not expose thy life to danger by seeking

revenge for my death. I know the spirit that slumbers within thy breast, I know that thou art revengeful, but deign to comply with the request of a dying parent, and let vengeance slumber, and the past be forgotten. "As filial piety has ever burned pure within me, cursed be the day of my birth, if the appeal, the last and solemn call of an expiring father, fall disregarded upon my ear. If this be the last hour of a miserable mortality, die; die in peace, knowing that thy reasonable will is the most holy of laws."

"I promise, upon the as yet untarnished honor of a faithful son, that I will abstain from all perilous attempts to gratify the base inclinations of revenge." He uttered the words' as yet' with an energy, and tone of fearful meaning, that made the dying man start amid his agonies, and cast his glassy eyes with an enquiring, and almost terrified look upon his son; but he fell back upon his pillow with a heavy groan, and died without a struggle.

Whether he saw the deadly intentions which had been silently brewing in his son's bosom, and the thought had extorted a groan of despair, or whether he felt a pride in his son's integrity, and fancied he perceived the same pride in the other's tone, and gave assent as his spirit was taking its flight, is unknown. "He is gone! He is gone!" cried the son, "gene! gone! I have said--ha, what have I said?—said what I will not do--said that I will forego my revenge. Yes, I said it, that he might die in peace. But I will be revenged, deeply revenged.--Oh! a glorious harvest I will reapHa, ha, ha! How like going to paradise, the long-beards will look when they find themselves dangling in the clouds! Then may they shout, glory to Mahomet! and fancy they are on their journey to him. Then shall come a fall--a sad fall! and they shall shout, glory to the Fiend! for I will send them in troops as a reinforcement to his Satanic Majesty's standing army. Ha! and thenand then-what then?"--" Oh Jordano! Jordano!" cried his consort, starting up in terror at his fiery tones, and gestures, "what are you thinking of?" Why, I was thinking whether I should bring up the rear, or give another regiment of lubberly infidels their commission in their emperor's body guard. " "Oh! how can you say so! consider what you are about!" "About! about! consider what I am about !--Oho, yes!--why, I am planning my night's work, 'twill be a glorious work." "Oh! how can you be so cruel to me! Do you know what you say? "Mad! Do you ask me ' are you thus." "Mad, and cruel!"

Are you mad?"

mad?' You are not wont to ask me "I am not cruel to you, my sweet

girl; I love you now as ever. But your tears are salt to my heart, and yet 'tis no wonder they flow so plenteously; we have lost a kind father, and well may you weep. His death is-Ha, ha!— They're drunk with blood; their goblets overflow most plentifully. 'Twill be doing them a kindness.--'Tis twelve, just: I must go. Reason was fast tumbling from her throne, and shattered intellect was cowering before the hideous form of madness. But a woman's agonizing voice recalled consciousness, and gave to mind the sceptre of authority. "Ah! Jordano," supplicated the crying, clinging Julie, "for the love you bear to me I conjure you to tell me where you go, and what danger you encounter. Will you kill yourself? will you kill me, who love you, who will love you, and whose life is yours? Oh! God, restore his reason." These words were a charm upon his fury, and they broke in upon his soul like a sunbeam of light. He hung over her kneeling form in all the tenderness of grief, and anxiety of former love; wiped from her cheeks the big tear-drops as they gushed from her swollen eyes, and, as the thought of the last few moments flashed upon his mind, like a forgotten dream, he showed the tender husband in the tearful eye, and sighing heart.

His Sister, who had been a trembling witness to this afflicting scene, clung to his arm, and besought him, until she prevailed upon him to remain with them until the following night.

That night came, and brought along with it the torture of burning hunger, the groans of expiring wretches, and the chilling shrieks of assassinated victims, whose breadless dungeons had driven them forth amid tigers prowling for blood.

Who can describe female love, and female fears? Reader, if you have ever heard the soft and trembling tones, seen the watery eye, and felt the precious, and tender clasp of a fond wife, you can picture more faithfully than pen can tell, what fears congealed the heart's blood, what silvery drops of wo rolled down the cheek of the pleading Julie, as the revengeful Jordano freed himself from her embrace, and swore over his father's dead body, that the last muscle should be twisted from his arm, and every pulse should deaden, ere the passion, that revelled, like the pent fires of a volcano within him, should die. Aye!" cried he in his mad intoxication, "I have plotted a plot that shall shake the dark foundations of the Egean, and cover her bosom with the fragments of vessels and the mangled carcases of the Turkish bulldogs. I have uttered the words of a fiend upon the honor of a christian, and by a christian's honor

I will do what I have sworn. As the clank of his footstep died away upon the marbled entrance, the agonizing Julie burst forth into violent sobbing, and shed many an alleviating tear. "And is the last endearing tie of life now severed?" groaned she. 'My own Jordano-he was mine once--will soon meet the fearful con

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sequences of his madness. Oh! did he feel one spark of affection enduring the keen torture of fear, he would encage himself in this living grave, and gnaw the dead for food, ere he would fling himself amid dangers beyond the sight, and feeble aid of his loved one.--But may he never feel the anguish that consumes my heart, nor drink the full cup of despair, even though I should meet a fearful destiny. But may he then feel as he now feels, to reap his revenge, rather than waste away by the canker-worm of sorrow. Oh! I ask not for life--the sorrow that is here is too high a price for the scanty joys of time: I ask to see my Jordano once more, and, if he be dead, to kiss the livid hue of his mutilated countenance, and then to expire upon his cold, and stiffened bosom.

Tell me, ye guardian angels, must I seek him among the ghastly corpses, or will he again enter this abode of misery, and cheer into a glowing flame this dying spark of existence,--tell me, shall the coral of the deep weave a covering for his bones, or shall these hands be permitted to scrape the earth, and hollow out a sepulchre for his body?" The roar of the Turkish cannon burst upon their cars like successive claps of thunder; and as they rushed into the open atmosphere they found the sea covered with foam, yet felt not the least stirring of the air. It would have been dark as the grave, but the broad sheets of flame, which rolled from the cannons' mouths, glared upon the heavens like the first burstings of a volcano.-Still the two miserable beings stood straining their moistened eyes to discover some movement, explanatory of this mystery. Nor did they gaze long. Suddenly the heavy, sluggish waters were lifted from their dark foundations, and the mighty mass was hurled aloft wreathed in flames, as if the long struggling fires of the earth had torn their way through its crust. A battle ship with its heavy folds of canvass, bursting into curling sheets of fire, was borne up along with its friendly element. It hung tremblingly for an instant, as if to allow some scores of dark forms to plunge into the tumbling waters; then it burst with the jar, and voice of an earthquake, filling the heavens with myriads of fragments, and throwing its magnificent glare for miles around upon the gloomy deep. One simultafrom ten thousand beings--and

terrific cry neous, death succeeded.

the silence of W.* H.* 0.