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with the stranger to Mc Fillagin's dwelling. All was stillness within. They called at the door, but received no reply. It was bolted on the inside. After knocking repeatedly in vain, they were at length answered by a deep, hollow groan. “Here ish trouble," said the Dutchman ; and by the application of his powerful shoulder, he soon burst open the door. An awfully loathsome scene presented itself to their view; Mc Fillagin and his wife were both extended on the floor. Tables and chairs, bottles and glasses, were broken, and scattered about the room. A brief inspection assured the visitors that the woman was already dead; her skull was fractured, and she had received several stabs in the body. The man was just expiring, having cut his throat from ear to ear, though speechless, he still held the bloody knife in his hand. Patrick, leetle Patrick !” exclaimed the Dutch

All was silence. He then put his mouth to the dying man's ear, and exclaimed, in a voice of thunder, “ Have ye murdered de leetle chilt ?” The miserable victim of intemperance made a feeble motion of his head to the right and left, and, with a slight convulsion, expired. The old man proceeded to look under the bed and in the closets for the little boy. Lighting a candle, he descended with the stranger into the cellar. “ Patrick, Patrick! poor leetle poy !” cried the old man, with a winning gentleness of manner utterly at variance with his uncommonly rough and inauspicious exterior" come out, leetle poy; here's old friend Hazell come to take care of ye, poor chilt !” А slight movement was heard in a corner of the cellar, and the

poor

terrified child was seen peering forth from the ash-hole, whither he had fled for refuge from the domestic hurricane which had left him fatherless and motherless.

Man's imagination, under its highest pressure, could not produce a more moving example of helplessness and terror. This bare-footed and ragged little urchin, whom misery had adopted for its own, looked wearily from his place of refuge, and half recoiled at the sight of the stranger. The old Dutchman placed himself before the ash-hole, and endeavoured to coax him forth, with that kind of importunity which is sometimes employed to seduce an oft-beaten dog from his covert. “Come out, leetle Patrick,” said he, extending his hand in the most encouraging manner, and twisting his weather-beaten features into a smile ; “don't pe feared, leetle poy, it's nopody but old Hazell.” Thus comforted and assured, the poor child ventured forth; and, drawing as closely as possible to the old Dutchman, he held fast by his garments, with the nervous grasp of a drowning boy. Trembling and agonized with terror, he cried, in a whispering voice, “ You won't let father kill me, will you ?” “No,

my poy," replied the old man, as he wiped the tear from his

eye. “Won't you let me live with you ?” cried little Patrick in a most beseeching tone ; I will do every thing you tell me, oh do let me go home with you, Mr. Hazell !” While he uttered this supplication, he had laid hold of the old man's hand, and covered it with kisses and tears. This was too much for an old Dutchman's heart. momentary effort to controul his strong natural feelings, “Mynheer," said the old man,

vat shall

pe done mit dish poor leetle toad ?”.

After a

6. It

old man,

is a bad case," said the stranger, looking at his watch. “ I should think it would be best to send for the coroner.” Vy, dat ish for de dead; vat goot vill de coroner do for dish leetle poy ? dat ish vat I say, mynheer.”

The stranger was one of that numerous class who fly instantly to the rescue upon the cry of murder or of fire, and whose benevolence is particularly active while the scene and circumstances of affliction are of a busy and stimulating character, but who have no taste for the subsequent detail for the humble process of quietly balancing the final account of misery. He was therefore somewhat perplexed by the Dutchman's practical interrogatory. After a short pause, he replied: “Why, I suppose the neigbours will see that he is taken care of.” “ Yaw, mynheer, rejoined the old man; “ but who ish de neighbours ? as it is written in de goot book.

If old Hazell vas so poor dat he could not py a salt herring, he would send voord over de great pond, and he would find neighbours in Amsterdam, I varrant. Now, mynheer, look at dist here ragged leetle poy; ven he make up his face, and cry just like dat, if I had not put my leetle Fritz in de ground mit my own hand, I should

say sure it is de same chilt." Old Hazell patted little Patrick on the head, and bade bim wipe his eyes ; Pe a goot chilt,” said the

“ and I vill pe a kind fader to ye, and I shall call ye Fritz, after de poor poy vat I buried.”

The little fellow cried louder for joy than he had cried for sorrow. The benevolence of the Scotch and the Irish has been contradistinguished by a pleasant writer, who affirms that a Scotchman will walk all over Aberdeen to serve a friend to whom he would refuse a baubee; while an Irishman, upon a like occasion, will empty his pocket of its last farthing, though he will not walk a mile. The philanthropy of the stranger was somewhat of the Irish character. He caught the contagion of the scene before him, and, taking out his pocket-book, handed the Dutchman a two-dollar bill, to be employed in any way he might think proper for the boy's advantage ; promising, at the same time, to call at the Dutchman's house to inquire after the child's welfare.

Little Patrick, whom for a respect for the old Dutchman's wishes, we shall hereafter call by no other name than Fritz, was immediately removed to his new quarters. The rags in which he had been so long enveloped were thrown aside ; and, with a measure of sensibility utterly at variance with the general appearance of the outward man, the old Dutchman unlocked a particular trunk, and drew forth a complete suit of boy's wearing apparel. “ Go into de chamber, my poy,” said he,

put 'em on; I hope ye vill pe so goot a chilt as de leetle fellow vat vore 'em last.” When he returned, clad in his new apparel, the old man's recollections completely overpowered him; he took the child upon his knee, and seemed, as he wept over him, almost to realize that he held communion with his long-buried boy.

An inquest was held forthwith upon the bodies of Patrick Mc Filligan and his wife Matty. It was an occasion of peculiar interest to the

He kept the grog-shop four doors above Mc Filligan's house, and he deeply felt the loss of two such valuable customers. Old Hazell,

and

coroner.

and the sailor appeared before the jury, and related the facts as they have already been recited, but Mr Mc Flaggon, the Irish coroner, persuaded the jury that they ought not to decide on circumstancial evidence, and that it would be very wrong to hurt the poor people's feelings after they were dead. Accordingly they brought in a verdict for “ accidental death.” “Vell,” said old #azell, when he heard of the verdict, “dat ish droll enough: here ish Mc Filligan, vat get drunk, and kill his vife, and cut his own throat, as sure as viskey; and Mc Flaggon, vat sell de rum, say it ish accidental; vell, dat peats me and all the Dutch peside.”

The horrible outrage which we have just now related produced no ordinary measure of excitement in the village of Still-Valley. There is something extremely romantic in this simple appellation. When I entered this village for the first time in my life, through a cluster of tall hills by which it is surrounded, I fancied the hamlet before me to be, of all places upon earth, the abode of peace. Still-Valley! A more appropriate name could not have been chosen for this sequestered spot.

Pray, sir,” said I to an aged man whom I met at the entrance of the village, “ do the habits of the people in this neighbourhood continue to justify the name which they have chosen for their valley ?” “Why, as to that, sir,” he replied, “ since the late murder, the temperance folks have been making something of a stir here, and one of the distilleries has stopped. For several years there have been commonly four at work in the valley." “ Bless me!” I exclaimed, “ then it takes its name from the distilleries. I had fallen into an extraordinary mistake; I thought it had obtained its title from the quietness of the spot." The old man laughed heartily at my simplicity, and assured me that I was altogether mistaken, and that he doubted if a population of fifteen hundred noisier people could be found in the commonwealth.

(To be continued.)

PHOSPHORESCENCE OF THE SEA

By the researches made in the French Ship La-Bonite, in her recent voyage round the world, it appears, that the phosphorescence of the sea is not inherent in the water, but essentially due to the presence of organized matter; and is owing to animals of different classes. According to Mr. Robart, this property of phosphorescence in the northern seas is occasioned by animal matter held in solution, and not by the

presence of animalcules.

[blocks in formation]

(By the Rev. E. E. ADAMS, A. M., Seamen's Chaplain, Cronstadt.)

If the traveller would visit Elsinore from Copenhagen, he can do so by the morning Post. Passing through the ancient gate of the city, you are immediately relieved from narrow dirty streets, the everlasting noise of men, and steeds, and chariots, and the dismal roll of the soldier's drum, by the delicious scenery.

No cloud-capt mountain stands in the enchantment of distance before you; no mighty torrent leaps and thunders down the rugged cliff, pouring its hushed waters along the vale; no boundless forest lifts its ancient trunks, and spreads its beaten arms to the storm; but trees of the softest foliage adorn the bastions, and hang over the moat, casting their shadows on its silver water; gardens, bright with dew-drops and roses, and rich with every useful herb, smile and breathe their odours ; gentle hills, crowned with parks, from the centre of which arise the mansions of Danish nabobs; and on one of which, the most distant, is a palace embosomed in shades, present an inviting aspect; whilst the road, adorned on either side with choicest trees, and kept in perfect order, enables

you to glide onward with swiftness and ease.

The ride to Elsinore occupies three hours, through a region highly cultivated, and presenting features not unlike those of English scenery, but not broken in upon by the innovating hand of art; no puffing and smoking engine, marring the beauty of nature, or disturbing the peaceful calm of the simple peasants.

The swamps with which this island abounds, furnish vast quantities of peat, which is an article of traffic with the peasants, and of comfort to all classes. This is cut from the swamps in a dry season, and exposed in heaps to the sun and wind; when sufficiently dried, it is taken in the country waggons to the towns for fuel.

There is nothing in the town of Elsinore to excite the attention of a stranger. The streets are narrow, and dwellings decaying. It is situated on the sound in latitude 56 N. and longitude 120 28" E.

It was a small village of fishermen's huts until 1445, when it was made a town by Eric, king of Pomerania, who granted many privileges to the inhabitants, and built a castle for their protection. Its increase in size has been gradual, the population at the present time being only 7,000, Amongst these are numbers of foreign merchants, many pilots, and a few artisans who excel in the manufacture of jewelry.

L

The passage of the sound is guarded by the fortress of Cronburg, situated upon a promontory, opposite which the coast of Sweden is but four miles distant. Towards the town it is fortified by walls and entrenchments; and toward the sea, by batteries mounted with 60 cannon, the largest of which are 48-pounders. This fortress was very richly furnished, but pillaged by the Swedes in 1658, who took away the furniture, amongst which were some statues of massy

silver,

Every vessel that passes, lowers her topsails, and pays a toll at Elsinore. This toll is paid from precedent, as a reward to the Danish government for the support of light-houses and signals to mark the shoals and rocks in the Categat. The number of vessels passing the sound annually is 16,000, and the toll amounts to 2,000,000 of Rix dollars, or £200,000 sterling. The right to such toll has long been questioned, and some mercantile bodies in England have recently taken steps to interest the English government in the matter. The toll is so valuable to the Danish

government, that Elsinore is called “the king of Denmark's gold mine.” Vessels are often detained at Elsinore by head winds, when its streets are thronged with seamen, for whose spiritual welfare no one is concerned. Not long ago a house of worship was erected by the government of this country for the benefit of the Scotch and English residents at Elsinore ; but it is now in the possession of a Dane, who rents it to a dancing master for his school.

A chaplain for English and American seamen might be exceedingly useful there, to the thousands who tarry for a day or a week, to the foreign residents, and to the native population. Numbers of the Danes understand the English language, and might be induced to attend religious worship, to read tracts and the word of God. Indeed the residents are anxious that some one should be sent by our Society, and they would doubtless contribute something for his support.

The castle is an object of interest, from its historic and tragic associations. It is an ancient building of grit-stone, enclosing a square area capable of containing 20,000 men. It has numerous spires, one of which is an observatory, and serves as a light-house, commanding a view of the sound, of the Norwegian mountains, and the coast of Sweden with its flourishing towns. The princess Matilda was confined in this castle. The only amusement she had, was that of tracing upon the windows, flowers and other objects, together with the portraits of her parents and friends; and to ascend the tower, to look at evening by the light of the moon over the sea where all she loved had gone. She was finally rescued by the English.

Shakspeare selected this castle as the scene of his “ Hamlet.” Standing in front of the castle at night, in the keen wind that sweeps over the sound, and listening to the solemn murmur of the breeze, you will readily appreciate the feelings of the poor soldier, Francisco, when

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