FOR

IN THE WATERS.

BY REV. C. W. SCHAEFFER.

OR ourselves, we have no hesitation about answering the question, Is this a novel, or is it a veritable history? The sad story of the affections it contains, its descriptions, so deeply thrilling, and its scenes, sometimes tragical in the highest degree, might seem to mark it as a work simply of the imagination. But the personal character and history of its author, the minuteness of its details, its harmonious exhibition of acknowledged facts, and the high-toned religious principle that pervades the whole, constrain us, at once, to decide in favor of its authenticity.

As we find it before us, it has been translated from the German, of Biernatzki, by Mrs. George P. Marsh; and is published, in a handsome 8vo. volume of about 300 pages, by Gould and Lincoln, Boston. It has long been a favorite amongst German Christians; and we have known German scholars and divines, who, from their personal knowledge, could testify to the truthfulness of the scenes and customs depicted in the Hallig.

Along the western coast of the Duchy of Schleswig, embosomed in the waves of the North Sea, lie several islands, the remains of a portion of the neighboring shore that has fallen a prey to the waters. The larger islands are protected, partly by artificial walls, partly by natural hillocks of sand, against the waves, which, with the daily

newed efforts to sweep the last fragments of their mighty spoil into the great abyss of the ocean. By way of distinction from these larger islands, the smaller ones are called halligs. A hallig is a flat grass-plot, scarcely two or three feet higher than the level of the ordinary tides, and consequently, being protected neither by nature, nor by art, is often overflowed by the rolling sea. The largest of these halligs are less than half a German square mile in extent; the smaller, often inhabited only by a single family, are barely a couple of thousand feet in length and breadth !

Of all places upon earth, occupied as the abodes of men, these halligs seem to be most uninviting, most inhospitable. They afford no patch of garden-ground, not a bush to yield refreshing berries, nor a tree to supply a resting-place in its shade. The one sole production seems to be a pale, green sod that covers the plains around, where the frugal sheep may find a scanty sustenance. The very fish shun the shallow sea; and whithersoever he may turn, the inhabitant of the hallig may see the waves from which he has nothing to hope, and everything to fear-waves, poor in gift and rich in plunder. Sometimes tempest and tide together break upon the trembling hallig. The sea rises twenty feet above its usual level. The posts of the houses, burried as deep in the ground as they project above its surface, are bared of their support, and washed and shaken by the sea. The frightened peasant hastens to secure his

best sheep in the houseloft, and then himself and family retire to the same shelter. The waves roll on; they break through the framework below. The boards beneath their feet are raised by the swelling flood; the roof is shattered by the dashing waters. A shriek of terror is followed by a few moments of torturing suspense; the floor settles away; the mountain-wave breaks in, and the last death-cry dies off amid the storm.

We have heard much of the attachment of the Greenlander to his native home, and perhaps have wondered at it. We may be more surprised at the existence and strength of this sentiment in the inhabitant of the hallig. He loves his home, loves it above everything; and he, who has just escaped from the flood, always builds again upon the very spot where he has lately lost his all, and where he may so soon lose his own life as well.

It is through such scenes, that the attractive story in the book before us, winds its wondrous way.

Godber and Maria, both natives of the hallig, are betrothed. For nine years of his advancing youth his sturdy enterprise is diligently put forth in other lands; and so, securing sufficient capital to redeem his paternal homestead, he hastens back to his hallig and his Maria. She, meanwhile-not with impatient passion, but with calm and true affection, has been directing and fixing every thought and sentiment upon her duty as the betrothed bride of Godber.

A small vessel, driven out of its course by a fearful storm, comes to anchor within sight of the hallig. Its distress is seen and lamented by Maria and her mother. Upon this vessel Godber acts as pilot. Its company consists of Mr. Mander, a merchant of Hamburg, and his grown son and daughter, Oswald and Idalia. During the dark and anxious hours of the night the storm increases with such terrific violence, that it seems to be certain death to remain on the ship. Mander, with his son and daughter, and two of the sailors, resolve to attempt reaching the hallig in a boat. They obtain the consent of Godber, to act as their pilot. With immense labor, and through many

dangers, they reach the hallig, and are accommodated in a hospitable dwelling. The service thus rendered by Godber fills them all with grateful admiration. Idalia especially, is profuse in her expressions of thankfulness; and the graces of her person, as he sees her now, for the first time, in the borrowed costume of a hallig maiden, produce such an impression upon the heart of Godber, as proves, at once, fatal to his love for Maria.

Godber and Maria meet on the morning after the wreck; she, in all the earnestness of pure and virtuous love, he, in all the coldness of a selfish heart, and scarcely able to suppress the trembling that belongs to the consciousness of guilt. Yet so accustomed was she to subdued and quiet expressions of affection, that his very reserve itself awakened no suspicion in her true and confiding heart. In a very short time Godber, Idalia, and Maria meet, and the sad truth is at once revealed. Godber has been faithless to his vow, and Idalia now stands unrivalled and alone in his affections.

The effect upon Maria is the more distressing, because it is less violent in its outward expression. The heart knoweth its own bitterness. Now, at this point it is that we meet with one of the most admirable features of the whole book; we mean its lofty and decided religious principle. The distress of Maria, quiet and subdued though it is, arrests the attention of Hold, the hallig pastor. He gently wins her confidence, learns all the circumstances of the case, mourns with her, soothes her, directs her to the Author and Finisher of our faith, in whom the sufferer may see united a heaven of peace and an earth of trial, prays with her and encourages her at length to say, "Here, Lord, is thy handmaid, thy will be done. Amen." It was not because Time had prevailed to soothe the pain and heal the wound, but because Grace had triumphed; and so Maria's conduct became the mirror of a heart given to God. She passes along, through the remainder of the story, with the meekness of one who has been bowed down low in sorrow, and yet with the strength and conscious dignity of one who has become more than a conqueror.

The current of Godber's history, after having been disturbed for a season by the agitations of an accusing conscience, from which he sought no release in prayer, flows on gently and cheerfully, in the light of Idalia's smiles. Their affection is fond and mutual, and circumstances bid fair for a happy consummation.

Meanwhile the intercourse between Hold, the pastor, and the shipwrecked family grows more familiar; and, in respect to the father, at least, seems to look to consequences altogether important. Idalia is too flippant, too much engrossed with Godber, to place herself in any attitude of respectful attention to religious truth. Oswald, her brother, though worldly and impulsive, is nevertheless courteous and communicative; but Mander himself, with a philosophic and inquiring mind, cherishes the privilege of intercourse with Hold, patiently and faithfully examines the false foundation upon which he has hitherto been resting, and soon confesses, "I would willingly inquire what I must do, to inherit eternal life." The direction which his heart receives, to behold the Lamb of God, and the exposition of the nature of faith, in due time produce their desired effect, and Mander longs for the day when he may confess Christ.

Upon the occasion of a professional visit to a neighboring island, Hold is accompanied by Oswald, whose vivacity, though it does not displease, yet it excites the anxious solicitude of the zealous pastor. The state of the tide, upon their return, requires them to anchor the boat at a considerable distance from the hallig, and to seek their home on foot. Meanwhile a heavy fog arises, the tide rolls up, they lose their way, the night comes on, and soon, utterly bewildered, they yield to the dire circumstances that surround them, and with various feelings address themselves to meet their end. The conflict between natural affection and Christian submission is powerfully exhibited in the case of Hold. At last the Christian triumphs, and so, having himself virtually passed the bitterness of death, he seeks, by the words of the Spirit, to strengthen and encourage his compa

nions. Amongst these Oswald, quivering with terror, and nervously convulsed, presents the perfect picture of a man who has become a martyr to his own want of faith and forgetfulness of God. Onward and onward rolls the tide-wave mounts upon wave, each one reducing the few moments that now seemed to remain to the unhappy victims of the sea.

In those very moments, a strange presentiment of her husband's danger, agitates the Pastor's wife. She hurries to the house of Mander, she calls upon Godber to leave the society of Idalia at once, and row out upon the sea. Natural heroism, conjugal love, Christian faith, each highly excited, plays a prominent part in this terrific scene; and it is a blessed relief that is felt in the discovery of the result, the rescue of Hold and his companions.

After the complete prostration that followed the agonies of that terrible night, several days are required for their complete recovery. When Oswald is able to walk in his chamber, he seems inclined to take to his former gay and trifling tone, though not without an inward struggle. He is, however, candidly and promptly exhorted by his father, not to strive against the Providence of God. His father announces his own determination no longer to strive against Grace, and expresses the prayer, that he might be able to say, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." This strikes a cord in Oswald's heart that had not been wont to vibrate; and when the father gently reveals a fact that had hitherto been concealed from him, that the horrors of that fearful night had turned his hair completely gray, he goes to the glass, his whole heart exclaims, "God, I acknowledge thee !" and he sinks fainting into his father's arms.

Hold, the Pastor, again appears upon the scene. For a season he finds Oswald, now tortured by despair, and now languishing for consolation from above. At length the new-creating word is spoken, with its note of triumph, "Old things pass away, behold all things become new," and Oswald rises from the anguish of his soul, to the joys of salvation, like a child that has just waked