probably not to be home till late at night. The ladies sat down at the cottage window, looking out on the sea. "I cannot imagine why the yawl did not return last evening," said Miss Ashley; "she was manned by three of my brother's people, all experienced seamen; so, Miss O'Donel, you need not be anxious." She spoke kindly, and Grace thanked her with a smile; and they sat on together in silence, till Miss Ashley said "I see something afloat now between this and Tory. It might be the yawl, or some other boat. Help me, Miss O'Donel, to point this large telescope; and now look through and tell me what you see. After some difficulty, Grace covered the floating object with the lens of the glass. “Alas!” she said, "it is not a boat, and yet there are, I think, human beings moving in it. It seems to be a large square basket, or creel, yet it floats like a water hen, and as lightly, and is advancing rapidly." "O!" said Miss Ashley, "it is a curragh, the ancient boat of the country, and you may depend on it there is a message being conveyed to you from your father in it. Let us go out upon the cliff and watch its arrival." In half an hour, the light caique, made of branches of trees for ribs, interlaced and tied with twigs, and thick canvas, well tarred and waterproof, drawn over all, ran up on the beach, almost at the young ladies' feet, and two men, rough islanders, jumped out, and the elder presented a note to Miss O'Donel, asking her was she not the English clergyman's daughter. The note ran thus: "DEAREST GRACE,I have had a fall, and am slightly bruised. It is nothing; still I can not return to-day. Do not be uneasy. The yawl was hurt coming into port against the fluke of an anchor, which will detain us all. Ever your loving father, "H. O'D." Grace read this note with a compressed lip and very pale face. She handed it to Miss Ashley, saying "I shall go to him myself." She then questioned the old sailor further. He told her that the English gentleman's foot had slipped in climbing a rock to seek, he believed, for "yerbs," and that he had fallen a "good piece down," and when he saw him, he was lying for dead, and his face covered with blood. Once again Grace waxed deadly pale, and her lips quivered; then her countenance cleared, as if she had found relief in some hidden influence, or resolve, and addressing the old sailor, she inquired "When do you return to Tory?" The man replied "At two o'clock, when the tide ebbs." "Will you take me with you?" "Lord, Miss, we have no boat, 'tis but an old curragh !"' "Will your vessel hold three?" "Ay, that she will, and more besides, readily." "Do you expect to get there before evening, and safely?" Surely, Miss," said the man, "with God's help; from the most ancient days no one ever heard tell of a curragh foundering in the Sound of Tory.* A man-of-war might go down easy enough, but our little curraghs is like the gannets from Hornhead, they rise to the foam like a piece of cork." "Then I will go with you," said Grace. "You could not, Miss," answered the man; "the spray would be over you a hundred times, and there will be a squall of wind before sundown you would die of cold and fright." I Grace faintly smiled, and said "I am not afraid, nor shall I be so; and I am strong and healthy. Look, my friend, will go to my father this day, if it were blowing a tempest. Here is a purse full of gold; if you I will not take me, I can and will buy the services of some other kind seaman, who will not refuse a daughter the means of going to her sick father." "Lord bless you, Miss," cried the man, "I only refused you because I was afeard for you in crossing the Sound. I will take you with all my heart, but one farthing of your guinea-gold Dan Whoriskey will never receive. I and mine are well known to men; and with the stout heart you seem to young Captain Ashley as old Tory Soundshave, and the sweet smile on your lips this minute, sure the curragh must have good luck that carries an angel in it." Miss Ashley now joined Grace, and in vain strove to change her purpose, and deter her from the peril. She said "I know these two Whoriskeys. They are decent, sober men, and Marten, my brother, thinks them inimitable seamen. Still, think of a pull of three hours in such a sea." But to this and many such arguments Grace only answered with a quiet "I must see my father. I will go to him." Calm, resolved, unmoveable, a smile on her lip, and a tear every moment gathering under the long lashes of her eyes, Miss Ashley thought she had never seen any one so attractive and so devoted before. was now ready. A little leather carpet-bag was flung into the curragh, containing a *This is a nautical fact. All change of garments for poor Grace. The two Whoriskeys launched their craft, into which Grace jumped with no emotion of fear in her heart, beyond the dread of finding her father ill or hurt; and the men were going to bend to their oars when Captain Ashley's Coxswain, who had heard of the accident to his yawl, volunteered to go; and Miss Ashley whispered Grace, that Stedman was a man of great judgment and coolness, and an old man-of-war's mate with her brother. Then waving her handkerchief she bid her adieu, with a face expressive of the deepest sympathy and interest. heart beat high, for the sea-birds from the Tory Cliffs were circling the boat, and they had not more than two miles to reach the island. Hark! a rushing, splashing sound all round the curragh, and a huge black shoal of porpoises shot by. "O, dear man," cried the superstitious Dan, "we are sure to catch the squall now, with them ugly say naygurs.' "Look out to windward!"" cried the younger oarsman, who sat in the bow; "if there isn't Captain Ashley and the Sea Hawk running like fire before the wind. They are making for Tory, and will beat us yet. See how the Captain is hauling down his jib, and reefing his mainsail! We shall have the gale now to break on us in a jiffey." A large, yacht-rigged sloop was now clearly visible far on the left, flying through the foam, with a black bank of cloud behind its white sail. The scene was exciting and beautiful, had Grace's mind, unburthened of its care, been able to enjoy it. I am not sailor enough to describe the voyage. To Grace the curragh appeared a mere eggshell as to the strength of its fabric; but side by side with the cutter's coxswain, whose leathern, honest features betrayed nothing but imperturbable repose, she sat erect and pale, with her eye fixed on the distant island, and her lips compressed and motionless, while the curragh went whirling down one high bank of blue water, and surg- "Now, dear Miss, for God's sake don't be ing up the other; then hanging for a second, afeart, for here is the scud coming over the as if dizzy, on the crest of the wave, before sea. Sit low down in the boat, and don't once more it rushed spinningly down into stir; and Mr. Stedman, alannah, come here the abyss of the giant waters, which war and again and steer, and give me the oar, for I welter in the bed of the great Atlantic.. am used to it; and if you ever piloted a vesPresently one of the oarsmen cried out- sel, do your best now with the little curragh, "Now, Miss, we are on the bar, where we for I would wager a gould guinea that your have always a bit of a short ugly sea. Sit own master is looking at you now through his fast and shut your eyes; and now pull glass from the cutter's stern-rails. Ough! away. Mr. Stedman, take that short oar. said the old man, as a wave struck him You can steer a curragh. Keep her head drenchingly on the face," there is more of against the breakers. Pull away, my that sort coming." hearty! O dear, Miss, you are all wet! Pull away! Turn your face, God bless you, from the whip of the wave. In three minutes more we shall have passed this angry bit of sea, and got to our own pleasant, darling, long waves again. Pull away-one, two, three, four -now a strong one, and hurrah, the bar is passed! "Dan," addressing the elder oarsman, "Dan, there is an ugly patch of cloud getting up far behind us; we shall have a squall of it. Pull hard, my man; or come here and steer, and I will take your oar. We must try and outrun it if we can." So saying, he exchanged seats with the old man, and seizing the oar, he threw the curragh into a much greater speed than she had hitherto displayed. And now Grace's And the next moment the sea was raging and roaring mountains high around them and behind them. Grace could never describe in detail what occurred till she landed. She recollects sitting quietly, while the curragh seemed to be all but torn out of the water by the fierce wind. She recollects the coxswain's steady face, seen dimly through the spray, and her drawing comfort therefrom; the wild, eager countenances of the Irish oarsmen; the jerks of the oars in their rullocks; the dash, and shock, and scattering whirl of the breaking wave; the halloo of the rowers at every stroke, encouraging each other in their conflict with the raging element; and the convulsive straining and creaking of the frail curragh, which seemed about to sever and go to pieces every minute. She recollects lifting her face over the gunwale once, and drawing it back again, all dizzy and sick at the vision of the black caverns of water, which yawned like deep graves around her. Then settling her mind to prayer, till a sweet and sustaining calm came over her, and she lifted her face once more bravely up into the tempest, and looked out upon the war of waters, and to the young lady, "for the people here have assured me that the whole territory was swayed by your forefathers." smiled upon their anger. Then she felt she "You should love these hills," said Ashley had great peace, and assurance that all would come right, and every fear fled away. And so it came to pass that, in about five minutes, the gallant little curragh was spinning round the black base of a sheltering cliff, and was in smooth water, and presently grounded in soft, white sand, and the men drew her up on the beach, Dan Whorisky shaking Grace's hand most vehemently, and shouting-"It's with Nelson, Miss, you ought to have sailed," and a number of wild women, crowding round her, and crying, and kissing her; and all was noise, confusion, congratulation, and happiness, for side by side with a young naval officer she saw her father. He had been but slightly hurt, his hand much bruised, but the pain of the fall caused him to faint, and his nose had gushed out blood. In this state Whorisky saw him, and his report was according to the impression he received. That night Grace slept in her father's room, a long, unbroken sleep, dreamless, because so deep-a sleep of youth, and health, and innocence-and when she awaked she felt perfectly refreshed. The morn was one of cloudless beauty, and breakfast was scarcely finished when Captain Ashley came in to invite Mr. and Miss O'Donel to accompany him in his cutter, which was to sail at noon for the mainland. He seemed astonished at Grace looking so well and fresh after her perilous voyage. "The islanders here," said he," are wild about you. Old Whorisky, the skipper of that sea-basket of a thing you had the courage to sail in, states, that when the squall struck the curragh he was in despair, and was half inclined to drop his oar and give up, but a smile from you he declares put such strength into his arms, and such courage into him, that he would sooner have died in the stern-sheets than given in while you were there. And my sober English coxswain, who is the most taciturn of men, and does not generally speak twenty words in the day, has never ceased descanting on your steadiness, courage, and presence of mind all the morning." "Yes," said Mr. O'Donel, "I believe we have some claim to the chieftainship of the family. We were petty princes for a few centuries, and afterwards very famous rebels; but I confess my family pride gives me but little care or trouble; and if I have any exalted spot in my heart concerning this old race, it is because the good St. Columbkill was of the house of O'Donel, and was born among the mountains which now stretch before us, and loved and lived, too, in this very Isle of Tory. He was a true Christian, living when the Irish Church was pure, and unconnected with Rome or her usages. Ashley listened with interest. "I have seen," he said, "the saint's birthplace; it is by the beautiful Lake of Gartan, about twelve miles from this. I," he added, "have neither prince nor saint in the catalogue of my ancestry. Welsh nobles in abundance, for my father's original name was Mostyn, till he changed it for a fortune, which proved a misfortune, for he was ruined by mining. My mother's family indeed can boast of a Crusader, and a collar of silver, bestowed by Coeur de Lion's hand; but they have all passed away, and I suppose the last of the name had the relic put into her coffin, for I am told her avarice was only to be equalled by her penury." The young man spoke this, but not bitterly, and I need not say was heard anxiously by his companions. Grace pressed her father's arm, and looked down; then Mr. O'Donel said 66 May I ask you, Captain Ashley, was the aunt you speak of called Jane Beaufoy?" The young man started, colored, and said – 66 Certainly, sir." "Then, Captain Ashley, she is not dead, nor is she now what you describe her; she is alive and well, and is my daughter's dearest friend; and I do not think there is anything on earth she more ardently desires than to see and to know her relatives, and to share with them the affections of her most noble and generous heart." As Captain Ashley spoke, the tones of his voice, the glance of the eye, and the play of his mouth, all reminded Grace most forcibly "You astonish me," said Ashley," as well of Miss Beaufoy. At two o'clock they went as rejoice me; we heard she had died of a on board the Sea Hawk, and slowly beat out fever in Warwickshire. How glad will my to windward across the sound. They found dear mother be, for I believe she never ceased Ashley an extremely well-educated man, to love her, though it was not reciprocated with a fine person, and fascinating manners. by Aunt Jane." He was a thorough sailor, manly and straight- The young sailor would have asked many forward, and so frank, that Grace had good more questions; and Grace, delighted, hopes he would solve her mystery during charmed, and exhilarated to the highest the voyage. They all stood on the cutter's degree, would have gladly taken up her deck, and the sublime Donegal Highlands parable, and talked of Miss Beaufoy for were ranged before them. hours, but they were now approaching the shore, and Ashley had to give directions to the helmsman for bringing the Sea Hawk into her nest, as he called her anchorage. He then courteously entreated his two companions to accompany him home. On the cliff they were met by Mrs. and Miss Ashley; and the former, rapidly advancing, said "Even before I welcome you, dear Marten, I must embrace and thank God again and again, for this young lady." "O, sir," said she, turning to Mr. O'Donel, "what a night of suspense we have passed; and O, sir, what a daughter God has given you." I pass over the astonishment with which Mrs. Ashley received the tidings of her sister being alive and well, and how diligently that sister had sought her, though in vain, owing to her foreign residence and change of name; and how she was greatly overcome when she was told of all the love, hospitality, and prosperity that awaited her under the roof of Darkbrothers; for she had had bitter trials, and this mercy was all the brighter. Hour after hour Grace passed in telling of the many excellencies of Jane Beaufoy. I could not pretend to do justice to the eloquent letter she penned to the old lady, or the delighted, happy, thankful answer she received, full of vivacity, and affection, and joy. The postscript ran thus: "So my nephew is a naval hero, and has been wounded- this is quite to my taste. Lord Pompadour, who has become wondrous civil of late, was here yesterday, and says he served under his brother, the admiral, and is a young man of the very highest character for talent and good conduct-this is even more pleasant. Martenbroke Ashley is a pretty name; but if he is to be his aunt's heir, he must assume the old crusader's nomme d'honneur, with the arms, &c., of Beaufoy (you see, Grace, how the old pride is in my heart still), and he must leave the navy; he has no one to fight now, and when they all come to Darkbrothers to stay with me till I die, as I trust they will at once do, I will hang the silver collar round his neck, and he shall be my devoted knight, as you are my darling nurse, and I will share my love between you, with a reserve for my dear sister and niece." Miss Beaufoy also wrote to her sister by the same post a long letter full of contrition, humility, and love. Mrs. Ashley wept happy tears over it, and then hid it in her bosom. Three months afterwards, the whole party were gathered round the vicarage drawingroom fire, and before another year had gone round, Miss Beaufoy had the great joy of seeing her nephew and her fair young nurse united in marriage, the happy couple leaving after the ceremony for Hazleglens, a beautiful place presented to Captain Ashley Beaufoy by his aunt, and within a few miles of Earlsdale and the vicarage. The record also says, that on the top of the carriage which conveyed the bride and bridegroom to their new residence, carefully packed in an imperial, was the silver collar of Sir Guy Martenbroke! Miss Beaufoy never forsook Darkbrothers, but on the contrary, spent so much of her time, and taste, and money, in improving the house, and beautifying the ruin, that Darkbrothers became a lion in the neighborhood, so that the Pompadours used to bring their guests to see it as a well-kept and picturesque piece of antique landscape; and the old lady often spoke of purchasing the fee-simple of the place, and leaving it to Grace's second boy, Martenbroke, who was her favorite grandnephew. The cloisters were silent now, for James, the idiot lad, had died of an over-gorge of green pears plundered from the Earl's orchard one moonlight night, and Miss Beaufoy had replaced him with two little skyeterriers, who kept the rats at bay; and with the absence of these nocturnal trampers, the legend of Friar Basset died out in a few years, like a lamp for lack of fuel. Cheering it by her presence, blessing it by her charities, and brightening it by her hospitality and her happy temper, Miss Beaufoy lived many years at "the Old House of Darkbrothers." She died in Grace's arms, full of faith, and hope, and joy, and the poor wept around her grave. About four or five years before she died, the family had all assembled one happy Chris tmas at the vicarage, and were talking over old events, when Captain Beaufoy, addressing his wife, said— "Grace, I want you to clear up a mystery to me and to all these good people. I have now been your happy husband for ten years, and if I were to be asked what is the distinguishing trait of your character, I should answer, feminine gentleness. Tell us, then, what was the secret cause of your heroism, and what enabled you to go through scenes that many a stout-hearted man would have shrunk from?" Grace answered in a low sweet tone "My secret power was all in prayer. I went to my divine Saviour for everything; he gave me the faith to ask, to receive; he NEVER FAILED ME- this was all the secret of my strength. May it be yours, my beloved husband, and yours, my own dear friends." There was silence among the circle as they sat, but the ear of God heard each heart as it throbbed its deep Amen. INSTITUTION FOR THE REFORMATION OF INEBRIATES. From the Public Ledger. INSTITUTION FOR THE REFORMATION OF FOR a period of at least eight or ten years, Coleridge, with all his mighty gifts, seemed utterly lost to his friends, through intemperance. Wordsworth and Cottle had utterly given him up, and were looking every day to hear of his death from the intoxicating potion to which he was addicted; his own wife had ceased to hear or to desire to hear anything further of or from him, and he probably had not a real friend in the world left, who had the slightest hopes of ever seeing him reformed. Wordsworth had appointed watchers to be with him night and day, and keep from him the opiates that were killing him. He had violated every pledge, deceived every friend, lost his honor, self-respect, and all confidence in his own power to conquer this all-subduing vice. This, his own letters and Cottle's reminiscences abundantly prove. In this exigency, when an outcast without a guinea, he did an act, the wisest and most conscientious that he had ever performed, and one that altered the destiny of his whole future life. Having heard of a physician of great benevolence and skill, he, though a perfect stranger, wrote to him, and frankly stated the whole of his case just as it was, that he had utterly lost the control of himself in this matter, and needed to be treated as morally insane, while fully admitting his personal guilt; and asked if there was not some physician, who, knowing the whole of his case, would take charge of him confidentially as a patient. He felt sure, then, that by his writings he would be able to pay all the expenses. This frank confession and confidence moved the heart of the stranger addressed, who, after two or three interviews, ultimately introduced him to Dr. Gilman, of Highgate, a medical man of some fortune, great ability and address, with whom he went to reside, he being fully acquainted with his case, and undertaking to do all that medical skill, high appreciation of genius, and a kind heart could perform for the restoration of his guest. 231 toxicating drinks, or for opium, as a disease, and the lost self-control, the palsy of the will, as also a temporary though most dangerous secondary symptom of the complaint, while yet themselves possessing those high moral powers of persuasion and control that would enable them to develope all the good qualities of the mind and heart, often possessed to so high a degree by such persons, and thus excite them away from their pernicious habits and appetites. We would not advocate any public asylum of such a character just now. Publicity in many cases might even defeat the end. But we believe that there are many gentlemen in a crowded profession like that of medicine, who might, both with profit to themselves and the highest benefit to the whole community, effect a good to be accomplished in no other way, by devoting themselves to the reformation of some individuals of this class upon those principles which they would so well know how to apply to any other case. There are multitudes of men who could well afford to pay the physician handsomely to be relieved from the pressure of habits that have become too much for them, and to be controlled wisely by a medical Mentor of tact and firmness, where they have lost the control of themselves. There are certainly thousands whose friends could and would gladly pay any sum for the recovery of some friend or relative from habits that are destroying body, mind," character, social standing, and the power of accomplishing any of the great ends of life. Doubtless there would be many relapses. So there was in Coleridge's own instance, and that great man earnestly desired that after his death a full statement of his case might be laid before the world; partly that others might not despair, even after years of confirmed indulgences, and many relapses into guilty habits, to the utter disheartening of all those who know them best, and love them most. There would no doubt be many final failures. But even that ought not to discourage any from the attempt. For if the success is only temporary, it is so much added to life and to industry, so much taken from sin From that house he never departed till he died. and evil in its waste and its example, so much There he lived between twenty and thirty years, abstracted from the direst of misery known to any restored by being treated with love and respect, man- the despair of self-conquest. There are and medical and moral care. In the house many diseases which every physician knows will which he had entered an humble penitent, the prove ultimately fatal, but in which he esteems slave of opium, and unable to control himself in himself successful in proportion as he retards regard to it, he dwelt for almost a generation, their progress, and defers the dreaded consumliving and at length dying as a Christian, to the mation. We have known instances of partial full persuasion of all who knew him most inti- and temporary reform which have prolonged mately. By degrees, thither flocked all the lead-the use of the noblest mental powers for years ing minds of England, statesmen and divines, of active labor, to the happiness of families and to levees in which he used to discourse on all the loftiest ranges of thought that will never die. One such case as this may show, perhaps, the good which might be effected, were some medical men of benevolence and tact, with high that is, of enough mental activity to satisfy that moral qualities and social standing, to devote craving of the brain for excitement, which, at themselves to the treatment of inebriates, with times, if neglected, will break down every barthe view to their reformation, upon true medical, rier. If but one such case is restored, the including in that term, social and moral, princi- change produced is worth more, in point of happles. Men there are who would know how to piness created, than the pain of a dozen ultimate treat the insatiable appetite and craving for in-failures. the good of the whole world. Indeed, we believe that one chief reason why there are not more radical cures from intemper ance is the want of sufficient counter excitants |
