Daw-of which the former may be the less patent, but is hardly the less pat.-We need scarcely remark, once for all, that we have no concern with the political tendency of this or any other quotation: our Omniumgatherum is literary-as to politics it belongs, by right and duty, to the Know-Nothing school.

Again: the remarks made by Sir R. Buxton on "Liberal-Conservatives" at the election dinner at Bury St. Edmunds, elicited the following ironical comment from the Times-including a plurality of pat allusions: "Liberal-Conservatives.' What in the world can that be? Are there white blackamoors? Who ever heard of a cow flying? The very name is an enigma. There cannot really be such a thing as a Conservative who is not a Conservative, or a Liberal who is not a Liberal; so how can there be a Liberal-Conservative ? It must be a rascally disguise of some sort, as the strong sense of Sir R. Buxton pointed out to the bold squires of his county [Suffolk] and their adventurous representatives. There are hideous stories of travellers who have sat down on the trunk of a tree and found it a boa-constrictor, or who have approached what seemed a dead body, and found it, to their cost, a live highwayman. Sindbad landed on a green island, and set about cooking his dinner, but the island proved a whale, and Sindbad, his cookery, and his companions, were speedily afloat. Then, there was once a wooden horse which turned out full of armed soldiers. These warnings have doubtless reached Suffolk, and inspired a just horror of such monstrosities as Liberal-Conservatives."-(Ibid. April 23.)

The reluctance of the British capitalist to engage in Russian speculations is thus accounted for: "He recoils from a region where it is all State, and no public; where trade is tariffed up to the throat, and opinion is always on the march to Siberia. Foolish bird as he is, he fears to venture his bill down the throat which invites him; for though, no doubt, there is a bone to be extracted, there are teeth also to be repassed."-(Ibid. April 23.)

Lord John Russell's reply to an Address from the Corporation of South Molton is thus criticised: "But, when there is a mountain of work still to be done, Lord John Russell is counting up the past and picturing himself as a great historical personage. Grant that you are one, Lord John; yet allow us to submit one or two qualifying circumstances. Those were huge arrears, propounded and ventilated half a century before. When their time came at last you were selected to work them through the Commons, because you were then a handy, enterprising, and well-behaved little man. But the time has now come for work of rather another kind, more suited to these days. A certain college had a great accumulation of books in cases and presses, for which it built a spacious new library, and the Senior Fellows bravely devoted one long vacation to arranging the books on the shelves. But they could not run up and down the tall library-steps as nimbly as they once had done; so they looked about them, and saw a handy little graduate, a decent scholar, and one who could fetch and carry. Him they elected Fellow, and employed for three months on this rather Sisyphian toil. The summer was hot, and the books were dusty, and that little gentleman complained to his dying day that, in spite of certain frequent applications, he never got the dust quite down his throat. My Lord John Russell, the dust of those everlasting old Bills is still in your throat. It is always choking you. Wash it down with something or other-port, brown stout, or the pure element, whichever you please; but for goodness' sake, no more about the Test and Corporation Act, the Catholic Emancipation Act, the Parliamentary Reform Act, the Municipal ditto, and all the rest of them."-(Ibid. April 24.)

With one excerpt more, of the pat allusion class, we may surely say jam satis superque, enough and to spare, pro Tempore, for the Times. The passage relates to certain strictures made on that journal's troublesome freedom of speech, by my Lord Panmure in the Lords, and Sir Charles Wood in another place: " According to the fable, Chanticleer led the maids such a life of it by calling them outof bed before dawn, that they put their heads together and silenced him for good. The next morning they slept long enough, but their mistress, rising late, and finding them all abed, gave them nearly as much as they had given poor Chanticleer. We have only to suppose her Majesty's domestics reducing the Press to silence, and we may foresee the inevitable result."-(Ibid. May 9.)

THE HAUNTED SHIP.

BY MRS. BUSHBY.

GHOSTS are not generally supposed to patronise the ocean, or even lakes or rivers; water does not seem to be a favourite element with them when they return to these mundane scenes for good or evil. The solemn churchyard, in which are deposited their earthly remains, with its grassy mounds and its marble tombstones-the dim aisle of the night-deserted church, the subterranean vault, the dark tapestried chamber or lonely corridor of the ancient castle-the mouldering ruins of the once gay baronial hall, where met in time of yore the chivalry and exalted beauty of the day-the gloomy, pathless wood-the wild, solitary heath-these are the places spectres would appear to haunt. They do not usually skim the dark blue waves, or tread, at midnight's hour, the silent deck. Yet sailors are said to be very superstitious; and some of them believe in mermaids, flying Dutchmen, death-ships, &c., not to speak of the illluck of sailing on a Friday, or the mortality on board which is foretold by a shark following a ship for any distance.

The awe of the supernatural is not confined to any class, or station, or race of people. It pervades all nations, and, more or less, all grades of society. The untutored savage who, though he acknowledges the existence of One Great Spirit, admits into his creed the worship of beasts, of birds, of serpents, and of snakes, and has faith in the power of images made of clay, feels a natural shrinking from the supposed presence of the dead and amidst some tribes, offerings are laid on the graves of the departed, to propitiate their spirits and keep them quiet. Among the most civilised and most Christian nations of Europe, the same natural shrinking from the supposed presence of the dead is found to prevail, and to prevail to such an extent, that, despite of the ridicule ostentatiously lavished on "superstitious fears," the strong-minded man and the giddy girl will alike look uneasy, probably turn pale, when spectral visitants to this world are spoken of during the silent and solemn hours of night, and when tales of their reappearance are well told. Many would shudder to sit up alone with a corpse; and few would care to wander alone at night amidst the melancholy, grave-skirted walks of a burying-ground. There is something in night, silence, and solitude combined which seems to touch upon that mysterious world, to which none can pass except through the gloomy gates of death; and at such a time, should any unusual appearance seem to flit before the eye, should any unaccustomed noise be heard, the coldest reasoner, the boldest scoffer will start, he knows not why. There is as surely a dreamy dread of the supernatural in the natural, as there is an immortal spirit in the mortal frame. But not to weary the reader with dissertations on ghostcraft, demonology, or "airy nothings," we shall, without further comment, proceed to relate the tale of "The Haunted Ship."

The well-built and goodly ship Regenboog (Rainbow) belonged originally to a Dutch mercantile firm at Amsterdam. This wealthy firm traded with the East and with the West, as well as with more neigh

bouring European ports. Their commercial relations extended from Riga, Copenhagen, and Hamburg, in the north, to Marseilles, Leghorn, and Odessa, in the south; but the greater part of their traffic was carried on with Java and other parts of the Oriental world, and with the Dutch colonies of Surinam and Curaçoa, beyond the larger portion of the Atlantic Ocean. Of course they possessed a tolerable number of ships, and employed a good many captains and seamen. Of these captains, the commander of the Regenboog was the cleverest, the most active, and the most fortunate in the result of his voyages. Good luck always seemed to attend him. He was an excellent sailor, and a firstrate man of business. Every speculation in which he engaged succeeded; and the Amsterdam house were so anxious to bind him to their interests, that they at length made him a partner in their concern, and a joint owner of the ship which he commanded. Captain Zwart did not become so elated by his advancement in the world as to relax in his energetic attention to the duties of his calling, and the pecuniary affairs of his patrons. But he thought it was time to consider his own comforts a little more, and, in order to do this, he determined to marry. At Curaçoa he had seen a very lovely Dutch creole, the daughter of a planter there, who was reputed to be a man of large fortune. planter, who was a correspondent of the Amsterdam house, had always shown great kindness and hospitality to the commander of the Regenboog, and had received him upon terms of equality, a favour not usually granted by West India proprietors to the skippers on board whose vessels they ship their produce for sale in Europe or America. But Captain Zwart had much to recommend him. In the first place, he was an exceedingly handsome man ; and good looks, whatever plain philosophers may say to the contrary, tell very much in any one's favour. Then he was lively and agreeable in manners, intelligent in conversation, and full of anecdote, for he had visited every quarter of the globe, and not, like some stupid people, without seeing or observing anything. He drank schnaps and smoked with the papa, whom he amused by his jocular stories; he brought India muslins and India fans to the mamma; and while he talked nonsense to, and flirted with, the pretty daughter, he bestowed so much of the artillery of admiring looks upon her, from his brilliant and speaking black eyes, that he fairly took her heart by storm.

This

It was not, however, until he had become a partner in the wealthy Amsterdam house, that his attentions were received by the family of the Curaçoa planter as being in any way dictated by intentions. He certainly could not say, like Cæsar, "I came, I saw, I conquered!" for he had made sundry voyages to Curaçoa before his ambitious wishes were accomplished; but accomplished they were, eventually, and the bold sailor carried off the prize. He looked upon himself as a fortunate man. Madeleine had the prettiest little foot and ankle imaginable (West Indians have generally small feet), an exceedingly graceful figure, faultless features, eyes as soft as those of a dove, and a profusion of bright brown hair, shading a forehead that was as white as snow. But she had one charm more captivating than the beauty of a Venus would have been-she was the heiress of two fine estates; and the gallant captainconsigning in imagination the sun-bleached planter and his spouse to an early tomb-already beheld himself the owner of the windmills and

cattle-mills, the boiling-houses, curing-houses, cane-fields, &c. &c., on the "Schoon Gezigt"-Beautiful View-and the "Lommerrijk Tuin" -Shady Garden-estates, which belonged to his father-in-law.

Within a short time after her marriage, the fair Madeleine left the luxury of her paternal home, the deep affection of the paternal and maternal hearts, which had beat only for her in this world of care, to embark with her handsome husband for his native Holland. Arrived there, it was with equal pride and pleasure that Captain Zwart presented his graceful West India bride to the blousy wives and daughters of the Dutch merchants, who had been his masters, and were now his partners. He settled Madeleine at Rotterdam-that city of canals and long brooms -the latter so industriously used in cleansing the outside of the houses, somewhat to the discomfort of foot passengers, who are liable, occasionally, to get a miniature shower-bath, as the mop at the extremity of the tall pole is dexterously twirled round and shaken by the vigorous Dutch housemaids in their ample petticoats.

All went smoothly in the captain's home; and though Madeleine regretted her husband's frequent absence, yet she knew that his avocations rendered such absence necessary, and she never suspected that he could waste a thought on any other of the feminine gender but herself. She little dreamed that he had fallen in love with a buxom widow at Antwerp. Such, however, was the fact. The widow Vanderbroeken had taken the fancy of the handsome captain, and she returned his preference with interest. She was still a fine-looking woman, with a very full bust, cherry lips, and saucy, laughing eyes. She had no idea that the gallant skipper was a married man, and therefore she took no pains to conceal from him the favourable impression he had made upon her. He, on his part, was doubly smitten, for the widow, in addition to her personal charms, had abundance of wealth at her command. Besides a good stock of ready money, he had ascertained that she possessed lands on the Rhine below Wesel, and a large share in a profitable brewery in Belgium. What were all the "shady gardens" and "beautiful views" of a distant West India island to this tangible property at home! The commander of the Regenboog sighed deeply to think of what he had lost. If he had but known the rich and well-favoured widow Vanderbroeken before he had chained himself in matrimony to the pale, spiritless Madeleine, with a fortune only in perspective! He wished that the Dutch laws were as convenient as those of Turkey, and allowed a plurality of wives-he wished Madeleine were in the next world-he pondered upon the possibility of divorcing her but all his reveries ended in the distressing conviction that nothing could be done, and he must submit to his fate. Just as he had reasoned himself into something like calmness at this idea, he received an unexpected and cruel shock. Letters arrived from Curaçoa announcing the death of his father-in-law; that event would have caused him no grief, but the news was accompanied by the dreadful intelligence that the estates were in debt far beyond their actual value, and that there would not be a stiver for Madeleine, her mother, or himself!

Now, our Dutchman liked pretty women, he liked the juice of the juniper and the grape, but he liked money much more than either. Money was his passion, the great object of his worship, the possession for which he was willing to sacrifice everything else on earth; and to it he

would have sacrificed his hopes of heaven, had he ever thought of a future world. He determined at once to go out to Curaçoa, and try if he could not recover some portion at least of his wife's inheritance; and he resolved on taking her with him, in the hope that she might, by a fortunate chance, catch the yellow fever and die. He knew that it was then raging in many of the islands; and if it kindly carried her off, why, he would be free, and he would return and marry the wealthy widow of Antwerp. Poor Madeleine little knew that she was to be taken back to the West Indies in the hope that she might die there of the fatal fever. She was thankful to return to her native island, for she longed to weep over her dear father's grave, and to comfort, by her presence, her afflicted mother.

Once more the cabin of the Regenboog received her, for it so happened that a voyage to the West Indies was then its destination. She was, of course, in deep mourning for her father, but when they got into the latitude of Madeira, the weather became so warm that, there being no passengers on board, she consulted her own comfort by wearing loose white cambric, or muslin dresses. During the heat of the day, Madeleine seldom came on deck, but in the evening, those delicious cool evenings in which there seems bliss on the very air from the ocean, so calm, so soft, so refreshing it is, she usually left her seclusion below and paced the deck for a time, or sat gazing on the dancing blue waves that seemed gaily to sparkle and sport around the ship.

One night-it was after they had got within the influence of the trade winds, and were steadily and speedily careering before the joyous breezeMadeleine had been on deck as usual, and had stayed till rather an advanced hour. She had spoken, as was her wont, kindly but laconically to the mate, the man at the helm, and the sailors who were on deck, and having leaned for some time in deep meditation over the side of the ship, wrapped, as it were, in melancholy thoughts, she descended at length to the cabin. All was still above, all was still below, for the noises occasioned by the presence of active human beings are earlier hushed on board ship than on shore. Eight bells had just struck, and the middle watch had just come up, and were exchanging a few words with those of the previous watch, who had lingered a moment on deck, when a strange sound startled them all; it was something like a stifled shriek, but the cry was altogether unearthly. Piercing, yet subdued, it broke upon the ear, and it seemed to arise from the depths of the ship, or the depths of the ocean.

"Hush! hark! what is that?" groaned the men who were on deck. Presently a splash was heard, as if something had fallen into the sea. "It was a woman's voice!" muttered the first mate, who was keeping the middle watch. "But there is no woman in this ship except the master's wife."

"It was a mermaid's cry," replied old Hendrik, the boatswain, who was quite as superstitious as he was skilled in nautical affairs; "and see! there she goes!"

He pointed in a state of convulsive excitement towards the sea, where, in the clear moonlight, a white form was visible, sweeping along with the undulating waves. The upper part of the form alone was to be seen above the water, and the figure, whose face was concealed by some strange mask,