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'No, Rover and I shall be there before you; so look up to the window for a signal light, a vou pass by.'

"I must then bid you good bye, Major; for see! the door is this moment opening, and they are all sallying forth.'

'Good night, then; but let me intreat you to be prudent, and manage your boat cautiously; it is a trying night, and I fear your voyage will be uncomfortable at the best."

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'Never doubt me,' said Peregrine; I know the paths of the ocean, as well as the fish that swim in it; so fare you well.

CHAPTER VIII.

To hear

The roaring of the raging elements,
To know all human skill, all human strength
Avail not to look round and only see
The mountain wave incumbent with its weight
Of bursting waters, o'er the reeling bark,-
Oh God! this is indeed a dreadful thing!

SOUTHEY.

THE house to which Peregrine White directed his steps, was situated near the extremity of a narrow beach which separated the ocean from a projecting bay; and Atherton paused till the little party had exchanged their last adieus, and Miriam Grey, leaning on her father's arm, approached the bark, which was loosed from the moorings, and shortly commenced its passage across the Bay. The morning of that day had been serene and brilliant, but with the variableness so common in the capricious climate of New-England, its noontide splendour was overcast by dark, though passing clouds, and the setting sun was shrouded in a lurid mist, portending an approaching change of weather. Still, however, the clouds hung back, as if unwilling to collect and to blacken the pure arch of heaven; and as Major Atherton yet lingered on the spot where his companion had left him, the heavy masses seemed rolling away, leaving large

tracts of blue and spangled sky; and the waning moon, encircled by a broad zone of crimson vapour, began to rise from her watery bed, and to shoot a trembling light across the track of the lonely voyagers.

Actuated by a latent interest, which he however ascribed to the mere impulse of curiosity, Major Atherton enveloped himself more closely in the ample folds of a military cloak, to ward off the piercing blast; and turning from the path that led back to his kinsman's house, proceeded with rapid steps along the beach, which, extending nearly three miles in a south-easterly direction, terminated in an eminence called the Gurnet's Nose, then joined to the Sauguish by a strip of sand, though it is now many years since the encroaching waves have insulated it. On his left, the Atlantic tossed its foaming billows, sending forth suppressed and sullen murmurs, and seeming to await the rising blast to lash them into fury; while on the other side the agitated waters of the Bay dashed fearfully against the strand, as if seeking to submerge the slight barrier which separated them from the boundless deep. The moon was struggling with the clouds that constantly flitted across her disk, affording to Atherton but partial glimpses of the little bark, which he continued to watch with an anxiety that rendered him insensible to personal inconvenience. It rode manfully on a heavy sea, and in the eye of the wind, which rendered its management difficult, and even dangerous, and re11*

VOL. I.

quired the most strenuous efforts of the young men, who plied the oars with a dexterity and skill that promised ultimate and well-earned success. They were still near the beach, to which, in spite of their exertions, the wind continually impelled them; and as a ray of light occasionally glanced on the countenance of Miriam Grey, Atherton remarked with admiration the serenity of its expression, and the air of calmness, mingled with awe, with which she regarded the angry elements. Apparently unmoved by fear or anxiety, she gently reclined on her father's protecting arm, while both maintained a profound and unbroken silence. Indeed all were so much engrossed by their peculiar situation or reflections, that Atherton was entirely disregarded, though frequently so near that the sound of his footsteps, on a calm evening, might have been distinctly heard by them. Presently, the voice of Miriam Grey, more sweet and touching from the contrast of discordant sounds which raved around her, stole upon the ear of Atherton, as in solemn measure she sung the following psalm.

'The Lord doth reign, and cloth'd is he
with majesty most bright:

His works do shew him cloth'd to be,
and girt about with might.

The world is also 'stablished,

that it cannot depart.

Thy throne is fix'd of old, and thou

from everlasting art,

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The floods have lifted up their waves,

and made a mighty noise.

But yet the Lord that is on high
is more of might, by far,
Than noise of many waters is,

or great sea-billows are.'

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As she proceeded in the last verse, her voice became slightly tremulous; for the wind, which at the commencement of it seemed dying away, as if lulled to silence by her melody, suddenly rose with redoubled energy, and the darkened sky almost concealed from his view the frail bark, which was at one moment borne on the top of a tremendous wave, and the next, almost engulphed beneath it. They were now nearly opposite the Gurnet's Nose, and the wind, eddying around the point of land, rendered their endeavours to keep out in the open bay, every instant more precarious.

Major Atherton could no longer distinguish any object amidst the deepening gloom; but he still occasionally caught the cheerful voice of Peregrine White, and once distinctly heard Mr. Grey, with his usual calmness, say,

Bear off from the shore, and by the leave of Heaven, I trust we shall soon be in safety.'

Atherton listened for another voice, and longed to know if the countenance of Miriam, still retained the sweet tranquillity he had just remarked on it;

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