tention was caught by a sound, low and indistinct, that seemed like the murmur of human voices coming in the intervals of the gale, directly from the shore where the boat had been secured. Then came a blast of wind, which having died away, the voices were again heard, louder and more distinct, as if approaching the hovel. Then arose another blast of wind, which swept with such fury over the ruinous hut, that the shrinking Absalom could hear the rough shingles crashing and crackling on the roof: the windows rattled with a loud and dreadful clamour; blasts of air came rushing down the chimney, diffusing blinding and suffocating volumes of smoke over the apartment. As they cleared away, our hero, by chance, casting his eye on the fire, observed that the flames had lost their usual ruddy colour, and were creeping over the decaying brands and up the black chimney, in jets and rays of a ghastly blue. His heart failed him-his flesh tingled and crept on his bones, his teeth chattered, and the hair bristled so stiffly on his pericranium, as to give the idea of a very tight nightcap. At the same time a deep groan was heaved near him; it might have been from the conscious though sleeping Jonas; but of that he was not certain; and indeed he had no time to examine into it, for another blast ensued, and the slightly fastened door blew open with a horrid crash, and stood waving to and fro on its creaking hinges. The dubious vacancy, the back-ground of snowy surf that the opening revealed, was slowly interrupted by a dark mass that presented itself, and growing more vivid and distinct as the sepulchral flame flashed upon it, disclosed the shadowy visage and white crisp hair of the ancient Sambo, who, with eyes of incomprehensible magnitude, glared slowly and quietly around the wretched apartment. In another instant, this African apparition vanished, and was succeeded by the swollen and shining countenance of a white man, whom the forlorn Absalom immediately identified with the unfortunate wretch "drowned by water." This phantom also glared around the chamber, and vanished.

Absalom gathered courage enough to jog Jonas under the ribs; but Jonas responded only by an impatient grunt, and

then snored on as loudly and as regularly as before. He looked again towards the door; the negro stood on the threshold, looking for a moment over his shoulder, and then he strutted in, acting as master of ceremonies to the white spectre, who, with the pale rigid face and the rope round his arm, stole softly in behind him.

There was something amusing, as well as horrible, in the various bows, scrapes of the leg, and contortions of visage, with which the simpering African welcomed his sepulchral guest, and led the way into the apartment. They approached the fire, spread their hands to it, and rubbed them and slapped them together with great apparent satisfaction. They sat themselves down upon the crazy seats which had been vacated by the two friends; while these latter were overcome, the one with a deep slumber, and the other with the paralysis of fear.

The spectres having thus experienced the comfort of the fire, without appearing to observe that they were not the only inmates of the cabin, now commenced a scene that was not at all agreeable with any of Absalom's preconceived notions of apparitions.

The white spirit stooped forwards, and drawing forth a bottle, which he had either picked from the floor or drawn from his magical pocket, placed the neck of it to his mouth, and for the space of a minute or two, seemed to be enjoying not only the flavour but the music of the fluid, as it passed with a bubbling sound into his throat. He then handed it to Sambo, who, with his hands stretched upon his knees, his mouth opened to the greatest extent, and his eyes dilated in a species of spell-bound rapture, had surveyed the proceedings of his guest. In an instant the bottle was between Sambo's teeth, while his head nodded silently backwards and forwards with a motion that seemed to indicate a desire of acknowledging the courtesy, and of expediting the descent of the nectar into his own capacious gullet.

"Oho!" muttered Absalom, rising to his elbow, and screwing his mouth into a simper, meant to be very civil and friendly; "these are jolly ghosts. Your health, boys!" and

he put his hand to his feet to gather up his own flagon—It was gone; Sambo had just drained the last drop of it; and his jovial companion snatching it from him, rising to his feet, and wrapping the rope with which he had been anchored in the river, round his arm, with that kind of buckism and formality with which the devils are said to dispose of their tails when in company, he held it out with his right hand, bottom up, signifying with that gesture that there was nothing in it.

Absalom was greatly enraged with this impudent appropriation of his property to their own use, and had just uttered the exordium of a malediction, consisting of "Ye 'tarnal rascals!” when the spectre aimed the bottle at him, as a duellist aims a pistol, and Absalom was immediately shot dumb. He sunk to the floor, and watched in fearful silence the proceedings of his supernatural visitants. Sambo was manifestly drunk; he went reeling and staggering about the floor; and when it appeared that he could not much longer maintain himself on his legs, the white spectre stole behind him, tripped up his heels, and, springing upon his prostrate body, plied his gullet so vigorously with his fingers, that in a few moments his strugglings were over, and he lay to all appearance quite dead. Then Absalom knew that this was a vision of a murder that must have actually been accomplished by the drowned man, in former times, upon the body of ancient Sambo; though no one had heretofore ever conceived an idea that Sambo had died other than a natural death.

These ideas were' wandering through Absalom's confused and horror-stricken mind, when he observed the ghastly murderer rise from the body, and approach himself. "He is going to murder me too!" roared the unfortunate man, and then seeing the white, bloated, horrid face and watery fingers hanging over him, he swooned with fear. His trance, however, was not of long duration. The horrid fingers were clutching about his throat-they had grasped upon his neckcloth. "You murdering dog!" cried Absalom, throwing his bulky fist with frantic violence into the spectre's face; the spectre reeled, and, with a tremendous surge, measured his length upon the floor. Up sprang Absalom, and up sprang the spectre, scratching

his head, and exclaiming, in a well-known voice, “You outfool! what do you mean?"

rageous

"Why Jonas! you, you, you!-is it you?"

"Me, you rascal! what did you knock me for ?"

"I thought you was choking me," replied Absalom, gazing around with a bewildered look; "I thought you was choking

me."

"Choking you, you fool! I was wakening you-'tis broad daylight." And in truth it was: a joyous sun was lifting its ample disk over the blue woodlands of New-Jersey; the waters lay calm and beautiful, and scarce a vestige of the night's tempest remained.

The story of the phantoms being told, Jonas marvelled greatly, and immediately proposed that they should ascertain whether the drowned murderer had broke his moorings. He had been left on the shore by the retreating tide, and still lay by the anchor stone.

It was supposed that, had not the man been dead, he would certainly, on the evidence of Derby's vision, have been tried according to law, and hanged for the murder of the unfortunate Sambo.

B.

FOR THE PHILADELPHIA MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

ΤΟ

Or life I thought-and late it seemed

A trackless heath, a barren waste;
Where light ne'er came, save when it gleamed
From falling stars of pleasures past.

And there my cold and silent heart
Seemed like a darkling pool to lie,
As if of that lone heath a part—
The desert's dull and leaden eye.

But soon there came a gentle form,
And near its dreary margin stood.
She looked-the chilly pool grew warm,
As if 'twere made of living blood.

But when her eyes, of nameless blue,

Upon its quickened surface played,
The conscious water brighter grew,

And caught the image of the maid.

And though full many a league divide
The form and semblance-yet shall there,
As if by magic fixed, abide

That lovely image ever fair.

And now it seems, where'er I stray,
As if on all that image showers
Its light of love, like breaking day,
Upon a thousand dewy flowers!

Boston.

**

FROM A LATE NO. OF THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE.

ANECDOTES OF DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

BY JOSEPH CRADOCK, ESQ.

DR. JOHNSON's modes and manners have been so much before the public, that no character has been more fully scrutinized; yet I am inclined to give the sketch of a scene, which, if not strictly "vero," will perhaps be acknowledged as "bentrovato," and though not laid at the Boar's Head in Eastcheap, at least at a place where more instructive conversation has certainly passed; I mean the Globe Tavern in Fleetstreet.

Scene, Johnson's-court, Fleet-street, Breakfast table.Frank taking away the tea-things.

DR. JOHNSON, MRS. WILLIAMS, MRS. DUMOULINS. Mrs. Williams. Doctor, I have ordered a pigeon-pie for dinner to-day, and a rice-pudding.

Dr. J. Not for me, for I am engaged to meet a party of ten or a dozen to dine with our old hostess of the Globe; a friend of hers has sent her a hare and two brace of partridges from Suffolk, and I have promised to partake of the repast.