' 'No; clear out! Eh? warm
bath? Yes; warm bath, to be sure.' And Bob went out, and came in directly
with two wenches and a warm bath. 'How's the wind Bob?' 'De wind?' 'Yes;
where's the wind' 'Dun know, Sah.' 'Well, go out in the balcony and see
where it comes from.' Bob shouted through the open window, 'De wind come
from de Souf.'

I made but one spring, and the blacks vanished. Going below, I found the
house in commotion. The schooner was to sail at nine o'clock, and the
signal would be the report of a two-pounder which the captain carried on
his quarter-deck. At eight o'clock I had been all over town from the fort
to the powder house; looked in at the church, where were some fifteen or
twenty kneeling, silent and devotional; and was seated at breakfast, when
we heard the captain's gun, an hour before the time. 'My God!' said I, 'I
can't go without seeing Mrs. J---- and kind Mrs. G----; and then there's
the pretty Di. Vernon!' (I had bade them good-by a dozen times.) I rushed
into the street, and seeing half-a-dozen ladies not far off, gave them a
touch-and-go shake; rushed up a wrong street, then back again, and finally
came out on the square and saw the little schooner's sails bellied out
full; passengers waving their handkerchiefs, and the people all around
crying out to me to hurry, or I should lose my chance. But I _didn't_
hurry. The idea of hurry, after we had waited six weeks! That captain too,
had he been asleep all this time, and just awaked? No; I did not hurry,
but walked leisurely across the square, looking over my shoulder
occasionally to see if ---- was any where in sight, for she had promised
to be at the dock; and passing over the long wharf in the same stubborn
way, I stepped on board the schooner with a stiffer upper lip than I ever
remember to have had in that climate. The moment that my feet touched the
deck, the ropes slipped and away flew the schooner; but in all this 'heat,
haste and hunger,' from a half-swallowed breakfast, and consignments of
pacquets and kind wishes that were left behind, the sentiment of my last
look was burnt to a cinder.

THOUGHTS FROM BULWER.

BY MRS. M. T. W. CHANDLER.

I.

It cannot be that earth was given for our abiding place,
Or that for nought we're darkly doomed the storms of life to face;
It cannot be our being's cast from 'neath the ocean wave
Of vast Eternity, to sink _again_ within its grave.
Else tell me why the aspiring thoughts, th