tter of much talk and
speculation. There is mention made in one of the early New-England
writers, of a ship navigated by witches, with a great horse that stood
by the mainmast. I have met with another story, somewhere, of a ship
that drove on shore, in fair, sunny, tranquil weather, with sails all
set, and a table spread in the cabin, as if to regale a number of
guests, yet not a living being on board. These phantom ships always
sailed in the eye of the wind; or ploughed their way with great
velocity, making the smooth sea foam before their bows, when not a
breath of air was stirring.

Moore has finely wrought up one of these legends of the sea into a
little tale which, within a small compass, contains the very essence
of this species of supernatural fiction. I allude to his Spectre-Ship
bound to Dead-man's Isle.]

* * * * *

"Such," said Antony Vander Heyden, "are a few of the stories written
down by Selyne the poet concerning this storm-ship; which he affirms
to have brought this colony of mischievous imps into the province,
from some old ghost-ridden country of Europe. I could give you a host
more, if necessary; for all the accidents that so often befall the
river craft in the highlands, are said to be tricks played off by
these imps of the Dunderberg; but I see that you are nodding, so let
us turn in for the night."

The moon had just raised her silver horns above the round back of old
Bull-Hill, and lit up the gray rocks and shagged forests, and
glittered on the waving bosom of the river. The night-dew was falling,
and the late gloomy mountains began to soften, and put on a gray
aerial tint in the dewy light. The hunters stirred the fire, and threw
on fresh fuel to qualify the damp of the night air. They then prepared
a bed of branches and dry leaves under a ledge of rocks, for Dolph;
while Antony Vander Heyden, wrapping himself up in a huge coat made of
skins, stretched himself before the fire. It was some time, however,
before Dolph could close his eyes. He lay contemplating the strange
scene before him: the wild woods and rocks around--the fire, throwing
fitful gleams on the faces of the sleeping savages--and the Heer
Antony, too, who so singularly, yet vaguely reminded him of the
nightly visitant to the haunted house. Now and then he heard the cry
of some animal from the forest; or the hooting of the owl; or the
notes of the whip-poor-will, which seemed to abound among these