Mulford then regained all his powers. He sprang to the fore-sheet, calling on the others for aid. The violent surges produced by the wind prevented his grasping the sheet as soon as he could wish, and the vessel whirled round on her heel, like a steed that is frightened. At that critical and dangerous instant, when the schooner was nearly without motion through the water, a squall struck the flattened sails, and bowed her down as the willow bends to the gale. Mrs. Budd and Biddy screamed as usual, and Jack shouted until his voice seemed cracked, to “let go the head-sheets.” Mulford did make one leap forward, to execute this necessary office, when the inclining plane of the deck told him it was too late. The wind fairly howled for a minute, and over went the schooner, the remains of her cargo shifting as she capsized, in a way to bring her very nearly bottom upward. ----- [3] We suppress the names used by Mrs. Budd, out of delicacy to the individuals mentioned, who are still living. [_To be continued._ * * * * * TO MRS. P——, OF CHESTNUT STREET. Gentle as Aurora’s dawning, Ere she wakes the blushing day, Broke the light of girlhood’s morning O’er her bright exulting way: All her hopes were buoyant—glowing; Rapture plumed the winged hours; And, with mirth and music flowing, Every foot-print filled with flowers. Such was E—’s spring-day dreaming As her path, through smiles and tears, Beckoned her to visions beaming On the front of after years: O’er her form while Time was breathing All of Beauty’s affluence now, Grace and loveliness were wreathing Garlands round her sunny brow. ’Midst her tresses archly smiling, Love, the wily urchin, played; Through her eyes he peered beguiling, Round her lips he ever strayed: In each limb, o’er every feature, Unrestrained he seemed to move, Till at length the peerless creature Yielded all her soul to love! Again her bark is on the billow, Where the pageant Pleasure glides; Not a thought disturbs her pillow As she skims its sparkling tides: Not a shade of earthly sorrow Dims the wonder of her eye, While its lustre seems to borrow Radiance from tranquillity! Still, at times, a touch of sadness In its calm expressive beam Strives to pale the light of gladness That illumed her early dream: And ’tis said she’s lost to feeling— Spurning Nature’s high behest: Ne’er by look or word revealing Aught of passion in her breast!