The Tragedy of the Seas; Or, Sorrow on the Ocean, Lake, and River, from Shipwreck, Plague, Fire and Famine ...

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THE strongest sympathies and emotions of our nature are justly called forth by the perilous adventures and unknown fate which so often befall "those who go down to the sea in ships, and do business on the great waters." How many breasts are daily agitated by the alternate throbs of hope and fear, as the "Shipping News" is read over for tidings of the vessel that has long been missing, and on board of which a husband, brother, son, or some other loved one, has embarked! And, long, long after all probability that he will ever again be heard from has ceased, hope, that balm of life, still cheers up the faint heart.

Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore

Earth's loneliest bounds, and ocean's wildest shore.

And if the lost one was on a voyage to the Indies, or had rounded Cape Horn, to cruise among the coral Archipelagos of the South Seas, the imagination may come to the aid of hope, and a distant vision of that missing ship float before the mind's eye.

As she briskly sails on the blue waters of a tropical sea, the breeze gradually dies away, and a calm succeeds; the sails idly flap against the masts; not a zephyr moves the sleeping canvass; and the extended yards and booms lazily creak in their slings and sockets, as she languidly reposes on her own shadow. The waters seem petrified into polished blue marble, tempting one to walk on their treacherous surface; and the feverish crew are oppressed by the excessive heat and closeness of the atmosphere. But the calms of the ocean, like those of life, are short; soon a change of weather is apparent, and the gray, misty hues of the horizon are every instant growing denser and darker. The men aloft are sending down the light masts and spars, and those on deck clewing up the sails, lashing the boats, and securing the hatchways. The sea is now lashed up into dark billows, with their foaming crests, and the storm strikes the ship. In an instant, the little sail that remains spread is blown into ribbons, and the ship staggers before the hurricane, under bare poles, with nothing to hold the furious wind, but the bending, straining masts and the wailing cordage.

After the first fury of the gale is spent, she is carefully luffed up to the wind, and laid to under a close-reefed storm-staysail. With the sea white with foam, and the sky of a pitchy darkness, night sets in. Soon a heavy sea is shipped, which sweeps the decks, carrying overboard the long-boat and part of the crew; and, during the middle watches, the ship strikes a sunken rock with fearful violence. One mast goes by the board, and the others are cut away, to relieve the ship. The waves now break over her, washing off many of the crew. The morning comes: a reddish glimmer in the east, with a dark scud above, discovers

the situation of the ship, lying along a bed of coral rocks, and fixed within its jagged points; and, through the thick showers of spray, at no great distance, the head of the lofty palm is seen, bowing to the blast. The storm having expended its fury, as the sun rises, the gale abates, and the survivors, among whom is the cherished friend, effect a landing.

The island is uninhabited by man, but abounding in all the charms and luxuries of nature. Around the coral shores grows the cocoa palm.

"The Indian's nut alone

Is clothing, meat and trencher, drink and can,
Boat, cable, sail, and needle, all in one."

The interior is composed of mountain, stream, valley, lawns, and deep dells; and among the spicy groves, birds of tuneful song and gorgeous plumage fly. The fat and juicy turtle grazes on the sea-grass of the strand; the ponds abound with rice, and the uplands with the sweet yam; a dessert is found in the milky cocoa-nut, the melting plantain fruit, the luscious mango, mangosteen, and pine-apple. Under pretty clump of palm-trees they build a hut of bamboos, the sides wattled with ratans, the roof thatched with cadjan leaves, and the wicker door interwoven with split reeds. Here they sing, and pray, and keep calm Sabbaths.

To such a solitary paradise the imagination may fondly trace the unknown fate of one who left his home for distant shores, and " was never heard of more."

What spell is in those words, "was never heard of more,"

to enchain the imagination as they do? Why has the vague and mournful fate of Mungo Park more power to wake our human sympathies than all the detailed horrors of an authenticated martyrdom? How does the curious fancy follow him through savage wilds and unknown perils, and wander like a mournful ghost round the spot where the last faint traces of his pilgrimage are lost in dark and horrible rumors of murder and treachery! Who does not love to ponder on the romantic fate of La Perouse, as circumstantially told by the fragments of his vessels, and the traditions of the islanders where he was wrecked, after being enveloped in profound mystery for forty years!

But what shipwreck, however fearful its relation, can have more intense interest in one's eyes than these words, copied from an old English newspaper-"The Buckinghamshire East In-. diaman left London the 13th of May, 1769. She is supposed to have foundered at sea, with one hundred and forty souls on board, as she has never been heard of since!"

Reader, we will leave your imagination to discover the way in which this Indiaman met her fate.

But, leaving the regions of fancy, we will alight on the hard rocks of reality. The Narratives that follow are plain, true, and unvarnished; and if the hand that guided the rudder in the hour of, misfortune was prevented, by the physical elements, from steering a correct course, nothing has prevented truth, 'that moral magnet of the mind, from invariably guiding the survivor, in his narration.