the boat, and when she could no longer perceive its traces: she looked
round on the wide waste of waters, thought of the precious moments
which had been stolen from the waste of murdered time.

She then descended into the cabin, regardless of the surrounding
beauties of nature, and throwing herself on her bed in the little hole
which was called the state-room--she wished to forget her existence. On
this bed she remained two days, listening to the dashing waves, unable
to close her eyes. A small taper made the darkness visible; and the
third night, by its glimmering light, she wrote the following fragment.

"Poor solitary wretch that I am; here alone do I listen to the whistling
winds and dashing waves;--on no human support can I rest--when not lost
to hope I found pleasure in the society of those rough beings; but now
they appear not like my fellow creatures; no social ties draw me to
them. How long, how dreary has this day been; yet I scarcely wish it
over--for what will to-morrow bring--to-morrow, and to-morrow will only
be marked with unvaried characters of wretchedness.--Yet surely, I am
not alone!"

Her moistened eyes were lifted up to heaven; a crowd of thoughts darted
into her mind, and pressing her hand against her forehead, as if to bear
the intellectual weight, she tried, but tried in vain, to arrange them.
"Father of Mercies, compose this troubled spirit: do I indeed wish it to
be composed--to forget my Henry?" the _my_, the pen was directly drawn
across in an agony.