from its shy and extraordinary habits, as a sort of supernatural being. By the Norwegians, its long-drawn howl is, with more appearance of reason, supposed to portend rain.”

Story of Philip Brusque.

(Continued from page 50.)

CHAPTER III.

More particulars of Philip's early life.

OUR story, thus far, has shown us that absolute liberty cannot be enjoyed except by an individual in solitude, where he has no intercourse with his fellowmen. It shows us that as soon as individuals, even supposing that there are only two of them, come to live together, some rules, by which they may regulate their conduct, become absolutely necessary. In other words, people cannot live together in society without government; even two persons on an island find that, to prevent quarrelling, they must define their mutual rights and privileges; or, in other words, they must enact laws; and these laws, we perceive, are restraints upon natural or absolute liberty. The farther progress of our story will show how an increasing community, with more varied interests, requires a more extended and minute

code of laws.

But before I proceed further, let me tell you something more of Philip Brusque's early history. He was the son of a brickmaker of St. Addresse, a small village in France, near the flour ishing seaport of Havre, which you know is situated at the mouth of the Seine. Philip was early taught to read and write, but he paid little attention to these things in his boyhood. He was

more fond of action than study. He spent a great part of his time in wandering through the deep dells that surrounded his native village, or in walking along the high chalky bluff that formed the neighboring sea-shore. Here he particularly loved to spend his time, looking out over the sea for many leagues, and tracing the progress of the ships, bearing the flags of many nations, that ploughed their way upon the bosom of the Atlantic.

In this way, he formed habits of reflection; and though he loved stirring excitements, still Philip was a thinking youth. At the same time he was of a sanguine temper, ardent in his feelings, loving and hating strongly, and readily believing what his wishes and his hopes prompted. Thus he grew up to the age of twenty, without a settled profession, sometimes working at his father's trade, and sometimes serving as mate of a small vessel that plied between Havre and Bordeaux.

About this period, the public mind in France had begun to be agitated by the coming tempest of the revolution. In every city, village, and hamlet, the people were talking about government, liberty, and the rights of man. The people of France had long been subject to kings, who had claimed a right to reign over them, even without their consent, and they had reigned in such a manner as to make the people miserable. The people were now examining into this claim of their kings, and they had already discovered that it was founded in injustice. Unhappily, they fell under the guidance of bloody and selfish men, and for many years the sufferings of France in her struggle for liberty and human rights, were greater than they had been under the despotism of her worst kings.

Philip Brusque engaged very ardently in the political discussions that resulted

in the revolution, and when Paris became the great theatre of action, he resolved to quit St. Addresse, and proceed to the metropolis, to take his share in the great drama that he felt was about to be acted. He took leave of his parents, and went to bid adieu to Emilie Bonfils, whom he had long loved, and to whom he was affianced. The parting was tender, for Emilie was well worthy of the affection of the gallant youth, and her fears were now excited for the fate of her lover. He was not only to leave her, but he was to be exposed to the convulsions, which already, like the heavings and swellings which portend the earthquake, began to be realized throughout France. But Philip's mind was too much influenced with the spirit of the time, which, like the hot sirocco of the desert, seemed to sweep over the land, to be delayed or dissuaded. He gave his Emilie a long and ardent salute, and on foot wended his way to Paris.

I have told enough of what followed, for the purposes of my story. Philip's active mind and devoted spirit raised him to a certain degree of power and distinction in the revolution; he rode for a time on the storm, and shared in the scenes of blood and horror. He was indeed accessory to many of the atrocious executions, which, in a spirit of madness and fury, were decreed and sanctioned by the leaders. But in all this, Philip was rather insane than selfish. Indeed, he was intoxicated by the whirl of events, and he yielded to the current. At length, he became sensible of his error, but before he had the opportunity of atoning for it, he was obliged to fly for his life. He wished to see his aged parents, and his mind turned more than once to his gentle, confiding Emilie, at the village of St. Addresse. But there were many reasons for his not going to see them before his departure. The first was, that it was

not safe, either for himself or them; and the next was, that he now began to consider his hands sullied with the blood of his fellow-men, in such a manner as to make him unfit for the pure affections either of his parents or his affianced Emilie. Indeed, such was the idea he had formed of the latter, and such was the true affection and reverence that he entertained towards her, and such, at the same time, was his feeling of repentance and remorse, that he shrank from the idea of attaching her to one like himself, and dragging her down from the dignity of truth and purity, to the lot of one who was sullied with crime. Accordingly, he wrote a letter to his parents and Emilie, explaining his feelings and designs, and bade farewell to his country, as we have seen. The letter he wrote did not reach its destination, but, falling into the hands of Robespierre and his associates, became the source of bitter persecution to those for whom it was intended.

CHAPTER IV.

A Ship appears in view.-Pirates ashore.-A scene at night.-Recognition of an old Friend. -Alarming Discoveries.-A fearful Plot.An Explosion.-Arrival of about seventy persons at Fredonia.

WE return to Brusque on the island of Fredonia. A few weeks after the adoption of the constitution as before related, a fine vessel, in full sail, appeared near the island. Brusque and Piquet saw it with a mixture of emotions. She seemed to be crowding all her sails, and sweeping before a brisk breeze. When first seen, masts and sails only were visible, but now her full hull was in view. At length, she came so near that both Brusque and his companion could distinctly see the people on board.

The scene recalled the mind of

Brusque to his home and his country. The ship bore aloft the flag of France, and stirred within him feelings that he could not well define. There are few that can forget the land of their birth, particularly if parents, and one loved more warmly than kindred, be there. Brusque's mind touched on all these points, and tears filled his eyes. "Iam an outcast," said he, "and France rejects me. I am unworthy of my parents, and, more than all, unworthy of Emilie. I must teach my heart to forget; and yet I fear it will not forget, till it ceases to feel." With these words he sat down upon the hill, folded his arms, and with a melancholy countenance gazed at the ship as she now seemed flying past the island.

At this moment, a new object attracted his attention; this was another vessel, of small bulk, but with a prodigious spread of canvass, pursuing the first-mentioned ship. She seemed, like the seaeagle, to have a vast expanse of wing in proportion to her body. On she flew, and was soon near the object of her pursuit. Brusque and his companion watched the scene with interest. Both saw that the pursuing vessel was a pirate ship, and that in a few minutes a desperate conflict must follow.

The pirate had now come abreast of the island, being at the distance of not more than three miles. Brusque saw a white roll of smoke uncoil itself at her side, and in a few seconds the booming voice of the cannon broke over the island. At the same time, the ball was seen to strike the water beyond the ship, and dipping at short distances, made the spray shoot high into the air. Another and another shot followed from the pirate in quick succession. These were length returned by the ship. The two now approached. Peal after peal rung on the air. They were both completely wrapt in smoke. Yet still the firing con

at

tinued. At length there was a dreadful volley as of a broadside, a thickening of the smoke, and then a fearful silence. Slowly the coiling vapor was lifted up, and the two ships were in view. All eyes seemed directed to the larger ship. Her masts and the cloud of canvass swayed heavily from side to side. Finally, they sank lower and lower, and with a heavy crash fell into the waves.

The deck was now a scene of confusion. The pirate approached, and was soon grappled to the ship. Swiftly a few of her men leaped upon the deck. There was a short struggle, and all was still. They have yielded like a pack of cowardly hounds !" said Brusque to his companion. Nay," said the fisherman, "they fought bravely. That piratical craft has five hands to her one, for she has more than a hundred men on board. The other is but a merchant vessel, and had not twenty seamen. The greater part of the men who fought are passengers, and they fought bravely. Beside, there were women among them!" "How do you know that?" said Brusque, quickly.

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"I saw them," said Piquet, as the vessel passed." "What is to be done?" said Brusque, jumping up.

"What can you do?" said the other. "What can I do?" said Brusque; good God, I can do nothing: and women on board! women to fall into the hands of these pirates! It is too dreadful to think of. I will go down to the shore."

And

Perhaps something may turn up, by which we may aid the captives. yet I know not what we can do. We have no weapons, no boat. Still, what we can do, we will do."

With these resolutions, Brusque and his companion went to their cave, and laid their plans. Considering it extremely probable that the pirates would come ashore, they concluded to watch and wait for circumstances. Agreeing to take separate stations, and meet again at midnight, they parted, it being now dark. Brusque had not waited long before he heard the regular dipping of oars in the direction of the pirate ship, and soon saw a boat with about twenty men approaching the shore. Getting into the cover of some bushes, he waited till they reached the shore. They were soon followed by another party of an equal number. Drawing their boats upon the beach, and leaving a single sailor as a guard, the whole party moved up to a little grassy hill. Here some sat down, and others stood around. The leader of the party gave directions to six of his men to go in search of water; taking two officers with him, he stepped aside, leaving the rest to themselves. While they were talking and laughing, the captain and his two friends sat down close to the bushes where Brusque lay concealed, and began to talk over the events of the battle.

cers.

The question was soon started as to the disposal of the ship and her inmates. It was agreed by all that the vessel must be scuttled. "Shall the people go down with her?" asked one of the offi"What think you, Jaques?" said the captain." As to the sailors, and those rascally passengers that entered into the fight, let them die," said Jaques. "It's the fortune of war, and I shall care as little for their death as for the bursting of so many bubbles. But the

women

"Well, what of the women?" said the captain.

"Why," said Jaques, "one of them is very pretty, and one of them is very old, and I do not like to be concerned in drowning either a pretty woman or an old one. They are very likely to haunt a man after death. Beside, there are thirty women in all; it will be too bad to tip them all into the sea."

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Well," said the captain, "what is your plan?"

“Well,” said Jaques, "I propose that we pick out the prettiest for ourselves, and send the rest ashore here to take care of themselves. They can set up a petticoat republic, or any other government they please."

On

This plan occasioned a hearty laugh, but still it seemed to be approved. The party soon broke up and joined the rest. Brusque had heard the whole of their conversation, and, after a short time, crept from his hiding-place, and set out to join the fisherman at the cave. his way he fell in with one of the pirates who was in search of water. He had no chance to conceal himself, but as it was dark, he spoke to the man, as if he were one of his comrades. "Have you found any water?" said he. “Not a drop," said the other. Well, go with me," said Brusque," and I will take you to a spring. I have been on this island before. A long time ago, on a voyage we stopped here, and I remember that between these two hills there was a fine spring."

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Indeed," said the other, "is it you, Tom? Really, I did not know you; your voice is strangely changed." "I've got a cold," said Brusque, coughing. "But we are near the place, I think. It's so dark we may not be able to find it. However, we can but try. Yes, here is the spot-I remember it by this tall palm-tree. I can see the shape of it against the sky, and know it is the

same. The spring is within ten feet of this place. Aye, here it is! How delightful it will be to get a drink of fresh water, just from the ground. It's as good to drink direct from mother earth, as in infancy to draw milk from a mother's breast."

"Get out, you sentimental dog!" said the other. "It's treason to remind a pirate of his mother. Good God, I never dare to think of mine."

"Is she living?" said Brusque.

"Is she living? How dare you speak to me of my mother? Is she living? Good God, I know too well that she is living. Tell me, Tom, and tell me truly!-suppose your mother was in that ship, what would you do? Nay, more, suppose your sister were there, pure as an angel from heaven, and as beautiful too? Yes, and suppose your aged father, bowed with toil and care and sorrow, and gray with years, were also in that ship? And suppose you were the pirate that had aided in their capture? What would you do?"

"Tell me, in the name of Heaven, tell me your name!" said Brusque, in great agitation.

"You know my name is François The man hesitated.

"Yes, indeed, I do know your name; you are François Bonfils. You are the brother of Emilie—and here before you is Philip Brusque!"

The pirate started at this, and drawing a pistol from his belt, stood in an attitude of defiance. At the same time he said, "Am I betrayed? What means this? Are you not Tom Garson, of our ship?" Brusque hastened to explain, and in few words told his story to François. It was a scene of mutual agitation and explanation. Each had many questions to ask, but these were deferred that they might consider what was to be done. For the sake of convers

ing freely, they retired to Brusque's cave, where they both agreed to attempt the rescue of the people on board the ship. Piquet soon arrived, and he joined heartily in the enterprise. Several plans were discussed, but none seemed feasible. At length, François spoke as follows:

"I am afraid that we are too sanguine. There are two hundred men belonging to the pirate. They are desperate freebooters, and armed to the teeth. Like all rogues, they are suspicious and watchful. We cannot hope to surprise or deceive them. The captured vessel is a trading ship, from St. Domingo. She is filled with people that have fled from an insurrection of the negroes there. There are about thirty females, several children, and thirty or forty men. They are guarded by ten of our marines, and are kept under the hatches. We must convey instructions to them to be on the lookout for relief, that they may exert themselves if any opportunity should offer. We must blow up the pirate ship, and I will do it, and share the fate of the rest, if need be."

"Nay," said Brusque, "this is a mad and desperate scheme. Let us think of something more feasible."

"It is time," said François, "for me to return to the captain. I shall be missed and suspected. I will take care to be in the watch of the merchant ship to-morrow night. You, Brusque, are a good swimmer. The vessel is not more than two miles out. You must come at twelve o'clock, and I will see that a rope is over the stern. You must climb up, and enter the dead-lights, which shall be prepared. You must then wait till Heaven send you some opportunity for exertion. Mention me not to my parents or Emilie, if I perish. It will be better for them to mourn over an uncertainty, than the memory of a pirate son