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THE DISCIPLE OF ST. HELENA.
The joyful sound of “Land ho!” was proclaimed from the mast-top, and soon echoed through the ship.
It was a beautiful morning in June. The trade winds, soft and gentle as the zephyrs, filled our sails; and we had retired to rest the preceding night, hoping, with the morning light, to welcome the long-desired Island of the Tomb. Three months had we ploughed a sluggish southern ocean, or been tossed on the rough waters of the Cape, without once having made the land. Wearied and sick; our water bad and scarce, and our provisions still worse; the captain profane and cross; the mate drunk and quarrelsome; and the whole ship’s crew dissatisfied, sick, or complaining ; never was a sound more welcome than the cry of “ Land.”
Sleep had no power to charm; and, long ere the dawn, we were on deck, straining our vision to give shape and dimensions, if possible, to the new object which had sprung up in our western horizon. " That is St. Helena”_"'Tis St. Helena,” responded many a voice. And never were sad hearts more suddenly cheered, or gloomy faces sooner brightened with smiles.
We watched the distant object; now fearing it might be only a small dark cloud in our horizon; now. tracing the indistinct outlines of a great rock. The dawn appeared.
We neared the desired haven. The morning burst upon us; and what at first appeared but a speck, and, then, one continuous rock, now presented the side of an abrupt island,-defying, by its perpendicular and rocky walls, the raging billows of the boundless ocean. For, save this huge rock, nothing obstructs the heavings of the proud Atlantic for many hundred miles.
The unbroken outline, which first appeared, gave place, on our approach, to a scene diversified with hills and valleys; high precipices and deep ravines; batteries, guns, and flag-staffs; trees, fields, and shrubberies. Then opened to our view, in a deep cut between two almost perpendicular hills, the valley of Jamestown. We entered this beautiful